Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“Kaylee’s ghosting you? She didn’t strike me as a kiss and run kinda girl.” Tank puts his fingers to his lips and lets out a shrill whistle. “Newbies! Over there! When you’re riding with us, you represent the club. I don’t want to see you fucking around.”
Beast and Shrapnel, both ex-military, yell “Yes, sir!” while Mad Dog gives a curt nod.
“Where are Deuce and Reaper?”
“Here!” Deuce shouts as he and his buddy jog out of the workshop and towards their bikes.
Shit, it feels like a lifetime ago, but I remember being in their shoes. At their age, I was fresh out of service without a fucking clue what to do with my life. After being a Sapper in the Army, a buddy got me a job doing demo for a construction company. I lasted three months before I realized I’d be doing the same fucking thing day after day for the rest of my fucking life and walked off the site. Joining the Screaming Eagles was the best fucking decision I’ve ever made.
“Let’s cruise by her house after the run,” I suggest. “Chances are she’s just playing it smart and not wanting to get involved in any of our shit, but we’re on the clock here with the Giordanos. Like it or not, we have to bring her in.”
Wraith nods. “I feel like a fucking asshole for dragging an innocent girl like her back into this mess, but I gotta say, I’m not mad about seeing her again.”
“Of course you’re not. Last time you saw her you were tasting her fucking tonsils,” Tank says with a snort.
“Jealous?”
“Not unless you aren’t planning on sharing.”
“Fuuuuck,” I groan out. “Why’d you have to say that right before the ride? Now I’m picturing her with that little pink interview skirt flipped up and those big eyes looking up at me while she—”
“Roll out!” Eagle-eye booms.
A courtyard full of bikes roar to life as one. Looming war or not, club business has to go on. South Side is only safe if we’re here to keep it that way. The people who live here need to know we’re paying attention, and we can’t give the fuckers trying to mess with us the satisfaction of thinking we’re running scared.
About two dozen of us roll out of the compound and hit the streets, ready to make it clear that we aren’t going any-fucking-where. Fuck, I love these rides. With the wind in my face and my brothers at my side, it’s easy to forget about all the bad shit because the good is so fucking good.
“Stay the fuck in position!” Wraith yells at the prospects who aren’t used to riding so tight together.
Keeping an eye on these grown fucking men is like running a fucking daycare sometimes. Was I ever that fresh? With a potential war brewing, we’re gonna need all the new blood we can get, but it ain’t worth shit if we can’t depend on them.
Eagle-eye cruises at the head of the pack, flanked by King and Alpha. They ride like they own this fucking place, because they do. When I was serving I learned real damn fast that being a leader isn’t about a title or a rank, it’s something you’re either born with or you aren’t. Sometimes it takes going through real shit to bring it out, but it was always fucking there.
They have it. It’s why so many other clubs burn out while the Screaming fucking Eagles only burn brighter and brighter.
The run goes smooth, right up until it doesn’t.
Just as we hit the edge of our territory and start looping back around I can tell something’s off. Eagle-eye exchanges a look with King. Cars usually pull over and let us through, but this is too quiet and we find out in a second why that is.
Riot trucks barrel out of the streets on both sides right before we hit an intersection. They block the entire road and cover the sidewalks, and in an obviously planned move, officers in full tactical gear pour out, lining up with their shields at the ready. What the fuck is this? The cops haven’t been brave enough to challenge us on our own turf in a long fucking time.
The head of the line, including Eagle-eye and Alpha, barely manages to slide to a stop before crashing right into the whole mess. The rest of us form up tightly behind them, only to get blocked in from behind by two regular cop cars with the lights going.
“Prez?” asks King, his hand close to his waist, ready to draw if he has to.
Eagle-eye motions to wait, his expression deadly. I haven’t seen him look this furious since the day we rode to get his daughter back from the Pit Vipers. “No iron, not unless we have to. It’s their fucking move.”