The club was packed as usual and the party was in full swing.
The drinks spilled as the strippers danced. This was a perfect glimpse at true heathenry at its finest.
Mark knew this was going to be far from easy to walk away from, but as brothers were bond, the blood of his family was something far more powerful to Mark Flynn.
And as Mark sat at the bar even in the total chaos he was at home in soul and lost within his thoughts.
The slap upon his back quickly pulled him back into reality.
“Never seen you this damn silent around free liquor and loose pussy there Poe, what, you having second thoughts?”
Roy Harris, the president of the club everyone called Mako, said.
Roy always called him Poe simply for the fact Mark was a poet, well if you could call it that.
And also because Mark was just an all around grim bastard.
“Shit, how can I not be having second thoughts? This is my life brother but I just can't lose Sandy.”
“Well you know we're not going to just let you walk away from this right?
“Yeah what are you going to do, kill me, chop me up into little pieces and feed me to the shark's, chief? Of course you’ll probably want to save certain parts. Don't tell me you haven't wanted to savor these nuts for a while sweetheart.”
Roy looked at Mark with that shit eating grin he was known for.
“Yeah if I was that way sugar pants I think I rather choke on a
Kielbasa rather than slurp on vienna sausage junior.”
The two men just looked at each other and busted up laughing.
“I’m going to miss the hell out of you chief.”
“You’ll be back you miserable fuck, besides who the hell leaves all this to move to Ohio?”
“It’s where Sandys family is, and I already got work at her fathers garage so it’s not like I'm running off to nothing.”
“Yeah a squares existence riding on the weekends if you’re lucky. Pretty soon you’ll be swapping out your Harley along with your balls for a station wagon and an easy chair you lame fuck!”
Mark understood why Roy was hurt; they had started this MC from scratch and carved a path straight through hell together.
But shit was getting more and more dangerous with every passing day.
Scotland Neck was a nowhere town where the Wendigos were born. Their club was a band of misfits and all around tough bastards. Their main source of income was running meth and this little nowhere town was a perfect center of operations.
Mark knew this departure was going to sting no matter how he tried to play it off.
And later, as he and his brothers said their farewells underneath that full moon, he could not bear to look back as he fired up his bike.
They were all far from angels but they were the only true family he ever knew and the guilt of turning his back upon them was a burden he knew somehow deep down he would never escape.
Later that night he laid in bed with Sandy in the dark of their bedroom staring at the ceiling.
It’s in the silence the ghosts of regret truly haunt a man the most.
Sandy rolled over and laid her head upon his chest.
As Mark stroked that long dark hair of hers.
If not for Sandy he would ride until his demise with the Wendigos; she had saved him as much as he had rescued her from her abusive shit bag of an ex.
“I know what you did was hard, baby and I’m sorry but you know we cannot stay here anymore.”
"I know sugar.”
It was as they began to kiss Mark heard the roar of the engines headed down the highway.
As quickly the bedroom was illuminated by the lights of the bikes.
“Mark what the hell is going on!”
“Get out of here hit the woods and get to the neighbor’s farm and don't come back. I will come for you after I clear up whatever the fuck this is.”
“But.”
“Just fucking get moving and take this.”
Mark said as he placed the beretta in her hand.
Mark didn't wait for a reply for one thing for certain, when the devil comes knocking, you better be ready to answer the door or haul ass
And running wasn't an option right now.
Mark didn't hesitate as he approached the door and for him that was a very unfortunate mistake.
As no sooner had he opened the door, than he was met by the searing pain as the pepper spray blinded him instantly.
He collapsed to the floor, met by boot heels slamming into his ribcage.
For no matter how big the man, the numbers game always works because that Hollywood Bruce Lee horse shit looked good on screen and that was about it.
“Hey there Poe, damn you didn't think we would let you leave without giving you a real send off did you motherfucker?”
Mark heard Roy say as he quickly kicked him in the face, breaking his nose.
Mark went unconscious.
But it was the pain that brought him back. He awoke as he felt something bite into his wrist.
As someone flung a beer in his face.
“Have a drink you piece of shit! Enjoy your nap?”
The room erupted in laughter.
“Let’s just finish this and be done with this shit man!”
Mark heard Victor say.
