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“I’ve got it covered.” My brother Pyro stated, never taking his eyes from his phone. Not that I expected him to. I knew damn well that if I asked Pyro to repeat everything said so far, he would. Verbatim.
“Keep me posted. Okay, boys. We’ve got a light week. Let’s get it done.” With that, I stood and walked out of church. Heading outside, I had just sat on my bike when Gunner shouted at me. “King, wait up!”
Turning to him, I asked, “What?”
“I need to talk to you.”
Starting my bike, I revved the engine as I shouted angrily, “No, you need to get your ass on the road. That shipment isn’t going to deliver itself, and when you get back, you and I are going to discuss your current choice of pussy.”
Pulling away, I took off, kicking up dirt as I sped out of the compound. Passing the main clubhouse where all the brothers slept and partied. I tightened my grip as my bike raced forward. Any reason to ride my bike and I was game. Even if it meant every morning I rode into town for a damn cup of coffee.
The club was situated up on the mountain surrounding the small town of Rosewood in the Shenandoah Valley, which was part of the Appalachian Mountains. A picturesque drive that many brothers loved. The long, winding roads, lined with full trees, were a biker’s dream. The fresh mountain air blowing in my face as the warm summer sun hit my back felt like heaven. There was nothing better in this world, other than pussy and though I was always game for a hot, wet hole, what I really wanted at this moment was my morning cup of joe.
The ride from the clubhouse to Rosewood took about twenty minutes, barring no school buses got in my way. As I rounded the bend at the base of the mountain, the town of Rosewood came into view.
Summertime was soon approaching, and the influx of tourists to my small town was imminent. So much so that the club would detour down a back road for future club runs.
The town of Rosewood was a pain in the ass during tourist season. With people coming from all around to visit the quiet, quaint town. During the summer, tourists inundated Rosewood with people from all over the country. The only time it was worse was when the snow fell, and we got the rich bitches and their billionaire husbands skiing on the mountain. God, I hated those fuckers worse than the summer idiots. But the town needed their money to survive, and the town catered to all their needs.
The only good thing that came from having all these damn tourists was the new coffee shop that opened last year when an older couple from one of the New England States decided they wanted to retire in the country. Hands down, that little coffee shop they opened made the best coffee on the planet. Much better than that big conglomerate coffee shop that was here previously. Never understood the need for a double caramel macchiato with skim milk and whipped cream.
Coffee tasted best when served black. Plain and simple. It didn’t need any of that fancy bullshit. If I wanted whipped cream, it better be on a beautiful set of tits or pussy would be even better.
Spotting an empty parking spot, I pulled in and shut off my engine. The town was just waking up as stores flipped on open signs or opened their doors. Every time I came into town, it did not disappoint me with what I saw. The town was booming and gearing up for the upcoming summer festivities.
Getting off my bike, I looked across the street as something caught my eye. Taking a better look, I smirked, seeing Rosewood’s first tattoo shop. Aptly named too. Venom’s Ink. I knew of several men and women who would help keep that little store open, myself included. I hated riding all the way into Bristol for ink therapy. Fuck, I hoped the new artist knew what the fuck he was doing. Maybe after my morning coffee I would go check it out.
Coffee first.
Heading inside the Main Drip, owned and operated by Mike and Beth Brewer, I damn near cried as the aroma of the freshly brewed black gold filled my nose. Transplants from Rhode Island, they were hard workers enjoying their later years as their two kids were off living their own lives. They took to the town quickly, and Rosewood welcomed them with open arms.
“Good morning, King,” Beth smiled, as I walked in, hearing the tiny bell over the door jingle.
“Morning, Beth,” I replied, walking up to the counter. Looking around at the full capacity, I saw many familiar faces, but when I didn’t spot Mike, I asked, “Where’s that lazy husband of yours?”
Beth was a beautiful woman, even with her lightly graying hair. What I loved most about Beth was that she accepted her age. None of that dye and plastic shit. Beth was all woman and had curves like a back road begging to be ridden. If she wasn’t happily married to Mike, I might even take a go at her and not because she made the best damn coffee on the planet.
Beth laughed. “He’s out back. Got a delivery this morning.”
“You need help with that. Let me know. I can send one of my boys down to help.”
“It’s no trouble, King, but thank you. You want your usual?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I said, reaching for my wallet and producing a twenty-dollar bill. Placing it on the counter, I waited for Beth to hand me my coffee. The coffee shop was always bustling. Open from six to five in the evening, the store never wanted for customers. The décor was reminiscent of a seventy’s hippie van just back from Woodstock, warm, eclectic and comfortable. Warm but comfy sofas and chairs lined the back wall as small tables and over stuff chairs filled the center portion of the shop. A long wood bar ran the length of the front window with varying styles of stools so people could sit and watch the merriment of the town as they drank their coffee. If not, the state-of-the-art internet system allowed customers to sit in relative peace while doing whatever it was they did on any electronic device. Colorful pictures of local artists lined the walls with a scattering of family pictures thrown in to give the place a homey feeling.
Seeing the twenty I laid on the counter, Beth sighed. “King. We’ve talked about this. The coffee is only three dollars.”
“And as I’ve said before, I will pay what I want for this good cup of coffee.”
Beth shook her head, taking the twenty and putting it in the register. Giving Beth a two-finger salute, I took my coffee and headed towards the back of the shop, where Beth and Mike had a small office. Opening the door, I walked in, took a seat on the small sofa Beth put in here just for me, leaned back and drank my coffee in peace.
There weren’t many places I could go to relax and forget about everything. When I found such a place, I savored it, because I knew it wouldn’t be long before trouble found me.
Closing my eyes, I sat there and tried to let my worries fade away. The delivery was on its way. There was nothing more I could do about it. All I could do was wait for my brother to text and tell me all was good. I hated distributing with the Scorpions.
Those motherfuckers were bad fucking news. They were always looking to better their side of the agreement. Also, they weren’t opposed to stepping outside their purview to get what they wanted. When I came up with the formula, Frankenstein immediately went to work and I wasted no time in distributing Hells Breath, the name I came up for my product. Hells Breath was the perfect whiskey. Robust and stout, my whiskey would definitely put hair on any man’s chest. I’d been experimenting with the formula for a long time before I joined the Marine Corps. Then shit happened, and I forgot about it. I only picked it back up when I returned home after my last deployment, needing something to get my mind off what happened while I served. Now, Hell’s Breath was a top shelf whiskey that was quickly making a name for itself.
Word spread quickly throughout the clubs running up and down the east coast, and before I knew it, I had a solid cash product that brought in millions for the club. With the construction company and the occasional special project the club ventured into, the Sons of Hell were going to be around for a long time.
