The Prez (Devil’s Mayhem MC #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

RAFAEL

Unlike the rest of the people assembled, my eyes are dry as I look down at Christian’s casket. I don’t cry, though I don’t hold it against anyone that does. Feelings just ain’t my thing.

My brothers are stoic as we listen to the priest speak about Christian and what a good man he was. Tears streak their faces, but no one sobs. It’s not how we’re built, though we all feel this loss deeply.

Christian was the vice president for the Devil’s Mayhem MC for the past ten years, working alongside me, keeping these knuckleheads in line while making sure we get money with our drug sales and our legal businesses stay on track.

Now he’s gone. A fucking heart attack took my guy out, making him lay his bike down, narrowly avoiding being hit by more than one car. The only silver lining in all this shit is the doctor said he was dead before he hit the ground, so he didn’t suffer. A widow maker heart attack for a confirmed bachelor is not the kind of irony I appreciate.

“If any assembled would like to say a few words, please come forward,” the officiant says, clasping his hands in front of him and looking around.

Zeke, our enforcer, steps forward, his boyfriend Shane by his side. Zeke has a tear leaking from his right eye, but he makes no move to wipe it away. Shane is a complete fucking mess, his face wet and red with tears, his sobs low but audible.

Christian and Zeke were close, working together to ensure all the bylaws were updated, fines were paid, and punishments were doled out. Even though Shane isn’t a part of the MC, he’s been around for almost ten years, becoming part of our family as our private attorney. He’s feeling the loss just as my brothers are.

Clearing his throat, Zeke looks around at the crowd. There’s quite a turn out, some of Christian’s customers from the tattoo shop where he worked as a piercer showing up to pay their respects. He would have liked that.

“Thank you all for coming today,” Zeke says, swallowing roughly before he continues. “Christian went out on his bike, with the wind on his face and his chopper under him. That’s how most of us wish to meet our end.” My brothers make a sound of agreement. I keep mine to myself. I’m not sure how I want to go out. It should have already happened. “He wouldn’t want you to mourn him. That crazy fucker told me only a few weeks back if he died before me, I better not cry.” Everyone laughs somberly and I feel my lips twitch, though I don’t let the smile bloom. I rarely do.

Zeke looks at Christian’s casket with a sad smile. “Sorry I didn’t keep my promise, VP.” He pats Christian’s casket, placing the VP patch atop it.

After that, all of my brothers come up and speak a few words about Christian, talking about his character, sharing a joke or two or just pouring some of that expensive ass top shelf whiskey Christian kept making me order for the clubhouse into his freshly dug hole in the ground.

When everyone has had their turn, I step forward with his cut, cleaned and repaired from the road rash it took when he slid across the pavement. Rooster, our treasurer, has Christian’s helmet, but we plan to mount that on our Wall of the Fallen, that includes Vincent, our last Prez; Jermaine, Zeke’s father and previous enforcer; and Rax, though he isn’t dead. We still have to keep up appearances as if he were, though.

After Rax was sent back to prison for the second time—he escaped the first time after serving seven years of his fifteen to life sentence—we had to find a way to get him out of the country without the cops coming down on him or us. We set up an accident with one of the guards—one of my distant cousin’s husbands—so Rax could be declared dead and be free to move to Cuba to live out the rest of his days. He took Finn with him, the man he kidnapped after his first escape attempt, and they’re living happily ever after in my home country. The only bad thing is Rax can never step foot back in the US, for fear that he’ll be carted off to prison and we won’t be able to get him out again. So, he misses events like funerals for his VP.

As if he heard my thoughts about him, Rax clears his throat and I look down at the phone in my hand. His nose is red, but there are no tears on his face. Other than me, Rax is the only other person that keeps his emotions close to the vest. Before he met his boyfriend, Finn, I only remember him smiling a handful of times, usually when he was beating someone’s face in with a set of brass knuckles.

