Chapter 1

1

RIOT

Age twenty-five

New Orleans Correctional Facility

"Apparently you have a visitor?" Priest announces. He's known in the joint as Shadow but now goes by Priest. Well, he's not really a priest, of course, but I call him that because he's about to prospect for the NOLA Rebels MC. My motorcycle club. They're looking for a spiritual adviser, and while Priest isn't exactly a man of God, I think after his time here that's gonna change pretty quick. I'll get his club name to stick, and since he owes me he has no choice in the matter.

Unlike most of the men in here, he's a good guy. We've got each other's backs.

I'm in for almost beating a dude to death because he liked to beat up on women. One of the women was a friend of mine, and I don't like shit like that. The asshole had it coming. My hearing is in a few days, and I have a good attorney, thanks to Charles.

"Great. Could do with a conjugal visit right about now. Shit gets tiring watchin' your back in here."

Nobody wants to think about getting jumped in here, but lucky for me I made friends quickly and we've got each other's backs. Still. You really have no friends in the joint. As long as I keep that contraband coming in, they'll stay loyal. I have friends in very low places.

He snorts. "Like that's gonna happen."

"Hey, I'll have you know I broke hearts when I got locked up. Wouldn't be surprised if they're linin' up outside, waitin' for a turn."

Priest wrinkles his nose. "Please don't make me sick before lunch."

"What I'd give for one more night with Delilah, or Sparkles, or Lolita."

"Sparkles? What did she have, glitter covered tits?"

"She's sunny. You know; sparkly . You've been in here way too long, brother."

"No shit, the fact you're gonna be out before me doesn't fill me with much hope gettin' out alive."

I know he worries about it, but the men in here have his back, just like they do mine.

The one thing I do have going for me in prison, is the fact I'm protected because I'm a Rebel.

It holds a lot of weight around here, and while some would be quick to fight you and take you down, they know on the outside there ain't nothing but trouble waiting if that were to happen.

"Don't be hard on yourself. You know my boys will stand behind you, especially after we took out that asshole The Brute. Now you're the kingpin."

"Only trouble with that is keepin' up appearances."

"You'll be okay. You survived this long and you knew nobody."

He goes into quiet mode and it's best to let him be when he's like this. I know he's got a lot to think about with which way he wants to go when he gets out. Personally, joining the NOLA Rebels is a privilege, and not something to sit on for too long.

While I wait in the visiting room, I drink a cup of coffee and wonder if I'll ever see the sunlight again. I mean, the asshole didn't die. I should be thankful for that, but the devil on my shoulder tells me I should've finished the job. If only the police knew what I really got up to the last few weeks Charles has been visiting. I purposely told him to keep Lace away. She doesn't need to see this shit. She also doesn't need to hear about how watching your back in this place is getting harder and harder.

I'm surprised when it isn't Charles I see coming into the visiting room. It's Cash. The President of the NOLA Rebels MC, in all his glory. Gray hair, sharp blue eyes and an attitude you just don't mess with. He's been like a father to me ever since I started with the club several years ago. He knows about what I used to do for a living, and I have no regrets.

Right after I graduated high school, I realized college was never gonna be for me. When I was kicked out of military basic training which earned me my nickname ‘Riot', I took a journey into the land of the morally gray and corrupt underworld. I was the best shooter in my class and I thought I was destined to be a sniper, and I was, just not for the military.

I told myself I was only taking out the garbage, moving around from city to city working for the mafia and other corrupt crime organizations. The great thing about being a ghost was nobody knew who I was. My sister was protected under the legal guardianship of Charles, so none of that led back to me. Putting her, or Charles, in danger was never an option. But I made good money, and I was good at my job. It was kinda surreal, if I'm being honest, seeing shit on the national news about an assassin terrorizing the streets of Chicago. I took out a crime lord on behalf of the Russians, it wasn't like I took out the entire organization, though it stopped the Chicago underworld from going into disarray. The Bratva may be ruthless, but at least they have rules in place.

In any case, those underworld assholes all had it coming; that's what I told myself. Killing isn't an easy thing, but maybe I always had anger issues to begin with. I can't think why. Funnily, it's always been toward men. Women I have no issue with, in fact, sometimes I think it's my mission in life to protect every damn woman I know.

