1. Priest

Present day

I sit at the bar nursing a whiskey; I'm not proud of myself since I quit last month. Then again, I did get shot a few months ago so I shouldn't be too hard on myself. Lucky for me, the bullet only grazed my shoulder, but it hurt like a bitch.

The only good thing to come out of it was the fact our enemies — the Devils Ink — are all but wiped out and their prez — Forger — is now dead after a year of being on the run.

While I'm glad that's all over, it didn't come without complications. The Italian mafia were involved in the crossfire and it ended in gunfire. Cash, our prez, took retribution on the underboss Salerno who did some bad shit to a couple of brothers in the club when they were kids. That shit don't fly.

The only assholes to make it out alive — aside from my club brothers — was Big Papa; the man who runs the underworld drug and fighting rings.

We got a standing ovation from the Irish mafia; their Captain Rowan and our club have been allies for years. We trade off from time to time and help one another out.

But the NOLA Rebels stay out of illegal shit. We turn a blind eye to the underworld, and keep the peace for the most part. Until Cash went postal and started shooting.

Don Carlo, of the Italian mafia, is under the belief that the gunfire between his brother and his men was a drug deal gone wrong with the Devils Ink. And we'd like to keep it that way. As far as anyone knows, we were not involved.

Since it's been a month, and Don Carlo has been silent, their plan to take over the French Quarter from the Irish was in vain.

Carlo Caruso and his family moved out of New Orleans decades ago and predominantly operate in Houston, Texas — until recently when they decided to come back to their roots. Whatever beef they have now is with the Irish, and we'll gladly pass the torch on and let them settle their factions like men.

For now, it looks like the NOLA Rebels are in the clear. Though, it's been all over the news. You can only cover up so many bodies, and the cops are always happy to come in and look like the good guys. Cleaning this town up is a priority, according to their chief.

Riot sits down next to me at the bar as Amber pours him a beer. The clubhouse is a place where we can all relax and play pool, drink, have parties, and where we hold all the club's important meetings, affectionately known as church.

"You been nursin' that drink for the better part of an hour."Riot is the secretary in the MC. He looks after all the paperwork and meeting agendas. Bronco, along with Nevada, ensures the safety of the riders. When we're on our motorcycles going on a ride, they stay at the back of the pack to ensure safety from the rear. Our club is moderate to large and some members come and go, but since I took on the role of club chaplain all those years ago, I never looked back. Everyone has their role in the club, we"re all brothers.

Cash and this club saved my life. Being in prison may have opened my eyes to all the things I didn't want for my life, but it was being on the outside that was even harder.

Facing my own demons and letting go of the past has been a journey. One that I have to work at daily. I drank a lot and had dark days in prison, but that"s all behind me now. I did what I had to do and I have no regrets.

I may be the most composed and calm of the MC, but it wasn't always that way.

"You got nothin' better to do?" I fire back.

He snorts. "I guess not." He slaps me on the back. "Please tell me one of the sweet butts took care of you after you were grazed by that bullet." He likes to emphasize the ‘grazed' part and not the ‘shot' part.

He — as well as most of the club — are well aware of my vow of celibacy for the time being. And it's got nothing to do with my religious beliefs. Too much of a good thing can be bad for you, and when that happens, I start to lose myself. I call it my cleansing period, though the boys think I'm a soft cock.

It isn't like the sweet butts — the women of the club who hang around for free drinks, grub and sex — haven't tried. But when I make a vow, I stick to it.

And in any case, when I feel like my time to relinquish is done, they'll be the first to know.

"If you all took as much interest in sortin' out your own miserable love lives and stopped worryin' about mine, you'd be a lot better off."

"Nah, that would be borin'."

I roll my eyes. A text comes through from my friend, who was a Pastor, but now goes by Father Dan. I"m supposed to be helping out at the Soup Kitchen tomorrow while he's away and I said I'd watch over the flock. I'm technically Catholic, or was brought up that way, but I don't practice. I'm more on a spiritual path. The nickname Priest kinda stuck; a joke from my club brothers, but I don"t mind it.

