Page 1 of Jack

Chapter 1

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Jack

This meeting is a joke. We don’t belong here. Well, I don’t. From the look my best friend is giving me from the corner of his eye, he knows he doesn’t belong either.

Coty Michaels has been my best friend since we were toddlers. Our families are part of the same motorcycle club. An MC I’m proud to have been born into. No clue why I developed a wild hair and had to roam around the country for the past two years. Naturally, when I left Willow Creek, Tennessee, Coty went with me. To be honest, I probably would have gone home within six months if I had been out here alone.

“He’s an idiot,” Coty leans over and whispers.

I’m only half listening, but I nod anyway. My eyes roam around the room. We’re in the main room of the Freedom Riders MC clubhouse. It’s one of the smaller clubs south of Lexington, Kentucky. They’re not a bad group. Far from it, infact. From everything I’ve heard and witnessed over the last couple of months, the Freedom Riders are well on their way to transitioning into an all-Christian club. There’s nothing wrong with that. I just highly doubt some of our guys will do well here.

“After much debate, we’ve decided that anyone who’s not a blood relation to a member of the Freedom Riders has to join as a prospect like any new recruit.” President Brant’s eyes roam over the men sitting in the back row with me.

His decision doesn’t surprise me. Within three days of arriving at this clubhouse, it was clear that most of our group wasn’t wanted. Harry’s blood relation. His little group of close-knit friends have blended in gracefully. No clue why they call him Harry. It’s not his name.

“Jack.” Coty nudges me with his arm. He feels the same bad vibes as I do.

“I know.”

My eyes lock with President Brant’s. He continues his little speech, but I tune him out. He’s not a bad man. He just doesn’t like strangers. Sadly, he’s a sorry excuse for a leader. After tonight, he’s not my problem.

Our group isn’t technically a club anymore. They’re nomads after leaving the Iron Rebels in Montana three months ago. When Buzz took over as President, the club started falling apart. Coty and I weren’t members of the Iron Rebels. We met them on a run near Billings one day. We hit it off with Harry and just followed them around for a while.

Buzz began pulling the club into some dark, illegal business deals. Several members loudly voiced their disapproval. Fighting broke out among them daily. At the end of the last fight, which sent a few men to the Emergency Room, Buzz demanded that anyone not loyal to his rule leave. Harry convinced about half of the guys to follow him to Kentucky. Coty and I went with them. Buzz and I never got along anyway.

After President Brant ends the meeting, he and his club members shake Harry’s hand. Harry’s closest friends nod and accept the offer to join the Freedom Riders. I’m happy for them. Harry’s a good man. He deserves a club that’ll stand by him.

I motion toward the door with my head. Coty and three more ex-Iron Rebels follow me out to our bikes. I’m already a member of an MC. I’ve no desire to join this one or any other.

“That went south.” Pip pulls his leather jacket from his saddle bags. The rest of us do the same.

It’s the middle of Fall. The weather isn’t too cold yet. Riding at night, even in the south, gets chilly.

“It was just a polite way of telling us to go,” Taylor says.

“Knew it was coming,” Coty adds.

Yep. We all knew it. The five of us shouldn’t have stayed this long.

“Where’s everybody heading?” Bobby asks.

My eyes lock with Coty’s. “Home.”

Coty grins and nods once. “Bout time.”

Home started calling my name the moment we turned south in South Dakota. I only planned on roaming for a year. It’s past time to go home.

“Where’s home?” Taylor zips up his jacket.

“Hey, guys! Wait up!” Harry runs out of the clubhouse before I can answer. He motions over his shoulder with his thumb toward the door. “Sorry, bout that.”

“Not a problem.” I offer him my hand. “It’s been great riding with you. We’re going home.”

“Home.” Harry nods. “You mentioned your families were club members in Tennessee.”

“Yep.” I take off the plain leather cut and pull my real one from my saddlebag. Coty does the same. Sliding this cut on only makes the call from home louder.

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