One More Time

“I wouldn't make a habit outta it though,” Chuck said.

“Don't plan on it,” I said, filling up a mug of beer for a man with face tattoos.

The bar wasn't the best place for a child, even if she was tucked away in the back in a baby carrier Hannah had picked up for us. Yeah, I was lucky alright. For having fucked up so royally, I was lucky to have people around me who helped out. People like Diane. People like Hannah.

The doors of The Pig's Ear opened up and a group of guys strode in. The bar fell quiet almost instantly as Titus Cain walked up to the bar, with five of his guys standing behind him like bodyguards. Probably a good thing he brought back up in a place like this, considering how deep it was behind enemy lines.

Titus wasn't much older than myself, but his face was rougher. He looked as if he'd lived a hard life. Deep lines like trenches cut across his forehead, a scar ran along his cheek from the corner of his right eye down to his jaw. Eyes as black as midnight stared back at through a mess of raven black hair.

He sat down at the bar, his men remained standing behind him. All of them were looking at me.

“What brings you guys in tonight?” I asked, side-eyeing Chuck to see what he was going to do.

It wasn't often that the Yora Widows made a stop into our place. Their usual territory was over on the east side of town and they usually kept to themselves. The Widows had their own bar, their own set of rules – one of which was to never enter into The Pig's Ear unless they were looking for a fight.

The guy with the face tattoos at the end of the bar stood up and walked over, sitting down next to Titus and studied him, without saying a word. He didn't have to. The look he gave him was threat enough. It said it all – leave now, or you'll have a shitload of trouble on your hands.

It had been a long ass time since we'd had a turf war between the two motorcycle gangs in the area. Ever since Roy took over, his group grew stronger and larger, they dominated Yora and the surrounding counties. Kept things in check. Titus, however, was the new president of the Widows and had already made some waves around town. Everything he did made it seem like he was looking to cause trouble.

He just so happened to bring that trouble here, into my bar, and I wasn't about to have it. Titus glared at Claw for a long moment before he finally spoke, calling me by my given name.

“Elijah,” he said. “I was hoping we could talk.”

“It's Eli,” I said.

Only family could get away with calling me Elijah, and even they rarely did. Hannah only brought out my full name when she was really pissed at me. Which was to say she tended to call me Elijah a lot.

“I don't have anything to talk about,” I said. “I don't get involved in club business.”

“I was hoping you might want to join us,” Titus said.

I couldn't help it, I wasn't able to stop the laugh that came bursting out of my throat. As I chuckled, Titus' face darkened, and I could see him making an effort to keep his temper in check.

“Me?” I asked. “You want me to join the Widows?”

Titus nodded. “We believe you'd be an asset to our club.”

I looked at Claw, who was cracking his knuckles. If I didn't get these guys out of there soon, there'd be hell to pay. Other bikers were lining up around us, watching. Listening carefully. Every man stood with their fists clenched and their bodies tensed – just waiting for the right moment.

“I won't even join my stepdad's club,” I said. “Why the fuck do you think I'd join yours?”

“Because we want the same thing, you and me,” Titus said.

“How the hell do you know what I want?”

“We want an end to the drugs and violence that plagues our town,” Titus said.

Claw stood up and hovered over Titus, who wasn't really a tall or very large man, but I knew he could handle himself. We'd gone to high scho

ol together, once upon a time, and even played on the same football team. Most people underestimated Titus – formerly known as Tim. But, what kind of biker name is Tim? Titus or Tim though, those who underestimated the guy usually got their ass handed to him.

I scoffed at his proposal and leaned down onto the bar. “You want to end the violence, yet you waltz in here and proposition the stepson of the Roy Ross?” I asked. “Do you understand why I find your proposition so hard to believe?”

“We both know you despise your stepfather,” he said.

“No shit, but I don't intend to become his enemy either.”

“You chicken?” Titus asked, his eyes twinkling with humor.