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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

MASON

Opening my bedroom door, I nearly stumble across the suitcase laying there in the mouth of the doorway. I find it amusing that Ella just nonchalantly laid it in front of the door for me to trip over first thing in the morning instead of setting it to the side. I guess she thought I’d miss it if it wasn’t in my path. Shaking my head, I grab it by the handle, toss my pack over my shoulder and head downstairs.

My eyes enlarge when I walk into the dining area because it looks like an armory exploded in here. “Here,” Gunner says, walking up to me and handing me a couple of throwing knives and two nine millimeter handguns. “For protection. I don’t trust Benji boy not to have some sort of warning system and ambush us the moment we cross the city line.”

I holster all of the weapons because, like Gunner, I believe that he's sitting and waiting for us like the hunter he thinks he is. “Thanks, man,” I reply. “I’m sure by now he knows I’ve been called and informed about Myles’ mysterious disappearance.”

“For all we know he bugged that trailer and there's no telling if he was able to listen in on yours and Maverick’s conversation or not.” I never considered that as a possibility until Gunner just brought it up.

“Fuck,” I groan, then voice my thoughts, “didn’t even think of that.”

“It's because you're emotionally invested,” Gunnar tells me. “If you were on the outside looking in, it would have crossed your mind.”

“Let's get everything loaded,” Hydro calls out. “We're rolling up on five a.m., guys. Wheels will be rolling out in fifteen.”

Gunner turns to me and says, “You, me, and Mane will be taking your truck. The prospects will be hauling my bike with the van that’ll hold most of our equipment.”

Hydro strolls up to me with a determined look on his face. Holding up a prospect cut? He asks, “Yes?”

As he asks me this, I feel a soft, butterfly of a touch settle between my shoulder blades before roaming down my spine and wrapping around my middle. Turning my neck, I see Mane smiling up at me, and I know that no matter what choice I make here, she’ll have my back. She’ll walk beside me on whatever path I choose and that feeling gives me a sense of euphoria.

I quickly weigh the pros and cons. The only thing that still makes me pause are the women, but there’s a plan in place that’ll ease me of that burden. Whereas a few months back, their violent tendencies would’ve made me shudder with revulsion, after everything I survived and have seen first-hand, it no longer bothers me. I’m reformed on that aspect.

Nodding my head, I reach out to accept the cut only to have Hydro slap it away. “It’d be my honor to slide this over your shoulders, Mason.”

I’ve been dressing myself for a long time now so at first, I back pedal, but then, I realize the importance of this and step forward. Squaring my shoulders, I turn my body when he circles his finger in the air. The moment it’s slipped over my arms and settles on my back, the leather hugs me and I get a feeling of being home hit me square in the chest.

The walls vibrate as the room breaks out into an ear splitting roar as the members whoop and holler in excitement. “Welcome to the DreamCatcher family, prospect,” Hydro says, but there’s a villainous gleam in his eye that I’m going to interrogate Gunner about on the way to Trucktown.

“Thanks, pres,” I say, my voice cracking with emotion. “It’s an honor and privilege to have the DreamCatcher insignia across my back.”

“Don’t wear that while driving your cage,” he orders as he twists on his heels and whistles to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s get gone!”

* * *

Mane slid my cut off before we climbed into my truck. She folded it in half then gently laid it over the armrest. Gunner does the same with his but keeps his in his lap. Once the truck is fired up, the rev of engines echoes throughout the quiet morning and a smile forms, spreading from one cheek to the other.

“Feel naked when I'm not wearing my cut,” Gunner grumbles, and if my eyes are deceiving me, I see a slight tremble of his bottom lip through the rearview mirror. Mane chuckles at her dad’s pouting, but other than that, she doesn’t say anything in response.

As we drive out of the lot, I ask Gunner the question that’s been ruminating in my brain. “Why did Hydro give me that look when he welcomed me?”

“Being a prospect isn’t an easy position in the club. It’s where we determine if you have the balls to be a brother,” Gunner answers.

“Think frat house,” Mane interjects, an amused smirk aimed my way. “Initiation times.”

“I’ve come to loathe that word,” I mumble, a frown on my face. “Initiation… using it in any capacity now leaves a foul taste on my tongue.”

“If it makes you feel better, it’s been put on hold until Hydro can bring it to the table and discuss changing things up,” Gunner informs me.

“There has to be a better way to find out if a woman is compatible with the club,” I insert. “Maybe she could be on a ninety day probation?”

“Like a tryout? Isn’t that the same thing?” Mane poses the question.

“Baby girl,” Gunner sighs.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, waving her hand dramatically through the air. “Club business, I know.”

“If you want to help change things and if you want your voice heard, do like Ella did and join the club,” Gunner suggests.

Mane’s eyes become saucers, and her body shivers as she spits out each word individually, “No. Thank. You.” A bark of laughter escapes me as I side-eye her. Her body language alone, at that suggestion, tells me I’m in for a world of trouble with this whole prospect gig.

Through the hours of travel, Gunner shares with me what I can expect during my prospect period. Some of it makes me gag, especially the thought of cleaning the men’s communal bathroom, bleaching the clubhouse after parties where people have gotten sick after consuming too much alcohol, and being an all-around bitch boy. Blood doesn’t faze me as much as vomit does.

There’s something about the odor and look of someone’s emptied stomach contents that makes my stomach turn.

Violently.

Then I end up having more of a mess to clean than originally because the stench and texture usually has me upchucking. I could’ve never been a doctor or a nurse because I’d be the first one hauling ass from the room the moment someone started a gag fest.

When we’re less than ten minutes out, Gunner pulls out his weapons and begins checking the clips. Watching him, I notice that one of his guns ends up tucked beneath his cut and now I understand why he’s kept it glued to his lap since we pulled out of the compound.

When we cross Trucktown’s city limits, his entire body grows rigid, he becomes laser focused as his eyes stay sharply trained on our surroundings. The rest of the guys pull back and turn into Lacossa’s only motel parking lot, where they’ll be staying until tomorrow unless we call them in.

As we pass all of the abandoned facilities and warehouses, Gunner’s forehead creases. “Used to be a boomtown, I take it?”

“It was way back in the day,” I answer. “Then our town went through a depression of sorts, companies moved to larger cities and we became a ghost town.”

“All those people out of work,” Mane wistfully sighs. “I bet hunger grew rapidly in these parts.”

“Still an issue for over half of the town folk here,” I respond. “Farming became the way of life. Some became successful while others fell flat on their asses.”

The cab grows silent as we think of those who barely had enough loose change to rub together to buy a slice of bread. My family happened to be one of the success stories, which is why we have so many ranch hands living on our land. They got to stay in their hometown and they work hard for the roof over their heads. We built small townhomes on the property so their families could stay together.

My family is all about their community. We couldn’t in good conscience step aside and watch our friends starve and flounder as the banks foreclosed on their homes a few short months after they lost their only source of income.

It isn’t long before we pull through the gates and stick to the road leading to Maverick and Myles’ double-wide. When we get to their dirt driveway, I notice Mav leaning on the railing, a mug of coffee in his hand. He must’ve spent the night scouring the town and got to bed early this morning because he looks like he’s only got an hour or so of sleep. The dark bruises under his eyes are prominent enough that I can see them from here.

“That’s Maverick,” I point out to the occupants of my truck.

“Let’s go see if he’s found anything since you spoke with him last night,” Gunner orders, opening up his door and hopping out the second I shut down the engine.

“It’s going to be okay, Mason. Deep breaths,” Mane says, leaning over and pecking me on the cheek.

I hope the man above heard her and takes her words to heart because my family won’t survive the ramifications from losing one of their own.