Dan

Bro, you good to help out tonight?

I frown. Tonight?

Me

I thought you said tomorrow?

Dan

I did, but something's come up. It would help the guys out

Dan's going on a two week vacation, the first he's had in years, and he's spent a lot of time and energy getting this kitchen off the ground. Aside from a few people, most of the workers are volunteers, so I get he needs a little authority to keep check on things. Manny, the club's cook, has been putting some hours in when they're short staffed, though we all try to pitch in from time to time. I really need to start putting in a little more effort. I divide my time between looking after the spiritual needs as well as supporting all the club members, and volunteering my time at the church and crisis center.

The soup kitchen will be a welcome reprieve. I vowed when I got out of jail that I'd put back into the community. And while that was ten years ago, a part of me still wants to fix everyone.

Me

What time?

Dan

Six?

I glance down at my phone. It's almost five.

Me

I'll be there

Dan

Appreciate it

Me

Don't have too much fun on that overdue vacation of yours

Dan

I'll try not to. Thanks, bro. Any issues, don't call me ????

Me

Got it. Out of sight, out of mind?

Dan

Something like that. You're more than capable. And you'll have help. The kitchen runs smoothly, Manny's doing a great job with Shanice

Shanice is the new cook, and she runs a tight ship. Thankfully, her and Manny get along. Though Manny gets along with everyone because he's a peoples person.

Me

Don't worry. I've got it under control. Everything will be fine. Don't stress

Dan

Appreciate it

Me

Work on that tan, you're a little pasty

Dan

Not the first time I've heard that

I smile to myself.

"Looks like I gotta hit the road," I say to Riot. "Unless you wanna come help at the soup kitchen?"

He looks like he's settled in for the night; linking his fingers behind his head looking smug. "You know I'd love to, but I've got a date tonight."

"Uh, huh, with who?"

"I don't kiss and tell, brother." He taps his nose.

"You know the sweet butts don't expect dinner and a show, right?"

He gives me the side eye. "It's not a sweet butt, and anyway, you're always the one sayin' they've got feelin's too, or some shit."

"Since when do you date is more the question," I laugh.

He tugs on the lapels of his cut, straightening himself out. "Since now. I've seen Cash settle down. Then Jett, Hawk, Harlem and Tag. Wonderin' if there's somethin' in this monogamous shit."

I snort a laugh. "I guess you don't know till you try, right?"

"Exactly."

I've been doing this gig for ten years, and I've seen a lot of shit go down. But one thing we don't tolerate at this club is the abuse of women, sweet butt or not. Sure, the girls who hang around the club do so for free shit and offer sex to the men around the club, but they do it freely. They know what they're here for and nobody is making them do anything they don't want to do.

Nobody disrespects the women under Cash's rule, and that isn't the way for most clubs. The women are treated like garbage. Some of the guys may not be the most romantic, but they toe the line. Ever since Cash established the New Orleans chapter, a lot of things changed for the better. Riot is a good guy, but to think of him going out on an actual date makes me laugh.

I push the rest of my drink away and slowly stand. Pulling on my cut, I glance around the main bar. There's not a lot happening at this hour on a Thursday night. Most of the guys have regular jobs and come and go as they please. The bar is dimly lit and the jukebox playing at a low decibel.

"If you change your mind, you know where I'll be."

"Text me if there's any hot chicks."

I roll my eyes as I give Amber a wave on my way to the parking lot.

All the chicks of the club like me because I treat them like human beings, not pieces of meat. The same can't be said for all of the brothers in the club, so I try to set a good example in the hopes that it may rub off onto some of them. Riot included.

Once outside, I jump on my sled and make my way across town to where the soup kitchen is located. It's in one of the poorer areas of New Orleans, but this neighborhood has cleaned up its act a lot thanks to Dan's influence. Unlike me, Dan hasn't been in jail, nor has he a sordid past where he's killed people, or anything close.

But we've been friends for years and met in high school. For some reason we've always kept in contact. He's one of the good guys, not that that can be said for all the members of the Catholic Church, or any church for that matter.

