CHAPTER SIX

Cricket

I don’t know what shocked me the most, seeing Jase, my first love and source of my first heartbreak after all these years, my notoriously grumpy uncle greeting me with a smile and a hug, or that his office smelled like Snoop Dog’s tour bus. All of it was way too much for me to process.

“Hi, Uncle Cutter, it’s nice to see you, too,” I said into his barreled chest as he held me tight. I was mere inches away from Minus, who had also been entrapped in this surprise bear hug. My uncle’s beard and long hair reeked of pot smoke. He finally let go and I stepped back, smoothing my hands over my hips and glancing to Minus who looked as stunned as I was.

Gorgeous, yes. Sexier than ever, yes. But definitely stunned.

He’d gotten a lot bigger... wider really, since I’d last seen him. Savannah appeared to have agreed with him. He’d grown an epic beard, and I itched to run my fingers through it. His face had the same chiseled features and he had the same longish, dark blond hair that he’d pulled back into a band. His eyes, though, God, those blue eyes still brought me to my knees.

“Look at you two!” my uncle exclaimed. “I always thought you two made such a beautiful couple.”

“Okay, what the fuck is going on here?” Minus growled out in obvious disbelief.

Uncle Cutter simply smiled even wider and said, “Come in, come in,” as he ushered us into his office.

“Please sit down. Don’t mind Warthog there, he’s kind of like my personal assistant, but he’s mostly here for the weed,” Cutter said laughing. “He keeps me flush with the good shit and I’m always happy to share. Plus, I’ve never believed that it’s good for a man to drink, or smoke, alone. Isn’t that right, Warthog?”

Through the haze of smoke, I could barely make out the rather furry man seated at the end of a large leather sofa.

Warthog, who I thought looked a bit like Cheech, or was it Chong, simply smiled through his bushy black and grey beard. Causing his eyes to disappear behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

“We’re not sitting, because we’re not staying,” Minus said, clearly pissed. “Actually, she can sit all she wants.” He motioned to me. “What the fuck do I care, but I’m outta here,” he said, turning to leave.

“Sit the fuck down, Minus,” my uncle’s voice boomed, his welcoming smile now completely gone.

Minus turned around slowly, but did as his president asked, sitting on the opposite end of the sofa. This of course left only the middle spot between him and Warthog open, which I reluctantly took.

“Don’t be rude to my beautiful niece.” Cutter turned to me and took my face in his leathery hands. “It’s so wonderful to see you, my dear. Thank you so much for coming. It’s certainly no surprise to see what a beautiful woman you’ve grown up to be. More importantly, I understand you’re doing quite well at Mann Industries.” His eyes were soft, and his words tender. This was not the man I remembered, or the one I expected to see, not that I quite knew what to expect. I was also shocked that he knew anything about me or my work.

I smiled. “Thank you.”

“Good, we’re all settled in,” my uncle continued, his grin having returned. “Either of you wanna hit this?” He presented to us a large black glass bong, adorned with the Burning Saints’ club logo. “Warthog here had this made special for me as a gift. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Oh, boy, Cutter, I tell ya, I’d normally join you, but I just polished off a spliff in the parking lot before coming in. How ’bout you, Cricket? It’s 4:20 somewhere, right?” Minus mocked.

“I’m good, thanks,” I shot back through clenched teeth.

“Alright, Minus, you don’t have to be an asshole, she didn’t ask you to be here, I did,” Uncle Cutter said.

“And why exactly is that, Cutter?” Minus snapped.

“Hey, shithead! I may be high, but that don’t make me some peace-lovin’ hippie. You’d better stow that fucking attitude before I start rethinking you coming back here.”

“Coming back? What the fuck are you talking about? Who said anything about coming back? In fact, who said I wanted to be here at all?” Minus stood up.

“Who said you had a fucking choice in the matter?” Cutter asked, also rising to his feet. The two men were now standing toe-to-toe, mere inches away from each other. They both stood well above six feet and were menacing in their own ways. Uncle Cutter was as ‘old school’ as they came and had a commanding presence. Shocks of white streaked through his jet-black hair and beard, giving him a severe, yet regal look. His arms were sleeved in blurry, aged tattoos, and rings adorned his gnarled fingers. He was clearly the kind of man who knew when to bark and when to bite. No doubt, years of leading the unleadable had gained him that skill.

