Grace
I half-listened to Poppy and Devon (Sparky) as they argued good-naturedly about... I don’t know. Sothing to do with burgers, I think. I’d lost the train of their conversation, because I was too busy watching Flea walk out of the kitchen. God, the man was pretty. Shaggy, dark-blond hair and hazel eyes, he was tall and muscular (at least, I imagined he was since his arms were sinewy and delicious).
I’d known him in the sense that he was always at the clubhouse when I was. He’d been one of the first people I’d seen when my life had imploded, and he was often at Hatch and Maisie’s since he worked for Hatch and they were tight. I’d always felt safe with him and I found myself seeking him out whenever he was close. I’m sure I seed like the annoying teenager to him, but he was like a lighthouse, keeping on the safe route back to myself.
I bit my lip and forced myself to focus back on my friend. Lusting after a man ten-years older than was not sothing I had ti for. I had to find a job, a place to live, and figure out how I was going to balance my ballet career with my life. I’d had an offer from the San Francisco Ballet to be a dancer, while working for a coveted principal spot, but the thought of leaving Poppy, and taking my crazy on the road, wasn’t sothing I was prepared to do. So now it was wait and see if Portland Ballet Conservatory offered sothing similar. PBC was the most prestigious company in the pacific northwest and it was rapidly gaining popularity.
"We ready to do this thing?" the deep voice of the club president, Crow, echoed through the room.
Since I had no idea what ’this thing’ entailed, I wasn’t sure if I was ready, but followed the crowd as they milled out the back of the building.
Flea
The sun was disappearing over the horizon and the sky was painted with swirls of deep blue and vibrant orange as Crow led all of us to the clearing around back of the compound, his arm around Finch’s shoulder as we walked.
"Everyone, gather ’round. Dogs, you know what to do." Crow motioned to us, and I took one last pull from my beer before setting it down and forming a large circle with the other Dogs. We were now surrounding Finch and Crow, with the rest of the party’s guests standing behind us looking in. Finch was a good kid and I liked him a lot. He was smart, and levelheaded, but I was a little nervous for the guy, and I didn’t know how he’d handle what was to co next. Then again, maybe I just wanted him to be okay because I was suddenly very interested in getting on his sister’s good side. She was standing behind Hatch, opposite , and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
"We’ve all co here tonight, to watch young Finch receive his full mber’s patch," Crow announced to hearty applause. "In order for that to happen, first, rrick needs to die."
I saw Grace’s jaw stiffen, and once again felt a bit nervous for the kid. I nodded to Hatch, who gave a chin lift back. He and I were all-too familiar with the ritual of being patched in. Intimately familiar, in fact.
I noticed Darien removing her dog, Barney, from Flick’s arms. He tried to resist, but she scowled and held the dog closer to her body, rushing back inside. I couldn’t help but smile. Flick was one of the oldest mbers of the club. He’d co up with Crow back in the day, and he was a gruff old coot, but he’d fallen in love with Darien’s little fluffball of a dog, not to ntion Darien.
"Tonight, rrick will die, and Finch will be born in his place!" Crow shouted to more cheers while the young pledge stood grinning. "So, candidate Finch," Crow said, turning his attention to the guest of honor. "Who will it be?"
Grace looked as if her "sister senses" were on high alert, as if she knew her brother was in so sort of danger. She wasn’t wrong.
Our club laws dictate that every full-ti mber must fight for their patch. The Dogs of Fire may not be a one percent club, but we knew how to handle ourselves, and wouldn’t hesitate to get involved if soone needed our assistance, even if that ant getting a little blood on our hands. To prove their courage, loyalty, and toughness, each new mber candidate would first have to "bare-knuckle" box a brother of their choice, for three minutes. No shirts, no shoes, in the dirt. If the candidate won... aning, they lasted the full three minutes... they were in.
The candidate’s selection of his opponent would say much about their character and toughness. Obviously, you’d want to choose soone in your weight class, and try to avoid anyone that would seem like an easy victory, not that you’d find any here, but you also wanted to prove you were up to a challenge.
"Which Dog will have the honor of handing you your patch?" Crow asked. I could see Grace relax a little at the sound of ’handing you your patch,’ which made feel a little bad as she’d soon know the truth about the deceptively cordial-sounding ritual.
Finch grinned and began to turn in place, making eye contact with each Dog. He locked onto for what seed like a mont or two longer than the others, but then moved on. Smart move, as I had a few inches and pounds on him, not to ntion a pretty impressive club record. Finch stopped a few brothers later and stepped forward before pointing to the least likely of opponents.
"You gotta be shittin’ ," Train said with a hearty chuckle.
"Nope. I choose you. I’m calling you out, Train," Finch said, backing up to give Train room to move into the circle, and he’d need a lot of room.
I looked at Grace and could see that she now fully understood what was happening, and she did not look happy. Instinctively, I broke away from my place in the circle and went to her. She had moved from her spot as well, moving toward .
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