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CHAPTER

ONE

Brick

As I sit inside the room we use for church, my eyes take in the memorabilia from years past. Shadowboxes adorn the walls with the cuts of our fallen brothers and in some cases, them and their old ladies if they went at the same time. Pictures of the members through the years are between them, giving anyone who looks at the wall a clear glimpse of the club’s varied and somewhat colorful history. Newer shadowboxes now house the cuts of me and my men since we’re all wearing Prospect cuts for the Royal Bastards. The Roanoke Raiders MC will officially disassemble once we patch over.

Last year, while attending Declan’s wedding, I let it be known that we were ready to move, so to speak. With many of the old timers retiring and moving away, our club was no longer as big as we once were. Knowing that we had similar ideologies, Declan talked to Jameson and lo and behold, we became a clubhouse full of prospects for the Royal Bastards.

Thankfully, after many discussions with Jameson, he was willing to allow us to have this ‘legacy’ wall since the men before us created the club we are today, while the cuts we presently wear indicate who we’re going to be in the future.

Brothers with thousands of others at our backs.

My grandfather, Astro, started the Roanoke Raiders MC with his best friend, Buck, when they came home from a war that everyone wanted to forget. Over the years, many men have sat in this room, planning things to make our lives better or eradicate threats. I took over the gavel from my father, Riffraff, five years ago after he stepped down when he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Fucking cruel-ass disease, that’s for sure. He’s now in an assisted living facility, completely dependent on others for his care. I know he’d hate it if he were in his right mind, but thankfully, he has no clue as his bad days are now outweighing the good ones. I make a mental note to get him and his day nurse out to the clubhouse at least once a month since she’s indicated whenever he’s around the brothers, he seems to do much better. He regals her with stories of his youth, sometimes salacious ones if her giggles are any indication, and since he was my hero growing up, I’ll do whatever it takes to give him those good days. Once he passes, we’ll add his cut, which he wears while operating his motorized wheelchair throughout the property. I briefly glance at the double shadowbox, the one that houses Bonzai and Lorelei’s cuts. Definitely a dark time for our club, one that saw many losses and left my brother, Banshee, an orphan.

Thankfully, my folks took him in, not that the club would’ve allowed the system to get him. He’s my right hand, my vice president, and best friend, and thanks to the time he donated blood to me, we’re brothers in and outside of the club. He walks into the room, a scowl on his face. “You okay, Brother?” I ask.

“Eh, same day, different shit. You know how it goes.”

“I do. Glad this time is almost behind us,” I advise.

“You and me both. It wasn’t as bad as when we prospected for the club initially, but it was still sometimes galling to be told by members that haven’t lived the life as long as we have how to do shit or even, what to do,” he grumbles.

I can’t help chuckling at his words. “Wasn’t that bad, Ban. We didn’t have to scrub out the shitters or anything like that. Just be available to help with transports as needed, and of course, lend our muscle when called upon. Coulda been a shit ton worse.”

“Speaking of, we need to get the club girls on board with shit. They’ve been slacking around here.”

“So, what you’re saying is they’re tired of cleaning up our shit?” I ask, now laughing out loud.

“Leathyr told a brother she was too tired the other night when he approached her to suck his dick,” he states.

“She can’t do that. I mean, she can say no, of course, but if she’s down in the common area, she’s supposed to be available. That’s the fucking rule.”

“She said she’d spent all fucking day scrubbing down the restrooms and we needed to learn to piss into the fucking bowl or some shit.”

Sighing, I nod. “I’ll talk to them, all of them. I really don’t want to bring in an outsider to keep this place clean, but we haven’t been able to add any prospects since we were under probation with the Royal Bastards. Hopefully, that’ll change since I know we’ve had a few guys who appear to be interested hanging around.”

“They might just want to be part of the RBMC though,” he replies. “Otherwise, why weren’t they around when it was just us?”

“Maybe because they weren’t quite old enough yet? The twins from down the road have been doing whatever they could for years to help out around outside just waiting to be old enough.”

“Ah, the twins. They’ll be fun and I’m sure the girls will love having someone else keep up with this place.” Looking around, he growls out, “Where the fuck is everyone else? We’ve got shit to do to get ready for this weekend.”

“Keep your panties in check, Banshee, we heard the two of you talking and wanted to give y’all the privacy you needed,” Kracken calls out, pushing the door open wider to admit the rest of the club. Everyone takes their seats after Rooster makes sure the big door is closed then stands in front of it with his arms across his chest.