Minus, on the other hand, was more like a dormant volcano that was waking up after a long sleep. He seemed calm on the outside, but I could sense a lake of molten anger bubbling deep inside him. Some of that anger began to flow out as Minus challenged my uncle and seeing the look on his face brought back a flood of memories. His beautiful features, forming into a Viking-like scowl. His fists, balled up at his sides, caused his biceps to swell. As hurt and confused as I was, I could not stop myself from feeling an instant, and overwhelming attraction to him. I had to force myself to look away.

“So, it’s more of this shit again? You tellin’ me where to go, where to live, who I can and can’t see. Is that why you brought me here, Cutter? So that you can show me you can still fuck with my life? And why the hell is she here? I thought I was asked here on club business,” Minus shouted.

I wanted to be pissed at the way he said “she,” but at this point, I had some of the same thoughts. Why was I here? Why had my uncle asked Minus and me to be here at the same time, when he’d done everything in his power to separate us and keep us apart eight years ago?

My uncle said nothing for several seconds, but quietly motioned for Minus to re-take his seat, before finally breaking the silence. “I’m dying.”

“What the fuck?” The tone in Minus’s voice immediately shifted from anger to concern. I gasped, my hand reflexively covering my mouth.

“I have CRC.”

“What the hell is that?” Minus asked with a slight drawl. Evidence of his time spent in Savannah.

“Jesus, Minus, you sound like a goddamned hillbilly,” Cutter said with a chuckle.

“Colorectal cancer,” Warthog sang out, in a mock country singer voice, to a cheery tune that did not fit the lyrics.

“Yup. Asshole cancer, stage four,” Cutter said. “It’s bad, I’ve apparently had it for a long time, it’s spread… and it’s gonna kill me pretty damn soon.”

I sat stunned, not knowing what quite to say. My relationship with my uncle was complicated to say the least. I was at a bit of a loss as to the appropriate way to act. Plus, I wasn’t quite dealing with a “normal” guy here.

“How long have you known about this?” Minus asked.

“Not long. A couple months. I’ve been keeping this real quiet. Hardly anybody knows,” he replied before adding, “No one outside of my old lady, Big Frank, and of course, Dr. Warthog here.”

“What are you doing about it?” Minus asked.

“Nothin’. Not a goddamned thing I can do about it. It’s aggressive and it’s having a fucking party all over my insides. Besides, it’s not like the club has a health plan to pay for treatment. Hell, before we started getting’ patched up by Doc Eldie, I hadn’t seen a doctor since I was a kid. Probably why I’m in the state I am now. She was the one that spotted somethin’ was wrong with me in the first place, but by then it was too late.”

“Then why the fuck are you telling us?” I asked.

“Because tonight I’m announcing my retirement from the Burning Saints,” he said.

“The hell you are,” Minus replied.

“It’s true.”

Minus stared at Cutter, seemingly unable to process his words.

“It’s not like it’s my choice, it’s the law,” Cutter continued. “If you can’t ride, you can’t wear a patch, and I can barely walk around the block without passing out and pissing myself, let alone ride.”

“You wrote the law and you can change it.”

“If I could then the law wouldn’t be worth jack shit.”

“You started this club.”

“I remember, I was there.” Cutter smiled.

“Let me get this straight,” Minus said. “You’re dying and no one can do anything about it, and the gathering of the tribe out there is because you’re announcing your retirement.”

“That’s right,” Cutter replied.

“So, Big Frank takes up the staff tonight?” Minus asked.

“Nope, can’t do it. Big Frank’s even older than me, has two bum knees. In truth, he hasn’t been able to ride for six months. We’ve been letting him slide, but the staff can’t go to him. So, with me kickin’ the fuckin’ bucket, it’s a good time for both of us to retire.”

“And not ride off into the sunset,” Warthog added, to an approving nod from Cutter.

“Cricket and I could’ve heard about all of this along with the others when you make your big speech or whatever,” Minus said. “Or better yet, we could have heard about it through the grapevine and spared the travel expense, so why the private pow-wow?”

Cutter smiled wide once again, sparked his lighter, and took a huge pull from his bong. He tilted his head back and exhaled slowly, once again filling the small room with a thick, nauseating smoke. He then set his glassy eyed stare directly at us.

“How would the two of you like to run a motorcycle club?”