The Lynyrd Skynyrd blasting from inside of Bear’s room changed to Johnny Cash, and in the millisecond of silence between songs, I heard a slight commotion inside, like furniture scraping against the floor. “So fucking shoot me!” I called back over my shoulder. “Seriously man, if you don’t turn around, I got to shoot you or they’ll shoot me.”
“Stupid little shit,” I muttered, heading toward Bear’s room. “What are you afraid of more? Him killing you? Or not getting your patch?” “Patch, ’course,” Thor scoffed, scrunching his nose. Prez is going to kill me, and worse than that, I’ll never get my patch!” He doesn’t come out except to grab another bottle and buy blow from Wolf. He’s been holed up in his room, rotating the BBBs in and out. The kid’s eyes went wide as I stared him down. “What the fuck does your VP think of that order?” I asked, crossing my arms across my chest. He said you ain’t one of us so you can’t be coming round here no more, and I smoked a joint and I got fucked up and I totally fucked up. I ain’t supposed to let you in here no more. What the fuck do you want?” I asked him harshly. “I ain’t got time for you to learn how to breathe again, kid.
“Stop!” he shouted, coming to a breathless halt in front of me, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. When I turned around, the skinny kid from the gate was running toward me. I jumped from the passenger seat and headed to the courtyard. I drove in and parked next to Bear’s bike, leaving the keys in the ignition and the door wide open. I pulled up to the clubhouse and the skinny prospect manning the gate, a little shit they called Thor, stood from his ripped bar stool to slide open the gate.
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