Prologue
Six months ago
The pink façade of the two-story art déco building looked worse for wear. Bricks from the left corner of the building were lying in a heap on the ground. Most of the decorative stone banding was cracked or missing. The metal door and canopy that once hung over it were both gone and most of the windows were broken out.
Mom had a book on art déco style buildings from the fifties. This old hotel was one of her favorites. It’s why my old man bought it late 2005, sight unseen. He gave it to my mom for Christmas. The hotel and a handful of other buildings were all they salvaged.
At sixteen, I was a young buck eager to impress my father, and I’d do anything to please my mother. Over the next few years, I spent every spare moment doing backbreaking labor. I turned down a lot of parties to put in extra work on the property.
Mom was tired all the time, and my little sister Nola was a very active toddler. Nola, short for Magnolia, turned three and she was hell on wheels. A tomboy in pink. The girl would dive into mud puddles in the pinkest, frilliest dresses I’d ever seen.
I spent most of my school breaks at the property too, building Mom's gardens including an enormous gazebo. Dad and I did all the work. I’d never seen my old man cry before D Day. Not that D Day. No, our D Day is the day they diagnosed Mom with cancer. Why don't I call it C Day? By the time they found the cancer, it had already invaded most of her body.
Her cancer diagnosis came just days after her beloved city took a historic blow. Two years to the day the hurricane hit my mother,
Anna Marie Landry lost her battle with cancer. Nola was five and I was seventeen. Sixty-four days later, on my eighteen birthday, I reported to Jacksonville, NC for basic training. Oorah!
I spent the next ten in the Marines. Moving from stupid grunt to Raider to Delta Force in that decade.
In 2018, my best friends, Papa, Boomer and Smoke, co-founded a chapter in New Orleans of my MC, the Voodoo Kings. My old man, Pops to me, Duke to his club, is president of the original club in Baton Rouge. Pops and his best friend Trinity founded the club in ninety-two.
When I told Pops I wanted a new clubhouse for the Kings, he sold me the hotel and grounds. Twenty-three acres close to Lake Pontchartrain. Today was the first time I'd been back. My father had yet to return. Who knew if he ever would?
Boomer found our old club house an old two-story firehouse. We converted the second floor ensuite bedrooms. Each brother had a bedroom, bathroom, and mini fridge. Papa, the clubs Vice-President, had a small suite. With a kitchen and small seating area. Think hotel suite size. My quarters are the old station chief updated and remodeled.
Within months, we had four prospects and a half a dozen more applicants. Plus, all the pussy, weed, and booze you could ever ask for. Life was good, and it was only getting better.
I walked inside past the trucks and vans labeled with the Jackson Construction Logo. The Jackson Brothers, Walker, Wesley and Wade, are patched club members. Decker, Saber and Wrath respectively. They took their dad’s one crew company and turned it into the third largest construction company in the area.
They started this morning. I turned to my road captain Decker. “You sure we can get this remodeled in six months?”
“As sure as I can get into your sister’s panties.”
Without warning, I decked him in the mouth. I pulled the punch. He just needed a reminder. I have a sister, and if he touches her, I’ll castrate him.
“If any of you motherfuckers get into my sister’s panties, I’ll kill you. Got it?”