CHAPTER 2
RYKER
My ass started to go numb half an hour ago. But I can’t stop, not this close to the clubhouse. Not when we’re transporting so close and are escorting a shipment of weapons and storing it for a little while.
There’s a hefty sum attached to the storage since that’s not usually part of our whole transport schtick.
Things have been quiet in our territory for a while and the risk is worth the reward in this case.
Which is why I’m escorting the guns along with Sidewinder, my Sargent at Arms, Scratch, my Treasurer, Playboy, my Enforcer, Diesel, my Road Captain, and Wrecker, who is always good to have at your back.
It’s been quiet. Which is exactly what it should be. We’re just making sure something gets from point A to point B. That’s it.
Easy.
But my fucking back aches and I’m sweating buckets under my leather. And I feel fucking itchy because I’m not wearing my colors.
Clearly, not displaying who we are off the bat when escorting illegal arms is the smart decision. That doesn’t mean I like it. It makes me feel fucking naked.
Like those dreams I got early on in middle school where I was standing in front of the class naked and they were all laughing. Then I noticed the way girls checked me out, even if it was only because I was the son of the MC president. Before I was in high school, I was cured of those dreams.
Fuck, I was a cocky little prick.
I can’t help but smirk because not much has changed.
The sound of a revving engine coming from over my right shoulder has me glancing in my mirror. A flashy as fuck Corvette, a brand fucking new one by the look of the body style as it eats up the road, is coming up fast in the slow lane.
And it’s not like we’re tooling along and driving like fucking grandmas.
They’re going fast enough that being dead on impact wouldn’t be a stretch if there was a crash, and it doesn’t look like they’ll be slowing down anytime soon.
I move a little toward the middle of my lane, knowing my brothers will tighten up the formation in response.
They have to be seeing the same thing I am.
The Corvette lurches forward slightly and swerves, but the driver corrects quickly.
My eyes dart between the road ahead of us and my mirror because my gut is screaming at me to not look away.
I learned a long time ago to listen to that little voice, because it’s kept my ass out of the fire more than once.
What started out as a feeling of caution is now roaring at me. I slow down a little, just enough. The Corvette comes screaming past my brothers behind the transport and when the car passes me, I force myself to keep my eyes on the road while being very fucking aware of them.
And then time slows down.
The Corvette jerks into my lane and my front tire comes within millimeters of being clipped by its bumper. I swerve slightly, my body reacting to the impending danger before fully assessing the situation.
As one fucking does when your life is flashing in front of your eyes.
Which is exactly what is happening to me right now.
One thing becomes very fucking clear. I’m not living life the way I should be. It’s been years of too much fucking booze. Too many damn risks. Far too much free pussy on display which I indulged in far more than I would like my mama to know about.
She’s probably seen more than she ever wanted to since Jackal, our former Prez and my dad, and mom, Vera, are regular fixtures around the clubhouse. They have a house on club property and Mom is still there to help Opal with anything the club needs.
It was the right decision to hire Opal, a club brat and the sister of my VP, Snake, to take care of everything clubhouse related. She keeps things going and she has no personal interest beyond us being family. She’s not an Old Lady.
Fuck.
I scream the curse in my head when it looks like I’m about to lay my bike down. The tinkling sound of my gremlin bells, the ones Jingle gave me because he’s a man with his own penance, hits me and I almost scoff. Fat lot of good they did me today.
All it took was an asshole with a car which is clearly too much for them. And timing.
It’s always the timing that gets you.
Just when I’m about to give up, I right myself and wobble a little as I rebalance. Honestly, I have no idea how I kept my bike upright.
Fuck, it was far too fucking close.
It’s not the first time I’ve had a close call, but it’s been a while and something about my life as it played through my head like a movie reel doesn’t sit right with me.
Looking ahead of me, the Corvette is long fucking gone, like they almost didn’t take me the fuck out. It would have fucking hurt hitting the pavement.
I’m not sure I’d be able to handle the road rash I’d be dealing with.
Talk about a fucking bitch. It’s painful as hell and the way your flesh is tender is not a feeling I’d like to repeat.
The last time wasn’t even that bad. This time?
