What Might Kill Us(8)

By: M.N. Forgy

I used to be a God fearing outlaw who showed no mercy.

I would walk down the street and the crowd would split like the Red fucking Sea because they were so scared of me. Now, I stumble down the street, everything in black and white, blurred, and standing still in time. I’m afraid those who once feared me, look at me with pity, watching another lost soul staggering through life.

Everyone that is close to me asks if I’m okay on a daily basis and I always reply I’m fine, because I have to. I’m the fucking President of The Devil’s Dust, I look after my people. Not the other way around.

“Bull, you think you might want to drink a glass of water? Let up a bit?” Arnold asks, sliding a dirty glass of water across the bar. Slowly I lower my head and scowl at him. He senses my aggression, his pierced brow raising as he holds his hands up in surrender. Who the fuck does he think he is, askin’ if I want a glass of water?

“How about you just give me the fuckin’ bottle of Jack like I asked for and stop tryin’ to play the good guy, hmm?” I slide my empty tumbler toward him, the glass skidding along the cracked granite, and he catches it. Shaking his head, judgement filling his face.

I lost my give a fucks on what people thought about me long ago.

Fuck him.

I pull out my smokes, taking one from the pack with my lips and light it. The smoke filling my lungs beautifully. I stare at the red ember glowing at the end of my cigarette and wonder where in my fucking life I went wrong. Is this the kind of life that is bestowed upon an outlaw?

Arnold slams a glass down, catching my attention from my cigarette.

“Take this and make it your last one,” he states sternly.

I blow smoke into his face and eye the glass of Coke and Jack in front of me.

“I didn’t ask for this, or your opinion,” I sneer. I wanted the damn bottle, not this shit.

“You’re pissed drunk, Bull, and need to go home.” Arnold crosses his arms, trying to act tough. I smirk at him. He’s young and stupid. Tough isn’t in his vocabulary. He’s about to see what tough is real fucking fast though.

“I’m not pissed drunk, stop actin’ like such a pussy,” I remark, taking a sip of my drink. It’s burn not near enough, but it’s taste fueling me to take a bigger gulp. I always want more; there isn’t enough alcohol in this world to satisfy my thirst. One that cannot be quenched as the kind of comfort I seek doesn’t come with a shot of whiskey over a bar’s counter.

I need a woman.

One to stand behind my chair when I slam that gavel down at the end of church.

One to ride on the back of my bike at the end of a long day.

One that gives as good as she takes when I’m pissed off.

I need an old lady.

The bar door opens, slamming against the wall. I lazily pull my gaze that way finding Shadow. His dark hair pulled back and blue eyes looking at me accusingly.

Jesus Christ. Why is he here?

Shadow is my daughter, Dani’s, husband. But he’s more than that. He’s the vice president of my motorcycle club too.

My fingers dig into the glass as I cut my eyes back to Arnold, I can’t believe the fucker had the balls to call Shadow like I’m some kid out past curfew. I should pull Arnold over the bar and kick his ass.

“You call my son-in-law to come pick me up, Arnold?” Disbelief high in my voice.

“Sorry man, but you’re a scary motherfucker when you drink.” He shrugs, walking away from the bar. I didn’t used to always be such an angry drunk. Life has a way of beating a fucker when he’s down though. You either grow some fucking balls and weather that shit, or lay down like a dirty rug and let life walk all over you.

Shadow slides onto a stool next to me, shifting his small ass around.

I twist the glass of whiskey in my hand, avoiding eye contact.

“You carrying?” Shadow finally speaks.

I jerk in reaction and look his way. What kind of fucking question is that?

“Of course.” I’m always packing heat. Being president of The Devil’s Dust, your enemies are always close by.

Before I know what’s happening, Shadow pulls my cut open and yanks my gun from my waistband.

I stand, pissed. Feeling disrespected. Two important rules to live by if you want to keep your teeth in my club.

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