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Chapter 1: Scar

My Harley rumbles beneath me as I roar down a twisted mountain road, skirting that thrilling line between freedom and death. I hug the white stripe dividing the lanes, leaning hard, daring fate to come for me. I’ve been riding for hours, but I’ve got to get back to the clubhouse. Church starts at three p.m. every Friday afternoon, and there’s hell to pay if you’re late. It’s my own damn rule, so I can’t violate it.

As president of the Underground Vengeance Motorcycle Club, Montana Chapter, I have a duty to set expectations. Being late is completely unacceptable. It’s something I just don’t do. And I never make exceptions, not even for myself. Especially not for myself. I don’t deserve a break. Not after what I’ve done.

I roll the throttle back, pushing past 100 mph. It’s just plain stupid to take turns at this speed, but I lean into the controlled chaos anyway, trusting the physics of friction with my life. See, I’m not afraid of death. It’s going to come for me one way or another. And it’s tried before. Believe me. It’s always right behind me, licking at my heels, blowing its hot, sulfurous breath across the back of my neck. Death can be so seductive. It would be so easy to leave this place. To run toward the only surefire way to escape my pain.

And Deathwantsme.

It’s already tried to claim me a thousand times. The first time it came for me, I was young and defenseless. But I’m smarter now. Wiser. And I’m not ready to let it take me. Not yet, anyway. A switchback road isn’t powerful enough to end my life. I’ve survived worse. Much worse.

When I was too little to understand true evil, a monster took me in. A perverse psychopath. A man who wore two faces. In public, Jonathan Blackstone was a wealthy Silicon Valley mogul who adopted underprivileged orphans, lifting them out of poverty and into a life of luxury. But in private, he became a demented monster, preying on us and feasting on our innocence until he destroyed it. And he wasn’t alone. He had dozens of equally deviant friends who liked little boys. And the things they did to us …

A shiver of revulsion trembles through my belly. My vision blurs as my heart pounds. My hands sweat into my leather gloves. I count my heartbeats, letting their rhythmic sense of order bring me back into the present. I can’t lose focus and die on this road. I want to live long enough to kill every last one of them. Slowly. Painfully. One by one. Until I get to Blackstone, the biggest monster of them all. He deserves a special form of vengeance, and I intend to give it to him.

Despite everything that happened, despite all those years in hell, I’m still breathing. Back then, there were times I wasn’t sure if I’d live to see morning. Times I wasn’t sure if I’d have enough strength to take one more breath. Hell, there were times I wanted to give up. Times I didn’t think I could keep going. Times I just wanted to end it all. But I didn’t. I survived. I lived … If you can call this a life.

I’m scarred beyond belief, both inside and out. And so are my club brothers. We suffered at the hands of that twisted psychopath, Jonathan Blackstone. We were just children. But he didn’t care. Neither did his friends. They didn’t have a single ounce of compassion. Blackstone and his friends spent years ripping our souls out of our bodies. We survived torture, degradation, and pain beyond anything a normal person could ever comprehend.

We did it because we had to.

We did it for each other.

We lived long enough to escape, but not all of us made it out alive. I’ll never forget the ones who never left that damp dungeon. The little souls left wrecked and ruined on the floor, scooped up like trash to be disposed of. Forgotten by everyone. But not me. I’ll never forget. For them, I keep going. I keep fighting. And one day, I’m going to make Blackstone pay for what he did to us. All of us. By the time I’m done with him, he’ll be begging me to kill him.

I’m spaced the fuck out, sucked down into the pit of tormented memories, when I almost miss the cut-off to the bar and clubhouse. After a slight skid, I pull off the highway into the large, dirt parking lot outside the bar. Several bikes are parked in a row along the wooden porch. None of them belong to my club’s members. We park out back by the clubhouse.

As I ride past the bar, two men wearing colors from another club step out. I don’t mind having patrons from friendly clubs, but there’s one club we don’t want around. Blackstone’s club. The Demon Riders. He funds them. Matrix, our club’s Secretary and resident hacker, found evidence that their club runs drugs and guns, and they might be helping Blackstone to traffic kids. Matrix is still digging into their financials to see what he can find out.

I park next to the large, ranch-style home we live in and use as our clubhouse. It’s painted country white, something I insisted on. Colors have power, and I want the house to be as peaceful and serene as possible. I don’t deserve it, but the others do.

After swinging my leg over the bike, I pull my helmet off and carry it inside. I’ve only got two minutes to spare, so I hurry through the large living room, past the pool table, and down the hall to the meeting room. This is where we hold Church, our weekly meeting.

The guys are already gathered around the table Talon made from old barn wood he found on the property. I sit at the head of the table. A large, antique clock hangs high on the wall opposite where I’m seated. It strikes three. I grab the gavel off the table, then slam it down.

“Church is in session. Let’s start by going over what happened with Amber and Charlie during last night’s run.”

“What a shit show,” Matrix grumbles, washing his hand down his face.

Nitro bounces in his chair. He’s probably hopped up on enough sugar and caffeine to kill a small elephant. “I sent two prospects over to keep an eye on them. No sign of her ex-husband since the shootout.”

“Who’s watching his workplace?” I ask.

“One of the other prospects. He’s been sitting on the machine shop since midnight in case Rick shows up there. No sign of him yet,” Matrix says. “I should have thrown a tracker on his truck when he showed up at his ex-wife’s place.”

“Everything went tits up so fucking fast; you couldn’t have,” Talon says, crossing his beefy arms over his chest. His leather vest stretches to accommodate his massive size.

“Thanks,” Matrix says, giving Talon a brief nod.

“How’s the kid doing?” I ask.

“I called Amber a few minutes ago to get an update. She’s still freaked out, of course. Charlie’s not doing much better. She says he hasn’t said a word since his father tried to abduct him,” Nitro says.

“Okay, I want one of you on their house with one of the prospects until the hearing.” I open my phone to check the date. “It’s next week. Judge actually put a rush on it after what happened.”

“Too bad the cops couldn’t catch Rick either,” Nitro says.

“Assuming they even tried.” I shake my head. Around here, law enforcement seems more interested in protecting an abuser’s “good name” than the innocent kids they abuse. The more money one of these dirtbags has, the more likely they are to get off with a slap on the wrist. Something needs to change. These kids need someone to protect them, and we’re the only ones willing to do it. We’ll find a way to destroy the corrupt system and get justice for the victims. It’s our mission. We will not fail.