Chapter 1
One Year After STEEL
“Ido not have time for this bullshit.” The complaint escaped Ghost through gritted teeth as he ran a hand through his ginger hair.
Feeling the longer than regulation locks, he noted how badly he needed to get a haircut.
Things had been crazy since… Well, since the club had put the president patch on his cut.
Red, blue, and purple lights touched the side of the building and surrounding cages of the bar’s parking lot, drawing Ghost’s attention away from the bound men at his feet.
He’d sent Ranger and Poker ahead already, and he was supposed to be right behind them.
But then Marcus, one of the club’s newest prospects, had alerted Ghost to a scuffle in the bar’s parking lot.
Two men were really going at it—only it wasn’t over a girl as Ghost had presumed when he’d broken up the fight.
Nope. Moonshine.
The back of a cage was open to glass jugs and jars of unmarked, unregulated moonshine. The acetone and sulfuric scent still reached Ghost’s nose, even after he’d slammed the trunk closed.
Moonshine! Fucking Moonshine. Being sold out of the back of a cage in his own fucking bar’s parking lot! What the fuck—and why now? Ghost wasn’t exaggerating when he reminded the universe that he did not have time for this bullshit.
The reason Ghost was aiming to leave the bar before it had even opened for the night was because his club had a glowstick poker run scheduled to start in… Ghost looked down at his Casio G-Shock watch and let out another curse. The run was supposed to start in less than an hour.
He was going to be late. Again.
The cruiser came to a stop in front of Ghost, and Carlos stepped out.
The town’s sheriff and a friend, Carlos stood just taller than Ghost at six feet.
He was the slightly smaller, clean-shaven version of his older brother, Bulldog, the club’s Sergeant at Arms. Both Santiago brothers took after their Hispanic father in looks, but their personalities, appetites, and bilingual skills were all their Italian mother Louisa’s doing.
Carlos put his wide-brimmed hat on as he approached Ghost. “What are you still doing here? I thought the prospects were watching the bar tonight.”
What, indeed, Ghost thought dryly. In answer, Ghost aimed the key fob on the set of keys he’d confiscated from one of the bootleggers and popped the trunk of the old sedan.
As he did so, he caught the scrunching of Carlos’ nose and knew the sheriff had likely guessed what this was about before the glass jugs and bottles came into view.
Carlos let out a long groan. “Son of a bitch.” Looking down at the two men Ghost had tied together with rope, he snapped, “Really, Hershel? Moonshine?”
Mount Grove, Pennsylvania, was a small town at the base of a mountain, separated into two parts by a river.
On the north side, there was the hospital, main grocery store, and bigger businesses, like an Amish flea market and the club’s Harley-Davidson dealership.
The southside was more of the quaint small-town vibe, and had a central strip with various small business fronts, like the bakery, pizzeria, clothing boutique, a tattoo shop, art studio, and daycare.
Larger businesses like the veterinary clinic, the club’s bar, and the newly-built children’s consignment shop could be found towards the ends of Main Street, separated by the town’s single traffic light.
Town Hall, the new Sheriff’s Station, and the town’s two apartment buildings were more central.
The old Sheriff’s Station was now a storage facility for the town’s decorations, office supplies, and whatnots, across from the veterinary clinic and children’s playground.
Ghost had lived here for nearly a decade, joining the Via Daemonia Motorcycle Club roughly a year after they’d formed.
In fact, Ghost and Ranger had been the last prospects to only serve a six month trial period, rather than the year that was now required.
Grumpy had been the first, then there had been the club’s one failed prospect, and finally Ghost and Ranger.
Even after being here for a decade, Ghost still didn’t know everyone in town.
Not like Carlos did or the club’s three officers who had grown up here, Lucky, Bear, and Bulldog.
He was trying, even doubling his efforts since being voted in as the club’s second president, but he feared it was no use. He knew his club and bar regulars. Most of the rest of the town would forever be familiar faces and names he would never remember.
He did know he’d never seen Hershel or his opponent before, though. Which meant neither of them had ever stepped foot in his bar since the club had opened it six-plus years ago.
