PATRIOT
A Dark Falcons MC
Novella
by
Em Petrova
Chapter One
Mountains, sky…and the guy in the next campsite playing a terrible rendition of Freebird on an acoustic guitar. Patriot’s idea of taking off for the mountains and a three-day weekend to find some peace in order to think on his problems now seemed like one hell of a bad idea.
As the man’s voice cracked and his notes got more out of key, Patriot inwardly cringed. The orange flames licking the outer edge of the fire ring wasn’t offering any answers, and he sure as hell couldn’t think listening to that.
The singer pitched his voice louder. Finally, someone from another site yelled, “Shut up!”
More shouts followed. “Shut uuuuuup!”
Patriot couldn’t stifle his grunt of amusement. Clearly he wasn’t the only person suffering through the song.
Abruptly, the playing stopped and silence followed—long, blissful silence where he only heard nature and the crackle of his own fire. He propped his heavy boots on the edge of the stone ring and closed his eyes.
Hell, he needed more than peace and quiet to work out his problems. With his name in the toilet and now sullied with his lifelong friend and the president of their motorcycle club, the Dark Falcons, how could he begin to clean the slate?
His mind circled to the beginning of the dark, ugly tale, as it did how many times now? Countless. His construction crew traveled all over Mersey, Tennessee and the surrounding areas building additions, garages, doing roofing and repairs on homes and businesses. He prided himself on the reputation he’d cultivated. Stone’s Construction had enough clout that he didn’t need to advertise these days—word of mouth did it for him.
He’d earned that through hard work and consistent craftsmanship, along with being selective with his crew. He only took on the best, and if a guy failed to pass muster, Patriot cut him loose.
Somehow, shit went south when a recent client’ they were building a small addition onto the house for, accused his crew of theft. He couldn’t be more shocked or enraged to be accused of stealing. Him of all people. And he belonged to a motorcycle club known for good deeds and their solid reputation in their community.
The first accusation had been bad enough, but then the second came in. Money and jewelry stolen. Only people who had access to the house during that time was his crew.
Now the owners were taking it to the sheriff and he wouldn’t be the only one under fire—his crew either.
His brothers would be investigated.
Every man in the MC would be questioned, because the asshole homeowners thought Patriot had given his guys inside access.
Fucking hell.
He glared at the flames until his eyes burned from the bright colors against the fading daylight.
“Logan?”
He opened his eyes at the sound of his name. He hardly answered to it anymore—the Dark Falcons all called him Patriot. Hell, most people did, even in his business life. It’d been his nickname since high school.
He looked at the two people standing in front of him. For a moment, he didn’t connect the old friends he hadn’t’ seen in years with the mountains. He got to his feet and grinned at the Collins.
“Ben. Man, it’s good to see you. And Mel. Damn, how long’s it been?” He shook Ben’s hand and hugged the man’s wife.
They drew apart, and Patriot grinned at friends he hadn’t seen in ages.
“It’s been at least three years. That’s why we weren’t sure it was you sitting here.” Ben slid an arm around Mel, pulling her against his side in that way long-married couples had of presenting themselves as one unit.
“A long time,” Patriot echoed, scuffing a hand over his face to clear away the last of his worries from his expression. “You two campin’?”
“Yeah, with some other friends. Over that way.” They pointed. “We were just about to break out the beer. You wanna join us?”
“Sure.” While he wasn’t exactly in a social mood right now, and had fled his brothers to come here to be alone, he couldn’t say no to the offer without looking like a dick.
“C’mon.” Ben flicked his head, and he and his wife turned. Patriot followed, talking over mundane topics such as Ben still working with the same company and Mel still teaching in the same school the next town over.
As they arrived at their campsite, Patriot determined not much had changed in the three years since they’d seen each other.
“Hey, guys, we ran into an old friend. He’s going to join us,” Ben announced to five other people seated around the fire. He waved to Patriot. “This is Logan, also known as Patriot.”
“Welcome. Pull up a chair.” One young man wearing a fleece vest over his long-sleeved shirt against the chill of the mountains motioned to a lawn chair.
Patriot gave him a nod and looked from face to face. He didn’t recognize any of these people.
Then a woman walked out from behind a tent. She stopped dead at seeing Patriot there, and he felt her sudden appearance, a balmy summer breeze blowing up from the south.
Fresh-faced, younger than him by quite a few years. A heart-shaped face with wide hazel eyes, wavy hair half pulled off her face…and lips that made a man look not twice but three times.
Actually, he stared at those lips for more than a heartbeat before shooting his attention to her eyes. Christ, what the hell? She was checking him out the same way.
Mel pointed from person to person, naming each. When she landed on the woman standing rooted in place staring back at him, she said, “That’s Aarica, with three A’s.”
He took a second to process that before he gave a nod. “Hi.”
“Aarica, this is Patriot, an old friend of ours.”
The woman couldn’t be more than eighteen. Definitely out of his bounds. She offered him a shy smile and brushed a wave of warm brown hair behind her ear. Then she looked around for an open seat.
“Sit here.” He offered the lawn chair he’d been about to sink into.
Her smile widened. She didn’t show her teeth when she smiled, but somehow that only enhanced the plump rosebud of her lips. When she moved to the chair, he dodged out of her path, grabbed a beer from a nearby cooler and then sat on the lid.
“How long you been campin’, Patriot?” Ben asked.
“Just arrived a couple hours ago.”
“Didn’t look as if you set up your site yet.”
“I have what I need. I travel light.” He felt Aarica’s gaze on him and met her eyes. She quickly glanced away.
Fuck, not the cat and mouse game. He didn’t play it. Hell, he hadn’t played anything with a woman in a long time. The women in his proximity—what the club called ‘honeys’—didn’t interest him. After all, they were out to gain something, a place among the Dark Falcons, a patch that said PROPERTY and a family for life.
He cracked open his beer and took a sip.
“Noticed your bike back there. Harley?” Ben asked.
“Yup. 2010 Softtail.”
“It’s a beauty.”
“Thanks. My buddy operates a custom shop, and he’s been doing a little work on it.”