Chapter 1
Jinx
Ileave home at the crack of dawn, same as every weekday, because sleeping late isn’t an option when you’ve got keys to a club business and employees waiting on you. Managing the auto parts store keeps me busy. Sometimes we’re packed with customers roaming around looking for parts and auto accessories, other times it’s a ghost town. I jump on my Harley and take the backroads into town, letting the cool, crisp air drive the last of my drowsiness away.
A faded sign on the front of the building reads ‘Sons of Rage Auto Parts Store’. Like our clubhouse, the building is made of cinderblock and painted white. The club owns several businesses in town. Our shop works closely with the salvage yard and auto garage, moving parts from where they’re sourced to where they’re needed.
When I pull into the parking lot, that’s when I notice the light has a long crack that wasn’t there before. I also pick up the scent of paint. Spray paint isn’t an unusual smell outside an auto repair shop. But at this time of day, my Spidey senses are tingling. Climbing off my bike, I see a couple of things at once. The front window is broken, and someone has tagged our building with a rival club’s name in bold black letters. It says, ‘Hyena’s Territory’ and insults like ‘Ragers Suck’ and ‘We’re Back’.
Something like this should have triggered our security system. These fuckers are smart. They disabled it. I walk upfront and grab the frayed wires dangling from the porch ceiling where our security camera used to sit. I curse under my breath as I remember how these assholes almost killed our club president by running his bike off the road a couple of years ago.
I turn to scan the lot, hoping one of those fuckers is dumb enough to still be hanging around. Just my fucking luck, there’s not a person in sight. Just tire marks where they beat their retreat.
Fucking bastards.
I pull out my phone and call Jasper.
“What’s up, Jinx? You’re calling early today.”
“Sorry if I woke ya, Prez. Bad news, The Hyenas hit the parts store.”
There’s a slight pause before he asks, “How bad is it? Did they wreck the place?”
“Yeah, it’s a damn mess. Don’t know if they’ve taken anything yet or just messed it up. Front window is broken, they’ve spraypainted shit everywhere, and taken the cameras. I haven’t even been inside yet. I’m pretty fuckin’ sure it’s more of the same.”
“Don’t go in until we get there. You know how much they love leaving nasty surprises behind.”
“Roger that,” I say, knowing damn well I’m probably gonna have a look anyway.
“I mean it, Jinx.”
“I hear you, Prez.” Okay, I’m going in for sure now.
“I mean it. I’ll be there in about ten minutes with Slate and Onyx.”
“If you ride like a bat outta hell, maybe.”
Jasper hangs up instead of replying because he’s not happy to be getting such grim news first thing in the morning. I’ve barely shoved my phone back into my pocket when Benji and Mac, who normally work mornings, show up. I tell them to stay outside and away from the glass, then inspect the broken window more closely.
With the clubhouse thirty minutes out, I’ve got time to assess the damage before Jasper gets here. I circle the building and see they’ve tagged the side with a laughing hyena skull. It’s not gonna win any art awards.
The security cam mounted on the back of the building above the side door has been torn off as well. Striker’s not gonna be happy that they’ve fucked up his carefully placed security cameras.
The Hyenas blow into town and the first thing they fuckin’ do is break into a Sons’ business and leave the shitty tags all over it. They’re not only claiming our territory, but they’re also doing it in the most personally offensive way possible. Though whether they were after anything or just hellbent on causing trouble, I don’t know. We don’t keep cash on the premises overnight, but some of our stock is high-end.
I slide my key into the back door, shoulder it open, and turn on the lights. Stepping into our shop, I can see muddy tracks cutting across the floor. They’ve trashed the place, probably to make it harder to tell what’s missing.
I walk out onto the sales floor and look at all the merch that’s been pulled out and flung onto the floor. Displays lie tipped over in the aisles. Our cooler of soda is empty, the snack racks are practically bare, and it looks like they made a halfhearted attempt to break into the cash register. Fortunately, the thing is empty and built like a steel monstrosity from the turn of the century. It looks like a bunch of them swarmed the place, did as much damage as possible in as little time as possible, and took off.
I head to the storage room, where we keep our more expensive parts. The wooden door is hanging off its hinges, and the light has been left on. I go to the metal cage running along the back wall. This is where Striker keeps the gear that doesn’t belong on retail shelves. It’s the only stuff we bother to lock up. The padlock has been cut with a pair of bolt cutters, which have been tossed carelessly aside.
I can tell with one look what’s missing. Two cases of GPS trackers are gone. They’re the small ones Striker stocks for the salvage yard fleet and for our security drones. The dash cam shipment that came in last Friday is also missing. There was a case of six. If I remember correctly, Striker had a bunch of signal boosters in here too. He kept complaining about how expensive they were. I don’t know the exact number, but they’re all missing, along with some wiring harnesses, battery packs, and other miscellaneous shit I’ll have to check my manifests to count.
I look at the shelf where I keep the high-end stuff, like special order parts, and see it looks untouched. They skipped right over that high-dollar shit. They didn’t take anything they could flip for cold hard cash. So this break-in wasn’t about money. This was a shopping trip.
Whatever they’re building with those trackers, cameras, and signal boosters, is gonna be bad fuckin’ news for our club.
I hear the throaty roar of bikes and head out to meet the other club officers. Stepping over the shattered glass on the floor, I unlock the front doors and throw them open. Everything about this break-in pisses me the fuck off. I’ve been managing this parts shop almost since I joined the Sons of Rage MC ten years ago. This place is a second home, a place I take pride in managing. And these fuckers trashed it for shits and giggles while stealing parts to use against us in their never-fuckin’-ending quest to take our territory.
