Prologue

Hawk

I t was supposed to be an easy job my younger brother Gage had said when he planned this bank robbery with his two friends, one of which who had been nothing but trouble since they were in school together. The other – well, I don't know the guy, but he can't be no better than any of his other homeboys. The plan was supposed to be simple – they'd rush into the bank fifteen minutes after it opened, rob the joint for everything they could get, and take off with cold, hard stolen cash.

They would be in and out in less than a minute. No harm, no foul. Yeah, that's what Gage said.

What was my role in this? I volunteered to be on lookout and would radio them if anything popped off outside. And I took my job seriously. I sat on my Harley wearing a pair of polarized sunglasses, holding a walkie-talkie while the engine revved beneath me. Yeah, I had a walkie-talkie . We all did. How nineties of them to pull off a bank robbery using equipment from three decades ago.

I'm more pissed at myself for agreeing to this because, while I ain't no saint, I don't do stupid. I do stuff I know I'll get away with, but Gage – he operates on idiocrasy. He already has two strikes. One more and he's up the creek.

So, while I would rather be hanging with my crew at the Sin City clubhouse throwing back beers while half-naked club snatches – Beauties – dance on the pool table, I'm here making sure Gage doesn't end up in the slammer.

The plan is going smoothly so far.

We arrive at the bank at 9:15. Gage is driving a beat-up black F150. I imagine it's stolen since he doesn't own a car, and neither does his co-conspirators. And they decided to boost a drop-top, cherry red Mustang.

Idiots!

Why would you drive something so flashy to a bank robbery?

At any rate, these imbeciles jump out of the Mustang with ski masks on. Gage follows them inside, sliding a mask over his face as he enters the lobby. I'm backed into a parking space, scanning the empty parking lot but mainly the street, watching cars whiz by. I see a cop car and nearly piss myself, but it keeps on by.

I turn back to look at the bank entrance. I see no movement, nor do I see three men running out with bags of cash. Now, my palms are getting sweaty. What the heck is taking them so long?

I press the side button on the walkie and asks, "What's going on in there? Let's go."

I know these banks have silent alarm systems. I also know they've probably already pressed the button by now. Again, what's taking so long? Brandon doesn't even radio back. Now, I'm beginning to feel like something's off.

The idiots finally come running out, hooting and hollering. The two Mustang dummies jump in the car with two backpacks. My brother comes running out with nothing but a gun in his hand, and is that blood on his shirt?

Crap!

Gage stuffs the glock in the back of his pants, and yells at me, "Let's go!"

He sounds like he's out of it. He looks frantic. I need to know what happened, but first, we have to get out of here and fast.

Brandon's peeling off in the truck, drawing a lot of unnecessary attention while I speed to keep up with him. His actions now have blue lights and sirens behind us.

My brother calls me on my cell. I answer with my Bluetooth earpiece and before I can say a word, he asks, "Where's your walkie, bro?"

"Walkie? I threw that piece of trash in the ditch, man. I tried to call you on it back there. What the heck is going on, Gage?"

"I'm trying to focus right now, Gideon."

"Focus? You need to start talking now! This was supposed to be easy, remember? Isn't that what you said? In and out? Now, we got the cops behind us."

"Oh, crap bro!" he says nervously. "We're going to jail! I can't go back to jail, Gideon. I can't—"

"Shut up and listen to me!"

"Okay! Okay! I'm listening."

"Tell me what happened in that bank."

"You know what happened. We robbed the joint!"

"That's not what I'm talking about! You have blood on your shirt. That's what I'm talking about!"

He must've looked down at his shirt because he starts freaking out and keeping all kinds of weird noises. He swerves off the road and nearly loses control. He says, "They were stalling...didn't want to give up the loot. Dennis told me to pop ‘em, but I didn't want to do that, man. I'm no killer. I ain't never killed anybody."

"That still doesn't answer my question. Talk! We don't have much time!"

"Okay, okay, so, I hit the bank manager with the gun. That made them all move a little faster. Serves ‘em right, but I ain't shoot nobody."

"Where are your partners?"

