“Shade, this is Rider, the guy I was tellin’ you ‘bout.” Shade ran his hard eyes over me.
“You ride?” he asked, his voice sounding almost bored. It was deep and graveled, and suited how he looked—dark and menacing.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, “a chopper.”
“Sir? What the fuck? Where the hell are you from?” the younger blond man said, smirking.
“He’s an ex-marine,” Smiler said in my defense.
“A little young to be a marine, ain’t ya?” Shade asked.
I shrugged. “My folks let me sign up at seventeen.”
“And why’d you get out?”
“Kinda personal. A lot of shit happened over there.” I made sure my voice sounded cracked, sad.
Shade nodded his head. “Say no more, kid. A lotta guys that have walked through these doors have felt the same thing. From ‘Nam to Whateverthefuckistan. One good thing ‘bout this MC—no one will give you shit for the things you’ve done or seen.”
The older blond man beside Shade slammed his foot into the younger blond man’s leg. “So shut the fuck up with your wisecracks, Ky, before I cut out your smart tongue. This kid’s already served his country. All you’ve done is beer pong and pussy.” The younger blond—Ky—sat back on his seat, scowling.
The younger dark guy turned to Ky, lifted his hands and made a series of rapid movements with them. Ky nodded his head as though he was answering a question . . .
He had spoken to Ky in sign language.
“Don’t mind these two dumbfucks,” said Shade. “One’s so obsessed with pussy and jerkin’ off that he’s got no ’ brain cells left in his head. And this one’s a fuckin’ mute who don’t say shit to no one but his little pissant friend here.”
Shade pointed to the man beside him. “This one’s Arch, my VP and Ky’s old man. This”—he pointed to the silent young man—“is my boy, Styx. The future of this fuckin’ club—Hades help us all.”
I nodded my head at them all then faced the prez once again. His eyes narrowed. “You got family?”
I shook my head. “Not no more.”
“How old are ya?”
“Nineteen.”
“You know your way ‘round a bike? Can fix them up and shit?”
“Can fix people better.”
“You a doc or some shit?” Arch asked.
“Was a medic. My old man was a doctor. He taught me some things before he passed. Marines taught me everything else,” I replied, the deception rolling off my tongue like butter.
Shade lifted an eyebrow. “You vouchin’ for him?” he said to Smiler.
Smiler shrugged. “Don’t know him much outside of Smitty’s bar, but I’ve seen him ride. He’s good. Real fuckin’ good. And I ain’t all that good at patchin’ the brothers up like I’ve been havin’ to lately. With the Mexican situation heatin’ up, I thought he might come in handy.”
Shade took in a long breath, then slammed his hand down on the table. Meeting my eyes, he said, “You got a shot, kid. If you make it past a few weeks and you ain’t fucked up too much, we’ll vote on you bein’ a prospect.”
Relief and delight like nothing I’d ever felt before raced through me. I’d passed the first test. “Thank you, sir,” I replied.
Shade laughed in my face. “And cut with the ‘sir’ shit. I ain’t ever earned a title like that and sure as fuck won’t anytime soon. Smiler, throw the kid behind the bar. If the fucker can survive Vike and Bull’s shit all night, give him a room. You’re in charge of seein’ that he doesn’t piss anyone off. Ain’t in the mood for shifting a stiff tonight.”
“Right, Prez,” Smiler said and led me from the room and to the bar. He handed me a bottle of liquor and some shot glasses. He pointed to the group of men that had been watching the naked woman dance. They were now drinking tequila straight from her mouth and licking salt off her thighs and breasts. “You keep them supplied with Patrón and do whatever the fuck they say. Right?”
I nodded. Smiler slapped his hand on my back, then walked away and joined some men at the far end of the bar.
As I poured the liquor for the already intoxicated men, I was filled with a sense of purpose. I was here. I’d made it into the den of evil and unworthy men. God had brought me to this place to do His will. So I would gain the favor of those in charge and become as valuable to them as I could . . .
. . . then I would tear them apart. Destroy everything they held dear. And when the time was right, I would bring Prophet David’s wrath down upon them all . . . until there was nothing left of this club.
The sinners dead.
Forgotten.
And burning in the great red fires of hell.
Chapter One
Cain
Present day . . .
I stared straight ahead through swollen eyes as another drop of water fell to the floor. The air was sticky; the Texan humidity was climbing to its peak. My cell darkened to almost pitch black as yet another storm rolled in. Thunder growled in the distance, moving ever closer to New Zion.
Many minutes passed, until the edge of the lightning storm began to sporadically light up the dark room. The rain turned from a light drizzle to a torrential downpour as it hammered on my cell roof. The gentle drops that had been falling through the small cracks in the stone ceiling became an angry stream that crashed onto the floor.
I moved my leg, wincing as my muscles protested. I tried to do the same with my arm. I huffed out in frustration when my entire body burned with pain.
I squinted up at the wall behind me, my temples throbbing. My vision swam in blurred lines, balancing on the ever-present edge of unconsciousness.
I made myself focus. I counted the tallies I’d managed to scrape onto the wall with the sharpened edge of a stone. Thirty-five. Thirty-five . . . thirty-five . . . I had been in this cell for thirty-five days. Had suffered daily exorcisms and beatings by the new disciple guards . . .
“Repent! Repent and bow down to the prophet!” Brother James screamed as I hung from the chains in the ceiling.