I take the gavel, worn with age and use, and slam it onto the table, yelling, “Shut the fuck up, we got shit to discuss!” As silence slowly falls, I look at each of my brothers, men I’ve fought and fucked alongside for years now, confident in the path we’re about to take. “It’s been a helluva year, brothers.”

Cries of ‘yeah’ and ‘here, here’ permeate the room, causing me to smirk. “Glad to see we’re almost at the end of it all,” Scythe states.

“We are and that’s why we’re meeting one last time as us because the next time we’re around this table, we’ll no longer be Roanoke Raiders prospecting for the Royal Bastards, we’ll be fully patched Royal Bastards. We’ll have a brotherhood that stretches across the States and even internationally. That’ll come in handy if some of the things Banshee and I have in motion come to pass.”

“How are we going to do the businesses?” Brew, our secretary, questions, all business now as he opens up his tablet to start taking notes.

“According to Jameson, there’s no reason to change the names, we just have to do some paperwork so that a percentage goes into the national kitty or something like that. Rainman, the two of you need to get with him as he said he’d bring the information with him.” We’re somewhat stereotypical when it comes to being an MC. We’ve got a tattoo parlor, an automotive and bike repair shop, and a bar. We also do a little loan sharking from time to time, and will add transport assistance to several of the chapters once we’re officially patched over.

“Got it, Pres,” Rainman, our treasurer, replies while Brew nods.

“So, we’ve got all the extra rooms cleaned and ready for our guests?” I ask.

“The only thing left is to fill up their mini fridges with their preferred choice of drink,” Banshee advises. “I figure one of us can get that info as they arrive then have Rooster take care of it.”

“I’ll take care of it, Pres,” Rooster affirms from his position at the door. He’s our newest patched member, but not having any Prospects, he still helps from time to time. Since this upcoming party is important, I’d rather leave it in a brother’s hands. I’ve noticed ever since he returned from Texas, he’s been a little more watchful, a little more cautious. I know that shit happened when he ended up helping one of the Ankeny chapter members, Phoenix, with watching his old lady. It’s made him a better brother, that’s for sure, and I wonder if perhaps he needs a name change. The problem is, he’s got red hair and the pale, freckled skin that goes with it, so Rooster fits him to a tee.

“Any questions? I do know from talking with Jameson there are some brothers who will be here that have some unique abilities outside of the norm. With that being said, they’ll be our brothers through and through so regardless of what you may see, hear, or experience, you need to remember to have their backs, if necessary,” I advise.

“What kind of abilities?” Scythe inquires, a scowl on his face. As the club’s enforcer, he’s always looking for the enemy around every corner. His skill has saved our asses several times, so I’m fine with his question.

“Not one-hundred-percent sure. I know a few made a deal with the Devil which causes them to change as they reap the souls of the damned. A few others have visions or can manipulate various elements,” I reply, glancing around the room to gauge my brothers’ reactions.

‘Well, that should liven things up around here, don’t you think?” Brew asks, grinning. “Speaking of livening things up, I’ve asked the club girls if they have any friends we’re unaware of that like to party. We’re going to have double our normal numbers at least with our guests and four of them won’t be able to handle all of us. Well, those who wish to partake, that is.”

“Works for me. I know most of the brothers coming have ol’ ladies at home, so it’s highly unlikely they’ll dabble in any strange pussy, they’ll likely just party, but we wanna be ready,” I reply. Not that I’m in the market for an ol’ lady, but if I had one, I wouldn’t settle for chopped steak when I had a nice filet waiting on me at home. However, I don’t judge what another man chooses to do with regard to his ol’ lady; that’s not my business unless it becomes a club issue.

“Think we’ll ever have any around here again?” Banshee questions. “Seems like it’s been forever since we had a brother who had an ol’ lady, all the really old-timers have either ridden off to their place in the afterlife, or retired and followed their kids.”

I’m pretty sure he’s including his own folks in that comment judging by the pain that briefly flickers across his face. He’s such a broody fucker at times, but with everything that happened to his family, it’s a miracle that he’s still among the land of the living. There was a time right after his folks died that I worried he’d off himself. Thankfully, my dad noticed it too and doubled down on making sure he knew he was an important part of our lives, and would be invaluable to the club once we were old enough to prospect and get patched in.

