“I don’t give a fuck. I was never ridin’ for Smoke’s funeral. I hated that motherfucker. Worst excuse for a human bein’. You callin’ him a friend killed my respect for you.” Dev didn’t like spitting. It was gross, but he did just that, letting it land between where he and his old man stood. That spit represented his feelings for Smoke and the truce enacted between the bike clubs, all riding in to pay their respects to an absolute motherfucker.
In reality, removing Dev as second was a far-reaching decision. With Dev choosing not to ride, his spot in line should have been left open. Thousands of club bikers would attend this burial. They’d all see Diesel riding in Dev’s spot. A symbolic move designed to show what the Disciples future looked like.
The hurt of his father’s rejection penetrated. This had to rank as the number one most painful emotional time he could remember ever having at his father’s hand. That said a lot. His old man was meaner than a rattlesnake.
He refused to let him see how the betrayal affected him, though.
Fuck it all.
Dev wanted out of this goddamn club after spending his entire life trying to live up to an impossible standard. He was never going to be enough.
“Exactly what I’m talkin’ about. There’s a tradition we follow. When I was your age—”
“Don’t you ever compare me to you,” Dev interrupted through clenched teeth, deciding to flex his own muscle. “Smoke destroyed my best friend. Then I had to sit back and watch the club let it happen. Then they added their own brand of disrespect to Keyes. Where’s the tradition for him? You can’t cherry pick the traditions you follow, or for who. I’m not playin’ these fucked-up head games anymore. The trash in this club is gettin’ dealt with. You all are gonna treat every brother, includin’ myself, with the respect we deserve from this point forward.”
His father lunged forward, stopping inches from Dev’s chest. Spittle flew from his mouth as he yelled at Dev. “That’s another goddam thing. A fuckin’ text message to the prospects, puttin’ them on notice isn’t how you deal with our men.”
“So I’m a hotheaded mess who can’t keep control of myself or I flout tradition by demandin’ better of our prospects, askin’ them to be what they agreed to be. I put every fuckin’ one of them on notice becausethat’sclub tradition. If they aren’t followin’ the charter, they’re out. If I’d had my way, they’d all be gone as of last night.”
Dev bucked into his old man’s chest, ready to take this to blows. His father could eat the pavement for all he cared. He had both size and meanness on his side. His fists tightened in anticipation. If this were anyone else, he’d have already plowed over them. The fact that he wasn’t pummeling his father showed how much self-control he had gained over the last few years.
Stupid, sorry, piece of shit motherfucker.
“What’s going on out here?” His mother’s stern voice rang out, commanding attention.
“Your son’s always on the edge of pissed off, ready to throw down without listenin’ to anyone. I’m goddamn sick of it. Get your ass back in the office, old woman. This has nothin’ to do with you. I’m handlin’ it like I should have done a long time ago. You babied him for too long.”
Oh, was he handling it? Dev was pretty sure he’d thrown the gauntlet back in his father’s face.
“He shouldn’t talk to you that way,” Dev yelled to his mother just to piss his father off more. He physically eased off his old man and mentally pivoted toward psychological warfare. He knew he crossed a line when he continued to speak to his mother, staring his father straight in the eyes. “Maybe you should go fuck Mack to show him how much his traditions suck. It’s within your right as a club whore. He’s done with you. Y’all were never legally married. We all know he’s fuckin’ everything with a skirt any chance he gets.” Dev tossed out a hand, waving his old man off as if he were nothing more than a flittering gnat, making light of his father’s secretive actions and violent threats. Dev wasn’t afraid of shit. “So virile. Real man. Woo. Sorry motherfucker. Die already.”
The blows hit their intended mark. His father’s face took on a hard, red flush as his head reared back in shock, making it clear he never expected Dev to cross that line.
His mother stumbled and sputtered her words, nothing coming out as clear language, as she scampered down the staircase.
Dev tossed his hands in the air again, this time in disregard when neither of his parents could form an intelligent word. He turned away, heading the few steps back to his shop. Done with this. “You can trust, when this club is mine, old man, your fucked-up chaos is done. I don’t fuckin’ care who you want where. Diesel. Second? Fuck you very much. Doesn’t change the facts. When you’re dead, all this is mine. Could you die today, please?”
He didn’t even want the club, he just wanted to see exactly how red his old man’s face could get. Maybe push Fox into cardiac arrest, thinking about the disappointing Devilman taking over his legacy.
At the door of his parlor, Dev turned back to see his mother barreling down on his furious father. He gave the scene a final blow.
“And to get it straight in your fucked-up head, I’ve never been second. When I decide to be around, I’m in the back, standin’ by my brothers who’ve been treated like shit by your fucked-up selective tradition. You just ensured, I will become prez and shit’s gonna change faster than the dirt can hit your coffin.” Dev raised both hands in the air, giving a double bird salute, flipping his old man off.
“You swore to me you’d be discreet,” his mother screamed, picking up a tire iron off the ground as she got within feet of his father. Dev lifted his eyebrows, impressed. She was physically fit where his old man had turned decrepit. She had a solid chance.
More shit started flying toward Dev, causing him to have to dodge the projectiles. His father raged about Dev, ignoring the real threat as far as Dev was concerned. “Old lady, this is your fault. You let him act however he wants.”
His mother screamed a warrior’s yell and started beating on his father. “My children know what you’ve been doing to me?”
Dev ducked inside the ink parlor, knowing he’d need a moment to regroup before he picked up his tattoo machine again. He worried his young client heard the brutality of this particular fight. He closed the door behind him.
Birthday girl yawned at him and smiled, barely looking up from her phone. Her earbuds were in her ears. She looked content as hell and completely oblivious to the turbulence in the other room.
Shit, he needed a hit off the Xanax she was on. Seemed like powerful stuff.
“Hang tight a little longer,” Dev murmured. She just stared at him. He decided on sign language and lifted a finger toward her. She nodded.
He ducked out of his shop again, bypassing the destruction he’d incited a moment ago. At this point, one of the mechanics was pulling his mother off his father. She’d drawn blood based on the scratches to his face.
