Prophet’s Peace (Steel Raiders MC)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

Prophet

My first instinct as I hit the interstate once I’ve stopped and filled my bike up is to hit the throttle and ramp my girl to top speed so I can get to Phoebe sooner.

However, common sense tells me that I’d be an idiot to do something so insane.

I know she’s still a bit leery about ever riding on the back of my bike because of what she’s seen in the emergency room, but in the countless years since I’ve ridden one, I’ve only dumped my bike once because someone decided to blow grass clippings onto the road.

Red, our Road Captain, is constantly signing us up for various defensive driving courses, even though the only ones truly new to riding are our prospects.

Hell, as a kid, I rode on the motocross circuit for a couple of years before I focused on my martial arts.

I got bitten by the bug then and as soon as I proved to my grandfather that I knew what I was doing, he helped me buy my first bike from a guy he knew who had to stop riding due to arthritis in his hands and feet.

Mr. Johnson might not have been able to ride any longer, but he knew everything there was to know about fixing bikes, and he taught me all he knew.

“That came in handy when Rebel was laid up,” I mutter out loud.

I mostly do the customized paint jobs, using my skills as an artist to create one-of-a-kind designs for customers who have the money to pay.

We all pitched in to cover for Rebel when he was hurt, and I spent a lot of my time at the shop turning wrenches alongside my other brothers who knew what they were doing.

So, instead of riding hellbent for leather, I’m staying within ten miles of the speed limit while being mindful of the construction I’m bound to hit at some point.

I’m hoping that Data will let Red know where I’m heading so that he can check out the best routes for me to take since idling on a bike can kill it faster than anything.

“I’m coming for you, sweetheart,” I promise as the minutes turn into hours.

If I was making it in one ride, it would take about ten to twelve hours with gas and piss breaks factored in, as well as at least one quick meal.

But I prefer not to ride at night; the wildlife gets a bit too wild for my liking, and it would fucking suck if a buck or a doe took me out when I finally found the woman who complements me so well.

Plus, I’m not twenty anymore and while I’ve been fortunate with my riding, my MMA career definitely took its toll on my body in the form of broken bones.

Too long on my girl and I’ll be far too sore to get back on her in the morning.

With that in mind, I start looking at the exit signs so I can do it all in one stop—find a motel for the night, grab a hot meal, then gas up in the morning.

Seeing one up ahead, I signal my intent to get off only to have some stupid fucking Honda nearly take me out as it flies past me, a police car with its lights and sirens going right on his ass.

“Get ‘em, 5-0!” I yell, even though there’s no one to hear me. Still, I need this quiet time to get my thoughts in order, because a lot has happened since Phoebe walked into my life.

When it’s finally safe for me to get off the interstate, I waste no time pulling into a motel that’s literally across the parking lot from a Texas Roadhouse, with a gas station across the road right next to the entrance of the interstate I’ll need in the morning.

Once I have a room, I ride over to it then carry in my duffel bag after locking down my saddlebags and my bike.

Since I’m traveling through multiple states, I’m not wearing my colors, but I am wearing a leather jacket, so I’m positive I’m giving off ‘don’t fuck with me vibes’ as I exit my room, slip the key in my front pocket and then stride across the parking lot for some dinner and a beer or two.

It could also be due to the fact that I have a bandana around my forehead, and my hair is in a low man bun, but honestly, I’m too fucking tired and hungry to care what anyone else thinks of me.

It’s not long before the hostess has me seated at the bar where I order a bottle of beer while I peruse the menu.

While I’m aware of my surroundings, of course, right now, I’m just trying to unwind for a bit before I head back to my motel, take a shower, then get some shut eye.

So, I pretty much ignore those around me, place my order, then scroll through my phone to see that I do have a text from Red wanting me to call him once I’m settled in for the night.

Two beers, one water, and a sixteen-ounce steak with all the fixings later and I’m laying down the cash to cover my food so I can head back to my home for the night and get some rest. Unsurprisingly, I clock the two dickheads who have been making snide comments the whole time I’ve been sitting there, so I mentally prepare for what’s about to come.

Because bullies are predictable as a matter of course.

