— Chapter 65 —

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"You didn't have to tag along, you know," I told James as we walked up towards the doors of Joe's Bar. "I'm fine without a scary guard-dog following behind me."

"Well, I'm not," he countered. "Are you sure you want to be working in the condition you're in? How's your shoulder?"

"I'll be fine. It's just a few cuts and bruises."

"You were in bed for four days straight."

"Hey," I joked, "that's a new record."

James gave me a look, his brows knitting together. "I'm glad your sense of humor is still intact. Concerned at the subject matter, but... glad, I guess."

"You can feel joy?" I feigned surprise.

"Very funny."

James pushed the door open for me as we walked inside, but I was unprepared for the sight that greeted me when I finally adjusted to all the yellow lights reflecting off beer glasses and chequered flooring.

"Alright, boys," Shooter's voice spoke over murmuring bikers. "Two of you go for the legs. Grease, pin him down—I'll rip his head off."

Chains cautioned, "No sudden moves."

I raised a concerned brow. The Stray Dogs were circled around in a small mob by the far wall, with their arms up at the ready. I couldn't see what the fuss was about between all the leather-clad bodies, but something was definitely up. I'd never seen them so focused.

Eve, who was standing behind the counter, gave me a disappointed sigh. James passed me a quizzical glance.

I couldn't help but ask.

"Uh... what's going on in here?"

My voice must have alarmed everyone because just like that, the Stray Dogs dived head-first for whoever was in the middle of the crowd. Everything descended into madness.

"Hold him down!" I heard someone yell. Noah?

Shooter's voice. "Don't let him escape, you idiots!"

"I got him! I got him!"

Chains shouted back, "That's my fucking leg!"

Between the squirming of bikers that had dog-piled on top of each other, a mess of russet feathers and bird-like screeching told me that whatever they were trying so hard to catch... definitely wasn't human.

Oh no.

James leaned down slightly to whisper his confusion. "What... what exactly am I looking at here?"

I didn't spare the time to give him an answer. While chaos reigned supreme amongst the struggling bikers, I ducked to the drawers beneath the cash register and started searching frantically through them. I knew a day like this would come again—only this time I was prepared.

"Get the damn thing!" Chains yelled, "Get it, get it, don't let—!"

Finding the packet of birdseed, I stuck it up in the air triumphantly, as if anyone was even paying attention.

Someone else wailed, "Son of a bitch bit me!"

"I got it! I got it!"

"Looks like we're having chicken for dinner, boys!"

"Shit, I don't got it!"

The chicken was actually sitting safely off to the side, watching the muscled men wrestle each other in attempt to catch a hen that wasn't even there.

Should I tell them?

I chuckled to myself. Nah.

It only took a gentle shake of the packet to catch the bird's attention. Kneeling to the ground, I watched its claws scrape against polished floor as it trotted right up to the birdseed I was holding out in my hand.

Pecking away happily, it gave me a few rumbling clucks as a gesture of gratitude.

Good chicken.

Chief laughed from where he stood at the bar counter, a jug of honey-colored beer in his hand. "Getting your asses handed to you by a bird—it's a goddamn embarrassment is what it is."

Noah scoffed from somewhere in the mess, "You try doing this shit, old man!"

"Where the hell did it go?" Shooter called out to the others.

Eve snapped. "For god's sake—Elliot has it! Now would you all just give it a rest?"

Relieved sighs broke out as the bikers collapsed on top of each other, accepting defeat. A few of them had come to watch the hen peck seeds from my hand. James was still standing behind me, with an expression on his face I could only describe as stupefied. At least he wasn't bored.

When it was docile enough, I picked up the clucking hen and cradled it in my arms.

"All better," I murmured to it.

Splitter raised his hand from somewhere in the pile of spent bikers on the ground. "I vote we skin the thing and have a barbecue."

My eyes widened.

"Nobody's skinning anything," frowned Eve. "The chicken belongs to our neighbour over the fence. Poor man is probably wondering where it's gone."

I asked her, "Did you want me to take it back?"

Eve shook her head and carefully took the hen from my arms. "Don't you worry, kid. I'm off now anyway—I'll return it. Just make sure to clean up the feathers."

