Rafe—
Traffic comes to a stop on the West Valley Freeway, so I brake and shift to neutral, planting my boots on the pavement and wondering what the hold up could be. Sitting in traffic always sucks, but especially in the heat of July.
I need to get to the clubhouse. Cole called church, and I’m already running late.
Lane splitting is legal in California, but it’s always a risk running into some asshole who decides to door check me. Still, I need to get to the clubhouse, so I drop my bike in gear and hit the throttle, running between lanes.
I take it easy on my speed and zoom past car after car. I get a few angry honks, but mostly I sail by with no problem. The closer to the front of the line I get, a plume of smoke becomes obvious, rising ahead of me.
When I round a curve and reach the holdup, I find a car flipped on its driver side, the roof wedged against the metal guardrail that divides north and southbound lanes. Flames rise from the engine. Two men are out of their vehicles, trying to break the passenger window, to no avail.
I’m off my bike in a second and dashing to the car, taking in the Mercedes emblem on the trunk. It’s a four-door sedan. I peer inside to ascertain how many passengers there are, but only see the driver. He looks frantic, grabbing at this seatbelt.
One guy is beating on the window with his hand. “Unlock the door!”
I shove the two men out of the way and pull my Glock. “Stand back.”
Their eyes widen at the sight of the weapon, and they scramble away.
Vaulting up on the car to get a clear shot, I take aim at the rear window and fire several rounds, shattering the glass, then kick the rest of it out with my boot.
Placing my gloved hands carefully on the frame, I lower myself through the opening.
“Oh, God. Don’t let me burn,” the driver mutters. He’s middle-aged with thinning hair and wearing a suit.
A hissing noise whistles, and I wonder if the gas tank is about to be breached. I may only have seconds before it blows.
I yank my knife from the sheath at my hip and cut through the seatbelt, then haul the driver over the seat and lift him into the waiting hands of the other two men.
Once he’s pulled through, I heave my body up and out the window, and dash after the men carrying the driver to the grassy shoulder.
We’re barely clear when the gas tank explodes, sending metal shrapnel raining down.
Instinctively, I dive over the driver, covering him with my body.
When I pull the man to a sitting position, the distant wail of sirens carries to us.
“You okay?” I search his face. He’s shaking, but other than the shock, he seems all right.
“Are you the one who pulled me out?” he asks, his faded blue eyes locking with mine.
“Yes, sir. Are you hurt?”
“I’m okay. A little knocked around is all. I couldn’t get the seatbelt open, and I couldn’t find the door lock button.”
“You panicked. It’s understandable. Just glad we got you out.” I glance back at his vehicle. “Your car’s a total loss, though. What happened?”
“Some joker cut me off. I almost hit him, then over corrected and spun out in the gravel on the shoulder. When I cut back, it flipped on its side. It was quite a ride, son.”
I grin. “I’ll bet.”
His gaze drops to my leather cut, and he frowns, then spots my bike. “You in one of those biker clubs?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nods. “Well, you did a good deed today, and I’ll never forget it. I’m grateful.”
“No problem. Glad I could help.”
“You do that often?”
“Do what?” I frown.
“Risk your life and think nothing of it. Maybe it’s no big deal to you, but it is to me.” He extends his hand. “Raymond Sawyer.”
I shake it. “Rafe.”
“Rafe what?”
“Just Rafe.”
“Well, just Rafe, I’m in your debt. How can I repay the favor?”
“No need, sir. I’m glad you’re okay.”
He tilts his head, and his eyes narrow on mine. “Where do you work?”
I huff a laugh that he’s questioning me. “I’m kind of in between jobs at the moment.”
“I own Sawyer Lumber. Got mills all over the northwest, plus one right here. Always lookin’ for good men. You want a job, you’ve got one.”
I cock my head, frowning. “You serious? You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you don’t hesitate to jump in the thick of things to help.
I know you don’t hesitate to risk your own life to save a total stranger.
I think that tells me all I need to know about what kind of man you are, son.
The offer stands. You want the job, show up at Sawyer Lumber on Monterey in Morgan Hill. ”
“Morgan Hill. That’s south of town, yeah?”
“Right. We open at 7am. I’ll work you hard, but I pay a decent wage.”
“Um, there’s something else you should know before we waste each other’s time.”
“Okay. What’s that?”
“I’m on probation until Christmas.”
His eyes narrow and his chin lifts. “Is that so? For what?”
“Drunk and disorderly.”
“Have you got an alcohol problem?”
“No, sir. Things got out of hand at a bar. It was a brother’s birthday.”
