by Lane Hart
“Hey, boy.” Deacon stomps up the steps to join me. “Feels like it’s gonna be a warm day, considering it’s already January. You thinkin’ about trying to get that junker over there running?” he asks, nodding towards my motorcycle.
“I’m not just thinking about it. I spent the last week tearing down that engine and rebuilding it. You want to hear it?” I ask, eager to impress my uncle, the president and one of the founding members of the Savage Kings MC.
“You really got that thing running?” Deacon asks me with a raised eyebrow. “Isn’t that the old Electra Glide Eddie wrecked years ago? Last time I saw it, Turtle had it set off to the side at the salvage yard. He never had the heart to crush the damned thing.”
“That’s the one,” I confirm. “I asked Eddie if I could work on it, and he told me I could have it if I could actually repair it.”
“Well yeah, the engine was seized up and the stabilizer bar on the front fork was busted, just for starters. It would have cost more than the damned thing was worth to restore it.”
“Yeah, I didn’t really have the money for a ‘restoration.’ Now, don’t be mad at Turtle, but he let me do some work around the scrapyard in exchange for some parts. I ended up putting an old panhead engine in it. As far as the forks, I welded two new stabilizer bars in, over and under the broken one, to compensate.”
Deacon had walked over to the bike while I was talking, and I trail off as he circles it, casting a critical eye over the work I’ve done. “Well,” he finally says with a sigh. “She ain’t gonna win any award shows, but I can tell you I’ve seen a hell of a lot worse. I’m proud of you, Chase. Took a lot of initiative, and a lot of good work to get this done.”
The screen door on the front porch closes with a bang, and we both glance over as my father comes down the stairs to join us. “I’m still not sure how I feel about you taking off on that thing,” my dad says with a sigh, casting a skeptical eye at my bike. “But you’re eighteen now, and I’m not going to stop you. You two come on in the house and get some breakfast. What brings you out here so early this morning?” my father asks his brother.
“Brought a present for the birthday boy,” Deacon replies. “Let me go get it out of the truck.”
My father and I go into the house and sit down at the table where my stepmom is already drinking her coffee. A moment later, Deacon comes in with a large flat box under his arm, setting it down on the table by me as he takes a seat.
“Morning, Carol,” Deacon says with a nod in her direction.
She replies with a small smile as I stuff a piece of bacon into my mouth and rip the paper off the package. “Sorry I couldn’t be here for your party, Chase,” Deacon says as I break open the tape and lift the lid on the box. “The MC had a run planned, and besides, at your age, I figured you didn’t want an old man lurking around your school friends.”
“There wasn’t any real party Saturday,” my dad tells Deacon. “We had dinner together, and Chase went out with some of his friends, there was no big get together.”
“That’s a shame,” Deacon grins. “We had a pig-pickin’ out at the clubhouse for my fortieth last year, it was a big old time. You guys should come out next year, you know you’re always welcome.”
“And you know how I feel about the club,” my dad sighs. “And so do you, Chase,” he adds, as he watches me stand and hold up the present Deacon brought me.
It’s a leather riding vest, brand new and unadorned on the front. Turning it around, I see that it does have one decoration on the back—a white patch that has been hand-stitched to the lower back, reading ‘Prospect.’ Before I can say a word, Deacon stands up with me.
“You remember asking me a while back when you could prospect with the MC? You had just failed your sophomore year of high school for skipping all those days, and not taking your responsibilities seriously. I told you then that if you couldn’t man up and handle your business, you’d never have a place with us. Your daddy tells me you’re a good student now, and that you’ve really turned things around. Fast Eddie said you’d asked after his old bike, and when we saw the work you were putting in, well, we took it to the table. The vote was unanimous. If you’re still interested, I’m here as your sponsor to officially welcome you as a prospect with the Savage Kings.”
“Deacon!” my dad snaps as he jumps to his feet. “You should have told me this was the ‘gift’ you were planning!”
“Why?” Deacon asks, obviously confused as he turns to face my father. He looks to my stepmom when he sees my dad’s face going bright red. “Carol, what’s the problem?”
