Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Since I have Tye tracking his whereabouts, I can focus on the shipment of weapons coming in from Europe. The Italians have been working with us for years, and I have to make sure they’re happy. The more they send our way, the more income we have. And that ensures my brothers have the money to enjoy their lives. We all have different pasts. None of them are from wealth, though. What we have we’ve worked for. And I believe it’s what brings us together. We’re a family, not by blood, but by loyalty.
I make my way through the clubhouse, where some of the brothers are milling around, waiting for their old ladies. I find Tye, along with Rebel and Racer, sitting in the lounge on the sofa with a few of the club whores who hang around just to get attention. I can’t help but shake my head. Tye and Racer are single, but Rebel has his eyes on one of our girls. He hasn’t yet made a move, and I wonder if he’ll ever tell her he’s in love with her. He may deny it, but it’s clear as day whenever she’s close. His gaze follows her around like a magnet.
“I’m headin’ out to the harbour,” I tell them. “Need to meet with Venier. Once I have the shipment times, we’ll make our plans for the weekend. I reckon we’ll keep a few men here to make sure the women are safe.”
“Need me to come along?” Rebel asks. As my VP, I would usually have him riding with me, but for now, I need some time to think. Even though I have managed to run the club all these years without losing my mind, it feels as if now that Bragan is so close, I’m more anxious than usual. And a long ride out to the docks will sort my thoughts out.
Shaking my head, I tell him, “Nah, I’ll be all right.” I turn and make my way out of the house. It’s the only place I can let down my guard, and even then, it’s still a concern to let anyone too close. My brothers know me, but I still keep things to myself. Ma taught me when I was younger to never let anyone see yer cards while you’re playing. If they do, they’ll be able to knock you down. They’ll win, and you’ll end up the loser. And I refuse to lose this time. I can’t. Not for me, my brothers, nor for Ma who I know is watchin’ down on me.
Da did that. He was too much of a prideful bastard, and it ended up with him being killed. He didn’t think about the future, about his family. But then again, he didn’t see us as a family. He was far too focused on the club. Our home wasn’t a place he spent his nights in. There’s no doubt he was fuckin’ every club whore he could get his hands on. And when I realised my father wasn’t a hero, but a savage, I lost respect for him. Which is why I never want to end up like that. End up in the grave.
With the rumble of my bike filling my ears, I allow myself to think back to the day we got the news. When my father was murdered in cold blood.
The knock on the door has Ma panicking. She’s always told me if it’s early morning or late night, it can never be good news. Same with the telephone ringing. She insists on keeping the landline. I don’t know why. I’ve tried showing her how to use a mobile phone, but she’s refused. Technology is the devil. At times, I think she’s right. But at twenty-five, I’m more connected to it than I thought I would be.
I’m shrugging on my jacket when I hear Ma wail. The agony in the sound twists at my chest like a knife slicing through me. Racing from my room, I rush into the lounge where the front door stands open, and on the threshold are two of my father’s men.
“What’s happenin’?” I ask, looking from Ma to them. The expression on their faces tells me what’s going on before I have a chance to speak. I go to my mother and hold her. The sobs that tumble from her are heart-wrenching. “What’s gone on?”
“Yer da wanted to ride out and talk to those feckers down south,” Hag tells me. The man looks like he’s had a tough life. One day, Da called him haggard, and the shortened version of his name stuck. He wears his patch proudly, but I wonder if he ever hated my father for the moniker.
“Where is he?”
“We tried to stop him, but he and a few of the new patch-ins went anyway.” This comes from Jonesy. The man is always high or drunk. I’m not even sure how the feck he gets on a bike, but for the first time in years, he seems to be sober. He looks at me with guilt written all over his face, and I know what’s happened. Da has got it in his head that he’s invincible. I have a feeling that’s just been proven wrong.