Chapter One
THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A Phoenix MC club, and my old club, the Rogue Riders, was like night and fucking day… or night and much later that night, after life took a dump on you.
At thirty three, should I have settled down and grown up a bit, or a lot? Probably, but why the fuck would I? I wasn’t exactly a slacker type, I just had my skills, and my lifelong interests, and since they meshed nicely together, why would I change anything?
“Hey, man. I’m just heading out. You got things here?” I nodded to Micro, our Club President, as he tucked his arm around his wife, and headed to the still embarrassingly open and exposed parking area. I’d always thought we should have some cover for our rides, but it had never happened, mostly because our old president was a prick, and just wanted to drink and fuck.
I figured if anyone would listen, it’d be Micro, because he was that kind of guy. Open, intelligent, and willing to listen. He was a fucking amazing president, to be honest, even if the flagship club had treated him like a waste of space at first. I guess if I’dwitnessed the stuff he’d done back then, I might have felt the same, but all I’d ever experienced was the good guy version of him, and it looked like he was here to stay.
I dug my phone out, and opened my ‘to do’ list, adding a note to look into temporary and permanent structures to protect our rides. Nothing more important in the club, as far as I was concerned. As a mechanic, specialising in high end motorcycles, and customising them, I had a workshop in town, and it did great, but I was keen to bring more of that into the club itself, and set up a secondary workspace here. It’d mean I could stay onsite more, and maybe even one day run things from here.
Look at me planning to put down roots. And I was just thinking how I wasn’t a grown up.
Grease was just pulling into the compound as Micro left, and they offered each other the obligatory nods as they passed. He was alone, which was unusual these days, since he’d shacked up with that former cop lady. They were a pretty unlikely couple, but it seemed to work for them. I made another note to talk to him about her helping out with security, because as a cop she’d know shit we could watch out for.
“Hey, you wanna shoot some pool, man?” Rocket poked his head out of the rebuilt lounge building, as I passed it, drawing my attention from my phone screen.
“Stag not playing?”
He grinned. “Off chasing pussy again. When’s he gonna learn that the nice chicks aren’t into losers like him?”
I laughed, heading into the building after him, because why the hell wouldn’t I kick back and play a game or two?
“The rebuild’s looking really nice, man.” He knew I’d worked closely with Micro and Grease on the building’s reconstruction after the fire at Halloween. Rocket had been all over the place at the time, so we hadn’t been able to rely on him. I was toldhe’d been a standup guy back in Wiltshire, but these days he was either drunk, or belligerent, usually both.
“How’s the new spray place going? You opened up, right?” He’d taken a unit in the same business park as me, but I wasn’t sure how the hell he was covering that kind of rent without any other form of income while he built his new client base.
“Ah… well, the other day, a guy did come in. Turned his nose up at my prices and fucked off again. I shoulda just opened a tattoo place, like I was gonna. People always want tats, but custom spray jobs? Yeah, not so much.” To be fair, I could understand the logic there, far more people had tattoos than were into motorcycles, even though I couldn’t imagine life without either.
I watched as he took the first shot, breaking the formation of balls nicely, and sending two down into pockets right off the bat. Show off.
“You couldn’t do both?”
“In one unit? Yeah, this way for tats and the other way for bike tats? Yeah, doesn’t really seem to work.”
A random thought hit me, and I spoke without thinking.
“Why not make that place a tattooist, and use part of my workshop for spraying? I get a lot of bikers in. It’ll be easier for you to get to know them all.”
Rocket looked up from popping open two beers, his eyes wide.
“Really? I thought about asking you for advice, but we don’t really know each other that well yet.”
“It’s been eight months, dipshit. I think I know you well enough.” Of course, what I’d learned more recently was that he was an absolute prick when he was drinking, which he did all the fucking time.
He passed me one of the beers, which was a relief, because I was kinda wondering if he meant to drink both himself. Since the rebuild of the office building, with its new larger lounge, we’dinstalled a small bar, with a limited stock of booze, but it was Rocket using it most often.
“So you’d be open to that? Maybe I could come and take a look around, hand out some business cards while we plan it out?”
Huh. There I was, judging the man for being a drunk prick, and he was making sense. Go figure.
“I’m there ’til two tomorrow, so why don’t you pop by, take a look around, and meet some of my clients. I’ve got three coming in over the morning to collect, or discuss custom work. Might fit nicely with spraying jobs.”
Rocket dragged a hand over his short dark hair and sighed.
“You’re a fucking lifesaver, man. I was all set up back at the other clubhouse, what with being there for years, but the move here really fucked up my business.”
I still didn’t actually know why he’d moved here, but it felt like the right time to ask the question, so I did.