“Who the hell knows?” I retort. “I’m not personally looking, but I’m getting to that age where I’d like someone else to talk to besides y’all. And now that we’ve all grown pussies, anyone else wanna get their feelings out in the open? We’ve got time to hold hands, give you shitty advice, and bash whoever has hurt you before our guests arrive,” I tease, causing the room to erupt in laughter and catcalls.

“Fucker,” Banshee mutters.

“You know it. Alright, since we know what we’ve got to do, let’s get to it. To answer the unspoken question, got no clue how things will happen. We just need to be prepared for any fucking thing.”

“Well, isn’t that peachy,” Brew grumbles. “Wish we had a way to make these not look so fucking new,” he states, running his hand down his Prospect cut.

The rest of the brothers look over to the wall where our old Roanoke Raiders cuts are encased behind glass. It was a hard day when we gave those up because they signified the end of an era in so many ways. My own cut was well-worn, soft as fucking butter, and spoke of the years, blood, sweat, and even a few tears shed that made it that way.

At the same time, the new cuts, while stiff and somewhat unmoving, show the future path that we’ll be on, only now we’ll have thousands of brothers behind us in our endeavors. “It was a good move to do this,” I remind the brothers. “We all took our time to think about the pros and cons then voted on it at this fucking table, remember?”

“No problems with the decision, Pres, just remarking that it’s going to take a while to break these in and mine was so fucking soft, y’know?” Brew states.

“They’ll get there, Brew,” Banshee replies. “I’m sure with some of the things Brick and I are working on to finalize once it’s all done and dusted, we’ll all find ours aging a bit.”

“Okay, church is over!” I bark out, slamming the gavel down on the table. As everyone leaves, I look at the huge wooden behemoth that my father and the original brothers crafted. Once we made the decision as a club to patch over to the Royal Bastards, the logo in the center was carefully cut out and put on the wall, and we put in a new insert with the RBMC Roanoke, VA insignia instead.

So many changes, I muse. I just hope like fuck we’re up to the challenge. I stop at the bar and grab a beer before heading into my other sanctuary, my office. Time to do some work before the clubhouse devolves into party central.

Sitting alone in my office, I grimace as I go through the pile of paperwork I need to sign off on. I’m ahead of the game, but I know this party is likely to be epic as fuck, so want to get shit done and dusted. “You busy?” a voice calls out.

Hearing my friend’s voice, I push the rest to the side to finish later and call out, “Come on in!” My smile is wide when I see Declan stroll through the door, Axel at his side. “When did you two fuckers get here?” I ask.

“About twenty minutes or so ago. Banshee showed us to our rooms, told us to grab a cold one, then sent us down here,” he replies, handing me a bottle of beer.

Popping the top, I take a long pull, swiping my hand across my face to remove the foam. “Good trip?”

“Not too bad, actually. Weather cooperated for the most part, although the further north we got, the colder it got. Appreciate you warning us about the unpredictability of your mountains.”

I grin because this time of year, we’re as likely to get snow as anything. While I hate the thought of putting my bike up for the pending winter, I’m grateful I’ve got my truck serviced and ready to go. “Yeah, hopefully, some of the guys who aren’t used to it heeded my suggestion to pack for anything.”

“You ready for all of this?” Declan asks.

“Getting used to the idea after this past year. I mean, it was weird being a prospect again, but I’m grateful as hell that Jameson didn’t go to the extremes that all of us lived through when we first started out, you know?”

He nods, grinning. The worst we had was when we were ‘requested’ to come to a rally. Instead of partying it up like in years past, we watched over the bikes. A few runs to assist other chapters, constant drop-in visits to keep us on our toes; the past year has been challenging, but I don’t regret making the decision to patch our club over to the Royal Bastards. I’ve noticed for some time that there are things going on around our neck of the woods that go against everything me and the club stand for so with a bigger brotherhood, hopefully we can put a stop to it all. “It’s almost time, brother. I’m sure it’s surreal for you guys.”

“You don’t know the half of it. I had to let them know in church this morning that some of our brothers have unique qualities, so they don’t freak the fuck out.” That causes both of them to chuckle.

“Yeah, you could say we’re a rowdy band of misfits and you wouldn’t be wrong,” Axel says.

“How about we head out into the main room? I suspect more brothers will start arriving and I need to show my face, not hide in my office,” I question, looking at the two men who will soon be my brothers.

As if we choreographed it, the three of us stand then head out, with me locking my door against prying eyes. All of the legit stuff is readily accessible, the other things are safely put away where no one will ever find them.