AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Over the next few hours, almost all our club brothers filtered in. Breaker came immediately to sit with us. “I got your text, Storm. I’ll be ready to ride at dawn.”
I rolled my beer bottle between my hands. “This one’s got me worried. He canceled his last three appointments at the VA.”
“Maybe if we get to him soon enough, we can get him turned around and back in treatment.”
“From what I was told, he failed to reschedule his appointments and has been sitting at home for the last few months with nothing to do but stew over his problems. They think he’s at high risk to suicide out.”
“You can’t save them all, Storm,” Breaker cautioned me. “We talked about this before, brother.”
I just fucking straight up changed the subject. “So, how did your security gig in LA go?”
Breaker rolled his eyes. “It took three of us to get a fucking small time rap star from divorce court to the airport. Fucking babysitting.”
I shrugged. “Easy money is safe money, Breaker. You know that.”
I looked around at the women beginning to climb onto elevated platforms, each with their own pole. Amber was wearing a sparkling gold bikini and the other two dispensed with the top piece altogether in favor of paste-ons over the nipples. Six others were moving from table to table, looking for attention. We currently had nine eager brothers in the club, so they were definitely going to get what they were looking for this evening. Just another normal night at the Slayers clubhouse.
Normally, I might kick back, relax, and put one of the whores on her knees, but images of a battle-weary brother in arms sinking into a pit of depression kept circling around in my mind. I likely had a long sleepless night to look forward to.
Chapter 2
Storm
Riding the open road on my motorcycle with the morning sun beaming down on my face and Breaker at my side was literally the best feeling in the entire world.
Breaker and I had met in the military, discovered we had a meeting of the minds about a lot of shit, and stuck together after we were discharged for lack of a better plan. The thing was, putting the horrors of battle behind us was not as easy as being honorably discharged from of the military with a chest full of medals. The PTSD, sleepless nights, and feeling of impending doom were now our constant companions.
That’s why I started a support group for wounded warriors, or as Breaker called it a male bonding session for broke dicks who couldn’t get their lives together. That’s exactly how he saw himself and thus why he needed our support group.
I had been given the name of a vet in need of extra support and the thing that really bothered me about this one was that his neighbor left a heart-wrenching voice mail asking us to check on him as well. The neighbor had found my flyer nailed to a telephone pole and called us to say he was having nightmares, drinking all the time, and was hopelessly depressed. Since we were the only group within a hundred miles, getting contacted by both of them wasn’t all that surprising, but it put him in the highest risk category in my mind.
We pulled up, cut our engines and flipped down the kickstands on our bikes. Breaker took off his glasses and eyed the small house that appeared to be abandoned.
“You sure we got the right address, Storm? It doesn’t look like anyone lives here,” There was no vehicle, the grass was overgrown, and deliveries were piled up on his front porch.
I jumped off my bike and stalked up to the front door. “There’s only one way to find out. Let’s beat the fucking door down and see what jumps out at us.”
Breaker chuckled because he knew all about my shitty sense of humor and how I used it as a personal shield in stressful situations.
I knocked on the door forcefully multiple times to no avail. Refusing to give up on a brother in need, I walked around banging on the windows, and finally on the back door.
Suddenly, the door flew open, and a rough looking man growled, “What the hell do you want at such an ungodly hour?” I swallowed thickly at the sight of him sitting in a jacked up wheelchair that looked like it had been pieced together with scrap metal. The crazy fucker had two mangled legs and a shotgun resting across his lap.
I asked boldly, “Are you Adam Daniels?”
He glared at me and grabbed for the weapon in his lap. “Get the fuck off my property.”
I leapt back and tried to talk him down from the edge. “What the hell kind of Charley Foxtrot shit is this? Stand the fuck down soldier. We’re friendlies.” I jerked back another step and stated hotly, “I didn’t survive four damn years in the middle east to get taken out by a fucking wounded warrior stateside.”
My response might have been a little over the top because the man rolled his eyes at my dramatic display. “Since when did the military start sending in reinforcements that were worlds jumpier than the fucked up vets they were tasked with checking in on?”
I frowned down at him. “I wasn’t sent by the United States military, you dumb fuck. Your neighbor called because she’s worried you’re pissing your life away on alcohol and depression. And you cancelled all your appointments with the VA.”
Breaker pulled his thumb back towards a pretty woman with long blonde hair looking worriedly at us from her back patio. “Fucking hell, Storm. You never said his neighbor was Bravo Tango.”
I frowned at my longtime friend. “Forget the tits and ass and let’s focus on the brother we came to see.”
Daniels just shook his head. “Drop me a clue here. Why are the two of you on my porch today? Whatever bullshit you’re selling, I’m not interested.”
