Finn (Guardians of Mayhem MC #1)

Prologue

FINN

It was rough when my Dad crossed over to the other side.

Five years ago, and it still felt like it happened yesterday. He was shot in cold blood protecting his brothers in the MC. His death rendered me a walking zombie for a year.

He'd taught me everything I knew. I was born into the motorcycle world—hell, I was even conceived there according to my mother.

"Your father, he doesn't mind the backseat of a car.

It's his favorite place, that motorcycle warehouse…

we had some good times in there." She'd smirked, kissing the top of my father's head.

Dad still had a full head of hair right up until he was killed. He was my idol then, and he still is.

My father had earned the affectionate term of 'bulldog.' He was built solidly, and if he was after something, he pursued it relentlessly—one that would rip you to shreds, especially rival clubs.

The funeral was phenomenal. Small and intimate with both tears and celebration. He would have wanted us all dancing and drinking beer.

The community of bikers in Edgewood loved my father; he'd done a lot for them.

He gave back to the street kids, helped women get out of the strip clubs earlier by giving them 'runs' to do.

He employed locals at the shop to help them get their mechanic's license.

He and Pops hand-picked most of the crew, and I recruited Shaggy and Quicks later on.

All the knowledge he held was passed on to me.

When he passed, I became Sgt. At Arms, and the boys all respected that.

My sweet mother eventually remarried, and I approved.

Clive was a good guy for her. Not as much hair as Dad, but a normal, steady man.

She told me once, "Now I can sleep a little better at night.

I don't have to worry that Clive's out there doing God knows what. Now I just have you to worry about."

Clive was definitely a good guy, and he obviously loved my mother. "I'm never going to try and replace your father, but I will be here for you like him." I appreciated that, and we got along pretty well.

The war with the Devils started years back when they attempted to snatch up one of our prospects.

They were successful, and the stupid fucker joined the second-rate Devils of Destruction.

They had more members, but as far as I was concerned it was just padding.

We had more street cred and longevity in Edgewood.

Small incidents between us started to flare up tensions as they began their drug operation.

Some of their boys were getting high off their own supply and made several attempts to break into our warehouse and steal our gun stash.

Every time we blocked them, but they kept coming like gnats buzzing around stale food.

So now they were on our radar and needed more attention.

Other smaller clubs existed around New Mexico, but none with our firepower and resources. We were known as one of the most notorious clubs in the region—and it would stay that way.