Prologue
Summer 2025
Rage
“You got everything?” Thunder asks, shrugging off one of the women who followed him back from The Knuckle the night before.
In the months before and after the rally, women travel through Sturgis hoping to find their Jax or Opie. And they may, there are enough weekend riders out there who are more than willing to slide off their wedding bands and play the part for a day or two.
Over the years, we’ve gotten more particular about who we invite back to the clubhouse. The kind I’m partial to usually stick one toe inside and that’s enough to have them begging for a ride back down to Sturgis.
Of course, my brother’s type is more of a liability. There’s no mistaking the possessiveness in her expression as she watches him walk toward me.
Me? I like the shy girls. The excitement I get when one of them take a chance with me, and then later when I convince them to explore their wild side a little.
Thunder? He goes for bat-shit crazy every damn time. A few years back, Frost gave him invaluable advice:Don’t let them sleep in your bed.If nothing else, that provides the rest of us entertainment when he gives them the brush off.
“Yeah, I’ll head up north first, then circle back to Kent County,” I tell him, sparing a glance at the woman who’s shading her eyes from the glare of the sun, watching us talk. “You getting rid of them?”
“Now,” he says with a chuckle.
“Do they know that?”
“Figure they’ll get the hint when Carson pulls up in the van,” he replies, keeping his eyes trained on me. “Is the blonde still staring at me?”
“She’s not even blinking. It’s unnerving.” I can’t help myself, so I smile and wave at her, getting a growl from my big brother.
“Jesus Christ, you were an annoying little prick when you were a kid, and you haven’t fucking changed.”
“Oh, shit. Gotta go,” I whisper before jumping on my bike and starting it up. “She’s walking over here!”
She isn’t, but the look of terror on his face is well worth the revenge I’ll face when I return in a few days.
I slow down near the turnoff to the highway, waving at Carson but only get a quick glance of his snake-like eyes. That guy’s just not right in the head. He’s a legacy, like Bull in a way, but there’s no fucking way he’ll ever fit in with us.
Hitting the road on this perfect fall day, I decide to extend my trip once thefeed bagis empty. The thought of staying out onthe road with no destination in mind brings a smile to my face; besides, that just gives Thunder more time to chill out. Or make his next mistake.
*
Of the four counties on my route, I stop off with gifts for six judges and four sheriffs. Long before my time, when our current president’s dad was running things, he set it up that they’d get their payments every few months—to keep visibility to a minimum.
At least he phrased it to sound like he was looking out for their reputations. Actually, it was to ensure we were getting the appropriate bang for our buck, so to speak.
There have been a few visits that either I or my predecessors made that weren’t so welcome as a stack of cash generally is. Of the ten people I’ll be visiting, three treat me like dog shit, three still tremble in my presence, and the other four have become friends.
Or as close to friends as an elected official can be with the guy whose quarterly visit reminds him he’s being paid to stay the fuck away from any business regarding the Kings of Anarchy.
Really, Mills, up in Kent, has long been my favorite. So much so that I usually spend the night in the room over his garage. He’ll throw some steaks on the grill, I’ll bring a good whiskey, and we’ll shoot the shit into the wee hours.
He’s old enough to be my father, and maybe that’s why I like him so much.
*
Making quick work of my stops, I arranged to meet Joanie for lunch on the third day, so am surprised to see that someone is already sitting with her at one of the two restaurants in town.
“Here I’ve been preparing to swear the quality of the accident your new husband will have if he ever upsets you, Joanie.” I keep a straight face to match my disappointed tone as I stand over them, my hands fisted at my sides. “And you’re the one having lunch with another man.”
The man in question lets out a good-natured chuckle as he leans back in his seat, the mustache he’s rocking is every bit as dark as his hair, except for the gray at his temples.