Mr. Tall and Lanky has mocked my bandana, my ‘man bun’, and the fact that my wallet’s on a chain.

Mr. Short and Stubby, who must’ve seen me pull in on my bike, has made several comments about ‘dirty bikers being scum of the earth’ and how a ‘man with long hair can’t be trusted’.

They have no clue who they’re about to fuck with, none at all and honestly, I need to blow off some steam, so I already sent Rebel and Ash a text letting them know that I’m going to be dealing with an issue so they’re aware.

I’m almost positive that they’ll wait until we’re away from the restaurant since there are a lot of witnesses, but my coach always told me to be prepared for any eventuality.

Do I like being in jeans and my motorcycle boots?

Not particularly, but I trained while wearing all different types of clothes so I would know how to compensate.

These jeans are actually not as restrictive as they look; when Rebel was still recovering, Holly found a brand of denim that has give to it since he was tired of wearing ‘fucking sweatpants or pajama pants all the fucking time’.

He liked them so much that all of us ordered a pair, and when I found that I had more flexibility than I did with my preferred Levis, I added more to my wardrobe.

So, when I get halfway across the parking lot and hear, “Hey, you!” and turn around, I’m ready.

Because I may not start this particular fight, but I will finish it!

“What do you want?” I ask. My tone is somewhat belligerent as I let the enforcer in me bleed through.

It usually has the prospects shaking in their boots, but these two knuckleheads are apparently hard of hearing.

Either that or they drank a bit too much, judging from how unsteady they are on their feet.

“We don’t want your kind around here,” Mr. Tall and Lanky sneers.

“In case you missed the obvious, which you undoubtedly did, I’m headed toward the motel. That doesn’t scream ‘I’m setting up a residency in this town’ to me at all,” I retort.

Mentally, while I wait for them to make their move, I loosen my muscles which understandably tightened during my ride today.

I don’t want to injure them permanently, but at this point, I’ll do whatever it takes to get them to leave me alone.

I take a calculated risk and turn my back on the two men and start striding toward my room once again.

I hear their feet pounding on the blacktop behind me and turn just in time to avoid a fist to the back of my head.

“Game on, fuckers,” I bellow as I spin and place a roundhouse kick to Mr. Tall and Lanky’s head since he was the one who had his fist raised.

When he hits the asphalt on the parking lot, I wiggle my fingers in a ‘come on’ gesture to his buddy, whose eyes are so wide, I can see the broken blood vessels which tells me that he’s fond of the bottle.

“No, no, that’s okay, we don’t want any trouble,” he stammers as he starts to back away.

“Make sure you pick up your trash on the way out, dumbass,” I instruct.

“Not sure what your problem is with me, or with bikers in general, because I didn’t do a damn thing to either of you.

But your friend fucked around and has found out that I might not throw the first punch, but I won’t stand here and let anyone whale on me. ”

With that, I finish the rest of my walk and am soon back in my motel room, the door locked and the chain, which wouldn’t stop a well-placed kick, engaged. Scoffing, I maneuver the small loveseat in front of the door just in case those two assholes decide to get brave once again.

After a much-needed hot as hell shower, I lean against the headboard and call Red. “I take it you found a better route for me?” I ask once he’s answered the phone.

“Yeah, sending it to you now as a lot of the routes to where Phoebe’s at are still a fucking mess. You probably could’ve done it if you had taken your truck, but on the bike, you’re risking your suspension at the very least,” he replies.

“Appreciate it, brother,” I say. “I thought about the truck, but I know Rebel and Holly will need Cami’s carseat, plus the bike’s got the speed I need, y’know?”

He chuckles then states, “I hear ya. Hopefully, you won’t have any issues, but if anything crops up, just reach out and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Appreciate it.”

While I wish I had another beer or two, I make do with the water I brought instead as I unwind watching some apocalyptic movie. It’s so bland, I completely miss the title, which is okay as it’s highly unlikely I’ll ever willingly watch it again.

One last trip to take a piss and I’m finally ready to get some sleep. Before I drift off, I open up the text thread between me and Phoebe and send her a message.

Me: Missing you.

I’m asleep before her response comes through.