Blazing Rebels Prequel

Chapter 2

Eight hours later, the coke had worn off, and I was beginning to feel drowsy. My eyes begged to rest, but I didn’t have anywhere to go. Sleeping in the middle of the Serrano desert, just as the sun was rising, was asking for a heatstroke. I couldn’t subject Buddy to that. There was just enough in my bank account to find a cheap motel somewhere for at least two nights. Once we were settled somewhere, then I’d think of my next step.

Vivid orange hues from the rising sun shot through the night sky. All the clouds appeared hot pink or the color of tangerines, with dark purple ribbons fading quickly with the moon. Glancing at my gas tank for the hundredth time, I saw it had reached below the quarter line.

Nervous, I turned to Buddy. “Don’t worry, Buddy. We’ll be okay.”

Buddy’s nose twitched in his sleep but was otherwise unbothered.

Ten minutes later, just as my sleep-deprived mind began feeling hopeless, I saw a sign—a literal sign that gave me faith that I hadn’t just lied to Buddy or myself.

“Welcome to Mascid,” I said aloud, noticing the painted wooden sign lightened by the sun and beat up from the desert monsoons. “Guess it’ll do for now, huh, boy?”

Buddy snored in reply.

As I drove past a hill, the first thing I saw of Mascid was a tall building with a triangular wooden roof poking through a couple of palm trees. Slowing to a stop as I neared the outskirts of the city, I glanced at the building, noticing there weren’t any others for a long stretch down the road.

I liked the look of the place. It was old and rustic, with a few motorbikes sitting outside. Phoenix was all right, but I was sick of cities. They often felt cold and fake, like no one truly cared about you. But this place had character. A lot of work could be done to it, like fixing the broken window on the front, but it was nice to see a place so rural, so real.

A large wooden sign was nailed above the entrance that read Ironhead Tavern in western-styled letters. I was headed in the direction of the rest of the city when my stomach grumbled. Without all the effects of the different stimulants I’d consumed the night before, I was feeling human again. I remembered I hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. When I saw they had a station with a bowl of water for animals and a pole to tie Buddy up to, I decided to make a pit stop.

When I was knelt over Buddy, I poured some of the dog food I had in my truck into a Styrofoam cup. “Sorry, Bud, I forgot your dish. I’ll get you a new one soon, though.”

A female’s voice behind me made me flinch and turn around. “What an adorable puppy!”

Without asking, the lady rushed to Buddy and began scratching his ears, which he seemed to enjoy, going by his wagging tail and panting tongue. The woman looked too old for me, but damn, she was smokin’. She had platinum blonde hair with only a few wisps of gray pulled back into a ponytail and bangs covering her warm brown eyes. I put her at thirty-five, but she was wearing skintight leather pants that showed off her round ass and a leather jacket to match.

I wanted to ask her if she was a biker, but I wasn’t in the mood. All I wanted was food and maybe a beer.

Impatient, I rubbed Buddy’s back and said, “Yeah, he’s great.” I patted Buddy’s head one last time then ended the conversation. “Well, uh, thanks. Have a good day.”

As I entered the Tavern, I thought it reminded me of an old-timey saloon, but without all the western memorabilia. Instead, the walls appeared to be decorated with pictures of motorcycles, famous biker legends, and all sorts of Harley-Davidson merchandise.

I couldn’t help but raise my brow as my chest fluttered with a strange excitement.

This bar was exactly what I’d been looking for in Phoenix. Everything was perfect, from the wooden framing to the wide-open room. All the clubs in the city were tiny so you were forced to slide against everyone, whether you wanted to or not.

Feeling pleased with my decision, I decided to sit at the empty bar until the bartender returned. It being so early in the morning, I was honestly surprised to see anyone inside. There was life in here. There was a group who occupied two tables. They looked like they hadn’t slept a wink the entire night, drinking and making merry. The obnoxious chatter didn’t even faze me in the slightest, the grin on my face unperturbed.

The third table I walked by didn’t seem to be having as much fun. Three gruff-looking men, all in leather cuts, were huddled close, their heads forming a circle. There was no merry-making here, only urgent whispers and glares. The bulkiest of the three caught me staring, and it was hard to take my eyes off his bushy beard which was the same color as his unreadable dark brown eyes. I quickly turned away and settled myself at the bar.

The bartender was still nowhere to be found, so I positioned myself closer to the group of bikers.

“What are we going to do?” one of them asked. “They’re gonna get us when our backs are turned, Tank, and you know it.”

“Relax, Crow. We’re smarter than them,” another voice said. It came from the seat closest to me, the bulkiest of the three. “We’re a brotherhood. Not a bunch of junkies.”

“Those Freeway Fucks are gonna get dethroned,” the third voice spat.

I lowered my head, confused at how the words of a stranger could sting. I remembered bright nights and blurry mornings, bitter pills, powder served in lines, money burning away like a lit cigarette. It was hard to separate these with the crew I used to hang out with. It was almost mutually exclusive.

“Junkie” and “brotherhood”.

I couldn’t deny the guilt that niggled at the back of my head. I ran away from that life because I couldn’t keep my sticky hands off the good stuff. Well, the hot redhead told me to. But that didn’t change the truth. That I was a fucked up loner.