I nodded, watching her reach to take her belongings.

With the chicken fiddling in her grasp, she walked to the door and said, "You boys behave yourselves."

I dusted birdseed residue off my hands once she was finally out the doors.

"Get off me," I heard Chains wheeze, lost beneath the head of bodies still squirming on the bar floor.

Poor guy.

A few Stray Dogs were staring in my direction—it only got worse when someone shouted two words into the air.

"Bloody hell!"

It was Shooter, and all I got to process was his towering six-foot-frame of pure muscle before it barrelled into me for a bear hug. I tried not to grimace at the pain that shot through my burns. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes! Where the hell have you been, kid?"

Chains was the first to echo the sentiment, having pulled himself out of the mob. He basically jumped onto me, clinging onto my sore shoulders and ruffling my hair with his knuckles.

"Christ, we were starting to think you'd gone for good!" he said. There was a welcoming shimmer to his striking gaze. "Welcome back, Elliot."

Shooter briefly flared his nostrils. "We heard those bastards beat you up pretty damn bad. That sucks, man. I'm sorry."

Chains was still suffocating me in his hug. "I can't believe you're back at work already—that's some hardcore shit, you know. I'm glad you're feeling better." He joked, "And would it kill you to pick up the phone once in a while?"

I was too busy focusing on the stabbing pains in my nervous system to try and form a coherent sentence. The bruises on me were flaring up from all the strained movements, and my burns were sending shocks of scarlet pain straight to the front of my head.

"It's... it's nice to..." But the words were too forced, too weak, too breathy to take shape.

It's nice to be back.

In one abrupt movement, I found myself being pulled away from the two of them and into the arms of someone new.

Every muscle in my body tensed up as the scent of cigarette smoke and vanilla cologne invaded my senses. Strong arms pulled me in by my shoulders and wrapped around the back of my neck, the warmth of a tall body enveloping my own. A hand cradled the back of my head, fingers lost in my hair. Noah's face was pressed into the crook of my neck. He was inhaling deeply, and he held me there for what felt like eternity—tenderly, desperately, too overcome with emotions to ever let me go.

It hurts.

His rings were digging right into the core of the cigarette burns, and the gauze was doing nothing to numb the pain. He was too heavy on my shoulders. My neck was craning too much too fast.

He whispered, "Are you okay?"

No. Not at all. Not even a little bit.

I missed you.

"Alright, that's enough," James interrupted. He pressed a hand to Noah's chest to separate us. Noah's weight finally lifted off me, taking the pain with it. "Back up."

I saw Noah's jaw clench once he'd pulled away. His eyes narrowed into slits as they came to rest on James.

"And what the fuck are you meant to be?" the Stray Dog asked. "His bodyguard?"

James curled his lip. "Considering everything he's been put through because of you, I'd say he might need one."

Noah took a step closer to my ex with a scowl capable of murder, which was matched only by James' clenched hands and stoic expression. There wasn't an obvious power imbalance between them—James was smart and patient, like a cobra waiting to strike, but Noah was built with titanium muscles and fists that could do plenty of damage if the circumstances required it.

Please don't fight. Not here. Not now.

But Noah didn't hesitate to voice his displeasure. "You got a problem, prettyboy?"

"Oh, plenty," James scoffed. "Where would you like me to start?"

"I'd be happy to take this outside."

"Trust me, I've fought a lot uglier than you, street rat."

Tension was growing thicker by the second. Just as the surrounding Stray Dogs were starting to catch onto the hostility between both men, my nails started digging into my palms and panic quickly settled in my stomach.

"Elliot," someone called for me, cutting the situation short. Pete. The only time I was overjoyed to hear his voice. "Can I see you for a minute?"

I nodded quickly, catching him standing by the door to his office.

"Sure."

James and Noah were still scowling at each other when I turned back to face them. Unmoving in their places with fists clenched at their sides, the two of them were facing each other head-on, and I feared someone was dangerously close to lashing out.

I tugged on the fabric of James' coat, pleading with him quietly.

"Don't fight."

Noah gritted his teeth. James crossed his arms over his chest.

