Pirate (Via Daemonia Motorcycle Club #12)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

G us Sager glanced at his GPS. In the four years since his older brother had moved to Mount Grove, Pennsylvania, Gus hadn’t had a chance to visit. He got emailed pictures and the occasional text message when he was in-country, but never got the leave to travel across the country to come see what all the fuss was about.

When Marshall had first announced he was joining a motorcycle club, Gus had been horrified. Like their parents, Gus believed that Marshall had relapsed and had gone far beyond using drugs to selling them. How could his older brother have fallen so far from the honored and decorated Navy SEAL to a drug dealer? Gus had been trying to figure out how to get emergency leave to come talk some sense into Marshall when Marshall had made a video call to both Gus, who was overseas, and their parents, who lived in North Carolina.

In this call, Marshall explained about the misconception and assured his family that he was not joining a criminal club. Steel, the new club’s President, even came on to talk to them and help give reassurances. Gus wasn’t sure about their parents, but he certainly felt better knowing that Steel and the club’s VP were former Marines.

Gus would never forget how Steel described the club: “If it helps, think of us as a club of veterans who just happen to ride motorcycles. We are not criminals and never will be. All I want is to offer a safe place for veterans to find camaraderie and a safe haven in a civilian world.”

Those words had certainly proven true. Even halfway around the world, Gus had found comfort in knowing that his older brother, who had severe PTSD, had found a group of people who could relate to his struggles and whom he could rely on.

Now Gus was heading to Mount Grove as a veteran himself—and a wounded one at that. His military contract and career had been cut short when his convoy had been ambushed and his right leg had been trapped under an overturned Humvee. Crush syndrome had kept him from bleeding out in the field. However, in order to save his life, they’d had to do a field amputation.

The moment that bone saw had cut through his leg, his military career had ended.

It had taken over a year, and a total of six surgeries, before Gus could stand and walk again. Hours upon hours of occupational and physical therapy had finally resulted in Gus being able to function relatively normally. He was even able to drive his own car again. He still walked with his crutch on occasion, but those instances were becoming less and less.

The problem was integrating back into a society he no longer fit into.

Marshall had found a home in Mount Grove. His brother’s struggles were far from over or healed, but there was improvement. He’d even gotten a service dog the year before. A four, now five, year old German Shepherd named Aerial. Marshall had sent him the initial training video from when she’d still been at the center in Pittsburgh to get her certification as a service dog. Gus couldn’t argue how happy he was to know that his brother was making progress.

The same sort of progress Gus hoped to find in Mount Grove.

While his PTSD differed from his brother’s, it was still present. Mainly feelings of being partial, not whole. He still wasn’t comfortable wearing shorts and he hated having to use his crutch in public. On days when he couldn’t wear his prosthetic at all, Gus refused to go outside. Upon hearing about this, Marshall had invited Gus to Mount Grove.

Even if Gus didn’t join the club—he didn’t even know how to drive a motorcycle—he was planning on moving to Mount Grove to live with his brother. The two had an apartment lined up at a complex in town. After meeting with Steel and seeing the club’s property, Gus and Marshall were going to head over to sign the last of the lease papers. It was Gus’s hope that his presence back in his brother’s life would help Marshall even more. He’d lost four of his teammates, his brothers , in that building collapse; Marshall needed his real brother back in his life.

Getting a job was another issue. Marshall said that Demo, the club’s Treasurer, was willing to help Gus with that, no strings attached. Gus thought that was nice of him but was also hesitant. Did Demo know about his amputation?

After passing miles and miles of crops, a good number of Amish buggies, and several pop-up market stands on the side of the road, Gus finally passed a sign welcoming him to Mount Grove, Pennsylvania. The long road continued.

Gus glanced at the GPS. How big was this small town that he still had a good half hour to the clubhouse? He passed even more crops and pastures with cows, horses, goats, pigs, and other farm animals. Then, all of a sudden, he was passing a hospital and medical buildings. A bridge took him over a wide river that he assumed was fed from the mountain north of town. Without a doubt, he knew he was in the heart of the small town. First passing a veterinary clinic, he was now surrounded by two long strips of brick buildings on either side of the road. The light posts, stores, and general atmosphere was fall décor and Back-to-School themed. Being mid-August, it was appropriate—though Gus thought the town went a little overboard with the number of apple decorations around. Maybe there was something apple-related that was important to the town.

The first and only traffic light for miles seemed out of place as Gus drove under the green light. The next block down, Gus thought he saw a building that looked familiar and then confirmed it when he saw the sign for the apartment complex Marshall and Gus would be moving into.

Home Sweet Home , he thought wryly.

Once the town center ended, he went another quarter mile and then turned onto a side road. After another three miles, Gus turned right onto a dirt drive. He followed the winding path down until he came to a parking lot type area in front of a large building with a metal roof, stone and paneled siding, and a shit ton of motorcycles parked outside.

