Prologue
Garrett Marks
Everything had gone more or less perfectly in the months of our club, and now some California meathead was about to fuck things up.
We stood inside our brand-fucking-new clubhouse for the first time, and it looked like a thing of beauty. Back against the bar were all sorts of liquor—some of it from the house, some of it a gift from Cole, some of it shit I’d just managed to smuggle and steal at different points—and beers. In the middle of the room were two pool tables, as well as a dartboard that was bound to lead to some competitive fights. On the far left, a door led to a place that Brock now called “church,” the spot where we, the Black Reapers MC, would gather to discuss business and how to fight the Bandits.
And now, some big meathead asshole from California named Butch was going to come and tell us how to run things?
“Hey,” Butch said.
“Butch will be in charge of making sure you guys know how to use all the weapons, what it takes to fight shit in this town, and perhaps even undergo some initiation.”
“The fuck?” Connor said.
“Yeah, this isn’t a fucking fraternity,” I said.
I chuckled. Butch shot me a glare that got everyone else quiet. I, too, went silent, but only because no one else in the room seemed to follow my lead. That was fine; I’d figure out how to push back properly in time.
“There was a sense of urgency with the presence of the Bandits to make you guys an MC,” Cole said. “And when they came to my bar and started a fight that people still fucking talk about, then I knew I had to skip a few steps. But it’s been three months since that incident, and the Bandits have quieted down.”
For now.
“Which means we have a little more space to make sure that you guys can be properly initiated.”
“OK, and how—” Brock said.
“You will see,” Butch said.
“Can we get some ideas of what this will look like?” Mason said. “I’m too old to be dealing with fake IDs.”
“Yeah, Professor Smartass can get a whole bunch of them from his college friends!”
Again, I laughed at my joke. Again, Butch stared at me like he wanted to crush my skull.OK, so we’re serious now? I see how it is.
“No, this is not a university hazing,” Butch said. “Come outside with me.”
We all looked at each other but did as commanded. I did not know anything about this Butch guy other than he looked like a silverback gorilla desperately in need of a beard trimming, but anyone who tried to rain on my lifestyle was someone I didn’t take kindly to.
It was a life that I’d worked too hard to make. I really preferred not to go back to when things were “serious.”
When we emerged, we saw that Butch had a small trailer tagged to the back of his motorcycle. I couldn’t even imagine how much of a pain in the ass that must have been to carry from California all the way down here. He opened the trailer and started to lift guns…and guns…and more guns out of the trailer.
“What we have here,” Cole said, “are AK-47s, M16s, and much more. These are not the kind of weapons you can get at your local firearms store. These are serious fucking weapons that are meant for use in a place like Iraq, not New Mexico.”
“Fuck yeah,” Connor said.
“Don’t get too excited,” Butch said. “You use these, people will know. And if people aren’t ready for this, you’ll have state officials on your ass.”
“All of which is to say that the fewer people that know you have them, the better.”
Perhaps so.
But I didn’t fucking care. This was getting me pumped up. We’d fought the Bandits for too long with pistols and the occasional shotgun; we could hold our own, but this was like having an entire battalion behind our backs.
Fighting and fucking. They were my two favorite things in the world. And I could finally do the first as well as the second.
“So, what now?” I asked.
