by L. Wilder
“Yes, sweetheart. That’s your father.” She sighed. “You should know … he doesn’t know about you, Scotty.”
“What?”
She placed her hand on mine as she continued, “I was young and naïve. He never loved me the way I loved him, Scotty. When he met Melinda ... he fell head over heels for her … and forgot all about me. I was embarrassed … I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that I was pregnant.”
“So, he never had any idea about me?”
“No, sweetheart. I left town … as soon as I started showing.” A tear trickled down her cheek. Listening to her say that he had no idea I was his son felt like the rug had been pulled out from under me.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“I was wrong to keep you from him … It wasn’t fair to either of you. I was selfish, and I regret that now.” She gave my arm a squeeze. “You should go to him ... and tell him who you are … Tell him you’re my son.”
“It’s too late, now. Too much time has gone by.”
“It’s never too late to meet your father, Scotty.” Her voice trailed off as she turned and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry I never told you sooner.”
“You did now. That’s all that matters,” I assured her and then leaned over to place a kiss on her forehead. “Now, get some rest. It’s been a long day.”
Just as I was about to walk out of the room, I barely heard her soft voice, “You’re a wonderful boy, Scotty. He’ll be proud to know you’re his.”
I wasn’t so sure she was right about that. I doubted any man would be exactly thrilled to know that he had a son he never knew about, only to have him show up at his door twenty-one years later. I didn’t have a response for her, not one that she’d want to hear, so I just nodded with a half-hearted smile.
“I love you, Scotty.”
“Love you, too, Mom.”
When I left her room that night, I had no idea that it would be the last time I’d actually speak to her. The next morning, Mom had slipped into a coma and she died two days later. I did my best to be there for Carl, helping him with the funeral arrangements and everything in between, but once the dust had settled, I couldn’t handle being in that house—not with all the memories. After I said my goodbyes, I packed a bag and got on my bike, hoping some time on the road would clear my head. A few days later, I found myself in Seattle. In the back of my mind, I think I always knew where I was going. I needed to see him—even if it was just from a distance. It was almost dark by the time I finally found the little brick house with a car and a Harley parked out by the garage. Relieved to see that the lights were on inside, I parked my bike across the street and waited, hoping that someone would eventually come out. Since I hadn’t taken the time to search his name or even call the phone number listed on the back of the photograph, I had no idea if he still lived there.
After about an hour of sitting and waiting, the front door finally opened, and a man and a beautiful, young woman stepped outside. The woman rushed to her car, and with a big smile, waved to him and pulled out of the driveway. When I glanced back over to the man, I could tell he was older, much older, but there was no doubt he was the man in the photograph. As he got on his bike, I noticed he was wearing the same leather vest that he’d worn in the photograph. Curious to see where he might be going, I followed him out onto the main drag; after a twenty-minute drive, he turned down an old country road.
When he approached the entrance to an old warehouse, I held back and pulled over on the side of the road and watched as he drove through the gate. I killed my headlight and got off my bike, moving closer to get a better look. There were a bunch of bikes parked by the front door, and every time it opened, I heard loud music blaring from inside. Several guys were standing outside talking with beers in their hand and scantily dressed women at their side. It was right then when I realized my old man was part of a biker club.
One day, after following my father for almost two weeks, I went over to the diner across from their garage for a cup of coffee. I was staring out the window, watching the brothers wander in and out of the shop, and never noticed that the front door of the diner had opened. Seconds later, the seat across from me shifted, and I quickly turned to see why, only to get the shock of my life when I found my father staring back at me. “You wanna tell me why the fuck you’ve been tailing me?”
“What?”
“You don’t think I’ve seen you?” he scoffed. “I know you’ve been watching me. I just wanna know why.”
“I … uh … I,” I stuttered, not having a clue what to tell him.
“You got a problem with me, kid?”
“No, sir. I got no problem with you.” I certainly didn’t want to piss him off. I knew what kind of man he was. Over the past few weeks of stalking him, I’d learned that he wasn’t just part of a club, he was the fucking president. He’d actually been the one who founded the Chosen Knights. He and a group of his friends started riding together, but it quickly turned into something more. They lived by the motto “Chosen by Fate. Bound by Honor,” and it was clear that my old man was pleased with his life and his club.
“You in some kind of trouble with the cops or something?”
I shook my head, “No, sir.”
“Then, what the fuck is your deal?”
I didn’t want to tell him I was his son, not until he had a chance to get to know me. I wanted to prove myself and show him that I was someone he could be proud of before I told him, so I decided to keep my true identity a secret, at least for the time being. “I was hoping I might be able to prospect for the club.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “What makes you think I would let you prospect?”
“I don’t know. I guess I was hoping you’d take a chance on me. I’ve heard a lot of good things about the Chosen and would really like to contribute.”
“What the fuck have you got to contribute? The way I see it, you got nothing. I know you ain’t got nobody you know around here. No job. No decent place to stay.”
“How’d you know that?”
He tugged at his long, unruly beard and chuckled. “Hell, I’ve had eyes on you since that first night out at the house, boy. You been staying out at the old Weston place, which ain’t exactly the nicest dive around”—he glanced down at my cup of coffee and plain piece of toast—“and you’re running low on cash.”