“Let me see,” he says and I hold the phone up to the casket. It was closed for the service, since Christian had so much damage from falling on the pavement that the mortician wasn’t able to make him look as he once did. So, all Rax is looking at is his shiny wooden casket.

That doesn’t matter. He still speaks to it as if Christian can hear him. “Wish I could have seen you one last time, VP. You’ll be missed.” Rax is a man of few words, always getting straight to the point.

I tuck the phone back in my pocket but leave the connection open. I won’t end the call until the service is over, since Rax can’t be here in person.

Sighing, I place my hand on the casket, as if I can touch Christian one last time. “You served the Devil’s Mayhem MC well, hermano. Duerme bien.” I lay his cut over the casket, patting it twice before I step back. Rax says a few more words, Finn offers his condolences to me and the other brothers and we disconnect the call.

We all watch as the casket is lowered into the ground. Only I stay while the dirt is being thrown over it and packed down. I continue to watch as the workers clean up around the gravesite and place a marker where Christian’s headstone will go. They arrange the flowers I know Christian would hate around the placard. I bristle, but don’t tell them to stop. It’s their job, but it’s a near thing.

Dios, I didn’t think I’d have to bury one of my brothers while we’re still this young. Christian was only forty, a year younger than me. It’s always a risk to lay our bikes down from speeding or reckless riding and get caught under the wheel of a car or worse, a fucking semi, but a heart attack? None of us saw that coming.

Shuffling footsteps sound behind me and I breathe in, lips twitching again. “What’s up, Enforcer?”

Zeke chuckles, stepping up beside me. “How did you know it was me?”

“No one else is dumb enough to come check on me like I need a fucking babysitter. ”

He shrugs, the leather of his cut crinkling with the movement. “Never claimed to be the smartest crayon in the box, but I have the smartest boyfriend. So, I think I’m winning.”

I look at him with a raised eyebrow. “You came to brag about your relationship?”

“Nah,” he says, nudging me. “You’re my prez. I came to check on you.”

Looking back at Christian’s grave, I nod. “Appreciate that, brother. I’m good. Just trying to make sense of it all.”

“I’m not sure that’ll ever happen. It’s probably a warning for all of us to get our asses in gear and get physicals. We’re not getting any younger.”

As far as I know, Christian hadn’t been to a doctor in the entire time I’ve known him, which was close to twenty years. We live hard lives—drinking, smoking, doing reckless shit like we’ll be young forever. None of us think about seeing a doctor about anything.

Even with this happening, I probably won’t see a doctor myself. If I die, I die. I have nothing and no one to live for besides the club. My family in Cuba are cool, but after what happened before I left, we’re not as close as we used to be. Diego, my cousin that has the connection to the cocaine we traffic, my sister, Maria, and brother-in-law, Luis, are the extent of my close connections. Maria is fucking persistent with her affection, so I’m stuck with her. Everyone else keeps me at arm’s length and I them.

Too much shit has happened for me to try to mend fences and I don’t give enough of a fuck to put in the effort.

“Shane made me an appointment for next week, so I don’t have a choice on if I go or not,” Zeke continues. “Sure wish I knew to push Christian to go.” He looks at me, eyes boring to the side of my face. “You gonna be alright?”

I dip my head once, not dragging my eyes from where one of my oldest friends is buried. “I’m always good, Enforcer.” I look over at him, seeing the doubt in his eyes.

Since we were told Christian was dead, I’ve kept to myself not wanting to share my grief with anyone. Anytime there’s been a loss, I’ve done my duty to be there for my brothers, but I don’t want them there for me. I can take care of myself. I always do.

After a few beats of Zeke searching my face, he pulls his lips in, but nods. “We’re all waiting on you, Prez.”

Sighing, I give Christian’s grave one last long look and turn away. Zeke and I walk together to where the other brothers and some of the hangarounds and friends of Christian are standing. Christian had no family but us, no old lady, no kids, parents dead. I hope our sendoff did right by him.

