Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Furious Fitness: The gym Wrath owns with Murphy and Jake. Often just referred to as “Furious.” Located not far from Crystal Ball.
Strike Back: Owned by Sullivan Wallace but members of the Lost Kings MC and Ruthless & Royal have worked and worked out there in the past.
Johnson County/Johnsonville: Fictional area where Heidi grew up. About an hour west of “Empire.” Where Strike Back Gym, The Castle, and Zips are located. Possibly the new home of a Lost Kings MC support club? We’ll see!
Zips: Racetrack owned by Eraser where all the illegal gambling/racing in the area happens.
The Castle: Formerly a juvenile detention center. The building is now used to house the underground fighting ring run by Remy and Griff. Murphy used to fight here. Other LOKI members also blow off steam in the cage here from time to time. Located in the middle of nowhere, NY, it once-upon-a-time housed Griff, Vapor, Eraser, Sully, and possibly Teller during their “troubled youth” days.
Kodack, NY: Another fictional NY area located in Western New York. Somewhere near Buffalo, perhaps. This territory is run by the Devil Demons MC.
Empire Medical Center: Local hospital where all the Kings receive medical treatment. Heidi also works there now.
OTHER MC TERMINOLOGY
Most terminology was obtained through research. However, I have also used some artistic license in applying these terms to my romanticized, fictional version of an outlaw motorcycle club. This is not an exhaustive list.
Cage: A car, truck, van—basically anything other than a motorcycle.
Church: Club meetings all full-patch members must attend. Led by the president of the club, but officers will update the members on the areas they oversee. (Some clubs refer to the meeting room where they hold church as the “chapel.” My club refers to it as their “war room.”
Citizen/civilian: Anyone not a hardcore biker or belonging to an outlaw club. “Citizen wife” would refer to a spouse kept entirely separate from the club.
Cut: Leather vest worn by outlaw bikers and adorned with patches and artwork displaying the club’s unique colors. The Lost Kings’ colors are blue and gray. Their logo is a skull with a crown. The Respect Few, Fear None patch is earned by doing time for the club without snitching. Brother’s Keeper patches are earned by killing for the club. Loyal Brother is for a brother who’s spent more than five years with the club.
Colors: The “uniform” of an outlaw motorcycle gang. A leather vest, with the three-piece club patch on the back, and various other patches relating to their role in the club.
Fly colors: To ride on a motorcycle wearing colors.
Muffler bunny or “bunnies”: A girl who hangs around to provide sexual favors to members. Old ladies in my series will sometimes refer to them as “friends of the club,” depending on the girl in question. Some clubs refer to them as club whores, patch whores, or cut sluts. These terms are not regularly used in my series. Sometimes simply referred to as a “club girl.”
Nomad: A club member who does not belong to any specific charter, yet has privileges in all charters.
Old lady/ol’ lady: Wife or steady girlfriend of a club member.
Patched in: When a new member is approved for full membership.
Patch holder: A member who has been vetted through performing duties for the club as a prospect or probate and has earned his three-piece patch.
Road name: Nickname. Usually given by the other members.
Run: A club-sanctioned outing, sometimes with other chapters and/or clubs. Can also refer to a club business run.
I’m sure I’m forgetting something! But this should be enough to get you started!
CHAPTER ONE
Margot
My emotions have never followed a straight path. They twist, turn, coil, and knot into pieces I can’t always identify—some smooth, some jagged. Sometimes they devour me. Other times they disappear.
So many experiences have carved into me, reshaping me into something sharper, softer, or in between. Growing up in my family’s funeral home taught me lessons in silence and death. Whispers behind closed doors and endless tears.
But the cruelest lesson came too early. Touched too close. The world showed me the rot that can live inside people who look friendly on the outside. Long before I was old enough to understand what true suffering looked like, I stumbled upon it and accidentally saw the kind of cruelty some people are capable of inflicting on those weaker and more trusting than them.
No one warns you about the aftermath of that discovery—the lingering sense of hopelessness that will drive you crazy when you realize no amount of justice will ever be enough. Nothing will ever replace a life that’s been stolen or trust that’s been broken.
And now, with Jigsaw standing here, his broad, naked frame crowding the back of my closet where I keep my special trinkets, horror carved into his face as he stares at me like he just discovered he’s been sleeping with a monster, that same familiar sense of hopelessness slams into me. Like an old unwelcome ghost, it spooks every bit of confidence I’ve gained over the last few months.