Page 1 of Spooked
PROLOGUE
HOUND
It should have been a nice ride out, no backpacks, and none of the old ladies who have their own bikes either. Just us brothers, enjoying the wind in our faces. The day is clear, not a cloud in the sky, making me feel like hollering into the air simply because it’s such a great moment to be alive. This is the life that I live for. The freedom of the road, the rush of the pavement beneath my wheels and the thundering of the engine between my legs.
As sergeant-at-arms, I’m riding just behind my prez, Wizard, and alongside Hawk, the VP. Behind us come the rest of the officers, then members without official club standing. After them, at the end of our pack, where they wanted to be, the F.O.G.s, Fucking Old Guys, the previous highest-ranking officers of the club, the men who’d stepped back a couple of years ago to let the younger guys take over. After years of steering the helm, Drummer, our ex-prez, who’d rebuilt the club almost from scratch when his dad, Bastard, had lost his life in a raid by the Feds, had decided he wanted to spend his golden years without the responsibility of the gavel. His resignation was swiftly followed by Peg, my predecessor as sergeant-at-arms, and Wraith, the VP. While they had left in the prime of theirlives, Blade had no choice but to stand down. The arthritis in his hands sadly meant he was unable to continue in the role of enforcer. I’ve often wondered whether the others had taken the demotion to soften the blow to Blade.
I’d prospected under them, served under them respectfully for several years, and admit to feeling overwhelmed when they stepped back. I somehow became the sergeant-at-arms—a position I’d thought I’d have waited a lifetime to become vacant. Wizard, Hawk, Throttle and I had quickly formed a tight team.
Our predecessors? Well, fuck. The F.O.G.s had become pains in our asses and even resembled unruly kids at times. Unshackled from their previous responsibilities, their new purpose in life seemed to leave them with only one goal—to seek enjoyment. Sometimes that meant them kicking back against the new regime and behaving more like unruly prospects. I suspected it was all a ruse to test their new leaders. It’s hard not to wonder whether the men who’d bought the t-shirts and had already been there and done that were checking to see if we were up to scratch. I don’t know about the other recently appointed officers, but I sometimes feel I’m walking on eggshells, having to prove myself.
The autumn sun beats down, a bearable temperature compared to summer. My hands, feet and attention coordinate on autopilot, the synchronised dance of riding alongside my brothers in formation now second nature. As the thunder of the engines blocks out all other sounds, the steady throb of the pavement beneath my wheels enables my mind to wander.
There’s a curve to my lips as I think back. It’s been twenty-plus years since I first joined the club as a snotty-nosed young prospect, and the following twelve months had made me a man. The Satan’s Devils were good to me, well, maybe they acted a bit shit at times before I patched in, but it was some of the experiences of the older members—the F.O.G.s that I’mcurrently riding in front of—that had me wanting to spread my wings. With their encouragement and blessing, I’d joined the Marines, did my eight years, saw things no human being should be subjected to, breathed the smell of fear and death, and experienced losses that many men wouldn’t be able to recover from. I’d been luckier than most, knowing I had a safety net to fall into.
When I returned home, I was beyond grateful that I had this ready-made family to anchor me, who accepted all my mental and physical war wounds and welcomed me back with open arms. Unlike many of my brothers I’d served with, who never saw their home soil again, or came back to nothing and no one to support them.
Handed the cut that I’d already earned, I was embraced into the ranks of these brothers. I’d been nineteen when I was first patched. Twenty-seven when I ended my service. Thirty-nine when I became Peg’s replacement.
I’d been content as a member, shocked as fuck when all the officers had decided it was time to resign, and completely blown away when I’d been nominated. It had meant more than any commendations I’d earned in service.
Humbled by the honour they’d bestowed on me, every day since, I’ve strived to be the best I could be, never forgetting how much responsibility had landed on my and my newly made-up brothers’ shoulders. As time passed, I could also appreciate the lightness our predecessors felt having passed on the mantle to the younger generation.
Two years after being promoted, I feel I’ve settled into my role, believe I deserve it and spend less time questioning my abilities and whether I’m the right person for the job.
The wind whistling past my face is warming, not cooling, and the monsoon season’s behind us. Autumn is showing signs of taking a grip on the land as the leaves fall like snow andthe colours change all around. Keeping a steady pace behind Wizard, I cast a glance toward Hawk and give him a grin and a wave of my hand. His answering nod confirms that he, too, is simply enjoying the freedom of the day.
