Rebel's Cut

Chapter 2

Renegade Hall

901 Lincoln Avenue

Clayton, WV

The sun beat down, hot and fierce, upon the fenced yard that was situated behind the Renegade Hall – home of the Renegade Riders motorcycle club. Justin Finchley, affectionately known as Finch, wore a black leather cut with the Renegade's patch emblazoned on the back. Just over top of the Renegade mark, stitched in white thread was the word, "Prospect." Fitch leaned over the hood of a beautiful black vintage 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z28. The car was beautiful. Sexy. Smoking. Literally.

Cough cough, Finch hacked as steam rose from the engine. He waved the cloud of smoke out of his face as beads of sweat dripped down his face.

"God damn it!" Finch growled as he slammed his monkey wrench against the bumper of the car.

"Aye!" Viper, the club's Sergeant At Arms shouted. Viper was a big son of a bitch. Standing at six feet, four inches tall, broad shouldered and barrel-chested, Viper was the last person on earth next to Cedro that you would want to find yourself in a bar room fight with. His long dark hair, scraggily beard and dark, piercing eyes only added to his menacing appearance.

Immediately, Finch looked up, swallowing down a mouthful of hot air. Straightening his gait, he peered at Viper with a set of nervous eyes.

"Careful with the boss' car!" Viper demanded.

"Yes, boss. I mean, Viper. Sir. Mister Viper. Sorry..." Finch stammered.

Viper glared at the Prospect for a few more tense seconds. "That's better," Viper growled in a deep twang. As he turned to walk back to his post next to the door, a couple of hangarounds, bar flies that hang out around the club, giggled and pointed at Finch in a mocking manner. Finch narrowed his eyes as he glowered at Brenda, Tina and Jennie. They were dressed scantily, wearing nothing more than daisy dukes and black Renegade's tank top. Their makeup was heavily applied, and their hair was as big as their personalities. Their sole purpose at the club? Flirt, chat with, and entertain the Renegades.

"Shut up, stupid hens!" Finch spat at the women. Even as prospect, he ranked higher in the pecking order than the hang-arounds.

"Excuse me?!" Viper barked as his black combat boot twisted on the hot asphalt.

Oh shit, Finch thought as he took in Viper's angry expression.

"No, no! Not you! Them! I meant them, Mr. Viper! Sir!" Finch explained, stumbling over his own words, and sounding out of breath.

Viper stopped dead in his tracks, his muscles tensed with aggression as he stared hostilely at Finch. "Mmmhmmm."

"No, honest! They were disrespectin' me! I would never tell Mr. Viper to shut up. Ever."

Viper's brow furrowed but he stayed silent as he watched Finch squirm under the heat of his gaze. Then, after a few very intense seconds, Viper snapped his gaze from Finch and glowered at the women.

"Don't you have something better to do! Let him work!" Viper said as he pried open the back door of the club. "Go on, git! Ain't sittin' out here babysittin' your asses!"

As the women scampered in, rushing past Viper and disappearing in the dark of the club, Viper gave one final glare back at Finch before slamming the door behind him. With his heart racing, Finch turned back to the car, and he let out a heavy breath.

"Jesus, that fucker's scary," Finch muttered under his breath.

Clasping his wrench, Finch decided to give the engine one last go, but when his knuckles scraped against the scorching hot metal of the engine, he let out a tremendous yelp and dropped the wrench to the ground with a loud clang.