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PROLOGUE

Jingles, age 14

I wince as my brother’s boot connects with my ribs, praying that he didn’t break any because if so, it’s going to make this week’s cross country meet pure hell for me.

Not that I’m not living in hell already, with a brother like mine. My father’s too busy trying to keep a roof over our heads, while killing his liver with the rotgut alcohol he drinks after every shift to even notice that his youngest son looks like a failed prize contender most days. Although, Bryson has gotten smarter, and he doesn’t mark up my face ever since the state was notified by a well-meaning teacher of possible abuse.

That month was honestly the best of my life. I stayed with an older woman, who, according to her, had raised ‘close to a hundred kids by now I reckon’, in a rundown trailer park. It’s where I saw my school rival, Wiley, and also where I noticed his home life was probably as shitty as mine.

What can I say? We bonded over abuse; except he ended up helping me in more ways than he’d probably ever realize. The same age as my asshole brother, he told Bryson the next time he caught him beating on me it would be the last time. I just hope he remembers that promise because I’m counting on him to help me with this slight issue of mine.

“You stupid motherfucker!” Wiley exclaimed, running up to where I’m curled on the ground, grinding my teeth to keep the tears and whimpers of pain at bay. “I told you what would happen if you touched him again.”

I let the darkness carry me away as the sounds of fists striking flesh fill the air. Hours later, I came to in an unfamiliar place. “Where the hell am I?” I questioned, looking around.

“The clubhouse for the Royal Bastards MC,” Wiley stated. “Some of my friends are helping you out.”

“Why me, man? You’ve been an asshole to me for years now,” I questioned.

“Because I know what you’ve gone through with your brother,” he admitted. “This is Ghoul,” he said, pointing to the man who was swiping alcohol wipes along my broken skin. “And this is Sleeper, he’s a nurse.”

“Appreciate the help, I’ll get out of your way as soon as I can.”

“We’ve made a suggestion for your brother to relocate elsewhere,” Ghoul stated. “Your father too, although not gonna lie, the fact you’ve been able to take this shit like you have says a lot. But, sometimes, changing the scenery helps.”

“Ghoul, shut the fuck up, he’s a kid,” the guy called Sleeper muttered before turning to me. “This is gonna hurt, gotta put a few stitches in, but I’ll numb the area first with some lidocaine.”

I shrug because no one’s ever cared enough before to make sure any of my gashes were stitched, so I’ve got my fair share of scars up and down my arms, as well as on my back and torso. I don’t watch what Sleeper’s doing because I’m not about seeing my own blood, although in truth, I’ve seen more than enough of it over the years. I don’t even know why my brother’s the way he is, but I guess the anger he wants to burn off is easy to direct at me.

Jingles, age 17

“I see you brought Jingles around again, Wiley,” Ghoul said as we walked toward the bar where he was sitting.

“Why do you call me Jingles?” I asked, genuinely curious. He’d done so practically from the first time I’d ever met him.

“Ever since we met you, kid, you’ve always had your hand in your pocket, jingling change. It was either call you that, or Pocket Pool.”

My face flamed as the other Bastards brothers, who were sitting around, broke into raucous laughter. “Jingles is fine,” I muttered.

“He’s off to Roanoke, Ghoul. There’s not a Bastards clubhouse there, is there?”

“Not that I’m aware of, kid. Of course, once he’s eighteen, he can come back up here and we’ll let him prospect for us,” Ghoul stated.

I shrugged, used to being on the outside looking in. “It’s okay, not sure what I’ll be able to get for transportation by then,” I replied.

“Well, the offer’s still there,” Ghoul advised. “Take care, Jingles.’’

“I will.”

Jingles, age 18

I didn’t. But in all fairness, it wasn’t my fault. My old man moved us to Roanoke, claiming he had a great job opportunity, only it fell through. The problem is, as soon as I turned eighteen, he kicked me out of the hovel he called a house and told me I had to make it on my own now since I was ‘a man’.

Yeah, a ‘man’ with little more than a high school education seeing as I hadn’t graduated just yet, with minimal skills, who wasn’t familiar with the area or town, wasn’t exactly set up for success. The only thing was, I didn’t know how to admit defeat, which was why one of the guys I’d met just before my dad kicked me out was able to find me.

“Kracken, my dad’s gonna kick our asses if this is another one of your strays.”