Most of the Chosen’s brothers worked blue-collar jobs like mechanics, welders, and line workers. Eventually, they decided to pool their resources and open a shop of their own. Thinking I might be able to use that to my advantage, I said, “Yeah, but I’ve gotta lot of experience with engines. Almost eight years. There’s not a motor I can’t fix. New and old. I’m a hard worker, and I think I could be a real asset in your garage.”
He sat there listening and studying me as I spoke. I wondered if he might’ve seen himself when he looked into my eyes. It was doubtful, but maybe, by some kind of intuition, he already knew I was his son. I’m not sure what he saw, but I could definitely tell the wheels were turning inside his head. A man like him wouldn’t trust easily, not with the men he’s dealt with, but for some reason he seemed to take stock in me. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have asked, “You got a name, kid?”
“It’s Scotty.”
“Okay, Scotty. Are you good at doing what you’re told?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know, prospecting isn’t for everyone. It’s grunt work at its best.”
“Yes, sir. I’m good with that. I just need a chance.”
He hesitated for a moment, then said, “I’m not making you any promises, but come over to the clubhouse tonight and we’ll talk.” He stood up and as he gave me a disapproving look, he said, “I’m guessing you still know where it is.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And kid?”
“Yeah?”
“Stop calling me sir. You’re making me feel old as shit.” He scowled at me and added, “Just call me Lucky.”
I nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
Shaking his head, he walked towards the door. “See you tonight, kid.”
That conversation changed the direction of my life in ways I couldn’t begin to imagine. I got to prospect for my old man and learned that not only was he a good man, loyal and hard-working, but I also discovered that he had a daughter—my half-sister, Zoe. I’d found what I was looking for, and I busted my ass to prove myself to the brothers and to my father. Almost a year had passed, and I’d yet to reveal my identity to my father. I tried to tell him, but the timing was never right. And with each new day, it became harder to come clean about who I really was to him. Now, I’d never get that chance. A few weeks before I was to be patched in, my father wrecked his bike, killing him on impact.
Nothing haunts a person more than the words we’d never get a chance to say. They fester and grow into something they weren’t intended to be—lies and untold truths.
Zoe was devastated. Hell, I was, too. It seemed everything I’d worked for was in vain. Without my old man around, things quickly started going to shit in the club; I was actually relieved that no one knew who I was. I considered leaving, but deep down I knew I couldn’t walk away from Zoe. Whether she realized it or not, she was family, and it was up to me to protect her. I had no idea how bad things would get after I’d made my decision to stick around, but I saw things that made my blood run cold and knew I had to get Zoe the hell out of there, especially when one of the brothers started making claims to her. Slider was a member of the Chosen with nothing but greed running through his veins—a piece of shit through and through. There was little I could do since I hadn’t been patched in yet, but I couldn’t have been more relieved after finding out she’d gotten herself tangled up with one of the brothers from Satan’s Fury.
When they caught wind of what the Chosen were up to, and that Zoe was in danger, the Fury took them down. By the time they were done, there wasn’t a trace of their club or any of their shit left behind. Zoe was finally free, and for that matter, so was I. Once the dust settled, I laid it all out there and told Zoe everything, and when it was all said and done, we’d both found ourselves at the footsteps of the Satan’s Fury clubhouse.
Chapter 1
Diesel
One Year Later
Loyalty. Code. Brotherhood. For the longest time, those were all just words to me. When I made the mistake of prospecting for the Chosen, I threw myself into a world of treachery, betrayal, and death, just so I could try and prove myself to a man who didn’t even know I was his son. It wasn’t until I spent a year prospecting for the brothers of Satan’s Fury when I started to understand what it meant to belong to something that was bigger than yourself. It wasn’t easy. Hell, it was one of the hardest things I’d ever done, draining me emotionally, physically, and mentally. I was always on the road, going on runs and following orders, but in doing so, I got to know each and every one of them on a different level. They weren’t just members of some club; they were brothers. With them, I gained a sense of family, and by the time I got my patch, there wasn’t a single one of them who I wouldn’t lay my life on the line for, and there was no doubt they’d do the same for me.
I sat in the truck next to Clutch and groaned while I stretched out my legs, knocking them against the side door. “Damn. I hate a fucking cage.”
“You and me both, brother, but with this weather, we don’t have a choice,” Clutch grumbled and kicked up the windshield wipers, trying to clear the snow and ice from the windshield.
We’d just left Topeka, Kansas and were headed down to Memphis, Tennessee; it was a drive we’d taken many times before. A couple of years back, Cotton, the club’s president, had worked out a deal with several of the other Satan’s Fury’s affiliate chapters to broaden the club’s distribution. Together, they’d created a pipeline for transporting illegal weapons, which had grown bigger than any of them had expected. As road captain, it was Clutch’s job to ensure the safety of the route from Washington to Memphis. In doing so, he had to change up the exchange points with our affiliate chapters in Salt Lake, Denver, Topeka, Oklahoma City and Memphis. Each location had to be off the radar with obscure entrance and exit points, and it was up to Clutch to find them and make sure the pipeline stayed intact.
