Chapter Four

Minus

“ W ho the fuck do you get your weed from, Warthog? Willie Nelson?”

Cutter bellowed with laughter and smoke continued to pour from his lungs. “I forgot how funny you are when you’re not being so damned serious, Minus.” His laughter continued, and then turned to deep and violent coughing, causing him to stagger back a step. Warthog immediately sprang to his feet, taking Cutter by the elbow, helping to stabilize him.

“I’m fine, goddammit!” Cutter protested, waving Warthog off, sitting down on top of his large mahogany desk, before continuing. “I’m serious, Minus. I’m retiring and I want you to be the president of the club. ”

“You want me to be…” I couldn’t form the words needed to complete the sentence. This was fucking absurd.

“And,” Cutter looked at Cricket, “I want her to help you.”

Cricket let out a gasp as she shot me a look of pure disgust.

“Well… what do you think?” Cutter asked, his arms stretched out, ready to receive the glory for bestowing his brilliant master plan upon us.

If earlier today, you’d asked me to make a list of all the potential reasons Cutter may have asked me here tonight, him giving me his president’s patch, with Cricket by my side, would not have made the top one million possibilities. By comparison, him killing me would have made the top three. After a few stunned moments I finally managed to continue.

“ What do I think ? I think you’re out of your goddamned mind. I think those doctors examined the wrong fucking end. I think you must have brain cancer instead of colon cancer, and that it’s rotting away your ability to form logical, rational thoughts.”

“Minus!” Cricket chided.

“You stay the fuck out of this!” I snapped, causing Cricket to rise to her feet.

She jabbed her finger repeatedly into my chest like an angry woodpecker. “Don’t you ever presume that you can talk to me like that or tell me what to do, Jase Vincent. I may have put up with a certain amount of your shit when we were younger, but that’s not gonna happen now.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, stunned. I had no idea why she was pissed at me. She was the invader here. Plus, Cutter was the one that stirred up all this fucking nonsense.

“I’m not the same person I was when you left, Minus. That na?ve girl is far behind me. She’s a distant memory, and not about to feed into your ‘big swinging dick, macho, alpha asshole’ routine.”

I grinned, crossed my arms, and casually sat on the edge of Cutter’s desk so that I was eye level with Cricket. “That girl may be a distant memory, but she clearly remembers my big swingin’—”

A slap in the face I could have handled without flinching, but she hit me with a fist. A good solid fist, and she was wearing a ring. She cut me deep across the cheek, directly under my left eye. Blood poured from my face and I staggered back in surprise, throwing Cutter into a fit of laughter followed by another fit of coughing.

“He looks like something from a Monty Python sketch,” Cutter howled to Warthog between coughs.

“What the fuck, Cricket?” I applied pressure to the wound as blood ran down my forearm.

“Don’t ever talk to me like that again. In fact, don’t ever talk to me again, period .” Her eyes were burning with rage, and I’d never felt such a mixture of shame and desire before. At that moment, I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted anyone or anything in my life. I also felt wholly unworthy of her and ashamed of the way I’d treated her all night. I had been thrown completely off balance since the moment I saw her. She’d always had that effect on me and her presence here tonight, of all nights, was even more disorienting.

“Cricket, I’m sorry—”

“Save it,” she snapped, before turning to Cutter. “And you . I don’t know what your sick game is here, or how exactly you figure I fit into all this but let me assure you that I want none of it. I have my own life and my own plans, and they most certainly do not include working for misogynistic, stoner, biker, assholes.” Her face softened for a moment. “Look, I really am sorry that you’re sick and I hope you get better. Now, please don’t ever contact me again.” With that, she walked out the door, leaving the three of us silent as I bled all over Cutter’s carpet.

* * *

Cricket

I left the Sanctuary and called a car to take me home. However, in a moment of what I was sure would end up being identified as “Jase Vincent-induced insanity,” once we reached the I-5 junction, I instructed my driver to head north instead.

My hand was throbbing. It didn’t feel like I’d broken anything, but it was swelling up just enough to make removing my ring an impossibility, and to remind me of what a lunatic I was. I couldn’t believe I punched Jase in his big, dumb, beautiful face.

Arriving at my brother’s home, I stood on the porch for a few seconds, debating whether I was going to offer my life to him on a silver platter. He was going to go ballistic, and I wasn’t sure I was in the mood to suffer through a lecture.

Before I could act on any possible good sense and leave, the front door opened to reveal Hatch standing in the foyer.

“Why the fuck are you standing out here all alone?” he asked with a chuckle.

I bit my lip. “Because I don’t know if I want to come in.”

He cocked his head. “Christina, get the fuck in here.”