This is exactly what being a biker should be. Freedom and the pure pleasure of being on the road.
Fuck! Shit!Wizard’s bike starts swerving, and suddenly he goes down, metal screaming in protest as his bike slides horizontally. Instinctively,I press down on the foot brake while simultaneously gripping hard on the front. I also lose control, trying to evade Wizard’s downed bike as Hawk crashes into mine. I’ve a split second to notice the tanker on its side a hundred yards in front of me, and to breathe in the fumes of the diesel that covers the road before I’m skidding sideways along the road, my bike on top of me…
CHAPTER ONE
HOUND
“Bullshit!” My eyes spit fire at Drummer and Peg, men I’ve looked up to most of my adult life but who are currently seriously annoying me.
Uh uh. There’s the glare I’ve often seen my former prez give to people he’s about to kill, and I’m unable to deny that it doesn’t have a chilling effect as it’s directed at me. I can’t exactly piss myself as I currently have a catheter coming out of my dick, but I’d take a guess that the container beneath the bed has a suddenly increased volume of yellow liquid. I watch, swallowing fast, as Peg puts his hand on Drummer’s shoulder, then, when he gets his attention, gives him a shake of his head.
When the ex-prez addresses me next, it’s almost worse—it’s condescending, as though he’s explaining things to a six-year-old. “Hound, you had a head injury that scrambled your brains and put you in a coma for three weeks. You were touch-and-go for a while, and you’ve only just come back to us. You’ve got more than enough metal in your leg to set off any detectors around. You can’t even walk, let alone ride your fuckin’ bike. You need time to heal. It’s only temporary, but Pegisgoing to be stepping up in your place, acting as sergeant-at-arms.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I growl. “You’re not my prez. You can’t order me around.”
Drummer’s quiet manner disappears as fast as it had come, and his face grows red. Peg steps forward, glaring at the ex-prez, and continues in a conciliatory tone, “Wizard’s in an even worse place than you are. Well…” he stops and snorts. “Same place, a few doors down, but both of his legs are in traction.”
Taking a deep breath, I realise with a fuckton of guilt, that only newly conscious, my first thought hadn’t been to wonder whether my brothers had been injured. But then, it’s only been minutes since I opened my eyes, and less than that to discover I’d been unconscious for three weeks. Interpreting what Drummer had said, it seems I’d suffered from a traumatic brain injury.
After exhaling a long sigh, Drummer takes over the narrative again. His tone, influenced by Peg’s, is decidedly softer. “Wizard and I spoke when he came out of surgery.” He pauses, his eyes focusing on mine, making sure I’m listening. I dip my head to confirm that I am. “He asked me to step back up and lead the club as he’s going to be out of action for some time.” He gives a mirthless huff. “Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad had it just been him, but Hawk’s broken a fair few ribs, and also needs time to heal. AtWizard’srequest,” he puts emphasis on those words, with a raise of his eyebrow, checking I understand, “Wraith has retaken the VP spot for now.”
I swallow as saliva fills my mouth.Fuck, this is serious.My recollection of the accident is hazy, almost nonexistent. I’d first thought,hopedmaybe, I was the only one to go down. “Throttle?” I rasp.
“Broke his fuckin’ collarbone. Did it good and proper too. He’s in a brace and they’re talking physical therapy.” Due to his prior comments, his next revelation comes as no surprise.“Blade’s taking over now, or at least in a guiding role if not hands-on.”
I jerk as the realisation of how selfish I’ve been comes into my head, and I stammer my next question out hesitantly. “A-anyone else injured, or…”
“No one died,” Peg reassures me fast. His voice softens. “Mouse wrenched his shoulder trying to stop his bike from going down. But apart from everyone else needing a good shot of whisky to combat the shock, no others were harmed.” He gives me a beat to let that sink in. “You remember what happened?”
Closing my eyes, I think back, bringing it to the forefront of my mind, sifting through images that flood through my head, a kaleidoscope of indistinct memories. “We were out on a ride…” I fight to recall, but other than my remembered pleasure of the day and the perfect riding conditions, there’s nothing else that comes to mind. Defeated, I shake my head, then regret the action as a blast of pain shoots through me. “Who the fuck attacked us?” It shows just how scrambled my brain actually is that it’s only now I ask the most pertinent question of them all. One which should have occurred first to a sergeant-at-arms.
