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Chapter One
Reaper
I’VE BEEN THE President of the Fallen Brethren MC for almost ten years. I took over for my dad after he was killed when I was twenty-five. It’s not a spot I wanted so soon, but I was ready for it. He’d groomed me to take over since I learned how to walk. For most of the deals my dad made, I was right by his side. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t the Vice President—I was at his side, and if you didn’t like it, he wouldn’t do business with you.
We’re not a legal club, and I don’t intend to change that anytime soon. There’s only one thing I’m interested in changing, and that’s something one of our Prospects has brought to the club. I’m not going to say we peddle girls or flesh of any kind because that’s not something we’ll deal with—ever. We’ll do whatever is in our power to make sure we stop it when we find out about it happening near our territory.
Abusing another person is also something my club doesn’t tolerate. It doesn’t matter if a woman is beating on a man, a man beating on a woman, or parents hurting their child. None of us will stand by and let it happen. If it’s a woman doing the abuse, we make sure to have a word with her, but we don’t touch her. It’s happened in the past, and we usually get our asses chewed out until they realize we’re not going to back down.
One of the new prospects, Jameson, told me about something his dad’s club, the Wild Kings, implemented. I’m interested in doing the same thing here. When he came to the club, I asked him why he didn’t join the one his father belonged to. His answer was simple—he didn’t want to live in their shadows. He’d feel like he had to be better than them every day he was a member. That’s not how he wanted to live his life, and I can understand where he’s coming from. I respect his decision to strike out on his own. The kid just has to get used to how we run things and what the Fallen Brethren are about.
They help women and kids suffering from domestic violence situations. The club gets them out, sets them up in a house, and makes sure there is a Prospect there to keep them safe. These women and their children need to feel safe to begin healing before deciding what to do with their lives. I’ll bring it to the club so we can start setting up a program, doing the same thing.
We’ll be able to figure out how this all works one way or another. I’m not opposed to sitting down with Grim from the Wild Kings to get this started. Right now, we’d be the fourth club to do this. I think we can help a lot of people—people who might not leave a horrible situation otherwise.
Today, I need to set up the next run for our guns. We’ve been working with the cartel out of Mexico. None of us like working with them, but at the same time, we like the money it brings in and having them as an ally if we ever need one. A lot of the clubs trying to take our territory over leave us alone once they realize we’re working with the cartel.
All but the motherfuckers from the Smoking Rebels MC. They want our town, and it’s not gonna happen. Just for the fact they run flesh, and I know they want the pipeline we’ve spent so many years establishing from being in Clinton for so long. These fuckers aren’t going to get shit from us, but it doesn’t stop them from trying to gain an advantage over us. Just for the fact they’ll have an easier way to transport the girls they run through our pipeline.
“’Lo,” my contact, Pedro, answers the phone.
“Pedro, what’s goin’ on?” I say, knowing he’s as busy as I am.
“Waiting on your call. You know where we’re gonna go this time?” he says, his thick accent coming across the line.
“School’s out, and I’m glad we don’t have to help the kids with homework right now,” I say in code in case anyone tries any shit and bugs my office.
“I fully agree. I’ll be waiting to hear from you in a few days to make sure everything is set and ready to go,” he says before hanging up the phone.
The plan is to meet in an abandoned school. A school district a few towns over decided to combine their buildings to save on money or some shit. They now have one campus, leaving the old elementary and middle schools empty. So far, no one else has done anything with the property or buildings, even though they’ve been sitting empty forever.
Trax and I scouted the location and found the perfect way to hide from everyone. The back is completely empty, and we can pull straight in through a set of double doors. Any trucks we use won’t be hidden in the building, but that’s okay. The highest-ranking members of both sides can use an empty room to have any discussion needed while Prospects and soldiers load the crates from one vehicle to the other.
With the new idea to help people in domestic violence situations, maybe it won’t hurt to look into buying one of the abandoned schools. Or there’s a piece of land behind the clubhouse compound we could buy. If we go with the second option, there’s added security, and we can open the fence up so the women will be inside our compound.
There’s enough land back there to build houses or apartment buildings, make sure there are things for the children to do, and whatever else is needed. Either way, it allows the women and children to remain alone in their residences or hang out with other individuals in the same situations.
We have church soon, and I plan on bringing it to the table. I’ll bring Jameson in to give as many details as he knows to help us decide what to do.
Leaving my office, I walk out to the common room. Jameson is behind the bar stocking the coolers with beer and making sure everything is ready to go for when the guys begin rolling through the door from work or whatever else they’ve been doing today. He’s been a good Prospect so far. One of the best we’ve had in a long time if I’m honest. It’s just a matter of time before he’s patched in. He’ll be going on this run with us, and it’ll show how willing he is to get his hands dirty and help out with a run. He’s been on them before, but not with me. This will be a first.
“Jameson, you’ll be ridin’ out in the van with us in a few days. We got a run, and I want you there,” I say as he cleans the glasses and stacks them on the counter below the shelves.
“Okay. I’ll be ready whenever,” he says, turning his attention to me.
It doesn’t matter what job we’ve thrown at him. Jameson does it without question or giving any lip to the member speaking to him. The only time he questions anything is if he’s given a task to complete he knows goes against the club’s bylaws. We don’t have many, but the ones we have are there for a reason.
Eagle, my Vice President, and Pound, the Sergeant at Arms, have been the main two to test him. He doesn’t rat them out to me, he goes right to them and asks them questions about the task, and they give him shit for a few minutes before telling him he did a good job. We’ve lost more than one Prospect because they were too eager to get a patch and didn’t stop to think about what they were doing.
Jameson grew up around a club and knows the basics.
He hands me a beer before I leave the bar and walk back toward my room. On the way, I grab Hoover to get my cock sucked before we have church and the party tonight. She greedily follows me because she hopes, like most Fallen Girls, I’ll make her my ol’ lady. In reality, I just want my dick sucked, and I’ll be good. This bitch won’t ever learn. They never do until they’re put in their place to the point they’re embarrassed or hurt.
Pound hurts their feelings more often because he’s a stubborn asshole, and he’s damn sure not going to take one of these bitches as his ol’ lady. Hell, I’ll be surprised if he ever takes one at all.
“On your knees and take out my cock,” I say once we’re in my room.
I don’t even bother shutting my door after walking through it. She’s lucky I even came into my room. I’m not shy about getting sucked off.