"I don't know, man. I don't know what's going on, Gideon. I can't go to jail! I can't go to jail, bro!"

"Calm down, Gage, and focus on driving. You ain't going to jail, and I need you to keep a straight head right now. Now, think—what's the plan? Where were you supposed to meet up with frick and frack? The Mustang is no longer in sight."

"Ah, man! They've gaining on us, Gideon."

Via the mirror, I count only one cop car behind us so far but I'm sure there will be more soon. I say, "I knew this was a bad idea. I knew it!" I glance at my side view again. I have to get Gage out of here before he's caught. It's funny that I'm the one in the motorcycle club that everyone in my family talks down about, yet he's the one with two strikes. I have one. I can take another charge, but do I want to? No, I don't. My life is pretty easy-breezy right now and this fool got me out here on a Friday morning being chased by cops. I know I can't let my brother strike out. His entire life would be wasted away behind bars.

"Ay, Gage, listen to me."

"I can't go to jail, Gideon!" he squeals, sounding like he's near tears and on the verge of desperation. When a man is desperate, he can't think straight and Gage isn't much of a thinker to start with, so there's that.

"I can't get locked up, man!" He's straight wiggin' out now.

"Gage, shut up and listen to me! Are you listening?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm—I'm listening," he yelps, swerving all over the road.

"Turn up here on Magnolia Street. I'm going to distract the cops."

"No! No way, man. We're getting away together. I'm not going to leave you hanging, Gideon."

"Gage, shut up and go! Go, now! Make the turn." I hang up so I can focus, hoping he does what I've instructed him to do.

He does…

He bends the corner so hard, the truck is on two wheels before safely landing on all four again after he turns. I keep going straight, speeding away from him on my Harley like I have no respect for life.

The plan works.

The cops don't follow Gage. They follow me. I'm sure they've radioed for backup to find Gage, but hopefully, he'll do the smart thing, ditch the truck and boost another car to clear the area.

And now, it's my turn to get away from the law. I bob and weave in and out of traffic, gunning it, doing at least ninety in a forty-five. I'm a diversion for Gage, but I'm not trying to get caught either. I told my ol' lady she didn't have to worry about me getting caught doing anything. I didn't say I wouldn't get my hands dirty. I said I wouldn't get caught, and I haven't so far, and for good reasons. One, I didn't want to go back to jail. Been there, done that. Two, Ivy told me she would leave me if I ever found myself locked up again. The woman has me wrapped around her finger with her figure-eight body, plump lips, and long braids that hang to that ample rear end I love to smack. I can't risk losing her. She's top tier, got the body of a goddess and she's been my ol' lady for three years. No way, I'm losing her.

Now, Gage got me out here running for my friggin' life!

I glance in the sideview mirror. Now, I have two grizzlies on my tail.

"Crap, Gage!" I spat.

I hope he got away because something tells me my chances are slim to none. But one thing is for sure – I won't go down without a fight.

I jump on Interstate 10 where I really let loose and eat road.

"Woooo!" I proclaim when I look in the mirror and see that I've left them in the dust. I'm home free, heading to one of my favorite bars in NOLA – The Grotto, run by Wraith one of my Sin City brothers. Already deciding the route I'll take to get there, all I need to do now is shake them by getting more road behind me, but there's a problem. Traffic is slowing and nearly comes to a standstill.

"Crap!" I blurt out, gripping tightly to the handlebars.

Could this friggin' day get any worse?

I glance in the mirror again. People are clearing a path for the blue lights that encourage them to get out of the way for fear of penalty. It gives them easier access to me, but I have the advantage on the bike. I can maneuver between cars and find my way to freedom. That's what I do. I weave around vehicles and when I'm able, I move to the shoulder where I gun it again and get off on an exit – the same exit where a state police squad car is already posted.

Just my luck.