Once I throw my leg over my bike and start it, the rumble of other choppers surround me. Before we pull off, I raise my hand in the air and move my wrist back and forth in a revving motion. The sounds of revving bikes fill the air, our final goodbye to a fallen brother. This goes on for several minutes, until my ear drums rock in my skull and the only sounds that can be heard are the engines of our grief.

Only then do I halt my brothers.

With one last prayer, I pull off, my brothers following me back to the clubhouse.

The ride takes about an hour. We take it slow so everyone stays together and we arrive together. Two members stayed behind to watch over the clubhouse and they open the gates so we can drive through.

When we’re all parked, Jace hops onto a table in the courtyard and whistles. “Alright motherfuckers! Let’s fucking party in honor of our VP!”

Shouts and cheers go up, everyone eager to have a shot for Christian. I meander into my room in the clubhouse, shutting and locking my door so I can get changed. Since we were on our bikes for a long distance, I have on a pair of jeans, my boots, leathers, a long-sleeved shirt and my cut. I don’t feel right. I feel like an imposter in a Rafael suit.

Opening my closet, I grab a blue button up, a pair of black slacks and a pair of dress shoes. I rifle through my dresser drawers until I find a pair of black socks. Once I have my outfit, I strip off these street clothes and get dressed.

Feeling more like myself, I toss the funeral clothes into my hamper and step into the bar. Pete, our mechanic, is sitting at a table off the side of the bar, tears streaming down his face as he takes cuts from the members of the MC. In front of him is our old sewing machine that only he and Christian could get to work. Patches line the table with Christian’s name, date of birth and death on them.

He looks up at me, nodding to my cut. “I can take it. I’ll have them finished before the night is over.”

I hand it to him without a word, offering his shoulder a firm squeeze. Pete pauses what he’s doing, places his shaking hand over mine and breaks down for a moment. His wracking sobs make everyone stop what they’re doing to offering him silence and support.

Shane comes over, sitting beside Pete and placing a shot glass in front of him. “Let’s toast to him, yeah?” Before they do, Shane pulls Pete in for a hug, rubbing his back to calm him down.

After a few moments, Pete nods, pats Shane on the back and pushing away, wiping his face. A choked laugh leaves his throat as he looks up at me. “Sorry about that, Prez.”

“No need to apologize, hermano. He was our brother. You can cry if you want.” A look flashes over Pete’s face, but he quickly covers it with a dip of his head. “Now let’s have that toast. Someone get me a drink.”

A shot glass is pressed into my hand and I raise it in the air. “To Christian. Our brother, our VP. He will be missed. ”

I toss the tequila back, relishing the burn as it trails down my throat, fire trailing in its wake. I place the glass on the table and a hangaround slides another to me and I toss it back just as quickly. The alcohol warms my belly, pushing away the chill of loss, even if just for a few moments.

For the next few hours, we sit around and talk about Christian and party in his honor. Spirits are improved, but not as much as if he were still here. The oppressive feel of mourning is heavy, though my brothers try to drown themselves in booze, tits or pussy to ignore it.

I sit at the bar, watching everyone enjoy themselves as much as we can when we’re missing an integral part of our team. I’m not alone for long. Callie, one of the hangarounds I’ve enjoyed more than my fair share, sidles up to me, pressing her thin hip into mine. “Need some company?” I don’t answer or even glance in her direction. “Maybe I can help you out tonight, Prez. Take your mind off what happened today.”

She licks her extremely pink lips, her intention clear. Even if I wanted to fuck right now, it wouldn’t be Callie. She’s too clingy, too overbearing, too much. Always around, hinting at us being exclusive. The other guys like her around, so I haven’t banned her, but she’s on thin ice.

“Go away, Callie,” I mutter, sipping from my beer.

