AllFreeNovel
Share Us
EIGHTEEN
KAI
Drake pulls up to a bar two hours away in the town of Providence, the neighborhood Scarlett and Jade were originally from before being brought to the foster house in Pleasant Hills when their parents became fugitives.
It’s a fucking shithole.
Worse than our shit-hole hometown Pleasant Hills and nicknamed the Gotham City of the West Coast, for good reason, Providence is debauchery at its finest. At least in PH there are some decent parts of the neighborhood the closer you get to the border of Hillcrest Hills, but here, there is nothing remotely “decent”. Every building we passed as we drove through the city line was falling apart. Decaying is probably a better word. I swear I saw rats the size of cats, running through the street curves, heading down into the sewers. It’s as if the moment we drove in, a dark cloud suddenly appeared over us, making the sky eerily glum, and the air thick with smoke.
I have no idea why we ended up here tonight, but I’m not questioning it. I asked Drake to take me far away, and he did just that. I didn’t say it had to be pretty.
“I know it’s random, but I’ve been here a few times and well, it’s the first place I thought of when you said you wanted to get away,” Drake explains as we stare at the rundown bar, which looks like it could double as a truck stop. The neon sign up on a long metal post protruding from the tattered roof is clearly barely hanging on by a thread.
Purgatory.
“Well, at least the name is fitting,” I joke, opening the door and stepping out, but before I can make it fully out of the car, Drake grabs my arm and stops me.
“You might want to take that off,” he mutters, pointing at my Cobra cut. Reaching into the back seat, he grabs a plain black hoodie and hands it to me. “Here, you can put this on. It’ll cover your tattoo.” I follow his eyes and look down at the snake adorning my forearm.
I look over his choice of attire: black jeans, black shirt, and a plain black jacket. I swear it looks like we’re incognito. “Is this place anti-Cobra or something?” I ask, wondering why the hell he brought me here if it's such a big deal I hide who I am. “Am I gonna need to wear a ski mask? You didn't tell me we were robbing the place.”
“Nah man, not exactly but,” he pauses, his gaze turning toward the bar. “I’m not sure how keen you are on wearing your cut to the clubhouse of another MC gang.” Just as he says it, I turn toward where he’s facing and see two men walking toward the front door of the bar, wearing black leather jackets with a red and gold flaming skull with wings stitched onto the back. I suddenly notice about ten motorcycles parked at the front, similar to the way the guys park their bikes down at Killian’s and look at Drake questioningly.
“They call themselves The Disciples. This is one of their clubhouses, so yeah, maybe wearing your cut might give the wrong impression.”
“So why the hell are we here?” I ask, confused and, frankly, a little irritated. Why the hell would he think to take me from one clubhouse to the next, knowing well enough I’ve been on the outs with The Cobras?
“The club president, Dex, he’s a pretty chill guy. He’s only a handful of years older than us and I met him a few weeks ago when I came down here for some,” he pauses, unsure if he should continue. “Why don’t we go inside, get a drink, and we can talk?”
I huff out, annoyed, “I don’t need to talk, Drake.”
“Yeah man, well maybe I do.”
Throwing on the hoodie, I step out of the car and the pungent smell of cigarettes hits me like a whiff of fresh air. Yup, smells like home. The outside looks awfully similar to any other biker bar. Empty beer cans and cigarette buds line the concrete parking lot. The rest of the lot, other than the ten bikes parked along the front, is practically vacant, and looking through the windows as we approach, the inside looks pretty empty, too.
“Are you sure they’re even open?” I ask, staring at the flickering red neon sign that reads OPEN.
We reach the front door and Drake pulls the handle, yanking it open so hard it almost breaks off, and ushers me inside. “Yeah, most of the guys keep a pretty low profile. They’re a fairly new club, from what I gathered. At least this chapter is. I think Dex’s grandad, or something started it with his best friend when they were eighteen.”
The inside is not what I imagined it would be. Unlike the outside that looks like an old rundown dive bar, the inside is all pristine mahogany wood and black sandstone. The smell of stale beer and cigars lingers in the air, but it’s the weed that overpowers everything. At least it isn't the smell of musky old man sweat like back at Killian’s.
At least twenty pairs of eyes, all wearing the same leather jacket and a few chicks hanging on the guy’s arms, meet our stares as we walk further into the place and Drake’s right, none of these guys look much older than we are. Maybe a few who are possibly in their thirties, but none of them are close to fifty like my uncle’s VP, Carver.
I halt in my tracks at the intimidating stares each one of them is giving us, but Drake urges me to keep moving. It’s unlike me to be this uneasy, but something about this whole day has me on edge.
“What brings you two pretty boys down to our humble abode?” one of the men, this one with a skull just like the one I saw on the back of the leather jackets tattooed on his bald head, asks as he comes forward. He’s the one who appears to be in his thirties, his long beard braided like a fucking rat’s tail hanging on his chin.
“We’re here for Dex,” Drake states matter of fact. I, however, don’t move a muscle as I’m scanned from head to toe by this fucker. It’s like he knows I don’t belong here.
“And what would the two of you want with our Prez?” he grumbles.
Suddenly, a loud voice beams from behind the group. “Dragon, my man. Long time no see.” We all turn our heads toward where the voice came from and come face to face with a beast. I’m not exaggerating in the slightest. He’s as tall as Drake, but where Drake’s muscles are toned and built from consistent exercise and fighting, this dude looks like he’s on fucking steroids. Long, blond, wavy hair sits on his shoulder and he’s watching us with the greenest pairs of eyes I’ve ever seen. Snake eyes. Drake was right. This guy looks like he’s only a handful of years older than us, twenty-five max.
“Dex, it’s good to see you too,” Drake shouts, moving toward him. Dex receives him with a hug and three pats on the back.
“Didn’t think you were ever coming back, but I’m glad you did.” Dex turns to me as if seeing me for the first time. “And I see you’ve brought a friend.”
“This is Saint, my brother,” Drake says, using my last name and club nickname, but somehow that makes Dax seem surprised.
