Prologue
Iwas just sixteen years old when I saw them for the first time.
I was in the doorway of my garage, helping my ol’ man patch a flat tire on my Kawasaki Vulcan.
It was my first motorcycle, and while it was no Harley, I was proud to call it mine.
Hell, I’d just about worn the damn wheels off it, which was why my father was outside giving me a hand.
He was busy griping about missing the big game when I heard the faint hum of motorcycles coming our way.
Like a moth drawn to a flame, I stepped out of the garage and down the driveway in hopes of getting a better look.
The low rumble quickly morphed into a thunderous roar as the bikes continued in my direction.
I was beside myself. Every fiber of my being was vibrating with anticipation; in my gut, I knew something big was about to happen.
I just had no idea what it was—only that my life was about to take on a new direction.
I ventured a little further down the driveway, and that’s when I finally saw them.
There were at least twenty bikers, each wearing black leather jackets with Ruthless Sinners embroidered on the back.
They rode side by side as they barreled down the road, power and confidence radiating off of them like nothing I’d ever seen.
I wasn’t some sheltered kid who’d never seen bikers before, but I’d never seen so many so close.
As I stood there in my driveway, I could actually feel the vibration of their engines rattling through my chest and was completely enthralled by the moment.
I couldn’t move. I could only stand there with my eyes wide and my mouth gaping open.
And then it happened. One of the bikers looked in my direction and gave me a quick nod, and when several others followed suit, my day was made.
I was just a dumb kid who didn’t know much of anything, but one thing I was certain of: I wanted to be a Ruthless Sinner.
Over the next few years, I graduated high school and even took a couple of classes at a local community college, but I never forgot about that moment in my driveway.
In fact, I thought about it all the time.
I was beginning to worry my idea of joining the Ruthless Sinners was just some pipe dream until the day I’d bombed yet another calculus test.
I was in dire need of a drink, so I stopped off at Crockett’s, one of my usual hangouts, to grab a beer.
Gladys, the bartender, was about eighty years old and southern as the day was long.
She was never one to card, so I had no worries as I went up to the counter and sat down.
Gladys hobbled over to me with a crooked-toothed smile and asked, “What’ll it be, son? ”
“Just a Bud Light for now.”
“You got it.” She shuffled over to the cooler and grabbed a cold bottle, then brought it over to me. “There you go, Hun.”
“Thanks, Gladys.”
I opened the bottle and was just about to take a drink when I heard the front door open behind me. Seconds later, a man asked, “Did you card him?”
“Don’t start with me, boy.”
“Answer the question, Gran.”
“No,” she said with a huff, “but he’s in here all the time.”
“Don’t mean a damn thing.” The guy came up to the counter, and my chest tightened when I saw he was wearing a Ruthless Sinners’ cut. “They’re gonna shut you down over shit like this.”
“Well then, I guess they’ll just have to shut me down,” Gladys picked up a rag and started wiping down the counter as she grumbled, “’cause ain’t nobody gonna tell me who I can and can’t sell to.”
“It’s the damn law, Gran.”
“Like you’re one to be talking about the damn law.’”
“You’re the most stubborn grandmother on the fucking planet, you know that?”
"Maybe, but I’m no more stubborn than you.”
“How am I being stubborn? I’m just trying to look out for you.” Ignoring her response, the guy glanced over at me and shook his head with a sigh. He didn’t seem to be much older than me, maybe a year or two at best, so I was surprised when he asked, “What are you ... seventeen? Eighteen?”
“Actually, I’m twenty.”
“No shit? Damn. You look younger.”
I shrugged. “Just have one of those faces, I guess.”
“Just so you know”—Gladys leaned over the counter—“he’s a college student. Taking him some classes down there at Nashville State.”
“Hmm.” The guy’s eyes narrowed as he asked, “That right?”
“Yeah.” I didn’t want him thinking I was some stuck-up college prick, so I quickly continued, “But I don’t know how much longer I’m gonna stick with it.”
“Why’s that?”
I wanted to tell him I’d always wanted to be a Sinner. Hell, it was sitting right there on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t make myself say the fucking words. “Just don’t think it’s for me.”