“Shut the fuck up kid! or I will shackle you to this cocksucker and let you fry together got it!”
“Roy, you mother fucker! Why the fuck are you doing this just because I’m leaving the goddamed club! I founded this club with you. You fucking bastard!”
“I don't give a flying fuck that you’re leaving asshole! You tried to bring us down. The fucking feds tried busting the lab down in Ranchland. Stupid bastards got there too late, didn't find shit.”
“Are you out of your mind? Why would I rat on something that made me money as well, you idiot!”
“Beats the shit out of me, but that pussy of yours seems to have infected your brain you dumb fuck! Hell, where are my manners? Boys bring that sweet piece in here. Hate for her to miss the festivities.”
Mark struggled to breathe as his eyes still burned as he struggled to regain his sight.
He heard Sandy's screams as someone dragged her into the garage where Mark sat handcuffed to his work bench.
Mark knew the pleading was pointless. Roy was nicknamed Mako for a reason for when he committed himself to violence, he was a ruthless killing machine.
His sadistic streak is what people feared about him. Mostly everyone except Mark, who could be beyond cold himself but never did he take glee in doing shit that had to be done. It was a job and nothing more.
He knew death was always in the cards but for a moment with Sandy Mark saw a glimmer of hope if only he could escape this hell that was his everyday existence.
But when you play cards with the devil the house always wins.
Sandy screamed. She was quickly silenced, being knocked to the floor by Tank, Roy’s mountain of an enforcer.
“Now, now Tank, don't mess old Sandy bottoms face up too bad. I mean I may want to take her for one last spin before the party's over.”
“Roy you mother fucker! Just let her go, this isn't how we do shit!”
“You’re right Poe. This isn't how we do shit. Boys take her to the bedroom. I don't want lover boy here having to bear witness to his little angel getting all soiled by us heathens.”
Sandy screamed as the men hauled her off. The screams were the only thing Mark could hear as they were his constant that drowned out his former friend's psycho babble.
Only Tank and Roy stayed behind, as Tank closed the door muffling Sandy's screams.
Roy stood over his former friend who was a bleeding mess upon the floor.
“Look asshole, I’m going to make this real simple because I got a date with your old lady in there you see.”
“Your going to fucking die and its going to be a truly exquisite death.
But first I'm gonna let Tank here soften you up a bit. It's been real motherfucker. See you in hell, my friend.”
“Roy!”
Mark shouted as struggled to get up as no sooner did feel the lug wrench crash down upon his head.
There is a point when your body loses all sense of everything as it goes into shock.
Mark felt his cheek bone shatter as his sight went from his left eye .
As he laid there broken, the screams of his wife echoing within his mind.
He lost track of everything as yet again he slipped off into unconsciousness.
It was only when the house was engulfed in smoke did he awake.
Mark could barely breathe as it was, let alone in total agony as he struggled to stand.
The fire was engulfing the house and he knew he had to somehow get free or soon he would burn.
He fumbled, reaching for anything on his bench he could use.
His vision was down to only one slightly blurry eye.
He turned over things, trying to grasp anything of use.
Finally he reached and grabbed something solid.
As the flames now ate through the door and filled the garage.
Mark realized he was holding his hatchet.
His body went into autopilot after that. He knew he chopped through his wrist but could not recall the pain. Everything was pain from that moment on.
The only thing that Mark Flynn could recall was reaching his bedroom and seeing Sandy dead upon the bed.
It's said it took two firemen to pull the man from his wife that night.
As he was burnt and broken upon every level.
As he struggled to breathe and in spite of his pleas to let him die, he somehow would survive.
The devil truly did await him and his former brothers known as the Wendigos. But as for that said gathering in hell, the Devil was going to have to take a rain check.
For Mark Flynn in spite of being broken, was still very much alive
And that meant big trouble for the riders of hell.
For no one can hate better than family and next time around the reaper was coming to this fractured family's reunion.
John Patrick Robbins, is the editor in chief of The Rye Whiskey Review and the author of The Still Night Sessions from Whiskey City Press.
His work has been published here at The Dope Fiend Daily, The San Antonio Review, Fixator Press, Fearless Poetry Zine, Piker Press, The San Pedro River Review, Lothorian Poetry Journal, Red Fez, Punk Noir Magazine.
His work is always unfiltered.