His brother was standing under the shade of the front awning. Aerial, his service dog, was sitting regally at his heels with her service vest on.

Marshall looked good. He’d come to visit Gus in the VA hospital once he’d been transferred stateside. Gus didn’t blame him for not visiting him in Germany. It was the same hospital Marshall had once been transferred to—and where he’d learned the fates of his teammates. Though they stayed in contact nearly every day, it was good to see his brother in person.

Gus parked his car and got out. His leg was stiff after the long drive. Not wanting to, Gus grabbed for his forearm crutch. He would make far worse of an impression by falling on his ass in front of these men than he would walking with the aid of a crutch.

The brothers embraced. Gus was surprised how strong Marshall’s grip on him was. There was an aura of relief that seemed to waft off of his older brother at their contact.

Gus knew in that moment that it was the right decision to come here. Above all else, his brother needed him.

Marshall finally stepped back. Though five years older than him, the brothers were very similar in build and features. Marshall had let his russet hair grow out and even had a full beard now. Gus’s hair was still cropped short, not quite ready to let go of the military regs. Both were six-one with wide shoulders, muscles, and naturally tan skin from their mother’s Native American ancestry.

After clasping Gus on the shoulder, Marshall took a step back. He looked down at his feet. “Aerial, leren .” Then he tapped Gus on his chest twice. “ Famili .” He repeated the action two more times. Looking up at Gus, he said, “Snap your fingers twice and say ‘ volg rechts ’.”

Gus snapped his fingers and said awkwardly, “ Volg rechts .”

Aerial immediately got up and walked to Gus’s side, then sat at his heels as she had been at Marshall’s. She looked up at him expectantly.

Gus looked to Marshall, as he wasn’t sure if she’d done what she was supposed to. At Marshall’s nod, Gus put a hand on Aerial’s black ear and gave her a little scratch. “Good girl.”

He didn’t know much about service dogs, but his unit had had a K9 team for a while. He knew that they weren’t supposed to be petted or ‘treated like a pet’ while wearing their vests. But he’d seen the dogs still be praised when they obeyed, and thought the little ear scratch was appropriate.

Turning back to his brother, he said, “I assume I just told her to heel?”

Marshall nodded. His gaze was downcast now. “I’ll teach you her other commands.”

“What was with the chest tapping?”

“I was telling her you were family. It means she’s to obey you as she would me.”

Gus blinked. He supposed that was a good thing, but he hadn’t been expecting it. “I saw the apartment building on my way in.”

“We have a four-thirty appointment,” Marshall said.

His voice was duller now too and he still wouldn’t look at Gus. What was the difference from now to a few minutes ago when he’d first arrived? Was it because he’d ordered Aerial to Gus’s side? That didn’t seem right, but he supposed it was possible.

Another man walked out of the clubhouse then. He was taller than Gus and Marshall by an inch or so with silvering hair, a close cropped beard, and dark eyes. Gus recognized Steel immediately.

Stepping around his brother, he took a limping step forward with his hand outstretched. “Steel, good to finally meet you.”

Steel accepted the handshake with a strong grip Gus would expect from a former Marine. “Gus, you too. Come on in. My ol’ lady’s made a late lunch for your arrival.”

Gus blinked in surprise. He’d done enough research on motorcycle clubs to know that an ‘ol’ lady’ was like a wife to a club member. From the wedding band on Steel’s left hand, Gus knew he was married. Did that mean his wife was his ol’ lady or did he have a wife and an ol’ lady? These were things Gus was going to have to learn.

Having a late lunch prepared for his arrival was also a surprise. He’d only had snack foods on the road, so he was definitely famished. The lunch was certainly appreciated, just unexpected.

The clubhouse—at least, Gus assumed this building was their clubhouse—was not the den of depravity Gus had pictured in his head. The building itself was very large with double doors at the entrance and a massive open area upon walking inside. A bar to the right and lots of seating to the left, the middle area was open. It had a very welcoming atmosphere that Gus would not have expected of a motorcycle club.

Like Jumper and Steel, men milled about in leather cuts. There were women around too, less scantily clad than Gus expected of the stereotypical ‘club girls’. They were provocatively dressed but still had a measure of modesty to them. Interesting.

The reason—Gus could only hope to assume—came running up to Steel, Gus, and Marshall at the entrance.

A young teenager with the telling facial structure of Down syndrome. He had dirty blonde hair, almost brown, a plump little body, and the biggest smile Gus had ever seen on a teenager’s face.

“Are you my Uncle Gus?” the kid asked with wide, hopeful eyes.

