BEAR O’MALLEY

Banta City owns a barely constrained madness. Underneath the posh businesses and gated mansions is the town's wicked underbelly controlled by the Backcountry Kings Motorcycle Club.

Men in offices and on golf courses make the hard decisions over who lives and dies. However, they aren't the ones with bloody, busted hands. They never know where the bodies are buried. Not that we've buried any bodies since the early 2000s.

I was a teenager when that decision was made by people still calling the shots. The club's leaders might be gray around the edges, but they've survived gang wars, drive-by shootings, and even gun-wielding ex-girlfriends.

Nothing in Banta City is nearly as slick as the gambling mecca's brochures pretend. Even our cops are extra scummy.

That's why I ride next to my club brothers, six strong, on our way to a pig-owned, southside strip club. We're meeting with the Brennan family who are members of the largest gang in the United States—the police.

Back in the day, the local badges had their fingers in everything from the hardest drugs to black-market babies. The first cop to backhand me was a sergeant whose retirement plan consisted of a brothel filled with teenage runaways.

Like many assholes in the old guard, Norton Smitty was replaced when the Kovak Syndicate took over.

Not yet road captain back then, I only earned the rank once Jumper decided to spend more time with his grandkids and a brand-new twenty-year-old wife.

Most of the club's management remains the same as when the Kovak Syndicate took over Banta City. Our club mother is still tight with Katja Kovak. Well, as tight as two devious women can be.

Like most of us around here with the O'Malley last name, Aunt Fred wasn't born with it. Her marriage to Elvis linked the O'Malley family with the Callaghan one. Though she's tight with her extended family in the hills, Aunt Fred is also a big believer in family being more than sharing a bloodline.

"Family is what your heart claims, not what you've been sentenced to," Aunt Fred told me on the first day I arrived at her farm.

She and Elvis have long run a group home for wayward boys. The state often has too many of us—wild, rude, downright incorrigible fuckers—to service. We either ended up at Aunt Fred's farm or juvenile hall.

My birth parents struggled with drugs, loving it more than each other, me, or themselves. For years, I bounced around from one loser family member to another. That's how I know I come from a long line of trash.

The foster families weren't much better. The two I stayed with were holy rollers, hoping to beat me into righteousness. They vastly underestimated my pain level and ability to hold a grudge.

As I arrive at the Happy Beaver strip club, I smile at the vivid memories of burning down those foster homes. Everyone knew I did it, yet no one could prove a damn thing.

I absolutely fucking loved to burn shit as a kid. All my rage disappeared as I watched the flames grow.

"Those flames don't care about you," Aunt Fred told me not long after I arrived at her farm and tried to burn down the barn. "We care about you. We see you. We hear you. We want you to grow to be a man. Can you want that for yourself?"

I didn't particularly care whether I lived or died by then. I was always a little bit of a nihilist. The world meant nothing. I was worthless. Might as well burn it all down.

Except Aunt Fred is magic. She often wears a soft smile as if recalling a funny joke from long ago. Her wavy, brown hair used to skim my face when she'd lean down to see me after I'd gotten my ass kicked by starting a fight I couldn't win.

"Always with your growling," Aunt Fred would tease when I was furious over something. "The farm has its very own bear."

The woman saved my life. Getting hooked on her affection and approval made me forget about burning down the world. Once I cared about her, I could no longer claim nothing mattered.

That's why I'm Bear O'Malley now rather than dead or in prison. A woman's love holds a lot of power.

However, a woman's love can also burn you up inside. I learned that the hard way with Natasha Kovak.

As we enter the strip club, I don't give the topless women a second glance. Years ago, women lost their allure. I've often wished I could settle for an ordinary chick. If I aimed lower, I'd be happy.

But I wanted someone like Aunt Fred—beautiful, smart, and with a heart strong enough to see past the world's ugly reality to its beautiful possibilities.

Instead, I've ended up with a longing in my chest where my heart used to beat.

Tonight isn't the time to nurse old wounds over the blue-eyed blonde who acted as if she might love me. Like I always assumed would happen, Natasha bailed once she witnessed the asshole hiding underneath my good-looking exterior.

As we move through the strip club, the off-duty cops don't react to our presence. We're just the muscle, and most of these assholes have hassled us out on the road before.

At my side is Tack O'Malley, who quietly sizes up targets around us. He cons a lot of people with his laid-back demeanor and soft blond looks. Plenty of fools have poked the pretty boy, only to find out he's quick to throw a punch and slow to settle down.

At my other side is Indigo O'Malley. His longish brown hair is tied back tonight, revealing scars across his jaw and throat. His dark eyes hide none of his hate for the dirty cops or the strippers wearing the same haunted gazes as the women at the local women's shelter. Though my club brother often struggles to stay focused on the problem at hand, he'll be ready to brawl if things go south.