One of the few solaces I get in life, aside from prayer, is riding my motorcycle. When it's just you and the open stretch of road before you, there is no greater feeling. Though I don't exactly enjoy the weaving of traffic in New Orleans, I put that aside and think of all the good I'll be doing tonight.

I pull up in the lot at the back and park, heading inside through the back door. As soon as I enter, I smell an amazing aroma that shouldn't belong in a soup kitchen. A cross between curry and baked potatoes. When I get inside, I see Manny and Shanice with their heads over a very large pot on the stove. Manny is famous for his gumbo, and I've yet to find anyone that could outrank him where flavor is concerned. He's an excellent cook and no one dares piss him off back at the clubhouse. Nobody wants to be living on sandwiches.

However, it looks like the homeless are gonna have a treat tonight.

They both turn as I close the door behind me and give Manny a chin lift.

Shanice smiles warmly. She's a hearty, big woman with an infectious laugh and a southern drawl, hailing from Alabama and she's not afraid to let anyone know it.

"Well lookie here, if I don't have two handsome men to share the kitchen with tonight," she laughs, wiping her hands on her apron. She pulls me into a hug that I can't escape from and Manny chuckles beside her.

"Lovely to see you again, Shanice. Manny."

He gives me a bro handshake. "Good to see you, oh holy one. If I'd known you were coming, I would've dressed up a little."

Many is openly bi, but likes to flirt a little because he knows I'm one of the only ones in the MC who'll let him get away with it.

"Dan texted me and asked if I could fill in tonight," I explain. "Where do you need me?"

"That's a loaded question," Manny scoffs. "But I think we've got it under control here, right Shanice?"

"You got it honey. Go look pretty out front, darlin'."

I shrug off my cut and pull on an apron. A few seconds later Luna — Tag, the club's Sergeant at Arms ol' lady — comes barreling through the door.

"Where's the fire, honey?" Manny laughs.

"Oh my God, I'm so late," Luna says, dumping her purse on the kitchen island.

"Calm down, we don't open the doors for another half hour," I say. "I'm gonna go and check up on things out front. Who are the servers tonight?"

"Me," Luna chimes, grabbing an apron. "You guys, that Gumbo smells amazing."

"You and?"

"Me!" Luna says again. "Oh, and Stella said she'd try and get here soon."

Stella is Harlem, the club"s Enforcer's daughter. My goddaughter. She's eighteen and wants to join the MC, but needless to say Harlem isn't keen on the idea, so for now she works at NOLA Sweet Treats, a bakery run by her dad's ol' lady, Indigo.

I frown. "What about Lori and Toby?" They both oversee things, as well as each other.

"They both got sick." Shanice shrugs.

Oh, so that's the little detail Dan forgot to tell me.

"Great, so we've got our work cut out for us tonight." I should've dragged Riot with me.

Luna sticks her head under the serving window. "Priest, give me a hand with the plates, will you?"

"She's already orderin' you around," Manny chuckles.

I flip him the bird before grabbing a stack of plates and head out to the serving area.

Dan did the place up real nice. It was an old derelict building that was donated to the church by the state. And with the right people in the know, it was fixed up and made into a soup kitchen for the needy. It took a lot of work, and money that the Parish paid for. All new floors, a brand new kitchen, plus lighting and tables and chairs donated by the general public. People pay what they can afford if they can, and those that can't offer to help out washing up or helping clean afterward.

"Why are you runnin' around like a crazy person?" I ask her, as we start setting the plates and cutlery at the serving table. We have multiple warmers for the food to be kept warm, plus bread and salad which they can help themselves.

All the food is donated, and whatever is left we freeze and pass onto the Salvation Army or one of the many shelters around the city. Nothing goes to waste.

"I had to run over to Faux Paws after work, then Tag called and well…" She clears her throat and I regret asking the question immediately. "Let's just say he's a man that won't be told when a quickie runs into overtime." I guess I asked for it.

Faux Paws is the animal rescue that Luna volunteers at for homeless dogs and cats. She's a real softie when it comes to our four-legged friends.

"Thanks for that visual."

"What about you, Priest? I've barely seen you around the clubhouse lately."