While he could confirm his name, the familial title took Gus aback. He knew for a fact that Marshall did not have kids. His ex-wife, Molly, and Marshall had been discussing trying for kids just before the attack that had befallen Marshall’s SEAL team. Then Molly’s infidelity came to light. As the two of them were each other’s only sibling, the title of ‘uncle’ made no sense to Gus.

Steel reached forward, putting a hand on the teenager’s shoulder. “Scotty, I know your daddy’s talked to you about this. Gus is your Uncle Jumper’s brother, but that does not mean he’s your uncle too.”

The teenager’s, Scotty’s, face fell slightly. His mouth pursed in confusion but also determination. “Uncle Jumper loves me. That means his brother will love me and that means he’s my uncle too.” Then Scotty turned to Gus and asked, “Right?”

Gus had no idea if he followed that line of logic, but he did know one thing: the pure innocence of this teenager before him was far too precious to taint or dampen. He bent slightly to put himself more at Scotty’s eye level and crooked his finger at the kid conspiratorially. Scotty leaned forward, excited.

“Are you a good boy?” Gus asked him with narrowed eyes, as if he was assessing Scotty. “Do you eat all your veggies and go to bed on time?”

Scotty nodded eagerly. “Yes! I do! I’m a very good boy and I’m very, very loved!”

Gus nodded too, as if thinking his answer acceptable. “I think I have an opening for a nephew right now. Do you think that’s something you’d be willing to help me with?”

“Yes!” the teenager shouted excitedly. “I’m a very good nephew! Just ask my Uncle Bear and my Uncle Scar and my Uncle Demo and my Uncle Pumpkin and my Uncle Grumpy and my Uncle?—”

“Scotty,” Steel said in a warning tone that also held a measure of love Gus had not expected from the gruff older man.

Scotty smiled at Steel and turned back to Gus. “I have a lot of uncles. And two aunts!” He turned and pointed. “That’s my Aunt Angel. She’s a biker too! And she’s a girl .” The amount of incredulity in the teen’s voice was amusing. “And then there’s my Aunt Jenna.” He pointed to a redhead walking out of a swinging door by the bar. “She’s married to Uncle Steel.” Scotty leaned towards Gus again and beckoned him forward. “They love each other so much . They’re always kissing .”

Gus wasn’t sure what amused him more: the fact that Steel and Jenna apparently acted like teenagers in love, according to Scotty, or the fact that Scotty told this to him like a whispered secret but the kid had no concept of volume control so it was stated loud enough for everyone in proximity to them to hear.

Steel made a noise that was between a grunt and a growl. Scotty looked over at him and just laughed. The teen actually put his hands on his plump belly and threw his head back, saying, “Ho-ho-ho!” like he was Santa Claus.

Gus smiled too.

Scotty turned to Gus again. “Is it true you’re a pirate?”

Again, Gus had no idea what the kid was talking about. “A pirate?”

Scotty nodded. “Uncle Jumper said you lost your leg but you have a fake leg. That means you’re a pirate!”

Gus looked to Steel and Marshall. He knew his brother went under the road name of ‘Jumper’ here. That was going to take some getting used to. His moniker in the military had been ‘Cap’. Gus had a suspicion why Marshall had changed his nickname but had not yet had the nerve to ask Marshall if his morbid assumption was correct. Road names were important in motorcycle clubs. Gus knew, if he joined, he’d need to get used to calling his brother ‘Jumper’.

Not knowing what else to say or do, Gus lifted his right pant leg enough for the teenager to see the prosthetic. It was a shade of peach skin tone that didn’t quite match his own but looked like a real limb. His fake foot even had toes and toenails. They were fused together like a kid’s doll and he had no control over the individual digits.

Gus had a BKA, or a Below the Knee Amputation. The black cap surgically implanted to his leg sat just below his knee joint. Any prosthetic he used—he had two different ones—attached and detached from his body using that cap.

Scotty’s eyes went wide at the sight of his fake leg. “Wow,” he breathed out in awe. Then he looked up at Gus, “You are a pirate.” Then his eyes narrowed, so suddenly Gus was taken aback. “Wait, if you’re a pirate, where’s your hat and eyepatch?”

Gus blinked. “Um…”

Scotty didn’t wait for him to answer. “Don’t worry! I’ll get you some! We have some in our Halloween boxes you can use!” Then he quickly ran off, shouting for his Aunt Jenna.

Feeling like he had a case of whiplash, Gus turned to Marshall and Steel. “I’m a bit confused about what just happened.”

To his shock, Steel actually had a trace of a smile on his lips. He clapped Gus on the shoulder as he walked past. “That was the Welcoming Committee. Don’t worry, son. There’s nothing more important to us than family.”

Gus looked to Marshall, eyebrows raised.

Marshall just shrugged. “Told you, you’d fit in just fine. Let’s get some lunch. I’ve got a lot to show you before our meeting in town.”

Not knowing what else to do, Gus followed his brother further into the clubhouse.