No Man Left Behind: A Veteran Inspired Charity Anthology by Elizabeth Knox (black authors fiction TXT) 📕

Shaking off the loneliness that seemed to surround me, I took a hot shower, allowing the water to ease the ache in my thigh and untangle the knots in my back. Pulling out a cleanish pair of jeans and a t-shirt from my bag, I quickly dressed and slid my gun into my waistband. Pulling on my jacket, I left the room in search of food and a stiff drink.

There was a bar a few doors down from the motel with a line of bikes parked out front. Shiny chrome glinted in the moonlight, and I admired the machines as I walked past them. Opening the door, I was met with the smell of stale cigarettes, beer, and greasy food. It was exactly what I needed, so I found an empty table away from the jukebox and sat down, making sure there was a wall at my back, and I could observe the happenings.

“What can I get you?” an older woman with bright red hair asked, her faced weathered and her clothes too tight.

“Whatever you have on draft and a burger with fries,” I replied, leaning back, and lifting my leg onto the chair in front of me.

She nodded and turned away without a word. The music was too loud and the raucous laughter from the men playing pool along the far wall was becoming too much. A beer was set in front of me as she scurried to another table. Swallowing down the cold brew, I closed my eyes and felt some of the tension in my shoulders release.

A tall man with a long gray beard walked past me and I noticed the patch on his black leather vest said President. I could see in the reflection of a mirror across the room that the back had a huge patch on it but wasn’t able to see what it said. I only recognized a large dog’s head and tried to think of any clubs that were around here when I left. Drawing a blank, I waited for my dinner and motioned for the waitress to bring me another beer.

The man walked past me, returning to his friends when he paused and turned his head to glance at me. He smiled and faced me before walking back to stand near my table. I didn’t want any trouble, and I was severely outnumbered, but I refused to let him see me sweat. Too many tours in Iraq rendered me numb to threats.

“You serve?” he asked, nodding to the dog tags that were hanging out the front of my shirt.

“Six years,” I replied as the waitress placed my food down and turned to the man.

“You need another beer, Smokey?”

“Yeah, darlin. Bring us another round and put it on my tab,” he replied and gestured to the chair in front of me.

I pushed it out with my foot and dug into my food. Smokey sat down and waited until I came up for air to speak.

“You from around here?”

“Born and raised.” I fought not to roll my eyes as I finished the last of my fries.

“How long you been out?”

“Four days. I’m here to get something, then I’m moving on,” I replied, draining my second beer and finally feeling the buzz from the alcohol. Looking him in the eye, I spoke clearly, “I’m not looking for any trouble.”

“Where you headed?” I shrugged as another beer was placed in front of me. He grabbed his and held it up, waiting for me to lift mine. I lifted it and he clinked the necks together. “Welcome home. I’m Smokey. President of the Death Hounds MC.”

“Kade and thanks.”

Taking a swallow from the cold bottle, I glanced at the men across the room and saw a man about my age, tall with shoulder-length blonde hair, walking over to join us. He pulled a chair up and turned it around, sitting across the seat like he was riding a motorcycle, and draped his arms over the back.

“This is Bullet. My VP. This is Kade. He just got out a few days ago.”

“Good to meet you. I remember my transition back to civilian life. It sucked ass trying to figure out my next move.” He chuckled and reached his fist out.

I tapped my fist to his and leaned back, curious about their intentions.

“You know how to ride?” Smokey asked, and I smiled.

“Yeah. My pops taught me to ride. That’s why I’m here. To pick up my bike from the storage facility before I take off.”

Bullet chuckled, and I wondered what the joke was but decided my prickly attitude with them would only get my ass kicked so I kept my judgements to myself.

“Where you headed?” Bullet asked, and I shrugged again.

“Not sure. I’ll let the road tell me where to go next.”

Honestly, I had no destination in mind for my future and somehow, I sensed these two men understood that. I craved the feel of the wind on my face and the freedom from riding, but I couldn’t ramble forever.

“Why don’t you stop by the clubhouse tomorrow afternoon. We can have a few drinks and maybe we can help you figure out your next step,” Smokey explained, and I realized I had nothing to lose.

“Sure. I’ve got to pick my bike up at ten and I was planning on hanging for a few days.”

Both men stood and as they walked away, Bullet looked over his shoulder and asked, “What do you ride?”

“95 Harley Evo Softail,” I replied with pride.

I didn’t have much, but I bought my bike from a junkyard and worked my ass off to get her just perfect. It was the only thing I spent money on during my time in the service. I stored it here after Pops died and I was set to deploy again.

The two men smiled and Smokey smacked Bullet on the back as they returned to their friends and I finished my beer, wondering what I just got myself into.

Chapter Two