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Or so we thought.
Until the betrayal.
Sug and I had been left at the clubhouse while most of the other members went to a biker rally that they were doing security at. I remembered feeling relieved, glad to be able to hang back for a change. We'd been on so many jobs for the months leading up. The idea of doing more traveling filled me with dread. So when we got to stay behind to hold down the fort, we were glad for some downtime.
We didn't even know some shit went down until we got a call from the hospital.
Most of our men were dead or in prison.
With no central leadership, the club fell apart.
We did what we had to do. We took what we could and left, traveled around, trying to find a new club.
That was when we got word about The Henchmen having an open house, looking for new members after their own numbers got decimated.
You weren't in the one-percent lifestyle without knowing about them. They were one of the most prominent arms-dealing MCs in the country period. And they were - since Reign took over after his father - notoriously particular about their members.
We went to the open house with low expectations.
Because there was one other thing known about Reign.
He fucking hated drugs.
His men weren't allowed to use.
It went without saying that they also didn't sell.
And we figured that once he heard about our first two MCs - about the heroin and the cocaine - he would get rid of us quick.
But we'd managed to get a positive vote from his men at the time - Pagan and Renny and Duke and the list went on and on. It got us a meeting. Where we were given the chance to explain.
Reign, as it turned out, was the kind of man who let you tell your story, gave it thought, and didn't hold things out of your control - like the decisions of your fathers - against you. I guess coming from the shithead father he and Cash had growing up, he knew a thing or two about the sins of the fathers.
After a promise that our old connections held no loyalty anymore and that we never touched drugs ourselves, we were allowed to prospect.
"Is it as bad as TV makes it sound?" Freddie asked as she twirled spaghetti on her fork.
"Prospecting? Depends on the MC."
Compared to our previous MC, prospecting for The Henchmen had been a breeze. The guys simply weren't the bastards we were used to. Sure, we got all the dirty work. We cleaned the clubhouse, did the shopping, washed the bikes, did the oil changes, took the worst of the guard shifts. But we weren't deliberately made miserable. We were treated like brothers almost immediately. Which was likely due to the small number of men left in the group.
It was a shorter prospecting period too, not the years we had needed to endure when we were young.
"Are you happy here?" she asked, surprising me.
That wasn't something you got asked much. As a man in general. As a criminal in particular. A lot of society didn't exactly think you deserved to be happy if you operated on the wrong side of the law.
Hell, I never thought much on happiness myself.
I had brothers who didn't generally get off by beating each other. I made good money. I got the security of knowing we had good leadership. The women were a different aspect I had never known in my life. They created a family feeling I had never really experienced.
The lifestyle was a little more tame.
But as I got older, I found myself content with that.
"Yeah, I think I am happy enough here," I decided.
"Your story is kind of crazy," she told me when I was done.
I hadn't given it much thought. My story seemed almost average in this lifestyle. When you were surrounded with men who had stories similar to yours, you forgot how out there they seemed to people who didn't live a life like yours.
"Maybe a little," I agreed. "So, I told you mine," I told her, watching as she stiffened a little, knowing what I was about to say. "Now it's time to tell me yours. How did you end up in prison?" I asked, point blank, knowing it was a sore subject for her, figuring it would be better to launch into it, not try to eke it out of her.
Her head dipped, gaze on the tabletop for a long time, long enough that I was sure she wasn't going to tell me, feeling a stab of disappointment, not just because I shared my story expecting her to do the same, but because I genuinely wanted to know more about her, something new to me.
Her breath sighed out of her, and her head lifted, chin going up, shoulders going back.
