Page 11 of Broken Cracks
“Easy, it’s not worth it, and it’s not going to end well. Come back in the room, Psych. Breathe,” Sledge commands in an easygoing tone. He was present when I stabbed a backstabbing dealer ten times. I couldn’t stop—that’s the treatment you receive if you mess with my brothers.
“Don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen to Isabella. We ain’t leveraging her. I’m in charge here. Chill, Psych,” Slash informs me on the other side of my ear. His words bring me all the way back from the brink as the jumbled fragments of my messy mind glue back together.
Snatch jumps in with information. "I talked to my brother; he's sitting on the Savage's trap house from midnight to seven AM."
Slash narrows his eyes at Bull, who's tucking his leathers together. "So yeah, not as stupid and immature as you think. We have a solid plan, and wewillmove it forward. Your proposed plan is not an option, Bull." Slash confirms, holding conviction, and I’m feeling claustrophobic, needing air before I pounce on the old man again.
"Sir, yes, sir!” Bull lashes back in sarcasm. “I see you’ve decided you're no longer a patch, and you found yourself a new seat. Let us know when you're done playing, son, and the seat can go to its rightful owner." Bull licks his lips as he puffs out his chest.
Slash locks eyes onto Bulls, grabbing the gavel and with force pounds it. "Church is adjourned."
I stand up itching to take another run at Bull. I walk in time to meet him at the door, but one of the prospects is standing my way. Bull lets him pass and the pointy end of his elbow connects sharply with mine. I’m seconds away from tightening him up, but Slash yells at me snapping me out of my fighter energy.
“Psych! I need you to stay behind for a minute.”
Bull’s cigarette breath hits me as his blood shot eyes probe into mine. “That’s what I thought, boy. Don’t forget where you came from.” He slams his palm on the door frame on the way out with one last cutting glance, storming out. It takes every ounce of strength to find the light in me and stay in the room. Shaking out my legs as the guys file out, Slash points to the cracked door.
“Close the door, Psych.” I shut it and sit down.
“Hey man. I wanna talk to you for a minute.”
I pinch my fingers together and speak through gritted teeth. “This close Slash, this close to snapping his neck like a chicken wing.”
Slash nods his head. “I saw it. I feel you, but look… I think the best move is to take Isabel up out of here. Discretion is needed. She can’t be seen. We can’t go with Bull’s plan, that’s a bunch of dick-slinging shit Bull is doing.Fuck him.” Slash’s voice is full of cracks, and for a minute I can put myself into his shoes. He’s got a lot riding on getting these drugs back and master Bull is waiting for him to cave under the pressure.
“It’s not the way of the club, Bull should be working with you man. The fuck is up with him?”
“You know what’s up. He wants the seat. Plain and simple, but he ran with my father, I don’t get why he’s against every decision I make. I lost my fucking father too!”
“That’s what the fuck I’m saying. He’s on some other type of time. Some fucked up ego trip like you said. He’s not pimping Isabella.”
“You’re right, but I’m fighting my own. That was my father, not his. My own blood! The only person who gets that is Fi, but she’s underage. It’s the right decision, vengeance is mine, I’m out for blood.”
“I got your back.” I say, back to my deadly calm state.
“Good to hear. You alright?” He asks, hiking up an eyebrow.
“Yeah, good. I’m sorry Axe isn’t here man. He was like a father to me too, I miss him.”
“Me too. Every fucking day, I sure hope he can point us in the right direction.” Slash pulls out his silver cross as it reflects in the light and kisses it.
Chapter Seven
Isabella
Psych has been gone for over an hour, and I want him to come back. He’s the only one making me feel secure right now. I’ve tried to sleep more, but I’m worried about the cartel coming after the club. I get up to stop my plagued mind. There’s not much in Psych’s room except his clothing. His jacket with its patches on the back fascinates me.
I run my fingers over the embroidered wings, wondering how he found his. His jacket emits his essence, a strong manly scent, infused with a trace of Marlboro cigarettes and fresh soap. I take it off the back of the chair and bring it to my nose, inhaling part of him. I place the jacket back down. I trace my eyes up; taped on the back wall is a small polaroid with a heavy crease through it.
In the sepia photo is a woman standing with her hand on the shoulder of each of her children. She has a wide smile and long hair. I recognize the girl on the left to be his sister as a pang of sadness hits my belly, reminding me I’m now an orphan. I step back from the picture, not wanting to stir up fresh emotions.We’ve both endured in this world and we’re only trying to survive the best way we know how.
The door creaks and my pulse quickens. Since the other biker guy knocked on the door, I don’t know who it might be, so I hold my breath for a minute until I see it’s Psych.
His mood’s not the same as when he left—his head is down, and he won’t make eye contact, even though his presence brings a smile to my world.
Frowning in confusion at his lack of connection, I ask, “Did something bad happen at the meeting, Damon?”
“It’s all good, I just need a minute, that’s all.” I watch as he enters the bathroom, hearing the water run. He’s washing his face and his cold, withdrawn energy tells me it’s not all good.