“You know what the damn problem is, Deacon!” my dad yells. “Torin is already hell-bent on this prospecting business once he gets back from his service, but I’ll be damned if you’re going to bully my youngest into your insanity!”
I can feel my teeth grinding as my father continues to yell. I shake the vest once to straighten it out, then stretch to the full extent of my long, lean frame as I make a show of putting it on and zipping it. My father shuts up instantly, glaring at me.
“I’m not bullying anyone. Chase is a grown man now and can make his own decisions,” Deacon says into the silence.
“There’s no reason to be mad, Pops,” I reassure my father. “You’ve known for a long time that I wanted to join the MC once I was old enough.”
My father lets out another loud sigh and seems to deflate a bit as he sits back down at the table. “I know, Chase, but you have to remember, I’ve been around those guys a lot longer than you have. There’s a reason I never let Deacon talk me into signing on with his gang. It’s a dangerous lifestyle, and it’s no place for a man who plans on having a family. I know it might seem like some glamorous exciting life, but…”
“I’m not looking at it as a lifestyle,” I explain. “I’m looking at it as a career choice. Come on, Pops, you have to admit that Uncle Deacon and the club own or operate half the businesses in Emerald Isle. Let’s be real, I’m not college-bound. You know I’m not higher education material. I’ve never liked school or had any academic ambitions.”
“That’s one of the reasons I’m so excited about you and your brother joining,” Deacon adds. “We’ve spent years setting up legitimate businesses and making Emerald Isle a biker tourist attraction. We’ve made good money, and with you two growing up around the club, and the area, you’ve both got good heads for how to help continue to build this MC.”
“I don’t like it,” my father says in a flat voice. “But if you’re intent on doing this, I can’t stop you. I’m not going to throw you out or do anything crazy. I just want you to remember through this ‘prospecting’ business, that you can hang that cut up anytime and call it quits. Don’t let them suck you into things that will land you in jail, or get you hurt, you understand?”
Deacon nods before he turns his attention back to me. “Your daddy’s right, Chase. Prospects quit all the time if the lifestyle doesn’t suit them. Usually happens during their training with old Eddie and Turtle, but I don’t think you’ll have much trouble with them. You planning on riding that bike of yours to school today?”
“Yeah, it’s going to be warm, up in the sixties today. That’s actually why Jade isn’t here. She usually rides with me to school if I’m taking the truck, but since I got my bike running, she had to catch the bus.”
“You going to bring your sister home this afternoon, or is she scared of that thing?” Deacon chuckles.
“She’s going to get a ride home with a friend. She doesn’t want anything to do with me or my bike,” I sigh.
“In that case, once you’re done, meet me out at the clubhouse this afternoon. I’ll take you over to the scrapyard and drop you off with Turtle. He’s not a member of the club, but he runs our towing business. You’ll be working with him at first.”
“Working?” I ask Deacon with a raised eyebrow.
“That’s what I said,” Deacon confirms. “Don’t worry, you’ll be paid, and not just in parts this time. Part of p
rospecting is getting an overview of all of our operations.”
“All right,” I agree, then wrap my uncle up in a fierce hug. “Thank you for this opportunity. I’m not going to let you down or embarrass you.”
Deacon slaps me on the back, then pushes me back to look me up and down with a smile on his face. “I know you won’t, boy. Once we put some meat on you and you fill out that cut, you’re going to make a damn fine member of the MC. Now get out of here. Part of your prospecting is going to involve you finishing school, you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.” I nod, then bend down to kiss Carol on top of her head, before turning to my dad.
“Come on home tonight, once you’re done out at Turtle’s,” he says gruffly. “We’ll sit down over dinner, and you can tell me all about it. I worry about you, Chase, but I do support you. Be careful on that bike, all right?”
I give him a hug, then Deacon and I head outside. I zip up my leather riding jacket over my new cut, then retrieve my helmet. “I’ll be out there to meet you by four this afternoon,” I confirm with Deacon as I straddle my bike.