I had to trust them to keep the peace as I found my way into Pete's office... and wondered why I'd ever thought it was a good idea to risk having Noah and James in the same room at all.

"Thanks, Elliot," Pete's voice called as I was walking back out of his office, staring at my own feet. Clenching and unclenching my fists, I was still trying to make sense of everything I'd just taken in.

A raise?

My focus caught on a set of chunky Doc Martens ahead of me. I looked up to catch Noah directly across me—he was leaning against the timber wall of the hallway, his hands in the pockets of his loose-fitting cargo pants. Over a black hoodie, his Stray Dogs vest, embellished with his title as Vice President. The silver chain was still dangling around his neck—the thin ring hanging off was catching under the lights of the bar.

He didn't say anything. He just stared at me, honey eyes searching for answers to questions I didn't even know yet.

So I swallowed my pride and kept walking.

James was the first to address me as I found myself behind the bar. "What was all that about?" he asked, leaving his half-empty glass of red wine on the marble counter.

Mumbling, I said, "Pete just... doubled my wages."

"What?"

"He gave me a raise," I clarified, shaking my head. "Why would he do that? He's never given me a raise."

James thought about it for a moment. "You work hard, Elliot. Maybe he's just started to notice."

It didn't make any sense. I was more than grateful, of course, but... it was all so sudden. Thirty bucks an hour was outrageous—I'd never been paid that much. Ever. Truthfully, I was expecting our conversation to go in the opposite direction.

"I thought he was going to fire me."

James shook his head and asked, "Why on earth would he do that?"

"I don't know. He's hard to read."

Pulling off my jacket and leaving it behind the counter, I took the moment to let the bruises on my arms breathe. It was much warmer in the bar than outside, and as I stretched my shoulders to get ready for a long shift, pain flared through my nerves.

My ex must have noticed. He nodded to the gauze on display at my shoulder and murmured, "Are you sure you'll be fine working with that arm?"

"Don't worry about it," I assured him. "If it gets bad, you'll be the first to know."

"Right."

I took in a breath, finding a tinted bottle of alcohol sitting on one of the shelves. In a wine glass, I poured James his favourite deep-red liquor, watching him stir uncomfortably in his seat. Being around so many Stray Dogs at once wasn't sitting well with him, then.

"You know, you could look less like you hate it here," I said, passing him the glass. "Red wine, right?"

He took it with a grateful nod, if only to lecture me. "These bikers aren't good people, Elliot. They put you in danger—the kind that had you beaten half to death, and yet you're still trying to find some good in them. I'm not like that. And I'm not going to apologize for being rational. I don't think you should be here."

"It's just a few cuts and bruises. What happened wasn't their fault." Throwing the rag over my shoulder, I mumbled to myself, "I can take abuse. I'm built for it."

I didn't think he heard that part, though.

The doors to the bar opened while I was busy serving a customer by the register. A stranger walked in—young and tall with ash-black hair, their lanky figure was outfitted in a grey suit with shiny loafers and a silver watch. He looked a lot like James, actually; both of them seemed too sophisticated to be in a rundown dive bar like this.

"Christopher Black?" the stranger called. He had a Japanese accent, like James did—subtle, but there. I watched him unveil a letter from his breast pocket.

James' eyes widened, if only for a split second. "Jayden?"

I frowned, trying to remember. Jayden... his brother?

The stranger, Jayden, didn't seem to hear his brother, or notice him at all for that matter. "I'm looking for a biker here named Christopher Black. Can somebody point me to him?"

My attention flicked to the Chief. He took a last chug from his beer and left it on the counter while he got up from his barstool.

He grumbled, "Who's asking?"

Jayden unfurled the piece of paper in his hands. Stray Dogs were starting to stare. "I'm here with a message for you on the behalf of Councilman Kato. You're the man in charge of the Stray Dogs Motorcycle Club, is that correct?"

"What's that got to do with you?"

Handing Chief the piece of paper, all Jayden offered him was a friendly expression.

"There's been a significant spike in motorcycle-related crimes in Boston as of late—specifically those of the street-racing kind. Councilman Kato thinks it's in the best interests of this city that the issue is dealt with before it becomes a state matter."

