Chapter 1
I slow down as traffic seems to pick up.
There’s a diner to the right and there’s cars parked in spots that line both sides of the street.
Apparently, that’s the major draw here. I make note because I do not cook.
I take in the murals painted on the sides of some of the buildings and I have to admit I like the small town feel.
After years of living in Denver, it’s calming.
Hell, I haven’t even hit a traffic jam and in Denver right now, it’d be rush hour and bumper to bumper traffic.
This is definitely a nice change of pace.
As I drive through town, I know people are staring at me and my bike.
When I fought with the other clubs on behalf of the Kings of Anarchy, we fought on the War Kings’ home turf—which is in Athens, Tennessee.
This is the first time I’ve been in Dreary.
Everyone in this town probably knows who I am.
There are no secrets in a small town—even I know that.
That’s why I’m not making a secret of my arrival.
I figure the War Kings still have spies here.
I’m not going to tiptoe in. I want them to know.
This is my territory, and I intend to make that very fucking clear.
I want everyone to be aware of it. I’ m sending a clear message that I’m not going to allow anyone to take the area my club has claimed.
Hell, before I’m done, we’ll have more territory.
The War Kings will not rise up against us again. I’ll see to that.
It's not long before I arrive at the KOAMC clubhouse. It’s the end of the street and then a right turn.
I pull into the concrete parking lot, park and look at the building.
There’s a billboard in the parking lot that reads Kings of Anarchy Sanctuary.
There’s a tall fence around the place, but the parking lot is completely open—absolutely no gate to close.
That will have to be fixed at once. Security measures need to be taken.
I look around briefly, noticing the garage across the street.
I already know the club owns it. I slide off my bike and look at it briefly.
It’s a nice size. From the figures I’ve seen, it’s not as lucrative as it should be.
I’d like to talk it over with the others, but I have some ideas that I think will help.
I frown at the lack of guards. This damn club was just attacked. What are they thinking? I shake my head. C and I are going to have a long, hard talk. He knows better. I open the door and wait a minute or so for my eyes to adjust to the darkened interior.
Inside the stoned walls are covered in a faded gray paint that really needs to be redone. There are several old neon signs on the wall. The hum of the lights can be heard and permeates air that is thick with cigarette smoke, the stench of alcohol and … sex.
The concrete floors are painted a muted brown.
They’re scuffed and dirty. There are florescent lights bolted to the ceiling and the light is rather stark.
Apparently, Ace never cared much what their clubhouse was like.
There’s a giant bar that takes the entire length of the wall to the right.
There are two prospects behind the bar in blank Kings’ cuts.
There’s no name patch, just a prospect patch.
Two pool tables are over in the corner with a couple of men playing.
An old jukebox is across from them, blaring eighties country music.
There are six round, wooden tables. Each table has four to six chairs, depending on which one you’re looking at.
There are also lots of well-worn couches placed around.
In one darkened corner there’s a man getting his knob polished, making me practically roll my fucking eyes.
“Jesus, C. I see you haven’t changed,” I gripe, ignoring the stares from the other men sitting around.
“I’m not going to apologize for enjoying Tati’s mouth,” he practically purrs, as the woman puts his cock back in his pants and zips it up when he stands.
I guess some things really do not change.
C’s road name is Candyman. He got that name because the fucker lives for blowjobs.
He says his cock is a candy cane made for women to lick and worship on their knees.
I’d mock him for that, but sadly women do tend to fawn all over the lucky bastard.
He walks over to me. His long blonde hair is full of curls and is mussed—probably from the raven-haired woman who walks beside him in nothing but a man’s white T-shirt.
She has no bra on, because her nipples are about to cut through the cotton fabric.
I’d venture to say she doesn’t have panties on either.
That’s normal for club chicks. They have one purpose in a club and that’s to offer their bodies to make the men happy.
In return, they get all the pleasure they want, a roof over their head and a check every week for cleaning the clubhouse and any other chores that need to be done.
Although, just by looking I’m not sure these girls actually earn their pay other than on their backs.
