The Rising Sons Motorcycle Club (3 page)

Bear loved making people wait. He watched their reactions closely, gaining a bit of perspective about their character. It told him how they would handle themselves under pressure, showed their temper, and it was plain fun. He heard his brothers shifting on either side of him. He took special note at how she stood unmoving before him.

Besides her eyes widening in anticipation of the question, she waited. He was lucky he didn't make a bet, because he would have lost. He didn't think she was nearly the woman she made herself out to be. There were tinges of admiration forming in his mind. Her six months of hazing as a prospect had been more grueling than most, but she’d borne it and never once complained.

Surprised, Bear spoke. "What's your test of loyalty?"

Raven didn't know how to respond. She was waiting for the test to be presented to her, not the other way around. Her eyes traveled from member to member, even lingering at her brother’s face. There were no answers looking back at her. She didn't have the answer, either. "I don't understand the question." Her tone gave the impression she was under control.

Bear thought her tone sounded a little too military. "Am I speaking French? Or maybe fuckin’ Mexican?" He wasn't getting frustrated, but he was good at playing frustration. It was another way to test the people around him. Pushing someone to their limits was one thing. Seeing the reaction to another pushed to their limits was just as helpful.

"Here's how it works, darlin’. There ain't no cut-and-dry test here. You gotta prove yourself to us, not the other way around. Pitt's gonna tell you how he passed the test, maybe Andy, too, but don't just fuckin’ copy them, little girl. You show us something original; something to prove you’re worthy of being a Rising Son."

Bear turn to his left. The youngest Rising Son was near the end of the semicircle. After being called out, his eyes went wide. He looked more afraid than Raven, even though he was already in. Disgust rose in her throat at the fact that she was still a prospect while someone like Pitt was a full member.

She thought he was foolish, impulsive, and stupid. He was the kind of guy that got people hurt—or worse. He had no original ideas and barely enough muscle to be useful. She found it disrespectful that they weren't in opposite places, but she was patient. It wouldn't be long before she was in control.

Pitt stepped forward. He looked like the new kid at the beginning of the school year: lost and fully prepared to embarrass himself. He cleared his throat. Raven wanted to roll her eyes more than anything in the world. She held it together and waited for him to speak.

"So, um, my uncle works for a liquor distributor." He looked around the semi-circle. "You guys know that. Anyway, some of his delivery guys had been running into trouble on their routes. There's a main distribution center here in Bakersfield. He and I made a deal that the Sons would ride protection on some of the routes out of Bakersfield. In exchange, the Bandoleros gets stocked for free."

A smile grew on Pitt's face. He knew he had done right, and he knew it had gotten him in. "So twice a week, two of the Sons follow two different shipments in case the Mexicans or some small beans club tries to knock them over. In return, we’re getting, like, four grand a week in free booze."

Pitt may have been an idiot, but Raven had to admire the idea. It was traditional, easy, and benefited the club. She was sure the Rising Sons didn't go through anywhere near four grand in alcohol. She chalked it up to his lack of brains, but gave him some credit for at least recognizing a good deal.

As Pitt got back into his place in the circle opposite Raven, Bear slapped him on the shoulders in congratulations. "Pitt understands the importance of family. Some family, like his uncle, you're born with. But there's another type of family; maybe even more important. There's the type of family you are chosen to join. You know that saying, ‘you can't choose your family?’ ”

Bear took a step toward the woman, building to a point. It wasn't intimidation, it wasn't fear, it wasn't even showmanship. Bear needed Raven to understand the dire importance of loyalty. "What if you could choose your family? What if you could pick and choose the best of the best? Those with talents, those with strengths. You'd have the strongest family, and the strongest families survive." He looked around at the men he had handpicked over more than twenty years.

"This is the strongest family. This is the best of the best, and when you prove that you are worthy of joining the best, you can call yourself a Rising Son. Raven Masters, when you can come back in front of this group and prove your loyalty, you are free to move on to the second test."

Raven's heart raced. It wasn't fear—that was an emotion she rarely felt. It was the challenge driving her. Her mind was blank, and she didn't have a clue how to prove her loyalty. It didn't matter. She had her mission, and she had everything she'd learned in twenty seven tough years.

Bear looked around, the wide smile of a leader on his face. "I think this meeting is officially over, so you are free to drink and whore as you wish." The drinkers and whorers in the group cheered.

"Tanner, I need you to stick around. You and me gotta have a sit down." Some of the men were already walking past Bear as he spoke, but Raven's blood brother was still standing in his place. For the six months that Raven had been a prospect, Bear and Tanner had spoken often. He never told his sister what they talked about, and she never asked. It was understood between the two of them that it wasn't her business to know.

It's just another test
, she told herself. Another part of the loyalty test that had been going on for six months. Raven had everything going against her. No woman had ever joined the Rising Sons. She knew they wouldn't make it easy for her to be the first. Everything was a test. Every question was deliberate, every bit of hazing was planned, and everything that happened with Raven's brother was a psychological experiment.

She headed behind the bar, returning to her prospect duties. Step one of the initiation process had begun, but until step three was complete she was still a prospect, and that meant tending bar, among other things. Before acknowledging the seven bikers that had sat down on barstools, she hunched down to make sure the two taps were connected and ready to flow. Her mind raced as she served, wiped, and refilled.

