11
Charlie
Iwatched Crow sink into himself. His eyes withdrew, his presence just…receded. Shrank. Darkened. Iced over. His fingers moved on the guitar with a speed and fluidity that spoke of remarkable skill, even though he was only picking at it absentmindedly. He was miles away, years away.
“Right.” Myles sighed again. “So. Tania. We grew up like siblings—well, Crow and her did. I was the tagalong little brother, sorta. Didn’t grow up in the club, but when Dad was touring, I basically lived with Coyote and Na’ura and Crow, so I looked at Tania as a sister.”
“She was Yank’s daughter, not his old lady,” Crow clarified without fixing his eyes on anything.
“All the old ladies basically took care of all the kids, as needed. It was very insular. If you needed someone to watch your kids, one of the ladies from the club would do it. And usually, it was Na’ura. The kids loved her, and she loved kids.”
“Takin’ too fuckin’ long,” Crow snarled, surly and pissed off. “Quit stalling and tell her what the fuck happened. She don’t need the fuckin’ Lifetime movie version.”
The amount of F-bombs he dropped was always directly correlated to his mood, I was discovering. The more aggressive his mood, the more he said “fuck.”
Myles nodded. “Anyway, Crow and Tania were basically an arranged marriage. Yank was a founding member, and Coyote was president of the MC.”
“Yank was a top dog, but he didn’t want no real job, like treasurer or some shit,” Crow put in. “But he was Dad’s right-hand man. A good dude.”
“So. Him and Tania. Raised like siblings, but by the time ya’ll were, what, thirteen? You were…well, together, sort of.”
Crow nodded. “Thirteen. First kiss, first everything with her.”
“Right. So, then the deal goes bad, Coyote and Na’ura, and more than half the fuckin’ club gets iced. Somehow, Yank managed to get out alive. One of the few.”
Crow snorted. “Nobody says iced, moron.”
“Fine. They were killed. He probably told you this, too. Nobody could find his grandparents, so he lived with Sister Maria in Mexico for like, eight, ten months?”
“A year.”
“Yeah. During that time my mom disappeared, Grampa died, Gramma went into the home, and Dad was on tour over in Louisiana. I lived with Tran till River Dog and Mammy showed up, looking for Crow.” He was distant himself, remembering. “Shit. Anyway. They took you in, took me in, and we rode in their Airstream with ‘em for…how long was it? Two years?”
Crow nodded again. “About that. River Dog died on my sixteenth birthday.”
Myles scratched his jaw. “Tryin’ to keep it short. Anyway. Um…yeah. You started running with the AzTex, then. Earning your patch. You had it early, I know that.”
“Tran was prez after Dad and Snake both died, and he was like a second dad to me. He knew I needed that patch, and he made sure I got it.”
I glanced over at Crow and could see he was far, far away. Not looking at me, not looking at anything.
“You earned it. And them being a one-percenter MC, I don’t even want to know what you did to get it.”
“Even if I could talk about that, I wouldn’t. Can’t. Not allowed to. And wouldn’t, anyway. Nobody’s business but mine and the Devil’s.” That deep, rough voice. So hard, so cold. Yet part of me wanted to soothe it.
“What’s a one-percenter MC?” Lexi asked.
“An outlaw club,” Crow answered. “Means ninety-nine percent of MCs are decent law-abiding folks who like to ride motorcycles and shit. Rough characters, maybe, but mostly just decent folks. The one percent, like us, are not. It means the club has defined itself as being outside the law.”
“Oh. So…criminals,” I breathed.
Crow laughed, and it wasn’t a nice sound. “Yes, Charlie.Criminals.” His voice was scathing, sarcastic.
“Patching into a one-percenter club is not an easy or simple thing to do,” Myles said. “It’s like hazing, but worse, from what I understand. I wanted to join, but Crow wouldn’t hear of it. Neither would Tran, for that matter. Said I was destined for different things.”
Crow spoke again, “Well, he was right, yeah?”
Myles sighed. “Yeah, but still. Back then, I just wanted to be in the club.”
