Citizen: Anyone not a hardcore biker or belonging to an outlaw club. “Citizen wife” would refer to a spouse kept entirely separate from the club.
Cut: Leather vest worn by outlaw bikers and adorned with patches and artwork displaying the club’s unique colors. The Lost Kings’ colors are blue and gray. Their logo is a skull with a crown. The Respect Few, Fear None patch is earned by doing time for the club without snitching. Brother’s Keeper patches are earned by killing for the club. Loyal Brother is for a brother who’s spent more than five years with the club.
Colors: The “uniform” of an outlaw motorcycle gang. A leather vest, with the three-piece club patch on the back, and various other patches relating to their role in the club.
Fly colors: To ride on a motorcycle wearing colors.
Muffler bunny or “bunnies”: A girl who hangs around to provide sexual favors to members. Old ladies in my series will sometimes refer to them as “friends of the club,” depending on the girl in question. Some clubs refer to them as club whores, patch whores, or cut sluts. These terms are not regularly used in my series. Sometimes simply referred to as a “club girl.”
Nomad: A club member who does not belong to any specific charter, yet has privileges in all charters.
Old lady/ol’ lady: Wife or steady girlfriend of a club member.
Patched in: When a new member is approved for full membership.
Patch holder: A member who has been vetted through performing duties for the club as a prospect or probate and has earned his three-piece patch.
Road name: Nickname. Usually given by the other members.
Run: A club-sanctioned outing, sometimes with other chapters and/or clubs. Can also refer to a club business run.
I’m sure I’m forgetting something! But that should get you started!
DEDICATION
For the true Lost Kings MC family.
My readers who kept asking me when certain secrets would be exposed.
Reckless Truths is yours.
Just remember, you asked for this.
Let the secrets be revealed…
PROLOGUE
Crossed Paths
Marcel - age twelve.
In and out.
The guy said it should take no longer than five minutes. And he’d pay me fifty bucks.
In and out. Grab the lockbox the bikers keep stored in the garage and…well, I hadn’t thought it through much more than that.
All I knew was fifty dollars would buy a lot of groceries.
My mother hadn’t been home in days. Any food we’d had was long gone.
I’d be fine. School lunch got me through the day. But even if I were able to sneak some of it home to my baby sister, it wasn’t stuff I thought she should eat.
Besides, Blake’s mom wasn’t much better than my own—which meant there were three mouths to feed at my house. Blake didn’t expect me to take care of him. He pulled his weight in other ways. Heidi was good, but there was only so much watered-down cereal I could feed the kid.
There was no way I’d tell anyone my mother had disappeared. I couldn’t risk Heidi being taken away. This wasn’t the first time Mom had taken off. Eventually she’d show up.
At least I hoped so. There was always the possibility she’d run off just like my dad had a couple years ago.
It was up to me.
I’d already raked every last leaf in the neighborhood for a few dollars. I’d tried asking the creep who lived across the street if he needed any help around the house. Instead he’d told me about the bikers who’d stolen some stuff from him and offered me fifty bucks to get it back.
He was probably lying, but I really needed that cash.
Blake and I had narrowly missed taking a ride in a cop car after shoplifting food from the Price Chopper the other day. It’d be a while before I’d try to steal from there again.
“You got her?” I asked Blake, nodding to Heidi who was busy playing with a stuffed pony Blake had given her earlier. I hadn’t asked where he got it from. It made Heidi happy and that was all I cared about.
“Yeah.” He puffed out his chest. “I got her, but you sure it’s a good idea?”
“You got a better one?”
He shook his head, shaggy red hair falling over his forehead. Heidi climbed up on the couch next to him, waving a book in his face to get his attention.
“I’ll be right back.” Not a promise I was sure I’d be able to keep, but I said it anyway.
It was only late September, but the evening air had turned brisk. The wind kicked up and I wrapped my knock-off Carhartt jacket around me tighter. Not that it did much good.
“Kid!” the creep across the street called, waving me over.
“What?” I snapped, eager to get this whole thing over with.
“You got a weapon?”
“Fuck no. I’m not plannin’ to run into anyone.”
“Well, just in case, take this.” He handed me a cheap hunting knife way too big to fit in any of my pockets.
“Where the fuck am I supposed to put this?” I handed it back and he shrugged. “Where’s this box again?”
“In the garage.”
“Yeah, I got that. Where?”
“Either in the metal cabinet or under the wooden workbench.” He held his hands roughly twelve inches apart. “It’s a gray metal box about this big. Silver handle.”
“How am I supposed to get it open?”
“You’re not. Just bring it back.”
This whole plan stunk.
He reached out, clamping a hand over my shoulder, squeezing enough to make me wince, but I didn’t move a muscle or show any fear. “You get caught, don’t mention my name, understand?”
“Sure.” I barely knew the guy and I sure as fuck didn’t have any warm, fuzzy, loyal feelings for him. But I wasn’t planning to get caught, so I kept my mouth shut.
“You’re gonna need something to get in that garage,” he said, looking around on his front porch. He returned and handed me a stubby screwdriver.
“That works.” I slipped it in my pocket and walked back to my house to grab my bike. I’d taken any reflective bits off earlier and Blake had helped me spray the shiny parts with matte black paint. Good way to get hit by a car, but I was hoping it’d help me stay off the radar of the guys I was plannin’ to rob.
I pedaled slowly, considering how to approach this job. Wondering what was in the box that had this guy willing to break into a garage owned by a bunch of bikers. Well, he wasn’t willing to do anything. He was sending a kid to do his dirty work. Figuring, what? The bikers wouldn’t be pissed to find me breaking in and stealing their shit? I had no illusion they’d go easy on me if I got caught.
Then don’t get caught.
Easier said than done.
In and out.
The parking lot for the strip club Crystal Ball was packed. The muffled thump of dance music throbbed through the air. Now, that was a place I’d rather sneak into. The garage next door, not so much.
The bikers that hung out there were scary.
But I needed that money. In and out. That’s all I had to do. I’d be quick. Then I could stop and pick up some groceries on the way home.