Page 18 of Knox Unleashed
I half listen as Vandal and Reaper bicker about lugging sandbags, while North and Sunny unload the last of the supplies they went to pick up in Sunny’s truck. I doubt this storm is gonna be big enough to causerealproblems, but anyone who lives in Florida is a little bit weird about them. Adults will throw hurricane parties and eat potluck dinners and down alcohol while playing games as it passes. Heck, I’ve been known to step out in a hurricane for shits and giggles, trying to time it when the eye is right above me, so I don’t get swept off.
“Hey, Prez,” Vandal says. “Remember that time you and I got caught out in that Cat Four, Hurricane Ian.”
Can’t help but chuckle. “I remember your whole truck getting lifted off the ground by the wind and then dropped again. And while we were getting bounced along, you were beltingout the lyrics to Whitesnake’s ‘Here I Go Again’ at ear-splitting decibels.”
“Nailed the song choice.” Vandal throws his sandbag down. “Iremember you checked your seatbelt about fifty times.”
Reaper slaps Vandal on the shoulder. “The way you drive, brother, I’d be checking my seatbelt fifty times too.”
Vandal flips him the bird and grins as he goes to get the next sandbag.
Havoc and Ridge roll in, having been out to secure the strip club, pulling into the garage space beneath the club.
“We should think of locking everything down and getting inside,” Havoc says. “Shit’s getting hairy out there.”
Ridge agrees. “Roads are nasty, Prez. No way is this bad boy gonna wait until eight to land.”
I glance up at the sky, wishing we could all stay out for just a little longer. “Call in Lock.” He and Wyatt, one of our top prospects, have gone to check on some of our other businesses. “Tell them to get back here.”
Vandal hauls four more sandbags out of the garage and stacks them up at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the clubhouse. “It’s going to be chaotic if everyone brings their families in.”
I nod. “It will, but it’s thankfully not a big one. Hopefully, damage will be cosmetic and not structural.” A Category Two can be powerful enough to bring down tree branches, tear down power lines, and decimate roofs, shingles, and vinyl siding. It picks up water and dumps it on roads, disrupting aid and supplies. It starts to become a real concern if it turns into a Category Three before it hits us.
But the clubhouse is solid. It’s built to last on a solid concrete foundation and has steel shutters to keep the worst of the wind and damage out.
If Gator Flats floods, this place will be dry.
Out of nowhere, I think about Maren and how she shutters down the bait shop that looks like it was built for the prairies. I don’t remember if the windows of the apartment she lives in above the store have shutters.
Who is helping her board everything up? I’m guessing it’s not that piece-of-shit father of hers.
Fuck me. It doesn’t matter what Maren is doing. Not my circus, not my monkeys.
But she’s alone.
I give my head a good shake to clear thoughts of her, but I remember the look on her face as her father insinuated she was acting like a club bitch. All I saw was a daughter hurt by the man who was meant to protect her, and that kicked at something inside my chest.
Reaper nods. “I know a bunch of folks who are just gonna stay home and ride it out there, given it’s only a two.”
That makes me itch a little. I worry about them being home with their families when it’s difficult for anyone to ride in support if trouble comes their way.
“Can’t help but think this is gonna force our mystery men to hole up somewhere too,” Vandal says, looking up as the sky gets darker. It’s only two in the afternoon, but it looks like dusk.
I don’t need to ask which men he’s referring to. We’ve been looking all over town for the two strangers who came to talk to Maren.
“A few well-placed phone calls to people we know might lead us to them,” Reaper says. “And we’ve ridden in this kind of shit when we’ve had to. If they’re from out of town, they’re probably storm dodgers. Don’t like to dance in nature’s chaos.”
I huff at that. “‘Don’t like to dance in nature’s chaos’? That’s poetic.”
Reaper grins. “Yeah, but you understand exactly what I meant by it, though.”
He’s right. I do.
Our conversation is drowned out by Vandal, who starts yelling the chorus of Scorpions’ classic, “Rock You Like A Hurricane” after the woman on the radio mentions it again. I roll my eyes. At least the guy can carry a tune.
Sleep was slow to come last night because I was having those half-awake, half-asleep dreams. A part of me wanted to push both Maren and her father into the water and hold them underneath. And a part of me wanted to move Maren behind me, because I’ve seen fear in a person’s face before, and that’s what I saw on Maren’s face when she realized her father was heading toward her on that dock.
A few of the remaining chairs that haven’t been carried inside start to blow across the deck.
