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Chapter Two
Grinder
What the fuck has the club been doing to earn money all these years?
The “new” clubhouse is more like a high-end retreat hidden away in the woods. Someplace rich celebrities would go to detox and kick their addictions. Learn yoga and talk to their spirit animals or shit like that.
Not a motorcycle club.
We weren’t this loaded fifteen years ago. If anything, the club struggled under the weight of lawyer fees, fines, and payoffs.
“Jesus Christ. This is something else,” I mutter as Rock stops his SUV in the parking area in front of the hotel dressed up as a log cabin. Never seen a biker clubhouse that looked like this.
“It’s served us well,” he says, cryptic as ever.
“How many banks you rob to build it?” I mutter.
He huffs a laugh. “Got lucky when we found the place. It suited all our various demands.” He gestures toward the woods. “Lots of property to grow with us as our needs…change.”
Vague answer.
I’m still gawking at the log castle like a fucking teenager when Rock opens my door. At the same time, the front door to the clubhouse opens and Wrath fills it.
“Hey, old man,” he says, bounding down the steps to meet me. He’s been calling me old man since he was an angry sixteen-year-old, and now it brings back a flood of affectionate memories.
“Get over here, you big beast,” I call out.
He laughs and quickens his steps, embracing me in a hug that knocks the wind out of me.
“Damn, son.” I pull away and slap his shoulder. “You’re a bigger brute than ever.”
“Thanks,” he says, thumping me on the back one last time. “So good to see you outside, finally.”
“Come on,” Rock urges.
I follow them up the short set of stairs and into the clubhouse.
Inside’s even more impressive. High ceilings, gleaming hardwood floors, exposed wood beams, and leather furniture fill the wide space.
And family.
Brothers with their wives and children. Everyone whole and peaceful.
The first one to approach me has to be Rock’s wife. The way she looks at him gives it away. In her arms, she carries a sleepy-eyed little girl.
Rock settles his hands on her shoulders. “This is Hope. Hope, this is Grinder. He looked out for me. Mentored me.” He swallows hard and stares me straight in the eyes. “Brought me into the club.”
Notice he left out the part where I helped him get tossed into prison alongside me. And don’t I have some lingering guilt about that.
“Welcome home, Grinder,” Hope says, her gaze skipping to Rock, who nods. “I’ve heard so many good things about you. We’re all happy you’re here.”
She appears too sweet and innocent to be a lawyer, much less the wife of an MC president, but her words are firm and sincere. She holds out her free hand and I take it briefly.
“Knew it would take someone special to settle Rock down,” I say.
Her eyes widen, but then she laughs, jostling her daughter.
“Look at you.” I reach out to touch her cheek, stopping midway and dropping my hand to my side.
The girl blinks and rubs her eyes, then smiles when she sees her dad, holding out her arms for him to take her.
“Grace,” he says, “this is your Uncle Grinder.”
She swivels her head and stares at me with wide, unblinking blue eyes before resting her head against Rock’s chest. Rock sets his hand on my shoulder and steers me toward the group assembled in the living room.
Z’s on his feet and wrapping his arms around me before I have a chance to react. “Good to have you home, brother.”
I pull away, keeping my hands on his shoulders. “God damn, that president patch looks good on you, Zero. Proud of you, son.”
He grins, familiar dimples appearing, and ducks his head. “Can’t lie, Grinder—I wasn’t thrilled being taken away from home.” He gestures toward the clubhouse. “But we’re making it work.” He slaps Rock’s shoulder.
“Club’s stronger than ever,” Rock agrees.
No one’s given me the details on how that all went down. I gathered it had something to do with our national president playing God. Priest always did have a knack for sticking his nosy ass where it didn’t belong.
Teller latches onto me next. “Good to finally see you outside, Grinder.”
There I go gettin’ choked up again. It meant a lot to me that Teller and Murphy visited me often. I’m not sure how to express that without breaking down, so I pat his back. God damn, he seems even bigger outside the prison walls—nothing like the sullen, mouthy teenager he was when I went inside. “Good to see you too, son.”
He pulls a tall, pretty redhead to his side. “This is my fiancée, Charlotte.”
“I’m so happy to finally meet you,” Charlotte says.
Murphy joins our widening circle, one arm wrapped around a girl who absolutely cannot be little Heidi. “Jesus Christ,” I breathe out. “You’ve grown up.”
