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Muffled yelling and screaming surrounded me, and a familiar face shoved into my line of sight.

“Chill!” Someone shook me.

That was wrong. I was never shaken. Thrown around like a rag-doll but never jolted. How strange. Unable to stop myself, I turned my head.

There they were. Those lifeless eyes.

“Tell Nanci I love her,” his mouth moved, and then blood spewed.

I stared. My Veep. As much as I struggled, I couldn’t move. Psych was going to die, and I could not reach him.

“Chill!” A hand slapped my face. Wow, that actually caused pain. “Wake up!”

A second blow descended, and I blinked. I was jolted awake, and my hand reached for Razor’s throat. My brother knocked it away.

“You were having a nightmare,” Razor said.

“Ain’t surprised.” I rubbed a hand over my face.

“You need help.”

“With what?” I snarled, reaching for the whiskey bottle. Damn, I’d drunk it dry. When had I drunk that?

“The war,” Razor replied.

“They got slaughtered; everyone fuckin’ died. What’s to deal with?” I demanded and dug into my drawer for a flask. Hauling that out, I frowned. “Did you empty this?”

“Yeah, like I’ve got time to police you, Inglorious, run the club, and look after myself.” He sounded desperate. “I can’t do this by myself,” Razor said with clear pain.

I reached out and grabbed his shoulder. “You’re not alone.”

“Feel it, brother. Sober up.”

“Fine. I promise.”

Razor nodded and stood. He looked paler than usual, and I didn’t bother asking why. The answer was obvious. Razor mourned our brothers as hard as Inglorious and me. He’d not sunk into a bottle, not yet anyway.

December 2023

Christmas could go fuck itself. Who cared about celebrating? The hole in my heart grew bigger every day. Inglorious and I were losing ourselves, and it was easier that way. I stared out at the desolate buildings in front of me. We were meant to renovate Merritt as a club and make it our future. This time last year, there’d been a huge party, food, booze, women; that was a great memory.

Who’d have imagined this year being so different? The other MCs had reached out, asking us to join them. What, and watch them play happy families? They’d all lost someone, apart from Hellfire MC, but none had been decimated like the Unwanted Bastards. Three left out of the entire club. Two were drunk, and whatever Razor was doing. The prospects were running things, and we didn’t give a shit.

“Get up.” Razor booted my ankle.

“Why? There ain’t nothing to celebrate,” I bitched.

“We’re still an MC.”

“No, we’re the ghost of one. Razor, we lost the best of us,” I replied and lifted the bottle and took a mouthful.

“You disrespect their memory, and I hate you for that,” Razor seethed. He walked away.

When I stumbled downstairs later to get a refill, Razor sat at a table with the prospects. They ate a roast dinner, and for a moment, Razor looked hopeful, like I’d join them, and then I turned around. I didn’t need to see his eyes fill with disappointment as I grabbed two bottles and left. The air was saturated with it.

March 2024

Nanci stomped out of the car, not seeing me, and I froze. It had been nearly a year since she was here. At the funeral, I couldn’t look at her, and I still felt the same. I wanted to run, hide in a hole. Nanci’s brother was dead because Psych had saved my life.