Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 41918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 210(@200wpm)___ 168(@250wpm)___ 140(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 210(@200wpm)___ 168(@250wpm)___ 140(@300wpm)
I managed to finish any work I needed to do today early in the morning, but that doesn't mean my day is clear now that Emma is in class. As I pull back out onto the main road, I call Gunnar. He had a new guy shadowing him last night, some kid who begged for a chance to join the club, and now it’s time for me to give him the once-over.
"Hey man," I tell him as soon as he picks up. "Still want me to check out the new guy today?"
"Yeah." Gunnar doesn't seem as confident as he was when he first pitched the kid to me. "You probably should."
"Did he not do well during guard duty with you last night?"
Gunnar sighs. "It isn't that he did bad. It's just that he lacks any sort of enthusiasm. And he complained about the late hours. Just once, but come on, man. Overnight watches are basically in the job description. Why volunteer if you don't want to do them?"
Frowning, I tap my fingers on the steering wheel. I've seen this kind of thing before. Young guys who think they want to be Iron Guardians. Guys who want patches for their vest and to be able to tell girls at the bar that they're in a motorcycle club, but have no real passion for what we're all about. There should be no desire for status in the Iron Guardians. We are the defenders of the helpless, not some show-off club that shows up to run our mouths and start fights.
"He's probably just in over his head," I tell Gunnar. "We'll give him one more chance, and then let him down gently if it doesn't work out. Give them some lines about trying again in a few years. Once these dummies have gotten a little older they usually get over the urge to join up just for clout and move on."
"Good call, boss. I'll call the kid and you can meet us at the clubhouse." Gunnar hangs up, leaving me alone in my car in front of the university in a good mood. It's rare for me to be so optimistic.
My life has always been fairly straightforward. I've been serious about the Iron Guardians since I joined up, which meant working hard and taking every responsibility given to me with the utmost seriousness. And once I climbed the ranks and earned my spot as leader, hard work became even more tantamount to keeping everything together.
Now there’s Emma. Emma is different. Funny, bright, not anything like my overly-serious ass. We just meshed from the very moment I laid eyes on her. And I can't ignore that fact any more than I can stop breathing.
The drive to the clubhouse takes less time than I want it to. I'd be happy to just be in my own car with the radio on and my thoughts drifting over to the woman I know would be mine. Before I know it, I'm pulling up to the sprawling old brick building.
The Iron Guardians clubhouse is situated in an old paper factory, only the insignia painted above the door giving any indication about what the place really is now.
The outside has been cleaned up, but we haven't bothered with repainting or any sort of cosmetic details. Made out of red brick, the building is enormous—two stories with a basement. The old steel glass windows are placed high on the walls but run the length of the structure, providing plenty of light.
Where the outside still looks old, the inside has been vastly changed. The basement has been completely converted into the Iron Guardians exclusive bar, the Forge, where meetings often take place and where members come to unwind. The ground floor has a bare-bones gym, a garage, and small mechanics area for the bikes to be worked on, and a few offices where our few non-rider members keep everything organized above board so we never have to deal with the cops. In the very front is the lounge area and kitchen.
The top floor holds a handful of bunk rooms for when members need a place to crash when working long shifts instead of heading home. The other half of it is split into two small efficiency apartments where we house victims and families when they need more security than even the Iron Guardians parked outside their homes can offer. It's rare that our presence isn't enough, but the apartments have been invaluable when we need to hide someone away for a few days.
In the back of the clubhouse is an enormous asphalt parking lot, which I steer towards. Five of the Iron Guardians, including Gunnar, are already out there with their bikes. Everyone can ride what they want as long as they are kept in pristine condition, so our riders own a mix of cruisers and sports bikes. I usually wouldn't judge a rookie on what they ride when they first join up, but the banged-up Honda Rebel 250 next to the single stranger parked out back has me scowling.