Significance, Satan's Attitude MC

BOOK: Significance, Satan's Attitude MC
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Copyright © 2016 by Needa Warrant

All rights reserved.

 

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written consent from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

 

Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.

 

The information in this book is distributed on an “as is” basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.

 

The characters, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity or resemblance to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

 

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This book is entirely based on the imagination of the author.

 

Copyright © 2016 Needa Warrant

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

 

Published by Needa Warrant

Backrest Bytches Publishing

 

Cover Design by Tabby Coots

 

Interior Formatting/Design by Daryl Banner

Edited by Daryl Banner

 

 

 

                        Horses lend us the wings we lack.

                                ~Author Unknown~

 

 

 

 

 

 

W
hiskey sat on the barstool smoking a joint. He wasn’t drinking yet because he still had one hell of a hangover. Burying any wife was never pleasant, but his wife had been nothing but trouble. Even so, he hadn’t wished Margo to die so horribly.

Even though he’d loathed her.

He took a toke, held it in, and thought about her. Margo had been a big mistake and bigger disappointment, and he wasn’t at all upset that she was gone. The way she treated his oldest daughter Deidra was terrible, but he too was at fault. He exhaled and looked around the bar and club that he owned. It was empty because everyone but a lone prospect tending bar was at her wake, drinking and partying next-door.
Any excuse to party,
he thought grimly.

Few had really liked Margo, and even less so after he married her and she flaunted being his ol’ lady in their faces. He turned to get a look at the prospect they left him with. Books, he was called, because all he ever seemed to do was study. He attended the college where Deidra wanted to go.

He closed his eyes and thought of the wedding he was expected to be at in a few weeks. He sent his daughter to New Jersey from Maryland to escape Margo’s wrath. Shannon, his first wife, would be so disappointed in him. He promised her that their girl was going to get out of this life and, as usual, he broke that promise too.

He dropped the roach into the ashtray. When it burned down, he held a match to whatever remained. He watched the flame for a moment, then left the rest to burn out.

“Books, gimme my whiskey and a water on the side,” he called out. He heard the book snap closed, then watched closely as the prospect found his special glass and expertly filled it.

Soon, he was sipping and thinking about the past months. He tried not to think of his infant daughter at home with his niece Lacy-Jane.
Poor little thing,
he mused. What the hell was he going to do with Shanna, a baby he’d hoped would have been a son? Women flocked to him, so a replacement for Margo would be easy. However, he wasn’t feeling it anymore. The fucking, the nonstop partying … He wasn’t quite sure what was going on with him. He’d buried himself in all of that since Shannon had died of cancer, the evil disease never letting up until it finally killed her. He sipped the whiskey as he tried not to be bitter. He’d been so angry at her for dying on him.

He absently picked up a few of the salted peanuts in the bowl in front of him and shoved them into his mouth. Shannon had been the love of his life. He doubted it was possible to love again the way they had loved each other. He had never loved that bitch Margo, but he had done the right thing for his child.

Just then, the door opened and shut as he chewed. He hoped to God it wasn’t Violet Rose with one of her “girls” that she’d try to pawn off on him. He nodded when he saw it was Rebel, the national president of Satan’s Attitude MC and Violet’s ol’ man.

“You thought it was gonna be my ol’ lady trying to get you inside to party, didn’t you, Whisk?” Rebel Rose knew him well; they’d started this club together. He laughed at Whiskey’s pained expression.

“Last thing I want is Violet up my ass, Reb. She may mean well, but after that stunt with her trying to hook me up with Bebe and I ended up with Margo, tell her to keep outta my business.” Whiskey sipped his water.

Rebel laughed loudly. “Bro, she means well, but I’ll tell her to back off. Ain’t seen you look so serious since Shannon got sick. You wanna share what’s on your mind?” He grabbed a stool and sat down. “Books, gimme a beer and make sure nobody comes in here.”

Whiskey grimaced; another one of Rebel’s insightful conversations was coming. He munched some more peanuts, his boot tapping the bar rail slightly.

“The way I see it, Whiskey, is this: you’re burned out on everything. You put yourself out there for every job that you could pass by. You’re the national VP.” He grabbed a handful of peanuts and studied his friend. “You need another Shannon. Like my Violet. You need a
real
woman. It killed me until I got my ol’ lady back. You don’t do well without one.”

Whiskey kept his face blank, the very last thing he wanted was a woman. Another bitch like Margo? He scowled.

Rebel laughed. “You aren’t following me. I don’t mean a slut. I mean somebody like Shannon, a woman of significance.”

“And where do I find this … whatever you called her? Dancing in one of the dives?” He frowned at Rebel and slammed his glass down, a signal for Books to fill it back up.

As Books filled his glass, Rebel called to the prospect, “Explain what ‘significance’ means to Whiskey, kid.”

Books slid the glass and a bottle of beer in front of the two men. “You want me to explain it or read it?”

Rebel looked at him seriously. “May as well read it to him or he won’t understand. Hell, let him read it after you’re done. Whiskey, pay attention now.”

Books stood in front of them with his book, then cleared his voice. “Significance,” he read out loud. “Noun. The quality of being worthy of attention, importance.”

Rebel interrupted him. “Let him read it.” He grabbed the book and pushed it over to Whiskey, who read the words.

