Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Chapter Two
Coop
“Yo, Coop. I need you in the club, man. This shit is getting real.”
“Ace,” I tell him. I’m out back behind the shop, taking a break from modifying my bike.
“You know me, man. I’m in and out. I’m a nomad. I’ll stick around for a while and help you out. But please. Stop busting my balls.”
Even on the phone, I can see Ace giving me that grin. He knows he’s got me by the short hairs.
A little over a month ago, I pulled into Angel Harbor to shake the road dust out of my eyes for a bit. First thing I do is look up Ace to shoot the shit, have a few laughs. He invites me to hang with him and his guys at the shop.
Last time I talked to Charlie, he said things are quiet on the home front, and he’ll call me when another club needs help. I should enjoy myself. Take a break. Enjoy the sunshine.
Then Ace comes at me with this proposition. He likes my style. I fit in, and I should join his club as a patched member. No probie shit for me. I’ll get my patch right off the bat, blah, blah, blah and knock it with them for a while. The Reckless Souls need long-term help dealing with another club trying to take them down.
“But Ace. This is what I do as a nomad. I’ll help you take care of these motherfuckers and them I’m on to the next gig.”
“No, Coop. That’s not gonna work. I need you to be invested in this club. This is serious shit. I want you to be one of us.”
I feel like I’m talking to my dad, trying to get him to see things my way. All the time I’m hanging out at the shop with the guys, working on my bike, helping with their overflow work. It’s all good. Until the night everything blew up.
That’s when it all became personal for me. The night I knew I was one of them. I knew that, like or not, Ace was right. At least for now.
At least until I have to hang it up again as a patched member of the Reckless Souls and go out on the road again.
“I need a fucking drink.”
Standing in the middle of Ace Motors, the legal shop owned by Ace, President of the Reckless Souls, I take in all the destruction. The broken windows, the graffiti on the building, and the beat up cars and the bikes on the floor that’ll cost an arm and a fucking leg to repair. Everything is destroyed.
Stepping over the debris, I make my way to the repair bay, and my hands ball into fists at the sight in front of me.
Choppers with fresh chrome, cars with their souped-up engines, new tires, all of them are fucked. Totally fucking fucked.
“Fuck, man, what the fuck happened here?” The voice of Joaquin, one of the club’s prospects, breaks through the silence and my anger.
“The goddamn Iron Kings, that’s what happened.”
“Shit, for real?” Joaquin laughs and shakes his head. “I guess old Hector really has a taste for lead.”
I nod because the prospect isn’t wrong. Hector Santos, President of the fuck sticks known as Iron Kings MC, has a death wish.
It’s the only explanation for the damage done to the shop and the calling card left behind in the form of a skull smoking a cigar, the same insignia on their kuttes.
“I’m going to enjoy killing that asshole myself.”
“If Ace doesn’t get to him first.”
I nod. Ace and Hector have some history beyond Reckless Souls and Iron Kings bullshit. “We’ll do this tomorrow. Right now, I need a fucking drink.”
Now it feels like my shop. Like my guys have been hit. My club. I call Ace. All I say is, “I’m in.”
“Glad to hear, brother.”
As if he heard, Joaquin claps me on the back. “First round is on me.”
I laugh. “Only because Joe’s does two for one shots tonight.”
“You complainin’ bro?”
“Hell no. Drinks always taste better when some other fucker pays for ’em.” I nod toward the door, and we make our way outside the shop, leaving cleanup for the other probies. Ace, the president, and Shades, the club treasurer, will have to deal with the insurance agents on Monday.
Until then, I’m going to have a drink—or three.
I use the short ride to Joe’s Tavern to think about retaliation. The Iron Kings can’t go unpunished for their crimes against us. Fucking up the shop, and worse, using their pissant prospects to do the job is the ultimate disrespect.
Retaliation is one of my specialties. I know it’s one of the reasons Ace asked me to stay in Angel Harbor and hook up with the Reckless Souls. And I don’t regret being here even a little bit.
Yeah, so after all my big talk to my Dad about the glory of the nomad life, I’m ready to hunker down with the Reckless Souls, at least for the time being.