“Good! And hey, Chase, do me a favor and keep your eyes open out at your school.” Deacon has to yell as I crank up my bike, its thunderous cough sending birds screeching into the sky all across the yard.
“What?” I yell back at him.
“Wearing that cut, I want you to pay close attention at school, see if anybody acts weird or avoids you, understand?”
“Not really, but I’ll do it,” I yell back to him. I don’t know why anyone would give a prospect cut a second glance in our neighborhood. Everyone around here knows the Savage Kings MC, and for the most part, they’re well-respected in the community. Still, my uncle…no, my president asked me to do it, so I’ll keep my head on a swivel and see if anyone gives me the stink-eye.
With a final wave, I drop my bike into gear and ease down the gravel driveway. It’s chilly this early in the morning, but not nearly enough to cool my enthusiasm or excitement for the day.
Chapter Three
One of the reasons I was able to turn my grades around is that my high school lets students choose ‘career-training’ electives. Most people choose typing, or some sort of computer-related curriculum. Fortunately for me, they also have a fully-equipped garage where they taught what we all just call ‘shop.’
I still have to deal with a literature and math class in the afternoon, but for a few hours every morning, I actually get to enjoy being at school. It’s almost eight o’clock when I pull my motorcycle around the back of the shop, bringing it right up to the curb at the edge of the small parking lot. I kill the engine and then wave a greeting to my teacher, Mr. Aikens, who’s sitting on the back step, tapping his pipe.
I hang my helmet on the handlebars, then walk over and take a seat beside him. “Good morning, Mr. Aikens,” I greet him, as I pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
Mr. Aikens flicks a match and holds it down into the bowl of his pipe, puffing gently until it catches. When I lean towards him, he lifts up the match and lights my cigarette. “We’re not supposed to be smoking out here, Fury,” he says with a chuckle. “I’ll let you slide this time, though, what do you say?”
“You’ve been letting me slide for two years, sir. I figure one more day won’t hurt, will it?”
“Won’t hurt at all,” he agrees. We sit on the stoop and smoke in silence for a minute, the chill in the morning air causing our smoke and our breath to blend into a sparkling haze.
“Cold morning to ride that motorcycle,” Mr. Aikens observes.
“It’s going to warm up later. I just finished rebuilding it over the holiday and couldn’t wait to bring it out to show it off.”
“Looks like you did good work putting that junker back together.”
I grin over at my teacher, pleased with the rare compliment. Mr. Aikens is a retired diesel mechanic and all-around handyman. He’s normally so laid-back he seems about to fall over, but he’s extremely critical of what he calls ‘half-ass rigging’ on our projects.
“Thank you, sir. I couldn’t have done it without some of the things you taught in class.”
“Hmph.” Mr. Aikens snorts around his pipe-stem. “I’m glad to hear it. Got a special project for the automotive technology group this semester, and you’ll need to be at your best for this one.”
Before he can explain any further, he takes his pipe and begins tapping the ash out of the bowl on the step. More students were pulling into the parking lot, and as they start getting out of their cars, Mr. Aikens moves up the stairs to head inside. “Come on in when you’re ready, Fury, and we’ll get started with the introductions.”
“Introductions?” I ask, but the door is already banging closed behind my teacher.
All of the guys in my class had been here for the entirety of this school year, if not longer. If we were getting a new student, I hoped they had a solid pair of stones on them. A lot of these old country boys I had class with liked to play rough with each other and had only started leaving me alone after I thumped a couple of them.
I grind out my cigarette on the step and go into the garage to size up the new guy for myself.
Inside, I hang up my leather jacket but leave on the new cut Deacon had given me on over my t-shirt. My classmates were already gathering around a car that had been pulled into the garage, and I drew closer so I could hear Mr. Aikens over their excited chatter.
“…will be joining our class this semester. As you can see, she’s been gracious enough to bring us a project. Miss Sheridan, why don’t you tell everyone about your car?”
