I fucking hate those rich idiots, even if I make a shit ton of money fixing up their trophy bikes and occasionally their fancy cars. At least their business keeps the IRS off my back and keeps my repair shop looking legitimate and on the up-and-up. But I still can’t stand the assholes.
My bike shop may be on the wrong side of Chino, but everybody knows we’re the best, and stuck-up, rich pricks like working with the best. They wouldn’t so much as grunt a friendly hello if they passed me on the street, but they’ll let me work on their bikes all day long.
I’ve got a bit of a reputation in this town, one that scares the shit out those polo shirt and loafer wearing pansies. Maybe they’re right to be scared. I’m not above using my fists if it protects me and mine. Trust me, you don’t get to be head of Savage Souls MC if you aren’t willing to crush skulls and bury your enemies, it just comes with the territory.
I toss my wrench into the nearby toolbox angrily.
I grew up rough - plain and simple and I did what I had to do to protect myself and my little sister. Nobody handed us anything in this world and I had to figure out a way for us to survive as we were getting passed from one foster home to the next. Eventually our mother would decide she wanted us for a while, and then ultimately that she didn’t again. We were nothing more than burdens to her, we were never going to be anything more than that.
As a teenager, my anger was destructive, at least until I got involved with the local motorcycle gangs early on and got to turn that destructive energy into something that earned me respect. I was big and strong, good with my fists, and full of fucking rage, and I needed a way to protect my sister from my mother and the parade of shitheads that she constantly allowed to march right through our lives. I remember the day that I fucked one of those shitheads up so bad that he spent a week in the ICU. He laid hands on my sister, he got what was coming to him. And my actions that day got me a reputation.
Skully, an old biker and former head of Savage Souls took me under his wing. He’s owned the local dive bar, The Oasis, for years and he hired me when I was a teenager to run errands for him and the gang. After my mom split the last time, he took us in and let us be, only asking that we kept the house clean and that my little sister, Carly, helped out at his bar when he was short-staffed. And before long, I became Skully’s right-hand man. I ran errands, and then climbed up the ladder fast, mostly because I was fearless to the point of being reckless.
In the gang, I found an outlet for my anger and a place where I could hone my mechanical skills, there was always a bike in need of some TLC. That all seems like a lifetime ago now - now I’m the boss. Running this gang out of my shop and running this town with an iron fist.
I brought me and my sister out of nothing and found a place for us – made a life for us, but Carly hated bandaging me up after a brawl, hated the guys I associated with, hated the smell of the bar in her hair when she had to help cover a shift, she hated the whole fucking lifestyle. She wanted to be like of those rich Chino kids with silver spoons hanging from their mouths. She had the brains to figure out how, so she got the fuck out – full-ride scholarship to UCLA, then a law degree.
She'll graduate in two weeks and I’ve been fixing up a little cottage for her. It’s time for her to come back home now. She’s all the family I have. The only plan to have. After the things I’ve done, the pain I’ve inflicted, I know I don’t deserve a lot, but I think I deserve to have my sister close.
I think about the fight Carly and I had on the phone last night and I have to stop myself from punching a hole through fucking wall.
I’m angry at her. She should be more loyal than this, she should be right here in Chino – the place that made her who she is.
She’s a liability.
The thought flashes through my mind and I wipe it away just as quickly as it showed up. I stick to a few basic rules: No close ties, no betrayals. If you don’t keep anybody close, you have no weaknesses. Carly is just about the only woman I can trust and she has always been able to take care of herself. I’ve watched as my best friends Jameson and Matteo both lost their cool over silly women, it was ugly, pathetic… and dangerous.
Ever since Skully stepped down and made me head of The Souls three years ago, there are plenty of sick fucks who would love to take me down, take over, get into our territory. The surest way to do that is to find my weakness and twist the knife. I can’t take that risk so I keep my circle very small – only those I can trust, only those I consider family. It’s a pretty simple formula.
I lower the motorcycle down to floor level and ease it out of the vices. I feel sorry for this fucking beauty of a bike, to be given such a useless, wasted life. Bikes and beautiful women, they are a lot alike. They are both meant to be ridden hard and enjoyed. This damn bike isn’t meant to sit in a garage and be paraded around twice a year. But then again, neither is the banker’s smoking-hot wife. Which is why I didn’t balk when he requested that I deliver the bike back to his house myself.
His wife, Linda, grew up on this side of Chino and recommended the shop to him. Let’s just say she was more than happy to make sure she’d be home to receive us.
I wipe the remaining grease off my hand with a cloth and call Jameson over. Jameson comes out of the back office and gives me a curious glance when he sees me pick up my helmet.
“I’m going to be gone for a few hours,” I call out. “Hold down the fort.”
“Dude who owns that bike only lives a ten-minute ride away,” Jameson says. “I can get Matteo or Rat to take it over.”
“I’m aware of the distance,” I chuckle as I put on my helmet. “But this delivery is going to require a personal touch.”
Jameson shakes his head and chortles under his breath. “Right, Linda. Your life is a thing of beauty, man.”
“And as the next in line to the throne, this could all be yours someday.” I sweep my hand around the busy motorcycle shop.
“I’m not interested in the married ones, Lincoln. That’s your bag.”
“They don’t have to be married,” I say. “The married ones are just a lot less complicated - they know the rules. No baggage. No commitments.”
“Whatever,” Jameson shakes his head. “You’re going to run out of women in Chino to bang with those rules.”
My phone pings and I glance down at it to read the message. I immediately feel my anger rise to a fever pitch.
“You okay, man?” Jameson asks.
“Do me a favor,” I climb onto the motorcycle. “Your aunt is a realtor, right?”
“Yeah,” he looks at me, clearly confused. “Are you looking to buy a summer place in Tahoe or something?”
“Just ask her to put the cottage up for sale.”
“What about Carly?”
I think about the message she just sent me. The fight we had last night and the choice she's making. I gave her a goddamn ultimatum and she called me on it. I worked like a dog to fix that cottage up for her, to help her achieve her dreams when I didn’t even let myself dream of anything that stretched beyond the city limits of Chino.
I turn to Jameson. “She’s just accepted a job in San Francisco. She isn’t coming home.”
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