“I see. You got a record, Rafe?”
“No, sir.”
“Okay, then. Offer still stands. As long as you keep your nose clean, understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
A state trooper and a fire engine arrive on the scene, followed by a paramedic wagon. Soon, the area is bustling with emergency vehicles and personnel. I fade off to my bike and ride on when the cop waves us through.
I head to the clubhouse, winding my way through the industrial section, finally pulling in at the familiar red brick building with its multi-paned windows. It was an old factory years before the club took it over, built at the turn of the last century.
It’s as familiar to me as any place from my childhood. My father’s been in this club for decades, and I know this place like the back of my hand.
I back into a spot and stride through the door. The main room is empty except for a couple of prospects behind the bar.
“They start already?” I ask.
The one closest to me, wiping a glass, nods and lifts his chin toward the door that leads to a hallway. After crossing the room and skirting a pool table, I push through the door. The moment I do, I hear raised voices coming from the room halfway down the hall.
I rap my knuckles a couple of times and a moment later TJ lets me in.
He’s our president’s son. He, Billy, and my brother Kyle all lean against the wood-paneled wall.
The chairs around the table are filled by officers—my father, Wolf—being one of them.
He stares at me from across the table, a look of displeasure in his eyes.
It’s the second time I’ve been late this month.
“Ah, speak of the devil.”
My gaze swings to Cole, seated at the head. He leans forward, his chair creaking, his eyes never losing mine. “How much did you say he owes in back dues, Green?”
“Three months’ worth.”
Cole’s brow arcs. “You got it, kid?”
He knows I’ve been out of work, but apparently, I’ve run out of road, and our president is not shy about taking action when necessary. I swallow and make a snap decision. “I got hired on with Sawyer Lumber. Start tomorrow.”
He nods. “All right. You’ve got a month to get caught up.” With that, he slams the gavel down. “Meeting adjourned.”
As chairs scrape across the floor, I look over at my brother. “What’d I miss?”
“I’ll tell you outside,” Kyle murmurs, and we file out, spilling down the hallway and into the open room.
We pause long enough at the bar to grab a couple of longnecks, then head to the parking lot.
Kyle twists his cap off and tosses it, then tips his bottle back. I do the same.
“So, what’s this job?” he asks.
“Met the owner today. Pulled him from a burning vehicle. In gratitude, he offered me a job.”
“In gratitude?” Kyle stares at me.
I shrug. “I saved his life. Guess he felt he owed me something.”
“That doesn’t sound like the best way to start a new job, with the boss thinking you’re only there because he owes you a favor. But I guess whatever gets you through the door, huh?”
“Yeah, well, I need the money, so… I’ll make it work.”
“What the hell do you know about the lumber business?”
“Nothing, but he didn’t seem to think it’d be a problem.”
“You better stay on your toes, Rafe,” he warns. “Lumber mills can be dangerous places.”
“So can MCs,” I snap back. “You think I can’t fucking handle it?” My anger surges to the surface. It’s the same anger I’ve felt for months now. “Quit worrying. I don’t need another mother.”
“All I’m sayin’ is don’t get your fucking hand cut off by some saw blade. Accidents happen in places like that.”
“Whatever.” I know what’s really behind his remarks. He’s been acting like my damn babysitter ever since my injury.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him studying my expression. My eyes narrow and my jaw thrusts out.
“Look, Rafe. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s only that I worry, okay?”
“Well, quit fucking worrying about me, Kyle. I’m just as capable as you are.”
“I’m not saying you aren’t.”
“Aren’t you? Isn’t that what you’re saying every damn time you give me this fucking brotherly advice crap?
I know why you do it. Guilt. Well, you can stop feeling guilty.
I went into that alley on my own. I follow club orders just like you.
Nothing that happened that night was your fucking fault.
” I chug my beer and slam the empty bottle into an oil drum.
It smashes loudly as Green and Billy push out of the door.
Green whistles at the explosion of glass and stares at me as I shoulder past him, headed back inside. “You okay, brother?”
“Fine,” I say tightly.
He grabs my arm. “Stay out here a minute. I gotta fill you in on the meeting.”
It’s the last thing I want to do, but I drag a hand through my hair and turn back.
His eyes shift between me and Kyle. The tension is so thick he could cut it with a knife. “What’s the trouble?”
“No trouble,” Kyle answers for us. “Just brothers being brothers.”
I fold my arms and stand, boots spread. “You needed to tell me something?”
“Yeah.” His attention shifts to Kyle. “You tell him?”
“Didn’t get that far.”