I had been eyeing the old rusty hulk parked in our garage, just like the rest of the class, when my attention was suddenly distracted by an angel descending upon us. As she stepped forward, her long blonde hair floated around her shoulders. Her lips were slightly parted in an excited smile as she faced the class, and her blue eyes sparkled in the overhead lights as she looked around, casting her spell over all of us.
“Hello everyone, I’m Sasha,” she says, her melodic voice instantly bringing a hush over the normally rowdy group of guys surrounding her. “And this is my Mustang! I’ve been working on her with my dad in our spare time for the last few months. When I moved out here and saw that this school offered an automotive technology class, I got in touch with Mr. Aikens to see if the class might want to help me with the body work. I’m hoping that it will be a good learning experience for all of us, and I’m really hoping that you guys will help me turn her into something special!”
“Oh man. I can’t wait to strip her down. Yo, Chase, how long do you think it will take?” Robbie asks me.
“You think you’re ever going to get a single stitch off of her?” I growl, heat rising in my face at the thought of Robbie fucking Davies even laying a finger on this goddess.
“Nah, Mr. Aikens probably won’t let us do it personally.” Robbie sighs. My flare of anger sputters in confusion before being completely snuffed out by a chuckle.
“Oh man, I see what you’re saying, Robbie. Go ask her and Mr. Aikens. I’m sure they’ll let you help out with it. I’m going to see if I can too.” I slap him on the shoulder to get him moving and push my way past a couple of the other guys to approach her.
I smile at her as she turns from our teacher and locks eyes with me. “We wanted to say thank you, and introduce ourselves.” I hold out my hand to grasp hers. She’s got some calluses on her palm and a streak of grease on her arm that disappears under the sleeve of her tight sweater. For a moment, I wonder how far up that smear runs, and what it would feel like to rub her clean. I force my gaze back up to her eyes, determined not to think about what else is going on under her sweater. “I’m Chase, Chase Fury. This is my friend, Robbie,” I tell her, jabbing a finger behind me.
“This car is amazing,” Robbie says, not even turning to face Sasha. “Please let me help with the body work!”
“Of course!” she says, with a smile that chases every bit of the chill from my morning ride
right out of my body. “What about you, Chase Fury? Do you want to sign on for this project too, or are you going to stick to the normal coursework?”
When she speaks to me, my gaze fixates on her lips, and what I’m sure must be a voice gifted from heaven above. “I want to stick with you…your project,” I stammer, realizing I’m staring again. “Miss Sheridan, was it? I didn’t hear your last name clearly during the introduction.”
“Sasha, Sasha Sheridan. Please don’t call me Miss. It’s just too strange coming from a guy in a leather vest,” she replies with a laugh.
“Yeah, Chase, what gives with this thing?” Robbie asks from behind me. “What does this patch mean—‘Prospect’? Oh, wait…Prospect…oh shit, Chase, sorry man, I didn’t realize!”
“It’s all right, Robbie, calm down,” I reassure him. Poor kid thinks I’m going to slap him upside the head for insulting my cut. Which I would do, in a normal situation, if someone actually meant it. Out here at school, though, most of my classmates don’t know the significance of it, and just think it looks strange.
“It’s a bold fashion strategy, Cotton,” Sasha drawls in an odd voice. “We’ll have to stay tuned and see if it pays off!”
Robbie laughs from behind me, and as I turn to him with a scowl, he says to Sasha, “I got that reference, good one!”
Sasha smiles at my confusion. “You ever seen the movie Dodgeball?”
“No,” I reply in a gruff voice, annoyed that Robbie got the joke.
“What, never? You too cool for movies, Mr. Fury?” Sasha teases.
“Of course not,” I protest. “Just a couple of weeks ago, I saw…” I trail off, feeling my face flush slightly.
“Saw what?” Sasha prompts.
“Uhm…Harry Potter,” I mumble.
Sasha steps back and looks me up and down, taking in my dirty jeans, scuffed up combat boots, and the Motorhead t-shirt I’m wearing under my brand-new cut. Cracking a grin, she says, “I love Harry Potter! Those stories really appeal to all types of people, don’t they?”
