Chapter one
Spin
After I say my goodbyes to the brothers, I head out front and climb on my bike. It’s too damn chilly to be riding the fucking thing, but I’m holding out for as long as possible. At this rate, in the middle of December, my fingers will freeze off and I won’t be able to ride, no matter how stubborn I attempt to be. Bad enough my ears feel like icicles resting on my head, as my tall mohawk offers me zero warmth. It’s all for the badass look and no practicality. My brothers are just as stubborn as I am about the winter months, not trading their bikes in for the cages unless there’s ice on the road. I shouldn’t complain, being that Texas is one of the warmest places to live in the winter months.
With a twist of the handle, my bike roars to life. The vibrations rush through me and instantly set my mind at peace. Tom Petty blares from my speakers, singing about free falling. I listen to a little bit of everything. I always have, but lately, I’ve been on a classic rock kick. Hard to believe all the people I love listening to are in the classic category. Age has crept up on me—it feels like I was in my twenties just yesterday. At least the fuckers around me are getting old alongside me, so it doesn’t seem quite so bad. Hell, I should feel lucky I’ve made it this far with some of the shit we’ve seen and done.
Pulling out of the compound, I hit the two-lane highway, cruising at a comfortable speed. I have a few clients on the books today, coming in for expensive pieces. They’re repeat clients, so I took my time drawing up custom designs. Owning my tattoo shop has come in handy over the years, giving me the freedom I’ve wanted for the club and allowing me to schedule work on my time, not anyone else’s. It’s certainly not something that will ever make me rich, but I have everything I need in life, and the bonus is I love what I do for a living. Art has been a huge part of my life. I used to spend countless hours growing up with my nose stuck in my sketchbook, avoiding everyone else whenever possible.
Being an artist and an introvert made me an outsider to everyone else and I grew up being called a freak. Fuck them, though. They get to live their miserable lives stuck in a simple, boring box, whereas I have all the freedom a man could want. Besides, being an outcast pushed me toward tattoo apprenticing, which eventually led me to the Oath Keepers MC, so it all happened for a reason, I suppose.
The Oath Keepers became my brothers and the club my home, a place where I finally felt like I belonged and still do. I’d never trade them for anything. The brotherhood we share is a bond I’d never been privy to before I joined the MC.
Squinting, I make sure I’m not hallucinating as my eyes catch on something in the middle of the road, a lump of some sort. Whatever it is, it’s big and takes up a decent portion of the road. “I swear this better not be someone trying to sabotage me. I’ll shoot ’em and be done with their asses,” I mutter to myself while decreasing my speed. As I ride closer to the obstruction, I’m able to make out that its a person laid out in the middle of the goddamn highway—no bullshitting.
What the fuck are they thinking?
If this is some teen being an idiot, I’m going to kick their ass into next week for pulling a life-threatening stunt like this.
I don’t care how shitty life gets, don’t try to kill yourself. Get your ass up and leave. Make a change and save yourself. Realize you have value and deserve to live a productive life. I dealt with my own demons growing up, with few friends and all the name-calling, but I made myself fight through the shit.
My bike crawls to a stop on the side of the road a few feet away from the stranger stretched out on the freezing asphalt. “The fuck is going on here? You better not be dead,” I grumble, toeing my kickstand down and climbing off. If the long hair and big ass are any indications, I’d say it’s a female with some killer curves. I shouldn’t be paying attention to those things right now, but I can’t help it—I’m a man, and we’re visual creatures.
“Heya, sweetheart. You okay?” I approach slowly, attempting not to scare her if she’s hurt. Something’s got to be up. You don’t just randomly lie down to nap in the middle of the flipping road. Bitches are crazy at times, but they aren’t stupid. I’m surrounded by wild, intelligent women at the club, and they show us our asses quite frequently. We’ve grown used to it, so we expect it from time to time. The ol’ ladies are sassy as hell, but we wouldn’t trade any of them for the world.
“Darlin’, it’s okay. I’m here to help. Won’t hurt you, I promise. I’m coming closer, don’t be scared.” I’m covered in tattoos, have a mohawk shaped into four long points, and different-colored irises—one purple from some freak mess-up with my genes. According to my mom, it’s an anomaly, but to me, it just wigs people out. Sure, I get the occasional chick who says it’s sexy and wants to fuck me, but it never pans out to anything solid. At six foot three and intimidating to common folks, I’m mere fuck-boy material. I am not the bring-me-home-to-the-parents type, and I’ve learned to accept as much.
“Ma’am?” I ask, walking around the front of her after checking both directions for vehicles. Luckily, this road isn’t generally too busy. Her eyes are closed, and she’s pale, so I crouch down. Her chest moves, thank fuck, so she’s not dead as I’d feared. Carefully shaking her shoulder, I ask, “Hey, honey, you all right?” She still doesn’t stir and I have no choice but to shift her to the shoulder of the road over by my bike and call a medic. I’d hit 2 Piece up for help and have him bring his med kit, but he’s on a run. My hands move under her body, lifting and cradling her to my chest—she’s cold, colder than I am. Laying her on the dead grass, I grab the small throw blanket out of my saddlebag and bundle her up in it the best I can. I don’t like her lying on the cold ground like she is, so I sit beside her, adjusting her so her head’s in my lap.
One thing’s for certain—this woman is hella pregnant, and being passed out in the middle of the road seriously worries me. Grabbing my cell, I dial the local hospital and let them know I need an ambulance and where we’re at, then stuff my phone away to stare at the woman in my lap.
The hospital said the ambulance will be here in a few minutes, but somehow it feels like it’ll take a lifetime. I’m worried she won’t make it if they don’t get here soon, but there’s nothing I can do to change the situation. My hands move to her arms, rubbing to bring them warmth. After a beat, I gently rest my palms on her round pregnant belly. I don’t know what pushes me to do so. I’ve never been one to touch a woman’s pregnant stomach, but with her, I can’t seem to help myself.
“You okay in there, little one?” I ask, keeping my voice low and carefully smoothing my hands across her stomach. I move them back and forth, hoping her innocent child’s heart is still beating.
A shift from inside makes me pause, and I am stunned at what I’m feeling. Her baby just moved. It’s alive! Oh, thank God! “Hey there. Glad you’re okay. I’m here to help. I’ll take care of your momma until the medics get here, I promise.” Leaving one hand on the middle of her stomach, I spread my tattooed fingers wide to keep contact with the unborn baby, offering it some semblance of comfort, hopefully. I glance at my watch, noting it’s already been four minutes since I called for an ambulance. They need to hurry. I don’t care where they come from, so long as someone can help this poor woman.