Our only opportunity is to raise the money to buy the land back from the local authority. But we have very little time in which to do this, and we’ve found, even while pooling our resources, that we have come nowhere close to the amount.
And how could we? Many of us don’t have the luxury of high-paying jobs. Grant is a bartender. I am a builder. Many others work in similar trades.
“It isn’t looking too great,” I admit to Grant.
“According to our books, we have raised a good sum of money so far,” Grant says. He scowls. “It isn’t enough, though, and the deadline is fast approaching. Have you had any luck?”
I smirk. “Suzy was quite willing to donate last night after I offered some persuasion.”
Grant lets out a bark of laughter. “And how likely will she be to remember that after the haze from your latest fuck wears off?”
“If you must know, she’s already given me
the money,” I brag, and Grant’s eyes shoot open wide. “She gave it to me before she left my apartment.”
“Holy shit,” Grant whistles. “You must have left one heck of an impression on her!”
I smile, but I don’t elaborate. Let Grant think what he will, with the vague hints I have dropped. It’s well known, without our social sphere, that I’m always chasing skirts; the tinier the better. In their eyes, if I can get some of my conquests to contribute to saving our haven, then all the better for me.
I don’t need to tell any of them that I haven’t slept with anyone in months, that I’ve grown tired of the constant game of cat and mouse that never offers any emotional gratification. I’m not ready to admit that I’m looking for something real.
I’m certainly not ready to admit that Suzy is, in fact, just one of my favorite cousins, one who is happily engaged and doing her best to encourage some of her other friends to donate to our cause as well.
Grant chuckles for a moment before shaking his head with a smile. Slowly, though, the smile fades as he takes another good look around the place.
“We’re going to lose it, aren’t we?” he asks wistfully.
“Probably,” I admit. “There’s not much we can do, now. Maybe, once it’s torn down, we can use the money we raised to buy somewhere else.”
Grant grimaces and crosses the room. On a tablet, there are five photographs. All five of them are pictures of friends that we have lost over the years, for whatever reason. Prominently among them stands George Barker, the man whose house is about to be demolished.
“You know, if we had been anything other than a motorcycle club, this probably wouldn’t have been so hard,” he comments.
I remember the look the woman walking her dog had given me.
“Maybe,” I say with a shrug. “Who can say? Besides, it’s only that tool Burke giving us issues; even the neighbors are trying to help out.”
“I just wish there was something more we could do,” Grant admits, turning away from me with a sigh.
He’s wearing his jacket too. I catch sight of the huge picture on the back - the symbol of our club - and smirk at it. The design isn’t overly complicated, but as someone who had been there since the very beginning of our formation, I knew just how hard it had been to settle in it. It’s simply a large white skull with two gray tires attached on either side of its jaw and several green vines weaving intricately in, out and around the skull; sharp and brutal.
Suddenly, Grant snorts.
“Freakin’ Tony suggested we do a fundraiser,” he says. “As if that could work. We all work weird hours, and what would we even do? Bake cookies?”
I imagine, for a brief moment, the disturbing image of the entire group in our jackets and white aprons, smiling widely as we bag cookies and cakes at a small stall. I make a face.
“No, thanks,” I say fervently. “Baking is out. I don’t think many motorists will be interested in stopping at a car wash with us, either.”
“That’s because you’re all huge, hulking, frightening lugs,” Grant says with a roll of his eyes.
I give him a deadpan look. Grant is easily one of the tallest and broadest men in the club.
“Well, it doesn’t matter anymore,” Grant says with a sigh. “I think you’re right and we should start looking at investing that money somewhere else once we’ve raised enough. Seen anywhere you like?”
“Let’s start looking once we lose this place,” I say. “See you later, Grant.”
I turn to walk away.