The Biker's Fate Chapter 589

I sighed. "And it was all going so well."

"Well then, how about we toast to Cutter?" Daisy replied, raising her shot.

"To Cutter," Clutch said. "The sweetest mean old bastard you'd ever want to ride with."

"To Cutter," we said in unison, clinking our glasses together.

"Speaking of riding," Clutch said. "I hear you're prospecting with the Dogs."

I nodded. "That's right."

"You know your ass is grass if any member sees you out in public without flying the flag," he said.

I frowned in confusion. "The flag?"

"Where's your cut? And your prospect patch?"

"Dad hasn't given Huck his cut yet," Daisy said.

"The offer to prospect kinda happened unexpectedly," I said. "For both Booker and me, I think."

"Boy," Daisy said. "Word sure travels fast among you little club gossips, doesn't it?"

"What can I say? The kid's a big hockey star," Clutch said. "Word gets around, especially when Smiley's nephew gets kicked out to make room for him."

"What?" I said. "Who's Smiley? Who got kicked out?"

"I think he's talking about Hammer," Daisy said.

"The kid I punched?"

"You punched Smiley's nephew?" Clutch asked. "He left that part out of the story."

"Who the fuck is Smiley?" I asked. I was starting to feel like I was in the middle of a 1940's screwball comedy film.

"Smiley owns a biker bar out in Colorado," Daisy said. "Legendary place for those who know."

"Right," Clutch said. "And Smiley's got a kid sister named Lacy, and Lacy's got a kid named Scott, ergo, Smiley's nephew."

I shrugged. "What's this got to do with me?"

"Booker agreed to make Scott a prospect in return for a favor Hatch owed Sundance, the President of the Primal Howlers' who happened to owe Smiley a favor. Word on the street is that Booker welched on the agreement and cut Scott loose in order to give you his prospect spot. Now I hear you beat the kid up, which only adds a layer of mystery."

"Don't be an asshole, honey," Eldie said.

"What?" Clutch protested. "That's what I heard."

"May I tell him the true story?" Daisy asked.

"Please," I replied.

"Huck came to a club party where he met Hammer, aka Scott."

"Why'd they call the kid Hammer? He swinging a big ol' dick between his legs or something?" Clutch asked.

"Oh, Jesus," Eldie said, selecting a shot from the table and slamming it down.

"Sorry, my good doctor," Clutch said sarcastically. "Does the patient suffer from an enlargement in the groinal area of the sexual organ region?"

"No," Daisy replied, trying, and failing at stifling a laugh. "When my dad brought Scott on, he warned Hatch that the kid seemed okay, but was dumber than a sack of hammers. Apparently, after working with Scott for a few days, Hatch had concluded that he was 'dumber than a sack with only one hammer in it,' thus his name."

Clutch chuckled. "Why'd the hell Hatch keep the kid on?"

"Like you said, my dad owes Smiley a favor. He and Hatch were being patient, hoping he could be trained to do something useful, but they'd all but run out of steam with the kid by the time Huck showed up."

"Then what happened?" Eldie asked, now invested in the story.

"I was shooting the shit with Hammer and another prospect, when he started making comments about what he was going to do with Daisy when he got his hands on her," I said. "That's when I put my fist on his jaw."

"And Hatch offered you Hammer's spot."

"I guess so," I said. "That's about it."

"How come the truth is never as good as the bullshit story?" Clutch lamented.

We spent the next few hours talking about everything from family life to club life. Clutch was funny, disarming, and brutally truthful about what it means to patch into a club. As Daisy and Eldie locked into their own conversation, Clutch invited me to sit with him at the bar, where we could speak privately.

"Some things in your club might run a little differently than ours, given that your club has always been legit, while the Burning Saints only recently became civilians after originally being one percenters," he said. "But then again, not everything is as it seems, you know?"

"I'm not sure I do," I admitted.

"What I'm saying is that before you patch in with the Dogs, you should know what you're getting into. What kind of life, I mean."

"I just love the idea of having a solid bunch of guys to ride with. Brothers who have each other's backs out on the road."

"Membership is a lot more than that. Lemme tell you. A hell of a lot more."

Clutch reminded me of a combat veteran as he spoke. There was a mixture of pride and PTSD in his tone and I wondered if I was in fact ready to patch in with the Dogs of Fire, or any club for that matter.

"Our clubs are not that different from one another," Clutch continued. "We're both doing our best to convince the locals that we're safe as milk, but we both know that underneath our two percent patches you'll find the stitches from a torn off one percent patch."

"If you're warning me that club life can get rough, remember I've spent my entire life playing hockey."

"They use guns on the ice where you come from?" Clutch's voice turned deadly serious. "How about hunting knives? I don't follow hockey. Is the other team allowed to cut the goalie's throat?"

"I get it," I said.

"You don't get shit. Biker culture may have gone mainstream, but the life is still the life. In fact, while the public's been busy streaming pretty boy biker soap operas, some clubs have doubled down. This is no time for fucking tourists, so if you're lookin' for some weekend warriors to ride with, I can hook you up, but the Dogs are my friends, and they don't need extra attention on their club by some washed up jock."

I nodded. "This is the part where you test my mettle."

"This is the part where I tell you I don't have to test jack shit. If my president wants your ball sack on a pike all he has to do is give the word. And if I want your sack, I'll take it, stuff it, mount it on my wall, and ask Minus's forgiveness later."

"I'm pretty sure Minus doesn't have that say. Hatch does."

"Yeah, well, Minus is his brother-in-law."

I rose to my feet. "I respect you and the relationship you have with the Dogs, but I'm starting to feel a little disrespected here."

Clutch stood, his face inches from mine. "If you want me to take any of my words back, you're gonna have to make me."

"Lead the way outside and I'll make sure you can't say anything for six months," I replied.

We turned for the door only to find our women standing together, behind us, arms crossed, and they did not look amused.

"What the hell are you two doing?" Eldie asked.

"We were just…ah…," Clutch stammered.

"Going out to the parking lot to fight," Eldie finished her husband's sentence.

"I thought you said you weren't in the habit of getting into fistfights," Daisy said to me.

"But he was the one who—"

"Save it," she snapped.

"I've paid the bill. Stay right here and wait for me," Eldie said to Clutch, before both women turned and made their exit.

I dragged my hands down my face. "Nice going, dickwad," I snapped.

"We're assholes," he replied.

"Yup."

"Anyway," Clutch said, as if nothing had happened. "Remember. Prospecting goes both ways. It's a time for the club to see what you're made of, but it's also time for you to figure out who you are, and why you need the club."

I nodded. "I should probably figure out how I'm gonna make this up to Daisy."

"She's been around bikers her whole life. She'll be alright. Give her some time to cool off and tell her you're sorry. If that doesn't work, let her give you a free stick to the nuts."

I gave him a chin lift. "Thanks for the advice."

"Hey, you're alright, jockstrap. Sorry for giving you shit. I get kinda worked up sometimes, ya know?"

"We're cool," I said, walking away.

I passed Eldie on the way out, but she wouldn't talk to me, and by the time I made it outside, Daisy was gone.