“That your Vulcan out front?”
“Yeah.” It was a solid bike. It had done me good over the past few years, but it wasn’t in the best shape.
It needed a fresh coat of paint and a new seat.
Hell, I was actually surprised he’d even noticed the damn thing.
“Been looking to get a Harley, but I don’t have that kind of cash on me right now. ”
“I get it. I had a Yamaha for years before I managed to get my Harley.” He studied me for a moment, then extended his hand. “Folks call me Country.”
“Nice to meet ya, Country.” I shook his hand. “I’m JR.”
“JR?” His brows furrowed. “You a junior or something?”
“Not exactly.” I wasn’t a fan of my full name and for good reason. It wasn’t exactly a popular name, and folks loved giving me hell about it. I grimaced as I admitted, “JR stands for Joshua Ralph. Didn’t much like either name, so I started going by JR.”
“Ralph, huh?” A smirk crossed his face. “Can’t say I blame ya for going with JR.”
“It is what it is.” I felt like a complete asshole.
I’d finally gotten my chance to talk to a Sinner, and I’d done nothing but make a fool of myself.
Feeling like a complete loser, I pushed my untouched beer over to the edge of the counter, then placed a ten down next to it. “Guess I best get going.”
“You don’t want your beer?”
“Nah. Not worth getting Gladys in trouble over.”
I stood up, and as I headed towards the door, Country called out to me, “Hey, where you rushing off to?”
“Nowhere in particular.”
“You interested in checking out the clubhouse?”
“Hell, yeah.”
A smirk crossed his face as he snickered, “I like your enthusiasm.”
“Yeah, well, it’s always been a dream of mine to prospect for the Sinners.”
“Is that right?” He strolled over to me as he continued, “Well, here’s your chance to check it out, and while we’re there, I can get you a couple of beers without either of us having to worry about Gladys getting shut down.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. I’d actually gotten an invite to the clubhouse. Even though I had another class in an hour, there was no way in hell I was going to pass up my chance. Trying not to sound too eager, I gave him a casual nod and replied, “That would be awesome.”
He gave me a slap on the back, then walked out of the bar and into the parking lot.
Seconds later, I was following him over to the Ruthless Sinners’ clubhouse.
I couldn’t believe this was happening. I didn’t know what to think.
My mind was racing like an explosion had just gone off in my brain.
I took a few deep breaths, trying in vain to calm myself down.
I needed to consider what I was doing, where I was going, but I was too keyed up to think about the danger I was putting myself in.
When we pulled up to the gate at the clubhouse, I looked around in complete awe.
The place was even better than I imagined, and as I followed Country through the guarded gate, a strange sensation washed over me.
It could’ve been any number of things. Fear.
Anticipation. Apprehension. Hope. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I liked it. I liked it a lot.
Once we were parked, Country gave me a quick nod, then led me inside.
As we entered the bar, several of the members turned and watched my approach with fierce expressions.
I should’ve been intimidated as hell. Instead, I felt like my dreams were finally coming true, and I was trying my damnedest to contain my excitement as we made it over to his brothers.
All eyes were on me as Country announced, “I’d like you boys to meet a friend of mine.
I think he’d make a hell of a prospect.”
It was really happening. I was actually getting my chance. I thought nothing could put a damper on the moment, but I was wrong. One of the brothers gave me the once over before asking, “This friend of yours got a name?”
Before I could answer, Country reached over and placed his arm around my shoulder, pulling me to his side. “Yep. His name’s Ralph.”
Damn.
Country fucked me big time the day he’d told the guys my name, but he also had given me my in with the brothers and even volunteered to be my sponsor.
Over the next year, I busted my ass trying to do whatever I could to prove I was an asset to the club—all the while listening to the guys call me Ralph at least a hundred times a day.
In the end, it was all worth it. I’d gotten my patch, I’d become a Ruthless Sinner, and as an added bonus, the brothers finally stopped calling me Ralph and declared Rafe as my road name.
I’d done what I’d set out to do, and life couldn’t be better.