Prologue
Mason Jett
“Yeah, well, people can change.”
I snorted at Zack’s throwaway response, but he had no idea just how much I’d thought about his words in recent times.
I’d spent almost my entire adult life believing that there was no hope other than the hope that we could live to fight another day. But live to win eventually? That had always seemed impossible.
I didn’t just mean win against the Bandits, as that, I actually thought had some chance, delusional as it might have been in the old days. I meant in life. Win a girl? Win the war in your head? Win the war with your past?
Fat fucking chance.
When had I ever won shit? Let’s see. I grew up in this shithole of a town. My parents died when I was a mere teenager…and that was all I would let myself think aboutthat.My sister had wound up with one of my brothers in the Black Reapers, had a kid, and had not yet graduated college—and somehow, that was a good outcome.
And the Bandits were still running around like fucking little chickens.
And yet…
And yet…
As fucking dumb as it was, there was reason for hope.
And ironically, it had nothing to do with Cole, with Brock, with anyone in the club, or even anyone in the Bandits. It had nothing to do with some inner-peace or journey to Jesus—I was beyond saving at this point. It was because someone else, perhaps, had rediscovered hope.
“What?” Zack said, shaking me out of my thoughts.
“You want to hear the craziest thing?”
Zack nodded. I couldn’t believe what I was about to reveal was real—but then again, I couldn’t fucking believe that all of the guys in the club had gone lovey-dovey and found their “one.”
“I had one of the prospects tell me they saw someone out in public recently that I never thought would show up again.”
Zack looked genuinely confused about who I was referring to. I didn’t blame him—in the reverse, I would have never guessed it.
“Rachel Reid.”
At the risk of turning her into a martyr, Rachel was the one person that everyone in the club, even those who didn’t know her, treated with tender care and caution. Even her name invoked feelings of empathy and sorrow. It didn’t matter if you were Brock, who had dated her when that night had happened, or someone like Zack, who had only known her from afar, as a name; you respected and revered Rachel Reid.
No one should go through what she did. It was the very thing that kept all the boys together, pushing for change even when we were nothing but a bunch of fucking jerkoff Bernard Boys.
“Shit, really?” Zack said in surprise. “You’re sure it was her?”
“Well, I didn’t see her with my own eyes, but yes, the prospect swore up and down it was her. She was getting some food to go from Southwest Dine.”
What Zack didn’t know was that I had threatened said prospect with a whole lot of fucking beatdowns and excommunication from the club if I found out that he was lying. The tone of his voice, like he was literally swearing on his life, led me to believe he was serious.
“Ain’t that something,” Zack said, sounding stunned.
“She’s either really brave or really stupid,” I said, truly in awe. “I don’t know that I would ever remain somewhere if something like that happened to me. But, like you said, maybe people can change.”
Despite being close with Brock, I had never known Rachel that well. After him, Connor probably knew her closest. But I’d also seen a little bit of Hannah, my sister, in her. I saw a girl that had gone through a tough childhood and then found what should have been some protection in Brock.
None of us faulted Brock for that night. It was a question of numbers, not will to fight. But for the longest damn time, the night seemed to turn Brock into something cold, and Rachel into a fragile girl. We all kept an eye on her to make sure nothing happened to her—whether by her own hand or the hand of the Bandits—but eventually, she just…disappeared.
But, hey, maybe people could change. Maybe they could regain the strength that had seemed to vanish forever. Maybe they could revisit the “never agains.” Maybe—
I heard it.
