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Mac stared, thoughts moving behind his eyes. “You tended bar?” he asked.
I laughed.
“Yeah. Bar tended through college and uni. Dad only gave us enough to live on. Nothing more, nothing less. And I wouldn’t touch my inheritance from my paternal grandparents until it was needed. So, I worked bars for money and was a damn good one too. Know that Tom Cruise shit? Yup, I could pull that crap off,” I said, grinning.
“Ever thought about joining an MC?”
“Nah.” I blinked at the idea. I knew little about MCs, never been interested. I liked to ride and owned a Harley Soft Tail, but an MC was something I’d never considered.
“Got ya thinking now, haven’t I?” Mac teased.
“Your club has openings?”
“Yeah, we just moved our prospects to full brothers, so we’re looking for candidates,” Mac replied.
“Candidates?”
“Rage does shit differently. Most clubs recruit a man as prospect for two years and vote him in as brother. Because Rage had so much crap happen, we bring a guy in as candidate for a few years, and then he prospects a further two. This means he fuckin’ worked for his brother’s patch when he gets it. He’s sweated and bled for the right and honour to wear the cut.”
“Know nothing about MCs, dude. How about we talk some and let me decide?” I suggested after a few minutes.
???
I woke the next day, sober as a judge. I’d stopped at two beers and switched to cola afterwards. Mac had nodded his approval at my restraint. Clearly, drinking and driving was something Rage disapproved of. I’d talked long into the night with Mac and a couple of other brothers, Ezra, Manny and Lowrider. They’d called a brick shithouse of a guy named Gunner, an Enforcer, and we’d chatted too.
Between them, they explained Rage’s past. At first, my initial impression had been to walk. But I discovered something in their stories. A bond I yearned to experience. Throughout the chats, something came across strongly, their belief in brotherhood and family was what they built everything on. It seemed to be their most important value. Mac said most of them didn’t have blood family, or if they did, they shunned it. Rage was comprised of misfits like me. He said those that had a decent family shared them. It made me laugh to think of these big men sharing Grandma because their brothers didn’t have one.
But Rage had created a family, bonding with brothers and their families. The craving to be accepted reared its head. Because Rage wouldn’t judge me for the past. And I’d gain acceptance. Something I yearned for. When I learned the president had eighteen kids, the smallest just six weeks old, my eyes bugged out. I heard the softness as they spoke about the baby girl they called a Rage Princess. No doubt the tiny lady would be spoiled. While the others were more friendly, Gunner watched me with suspicion and wariness. Don’t suppose I blamed him. This guy had fought to get Rage clean, and he was owed respect even if I didn’t join.
When the night ended, Mac referred me to a decent hotel and took my number. He said either Drake, the president, or Ace, the VP, would contact me within a couple of days. I had the feeling that they’d be checking me and my past out before any formal interview. With that in mind, I showered, went and ate breakfast, and took a ride around to see what Rapid City could offer me.
???
I was swinging off my bike outside a diner when I saw an unmarked cop car. To someone like me, they were fucking easy to spot now. Inside it sat a Mexican and white man, both watching me.
I glared and proceeded into the restaurant for food. As I sat, the door opened, and they entered. The Mexican shot his stare straight at me while he murmured to his partner and made his way across the room to me.
“Yo, mind if I sit?” he asked.
I looked around, seeing at least three empty tables.
“Take a seat,” I replied after making sure he’d noted my glance.
“You new in town?” the Mexican asked.
“Yeah. Arrived last night from Sturgis.”
“A nomad?” he pried, and I frowned. “Nomad biker?” he clarified.
“Oh, don’t know if you’d call me that. But I’m not with any MC,” I answered.
The guy nodded and relaxed, which surprised me.
“Wasn’t sure if you were with another club scouting Rapid City. Planned to warn you to check in with Rage MC if you were passing through and affiliated with an MC. From what I understand, that’s the polite and correct procedure. Name’s Antonio Ramirez. You can call me Ramirez. It’s what most do,” he stated with a blinding smile and put his hand out.
“Jacon Edwards,” I said, grasping his hand. I was on edge. He was a cop, and I wasn’t sure what was happening.
“So, what are you doing here?” Ramirez asked, and I bristled. He held his hands up. “I’m nosey and like ensuring my city is safe. And that includes visitors. You’ve told me you’re not with a club, so that eased one worry, dude. I didn’t fancy cleaning up blood this afternoon.”