I would have been begging to be put into a fucking coma while my body healed.
I’m not even a little bit ashamed to admit that shit either.
“Are you good, Prez?” Sidewinder’s voice comes through the coms in my helmet.
I swallow hard and try to ignore the way my hands are shaking. Getting lost in what almost happened isn’t going to do a damn bit of good right now.
“Yeah,” I croak, my voice shaky before I clear my throat and get my shit together. I sound surer when I add, “I’m good.”
The sun shining down on me feels even hotter, or maybe it’s the last of the adrenaline filtering through my blood stream. I’m fucking sweating, and if I weren’t so damn close to the clubhouse, I’d pull over right now and take a moment.
As it is, all I want to do is get home.
It would be a shit idea for me to leave the transport exposed too. Which is why I grit my teeth and focus on the road.
But I can’t help keeping one eye on my mirror. While I don’t think that Corvette will show up again, I’m nowhere near ready to trust anyone on the road. Not today. Not after such a close call.
I can still feel the panic. It’s squeezing my chest, a constant reminder of how close I came.
While there were a lot of good moments with my brothers and my family, there was something missing. Something integral. The only thing I can do is push away anything beyond the road in front of me.
It’s not long before we’re pulling up to the large fence and gate which protects my club, my family, from anyone who might be a threat.
We’ve had plenty over the years, including local law enforcement.
Sheriff Lyons would love to find something that would stick when it comes to the club. He’s always breathing down our necks.
Which is why security is a top priority when it comes to the club.
Enemies might be close, and the ones you know about you can keep an eye on, but then there are those who hate you without you even knowing it. They plot in the shadows, and you don’t necessarily see them coming until it’s too late.
Which is why I’m always paying attention.
Some people might call it paranoia. I call it being protective of what’s mine. The entire club and everyone on our land is my responsibility and I take it very fucking seriously.
My heart is still pounding when I pull up in front of the clubhouse and park in my spot. I nod toward the rest of the guys who were riding with me, some of them pulling into spots while the rest lead the transport around to the other side of the building.
The old warehouse and manufacturing plant in front of me was converted into the clubhouse years ago. There’s plenty of room for everyone to have a place to live. And party.
We don’t get the chance to use the old loading docks very often, but they’ll come in handy today. Since we haven’t renovated the entire building, including storage spaces, there’s room for the club to expand one day.
A pang hits my chest because my dad would love to see nothing more than another generation of Saint’s Outlaws coming up. Right now, there is only Snake and Graycie’s baby, but Graycie’s not even showing yet.
Still, soon enough, we’ll have little feet running through the clubhouse again.
Scratch interrupts my thoughts, fucking thankfully, and slaps me on the shoulder. The look he gives me is searching and filled with concern.
We both grew up in the club, but he’s 28 to my 35.
We were close and I sure as fuck looked out for him while we were growing up, just like I did with all the club kids.
He’s a fucking genius when it comes to numbers.
He makes sure the club is solvent between our legal businesses and our less than legal dealings.
“That was a close call,” he states the obvious. The tremor in his voice tells me he was just as worried seeing it happening as I was living through it.
There’s a certain trauma when being forced to be a witness.
“Yeah,” I grunt and shake my head.
My hand clenches into a fist before I shake it out. He eyes me and then blows out a breath. “Maybe you should talk to Rector,” he offers and I clench my jaw.
Rector is the club’s chaplain even though I’m not sure God has a seat at the table here. What I do know is that Rector blew his entire fucking life up before joining the military with a death wish. He came back, but he was different.
Steady, where he had been embracing the chaos before.
Quiet, where before he felt he had to fill the silences.
Reserved, where before he was itching for a fight.
When he speaks, brothers listen because his words hold a weight and an honesty we need. And a righteousness we sometimes have to carry. Sometimes the only people who can seek justice wear leather and ride chrome beasts.
The only thing that didn’t change when Rector returned? His broken heart.
But that’s his story to tell. It’s one that doesn’t have an ending for now. Because he’s still yearning. Or maybe he’s waiting.
“He knows about all that life flashing in front of your eyes shit,” Wrecker grins with his words, but I can still see the concern in his gaze.
That’s fair.