Prologue
Denise Cunningham pulled back the curtains covering the window pane in her front door with shaky hands. The knock that had sounded moments before wasn’t the gentle knock of a friend over for a visit. Staring back at her through the glass, she saw two Warren County Sheriff’s deputies holding papers. Dread rolled up in her throat as her stomach began to churn. She let the blinds fall and took two deep breaths before she unlocked the door and faced the men standing on the other side. As she stepped out, the brightness of the sun assaulted her eyes, the warmth of the summer day made it even more difficult to breathe past the lump in her throat.
“Denise Cunningham?” The taller of the two asked.
Not trusting her voice, she could only nod her head in acknowledgement of who she was.
With cold efficiency, he handed her the papers in his hands. “Denise Cunningham, I’m serving you with papers from Kentucky Housing.” He produced a pen and requested her signature.
In minutes it was over. The scene she had dreaded most over the last few months had come to fruition. Unless she could come up with six months back mortgage, she would lose her home. She stood frozen in shock as the officers walked away from the door and headed back to their patrol car. It almost made her laugh – the fact that they felt she, a single mother, was dangerous enough to warrant two deputies. As they pulled away, she realized her neighbors watched. Shame and embarrassment caused her face to burn as she slammed her door shut.
Tears came now, along with shakes that wracked her body. “God, please help me,” she whispered as she opened the packet of paperwork they had left with her. “What am I going to do?” Through the tears, she read the legal papers in her trembling hands. The amount due was more than she had seen in years. Especially now that her hours had recently been cut. She was officially screwed.
The shrill ringing of her cell phone broke into her freakout. A number she had never seen before displayed on the screen, and she wondered if she should answer it. Along with the money she owed on her home, she owed thousands to credit card companies. They had also begun to hound her. Should she take the chance and answer it or let the voicemail pick it up? As she debated, her finger hit the accept button of its own accord.
“Hello?”
“Denise, this is Roni,” the voice on the other end greeted.
Roni was in fact Sharon Walker, another employee at the big box store where Denise had found a temporary job. They’d only spoken a time or two, and Denise hadn’t actually been sure the other woman would ever call her. To say this was a surprise was an understatement. But at this point, anything that took her mind off of what had just happened was welcome.
“Hey, Roni.”
“Did I catch you at a bad time? It took you a while to answer. I’m gonna ask you for a favor, so if you can’t do it, just let me know,” she forged ahead in a rush.
A bad time? Was it couth to tell a mere acquaintance that your home was about to be foreclosed on?
Clearing her throat Denise said, “Not at all. What can I help you with?” Accepting a favor for someone would possibly get her out of the house, the house that soon would no longer be hers. The walls were closing in, and she needed something to do. She needed something to work out halfway good for once instead of all the gloom and doom.
“Can you cover my shift for me tonight? I’ve got a little bit of an emergency with my brother, and I’m gonna need a few hours.”
Denise bit her lip. She had heard rumblings about Roni’s brother. Word around town had it that he was part of a major outlaw biker gang called the Heaven Hill Motorcycle Club. Whatever Roni would be doing to help her brother would probably be illegal. Would that make Denise an accomplice?
“Would it make you a what?” Roni asked as Denise stood frozen with the phone to her ear.
Shit. She’d said that out loud. “Nevermind. I’ll cover for you. What time do I have to be there?” Anything would be better than sitting here, worrying about things she had no control over.
Roni rattled off a time that would only allow her minutes to get dressed, head out the door, and make it there just in time to clock in. Quickly they hung up. Depression threatening to take over, Denise shoved the packet of paperwork under the pillow of her couch. With any luck neither of her children would see it. Their lives had been in as much upheaval as hers. They didn’t need to see this too – she felt like a failure as their mother.
Pulling out of her Plum Springs subdivision, Denise made her way to Louisville road which took her to the interstate. The interstate would take her less time than going through town. She made sure to take in her surroundings. Unless a miracle happened or she hit the lottery, her days living in this neighborhood were numbered. A red light stopped her right before she hit the interstate. To the left, blue lights could be seen swirling on top of police cars. Men were being handcuffed and put in back seats two at a time. It wasn’t unusual to see arrests right next to the interstate, but this time she noticed an influx of motorcycles. The gas station on Duntov Way, situated between a fast food restaurant and a liquor store, usually didn’t see a lot of motorcycles. The exception being Harley Weekend at the local dragstrip. With keen eyes, she got a good look at the patches that adorned the backs of the leather vests, or cuts as they called them, the men wore.
“F*ck,” she breathed, recognizing the patch on most of the men. The Heaven Hill insignia inside a skull. The bottom rocker on the cut indicated this was the Bowling Green Chapter.
It was the Heaven Hill Motorcycle Club, and, if she wasn’t mistaken, she had just seen Roni’s brother get put in the back of a sheriff’s patrol car. Probably by the same officers that had just served her. If there was one thing she knew, it was that all hell was about to break loose in small-town Kentucky.