Unfortunately for Carlos, the bootlegger couldn’t answer the sheriff.
Not without putting himself in an even further compromising situation.
Ghost had been so pissed when he’d broken up the fight that he’d tied the men in a slightly unusual way: stomach to stomach and upside down, placing each man’s face in the crotch of his opponent.
Carlos stepped closer to the cage’s trunk, shaking his head. “Hershel is known around town for his get-rich-quick schemes. But he’s never done something this extreme before,” he added with a tone of disappointment and frustration.
“Or stupid,” Ghost pointed out. “Selling moonshine in my bar’s parking lot? He’s lucky I’m running late and don’t have time to dig his grave right now.”
Muffled grunts and groans came from both men at his feet. Ghost kicked out, landing a kidney shot with the heel of his boot to whichever one was on the bottom.
“Go,” Carlos waved him off, ignoring the kidney shot. “I’ll take care of this. Who’s inside?”
“All four of them,” Ghost answered. Prospects Marcus, Artemis, Specs, and Jackson were covering for Ranger and Ghost while they were out on the poker run.
Club property was being guarded by Keys’ security guys, brothers Thorne, Goose, and Grimm.
At first, Ghost had issue with the club ‘outsourcing’ additional protection, but after last year, he would not allow his pride to ever come before the health and safety of his club members and their families.
Carlos nodded. “Go. Have fun. You need the break.”
Ghost glanced at his Harley-Davidson Limited Edition El Diablo Low-Rider in the iconic shimmer red. Christ, he needed a run. To feel the wind on his skin and the rumble of his tires on the pavement…
But going felt selfish. There was so much he needed to do.
Not necessarily right this second, but things that just needed to get done in general.
Like the children’s consignment store. After it had been destroyed by an RPG just over a year ago on Valentine’s Day, the club and town had worked tirelessly to rebuild.
Not just the building itself, but the shop that had been so important to many low-income families who relied on the supplies and clothing to support their kids.
So much work still needed to be done before the club could re-open the doors.
He was behind on the bar’s books and inventory.
Demo, the club’s treasurer, did the accounting side, but he could only do so much without the records Ghost provided him.
Chip, who had recently been patched over with the road name ‘Poker’, had been helping out more and more at the bar, but it wasn’t his responsibility.
It was Ghost’s—and technically Ranger’s.
But Ranger was finally in a steady relationship.
Cameron was a little ditzy for Ghost’s personal tastes.
They were keeping their relationship casual, neither one ready for anything more serious.
But she did make Ranger happy, and who was Ghost to take that away from his best friend?
Like Ghost, Ranger had been alone for most of his adult life, just working and bouncing from bed to bed.
Cameron was the first real girlfriend Ranger had ever had, and despite Ranger’s protests, Ghost was trying to help give him more free time to spend with her.
There were a number of projects the club’s construction company was behind on too.
Cage was doing what he could to keep on top of everything.
Between the consignment shop and Keys’ new building for his security business, along with the two new houses club members had commissioned to be built on the property, plus all the contracted private work around town, they were seriously going to need to discuss expanding.
Ghost was pitching in where he could, especially on the club projects.
Poker runs and fundraising had always been a big part of the club’s fundamentals.
Carlos and Bulldog’s mom, Louisa, was a two-time breast cancer survivor; Lucky’s son, Scotty, had Down syndrome; Angel and Cage’s daughter, Bree, was a teenage trafficking victim and a paraplegic; and most recently, the club’s former first ol’ lady, Jenna, had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.
The club supported a number of charities that aided all of those causes, though this run was specifically for special needs kids in foster care.
Participating clubs had decked out their bikes, cuts, and boots in glow-in-the-dark sticks, necklaces, and laces.
It was one of the first runs of the season, and was going on record as one of the biggest in the Tri-State area.
Bear, as the club’s road captain, had been working with other road captains since before last winter to plan the event, and Ghost had been helping as best he could.
He’d never organized a poker run before, only ridden in several.
There was more to the behind-the-scenes of an event like this than Ghost had ever realized, but thankfully, Bear was a pro.