Chapter 1
Yates “Wicked” Harris
Ten and a Half Years Later
Allowing air to invade my nostrils as a free man after ten years was almost an out-of-body experience for me.
The air felt and smelled different steps beyond the gate in comparison to what I’d been feeling and smelling in the yard for the last ten years.
I was often asked if I knew killing Mario would land me in prison for ten years, would I do it all over again, and my answer was always the same—yes.
For any woman, I would have done the same thing.
My father developed the natural protective spirit that was already within me.
But for Jelai? I would’ve done more. For Jelai, I would’ve done life if that meant saving hers.
It was hard to not think about her for the last ten years, seeing as protecting her was the reason I was in here.
Beyond that, I’d fallen in love with her the moment I saw her all those years ago.
I remembered it just like it was yesterday.
She was a freshman, and I was a sophomore.
She was having trouble finding a class, and I walked her to it.
That became our routine.
I walked her to every one of her classes, even if it meant I’d be late for mine.
Things were going well until I walked her to Sonic after a football game and her father saw me.
As soon as he recognized me, he told me to stay away from her.
I started to buck and go against what he wanted, but my father respected him enough to ask me to keep my distance.
As it stood, The Wilted Roses already had beef with Dylan and a few other detectives within the Rose Valley Hills Police Department.
Unfortunately, they judged and blamed us for everything The Outlaws did.
What they failed to acknowledge was the fact that everyone in TWR followed a code and set of rules that kept us from doing anything illegal unless it was for the protection of one of our members or someone in our family.
There were three motorcycle clubs in Rose Valley Hills: The Wilted Roses, which was a traditional MC, The Valley Ridahs, which was a basic riding club with no rules or crazy membership processes, and The RVH Outlaws, or as we called them, the fucking hellraisers.
The Outlaws were the reason motorcycle clubs had such a bad rap in the city.
While they were the ones fighting and having shootouts, stealing, and straight up terrorizing the city, all MCs were blamed for their actions.
Truthfully, most traditional MC clubs, like the one I would soon be a member of, were full of good people.
Usually 80 to 90 percent of the men were extremely respectful and protective and kind, especially toward women and kids.
I felt like you always had a chance for a few rotten eggs to be in the mix, but it never seemed fair for an entire group of people to be judged for the actions of a few.
It was a good thing I didn’t give a damn about what people thought about me.
I yielded back then and agreed to stay away from Jelai until we graduated high school.
Unfortunately, by the time we both were eighteen, I was locked down.
Though the judge deemed the homicide justifiable because I was defending Jelai, he said I used extreme force since I killed him with my hands.
For that reason, I was sentenced to fifteen years, but I knew I’d only do ten.
My folks took the sentence hard, but my parents were proud that I’d protected Jelai.
They made sure I was straight, and The Wilted Roses did too.
While I was locked down, I never wanted for anything.
There was always time on my phone card, my commissary was always stacked, and the MC made sure I stayed protected while inside, though I could clearly handle myself.
There were quite a few Outlaws incarcerated that thought they’d have an easy target in me, but they learned real quick that wouldn’t be the case.
They felt like I’d killed Mario because he and his family were Outlaws, but I didn’t give a fuck who he was.
The second I heard Jelai scream and saw him pushed up against her, I lost it.
Anybody could get it behind her with no hesitation.
I took in a few more deep breaths before I walked down the concrete path.
As soon as I heard a woman scream, I smiled.
Mama. My only request while I did my time was that she not visit me, and it was hell getting her to agree.
We wrote letters often and I called her daily, but it was hard going ten years not seeing her in person or having her in my arms.
As soon as my eyes locked on her, they blurred with tears.
I didn’t give a fuck about looking hard or no shit like that.
All of my personal belongings dropped from my arms as she ran in my direction.
I held her close and tight as we both shed tears.
When she kissed all over my face and thanked God I was free, I laughed.
That’s when Pops decided he’d given her enough time with his oldest child and only son.
I peeped that my baby sister was sitting in the car, but I gave Pops some love before making my way over.
My spirit told me she was crying, and sure enough, by the time I made it to the back seat, Nadia’s face was covered in tears.
Sucking my teeth, I blew out a hard breath, trying not to get emotional again. I didn’t care if I did though. They’d be the only people who ever saw my tears.
“She missed class just to come get you,” Mama said as she and Pops walked over to her car. I was surprised Pops drove instead of riding his bike. I couldn’t wait to hop on one and just ride around the city for hours, even if I had to ride his Harley.
I opened the door and pulled my sister out gently.
That was one thing I did regret—missing so much of her life.
She was in college now, and I felt like I’d missed some of the best parts of her growing up.
We were seven years apart, and back then, that age difference was vast. I was seventeen and she was ten, and we were often in two completely different worlds.
One thing was for sure, though . . . I didn’t play about my baby sister, and she for damn sure didn’t play about her big brother.
“What chu crying for? I’m home now,” I teased, holding her as she clung to me and drenched my shirt with her tears.
“I-I missed you s-so much, big brother,” she sobbed, tightening her grip on me, and that made me shed a few tears all over again.
“We all did,” Pops added, patting my back before he opened the passenger door for Mama.
“I’m sorry for leaving you,” I told her.
“Don’t do it again!” she yelled, giving me a gut punch that made me double over and groan before I laughed.
For a while, I chased her around and we wrestled like we did when we were younger before we got tired and got in the car. I didn’t know where they were taking me, but a nigga was glad to finally be free.
Me not wanting a welcome home party didn’t keep my folks from throwing me one.
The last thing I wanted to do was be around a lot of people, so thankfully, they limited it to just family and friends.
I spent about two hours with them before I excused myself and went up to the room I’d grown up in.
Crazy as it was, they’d kept my room the exact same way for the last decade.
Stepping into that room made my return home real.
It also showed me how time kept going even though it felt like it was frozen for me.
As I sipped my beer, the light tapping on the door alerted me of someone’s presence. I sighed and shook my head. I’d become too used to solitude for all this engagement.
“It’s just me,” Pops said, and that was the only reason I got up and unlocked the door to let him in.
He chuckled when he looked at me, and I could only imagine my expression.
If I had it my way, I would have come home to a hotel room while I searched for my own home.
While I was sat down, I was productive. I got my GED and business degree.
I won’t suggest I was a complete angel while I was away.
To make money, I sold drugs so I could buy a failing auto shop.
My goal was to create generational wealth that I could pass down to my children by investing in businesses and having a chain of auto shops all over the country.
The first two businesses I invested in were for my best friends, Sonny and Cole.
In exchange for my seed money, we agreed upon a set amount of time for me to receive 15 percent of their profit.
Now that I was out, I planned to invest more and acquire my second shop.
Instead of building from the ground up, I wanted to buy another failing business and bring it back to life.
Not only was that easier and less expensive, but it also allowed me to help the owner in the process.
Though I had more than enough money to move into my own place now, Mama asked me to stay home for at least three months, and I agreed.
I appreciated my family and friends looking out for me. They’d gotten my sizes and made sure I had all the clothes and shoes I needed to start out with along with a phone. Once I got my bike, I’d be set.
“We gon’ leave you alone,” he said, following me toward the window. “You know you don’t have to sleep in here, right? Your mama wanted to keep this room like this because she’s sentimental, but you can sleep in any room in the house.”
I nodded my agreement as I stared out at the lake behind the house. It was one of my favorite parts of the neighborhood back in the day.
“Yeah. I’ll probably take the guest room downstairs.”
“I ’preciate you staying here. I know you could’ve gotten your own place, but it means a lot to ya mama to have you here. And I’d be lying if I said I won’t enjoy having you close too.”