Tarzan (The Reckless Order MC #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Tarzan

As I drove through the little mountain town, I rolled down my window and breathed in the crisp, cool air. This was the fresh start I needed. A new beginning and a blank slate.

Back in the dry, scorching heat of California, I used to belong to the Desert Howlers MC. And I fell in love with a woman who could never be mine.

Stevie Malone.

She fought like a hellcat to earn her place and climb the ranks to Vice President. As the only woman in a male-dominated club, she had a steep, uphill battle. Every damn step of the way.

I couldn’t act on my feelings for her. If I did, that would risk undermining all the hard work and respect she’d garnered over the years.

So, I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to put her in that position—choosing between me or the club. That wasn’t fair. All I could do was back her up when she needed someone on her side.

Then I watched Stevie fall in love with someone else. And there wasn’t a fucking thing I could do to stop it.

In the back of my mind, I always knew it would happen one day. Stevie was beautiful, determined, fiery, and any man would be lucky to win her heart. He would have his hands full keeping up with her too.

But it still hurt to watch her slowly slip away from me.

That’s how I ended up here, with my Harley and everything I owned stuffed onto a trailer behind my truck.

Stevie had married someone else. Now I needed to find a way to move on.

Sticking my arm out the window, I let the air spill through my fingers.

In early June, the heat of summer hadn’t fully arrived in Colorado yet, remaining pleasantly cool.

Mountains bordered the little town of Juniper Creek.

It seemed as if I had arrived on a completely different planet.

Everything was so lush with greenery. Thick forests and craggy rocks bordered winding roads.

Almost everywhere I turned, there was one breathtaking view after another.

It was nothing like the flat, barren wasteland of the desert that I’d left behind.

I could get used to this, I thought.

When I turned into my brother’s driveway, I was surprised to find a modest house in a quiet rural neighborhood. It seemed out of character for my pesky little brother who thrived on action, adventure, and stirring up trouble.

Teddy was there waiting for me, seated on the porch steps. Rising to his feet, he lifted his arm in a wave.

“I expected you nearly two hours ago,” he called. “Did you get lost?”

As I climbed out of my truck, he tackled me with an enthusiastic bear hug. Despite the five years between us, Teddy and I were practically attached at the hip while we were growing up. Since we were bored out of our minds in the middle-of-nowhere Illinois, we did everything together.

Stealing motorcycles from the old geezers down at the bar.

Playing hooky from school so we could spend the day at the movie theater instead.

Sneaking into the arcade after it was closed and playing games all night.

Then Teddy joined the army at eighteen. And I didn’t.

Suddenly, our lives were no longer tightly intertwined. We were blown apart like shrapnel. Feeling listless and lost without my brother to anchor me, I hit the road on my Harley, trying to distract myself from his absence.

By pure luck, I stumbled into the Desert Howlers MC and served as their Prospect for a few months. By the time I earned my patch and became a member, I was beginning to make a life for myself in California.

After Teddy left the army, he followed a few of his soldier buddies back to Colorado. Within a year, he joined the Reckless Order MC.

It seemed our lives were beginning to mirror each other again, even when we were hundreds of miles apart.

“I didn’t get lost,” I protested. “You’re just an impatient little shit.”

Teddy chuckled and thumped me on the shoulder.

“You’re getting even grumpier in your old age, brother.”

I thumped his shoulder back with enough force to make him stumble a few steps in order to regain his balance.

“I’m thirty-three, for fuck’s sake,” I countered. “Stop making it sound like I’m over the hill with one foot in the grave.”

Teddy’s eyes gleamed with amusement. He was always like this—bouncing on his toes with energy, eager to move. He had no sense of self-preservation, absurdly confident in the knowledge that his big brother was watching his back.

“It’s nice to see some things never change,” Teddy replied. “Come on. I’ll help you unpack. Then we can get a beer and a bite to eat at the clubhouse.”