She doesn’t budge. Wrapping her bony fingers around my bicep, she strokes me as if to entice me to bend her over and relieve some stress. She presses her fake tits against my arm, moving them back and forth as if to tempt me. “Don’t be like that, Prez. I can make you feel real good. You know that. Let me be there for you.” Her words are as hollow as her eyes, reflecting nothing but surface grief. She doesn’t know what it’s like to lose a piece of your family. My brothers are doing what they can to get through it, but I don’t need anyone to comfort me. I’ve always taken care of myself .

Through gritted teeth, I say, “If I have to tell you one more time …” I don’t finish the sentence. She knows not to fuck with me.

Callie snatches her hand away and takes a few steps back, teetering on her too tall heels. “Sorry, Prez. I’ll uh … help someone else.” She meanders away, sitting on Brian’s lap, as if our conversation never happened.

Peeling the paper from the beer bottle in my hand, I think about what I have to do now with a sense of dread. Someone has to fill the role of VP, but fuck, I’m not ready to put it to a vote. I could wait, but I need to figure out who I’m going to tap now. Even if it hurts, I have to do my job for the club.

While I’m deep in thought, Zeke plops down beside me on the right, Jace on the left. Sighing, I turn around and face the room, knowing one or both of them want to talk. Any other time, I’d want both of them to piss off, content with being alone, but surprisingly, right now, I don’t want to be alone. I need my brothers. Even if we don’t say much, I want their company for a little while.

“What’s up?” I look at each of them in turn.

Jace shakes his head, wiping a stray tear. “We know how close you and Christian were. We’re offering support. If you wanna talk or some shit.”

My lips twitch. Everyone knows I don’t talk. It’s not something I ever learned to do well. “Nah, I’m good just hanging out with you guys.”

Zeke nods, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you do, we’re here for you, Prez.”

“I know, brother.” Sighing, I take a pull of my beer, steeling myself for the question I have to ask. “Jace, what do you think about scrapping your position as sergeant at arms and moving up to VP?”

Jace, who had his beer tipped up to his lips, starts sputtering, the amber liquid spraying everywhere. Zeke chuckles as Jace pats his chest, trying to get air in.

When he’s gotten himself under control, Jace looks at me with wide eyes. “Prez, I’m honored. But can we talk about this another time? I’m not … it’s strange thinking of someone else besides Christian as VP. Even if it’s me.”

I incline my head. “We still have to put it to vote, but I was thinking that could wait a few weeks. Think about it, okay?”

“Okay, Prez.”

I finish the beer in my hand and drink one more with my brothers before I’ve had enough. I knock on the bar and pat Zeke and Jace’s shoulders. “I’m going to crash here. I’m good,” I say when Zeke starts to stand. “I wanna be alone. Too much noise out here.” An unexpected lump forms in my throat, but I swallow it down. Crying solves nothing. Not for me. My tears have done nothing but make me feel worse. “It’s been a long day. I want to rest.”

“You got it, Prez. Holler if you need us,” Zeke says, standing and slapping hands with me, clapping me on the back when he pulls me in for a one-armed hug. “We’ll be here for another hour or so. Shane and I would hang out longer, but we gotta take Zeus out.”

A small smile crops up on my face, a rare display. Shane and Zeke treat their dog, Zeus, like their child. I’m surprised they left him alone this long. “No worries. Good night.”

I bid others good night as I make my way to my room. It’s been a long day and I need sleep so I can forget it happened. Lock up the hollow feeling of loss and push it to the deep recesses of my mind where this kind of pain can’t affect me.

Once inside my room, I shut and lock the door, then flop on my bed and lie on my back. I stare at the ceiling, letting my emotions flow through me. One of my best friends died. I have to add this loss to the running tally of my dead, each one chipping away at a piece of my soul. When I’m done with this thing called life, how much will be left?

I shake away that morose thought. Life is about love and loss or some shit. Not wallowing in my feelings. I’ll be fine in the morning. For now, I just need a night to decompress.

Toeing my shoes off, I don’t worry about changing out of my clothes. I just slide to the head of the bed, pull my blanket around me and close my eyes, letting the sounds of the tribute to Christian lull me to sleep.