"What the fuck is this?"

"New local policy, Mr Black," Jayden clarified, watching the biker read the words inked across the page. "As of tonight, bikie-associated gatherings and the public displays of motorcycle club colours will hereby be banned for the foreseeable future."

Outcry broke out amongst the Stray Dogs.

Noah snatched the letter out of the Chief's hands, a hoard of heated bikers running up behind him. I could hear every ounce of venom in his voice as he hissed, "What?"

"Is this a fucking joke?" Chains scowled, reading over Noah's shoulder.

Noah shook his head. "This isn't enforceable. The Councillor hasn't been elected mayor yet—he doesn't have the power to do this."

"Usually that would be the case, but it's already been approved by the city council. I'm afraid it's entirely enforceable."

Someone called out to us from the doors. "There're cops outside! Cruisers and shit, man!"

Jayden sighed.

"Yes, there's that..." He checked the diamond-encrusted watch at his wrist. "The ban comes into play at 11:00pm and not a moment later. That gives you about... eleven minutes before the officers outside are given the authority to make arrests. I'd advise you and your Stray Dogs to clear out, Mr Black."

Standing beside me now, Pete was holding the letter that Jayden had brought in with him. The Stray Dogs had been passing it around while the stranger was speaking.

"What does this mean for us?" I asked him.

Pete glared down at the piece of paper. "Looks like business is going to be running slow for a while, Elliot. Might be time to take an early vacation."

My stomach sank. No Stray Dogs... no Joe's Bar. I didn't think we'd have to face that reality so soon. What are we going to do?

Chief and Noah were lost in their own discussion, with a colosseum of Stray Dogs listening in to hear what I could only describe as disaster planning. Pete and I were preparing to discuss the worst-case scenario for the bar when James peeled away from the group.

Jayden, who'd been standing with his hands in his pockets while the bikers argued amongst each other, found himself being gripped by the collar. I watched James drag his brother to the doors while everyone was too preoccupied to notice, some kind of fire in his eyes that I couldn't decipher.

"James—" his brother stammered, "what on earth are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," James answered, and I had to focus hard to pick up on what they were saying. "Since when are you delivering messages on that bastard's behalf?"

Jayden caught a few burning stares from the bikers around him before he turned to answer his brother, who was still gripping him by the collar. Pulling James' hands off him, Jayden said something in Japanese I couldn't hear too well, much less understand. James tensed up at whatever was said.

I couldn't help but eavesdrop on the two. For a few moments, all of it was in Japanese, so I didn't catch much. James didn't look like he was enjoying the reunion.

"What's he got to gain from this?" I heard him mutter. "Is this some kind of convoluted way of getting back at me, is that it?"

Jayden chuckled. "You've gone paranoid over the years, haven't you?" The innocent smile on his face wasn't something I got to see from his brother too often—it was refreshing, in a way. He looked friendly. "This has nothing to do with you. Not everything he does is part of some elaborate scheme to bring you down."

James warned, "If he comes after..."

But he cut himself short and finished the rest of it in Japanese. Jayden's expression continued to fall as the two of them were speaking. What's the big secret?

A set of chocolate-brown eyes came to rest on me.

"That's him?" Jayden uttered quietly, mystified as he analyzed me head-to-toe. "He's taller than I imagined."

"Enough." James abruptly pushed his brother's chest in the direction of the doors, all too eager for his relative to leave. "I'm sure your father has shoes he needs polished. Best not to delay him."

Jayden laughed and fixed up his suit jacket. Pulling some lint off his brother's coat and patting James' shoulder, all I caught of his goodbye was, "I'll see you at the wedding, brother."

With that, Jayden was gone, the doors to Joe's Bar fanning shut behind him. James let out a long exhale.

I wondered out loud, "What was that all about?"

He sank his teeth into his lower lip and shook his head rapidly, refusing to offer me an answer. "I have to go," he stuttered, pressing his temples. "Sorry, Elliot."

A frown creased my lips. "What? Why?"

But James was already turning away, sauntering off to follow behind his brother. Leaving me behind, again. Why's he always leaving?

"Where the fuck does he think he's going?"