He grabbed a stack of boxes off my trailer, carrying them inside. I ignored the tight little knot in the pit of my stomach and started unloading boxes, piling them on the driveway. Leaving the Desert Howlers wasn’t an easy decision. I spent years alongside those men I called my brothers.

Now, I was starting over from scratch with a different crew.

Motorcycle clubs generally operated on a basic set of ground rules that everyone knew—respect for your fellow bikers, don’t touch another man’s Old Lady, and keep your mouth shut around cops.

But the culture of each club could vary depending on leadership.

Some clubs I’d visited were hostile to each other, an all-out fight for survival.

Others were more laidback, easy going, and didn’t bother enforcing any rules at all, which created another layer of chaos when discipline was never carried out.

There was no guarantee that I would mesh well with this set of bikers. If a club didn’t fit right, I had no chance of surviving as a Prospect, let alone earning my patch.

You are welcome to take a seat at our table anytime, brother, Teddy told me.

He wouldn’t make that offer if he didn’t think I would be a good candidate.

Two hours later, Teddy and I had emptied my trailer, distributing boxes into one of his spare bedrooms. It chafed at my pride to be moving in with my little brother, even though it was a temporary arrangement.

It highlighted how much upheaval I had experienced in such a short amount of time—losing Stevie and my club, packing up my life, moving away to a totally new town sight unseen, and now I didn’t even have a place of my own to call home where I could lick my wounds in private.

Beggars can’t be choosers though. And I was grateful for the chance to reconnect with Teddy—a silver lining to this whole shitshow.

As I straightened my aching back, Teddy hooked an arm around my neck and put me in a friendly headlock.

“Come on, you gloomy sourpuss,” he said. “Let’s get you drunk so you stop brooding over that girl you left in California.”

I pried myself out of his grip and retaliated by ruffling his hair. He squawked in protest and skirted out of reach, smoothing his tousled hair with indignation.

“I’m not brooding,” I said.

“Pouting?”

“No,” I growled.

“Then you’re definitely sulking,” Teddy quipped.

I took a threatening step toward him. He cackled and headed for the door.

“Move your ass, big brother,” he called, his voice echoing through the house. “It’s time to meet your new family.”

***

The Reckless Order clubhouse was an old-fashioned brick building, formerly a fire station, repurposed into a biker hangout.

The thick scent of tobacco and whiskey hung in the air.

Worn leather armchairs and sofas clustered near a television set in one corner of the room.

Along the wall was a bar, with a door leading away to what I assumed was the kitchen.

Teddy introduced me to a blur of faces and names and I only caught about half of them.

Bruiser. Hades. Psycho.

Then Teddy grabbed a chair, swinging it around to straddle it as he settled at a table with two older men. Their patches read President and Vice President. Teddy jerked his thumb over his shoulder in my direction.

“Brought you some fresh blood, Prez. This is my brother, Sean. I told you about him. He goes by Tarzan.”

The two men glanced in my direction with an assessing look. I steeled myself under their gazes. It wasn’t the first time an old timer took my measure to decide whether or not I was worthy of their club’s brotherhood.

If I made a poor first impression with them, it would likely have a ripple effect throughout the whole club.

The President spoke first, with white hair and a scraggly beard.

“I’m Hillbilly,” he said, with an unmistakable Kentucky twang to his voice that made it clear how he’d earned his road name. “And this is Ironside,” he added, gesturing to his companion. “Your brother informed us you were lookin’ to join up.”

Ironside waved his cigar in my direction.

“Why should we take you on?”

A test question. My answer would be their deciding factor. I deliberated for a moment, weighing my words.

“Because this isn’t my first rodeo,” I said. “I was with the Desert Howlers for nearly ten years. I’m not afraid to bleed if that’s what it takes to earn my patch.”

Ironside flicked his eyebrows up and exchanged a look with Hillbilly. Teddy grinned from ear to ear.

“See what I mean? We weren’t good for nothing else, but my brother and I make damn good bikers.”

