Ok so My fellow fiends this one is up fast but it ain't dirrty! bekala is on a mad dash in life right now and i was lucky enough to come across the ever so helpful muckysroom who helped me out with this chapter i hope you al like it and that things keep coming this easy for me with SSO up dates but folks do not hold your breath rember erratic and a job that most days leaves me dead by 9 pm so if you like it let me know if you got a question ask it and please feel free to give me a one shot request reviews lead to good karma and motivate me SO REVIEW! if you want
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The scream that tore out of him preceded a hurricane of violent destruction. In a matter of minutes the tidy dorm room vanished. In the thunder of his rage a chair flew across the room, shattering the mirror. Glinting shards of glass and splinters of wood rained down.
When Tig and Juice burst through the door, guns raised, they were greeted with the bloodshot visage, a world seen through a red haze.
Happy turned to them, his pitch black eyes glazed over with rage. The beast was in residence and when it met their forms in his doorway it recognised nothing of his brothers. Reality could not reach him. He was rage. His anger blinded him to all but the destruction he wanted to deliver.
The beast was something Tig saw often when he worked with Happy. This wasn't his brother. This was the club's caged chaos, unrestrained: Tha Killah was in the house. Happy rumbled with a rabid growl. His shoulders rolled, his fingers curled, it was a visibly swelling wave of violence as he charged forward. Tig shoved Juice back, dropped his Glock and stepped in front of Killah, taking the hit.
Tig and Happy had spent years sparring and beating each other in the ring, or even at the bar following drunken outbursts, but Tig had never felt this much anger from his brother. The hit was driven with a purpose that Tig had only ever witnessed Happy dish out when the club let him loose on a rat or on someone who had made the mistake of being a threat to his club. For a split dazed second Tig felt sorry for every fucker that they had ever sent Happy to take care of; but the next fist to his gut knocked the sentiment out of him and the gap was filled with his own personal fiend.
Tig connected a solid punch to Happy's jaw. The hit snapped Happy's head to the side. He turned back and met Tig's eyes with a feral grin and a deep grunt of satisfaction. Crazy met crazy as both men let their inner beasts take control. Fists swung and bodies slammed as they grappled their way down the hall into the main room. All the while Juice kept pace, trying to grab and pull the two men apart, only to receive a few shoves and find his nose bleeding after one of Tig's elbows connected with his face.
Juice wasn't sure what to do. The two scariest fuckers he knew were tearing each other apart in the clubhouse and he didn't think he had a chance in hell of making them stop. As he watched Happy got the upper hand again on Tig; pinning him down as he slammed his fist down over and over again to Tigs face. Tig's sudden cackle seemed to shatter the air. Happy's fist stilled, poised, dripping blood, as Tig maniacally laughed under him, his whole body shaking with the maniacal glee.
"Hey bro is it wrong that I have got a massive boner right now?" Tig gurgled the words out between spitting blood. He punctuated his point by thrusting his hips, rubbing his dick up against Happy; who snapped back to reality, connecting the waiting punch before jumping up and looking around the clubhouse at the destruction; as if waking from a drunken blackout.
"Fuck." Happy turned back to look at Tig who was still laughing on the floor. Reaching down he pulled Tig up, his vivid eyes made that much brighter by the contrasting blood streaming down the side of his face from a cut in his eyebrow.
"Fuck man. Who's gonna clean this shit up?" Juice asked in a nasal whine. He was leant back on the bar, pinching his nose with his shirt to stop the blood flowing.
Both Tig and Happy looked at Juice and said in unison: "You are asshole," before heading back to the dorms.
The fact that they were both back less than five minutes later, ready to ride, was a testament to how well they knew each other .Tig nodded and swung his kutte into place as Happy walked past him. Both men walked past Juice, who was stood with a broom in hand and wads of white tissue, turning red, stuck up his nose.
"Going for a ride. Got our cells." Was all Happy said.
Tig passed the bar, picking up Hap's forgotten bottle of Johnny Red and slipped it into the saddle bag slung over Hap's shoulder. This was an old routine for the two men. When things got heavy they took off the edge with their fists then smoothed it all out on the road, honing their long standing relationship. Tig had been with Happy on his first kill and that had set their bizarre friendship.
Whilst the two men were vastly different, they both had that inner rage that always needed to be sated. They were each others pressure valve. Both sought the other when shit was just too loud in their heads. For Tig it was retribution for the never ending guilt that filled his head and left him crazed. He took the hits and fought back but the pain was what he sought. When they stepped into the ring, Happy never failed to deliver precise shots, leaving Tig throbbing in physical pain that pushed his head clear of anything but the pain which brought a relieving quiet to his overtaxed thoughts, it pounded his guilt back down to a manageable level.
The violence in the act was what Happy craved. The connection of flesh to fist, the laboured air, the heavy shock that came from getting hit, the adrenalin rush shooting him into over drive: That was what Happy needed. It allowed him to vent the rabid anger he fought to control. Dishing out pain and receiving it back hit for hit soothed him, left him clear headed so that the anger had no hold on him. It prevented the anger from motivating him or clouding his judgment, leaving him free to do the things he need to do for the club.
They made their way onto the highway side by side, throttles open until the speed made the road lines fall into themselves becoming an infinite line to which they set their wheels. The wind tore at them, tugging them free of all constraints. When that moment arrived both felt at one with the machine beneath them, in that perfect moment, they found freedom.
They made their way to Bluebird Supply Company warehouse, rolling the bikes to a stop. No words were said. They both went straight to the back of their bikes. Happy pulled the bottle and a few clips out of his saddle bags, taking a swig as he dropped the bags and pulled his gun clear of his kutte, firing it at a fence lined with bottles and random targets nailed to the trees. He passed the bottle to Tig who stood back and watched as Happy hit his targets one after another, never stopping.
