The rifle followed soon after. “Hey, c’mon leave me with something.”
The leader nodded, and the rifle went back in the pack. Then the guy patted Bomber down, getting his other S&W revolvers and two knives. “That should do it.”
“What’s your handle?”
“Bomber.”
“Reaper.”
“Good to meet you.”
“C’mon up.”
Bomber followed him up to the house. The bikers were all over the place, sitting in chairs, one on the counter, and a few women were there too. One of them came up to him and he refused her gently, not knowing if they were attached to anyone, and frankly, not in the mood for a slut.
As they walked through the house to the kitchen, Reaper asked, “Where you from, Bomber?”
“Originally Pennsylvania but Rhode Island recently. I was a Hanger On with Iron Horsemen for a while.”
Reaper stopped and turned around slowly. “You’re one o’ them?”
“No,” he said, confusion on his face. “They never gave me a patch.”
“They’re fuckin’ wolves.”
“And v– Ah, yeah.”
“You don’t know that?”
“Only what somebody’s told me about it.”
“So you mean to tell me you’ve been with them and you don’t know what they’re made of?”
“I know they’re garou, and I know about them.”
Reaper grabbed a beer and gave one to Bomber. “What about the licks?”
“Vampires?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know too much about them.”
“Then let me tell you…”
Into the wee hours of the next morning, Bomber heard about the Sabbat and the Camarilla, their ongoing war, how they themselves were divided into factions, how the werewolves were divided and fought among themselves. How they created servants, both human and animal, and the different powers some possessed.
He couldn’t believe the half of it. Vampire mages? Blue blood vampires and werewolves? Insane vampires? And so many of them! The world was full of these creatures of the day and night. It seemed the humans were in the minority.
His head was swiming with all the information as he trudged his way upstairs. Reaper had an extra room that he usually reserved for guests. Bomber still slept with his gun under the pillow.
Day 5, Thursday.
He went downstairs to see only an older woman sitting at the kitchen table. The rest of the house looked like a disaster. Bomber stepped over a pile of what looked like clothes but could be a man. He nodded to the woman, who nodded back.
“You’re up early after such a late night last night,” she said, sipping her coffee.
He washed out a mug. “I’m used to getting up at five. Habit.”
She looked at the clock. “It’s nine.”
“Except when I’m up until five.”
She chuckled as he sat across from her. “You look confused.”
“I had a lot of information thrown at me last night.”
She nodded, “Ah yes. When Reaper gets going on that, he doesn’t stop. It’s a personal thing.”
“Why, does he know anyone like that?”
“A couple of people who have been on the receiving end of their rages or their hunts.” She sipped her coffee. “You’re a ghoul, aren’t you?”
He looked down. “Yes.”
“He saw the blood in your saddle bags. Who’s your daddy?”
“That’s powdered vitae from somewhere, I don’t know, the leader of the Horsemen got it.”
She shook her head. “He thinks he’s not beholden to people with this, but he is. You did have a daddy.”
“Yes, but I think I’ve broken it.”
“I doubt it. It takes years, and more than just some nameless vampire’s dried blood to do it. It keeps you alive, but it doesn’t take away the love you have.”
“I don’t know, I haven’t seen him.”
She smiled slightly. “The only way it can be broken is if your daddy dies or you go cold turkey.”
“Or I die.”
“Or you die.”
Bomber frowned in his cup. “Damn.”
She reached over and put a hand on his arm. “My sister was one.”
“What happened?”
“We called in some hunters to kill her mommy. She died three months later in heartbreak.”
He snorted, “That doesn’t sound promising.”
“It’s realistic. It’s addicting, Bomber. It doesn’t become necessary, it becomes all-consuming. It is your life.”
He drained the coffee. “I know. I need to get away from it.”
“No, you need to face it. You can do one of two things. You can try and break it, or you can embrace it. What do you want?”
He looked at her. “Horsemen treat me like shit. They don’t trust me. An’ the only way they will is if I take bullets for ’em. I don’ take bullets for nobody.”
“Except your daddy.”
“Pro’lly.” He didn’t look happy about admitting that fact to himself. He got up, and put on his glasses. “Thanks for the hospitality,” he said.
She smiled. “You’re welcome.”
When he stepped out of the convenience store, there were a bunch of people gathered around his bike.
Word count: 824
Inspiration: Sons of Anarchy