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FIVE
11 Years Earlier
“We ride tonight, brothers,” Hugo’s gruff voice called to the men all standing in the large bay of the garage.
The four of them, Craigan, Rogan, Dean, and Bull, each voiced their collective agreements in response to their leader, Hugo’s directive, standing among the grease, car and bike parts, and the heavy machinery of bikes they each leaned against.
They’d been watching Tommy the Tank for months now, and they’d finally gotten the dirt on his sorry, low-life ass they’d been working hard to dig up and uncover. They’d suspected the shit he was playing in, but they had to get cold, hard proof before they rallied and took him down. Waiting for the proof they needed wasn’t ideal under these circumstances, not with what they were dealing with, but it was the only way.
This made it all the more imminent, and now, it was time to do something about it.
Craigan shrugged into his leather jacket, the BACA patch showing prominently on his shoulder nearest Rogan, and he tipped his head back to signal to his chosen brother that it was time to go. Rogan lifted a heavy boot up and over his mid-sized Harley-Davidson and mounted the bike, firing it up.
“You men be careful out there tonight. This is no pussy son-of-a-bitch we’re after. Don’t underestimate your opponent. Stick together, and let’s get this piece of shit,” Hugo said through his graying, handle-bar mustache from over his shoulder, yelling above the roar of the hogs before toeing his bike into gear and pulling out of the bay.
Bull and Dean took off next, following suit.
A young Rogan looked to Craigan and bared his teeth with a devious grin. “Let’s do this,” he said, and the two men rode into formation.
Tommy the Tank was a real piece of work. They’d suspected him of a great many things, but worst of all was the one thing BACA wouldn’t stand for. Bikers Against Child Abuse - sure, there was honor among thieves, so to speak. Even the hardest of criminals made no concessions for child abusers. It’s not like these men were saints themselves. They were some of the most feared men in Houston, the ones people knew not to fuck with, not without being made an example.
This made it a no-brainer for Rogan and Craigan to step right in and join the crew. They were young compared to most of the other men in the club, only in their mid-twenties, but ruthless and experienced from the hard, unforgiving lives they’d each led so far, nonetheless. BACA gave them the focus they needed where they hadn’t had it before, not to mention a brotherhood, a belonging.
Rogan had been on his own for several years at that point, and Craigan had been the only family he’d had. They weren’t even blood-related, just two rebel, kindred spirits that had crossed paths, in the right place at the right time. Craigan had only had his younger sister, Elaina, and his little brother, Dallas, to tend to before that himself.
Rogan and Craigan both had done what they had to do to survive in the dog-eat-dog world they lived in. They were exactly what the other needed, whether they knew it or not. Both liked to tinker around, Craigan with cars and bikes, and Rogan with computers. Craigan had teased him at first until he realized what Rogan had been capable of and just what he could do.
They pulled in line behind Hugo and the guys. Adrenaline pumped through their veins in anticipation of the night ahead of them. Rogan lived for that feeling, and Craigan wasn’t much different, though Craigan tended to temper his a hair more, knowing he had his brother and sister to take care of. It was important that he come home at the end of the day. Rogan hadn’t had the same purpose in life to live for like Craigan had, and his actions showed it.
People feared them both, but especially Rogan. They had earned respect in that town, and they’d come by it the hard way.
Rogan looked over to his brother as they cruised down the highway toward the ol
d, run-down side of town, where an old, ratty trailer park was tucked away in a secluded neighborhood. Craigan looked over to meet his glare and gave him a toothy grin. That was the look that said he felt alive, Rogan thought, feeling the same thing deep in his bones. He was alive.
They slowed to a stop as they approached a jack-knifed semi-trailer that had traffic starting to back up down the congested freeway. It stalled them for only a moment before they maneuvered around the stopped cars to take an unexpected detour, exiting from the main road and riding the business road a few miles down before getting back on track.
Nothing could stop them from coming for Tommy the Tank tonight. Nothing.
SIX
Farren pulled her Chevy spark into a parking space outside the apartment building she used to share with Gramma. It had been a tough decision to move out, leaving Gramma here on her own, when one of the main reasons she had moved Gramma in to begin with was to be around to take her to appointments and such.
Gramma had assured her that she could still do all of that living elsewhere, since she was just a car ride away. Gramma also took care of Harley during the day while Farren went to work. It was the only way Farren felt comfortable leaving Harley in the hands of anyone but herself, since she trusted Gramma with her life, and that was exactly what Harley was now.
Farren knocked before opening the door to Gramma's apartment and felt the weight of her day dissipate as her face lit up at the sight of her little angel, awake in a Pack ‘N Play in the middle of the small living room floor. For a moment, all of her cares disappeared, and all that mattered was holding this little bundle of warmth and wiggles.
Gramma stood from her recliner where she had been working a word search puzzle and hugged Farren.
“Hello, honey. How was your day?” Gramma asked, bringing Farren back to the real world.
Farren sighed and laid the baby back down, following Gramma into the kitchen.
“Can I ask you something?”
She could smell dinner cooking on the stove, homemade chicken and dumplings, and the smell was comforting.
“Of course, honey. You can always ask me anything. What's on your mind?”