I hear the voice and recognize it, but my head’s so clogged and congested, I can’t make heads or tails out of who’s talking right now.

“Brick, you know RiffRaff won’t do that,” Kracken retorted. “Besides, this is the new guy, and he needs the club’s help, man.”

The guy called Brick asked, “How do you know that, Krack?”

“Because I’ve been watching. He was staying over off of Main Street with someone I presume is his father, but then last week, he started coming over here after school.”

“Maybe he wanted his privacy,” Brick retorted.

“Naw, I don’t think so, brother. Besides, if that was the case, why would he have all his stuff?”

I can’t seem to pry my eyes open, but I feel when someone much bigger picks me up. “Where we going with him?” a deep male voice asked.

“Let’s take him to the clubhouse,” Kracken stated.

“You boys get all his stuff, he’s not coming back,” the voice advised.

“Will do, Motor. Thanks for helping,” Kracken replied.

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you young bucks.”

I don’t know how long I’m out of it, but when I finally wake up and can open my eyes, I see the three guys from school sitting around talking quietly. Clearing my throat a few times, I finally managed to utter, “Hey.”

“Holy shit, he’s finally awake!” Kracken exclaimed.

Opening the door, he yelled, “RiffRaff! He’s awake!”

Pounding feet have me wondering what exactly I’ve gotten myself into as I maneuver myself, so I’m sitting up in the bed I’m in with my back against the headboard.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” an older man grumbled as he made his way to the side of the bed where I was sitting. “Well, at least you ain’t looking like a half-dead zombie.”

“RiffRaff, this is Jingles. Well, that’s what he goes by, anyhow,” Kracken announced. “Jingles, this is RiffRaff, the president of the Roanoke Raiders Motorcycle Club.”

“Hello, sir,” I said, sticking out my hand to shake his. If nothing else, Ghoul and Sleeper taught me some manners when I was hanging out with Wiley at their clubhouse. Not many, because they were coarse, rough bikers, but Ghoul had said the measure of a man was in his handshake.

“Ain’t a sir, boy,” RiffRaff retorted, taking my hand in his. “Good firm grip, even though you’ve been sicker than a coon dog.”

“I was sick?” I questioned, looking at the three teens and the bikers who were standing around the room.

“Yeah, Granny Tatum said you had pneumonia and shoulda died,” Kracken advised.

“Probably shoulda let me,” I mumbled, not knowing or caring who Granny Tatum was.

“Yeah, we ain’t got time for negative thinking like that,” RiffRaff rebuked. “Now that he’s awake, let’s get Doc over to check him and if he’s good, he can join you boys as a prospect.”

And just like that, I went from having no life worth living, to becoming part of something bigger than I was — a prospect for the Roanoke Raiders MC out of Roanoke, Virginia. Not sure how Wiley’s gonna feel about it, but they saved my life, so at the very least, I owe them my gratitude.

Jingles, age 21

Having ridden to Cleveland, I stopped in to see if I would be able to visit with Ghoul or Wiley, only to end up following Sleeper over to the house where his younger sister lived when he got a phone call from her indicating his father had taken off. Sounded like their family dynamics were even more fucked up than mine ended up being, but despite the fact I was with a different club than they were, I’d always have their backs simply because they helped me when I was a kid. My first loyalty was, of course, to the Roanoke Raiders for saving my life three years ago, but the men of the Royal Bastards MC in Cleveland did the same when I was far younger. In a sense, they were my family too, and thankfully, RiffRaff understood, as did Ghoul.

Sleeper called her baby Belle, but with the icy blonde of her hair, I thought she looked more like the tiny fairy from Peter Pan, Tinkerbell. Not that I offered my opinion since she might be half my age from my guesstimate, but she talked like she was twice as old as me, and her acerbic tone practically chopped me in half at my knees. Sleeper told me not to mind her, and I honestly didn’t take it personally, but it bothered the fuck out of me that a kid her age, who was obviously seriously malnourished, had apparently been on her own for at least a month if I’d heard correctly.

What kind of piece of shit parent does that to their own flesh and blood? Especially when the house she was at before Sleeper had her gather all her stuff, so he could move her into his place, wasn’t in the best neighborhood. I helped him get her moved, taking the barbs she tossed out in stride. Looked like another kid who wasn’t allowed to be one, but I was hoping that now my old friend was involved, she’d be able to enjoy what was left of her childhood.