Stripping off Ricca’s donated hooker dress, I throw on an old t-shirt that I bought at Goodwill and slide into my nice cool bed. My head is spinning from the alcohol coursing in my veins, but the scent of my mystery man floats the memory of our dancing back to me. The last thought that crosses my mind before I pass out is that maybe working at the bar won’t be that bad if he shows up. He might be worth every single drunken asshole if he shows up again. A girl can dream right?
It isn’t until today that Jagger’s death really sets into me. The news spread like wildfire through the chapters and within days, eight more clubs came rumbling up to the clubhouse to pay their respects to one of the Heaven’s Rejects founding fathers. These men served beside him as our club was forged into existence, along with the creation of each additional chapter throughout the years. Other than Raze, he was one of the most respected men of our entire club’s history. The shockwaves of his loss will likely continue to ripple for months, and it’s my job as VP to make sure that those ripples don’t turn into hurricanes.
The mood in the clubhouse has been dampened from the usual boisterous atmosphere since Raze announced Jagger’s passing. Calling his murder a passing was just sugarcoating the truth for the women and children, but to be using that word was like a knife to the heart. Nothing was as simple and easy as a passing should be in Jagger’s death. He went through hell during his last moments and just the thought of that makes me sick. Jagger didn’t deserve any of that shit. The man had basically retired to enjoy the family life and the motherfucking Twisted Tribe denied him that. Raze sugarcoated it for Darcy and his kids as a hit and run on his bike, but I suspect she knows the truth since his Harley that’s sitting in front of the clubhouse with his cut draped over the seat doesn’t have a scratch on it. As a longtime old lady, she knows not to ask questions. It’s one of the very reasons why she and Maj are so well-respected amongst the men. She may not be officially an old lady anymore, but our club will treat her just the same. When we enter the Heaven’s Rejects brotherhood, one of the oaths we swear is to protect and help our own. Jagger’s family will never want for anything.
While the club has surrounded his family with love, Ratchet and I have stayed to ourselves. Ratchet has taken his death even harder than Darcy. Jagger was his fucking hero and now he’s just gone. He and I have spent the last few nights sitting on the roof in silence while the club gathers below us celebrating Jagger’s life. Finding his body will likely stick with Ratchet for the rest of his life, just as the mangled bodies of my brothers in arms in Iraq are cemented in my nightmares.
Those men risked everything for our country and were sent home in wooden boxes. They sacrificed their lives for this country out of honor and duty, and the only thing that was left for their family was a flag and a medal. I know what we did over there was brave in everyone else’s eyes, but bravery doesn’t take the nightmares away or bring them back from the dead. My hellacious nightmares of my men blown to pieces and their limbs scattered around me came barreling back into existence after seeing Jagger strung up like a fucking piñata. Because of this, I have been forcing myself to forego sleeping until after the funeral; no one needs to hear me waking up at night screaming like a scared bitch.
Ruby wanted to stick close to me after the announcement, but it’s not a good time for me to be around anyone fragile; I’ll just break them like everything else in my life. Don’t get me wrong, I am proud that I served our country, but I couldn’t take losing my brothers anymore. When the time came to re-up, I left without ever turning back. Finding myself in a motorcycle club after returning stateside is something I never imagined happening, but these men are my family, and this clubhouse is my home. After the dust settles, Twisted Tribe will understand why you don’t fuck with my club or me. Jagger’s death will result in far greater losses for them in the end, I just have to bide my time and wait to strike.
The men around me today are clothed in black from head to toe with just our cuts on our backs to identify us. Darcy brought us a couple of his old Harley shirts that the other old ladies cut into strips and fixed them around our arms when we gathered in the parking lot of the club this morning. This way, Jagger is riding with every single one of us. Walking back to my black beauty of a bike, I notice that the prospects must have been busy the last few days while the rest of us mourned for our fallen friend because every Harley belonging to our club is cleaned and polished. Jagger would be proud of how we look while representing our club and honoring his memory. He was always bitching that our rides should be spotless as we represented the club’s name. He was a neat freak when it came to his two-wheeled baby, but I swear there were days when that damn bike was cleaner than him. She sure as hell is prettier than he was. Thinking of the good times with Jagger brings a smile to my face, but it soon fades as Raze’s bike rumbles into view with the club’s Harley hearse attached to it. Not every club has a hearse, but we bought it off another club with financial issues. It was a favor to help the failing club out, but I never envisioned having to use it so soon.
The ride to Oak Park Cemetery is a somber one. Raze leads the procession with Jagger’s casket in the hearse, Darcy and the boys follow him in a family car the mortuary lent to us, and I fall behind the car with Ratchet riding beside me. The trail of bikers following us spans for miles. People line the streets watching us ride by. An older man even stands and salutes our procession as we pass by the town square. Jagger may not have served in the military, but he protected his city like a goddamn trained soldier.
Raze must have called in yet another favor when we pull into the cemetery because the Upland Police Department is blocking off the street surrounding the entrance. Twenty minutes after we enter the cemetery, the final set of bikes park in one of the parallel drives. As the crowd gathers around us, the club officers and I slowly remove his casket from the hearse. Darcy’s choice in the casket is honestly perfect for the man we’re about to bury. Its black and gray brushed metal shines in the California sun as Harley casket corners adorn it. Walking to his new resting place, a hushed silence falls upon the crowd. Raze leads Darcy to the center seat with the boys following quietly behind. Following behind Raze, I drape Jagger’s cut across the casket. The rest of the crowd falls in behind the row of seats as Raze walks to the head of the casket.
“We are here not only to mourn the passing of a husband and father, but of a friend. As most of you already know, Brent Kyle was more than just a friend to many of us standing in the crowd today. He was our brother. He was with my father from the day this club was born and served as my VP during my first two years as President. He was the kind of man who you knew would always have your back even if his ass should have stayed out of the way.”
A somber laugh escapes my lips as I think about the times in our club’s history that Raze is referencing. Looking to the other officers, they nod in agreement. Jagger had a way of landing his ass into unnecessary trouble with both his brothers and his wife. I don’t know how many times we’d narrowly escape some of our more reckless pursuits when I first joined the club only to return home to a pissed off Darcy waiting outside the club. When Darcy and he had an argument, you’d have thought they hated each other, but we all knew differently. He loved Darcy like she was his only reason for living. He was a better man because of her.
“There have been so many times in my life that I should have been the one lying in a casket, but he always came to rescue me. Brent saved me from myself more times than I would like to admit. He was the voice of reason in my head when I couldn’t think clearly out of anger. His nickname may have been the reflection of his wilder and younger years, but he was still the front man of this MC. Without him and my father, I doubt this club would have lasted to my generation.”