Behind us, Golden, Pork Chop, and Claw linger back at the door, keeping watch as our club VP and Aunt Fred arrive.

Dressed in a flowered top and faded blue jeans, Aunt Fred looks like a church lady come to save our souls. She really knows how to sell the sexy grandma vibe.

Top-cop shithead, Alec Brennan, finally appears once he sees the power players enter the field. He ignores me and the other guys and goes straight to kiss Aunt Fred's ass. She offers him a sweet, almost sheepish smile as he shakes her hand.

Our club VP is her brother-in-law. Noble O'Malley might sport gray in his nearly black hair and beard these days, but time hasn't killed his ability to play the nice guy to his older brother's asshole role.

Zoot O'Malley isn't here for the same reason he doesn't go to most meetings. Our president's temper makes dealmaking impossible. He refuses to offer a smile or even a head nod to someone he doesn't like. And Zoot doesn't really like anyone.

"Come on back," Alec says and gestures to them.

Aunt Fred gives me a little nod, indicating she wants me to stick close to her. I follow after her and my VP down a back hallway. We don't stop at the strip club's office, instead walking to an empty storefront next door.

"Why did you want to meet with us?" Aunt Fred asks once she takes the offered chair.

Noble drops into the spot next to her, making the folding chair creak under his muscled build.

I stand behind Aunt Fred and stare at Alec. My gaze then washes over his handful of armed men. Most are cops. A few are local thugs. They all have Brennan blood running through their veins. Somehow, I think they believe this fact makes them important.

"The Brennans, O'Malleys, and Callaghans go way back," Alec explains and runs his hand through his short, blond hair. "Our families used to run bootleg booze together. Your pappy and my granddad did the bank job in Tempe Falls together."

"All true," Aunt Fred says, representing the Callaghan faction in this discussion. "Then, your family was smart enough to realize they could double-dip profits if they wore a badge."

Alec smiles at her compliment. "We had a good setup here in Banta City."

"Change is painful," Aunt Fred replies and gets to the point of this meeting. "Is it worth the suffering if everyone is currently getting their fair share?"

"Our bloodlines go back to Ireland. This town once belonged to people like us. Now, it's run by assholes who speak another language and come from a country I couldn't pick off a fucking map," Alec explains, barely restraining his rage. Exhaling unsteadily, he tries to put his nice-guy mask back on. "We hope to return things to its natural order."

Noble leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. He's wearing his own mask right now. For me, the pigs' play is an obvious dead end. Yet, Noble shows no reaction, and Aunt Fred takes a while to speak up.

Finally, she asks in her soft voice, "Who would live at the Thibeaux Mansion?"

"That's what you're worried about?" Alec asks, pretending to be amused yet doing little to hide his annoyance.

"Banta City's head boss has always lived in the Thibeaux Mansion. As soon as the Kovak family had their moving trucks parked in front of that house, everyone in the city knew who was calling the shots," Aunt Fred explains.

"What would we want with that gaudy piece-of-shit house?" Alec lies and looks over his shoulder at his cousin, Billy. When he returns his amused gaze to Aunt Fred, Alec asks, "Do you want it?"

Though I can't see Aunt Fred's expression, her shoulders shrug upward, and she says, "If it won't be a status symbol any longer, my oldest daughter is expecting her third child. I imagine Carys would like more space."

"Then, consider it yours," Alec replies, completely missing how he failed Aunt Fred's test. "The Brennan family only wants what was taken from us when those outsiders slithered into power."

"With our help," Noble says, and Alec's gaze hardens as it flashes to our club VP. "The Kovak family took this town with our muscle. Now, you want us to hand you the heads of the king and his princes so you can call the shots. But where does that leave the club?"

"What do you want?"

"Stability. We make money when no one causes trouble. Back when Sly Dardenne ran things, he was always in pissing matches with other crime families. Our income was constantly in flux. That hasn't been a problem with the Kovak Syndicate in charge."

Alec glares at Noble and spits out, "Is money all you care about?"

"We have a large family," Aunt Fred explains, defusing the cop's temper. "And many mouths to feed."

Alec doesn't respond immediately. I think he hoped the Irish thing would be enough to win the club's support. Except he fucked himself as soon as he claimed his family didn't want the Thibeaux Mansion.

Regaining his composure, Alec gestures to someone and tells Aunt Fred, "I brought a gift."

"We didn't get you anything," Noble mutters immediately.

"No need. You agreed to this meeting. We know you go way back with the Kovak family. There's loyalty and history there. But I think you'll like what my people can do for you."

