Page 1 of Taming the Bear
Prologue
I pull into the fake drop about ten minutes before I was supposed to be here. I hop off of my bike after I park it towards the tree brushes and then walk around the warehouse. I have a feeling that someone in my club is fucking with me and I need to flush out the rat.
About three weeks ago, I noticed that some of the numbers weren’t adding up in the club’s books. I also found out that some of our product is being tested without my permission. But the one thing that bothers me the most, is that I can’t trust my brothers.
After emailing myself a bunch of different things about a drop and then the email address confirming that drop, I began to set the plan in motion. It’s a sneaky way of flushing out the poison that is affecting my club but I needed to do it. I need to know who I can and can not trust.
In the Lucifer’s Lair, I am the president and what I say goes. I can’t have members of the brotherhood doubting my next moves and then staging a coup to get me overthrown. I need to be able to trust that my brothers have my back and they won’t try to kill me to advance themselves.
We might be outlaws living in the 1% of the population, but we have rules and regulations just like any society. My brothers and men will abide by these rules to avoid fucking anarchy that will happen if things go sideways. And I will be the one held responsible if it does.
I completely came out here on my own and didn’t tell anyone where I was going because I needed to see what would happen. I needed to see if one of them will show up or if someone else will show up here to try and take a drop. The last thing that I need is for someone to steal drugs or guns from me and my club.
There is nothing out of the ordinary around the warehouse and I’m feeling semi-comfortable with the fact that no one is here trying to mess with me. I check my cell to make sure that I still have time before I walk into the warehouse. Perfect. There’s still five minutes left before the “drop” is supposed to happen.
Things haven’t always been like this. You know, the sneaking around and being paranoid as shit. I know you probably think that I’m just a paranoid president who thinks everyone is out to get me. I don’t think it’severyonejust a majority of the outside population.
I’m not a well-liked man and I never have been. There’s nothing wrong with knowing who you are as a person and as a leader. I would rather have the respect that I deserve than be someone’s little bitch.
Just as I’m walking into the warehouse, I hear the loud pipes of Harleys as they pull into the parking lot area. The warehouse is abandoned and no one uses it so it became ideal to use. Which means, it wouldn’t be coincidental that four custom Harleys pulled up around the time of this drop.
I walk towards the edge of the huge empty main room and wait for something. Anything that would show me who was out there or if it were my guys.
“Is he here yet?” A growly voice asks someone else. I can hear their footsteps as they get closer to the bay door. “I don’t see his mother fuckin’ bike, dude. Did we just get played?”
There’s the sound of someone getting smacked upside the head that makes me roll my eyes. “Will you shut the fuck up?”
Another set of heavy footprints crunches the gravel that is on the driveway and I wait to see if it’s someone’s voice that I recognize. When they don’t say anything, I look out the window to see if they’re still out there. There are these little windows that are about my height off the ground which makes it easier for me to look outside.
I don’t see anything besides darkness out there. I creep to the other window about five feet away and see if I can see anyone from that window. Nope. What the hell?
Then I hear it.
The sound of a match being struck across the side. The fizzle of something being lit that doesn’t want to be. And then the crashing sound of the fizzle being thrown through the window that I was just at two seconds ago.
“Go! Go! It’s going to blow! We gotta get outta here!” One of the voices yells and then I hear the pounding of their footprints against the rough gravel.
“Stupid, arrogant mother fucker, didn’t even realize that he was getting set up!”
The fizzle is actually a homemade bomb that people make in their basements. It’s nothing that I haven’t seen and it’s pretty amatuer. I walk over to it and then pick it up to diffuse it before it blows up. Once I have it in my hand, I try to do that but it beeps and then smokes some more.
My nose and my throat begin to fill up with smoke and I try to limit my breathing so I don’t ingest anymore than I already had. I throw it on the ground before the smoke gets worse and I run towards the door to get out. My hand is resting over the handle and I’m about to open it just in time for the explosion.
I yank the door open and then run out of the warehouse before it’s too late and I choke on smoke. Since no one is supposed to know that I’m here, I wouldn’t have anyone to come get me or know that I’m gone.
Also, it’s enough to confirm my suspicion. Someone is trying to stage a coup and life as I knew it, was over.
The explosion is a lot bigger than I anticipated from the tiny homemade bomb. All of the windows have cracked open and there’s smoke billowing out of them forming black clouds. The roof that was once on the warehouse has a big fucking hole in it from the impact. Also, right where I was just standing, before I ran to my bike, is nothing but a smoke cloud.
“Mother fucker!” I yell out in the night.
I’m pissed off as I ride my bike back to the clubhouse that I stay at. All I keep thinking about is who would try to kill me like that? Who has the umph to pull something like this off? Someone would have had to hack into my emails and then stalk those emails to see when I would respond.
By the time I pull into the driveway to the clubhouse, I’m fuming fucking mad. Someone is messing with me and it’s going to end. I will not have one of my brothers go behind my back and try to blow me up with a bomb because they don’t like something I said or done. Coups are messy and it’s only going to get messier.
“Hey, Bear!” Smokey calls out to me while walking out of the main part of the clubhouse with a fly on his arm.
We call the girls that only come by to get some ass or to live up their sexual fantasies: flies. This means they jump from brother to brother in hopes that one of them would wife up. Rarely, and I mean rarely, do any of these flies get what they want.
