Biker's Claim(5)

By: B. B. Hamel

That didn’t last very long, of course. I was back in the clubhouse within a week.

“I hear you’ve been talking to that new girl,” he said to me.

I shrugged. “She’s nice.”

“I hear she’s been talking about the war.”

“Hard not to, since everyone else is.”

He gave me a look. “Janine. Be careful. We don’t know her yet.”

I sighed, smiling. “Come on Dad, you know me. I’m a good judge of character. I told you Caralee would be worth keeping around, didn’t I?”

He grunted. “Yeah. That worked out fine. Still, be careful what you tell her.”

“I haven’t told her anything,” I said. “Actually, I told her not to talk about it.”

“Good.” He leaned back in his chair, and I could see the stress clear as day on his face. “You heard about the shipment?”

“Sara mentioned it, sure.”

“That’s a real pain in the ass,” he said. “A real pain. This war is getting worse and worse every day.”

“What happened?”

“Mezcals squeezing our drug supply from the south; that’s all,” he said. “Not something we didn’t expect. Still inconvenient.”

The Demons were involved in all kinds of business transactions. They owned a few real businesses, the clubhouse bar included, but for the most part they dealt in drugs and guns. They bought the drugs from South America in bulk and distributed to dealers throughout the Austin area. It was a good business and was one of the big reasons the Demons were able to grow as large and as strong as they had.

Part of that business was built on a good working relationship with the Mexican gangs, especially the Mezcals. But the past few weeks had shown that the Mezcals were done playing nice and had officially taken the side of the Snake Spit MC.

“What are you going to do?” I asked him.

He rubbed his temples. “Sorry. Don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“You know you can tell me these things, Dad.”

“I know, honey,” he said, “but this isn’t for you to worry about.”

“Club business,” I said, smiling.

“Yeah,” he grunted, grinning. “Club business.”

I stood up, stretching. “Tell me what the plan is for the war, at least,” I said.

“We got some ideas,” he said slowly. “Some stuff I’ll talk to you about soon. Important stuff.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why not tell me now?”

“It’s not finalized, and I don’t want to lay it on you just yet.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

“Head home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Night.”


I walked out of his office, curious. He usually told me what was going on with the club, if at least just to have someone to talk to about it. He knew where my loyalties were, and he knew I would never tell the other boys anything he said to me.

But that was the first time it felt like whatever he had to say had something to do with me directly. It was strange, and I couldn’t shake it.

I left the clubhouse and found my car. I drove a little Mustang Shelby GT, a beautiful old car that Larkin gave to me when I turned twenty. I fired up the engine and headed home.

I lived alone in a little apartment just outside downtown Austin. It was a fun area, full of young people, although I didn’t feel like I belonged. They were all college kids, and I never went to college. I graduated high school, but mostly because Larkin forced me to.

Otherwise, I took care of myself. I didn’t need school and didn’t much care about it. I had a job and I had the club. So far, that had been enough for me.

I was just like everyone else involved with the Demons. The club was my life, and my life was the club.

I tossed my keys onto my kitchen table as I walked into my little apartment and smiled at its familiar smallness.

“Club before everything else,” I whispered to myself and headed to bed.



A phone rang early, too damn early.

I woke up, my head foggy, and grunted.

The phone just kept ringing.

“Shut that thing off,” I said to the girl in my bed.

She shook her head. “It’s yours, baby.”

“Oh shit,” I said, realizing she was right. I quickly grabbed my phone and flipped it open. “Yeah?”

“Clutch.” I recognized the voice instantly: our club president, Larkin. “I need you to come in early.”

“Okay, prez,” I said. “How early?”


“Okay,” I said, getting up. “Be there in ten.” I hung up the phone.

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