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“See you this afternoon,” he says and hangs up.
I inhale deeply several times, forcing myself to calm down.
No matter what Control does, he will never own me, I vow to myself.
I belong to myself.
And so does my art.
THREE
Dion
I’m taking this undercover assignment more seriously than I’ve taken anything else in my life. This is my chance to prove to my father—and to the club—that I fit here. I’m a big believer in the fact that not everyone who’s born into a club deserves to be part of it. It took me a while to realize that as I was growing up, but I saw other guys in my position. They were the sons of other club members, allies of my father, and you could just tell they wouldn’t have cut it through the years. I’m glad that I’m the type of man who can make it in this life. If I couldn’t handle it, I don’t know what I’d do.
Really, I’m not sure if I’d just be working in an auto mechanic shop or what. That’s my next best bet, probably. I’ve been working in the shop at the club since I was eleven years old, watching my father and the other club members fixing up their toys. I learned a lot by observing, and by the time I was thirteen, they all took turns letting me tinker around on their bikes, vehicles, or you name it.
I’m still in Alabama, but I joined a couple of dating apps after I saw Control’s daughter is single on her Facebook account. I was hoping that she was looking for love somewhere, and thankfully she was. Who in the fuck knows how I’d get close to the club if she wasn’t? But I think she’s my best bet right now.
On the dating profile, I said that I live in Atlanta, but I’m not there yet. I put a few tidbits of information in my bio, but mostly it’s just me saying I’m an auto mechanic who’s recently moved to the area. My profile was only up for three days when I finally matched with her. Lacey, to be exact.
I found out she’s really big into art, but I saw that on her Facebook profile. Fuck, I did a lot of snooping around. I figure if I want to fuck this up, then I’d half-ass this job, but I want to be successful. Deep down, I think some of my brothers think the only reason I’m in the club is because of my father. Like the only right I have to be in the Sons of Gods is because of the blood flowing through my veins. I want to prove them wrong and show each and every one of them that I have what it takes to be in the club.
I found that Lacey likes a lot of different art styles, and through our communication on the dating app, she told me who her favorite artists were. I haven’t suggested meeting up quite yet, but over the last couple of days, we’ve chatted with one another periodically throughout the day. I think by the end of the night, I’m going to suggest we meet up for a date and see if she takes the bait. I haven’t been a dog or said anything remotely out of line, so I’m feeling pretty fucking optimistic about it.
Much to my surprise, Lacey’s been asking a lot about me. I’m not going into too many details, but what I am doing is sort of making up facts about my life. They’re bald-faced lies, but I can’t tell her the truth. If I did, I’d fail this mission for my club, and I’m sure as fuck not doing that. By the time I’m done with this assignment, I’m going to make them all proud.
I told her I love animals and that I volunteer at the shelter every now and again. It’s a lie. I’ve never even stepped foot into an animal shelter, but I would do it if I needed to. Maybe I’ll do something at a shelter when I’m in Atlanta to sell the type of man I am to her, or at least the man I’m making myself look like. She loves animals too but told me she doesn’t have any since she’s so busy. She said it wouldn’t be fair to a dog or cat for her to not be home all the time, and I told her I was in the same boat. She told me she felt like that was the responsible thing to do, to wait a couple more years until she’s in a better place in her life, and I agree. In all honesty, I’d love to have a dog one day, but I’m not sure when my life would ever allow it.
She asked what I like to do for fun, and I told her I’m an adrenaline junkie. You have to be one if you like riding a motorcycle. It’s a rush that I can’t even begin to describe. I told her I like riding ATVs through the woods and I’m a sucker for amusement parks. I really dove into the adrenaline junkie bit with her, and I find that the more I chat with Lacey, the more I mix small truths with my lies.
“Are you going to stare at your phone all day, or are we actually going to get some food? I’m starving.” Amira, my sister, raises her brows and crosses her arms over her chest. I don’t think she’s starving. I think she’s hangry with a capital H.
“Where’s Calli?” I ask about our other sister, and Amira points toward the club doors.
“She’s already in the car waiting for us. I thought we were leaving ten minutes ago.”
“Sorry, I got a bit distracted.”
“I’ll say. C’mon, we’d better get going before Calli turns into a mega bitch.” Amira cackles, and I get up from my recliner, slide my phone into my pocket, and then we head out through the front doors. The clubhouse has French doors instead of a single one, simply because we have so many parties and people are constantly going in and out. On really nice days, we open up all the windows and leave the French doors wide open.
Amira and I walk out into the parking lot, and sure enough, Calli is behind the wheel. She’s staring at something on her phone, and we both get in the car. “I was just about to call one of you. What took you so long?” Calli looks up in the rear-view mirror and stares directly into my eyes.
“Sorry, I had to drop the kids off.”
“What?” Calli furrows her brows, not understanding what I’m saying at all. Sometimes I forget my sisters didn’t grow up around here, so they don’t know common phrases or lingo.
“I had to take a shit, and it took me longer than normal. Say, you got any hand sanitizer? I didn’t have enough time to wash my hands since Amira was banging on the door.” Amira begins cackling lightly, while Calli looks disgusted and throws me back a bottle of hand sanitizer. In no time, she’s pulling out of the club’s parking lot, and we’re on the road, heading to lunch.
It takes us about ten minutes before we pull up at a local dive bar. It doesn’t look like much on the outside or on the inside, really, but the food is fucking banging. I’d eat here every day over some corporate America chain restaurant.
My sisters and I head inside the restaurant, and this isn’t a place that has a hostess, waitress, or any of that. If you want to get food in here, you have to walk up to the bar and put in your order. The bartender will bring it out to your table when it’s ready, but other than that, any time you need a refill, you have to walk back up to the bar and put another order in. Some people might complain about establishments like this, but I’m sure as fuck not. It’s low-key, and I’m a big sucker for that.
We find a booth near the back that’s tucked away from other people and take a seat. I wait for my sisters to tell me what they want to eat and drink, and when we’re all settled on what it is that we want, I go to the bar and put the orders in. I get our drinks, too, and walk them back over to our table, then take a seat.
“Dad told me you’re going to be leaving Alabama for a little bit?” Calli asks, and I know our father doesn’t tell her one hundred percent of what’s going on, especially since she’s not patched into the club. We don’t have women who are members within our ranks. We’re not the Reapers Rejects or the Iron Vex. They tend to do well with men and women in their club, but I don’t believe it’s something my father will ever want us to do. He came from a certain time period when clubs were only for men, and while he isn’t opposed to accepting all types of change, sometimes he doesn’t want to, and I don’t blame him for that. After all, why fuck things up if they seem to be working out okay?
“Yeah, I am,” I answer her.