He hits the lights as soon as I whiz by him doing way more than the posted exit speed limit of forty-five. I blow through the stoplight and almost get creamed by an eighteen wheeler as I try to escape. I've temporarily slowed the trooper down with my near-death maneuver, so I hop back on I-10 and gun it once more. Traffic is still crawling, but the shoulder is clear, so I use it – getting up to ninety miles per hour in my desperate attempt to escape these cops. My adrenaline is pumping. When I'm like this, I do reckless things, but I can't stop myself this time. Getting locked up is not an option. It'll ruin my life and my life, the way it is now is perfect. I have my girl, the MC and my garage. There's no way I'm going to mess that up by getting caught out here.

I check my mirror again. I see blue lights behind me a ways and that's how I know I'm not quite ready to celebrate. I don't want to see anything behind me but road. I just want to be home free.

I crank it up to about a hundred miles per hour now. The last time I drove this fast, I was a dumb teenager, looking for a cheap thrill without the fear of injury or consequences. I should know better not to drive so recklessly, but it's my life I'm fighting for. My girl. My future. All those thoughts are running through my mind, clouding what I know I need to be doing – concentrating – but I'm thinking about all that while wondering at the same time if my brother was able to get away. I'm so lost in thought, I don't see the large piece of rubber from someone's blown-out tire until I get right up on it. I jerk the handlebar to move out of the way and that's when it happens – I lose control. Speed and a sudden movement is a combination for disaster for riders. I know this, but desperation has caused me to make a mistake that proves fatal for most.

The front tire locks up and loses traction with the road. I go flying in the air, seemingly in slow motion as I see my life flash before my eyes. In quick succession, I see Ivy in a beautiful wedding gown. I see my mother and the memories I have of my father – one of those being when we used to cruise on our Harley's together. I see me and my brothers when we were young and a lot closer than we are now. And I see my MC brothers – us cracking skulls and sharing beers.

This is it for me. I know I'm going to die. I know it. Of all the insane things I've done, my life has never flashed before my eyes like this, and the messed up part about it is, I wasn't supposed to be involved in this nonsense.

I slam into the grass head first. The helmet took the brunt of the collision. I don't know how on earth I made it to grass and not the road, but I suppose that's a good thing because even though I'm injured, I'm still breathing. I'm in instant, excruciating pain. My right arm and shoulder hit hard too, and I know my collarbone is broken. I've probably cracked a rib or two as well. There's no getting up and running away. I wouldn't make it far even if I could get up.

The sirens are louder now, so I know the cops are here. They all converge upon me with weapons drawn, telling me to put my hands in the air like I'm capable. I'm too dizzy to hear their instructions. I'm in pain. My head is killing me and I JUST FLEW OFF OF A BIKE. I can't do anything but lie here.

One of the cops grabs me and says, "I said put your hands up."

"Ah!" I shriek. "Get off of me you prick! I can't move my right arm."

The jerk-of-a-cop loops the cuff around my left wrist and says, "You have the right to remain silent."

"I broke my arm! I need help! Don't put those cuffs on me, man!"

"Anything you say can and will be used against you—"

"Get off of me!"

"You have a right to an attorney—"

The pig keeps right on talking like he didn't hear a word I said, and my right arm feels like it's legit about to fall off. Yeah, the pain is starting to really set in, especially when they grab me.

"Stop resisting!

"I'm not resisting. My arm is broken!"

I screech in pain when he yanks my arm, and slaps on the cuffs. Three of them carry me to the squad car where they're waiting for the ambulance. I hear it, but I don't see it yet. I'm hoping the paramedics will be more sympathetic to my plight.

I shut my mouth so as not to incriminate myself and wait until they arrive. I wasn't aware of my ripped jeans and right leg scraped to the flesh until the paramedics examined me. One said she was confident that my arm was broken and put me in a temporary sling. The other said I probably had a few cracked ribs and needed to be examined for a concussion as well.

I really screwed up this time.

Besides getting banged up pretty bad, I know I'm facing some time in the slammer. It's only a matter of time before the judge sends me to Club Fed.

And there goes my life. My MC crew solely relies on me to repair their bikes and cars, and now I'm about to be locked up. And then there's Ivy. She probably won't take a call from me when she finds out about this. She told me as much. I may be battered and about to face one of the toughest challenges of my life, but I can't lose my girl.