Page 3 of Storm

Being a motorcycle club member is hard, but being the President of a one percenter club is fucking hell. My brothers by choice will always have my back, and I'll have theirs, but some decisions I have to make to keep the club and my brothers safe and those can be unyielding. I hold the lives of the members in my hands. I'm responsible for the things that happen because my father was the president. When he had his tragic accident, I was left in the position of President.

I'm not saying my father was a shitty president, but my father was a shittyfuckingpresident. Not in his younger days, but as he got older he was definitely rotten. Things like money missing from the books, abuse of club girls, ol’ ladies, dealings with other clubs going south, all things that made him not up to par. I've been trying to fix as much as I can and dealing with other clubs to bridge the gaps and help each other out. Instead of measuring dick sizes and trying to take over each other's territory. When dad died a year ago, his council members decided to retire their positions as well and I appointed my friend Murphy as Vice president, Zeus as Enforcer, and Bones as our Grim Reaper. Price and Cash were voted in by the other council members.

I was born into the Crows, and my whole life has been involved with them in one way or another. I am a hard but fair president and do what I can to help and to protect my brothers. My chosen family. We don't fuck with the skin trade, we don’t sell hardcore drugs or guns we are mostly legal now besides the weed, because it's not legal here yet.

I sit back in my chair, replacing my shitkickers on the tabletop and take a swig of Jack straight from the bottle. After throwing four Advil in my mouth, I take another long pull of the warm caramel, oak Tennessee Whiskey.

“Fucking headaches,” I murmur, to myself as my cell rings.

"This is Olivia Youngstown of River, Daniels, and Peter's attorneys at law. We have this number as an emergency contact for Mrs. Katherine Weatherspoon." A proverbial bucket of cold water is dumped on my head. My face drops as I massage the back of my neck.Fuck.I haven't heard that name in years.

"Uh. I know her. I don't know how my number got to be her emergency contact. I haven't seen or heard from her in over ten years," I inform the person on the other end of the line, sitting up straighter in my chair.

"Well I'm not sure either, but I wanted to inform you that she has passed on and that she has a will leaving some things to the Murder of Crows Motorcycle Club and to a daughter by the name of, Kelsey Weatherspoon. We haven't been able to verify the daughter's whereabouts and we’re wondering if you know how to contact Ms. Weatherspoon?" My heart starts beating out of my chest like a bull ramming against my ribs. I haven't heard anyone mention Kelsey's name for a long goddamn time and now they can'tfindher.

"I’ll see what I can do about locating her, but I make no promises. Maybe, give me the number to your office and I'll let you know what I find out." I scrawl out the lawyer's number and press the end button on my phone.

Kelsey. Fucking Kelsey.The one who got away. The one that just fucking left me without saying a word. Her mother is dead and she’s nowhere to be found. The thoughts in my mind take me to that summer when I taught her how to ride. God, I loved that girl even then. Her mother was always gone, leaving Kelsey to fend for herself. They barely even had food. Kelsey pretty much raised herself.

Wanting to let them know what has happened, I notify my counselors with a quick message telling them to join me in the war room again. A few will remember Kat but most of us are around the same age as Kelsey, and none of them will remember her like I do.

Chapter5

Kelsey

Then Twelve years old

"What a beauty," I say, looking at the nine-millimeter pistol Talon got from his dad for his birthday. The butterflies flutter in my belly filling me with excitement. “You’re gonna teach me to shoot aren't ya?"

Talon gazes at me suspiciously with one eyebrow raised. “Are you going to shoot me, pretty girl?"

"No, silly. I'd never hurt you," I answer. My neck and cheeks heat with what I’ve heard him call me, blushing. “I like when you teach me things. You already taught me how to ride, fight, how to dis-arm a knife attacker, and self-defense, now it's time to teach me how to shoot!" I say, taking Talon's hand into mine. "You've taught me how to take care of myself and a girl needs to know this stuff." I lean up on my tippy toes and kiss him on the cheek. Maybe that will help change his mind.

He pulls me closer to him, my back to his front, the gun in my right hand. "See this here? This is the safety. Make sure this is on at all times unless you're going to shoot." He turns the gun to the side, showing me the button and moving it to the safety position. “Don't point at anything you're not planning on shooting either."

With his hand in mine, he shows me how to hold the gun. His arms wrap around me and his warm breath tickles my ear when he says, "Okay, now take the safety off Kels, and hold the gun like I showed you. I want you to aim at that soda can and press the trigger, okay?"

"Okay," I reply, taking a deep breath.

I hold out the nine-millimeter, check the safety, line it up, aim at the can and pull the trigger. There’s a loud pop and the can falls off the makeshift bench we were sitting on just moments before. I place the safety back on like Talon taught me and hand it back to him, so I can check out the damage of the can.

"Look, Talon!" I squeal, excitedly. "I'm a pro!" I laugh, holding up the can to show him the hole I made proudly.

"You're a natural, Kid," he says, looking at the can. "Better than my first shot.”

"Don't call me kid," I retort, crossing my arms across my chest. “I'm only two years younger than you!"

"I'm sorry my ol' lady," he replies, in a joking tone. “Forgive me?"

"I'm going to marry you one day," I say, snarling at him and slapping him on the arm. “But, you cannot call me your ol' lady."

We practiced a lot more that year. He would bring more guns to show me and I would beg him to teach me to shoot them all. I was a pretty good shot for a twelve-year-old and his eyes gleamed with a sense of pride every time I hit a target. The best thing though, every time I had a good hit, I was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek, so each time I made sure to hit the bull’s eye.

Chapter6

Talon

Then fourteen years old

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