Hillbilly sipped his whiskey and surveyed his glass in thought.

“I’ve met a Howler or two on the road.”

Ironside nodded. “So have I. They’re tough sons of bitches.”

“We can use someone like that on our team,” Hillbilly admitted.

“Judging by the size of you,” Ironside said. “I bet you’re not afraid to throw your weight around to get what you want.”

“No, sir,” I replied.

I never did very well in school, but I excelled at football, wrestling…and dodging the cops when I got into trouble. That’s how I earned my road name, Tarzan. I was more beast than man sometimes.

“Then you’re in,” Hillbilly said. “Congratulations, Prospect. We’ll get you a patch tomorrow and make it official. For now, grab a drink with your brother and celebrate.”

While Teddy and I shared a couple beers together, I tried to feel…something. Relief. Anticipation. Optimism for my future. Anything.

Instead, that empty hole in my chest stubbornly remained.

How long would it take to get over a woman who was never mine to begin with?

For Teddy’s sake, I stayed at the clubhouse for an hour or two. He introduced me to everyone, and I challenged him to a few rounds of darts.

But as the night grew late, I found myself wanting to retreat for a while. Spend some time alone. I appreciated everything Teddy had done for me while I needed somewhere to crash and set myself straight again, but I wasn’t ready to go back to his place yet.

So, I slipped out the back door and climbed on my bike with nothing but the road for company. I drove mindlessly, taking one turn after another with no direction in mind. The destination didn’t matter as long as I was riding.

Eventually, my gas gauge flashed with a red warning light.

Around the corner, I spotted a gas station and the Huckleberry Diner, open twenty-four hours a day.

My stomach growled at the thought of greasy comfort food.

Aside from beer and peanuts at the clubhouse, I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch and that was hours ago.

After filling up on gas, I pulled up to the diner and stepped inside.

A bell chimed over the door, signaling my arrival.

Only a handful of customers were scattered throughout the blue and white vinyl booths.

It looked like the place hadn’t been changed since the 1950s, with vintage Coca-Cola memorabilia lining the walls, and a jukebox playing real, genuine records in the corner.

“Pick a seat, hon,” a woman’s voice called from the kitchen. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Sliding into a nearby booth, I selected one of the menus tucked behind the napkin holder and studied it.

After a minute or two, a waitress bustled up to the table.

She looked to be somewhere in her mid-twenties, with auburn hair pulled into classic pin-up curls.

Rudy red lipstick painted her bow-shaped mouth.

Despite the shapeless sack of her robin’s-egg blue uniform, her generous curves were impossible to miss.

She heaved a sigh and cocked her hip, draping a hand over the back of my seat as if we were old friends having a chat. Her nametag read, Keely.

“Sorry about the wait. Our dishwasher called in sick today and our temp fell through, too. So, I’m up to my elbows in suds. What can I get ya?”

I faltered for a moment, wrenching my gaze back down to the menu.

She was fucking cute.

And I was not ready to look at another woman that way again. To notice the sway of her hips or the swell of her tits. Teddy would argue that I needed to get it out of my system and rebound.

But I didn’t want to. Not yet.

“Just some coffee,” I said. “Black.”

Keely tilted her head.

“Are you sure, hon?”

“Yep,” I replied.

Despite my hunger, I probably shouldn’t hang around now that Keely had caught my attention.

For a split second, she paused, studying me. At last, she disappeared into the kitchen without another word. When she returned, she placed a cup of steaming black coffee in front of me.

And a slice of cherry pie, with sugar crystals glistening on the crispy golden brown crust.

Keely winked with a small smile.

“On the house. I recognize the look of a man who needs a little sweetness in his life.”

Then she trotted off, stopping at a nearby table to gather dirty dishes into her arms.

I sat there, dazed, with the scent of cherry pie making my mouth water. For the first time since leaving California, I wasn’t thinking about Stevie at all.

“Keely,” I said softly to myself, savoring the way her name rolled off my tongue.