Happy stood still, the last shot still sounding out in the quiet of the night air. Tig was there waiting. Tig would never ask him straight out what his fucking problem was but Hap was out of ideas. His head could not wrap it all up. There was just a constant replay of Batty's casual statement as she spoke of her upbringing.
"I was shot, hung, beaten and knifed before the age of twelve."
The woman who moaned beneath him in ecstasy, her eyes bright and open and always on him as she came, had always been two steps from crazy; but when Batty said those words, with so much flippant resignation as if such occurrences were normal, it had twisted his gut and burned him with anger. He'd had a visceral need to kill whoever it was that had twisted up his girl and broken her so badly that she saw nothing wrong with the acts done to her.
When she had said that their daughter was being subjected to the same demented acts, all that hate had spun and landed on her in an instant. She had, with full understanding and knowledge, let someone harm her child, his child. That was a concept he simply could not grasp.
He had become the man he was out of need. His first act of true violence had been a necessity not a choice. It been thrust upon him well before he was anywhere near to being a man, but he'd never looked back on the act as anything more than what it was. It was an act of love, of protection. A solution to what was killing the person he loved most, his mom. Happy had never once felt anything more than satisfaction at the memory of his father's final moments. He'd watched, with gun still smoking in hand, as the man choked and drowned in his own blood on the floor at his feet. He'd killed his father, with no hesitation, at the age of fourteen
His mother had always sacrificed for him, protected and sheltered him from the harsh reality of what his father was. A no-good, selfish drug addict who had spent most of his son's childhood in prison for petty crimes committed to feed his habit. All the while his mother worked herself into the ground, taking any job, to make sure their son never went without a meal, shoes or a roof. Every time the man found his way out of jail he'd slowly deplete them of everything her honest hard work had provided. The final straw for Happy had been when the asshole had dared to lay hands to his mother. He had simply reached into his old man's jacket pocket and pulled his own piece on him. There had been no hesitation in the boy he'd been. At the sound of his mother's cries it had all made perfect sense to Happy.
The trigger had felt smooth and warm and the reverberating pop had only made him want to pull it over and over again. The only thing that had prevented that was the voice of his mother begging him to stop. As always, she tried to protect her boy, but Happy was no longer her little boy.
With his father's final breath he became a Son, a man who killed and didn't regret it in the least. She had taught him, with every sacrifice she had made, that the ones you love are worth any price. She had proved it once more as she had wiped his prints from the gun, gripped it in her own hand and pulled the trigger, attempting to cover for him with the cops. But Happy had stepped out the front door of the house as the officers pulled up and confessed without remorse or emotion on the spot, as his mother screamed over and over that he was lying, that she had done it. He had been sentenced to two years in juvie. As far as he was concerned it was two years well spent, he got one hell of a first class criminal education.
Given the example she had set all his life, the thought that a mother could allow their flesh and blood to feel any pain just didn't fit anywhere in him. He had no doubts in his mind that he had a daughter; no doubts that Batty had been raised as she had said and that it had all the fucked up parts had twisted into what he had seen in her. However, he wasn't sure if he could forgive her and before he could push it all down he started talking, hoping that if he said it all out loud some of the burning shit in his gut and head were Batty was concerned would just get cold so he could see it from a different angle. Maybe Tig would say something that made it all just make sense for him. Never mind the fact that this was all going to end up on the table once he had his kid.
When Hap was done firing, Tig stepped up. He missed a few but just kept up the steady pull on his trigger, the shots reverberating back at them in the quiet darkness. Tig stood back as the last shot rang out of his barrel. He turned to look at Hap. There was no point in pressing Happy to talk, no matter how much Tig wanted to hear why he had lost his shit that night. He knew that just wasn't his brother's way. So when Happy's voice rumbled out it took Tig a moment to actually hear him and comprehend his words. Happy began to talk and didn't stop until he had laid it all out for Tig, from the night he'd found her over the rat he'd been sent to kill, to Batty's confessions earlier that night.
"A kid? WAIT! Sixteen years?! How the fuck didn't we know about this shit? How the fuck have you had a woman for sixteen years and not told the Club?" Tig asked incredulously.
"Sixteen years yeah, but for all the killing, body shredding and fucking man, I never knew her name, never knew where she was at! Me and her were never more than...fuck man I got no clue! Truth? Ain't any other bitch out there who fucking feels so right to me. Killing? Fucking? She fits, or she did. I can't get my head around her leaving our kid to be done the same way she was. She let MY girl get raised THE SAME FUCKED UP WAY!"
Happy had never said so much in all the years Tig had know him, much less said anything with that much emotion. There was pain in his voice, a desperate kind of acceptance at what he was saying. It was as if he had no doubt that what she had told him was true, that it was killing him to think that his kid had suffered the same fate as her crazy ass mother.
The picture Hap had laid out, while tangled with the anger he was feeling, all in all showed Batty to be a hard act to pass up; a no stress woman who fucked him to oblivion and could hold her own. Tig saw that Happy was struggling with the anger and hate he felt for this bitch, that to Happy she was a part of his life that had been real for him, that he was connected to her. This was a concept that Tig got. The mother of his twins was a piece of work, a real bitch. He'd thought about killing her more than once, but she'd been a big part of a few happy moments he had in his life. If he killed her it would've made those few memories all a lie. His few good acts of love, while short lived, had been honest when done.
"So where's the kid? Why're we here, not on the road getting your girl?" Tig asked.
"I haven't got a clue where she is man. She said she killed her old man so I figure she's got the kid somewhere safe right now, and if I fucking know one thing about the goddamn crazy bitch I know I don't have a fucking chance in hell of finding out where 'til she shows the fuck up to tell me. She's a fucking ghost!"
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