On a normal night, Raven could hold her own with the bikers. Dirty jokes or war stories—it didn't matter. Raven knew all the dirty jokes, and she had war stories that could turn some of the old-timers’ stomachs. That night was different, though. Her body was on autopilot while her thoughts was elsewhere.

She mused on the first test: loyalty. Bear had made it about as vague as possible. As she looked around at the faces of the family she was trying to join, Raven wondered what others have done to prove their loyalty. She could only guess. She knew the initiation process was never discussed with prospects.

As she refilled Cecil's rock glass with bourbon, she tried to think of his loyalty test. With knuckles covered in permanent scars from equal parts wrenching and fighting, she could only assume that his loyalty test had involved spilling blood. Cecil and Clyde had served time with Bear before the club started. They had all been bikers on the outside, and they became brothers on the inside.

After an hour of solid service, Raven took a quick break. She could feel the sweat on her lower back from the heat of the bar, and she was dying for some cool night air. Her mind was reeling.

As she sat leaning against the back wall of the bar, she dragged on a cigarette. She replayed Bear’s speech in her head, looking for clues. Family, brotherhood, loyalty. The vibration of her phone pulled her out of the deep thoughts that were getting her nowhere.

She had a text waiting for her.
What time you off 2nite?

Her arm dropped to the pavement and she let out a sigh. Her cop friend was getting on her nerves. She had made it clear to Allan that she was an independent woman, and that she didn’t see their friendship going anywhere else. He didn’t get it, though.

She stared down at the text, deciding if she would even respond. With the cigarette almost pointing straight down from her lips, a thought began stirring in her mind; she had a desire burning inside of her. Not for Allan, though.

She was about to text him back when she heard the crash deep inside the bar behind her.

“Jesus...” She flung what was left of the cig and pushed herself standing. She heard a fight erupting just past the kitchen. She stormed through, wondering which of the hotheads was causing trouble this time. She usually put her money on Gunner. He was a younger member of the club and fresh out of the Marines. He was a fan of whiskey, and it made him a fan of fighting.

She pushed through the swinging door to try and see what was going down. Two of the regulars, but not Rising Sons, were wrestling on the floor. A crowd had gathered around them, some cheering on, others just watching the spectacle. One of the bikers was on his back and the other was straddling him, raining down punches.

Dinner and a show,
Raven thought. Until Bear’s old lady and a few waitresses showed up, she was in charge of the bar, meaning the fight was her responsibility.

“All right, break the fuck up.” She grabbed the top biker by the shoulder, trying to pull him off. Without looking, the biker threw a fist at her, catching Raven in the jaw. She felt her knees go weak. Her vision flashed white in an instant and began to fade fast. She grabbed the bar to steady herself as her hearing joined the protest.

Taking a deep breath and blinking the hard hit away, Raven stood up fully, shaking off the pain. She touched the left side of her lower jaw, confirming the cut she suspected. She took a running start and tackled the biker that had punched her.

The crowd backed up as the strong blonde lowered her shoulder and ran full-steam into the biker. The pair tumbled out toward the dance floor. As if it was choreographed, all the members of the impromptu audience moved out of the way. The biker was stunned. He pulled himself onto all fours, but by then Raven was already up and coming at him, again. Before he could recover and get off his hands and knees, Raven kicked him hard in the ribs.

Earl McFadden’s body lifted off the floor before dropping flat. He writhed, his hands clutching his chest. He let out a pathetic whine, the fight kicked out of him completely. He looked to his left and saw the engineer boots coming toward him again. He had no idea who the bitch was that had tackled him, but he wanted to pound her face into the dirt. He might have done it, too, if he could just catch his damn breath.

With the wind knocked out of him, he didn’t know that there were three cracked ribs that were going to ache for months. Earl knew he couldn’t stand up and fight her, so he reached for his boot. As she got closer, he yanked at his jeans to get at the knife sheathed there.

He pulled it out with his right hand, trying to keep it concealed from the woman. The pain was covered by the adrenaline from the fight against his brother-in-law, and Earl knew he had one good swing left in him, and the swing was intended for the nosy bitch who couldn’t mind her own business.

Earl brought the knife up with youthful speed, extending his arm as far as he could, hoping to bury the blade in the cunt’s gut. He may have been nearing fifty, but there was still a high school all-star buried deep inside him. Even after all those years, the movement felt natural.

Raven caught a flash of light in the man’s hand. She jumped back, her arms stretched out to keep her balanced and on her feet. The blade missed her by an inch at the most. As she moved her body to the side, the older biker lost his balance and fell forward, his blade hand pushing against the floor to keep him somewhat upright. She brought her foot down hard on his hand, sparing
no mercy.

Earl let out another agonizing scream that was nothing more than a wheeze. The pain of broken bones in his hand couldn't be covered by any amount of adrenaline. He let go of the knife and the bitch kicked it away from him. He had nothing left, so he crawled toward the door. His right hand was clutched to his chest, his middle finger broken and twisted in an inadvertent “fuck you.”