I took a deep breath and walked inside. Hatch locked up and took my coat, and I hugged him. I think he was surprised, because it took a minute for him to hug me back. “Okay, what’s goin’ on little sister?” he asked, his arms closing around me like a vice.

“Cutter’s dying.”

Hatch took a deep breath. “Yeah, I know.”

I met his eyes in surprise. “You do?”

He nodded. “Come on, let’s talk inside.”

I followed him into the family room where his wife, Maisie, was curled up on the sofa with my niece, Poppy, watching a movie.

“Aunty Cricket!” Poppy said, jumping up. “Oh my gosh, you look so cute.”

I grinned. She always said that. It didn’t matter what I was wearing… case in point, tonight I wore jeans and a T-shirt, with my favorite Converse Hi-Tops. Nothing special at all. “Thanks, honey. What are you watching?”

“Princess Diaries.”

“Good choice. ”

Poppy nodded. “It’s Mum’s favorite.”

I adored Poppy. She was, without a doubt, my favorite human being on the planet. Despite being a teenager, she didn’t have that angsty bitch thing goin’ on. She was genuinely sweet and had a knack for seeing the best qualities in people.

“How are you, love?” Maisie asked. “How’s work?”

“I’m good. Work’s great.” Maisie was the former owner of Mann Industries, the company I currently worked for. She got me the job before selling it and I had been promoted to the position of marketing manager. As happy as I was to be finally using the degree I’d earned, I can’t say I found too much satisfaction in my current day-to-day work life. Mostly, I was trying to parlay the experience gained through my current position to launch my own business. I just wasn’t exactly sure what market I wanted to focus on. I was profoundly grateful for my job, but there was an itch for adventure left unscratched in my life that was becoming harder for me to ignore.

“Cricket and I are gonna talk a bit,” Hatch said. “You beautiful ladies finish your movie.”

“Okay, darling,” Maisie said, kissing him.

“Say goodbye before you go, okay Aunty Cricket?” Poppy said.

“Of course,” I said, and followed Hatch downstairs to the swanky finished basement. It was an expertly designed space, decorated with antique mid-century modern furniture and artwork.

“You want a beer?” Hatch asked.

“Maybe later.”

“How did you find out about Cutter?” Hatch asked as we flopped onto the sofa.

“He summoned me.”

Hatch raised an eyebrow. “Summoned you?”

“What else do you call it when you’re called to see the king?”

“Called to see him? As in, at the Saints’ compound?” he growled. “And you went? ”

I nodded.

He scowled. “Which Dog did you take with you, so I know whose ass to chew?”

“I went alone,” I said plainly.

“Alone?” he asked, angrily.

I raised my hand and shook my head. “Grown woman here, big brother. I can handle myself and I don’t need a chaperone. Besides, none of the Saints would ever lay a finger on me, and you know it.”

“Goddammit, Cricket. The compound’s off-limits. I’ve made that perfectly fucking clear.”

“You’re not my boss, or my parole officer,” I countered.

“Cutter knows the rules and so do you, Cricket. If Crow finds out about this, he’s gonna fuckin’ lose his mind.”

Crow was the president of Hatch’s MC, the Dogs of Fire. My brother’s club treated me like family, and I loved them. The Burning Saints… not so much. There had been a long standing “bitter peace” between the two clubs, and me and Minus’s young romance didn’t help matters at all. Ultimately, it’s why Crow and Cutter made the agreement that club and family members wouldn’t darken each other’s doors. If my brothers or I wanted to see Cutter, we’d meet on neutral ground. Anywhere but either of the club’s compounds. Cutter broke the rules when he summoned me to the Sanctuary, and I’d broken them by going.

“In fairness to our uncle, Hatch, he is dying. It’s harder for him to get around in his current condition.”

“You should have talked to me first.”

“Again, brother, grown ass woman here. I don’t have to ask your permission, I’m not in your club.”

He sighed. “Fair enough.”

I bit back a smile. I loved Maisie. She’d tempered my brother and given him a sense of peace he’d never known before. We’d had a tough life. Our mother had died when I was little, then my father had been sent to prison after killing a man. Hatch had singlehandedly raised me and my three other brothers, despite being barely an adult himself. I owed him everything. But that didn’t mean I liked it when he threw out ‘maximum dad energy.’

“So, what did Cutter say?” Hatch asked.

“Well,” I paused cautiously before continuing. “Cutter wants me and Minus—”

“What the fuck?” he snapped.

“Can I please finish?” I ground out.

“Minus was there?”

“Yes, but chill,” I said.

“What could you possibly say that involves Cutter and Minus that would make me chill ?”