"Been busy."

"I meant with any chicks."

"Of course you did. I'm doin' just fine, thank you for askin'." I'm not letting any of the club sisters know about my recent celibacy. It's bad enough that Riot and Rock, another member who likely told his twin brother Jett, the Treasurer, all about my deal with God. It's only temporary. And they should stop being so fucking observant.

She puts her arm around me. "If you ever need to talk, I'm here."

I snort a laugh. "Uh, thanks."

"I'm just saying. You always make sure we're all in a zen place, but does anyone look after you? Is anyone making sure you're in a good place?" She's sweet, of course, with a heart of gold. Which is why our grumpy Sergeant at Arms finally admitted his feelings recently after years of back and forth. She's a good woman.

"Plenty of someone's look after me, sweetheart. Don't worry your pretty little head over it." Enough already. I'm done explaining, but I know she's coming from a place of friendship and sincerity.

"Priest!" Stella runs out of the kitchen and almost bowls into me. "How's it hanging? Dan didn't say you'd be here." She gives me a big hug which I reciprocate.

"I guess Dan left out a lot of things about tonight." I smile. "How are you? I haven't seen you around the clubhouse for a while."

She shrugs. "I've been pulling some crazy hours at the bakery. Hey, Luna."

"Hey, babe," Luna says, stocking up the napkins.

I turn and give her a knowing look. I know she's been making a nuisance of herself over at Tag and Hawk's mechanic shop, but she's a feisty young woman and I personally don't see the wrong in any of it. But I do have a soft spot since I've been her godfather since she was twelve. Harlem asked me a few years back if anything should happen to him, would I look out for her. It was one of the biggest honors of my life since I respect Harlem so much, plus he loves his kids more than anything in the world.

"What?" Stella feigns innocence. Okay, she's technically almost nineteen years old. She's old enough to do what she wants, but I know right away she's up to something.

And she knows better than to lie to me.

"Who is he?"

"He's nobody." She blows me a kiss.

"You know better than to look him in the eyes," Luna laughs. "He's like Medusa, except instead of turning to stone, you blab all your secrets instead."

"There are no secrets to tell," Stella maintains. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Long as you're bein' careful," I say.

"Ew, please no sex lecture tonight, Priest. I'm not in the mood."

Stella is an attractive girl, and while she has a good head on her shoulders, I would hate to see anything bad happen to her. Harlem is fiercely protective of her and Indigo's kid, Cami, who's only thirteen. He also has a son Declan who's fifteen, but he keeps a low profile and prefers to play online video games rather than hang out with any of us.

But Stella is at that age where it's all or nothing. She's impulsive and a little reckless.

"I'm not giving you a lecture. I'm just makin' sure you'll all good."

She flutters her eyelashes at me. "It seems wrong that you're this handsome and I get to call you my uncle. In another life, we could've been so much more."

I shake my head. She says things like that to annoy me. I'd never go there, and I don't even see her in that way, even if I acknowledge she's pretty. She's one of my best friend's kids. I saw her grow up from the age of twelve. Just, no.

"Very funny. Get an apron on and shut that smart mouth for five seconds and let's get the doors open."

She pouts, giggling as she runs off to do what I asked. There's a line forming outside and it's almost time.

Manny and Shanice bring out the smaller containers that fit into the warmer and Luna goes to grab the large salad bowls.

I glance out toward the window at the faces looking in and my heart swells. I know what it feels like to have nothing and to go hungry. I can relate more than they'll ever know.

Ever since I got out of prison, I changed. I didn't think it was possible, but I managed to slowly lose all the anger I had and channeled it into something else. Something more positive.

Without Cash and club's help, I never would've been able to be where I am now. That I know for sure.

I head toward the doors and unlock the latch. It's getting cold out here already. Even though the winters here are fairly mild, I don't like the idea of anyone sleeping rough at any time, but when winter is almost upon, it feels that much worse. Not that it gets that cold here, but it bothers me. Which is why I do want I do; give back.

It's my duty. My calling. I made the commitment.

And no matter what happens, I won't sway from that.