Page 3 of Bolt (Iron Thunder MC 1)
As Sergeant of Arms, I’d be the one who’d have to strip this guy of his Club membership. Before anything else, the whole MC would have to vote on how we wanted to deal with the situation. If he only got stripped of his membership, he’d be getting off easy. There were at least a hundred other severe punishments I could think of that the MC might deem worthier.
Selling our shipment off to our rivals was unforgivable; what had this fucker been thinking? That he’d never get caught? That none of us would find out? Had he done something like this before?
I had a million questions for him, but wasn’t sure if I’d get to ask him any of them. The MC was going to go on an immediate bloodlust the moment they brought this guy in. I could see it on their faces; they were triggered and weren’t going to let this guy get off lightly.
I walked into the bar, straight past the drinking and the pool table and all the people still hanging about at this time of the night. At the back, in the clubhouse, I could see all our men gathered in Drax’s office. They’d formed a tight circle around him and turned to see when I walked in.
“Glad you could join us,” Drax grunted.
“Sorry, I was at home. Sleeping. Flash called me,” I said.
He nodded. As President of the Club, he had a big responsibility on his hands; he’d have to keep the rest of us in check, making sure none of us did anything wild—despite the circumstances.
I looked around at the faces of the others in the room, trying to figure out who it was coming under the chopping block.
Maybe they didn’t have him here yet.
Either way, it was going to be a long night. Good. It wasn’t like I was sleeping well anyway.2CassieI was watching the clock all night like a hawk, and waited for over two hours after Chip left the house before I finally decided to do anything. It wasn’t my place, and I didn’t know what I was doing—but had to do something.
I couldn’t just sit around here watching TV all night with this gut feeling that something was wrong with my brother.
Chip was the older one, by three years to be exact, but it was always me doing the looking after. Ever since we’d lost our dad when we were just kids, things had never really gone right for Chip. Mom said she couldn’t handle him, that he was out of control.
Chip joined street gangs growing up, was constantly involved in some petty crime or robbery, always getting himself caught up in fights. So my childhood was spent waiting up at night with Mom, both sitting biting our lips, waiting to hear—from Chip or the cops. Mom was scared for his life, wishing she could help him in some way, but the only way Chip’s life would have turned out differently was if our Dad hadn’t died.
That had changed it all for us.The other driver had been drunk, so drunk and so fast that Dad didn’t see him coming. The only thing we could hope for was that he died quickly and free of pain. And Chip lost a role model, the one he’d always looked up to.
Chip was the man of the house now, at just twelve years old.
Being the man was now his job.
One he couldn’t step up to.
Mom tried to stop him from getting into trouble, but Chip wanted to do everything he could to make some extra cash. Things usually wouldn’t end well for him, and so we bailed him out a lot. I’d sit by and watch as Mom nursed his wounds after particularly rough nights; even as a kid, I knew my life was mapped out, and that I’d have to spend the rest of my life taking care of my older brother who wasn’t responsible enough to take care of himself.
So much, then, for him being the man.
A man was supposed to be protective, to look out for us, but instead, the roles were reversed.
And then our mom died last year—cancer.
I’d spent the past three years caring for her while Chip descended even further down into a pit of despair and helplessness. Their relationship had been strained over the years, but I knew they’d loved each other; of that, I’d had no doubt. He couldn’t bear to see Mom in her condition, and so he started spending even more time outside the house now. Kind of selfish, but in a way, I guess I understood it. No one liked seeing their mom suffer like that.
After she died, he was gone from the place.
Just as if he’d never been there, really. So, I didn’t see Chip for two weeks straight, gone frantic searching for him, calling everybody I knew, calling the cops, putting up posters. And then one day, like a lost tom cat that suddenly shows up with a torn ear, there he was. Chip had come back to the house with a broken nose and a split lip.
