Page 77 of Target

The camaraderie is what ties us all together and I wouldn't trade that for anything. Most members of the club have served at some point in their lives, so we know how bad shit can get.

Each member has their own story, their own struggles— that is what brought us all to the club.

The club is more than just a collection of messed up people, it's a family, and like any family, we have our ups and downs.

But no matter how tough things get, I know I can rely on my club brothers. They have seen me at my worst and still stood by my side, offering support and understanding.

The club has given me a sense of belonging, a place where I can be myself without judgment.

It has taught me a different level of value of loyalty, honor, and respect. And for that, I will forever be grateful. They remind me that I am not alone, and that I have a family who will always have my back.

They will be there for not only me but my kids, and I will return the same when they have kids one day.

Racer is in front of the formation as we ride down the highway. We got some information that the Deadly Dwellers and the street crew are at a street race right now and drugs have been seen being passed around.

I fucking hate drug dealers, they are lowlife scum. I know we are not saints in the club but we do not take money, greed, or joy in people’s addiction or misery. There is a special place in hell for fuckers who have no fucking heart when it comes to destroying lives for greed and power.

We arrive where the information took us and the street is lined with cars, trucks, bikes, and jacked up trikes. Music is blaring some dance shit. Women are dancing around dressed like the club girls back at the clubhouse.

Men watch them dance and grind, while drinking, and smoking. It is like an overgrown frat party. We party better than this shit.

We pair up, but stay seated on our bikes as we cut the engines off. Removing my helmet, I hang it on the bars, taking in the sight before me. A guy is leaning against his souped-up car, getting his cock sucked by some girl who looks barely legal. Hesmirks at me when we make eye contact, and I hitch a brow at him before shaking my head.

Jesus, I can’t say fuck all about that because damn, I have done it. Not the barely legal part; I make sure anyone who touches my cock is well above legal age.

“They look like rich frat boys, getting the expensive looking cars to get the girls,” Flame scoffs.

“Most are.” Logan comes to stand between Pres and me. “Some are like me: we work our asses off to get the best car. We win races, then put our winnings into more upgrades. It is like an addiction. The excitement of building a perfect car. The rush of racing her, and winning, makes you want more and more. That is what made me leave, but also what dragged me fucking back here.” He growls, looking around at the people gushing over each other’s cars.

Some have lights around the bottom, others flashing lights inside, which look migraine inducing. Fuck me, is that a speaker in the trunk?

“This is some Fast and Furious shit right here,” Savage mumbles while lighting a cigarette.

“Those things will kill you,” Flame calls to him.

“We all die sometimes; why not enjoy the little things while the Reaper thinks of the nastiest ways to take us out,” he says with a big ass fucking grin on his face.

“You scare me, brother,” Flame replies.

“Good.”

Shaking my head at them, I turn to look at Logan, whose gaze is floating around the whole area, like he knows what he is looking for.

“Prospect, you see anyone you know from back before you left?” Racer asks.

He nods without looking back.

“I see four of the guys I used to race against. Their upgrades are immense. They got a windfall of money, or they ran good races.” He looks to us. “I am going to go with they are running for the MC. They were trash before, and looking at them now, not much has changed except the quality of their cars.”

His voice shows his disdain for the men.

“Do we start with them, or walk around looking for your girlfriend, and see if she needs help or maybe she can get us information on the crew and MC?” I push, before climbing off my bike.

“Prospect,” I call to Reid. “Watch the bikes.”

He nods to me, setting up position against the wall behind the line of pristine motorcycles. They are in his view, so he can make sure no punk touches them.

We left two of the prospects back at the club with Ice, and Bolt, to keep an eye on things. Not that we are expecting any trouble to meet them, but you never know.

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