HARD KNOX(30)

When he was patched in, they gave him the name Hammer.

I didn’t sit in the seat the old man took as President of the MC. It wasn’t my place to do so. But I stood there and thought about what he’d do. Putting the cut back on was maybe a slap in the face to him and Uncle Jakey, but what good was the Reap if our cuts weren’t being shown?

Ari and Matteo came into the room next.

“Knox,” Matteo said. “Lawyer called and you’re all set for your meeting.”

“Did you get in touch with Uncle Jakey?” I asked, looking at Ari.

“Left a message. He’s going to be pissed.”

“I know,” I said. “But we can’t hide anymore. We’re members of the f*cking Reaper’s Bastards.”

“Amen to that,” Matteo said. “I’m tired of barely getting by with things and feeling dead inside.”

“This puts a lot of eyes and heat back on us,” Ari said.

“Good,” I said. “I have my own shit to settle. Personal shit. I want eyes on me.”

I patted the top of the old man’s chair and then walked toward Matteo and Ari. I hugged them both, our hands smacking each other’s leather cuts, just like we always used to. It should have never stopped happening. The old man going to prison didn’t need to end everything.

I walked to my motorcycle and saw Slam sitting on his motorcycle. He was finishing a smoke and gave me a nod.

“Where are you riding today?” I asked.

“With you, brother,” he said. “We don’t travel alone, right?”

I smiled.

Just like before. Just like always.

A true brotherhood.

I put my fist out and Slam punched.

We hit the road, cruising north through the northern Cali mountains to the prison. Fuck me if the damn place didn’t jut out of the goddamn horizon like something out of a horror movie. I hated the f*cking place. I’d been there a handful of times, visiting members of the Reap that had taken a hard fall. We never left our brothers behind until they did something treasonous against the MC. A lot of good men were put behind those stone walls and a lot of them took their last breaths there.

That was the thing about prison and jail and all that legal justice bullshit. From the public it was a do the crime, do the time sort of deal. But what if the crime had a better outcome for the town and the people who depended on being safe?

Shit, one of our guys, Maxx, heard his only daughter had been violated by some scum f*ck that hung around and dealt drugs outside the one school in town. His old lady had skipped out and was stripping every night to make ends meet. Maxx lost his f*cking mind over the ordeal. The PD wasn’t able to tie the scum f*ck to anything, including the drugs that had killed a handful of high school kids.

We took a vote on it and it was shot down on how to handle the issue. I remember the old man getting so f*cking livid about it.

Maxx didn’t care though. He already made up his mind.

He killed the scum f*ck right outside the school and waited for the PD to find him. He declared his version of justice and then got his own when he was sent up north for life. The jury spared him the death penalty but some internal shit between the Reap and another crew got hot on the inside and Maxx was tagged.

So you tell me… who was right and wrong in that situation?

Now, for my old man, the deal was a little different. The club had eyes on us for a long time. It caught up to my old man after a botched gun run. It was an interstate affair and spread on the news like wildfire making it damn near impossible to get away from. The old man was tied into deals, drugs, murder, along with some bogus prostitution stuff. No matter what, he was hit so hard with charges the best the lawyers could do was negotiate a life in prison sentence. He was granted some freedoms on the inside, all of which had to be bought through favors in and out of the MC.

I stopped my motorcycle at the barbed wire capped fence and climbed off. I slipped my fingers around the fence and tugged at it.

Shit, maybe I was a little soft that my old man wasn’t outside. He wasn’t a great father but he always gave me advice and gave me his ear.

I had Slam hang outside and keep an eye open for anything. I told him to keep my phone in case Ana called. Saying that name caused him to raise an eyebrow.

Old habits, Knox? his eyes asked.

Fuck you, Slam. Fuck everyone.

I always hated going into the prison or jail. The way the door slammed behind me it always felt like a premonition. I sure as f*ck hoped my time would never come. But that was as unpredictable as death.

The guards took me to a small room with what looked like a black metal picnic table. I sat there and heard a buzz before the other door opened.

My old man then entered the room, wearing his goddamn orange jumpsuit, ankles shackled, along with his hands. The guard walked him to the table and I stood up.

“Come on, man,” I said to the guard. “He’s not going to f*cking do anything to me. I’m his son.”

The guard looked at the old man.

My old man half smiled. “Better shackle me to the table. After all, he is my son. And I’m sure he’s due for a good kick in the ass.”

The guard laughed. “Whatever you want, Hammer.”

“You two friendly, huh?” I asked.

“Cameras are off,” the guard said. He then put a key down on the table. “I dropped this by mistake. Don’t make me regret it.”