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“You’re not going in guns blazing...yet. This isn’t a war party,” he says.
A few of the brothers nearby look surprisedThey know I’m not a hothead, that I wouldn’t risk the club without good reason.
Brick continues, “You’re heading to Packwood to gather intel, to find out what mess they’re currently making there, and to confirm if it’s the Serpents who took out Tommy.” His voice hardens at the mention of my brother’s name. “If it is, then we’ll plan our next move. But I know you need to do this first part on your own.”
A murmur of agreement ripples through the room. They trust Brick’s judgement, and they trust me. With a final nod of approval from Brick, the plan is set. I’m heading to Packwood alone, for now. And once I’ve got something solid, we’ll decide our next move.
The hum of conversation and camaraderie fades as I step out of the clubhouse and into the cool Washington night. The compound sprawls out before me, a testament to the strength and independence of the Cascade Reapers. Nestled in the foothills of Mount Rainier, it’s more than just a clubhouse; it’s a fortress, a self-contained world where we live by our own rules.
The compound encompasses a series of buildings, each serving a distinct purpose. There’s the main clubhouse, of course, its walls adorned with club colors and the roaring Reaper emblem. Nearby, the garage stands, packed with tools and parts, a testament to our love for our rides. Then there’s the armory, a solid bunker that houses our arsenal, and the communal living quarters, a little rough around the edges but home nonetheless.
I stride toward the garage, my boots crunching on the gravel. The scent of oil and metal greets me as I roll open the heavy door. There, in the semi-darkness, stands my motorcycle. It’s a beast of a machine, all black steel and chrome, a symbol of freedom and power.
I run a hand over the bike’s cool surface, then set to work. I check the tires, the brakes, the engine. Every component gets my attention. This bike is more than just a ride; it’s an extension of myself.
With my bike ready, I head to the armory. I’m not planning on starting a war, but I’m not going in defenseless either. The smell of gunmetal fills the air as I double-check my weapons. Everything’s in order. Everything’s ready. I feel a grim sense of satisfaction. I’m as prepared as I can be.
Before I leave, I make the rounds of the compound, saying my goodbyes. I receive gruff handshakes, claps on the back, and words of encouragement. Despite our rugged exteriors, we’re a family. And like any family, we look out for each other.
As I mount my bike, the compound’s lights cast long shadows, turning the place into a tableau of hard edges and stark contrasts. It’s quiet now, the earlier laughter and chatter replaced by the soft hum of nature and the distant echo of rock music.
I start the engine, the roar shattering the tranquility. One last look at the compound, the fortress I call home, and then I’m off, the road stretching before me, leading me towards Packwood, towards revenge. As the compound fades into the distance, I can’t shake off the feeling that things are about to change. But I’m ready.
CHAPTER2
Sadie
The sun is barely peekingover the hills when I wake up. It’s not yet six, but I’ve always been an early riser. The small house I share with my parents and my younger sister, Lizzie, is quiet, the only sound the ticking of the old clock in the hallway. The scent of brewing coffee wafts from the kitchen, a signal that Mom is already up, preparing for the day.
I make my way downstairs, tying my hair up into a ponytail as I go. The kitchen is warm, the old stove working overtime to combat the chill of the early morning. Mom’s at the counter, her hands kneading dough for breakfast. She smiles when she sees me, her eyes crinkling at the corners. I return her smile, the familiar routine of our mornings wrapping around me like a comforting blanket.
After a quick breakfast and a rushed goodbye, I head out the door, the cool morning air waking me up completely. I have a short drive to work in my old Corolla, down the quiet streets of Packwood, to the local motel where I earn my living. It’s not the most glamorous job, but it pays the bills and puts food on our table. More importantly, it helps me save for Lizzie’s education. She’s got dreams bigger than this small town, and I’ll do anything to help her achieve them.
The motel is a modest, two-story building with a handful of rooms. It’s a popular spot for travelers passing through Packwood, and I’ve met people from all walks of life during my time here. I’m not just the receptionist, I’m the face of the motel, the first person our guests see when they walk through the door. It’s my job to make them feel welcome, to make our little motel feel like a home away from home.
Walking into the lobby, I hang my jacket on the hook behind the counter and start my day. I check the reservations, organize the keys, and make sure everything is ready for our guests’ arrivals. I greet the early risers checking out, wishing them safe travels with a smile. The rest of the morning passes in a blur of friendly faces and small talk.
Despite the mundanity, I take pride in my work. I’ve made this place the best it can be, a little haven in Packwood for anyone who needs it. And as I look around the familiar lobby, the sun streaming in through the windows and casting long shadows on the floor, I can’t help but feel a sense of contentment. This is my life, and for now, it’s exactly where I want to be.
As the morning gives way to the bustle of midday, the motel begins to fill up—well, by the Packwood Motel’s standards. We only have sixteen rooms, and on a normal day, only a handful are filled. I find myself dealing with a variety of guests, each of them unique and yet the same in their need for a comfortable place to rest.
There’s the burly truck driver, a regular at our motel, his face as weather-beaten as the roads he travels. He always has a kind word and a joke to share, his laughter booming through the lobby. I always ensure he gets his favorite room, the one facing the parking lot where he can keep an eye on his truck.
Then there’s the young family on their way to the coast for a vacation. Their kids, wide-eyed and restless, chase each other around the lobby, their laughter echoing off the walls. I hand the parents their room key with a smile, offering a word of advice on the best local spots to grab a bite to eat.
These interactions, though small and seemingly insignificant, are the threads that weave the fabric of our close-knit community. Packwood is a town where everyone knows everyone else, where we look out for each other, and lend a hand when needed. It’s a place where a simple smile or a friendly word can make all the difference in someone’s day.
My job might not be where I see myself spending the rest of my life, but it’s moving me toward my goal—putting my little sister through college. Lizzie is the one who keeps me grounded in reality. We’re close in age, but we couldn’t be more different. While I’m content with my simple life, she’s always been ambitious and hungry for knowledge. Our late-night talks are filled with her dreams of going to school and making a difference in the world.
Lizzie is almost twenty, but she’s pretty inexperienced, just like me. But while my lack of romantic history is rooted in my shyness and loner tendencies, hers is a result of her academic focus. She’s always been dead set on making something of herself, and even now, a year and a half after graduation, she spends most of her time studying anatomy and physiology, trying to get ahead for when she can afford to go to nursing school. Her dream is to become an RN, and I’m going to help her get there.
I did fine in school, but nothing interested me enough to make it seem worth taking on a ton of debt. Instead, I started working at the Packwood Motel right after graduation, and in the five years since, I’ve been putting away as much as I can so Lizzie can go to nursing school without loans. It’s a point of contention with my parents. My mom is a grocery store manager, and my dad works as a clerk at City Hall. I think they’re both ashamed that they can’t put Lizzie and me through school. But I’ve never resented them for it, and neither has Lizzie. Iwantto help.
As the day progresses, I keep the lobby running smoothly, my hands and my heart busy. The motel, with its steady stream of guests, becomes a microcosm of Packwood, reflecting the camaraderie and warmth that defines our town. Despite the long hours and the constant buzz of activity, I wouldn’t trade my job for anything else. It’s fulfilling in a way nothing else is, grounding me in this place and these people I’ve come to love.
Just as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, signaling the end of my shift, a guest brings up an unsettling piece of gossip. He’s a local farmer, coming into town to purchase supplies, who occasionally rents a room to enjoy a night away from the quiet solitude of his land.
“Have you heard about the motorcycle club causing a ruckus on the outskirts of town, Sadie?” he asks, his brow furrowed with concern.