Whiskey slammed the book shut and returned it to Books. “Lotta good that did. I still have no idea where to find this woman.”

“Remember the words, bro. You really need to read more. I did a lotta reading when I was in prison. Kept me sane and got us where we are today. You get what I mean?” Rebel stood up and patted Whiskey on the shoulder. “Go home, bro. I’ll make sure you get some peace. Unless you feel like going on a binge with me.”

Whiskey wasn’t sure what the hell he wanted. He had three weeks to get his shit together. He was going to clean up his act and be the father he should have been for Deidra.

“Fuck it. Let’s hit the newest go-go bars and see if we find something fresh. Grab Zero and let’s do this right.”

Whiskey pulled his mahogany hair into a ponytail as Rebel shouted for their head Sargent of Arms. Zero burst through the door with a rebel yell.
Party time.
The three men grinned and headed for the door. A biker was sitting in the driver’s seat of a gold
Oldsmobile Toronado. Another group would follow them to ensure the safety of the top two members of Satan’s Attitude MC.

Violet came running out as Whiskey slipped into the backseat. Rebel and Violet exchanged words and she glared at all of them. It was a rainy afternoon and that probably helped to shut her up. She gave up and went to Margo’s wake.

Whiskey watched as they passed through neighborhoods, that word “significance” burning into his brain.
Was there such a woman out there anywhere?
he wondered. A woman that could be his soul mate… He seriously believed he’d buried that woman and there would never be another like her.

 

* * *

 

T
he next three weeks were a daze of nonstop partying. Whiskey was on a binge and he fucked, drank, and got high until he was sick to death of it. The only way to escape Rebel’s idea of partying was to plead a hangover and his daughter’s wedding. He was going to leave for New Jersey early, as soon as he recovered the pain of the last few weeks.

First he had to face Lacy-Jane, his niece … and her nagging. He stumbled into the house, well aware of her disapproving glare.

“Lacy-Jane, call Deidra and tell her I’ll be up early. Violet found some motel, so we rented the entire place.” Whiskey was avoiding her eyes.

“Whiskey, Violet has been by and she wants this baby. She is no mother, you know that. Even if Margo was her mother, Shanna’s still your daughter.” Lacy-Jane’s voice rose in volume. “I want you to promise me that you’re not fool enough to give this baby to her!”

He didn’t want to argue, but Lacy-Jane wouldn’t give up. He made it to the couch and slowly adjusted his bloodshot eyes to look at her.

“Lacy-Jane, what do you want? No bullshit, just spill it out.”

She considered her odds and went for it. “I want to live by Dee and I want to raise Shanna, far away from Violet, and give this child a chance.”

“How do you plan to support her? You’ll go back to being Calico and get on with your life if I agree?”

Whiskey considered her request carefully. He didn’t want reminders of Shanna around, but she was his child. Violet Rose was not motherly and had driven her own daughters away. It was out of the question that Violet would be raising a child of his.

Lacy-Jane looked scared for a moment and then she faced him down. “You’re a bastard to make me go back to being a person who can’t be without Stevie.”

“Honey, you’re stuck in the past. We’ve tried to get you over Stevie. You refuse, and loving him is fine, but he’s dead. You want to move with Shanna to New Jersey? Those are my terms, or Violet can raise the brat. I’ve got a fucking hangover. You want to live in Jersey, you go back to being Calico again. Is Shanna worth that much to you?” he asked cunningly. “I’ll send money up, but you dance at least three or four days a week, and you start living again. Don’t let Violet know. Do me a favor and make that call. I’m going to bed, and as soon as I feel better, I’m heading to New Jersey. You should leave early too.”

He walked by, handed her a number, and made it to his bed. He kicked off his boots and thought he was too old for partying like this.

 

* * *

 

L
acy-Jane thought about the terms Whiskey had given her. Since her parents had died, Whiskey and her Aunt Shannon had raised her just like she was their daughter. She loved the man and knew he was right. She had to stop living in the past. Images of dancing filled her head. She loved being the carefree Calico that had led her to meet Stevie. She knew deep inside he didn’t want her to mourn him like this.

Pressing her lips together, she looked down at the number Whiskey handed her. It was Deidra’s. Slowly, she dialed it, her heart pounding. It was time to live again. After speaking to Dee, she felt some relief and made herself a cup of tea. As she sipped, her mind drifted back in time.

Pictures flashed through her memory of herself as Calico, and then the wife of Stevie, who went to serve his country even though they just got married. When Uncle Sam called, the men answered, many coming home a shell of what they had been. Stevie wrote so many letters begging her to go on in case he never returned. The resentment of his death had burned a hole into her, and she knew it wasn’t healthy.

She wanted a part of him, but Stevie hadn’t wanted her to have a baby while he was away. Nobody understood how much that bothered her. He expected to come home and be part of the club and they planned on a life. She felt robbed of their dreams. It was supposed to be Stevie and Calico for life.

Just then, she heard Shanna cry and put the cup of tea down on the table. New Jersey would be a fresh start. Life would be new and different. Lacy-Jane made a promise to herself that she would try harder to live again. She really had no choice; life wasn’t going to pass her by.

 

BOOK: Significance, Satan's Attitude MC
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