Chapter 1
Gage
Six and a half years later.
Walking out of the three-bedroom house I had just bought two weeks ago; it was time to tackle the beast that I had been putting off since I bought the bike a month ago. I had been keeping it stored in one of the side bays that Powers had portioned off for the club members.
Taking the tarp off the bike, I walked it out of the garage, settled the kickstand, walked into my garage, grabbed my stool and tools, and got to work.
My mind went back to when I had seen this beauty. It had been one afternoon while I had needed a breather after we had been too late getting to a Dove.
The husband had evaded the police, had found her and had beaten her to death with a fucking metal pipe. Heathen and Knox didn’t get to play with him though, no I had taken care of that piece of shit. With nothing but my bare hands, and let’s just say, my hands did more damage than the pipe.
While I had been out riding the back roads in a nearby town trying to calm down, I had come around a bend when it had started to mist. Then I looked over into a pasture and there she had sat. With nothing covering her.
I had squinted my eyes and slowed down, trying to make sure that my eyes weren’t deceiving me. It was my dream bike.
The old man that I had bought this bike from had just let it sit out in the elements. Had the man been younger, he would have had his teeth knocked down his damn throat.
Who the fuck leaves a 1949 Harley Davidson Panhead out in the elements? My blood was still boiling over that shit.
And I shit you not, all the fucking numbers matched.
Every single one of them. Down to the neighbors on every single part that was on the bike.
Shaking my head to clear the red haze that was starting to take over, I breathed in and out and centered myself. It was something I had worked with a therapist years ago.
Judging a book by its cover, you would see that I was always cool and collected, but that would be so far from the truth.
When you have seen the things that I have seen, you know things will never be the same.
An hour later, this old bike wasn’t going to get the best of me, though. “Come the fuck off, you little bastard.” Turning the wrench on the bolt even harder, I tried to get it loose. But to no avail.
Here I was, a six-foot-three, two-hundred-and-thirty-pound man, and a little bolt was getting the best of me.
“Not today, you fucker.” Growling yet again, I was tempted to kick the fucker with my shit kickers, knowing it wouldn’t work. But it would make me feel a whole hell of a lot better.
It was either the bolt was royally pissing me off or it was the fact that I hadn’t been laid in a fucking year.
Yeah, I know, shocker there.
I was just fucking tired. Tired of the same old shit day in and day out. I didn’t want any of the club whores, even though I’ve never stuck my dick in any of them. I wasn’t about to start now. I didn’t want my dick to be in a place where others have been that counts more than all my fingers and my toes.
Sure, call me sexist, but I didn’t give a fuck.
Besides, none of them interested me at all.
Yes, they were all beautiful in their own right. They just don’t get my dick hard when they were scantily clad dressed. In other words, a small piece of fabric, a short mini skirt that when they bend over, you can see everything that they were blessed with. Shit like that should be covered and treasured because it was the promised land.
To be honest, I wanted what my brothers had found. A woman in my bed every night. The same woman.
Hell, even going out with my brothers to clubs, my eyes hadn’t landed on anyone that struck my fancy.
Yeah, I would wager every cent in my bank account and that laid in my safe in my house, that it wasn’t the bolt pissing me off. Son of a fucking bitch.
Little did I know when I heard the softest voice, one that held a rasp in it, just a second later. Everything would change. Everything.
“Having issues?” Lifting my head up to see a woman standing there on the edge of my property, my entire world just stopped spinning.