2. HOLDEN

HOLDEN

July | Stockton State Prison, Stockton, CA

“It’s your lucky day, Nash.” Jones smirks, handing me the bag of belongings I came into this hell hole with. “Say, Jenkins, how long do you think before we see soldier boy back here again?” He jests, nudging the officer standing next to him.

Jenkins grins, shaking his head. “Shit, with his temper? I give it a week.”

You’ve never seen my temper, dumbass, I think.

I fake a smile at them both. The two of them have been giving me shit for the past eighteen months, something I’ve had to bite my tongue on to keep my head low, for Cole’s sake. I slip my rings onto my fingers, raising a brow at the two dipshits laughing in front of me. I spent ten years in the military, dealing with the God complexes of almost all of my commanding officers. These two were child’s play compared to them and my tour in Iraq.

“As much as I’d love to stick around and watch the two of you fuck each other in the showers, I’ve got places to be,” I taunt as I shrug into my sleeveless leather cut.

The two officers go quiet, both staring daggers at me. It seems like I’ve hit a sore spot, making me smirk.

“You think you’re fucking funny, Nash?” Jones steps forward, nose to my…chin. It's kind of hard to intimidate a man who’s a good six inches taller than you. I bite the inside of my cheek, holding back a laugh as Jones’ shit-brown eyes glare at me.

“Nah, Jonesy. I think I’m adorable.” My lips pucker and make little kissing noises at the officer.

“ALL RELEASEES PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE FRONT GATE. ALL RELEASEES PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE FRONT GATE.”

I snort at the voice coming over the intercom. “Saved by the bell, Jonesy!” I pick up the rest of my belongings, clipping my wallet to the belt loop of my jeans and stuffing it into my pocket before turning and making my way down the long corridor.

“See you soon, Nash!” Jenkins laughs.

“Only in your dreams, asshole!”

I knock on the glass at the end of the hallway; the cute blonde-haired officer looks up for a moment before grinning. A loud buzz from above me sounds like freedom as I push the door open, throwing her a wink before letting the door slam behind me.

The scorching heat beats down on the back of my neck. I can already feel it turning the slightest bit pink following the long maze of chain-link fences and guard towers. The excitement and adrenaline begin rushing through me as I realize this is what going home feels like.

At the end of the fences another buzz sounds as the metal gate begins to slide against the pavement. Weathered black motorcycle boots take a step forward onto new ground, ground I haven’t had the luxury of walking for over a year. A deep heavy breath leaves my lips and for the first time in forever the smell of sweat, body odor, and ass doesn’t flood my nose. It almost makes me cry.

“Nash!”

My head snaps to the left, a grin spreading across my face as I see the source of the voice that calls my name. My best friend is leaning up against the unmistakable faded blue and white tow truck with the letters “O’Neil’s Towing and Garage” written on the side. Cole runs the garage now after his father passed away. Along with the garage, he inherited the responsibility of the Hell Hounds Motorcycle Club; Pine River’s best and worst kept secret. Cole has been President ever since his father passed away, a vote that took little to no discussion from any of the other members. I was voted in as Vice President shortly thereafter.

Cole pushes his sunglasses up onto the crown of his head, shoving the now grown-out hair out of his face. “Man, you look like shit.”

I throw my head back and laugh, really laugh, the way only my best friend can make me do. “Yeah? And what’s with the hair? You gettin’ ready for the disco or somethin’?” I grin, stepping up to Cole, who just shakes his head.

“Fuck you,” he chuckles, pulling me into a massive bear hug. “It’s good to see ya, Pal.”

“Yeah, you too,” I mutter, clapping him on the back before pushing away. “Now, get me the fuck outta here,” I smirk, walking around to the other side of the truck.

Cole climbs in, turning the ignition and blasting the air conditioning. It’s easily almost ninety degrees outside and, no doubt, almost over a hundred in the truck. I relish in the missed luxury of the cold air and throw my bag of shit onto the floor by my feet as I jump in. Cole pulls out of the parking lot and heads towards the highway. One step closer to being where I belong.

It’s a four-hour drive from the prison to Pine River, which gives just enough time for me to catch up on club business before being thrown back into it. When I was sentenced, it had been Cole’s idea that I keep deaf ears on all club business while on the inside. I was less likely to get into any trouble being in the dark than I was knowing everything that was going on. Considering I have a way of getting myself into unsavory situations, it was a no-brainer. I’m a magnet for them. It’s the reason I was in prison in the first place, but I don’t regret what I did, just what it got me.

“So, guess I should tell ya now before ya find out from someone else…” Cole starts, glancing from the road to me. My jaw twitches as he shifts in his seat. “Trey is the new VP.”

“Shut the fuck up. That dumbass?”

Cole sighs. “He’s not a dumbass.”

“He painted a fuckin’ falcon on his bike.” I roll my eyes. “Our mascot is a fuckin’ wolf.”

I watch my friend trying to hold back laughter, but his shaking shoulders give him away. “A bird! Cole, a fuckin’ bird.”

“Alright, alright. I get it. Not his brightest moment.”

“He doesn’t have many of those,” I mutter, glancing out of the passenger window.

“Regardless, he’s VP. So, let’s be civil, huh?” Cole reaches over into the glove box, pulling something out and tossing it to me. I catch it, glancing down at the small piece of fabric. SGT. at ARMS. “That makes you our new Sarge…” Cole grins.

“How ironic.”

“I thought it was fitting.” Cole looks back out of the windshield with a shit-eating grin on his face.

I stuff the patch into the front breast pocket of my cut. “You’re an asshole.” I laugh.

“Yeah, well, you can blame the boys for that one. It was their idea and the vote was unanimous.”

“’Course it was.” I sigh, slouching down into the seat. “Anything else they voted in that I missed?”

Cole inhales, shaking his head. “We’ve got a meeting with Stokes tomorrow.”

I roll my eyes at the name. Bradford Stokes, Pine River County Sheriff. A two-faced bastard who picks and chooses which side of the law he wants to be on. Stokes had been the first one to rat on me after the incident. Rat, meaning Stokes showed up at the garage and arrested me in broad daylight, no warning call, nothing. Showed up and cuffed me on the ground in front of fifteen members. “Holden is an example,” he’d claimed. I knew otherwise though. Stokes has disliked me ever since Cole and I were teenagers. How the hell was I supposed to know that the field I ‘accidentally’ set on fire was Stokes’s cousin’s?

“What the hell does Stokes want anyway?”

Cole shrugs. “Dunno. Probably just wants to make sure you aren’t gonna kick his ass.”

I laugh again. “He’s gonna be lucky if I don’t.”

Cole sighs. “Look Nash, I’m glad you're home, but we need you at the garage and with the club. This past year was fuckin’ rough without you.” He glances over to me and a twinge of guilt fills my chest. “So don’t go gettin’ into any more shit.”

“You mean don’t get caught.” I smirk, trying to ease the tension that was slowly filling the cab of the truck.

“Same fuckin’ thing.” Cole laughs.