Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“You want me to be a hacker for your club?”
“I think he’s finally gettin’ it.” Shotgun snickered.
I couldn’t believe my ears. The guy was completely serious about all this, and I couldn’t deny how intrigued I was by his offer. I’d never had a real sense of purpose, and this Viper guy and his brothers were giving me a chance to change that. I was scared to accept, but even more scared to turn him down. I wasn’t sure what to do, but there was something about this man who stood in front of me that exuded confidence—the kind of confidence that set my mind at ease. My racing pulse started to slow, and the haze of panic and fear lifted, making it possible to think for the first time since they’d arrived at my doorstep. I looked up at Viper. “But you guys are bikers. I don’t know anything about motorcycles. I’ve never even ridden before.”
“You’ll learn.”
“And what about things here?”
“I don’t know. That’s up to you, but it doesn’t look like you’ll be leaving much behind.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a card, and offered it to me. “Think about it. If you’re interested, and I can tell you are, come by the clubhouse and meet the other guys. If all goes like I think it will, you’ll start the prospecting process.”
“Prospecting?”
“Just get to the clubhouse. The sooner the better.”
With that, the four men got on their motorcycles, roared out of my driveway, and disappeared into the horizon. Once I was certain they were gone, I glanced back at my so-called home and listened to my father and Eugene carry on about the game on the TV. I didn’t have a bad life. I had a roof over my head, and my father wasn’t the greatest, but he was mine. It was enough, but I wanted more. I had my chance for more, and I damn well was gonna take it.
Menace
“What the hell happened?”
“It’s nothing.”
“The fuck it is.” I sat there looking at the bruises and cuts on my brother’s knuckles and the gash on his cheek, and it was all I could do to keep myself from completely losing it. I knew Jagger could hold his own. Anyone could see that. At six-five and two-hundred and seventy pounds of pure muscle, the guy was a fucking beast. His dark, shaggy hair had grown long, making him look even more vicious, and with his Ruthless Sinners’ tattoo sprawled across his massive bicep, it was hard to believe anyone would dare to fuck with him. Enraged by the whole damn thing, I slammed my hand down on the table and growled, “This kind of shit isn’t supposed to happen. You’re under club protection!”
“And that protection comes at a cost.” Jagger remained perfectly calm. “Deluca has put his neck out for me more times than I can count. Last night, it was time for me to return the favor.”
“What the fuck happened?”
“I handled it.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, I’m handling things, so stop worrying about it and let it fucking go.” His coal-black eyes grew fierce as he leaned over the table and barked, “And while you’re at it, stop with all the fucking visits, brother. You got a life. Don’t be wasting it by coming out here. Go live it.”
“Not gonna happen, brother. I’m gonna keep on coming here week after week until you get out of this godforsaken place and don’t say a fucking word about it ’cause we both know you’d do the same for me.”
Jagger didn’t argue because he knew I was right. He would’ve come to see me as often as he could. That was just the kind of man he was. Jagger had no business being behind bars. He was a good guy who’d found himself in an impossible situation. His sister, Stacey, was a known drug addict and all-around troublemaker, but Jagger always stood by her and helped out any way he could, trying his damnedest to make up for the sins of their mother and father.
None of us were surprised when she’d gotten herself tied up with a short-fused, loser boyfriend. One night, the two wound up in a heated argument and things got out of hand. Knowing Jagger would come rushing to her rescue, Stacey called her brother, pleading for his help. By the time he’d arrived at her place, Stacey was hysterical. She was covered in cuts and bruises, her lip was busted, and her wrist was broken. Jagger had lost it. He’d laid into the boyfriend and didn’t let up until the guy was no longer breathing. The cops came, and Jagger was arrested for voluntary manslaughter.
The guy was in a difficult position—one any of us could’ve found ourselves in. Hell, I would’ve done the same fucking thing if Mallory called to tell me she was in trouble. We’d hoped that considering the circumstance, he’d get off a little easier, but after an agonizing hearing, he was sentenced to six years in prison with the opportunity for parole in four. It could’ve been worse, much worse, but I couldn’t stop myself from feeling guilty for not doing more to keep him out of this fucking hellhole altogether.