“Cutter wants me and Minus to take over the Club.”

“Are you fuckin’ shittin’ me?” he hissed.

“Well, he was as high as a kite, and obviously not in a healthy state of mind, but I figured you’d want to know what was going on.”

He dragged his hands down his face. “What the fuck is he up to?”

“Who knows? A dying man attempting to pass on his legacy?”

“Maybe,” Hatch said. “But why try and pass it to a guy who’s on his shit list, or you ?”

“I have no idea, but I have no intention of ever going back to the Burning Saints’ Sanctuary, talking with Cutter, or Jase “Minus” Vincent again.”

Hatch shook his head. “Fuck me, Cricket, I have no idea what to make of all this.”

“You think I do?”

He shook his head.

“Well, I don’t,” I said, rising to my feet. “And rather than waste my time trying to figure it out, I’m gonna spend the rest of my evening hanging with my niece and sister, so how ’bout that beer?”

He chuckled. “Comin’ right up.”

“And ice,” I added.

“The beer’s been in the fridge. It’s plenty cold,” Hatch replied.

“No, the ice isn’t for my beer. It’s for my hand.”

“What did you do to your hand?” he asked .

“Nothing big, I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now, I just want to unwind.”

I grinned and led my brother up the stairs and back into the family room, where me, my IPA, and my ice pack settled in next to Poppy to watch the rest of the movie. Well, Hatch and Maisie snuggled close until Maisie fell asleep, but Poppy and I managed to make it until the end credits . After the day I’d had, I decided to crash on their couch.

* * *

Minus

“Well, that could’ve gone better,” Cutter said, as he walked around his desk, opened the bottom drawer, and produced a bottle of Jim Beam and small black medical bag. The type old timey doctors took on house calls back in the day. “There should be some bandages and ointment and shit for your face in here. You can use my bathroom to clean up,” he said, handing me the bag and motioning to the bathroom door.

“Cutter, what the fuck—”

“Just get cleaned up and meet me out there with the others. Just don’t take too long. You and I can talk about all this later. I’ve got to go talk to the club, and tell them what’s going on, but for now, let’s just keep this little conversation between us.”

Little conversation? Was he out of his fucking gourd?

I nodded, and Cutter exited the office with Warthog in tow. I went to the bathroom mirror and got my first good look at my latest war wound. The minute I stopped applying direct pressure to the cut, blood would pour from my face. I was most definitely in need of stiches, and Cutter’s black bag had everything I needed, so I got to work.

Cricket was right to belt me, and I was happy to know that she was an even stronger person than when I’d last seen her. Acting the way I did tonight, she’d never believe how much I’d changed over the years myself. After the way she stormed out, I’d probably never get the chance to tell her how sorry I was. For now, the sting of the suture needle would have to serve as my penance.

With Cutter’s whiskey serving as both antiseptic and pain killer, I got to work. When I was done, the bathroom looked like a crime scene. My shirt was soaked in blood, and after finding a Harley T-shirt in Cutter’s desk drawer, I stripped it off and tossed it in the trash. I put my kutte back on, and with four crooked stiches and a whiskey buzz, I was ready for the ball.

“Holy shit, it is Minus!” a familiar voice called out as soon as I opened Cutter’s office door. Apparently, my presence at the clubhouse had not gone unnoticed.

“Hey, Grover. Long time, brother,” I said, greeting my old friend with an arm-wrestle handshake. Grover was one of the five I rode with back in the day including Clutch, Ropes, and his younger brother, Sweet Pea.

“I can’t believe it’s actually you, man. A bunch of guys said they saw you come in earlier… holy shit, bro! What the fuck happened to your face?”

I deflected his question with one of my own. “Hey, have you seen Cricket around anywhere?”

“Cricket Wallace? No man. Why?”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “She was here just a little while ago.”

“No, I haven’t seen Cricket in… no way! Did she do that to your face?” Grover was grinning like the cat that ate the canary, and then went back for the rest of its family. “You’ve been in town for five fuckin’ minutes and you’re already up causing trouble? You’d better steer fuckin’ clear of Cutter, buddy.”

“Me and Cutter are good, for now I guess,” I replied.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Grover asked.

“Tell you what, Grover. I’ll let you know when I know. Now, where’s everyone else?”

“They’re in the great room. Come on, man, let’s go see what the fuck’s going on. God damn, it’s good to see you back home, brother,” Grover said, one arm draped around me as we walked down the hall to the great room.

As we joined the group of already assembled Saints, the floor shook with three loud thumps, immediately causing a hush among the rowdy crowd. Not a single Saint moved, or even dared blink. This was tradition among brothers. A sign of respect. Every Saint present knew the sound of these blows came from Red Dog’s staff.