I give Cash a chin lift as we clasp hands. "Thought someone sent me a conjugal visitor. Didn't expect to see you here."

He smirks. "Sorry to disappoint."

"You good, Prez?"

He glances around the room, then thumbs behind him toward the door. "Be better when we get you outta here. That sniffer dog experience will go down as one of the highlights of my day."

"Those K-9s get right up in your balls."

He snickers.

We sit facing each other at one of the tables. In this facility, it's a lot like a high school cafeteria with chairs, tables and vending machines. I always fuckin' forget to bring coins for the damn thing. I've been at other facilities that have a counter that winds around the room, the prisoners sit on one side, and visitors on the other. There are a few others in the room, but it's not busy mid-week. I see a couple of kids at the table nearby, both are looking around a little bewildered, and shake my head. I don't care what people say, this is no place for children.

Cash's eyebrows knot together. "How you been?"

I lower my voice to a whisper. "Better than most. Only helped eradicate one inmate so far."

He points at me. "Watch your back, son. I want you outta here alive. With Shadow if he can help it."

"Oh, I renamed him Priest."

"You're shittin' me?"

I shrug. "Kinda suits. He's a good listener. I'm not sure how close to God he is right now, but he don't take no shit in here. The man has the ability to control an entire room just by bein' present, never seen anything like it."

"Just the kind of man we need. The Brothers need someone to bounce off. Sick and tired of hearin' them all bitch and moan like little schoolgirls."

"He's gonna be gettin' out in a few months." Priest got caught beating up his stepfather. The guy was a piece of shit to begin with. So in many ways, we have a lot in common. It was deemed self-defense, but they still gave him six months.

Nobody likes prison, but he's like a trapped bird. Me? I'm used to living in confined spaces and hating everyone around me. At least here I get fed three times a day and have a decent hot shower every night. Still. It's not like I don't wanna get out, but I never worry about anything.

My mom always said to try and use humor to get out of any situation before using violence, and for the most part I've tried to do that. Then again, maybe I didn't heed her advice since my previous occupation included killing people. Trouble is, I did also inherit my father's temper; it's something I'm aware of and because I never want to be anything like that asshole, I keep that anger buried deep inside. In truth, sometimes I'm afraid of what might happen if that monster is unleashed.

I do talk a lot to try and get out of shit, and Priest always tells me to shut the fuck up. Even though a lot of men inside want in the NOLA Rebels, Cash wouldn't accept any felon that wants in just for the sake of it. He's picky with who he lets in his club. Most of the men in here will never set foot inside the Rebels MC, but if they want to go on thinking that there's a chance they might and it protects my back, then I'm not gonna argue with that.

"Gettin' out and stayin' out are two different things." Cash tilts his head. "The only reason he's gettin' to try out as a prospect is because of you."

"Aww, thanks Prez, you do like me after all."

"If I didn't like you, numb nuts, I wouldn't have dragged my ass out here to visit now, would I?"

"If you liked me, you'd have brought a sweet butt instead."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Pussy is what got you in here in the first place."

"Not entirely true; I wasn't fuckin' her. She's a friend."

"Since when are you and women friends?"

"Since I met her."

"What's her name again?"

"Tequila-Rose. Or just Rose to most people."

"Jesus fuckin' Christ."

I smirk. "It's okay, Prez. If we got anythin' out of this, it's the fact you know I'll protect the women of the club with my bare hands if I have to."

"There's a reason why I keep you in this club, thanks for remindin' me."

"When you get an ol' lady, maybe you won't be such a grump."

He looks up. "Grump? Try fuckin' dealin' with a bunch of teenagers day in and day out, then you'll see how much fun it is. As for ol' lady? Told you before, I'm done with women."

His last ol' lady was a real fuckin' disaster. She hooked up with his stepbrother, Razor, and told him the kid she was carryin' wasn't even his. The kid ended up dying during childbirth, but I think that would have an impact on you. The feud with his brother, however, is ongoing and has been for years. Someday soon, that idiot will have it coming and he will pay. Everyone has to.

"Uh huh, you're just the pinnacle of chastity over here," I chuckle. "Now you're old and your hair's turnin' gray, that'll have all the chicks linin' up."

"It's silver, and some say it's distinguished, not fuckin' old. Remind me why I came here again?"

"Because you've always had a soft spot for me and you're secretly worried about me bein' too pretty in here?"