I had no idea how long we’d been driving when I asked, “How long until we get to Norman?”
“We’ll hit the Oklahoma border in about an hour and a half; it’s another two hours from there.” He looked over to me, and when he noticed the look of agony on my face, he mocked, “I’m guessing with that peanut-sized bladder of yours, you need a break.”
“Peanut-sized bladder? Cut me some slack, man. We’ve been in this damn truck for seven hours, and my fucking ass is killing me.”
“I hear ya. Mine, too.” Over the past year, Clutch and I have spent a lot of time together. As a prospect, I did lots of traveling with him, and while all the guys were great, there was something about Clutch that was just easy. I enjoyed my new role as his right-hand man. He was level-headed and rarely let anything get to him, which was a good thing when you were dealing with the brothers of Satan’s Fury, where opinions were dished out whether you wanted to hear them or not. His ol’ lady, Liv, was pregnant and expecting in the next couple of months, so I knew he was eager to get back—meaning we weren’t going to make many stops. I was relieved when he looked over at me and said, “We’ll pull off at the next exit.”
I nodded and stared out the window, praying for an exit to be close. “You wanna grab a bite to eat while we’re there.”
“Might as well. Then, maybe we can make it to the Wellington exit before we stop for the night.”
After a quick pit stop, we stretched our legs and grabbed some food for the road. It started to snow again as soon as we got back on the road, but we still managed to make good time and pulled into Wellington a few hours later. Clutch had a few locations to check, and once he’d found a place he felt would suit our needs for the pipeline, we pulled into the parking lot of a small pizza place right next to our motel. After ordering our food and drinks, I asked Clutch, “You met Liv down in Memphis, right?”
“Yep.” He nodded with a proud smile. “Met her at Daisy Mae’s.”
“Daisy Mae’s? Is that a strip club or something?”
He shook his head. “Fuck, no. It’s a diner. The club owns it and the apartment upstairs. While I was there, I stayed in the apartment next to hers, and one thing led to another.”
“Did you ever consider staying in Memphis?”
“Hell, no. It’s a great place to visit, but I wouldn’t live there for shit. I know where home is, and it sure as hell ain’t in Tennessee.”
Even though I’ve only been a member of the club for a short time, I knew exactly what he meant. I’d found my home, and there was no other place I’d rather be. Turning to look out the window, I noticed that it had finally stopped snowing. We still had a long drive, so I was hoping that it would finally clear up for good. As soon as we finished eating, we walked over to the motel and grabbed a room. After a few hours of sleep, Clutch was up and ready to roll. Relieved I wouldn’t be the one driving, I pulled myself out of bed, used the bathroom, threw some clothes on, and started out to the truck.
It was still dark outside when he started up the engine, but it was clear that Clutch was eager to get going. “Do you need anything before we get out on the road?”
“Is this your way of saying that we’re not stopping until we get to Memphis?”
He gave me a small shrug. “It’s only six hours, brother. No sense in wasting time.”
“Just need a cup of coffee, and I’ll be set.”
“You can grab one when we hit the gas station up the road.”
The minute Clutch pulled up to the gas pump, I jumped out and went inside to get us both some much-needed coffee and a bite to eat; by the time I walked out the door, he was back inside the truck waiting for me. As soon as I got settled, he pulled out onto the main road, and we were on our way to Memp
his. Clutch was one of those quiet drivers, spending his time focusing on the road or inside his own head, so I spent the first two hours dozing in and out. By the time we hit Arkansas, I was getting pretty restless; my thoughts turned to meeting the brothers from the Memphis chapter, when I realized I didn’t know a lot about them. Hoping to get a better insight to the men I was about to meet, I turned to Clutch and asked, “So, Gus … he’s the president, right?”
“Yeah. He’s a good guy. Reminds me of Cotton. Runs his club with honor, even with all the bullshit that goes on in that town. I also got to know Blaze pretty well when I was working at the shop. The guy works his ass off to keep the place running right. He’s got a kid named Kevin, who he’s raising on his own. His wife died a few years ago, which makes it hard, since his kid’s been sick.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“He had some kind of cancer, but he’s been in remission for a while now. I think Blaze is worried that it might come back,” he explained.
“That’s gotta be tough.”
“No doubt, but he’s doing the best he can. I’ve kept in touch with him, and the last I heard, they were doing alright.” I could hear the concern in his voice as he spoke, which made me wonder if he was worried about him getting sick again.
“And the others?”
“I really didn’t get to spend a lot of time with many of them.” He thought for a moment, then continued, “There’s Cyrus. He runs the diner, and he helped me and Liv out when that asshole, Daniel Perry, came looking for them. I’m not sure if you heard about that nightmare. Perry’s father and Olivia’s were real estate business partners. In order to fuck up a huge development project, that greedy douchebag, Daniel, killed her folks and was planning on doing the same to Liv and her younger brother and sister, thinking he’d get rid of any witnesses. That didn’t work out too well for him.” He sighed with a disgusted look on his face. “So, I owe Cyrus a lot.”