I shake my head. At one time, I loved this part of club life.
Now, it’s not at all what I want. I’ve been feeling more and more restless.
I’m thirty-six. I want more from a woman.
The problem is, I haven’t found a woman who appeals to me enough that I want to keep her full-time.
The life of an old lady isn’t something a lot of women are cut out for, either.
I push those thoughts aside as I look around. I can feel the tension in the room, I’m just choosing to ignore it. The men are all staring at me. I see the unease, distrust, and even suspicion in their eyes.
“This is bullshit,” a man mutters, never taking his eyes off of me. I look over at him, my face hard.
“Shut up, Cowboy. We voted. It’s done,” C barks.
“He doesn’t look like he could defend himself—let alone the club,” Cowboy huffs.
I shake my head. It’s not like I haven’t heard that.
I stand six-foot. That’s tall, but there are quite a few men in this life taller.
I have muscles, but my body tends to look lean.
I keep a clean-cut look, my black hair cut short and my face clean shaven.
I’m always underestimated. I like that. I’m a killer they never see coming.
This kind of bullshit gets annoying though.
I take off the cut that C sent out to me, tossing it on the table.
“You want to challenge for the position you already lost? If so, cart your ass up here and see if you can back your fucking mouth up,” I growl.
It has been a long few days of travel and I’m too damn tired for this shit.
I pulled into a two-bit motel just on the outskirts of the town about an hour ago, unloaded my bike out of the back of the trailer, took a shower and grabbed a ham sandwich out of a gas station and headed here.
The only thing I really want to do right now is go to sleep.
I just wanted to check things out before that happened.
I should have known that things wouldn’t go easy.
Cowboy slowly rises before walking over to me.
He has shaggy black hair, and a scar along the side of his neck.
The man is a couple inches taller, and a little bit wider.
It’ll be a good fight between us, but I don’t doubt that I can take him at all.
I made my living fighting underground. I still do it occasionally when I need to blow off steam.
I can handle myself well, and there’s a reason that I was in high demand back in Colorado.
I made the owner of the fights a hell of a lot of money—not to mention myself.
“I don’t like leaving my club in the hands of an outsider,” he all but snarls.
“Your brothers apparently didn’t trust you enough to put it in your hands, so I don’t really give a fuck.
I’m not here to protect your feelings. I’m definitely not here to babysit members who are butt-hurt.
So, now’s your chance. Challenge me if you think you can take me.
I don’t give a fuck. What I won’t do is take your disrespect.
Attitudes like yours make a club weak. I think if anything shows we don’t need that, it’s the run-in this club just weathered with the War Kings. ”
“The club has already spoken. You need to know I’ll be watching you closely though. I won’t allow you to destroy what my brother built.”
I appraise him differently. Something about the tone Cowboy used when he said brother was different. “Brother?” I question, wondering if he meant more than just a brother in the club.
“We were raised in the same foster home,” Cowboy explains.
Now I can see why he wanted to take his brother’s place and why he resented my presence.
That, however, doesn’t mean I can allow anymore disrespect.
“I get you’re grieving and hurting, probably more than the rest of the club.
What you need to understand is that I want to bring this club together, but I will not tolerate being disrespected.
If you don’t want me here, be a man and challenge me.
I’ll face any of you. What I won’t do is allow you to question and undermine me every fucking second that I’m around you. ”
“Still making friends quickly,” C mutters, a cocky smile on his lips. “Where’s Scorpion?”
“He’ll be here tomorrow. His old lady didn’t want to move.”
“Shit. Is he going to back out?”
“Nah. Trish is a piece of shit. She’s part of the reason he’s ready to move. He’ll be here,” I answer, not going into detail. Scorpion’s story is his own. It’s also messy as hell. I doubt he’d want me to spread it around.
“Fair enough. Want me to show you around?”
“Honestly it has been a long as hell trip and I’m killed. I checked into a fleabag joint on the outskirts of town. I’m going back there and crashing. We can deal with the rest of the shit after I get some sleep.”