“Many years ago, our brother Red Dog laid down his life for this club.” Cutter’s voice boomed as he broke the silence, staff raised high. “All of you in this room have heard of him, and what he did in sacrifice for his club. Some of you rode with him. A few of you, like me, were there when he died. Red Dog’s staff is a symbol of what it means to be a member of the Burning Saints Motorcycle Club. A totem which symbolizes what it means to lay down your very life in service to your club and your brothers. Red Dog’s staff is also a symbol of assembly. So, with this staff I officially call this meeting to disorder!”

The staff struck the floor, three more times, causing the room to erupt in cheers, howls, and breaking bottles.

“Alright, you filthy fucking animals, calm down,” Cutter said, and the room began to hush. Warthog brought Cutter a high barstool and took the staff from him.

The staff had started its life as a county hospital crutch Red Dog needed after he broke his leg in a crash. Over the years, it had been spray-painted, covered in blood, decorated, and adorned with all manner of biker paraphernalia. The crutch was eventually modified, including extending and reinforcing the base, and once he’d died, affixing Red Dog’s actual skull on top. No one was sure how the club had obtained Red Dog’s skull, but there were many rumors and stories on the subject.

“I know you’re probably wondering why the fuck I’ve gathered us all here tonight. I also know that you’ve all been gossiping like a bunch of bitches since I called the meeting, so I won’t torture you with the suspense any longer,” Cutter said to laughs all around. Cutter didn’t laugh, though. He kept direct eye contact with every Saint in the room. Making sure he felt a connection to each one of them before continuing. “Brothers, the time has come for me to hang up my riding gloves. I’m retiring as president of the Burning Saints.”

A wave of low murmurs washed through the room. Clutch shot me a look that let me know he had no idea this was coming. Cutter wasn’t bullshitting. He’d kept this information close to his kutte. I shrugged back at Clutch, unable to do anything else. I didn’t understand what the hell was going on any more than he did. Hell, I was probably even more confused. Why would Cutter intentionally keep his Sergeant at Arms in the dark about his condition, and then try to give me, someone he’s barely spoken to in years, the President’s patch?

“That’s not all,” Cutter continued. “Due to some serious health issues, I may not be with you brothers for much longer. As it turns out, I don’t have a whole lot of road ahead of me.”

“Bullshit, Cutter! Can’t nothin’ kill you!” a Road Captain named Wolf shouted, with cheers from the crowd.

“I appreciate that, boys, I do, but I’m afraid it’s true. I don’t have long and I’m too sick to ride. We all know the code. If you can’t ride, you can’t hold office, so it’s time for the staff to go to someone else. Normally, that person would be the club’s VP, but we all know that Big Frank here is a lazy bastard and would do a horrible job,” Cutter said, to laughs all around. “Plus, apparently he’s worn out his knees doing… God knows what.”

The crowd laughed again as Big Frank raised his hands in mock resignation. I laughed too, but my head was throbbing. Partly from Cricket’s right cross, but mostly from the mental strain of trying to figure out what the fuck was going on here.

The crowd of assembled Saints murmured among themselves as they too processed the news. This was a big deal in our world. Cutter wasn’t only our president, but the club’s founder, and a change in leadership at this level clearly meant huge changes for the club itself. Knowing all of this made our earlier conversation even more puzzling. Cutter and I had never agreed completely about the future of the Burning Saints. I felt the club’s rules and policies were archaic and going to get us all killed, and Cutter made it clear that my input on such matters was not wanted. I countered, he exiled me to Savannah.

Cutter fixed his gaze directly on me, causing me to sweat through my borrowed t-shirt, before saying, “I’ll announce who Red Dog’s staff will be going to very soon. I’ll be meeting with the presidents of the Savannah and Florida chapters soon, but I wanted to tell you all face-to-face, beforehand. Please rest assured that I have this club’s best interest in mind, and that I will continue to serve and protect this club until my dying day. I love every one of you brothers and it’s been an honor to ride with you.”

Warthog raised his beer and shouted, “To our commander and chief! Long live President Cutter!” and the place went ape shit.

The next several hours contained some of the most violent debauchery I’d ever seen at any club gathering. Ladies showed up, as did a few cases of the good stuff. The Saints were in a state of mourning, and sex, booze, drugs, and rock and roll were gonna help ease the pain, even if it killed them. I spent most of the evening catching up with old friends and matching them shot for shot…for shot. I don’t normally drink in order to get obliterated, but I was bound, and fucking determined to do everything in my power to erase this nightmare of a day.