Chapter 5 Viper Gangs

Mason did not finish sorting the bolts.

The question was stuck in his head and it would not leave. How long have you been mine? What kind of question was that? He had only walked into this clubhouse yesterday morning to pay two thousand dollars for his dead father. He had only known Victor Morningstar for less than twenty-four hours.

He wiped his black hands on his oversized prospect shirt and walked into Victor's office without knocking. Victor was behind his desk, writing in his big ledger with his silver rings catching the light.

"What did you mean earlier when you said how long have I been yours?" Mason asked.

Victor did not look up. He turned a page and kept writing.

Mason stepped closer to the desk. "You said it like you already knew me. You keep saying I am yours. What does that mean?"

Victor finally looked up at him, his expression cold and flat. "Go work, Mason."

"I am not going until you answer me," Mason said, and this time his voice did not shake as much. "You took my bag, you cleared my apartment, you told everyone not to touch me. You keep acting like you own me. I want to know why you said that."

Victor stood up slowly. He closed his ledger. "Because you don't listen. I told you to sort the parts and count them. Not stand here and ask questions."

He walked past Mason to the tool wall and started checking a black duffel bag, zipping it open, putting tape and zip ties inside like he was preparing for something. Mason followed him.

"Victor—"

Victor's phone rang, loud and sharp in the quiet office. He picked it up immediately.

"Yeah," he said.

A voice on the other end was panicked and breathing fast. Mason could hear it even from where he stood. "Boss, it's Viper. They are at the south lot. They hit two of our boys with pipes. They are trying to take the bikes. They are causing a lot of trouble."

Victor's entire face changed. The cold look turned into something harder, something dangerous.

"I'm coming," he said and hung up. He grabbed his cut from the back of his chair and put it on in one motion.

"What happened? What did he say on the phone?" Mason asked quickly, following him out of the office into the main garage.

Victor did not answer him. He kept walking, his boots loud on the concrete, his bag over his shoulder. When he reached the middle of the main garage he called out, "Jax!"

Jax came over fast from the bar.

Victor stopped in front of him and pointed at Mason without even looking at Mason. "Take care of him. Don't let him leave the building. I'll be back."

Jax nodded once. "Got it, President."

Victor left through the front shutter. Outside, the black van doors slammed hard and the van pulled out fast, tires screeching.

Mason stood in the middle of the garage, his hands still dirty, angry because Victor had brushed him off again and left without telling him anything.

"He never answers when it is Viper," Jax said next to him, as if he could read Mason's face.

"What is Viper?" Mason asked.

"Another gang. They want our south lot for their own garage. They have been trying to take it for months," Jax explained, leaning against the workbench. "It's only natural for gangs to go to war, kid. Hell, we go to war three times a week over territory. Don't look so scared."

Mason laughed a little, but it was not because it was funny. He was still thinking about Victor, about the way his knuckles had looked when he hit that member earlier, about the blood on the other guy's lip.

"Is Victor going to be okay?" he asked.

"President? He's always okay," Jax said. "He is the strongest guy here. Come on, help me lift this Harley. You can sort bolts later, your hands are already black enough."

They worked together in the private garage for almost an hour. Jax told him about his past while they worked, how he joined Morningstar at eighteen because his older brother was in jail and he had no money, how he got the long scar on his neck from a knife fight at nineteen when he tried to steal a bike.

"My past is shit, kid," Jax said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I have done shit things. I stole bikes, I hurt people for money. I am not proud of it."

Mason listened and he felt bad for him. Without thinking he put his hand on Jax's shoulder to console him, squeezing it a little.

"Our past doesn't define us," Mason said quietly. "Your past, my past, it doesn't have to be who we are now. We can be something else."

Jax smiled a little at that, a real smile. "You are a good kid, McHale. You really are."

Mason kept his hand on Jax's shoulder for a second longer.

At that exact moment the front steel shutter was thrown open with a loud bang that slammed against the wall and made everyone in the garage jump.

Victor walked in.

His black shirt was torn at the shoulder and soaked with blood down the sleeve. His knuckles were split open and bleeding. There was a fresh cut on his cheek and his lip. He was breathing hard and his cut was dirty.

He saw them first. He saw Mason's hand on Jax's shoulder.

His face went dark instantly. His jaw tightened and his eyes turned cold with anger.

He did not say a word. He walked straight past both of them, past the main garage, past the bar, up the stairs to his private room. His bloody boots left marks on the steps. He slammed his room door shut so hard the walls shook.

Mason pulled his hand back from Jax immediately.

"He is injured," Mason said to Jax, staring at the stairs. "He is bleeding. Why didn't you go help him? Why didn't you go attend to him?"

Jax held both his hands up like he was surrendering. "No way. No way I am going up there when he looks like that. The President is strong, he can handle a cut. Also if I go now while he is angry like that, I will probably get my hand snapped in half. Trust me. The medic will be here soon, just let him calm down."

Mason stared at the blood on the steps. He was still worried and he was angry that Victor had left like that and come back hurt.

He did not listen to Jax's warning. He went upstairs.

He did not knock on Victor's door. He just opened it and entered and closed the door behind him.

Victor was standing by his big black bed, trying to take off his torn shirt with one hand. Blood was running down his arm to his elbow and dripping on the floor.

Mason rushed towards him.

Victor looked up and saw him. "What do you want?" he said, his voice cold even though he was hurt.

Mason did not answer. He grabbed a clean white shirt that was folded on Victor's bed and pressed it hard against Victor's bleeding shoulder to try to stop the bleeding.

Victor shouted, "Get out!"

Mason did not answer. He pushed the shirt harder against the wound, trying to touch the cut to see how deep it was, trying to see if it needed stitches.

Victor grabbed his wrist and stopped him, holding it tight with his bloody hand. His silver rings were cold against Mason's skin.

Mason looked up at him, his face close, both of them breathing hard.

"Would you stop being stubborn and let me help you for once?" Mason said, his voice shaking.

Victor stared at him for a long second, his eyes going from Mason's eyes to his mouth, his hand still holding Mason's wrist tight.

"Fine," Victor said, his voice low. "You want to help me?"

Mason nodded.

"Help me with this," Victor said.

He pulled Mason closer to him by the wrist and kissed him.

The white shirt fell from Mason's hand onto the black floor.