Five minutes later, I stand over a dead troublemaker named Stitt. The fucker has been messing with the club's shit for weeks, roughing up our hookers, stealing from our dealers, and starting fires outside our businesses. We couldn't find him anywhere, and we have eyes all over Banta City. Now, the dead fuck is wrapped up in a rug.

"I hope you can see the future clearly," Alec tells Aunt Fred, yet I feel like he's really talking to Noble and, by extension, Zoot. "The situation in Banta City is in flux, and your people have been on the winning side since I was a boy. I don't see why that should change now."

Aunt Fred promises to discuss the issue with Zoot and her brothers running the Hills Chapter. Alec hears what he needs and leaves us to our body disposal.

After we move Stitt to a hearse, Aunt Fred and her escorts ride off. Noble plans to join me at the funeral home.

I consider the Kovak Syndicate's future. Mostly, I think of Natasha. I feel like she's whispering in my ear a lot today, both promising the world and betraying me in the same breath.

Once we're in the lobby of the Eternal Tranquility Funeral Home, Noble stands off to the side and makes calls. I notice his body tense. Edgy now, he signals for the rest of us to huddle with him in an office.

"The Kovak Syndicate sent out a large cleaning crew tonight. Our people saw them heading south. Whoever needs the cleanup must be important because they brought Viggo out of retirement to lead the crew."

Indigo frowns darkly, always assuming the worst. "What's the word from the Kovak family?"

"Oh, they're being really cagey," Noble says and roughly scratches at his beard. "I just gave Roman a call, but his assistant claimed he was on the floor at Verge and couldn't be bothered. Aunt Fred rang up Katja, who offered some nonsense about her grandson being sick, so she couldn't talk. Something's happening, and we're not in the loop."

"A cleaning crew could be anything," Tack offers before glancing at me.

I can't help feeling we're being set up to assume the worst. I even wonder if this cleaning-crew thing could be another ruse like Stitt's sudden need to fuck with the club. Is Alec Brennan pulling stunts to pry the club away from the Syndicate?

Noble glances at his phone, likely wanting to talk with Zoot. "Deal with the body and get the fuck out of here. Watch out for each other out on the roads. The cops are making moves. Now, the Kovak Syndicate is playing coy about who got the white-glove treatment. Assume the worst and stay alive."

An unease hangs over me hours later as I head home. Mostly, I find myself longing for the woman I lost.

I don't know why I care. Natasha and I were never anything real. We hooked up twice at the clubhouse. Our marriage was a business deal. I never proposed to her. She never told me yes. We hadn't even gone on a date.

Natasha was still the only woman to ever wind me up. I don't remember how it started. Natasha wasn't an easy woman to know.

But once those pi?a coladas hit her system at our clubhouse, she set her sights on me. Natasha was looking fine that night years ago, showing off her tanned legs, bare belly, and lovely tits. I didn't even know she was so sexy under her usually dowdy, midwestern-gal clothes.

After arriving at my Douglas fir timber–frame home, I let my Ruger Super Redhawk idle on the wide driveway. Deep down, I know I bought this house for Natasha. Even after she ran off, I figured she was bound to come back and do her family's bidding by marrying me.

Once she was mine, we'd move to this six-thousand-square-foot house. That's why I spent nearly every cent I had to buy it.

Now, I park in my four-car garage and walk inside the huge, mostly empty house. I was broke when I moved into this place. Aunt Fred threw me a housewarming party to ensure I was comfortable. She never asked why I bought such a big house. I think she understood what I was doing. The woman's always had my number.

When Natasha didn't return, I never got around to selling the house.

More than once, I've considered asking my pseudo girlfriend, Aneta, to move here. Hell, we could get married. Neither of us will ever fall for anyone else. That's why we're together. Aneta lost her man to a twenty-year stint in prison. He might be a piece of shit, but she can't love another man.

And I know I'll never truly get over Natasha. When she looked at me in the mornings after our two nights together, I saw someone who needed me to protect her. She seemed fragile, and I liked how I could be her hero.

Instead of getting my second chance with Natasha, I live in this huge house with the two cats I adopted a year ago. The male kittens were meant to fix a bad feeling I couldn't shake. My plan didn't work, but I kept them anyway.

Lobster Mac and King Crab are perfect pets for a guy like me. When I go away for entire days, they rule the house. The cats have automated food, water, and litter stations. I went overboard with the cat furniture, even installing a ridiculously elaborate cat wall in the family room.

Whenever I return home, King Crab and Lobster Mac will follow me around. I enjoy how they sleep on my bed at night. The world isn't as lonely when I hear them purring or roughhousing nearby.

Tonight, they curl up around my feet as I remain awake and replay old memories about the day my life went wrong.