Page 1 of Jacob

Chapter 1

Jacob “Romeo” Karolsson

Closing in on the end of the twenty-four-hour iron ass run to Ohio, Jacob’s gut gnarled in anticipation, which was a distraction from the cramps plaguing his legs and the aches in his wrist. He didn’t have a bagger. His 1990 silver Harley Davidson Fat Boy wasn’t a touring bike, and it made sure to remind him of that with each mile he rode no matter how many times he shifted.

There was a whole lot of nothing between Malta, Montana and Akron, Ohio. Well, besides Minneapolis and Chicago. Of course, they stopped, but not for long. They had shit to do. Club business came first. The son of the vice president of the mother chapter of Odin’s Fury Motorcycle club couldn’t fuck around.

Everyone thought, hell, even he thought, being Tex’s son, he’d have it easy. Instead, they expected him to know better. It felt more like a burden than a privilege a lot of the time. Prime example, they were on the road filled with nothing of consequence or interest again.

For the majority of the ride, his mind barely wandered. He’d reveled in the freedom of twisting the throttle, opening his engine, and pushing his Fat Boy along I-90E. Linkin Park’sHybrid Theoryalbum played through his earbuds, drowning out the volume of his engine while he tapped his index finger to the beat. Nothing could break the serenity of this long ride to check up on their potential club merger.

Except Ohio.

If only his phone wasn’t in his saddlebag. He’d shuffle through and find some Metallica. But he wouldn’t dare mar the look of his classic bike with a stupid phone mount. He wasn’t a pretentious asshole like that. Though, the urge to hearNothing Else Matterstaunted him as his bike ate up more miles. James Hetfield wasn’t who he’d wanted to hear sing it. A much higher pitched, off-key, never recorded version was his favorite.

He’d heard it for the first time nine years ago, at the Wetzelland Motorcycle Rally. No fifteen-year-old had any business attending that. Then again, the thirteen-year-old singing shouldn’t have been there either. Their parents sure as hell didn’t win any parenting awards for bringing them to an event filled with sex, drugs, booze, and rock-and-roll, but he was grateful for their poor parenting decision. One percent bikers and their women weren’t known for their stellar parenting.

Being from Montana, he’d have never met her if it wasn’t for the rally. Hell, if his mom hadn’t lost her shit when she saw him with that cigarette and embarrassed him in front of Dash and the rest of Odin’s Fury Motorcycle Club, he’d have never met her either. The club gave him everything. He owed it to the club to become not just a solid member, but an officer—just like his father. Fuck that, he’d be president one day. He’d be better than his dad.

Those were some damn big shoes to fill.

Shaking his head, he laughed at himself. What lofty dreams he had. Barely three years into his patch and he had presidential aspirations. If his father could hear his thoughts, he’d smack him upside his head and tell him to focus on the present.

Dash, his club brother riding alongside him, shot his arm out. They needed gas. It’d be good to stretch his legs. Plus, Jacob could locate his phone and shuffle the music a bit.

Moving together like a unit, the two men leaned into their lane change. They’d been riding together since Jacob first got his bike when Dash was still a prospect. Seven years later, the man beside him had risen to Enforcer within the club, an officer’s position.

As keeper of the club’s laws, he was in charge of making sure the club members stayed in line and followed the rules. Should a conflict arise within the club, his concern was the club’s reputation. Should it occur outside the club, it was his duty to assist his brothers by any means necessary—be it by fists or weaponry. Dash was very good at his job.

Considering they were headed to Ohio to observe the progress on cleaning up a shitty club their president had an interest in acquiring, Dash, as Enforcer, was the ideal man to send on the trip. Jacob tagged along for backup, and because he’d been itching for an excuse to travel to Ohio.

As the gas station came into view, Nickelback’sPhotographcame through his earbuds. When had he even downloaded that song? As Chad Kroeger crooned, it occurred to him. He knew exactly when. After a fifth of Jameson, while looking at the strip of old photos from that booth—a little too on the nose.

Wild brown multi-toned curls tickled his nose as he guided her down onto his lap. He’d taken advantage of the tight fit and wrapped his arms around her. Each inhale brought with it hints of cucumber laced with melon. Until she erupted into giggles and turned toward him. “You ready?” she asked, and the potent sugary scent of her watermelon flavored lollipop wafted toward him.

“Yep.” He nodded, offering a squeeze to her hips.

The more she squirmed over his lap, the more his sixteen-year-old body responded. “Where is it?” she asked as she sought the feed for her money.

Fearing awkwardness, he shifted her slightly, then himself as he dug in his pocket to retrieve his own cash. He’d spotted the slot when they’d sat down. He’d just been too eager to feel her in his lap. Before she found it, he leaned forward and slid his bill in.

“Hey!” she squeaked when the machine whirred, accepting the cash. “I wanted to pay for it.”

He grinned as he sat back. Reaching for her, he settled her into his lap. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he nuzzled into her sun-kissed skin. “Next time. Now watch the light.” He pressed his face against hers, cheek to cheek.

Blink. One picture down.

“We have a few seconds. Let’s do funny faces.” She pulled away and used her fingers to stretch her mouth and stuck out her tongue. He peered at her, mind blank, but finding her far too cute.

Blink. Two pictures done.

Laughing, she turned to face him. “You didn’t make a face!” she accused with a playful pout.

It was time. Now or never. This was the time to kiss her.

With his heart threatening to pound out of his chest, his tongue swiped across his bottom lip. Holding his breath, he leaned in closer and closed his eyes.

“Hey, kid,” the masculine voice interrupted. Her ass thumped onto the hard bench inside the booth when Jacob was yanked out.

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