To my left is the Demon’s Fury clubhouse. They are a motorcycle club that anyone who has a damn brain stays far away from. I’ve always been curious though. It’s hard not to be when the impressive row of bikes out front scream danger.
It’s badass.
I’ve thought about going in there and talking to them. I don’t know how they bring on members. Is there a fee? Is there hazing? What do I need to do?
Maybe with them, I’d find purpose.
“Yeah, right. You? Get a grip, Wesley. Like you’ll ever amount to anything anymore,” I say to myself. I press on the gas pedal when the light turns green and slowly drive by them since the speed limit is twenty miles an hour.
I turn my head and watch the bikers as I pass. A few are outside with women at their sides, which I envy, and a few are smoking. They have on leather cuts which look fucking cool. I want one, but I know I’d be up to no good if I joined them.
Sliding my eyes to the road, I catch sight of movement out of the corner of my eye. A woman is struggling with a man. They are at the corner of the clubhouse, away from everyone and in the dark alleyway. I slow down to get a better look and that’s when I notice it’s my sister.
My sixteen years old sister, Taylor.
“Oh, fuck no,” I growl and whip into the parking lot so fast my tires squeal.
I fucking knew she’d end up with someone that’s trouble because she’s too damn naïve for her own good. She’d take anyone’s hand and follow them through hell if they said she’d be okay.
The guy grips her by the hair, and she cries out, then he yanks her deeper into the alley where I can’t see them anymore. I only know it’s her because of her long, curly brown hair, and the damn red boots she likes to wear so much. I park at the end of the alley and the headlights shine down the darkened path.
Trashcans line the side and wooden pallets are leaned against the wall. He has her pinned on the ground and is slapping her face with the back of his hand. I'm the only one that can hear her screaming for help since the rest of the bikers are down at the front entrance blaring music.
I honk the horn a few times and reach into my bag for my baseball bat. No one fucking touches my sister. I get out of the truck and charge at him with my bat. I don’t even give him time to say anything.
I swing.
The bat slams against his back with a loud thud and a painful groan leaves him. The biker falls off Taylor and rolls to the ground.
I take the split second to take Taylor’s hand and pull her up. Then push her toward the truck. “Go Taylor,” I tell her.
“He didn’t mean it, Wesley! He loves me. He said he loves me. Leave him alone.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I sneer at her. “Get in the fucking truck. Now!” I yell and she flinches, which has guilt stirring in my gut. “He doesn’t love you. He’s just some fucking creep praying on young girls.” I stare at her busted lip and swollen eye; the bruise forming on her cheek and her torn shirt and lift the bat again. “Get in the truck.”
“Wesley don’t hurt him. Please. I love him.”
The biker gets to his feet and chuckles darkly. “Aw, Wesley, we were just having a little fun.”
The headlights disappear for a second and I turn around to see five other Demon’s Fury members standing behind me.
Oh, if I go down, I’m going down swinging.
“You okay, kid?” one of the bikers asks her.
“Hey, don’t you fucking talk to her! She’s sixteen you disgusting fuck.” I lift my bat again and he holds up his hands, telling me he is innocent.
Innocent my ass.
“No harm here. I have never seen her before, and I didn’t know she was underage. Spike, what the fuck? You know better than to do that.”
“Prez, look at her. She’s so fucking hot. She’s just a piece of—”
I don’t let the asshole say another word. The bat connects to his face and a few teeth are knocked loose and fly from his mouth. I should stop, but I’m furious. I’m pissed at him, pissed and concerned about my sister, and mad for myself.
Lifting the bat to my shoulder, I swing again and connect it to his knee. A loud crunch sounds and Spike cries out as his knee buckles. The bikers behind me make a painful groan of their own.
“You hear that?” someone asks, but I’m not paying attention. I swing again.
“It’s a whistle from his swing,” another says.
“Look at Whistler go,” the Prez sounds impressed.
Like I care.
I don’t stop hitting him.
I’m sweating. I’m exhausted, but no one is stopping me. They are letting me get my revenge. I take one last swing and I put every ounce of strength I have in it.
The bat cracks in half when I make contact with his head and I know, I just know, that I’ve killed him.
My sister is wailing behind me, her cries are all I can hear through the rage. My chest heaves and I turn around, holding what’s left of the bat. “Who’s next?” I ask, wiping the sweat off the top of my lip.
Prez, which according to his patch means President, takes a step forward. A few guys walk around us, grab the body, and hurry behind the back of the building to dispose of it somehow. I hope. Unless they are turning me in.
“No one is going to touch your sister, Whistler. We don’t deal with that shit here and you took care of a problem I’ve been meaning to take care of for a while.”
I toss the bat onto the ground and push through the bikers, uncaring if it is disrespectful. I’m sure the full panic of what I’ve just done will hit me later, but right now, adrenaline is creating a fearless person inside me, and I want to live in it for as long as possible.
“So?” I say, heading toward Taylor.
I lift her into my arms as she cries, and she lays her head on my shoulder. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” she sobs. “You were right.”
“I’m sorry.” I mean it. I don’t like being right when it comes to men hurting her. She’s so young and she’s got a different boyfriend every weekend. She wants love so much, but doesn’t realize that she will have it one day when she’s older.
I set her in the truck carefully and slam the door.
“Kid, you want to prospect?” the Prez asks as I walk around to the driver’s side.
“Not if your guys are like that piece of shit.” I open the door and Prez’s hand shoots out to close it before I can get in.
I grind my teeth together, trying not to beat the hell out of him for stopping me.
“You’ve got a lot of balls on you, kid. I could use you in the club. We might not walk the straight and narrow road but underage girls are where we draw the line. Spike was a shithead. He was a part of a different crew, and we absorbed some of the members. He was the last one. The rest were just as bad.”
“What’s that say about you as a leader?” I question him.
“Says I got a long way to go, but I’m growing, which is all anyone can do.”
“Fine, but my sister isn’t allowed anywhere near here. She’ll fall for all the damn bullshit, and I won’t let any of you touch her.”
“I think you proved that. Everyone here will only protect her,” he vows.