"Don't joke about shit like that."

"If you can't laugh, you'd cry."

He narrows his eyes, giving me that serious ‘dad' face. "One day, that smart mouth of yours is gonna get you into even more trouble."

"Like this isn't bad enough?"

"You left the guy breathin', that's the only reason you're gettin' out."

"Like he didn't deserve it."

"Yeah, but your ego got in the way. Could've left it, walked away after beatin' him, but you had to go one more and drag him out onto the street."

"Hey, I was on a roll."

"Not sayin' that asswipe didn't have it comin', but you're gonna have to reign in that temper of yours." The muscles in his jaw tick. "I was you once, kid. A long time ago when I was in the Devils Ink MC. One percent life back then was no life. Always lookin' over your shoulder. Wonderin' when it was gonna be your turn to meet your maker. I don't want that for you."

I'm lucky really, to have people in my life that care this much about me. It's more than I could ever ask for, and probably more than I deserve. "I'm good, Prez. This was a slip."

"The next slip could be death row. Think about that."

I nod. This isn't the time to keep making jokes. Even I know when to quit. "Not like I wanna be back in here for any length of time. When Priest gets out, he can help me. I know he'll be good for the club."

This appeases him for the moment. We all know that having someone like Priest in the club will only help the brothers and let's face it, nobody wants to admit they have problems or want to talk about shit, but having Priest on the inside has helped calm me. He has that effect on people. It's a gift. I wonder suddenly what my gifts are? Of course, if you asked Delilah, Sparkles or Lolita, they'd tell you I have plenty of gifts. They're just not ones I can add to my resume.

"That remains to be seen. For now, just try and keep your sorry ass alive."

I rub my chin. "For my next visit just send Delilah. She'll keep my sorry ass more than alive."

He shakes his head. "Seriously. Ass jokes in prison?"

"Got knives where people will never find them."

"Keep your mouth shut and your eyes and ears everywhere. If I get you outta here alive, it'll be a goddamn miracle." He goes to stand.

"You got some change for the vendin' machine?" I wasn't gonna ask, but since he's been such a stick in the mud, I thought I'd try my luck.

He fishes around in his pockets. "It's like havin' a child," he sighs.

I grin. "One that never leaves you. I'll be home soon, Dad."

"Wise ass." He hands the change over and then his voice drops. "You need anythin' to get by, you let me know."

I nod. "Got contacts. Keepin' our heads above water long enough for me and Priest to get outta here."

"Good."

The club don't deal in illegal shit, but it's amazing what inmates will do for a cigarette, including protection.

I open my arms wide for a hug and his shoulders shake from laughter. "You gotta death wish, I swear to God."

"What? Most people think you're old enough to be my dad, so?"

He slaps me upside the head. "Second time in one visit you've called me old."

I laugh as he one-arm hugs me, unable to leave me hanging. "See ya on the outside."

"You bet."

Three weeks later

I look up to the sky, like I haven't seen it before, and inhale. Freedom never smelled so good.

I told Charles not to come get me. For one, I didn't want him to see me looking like shit when I got out. He has been kind enough to visit, but that's just him; the father I never had.

I was lucky, in the end, to have such a strong and kind-hearted man to look after me and my sister, who didn't want anything from us. Just to make sure we were okay. It healed all three of us and I owe him a large debt that I probably can never repay.

"You look like shit," are the first words I hear. Tag; the club's Enforcer and the world's grumpiest biker known to man. I mean, he's a muscular, scary looking dude who used to be a bodybuilder and a boxer. I can street fight like nobody's business, but I wouldn't take on this guy unless I wanted my pretty face rearranged.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" I go toward him with my lips puckered and he shoves me back. "Looks like they sent the welcomin' party pooper parade."

"You wanna end up back in the joint? Just keep goin'."

"You'd be the one goin' in. Plus, you're prettier than me, so probably not a good idea."

"No doubt about that. They didn't teach you any manners in there," he says.

"I did learn how to make mashed potatoes out of a packet."

He shakes his head. "That's fuckin' digustin'."

I pat him on the side of the shoulder. "Best you keep towin' the line, big guy. Some of us aren't cut out for the slammer."

He thumbs to the truck. "Shut up and get in."

"Yes, sir."

I feel bad leaving Priest back there, but the man can handle himself. They even lessened his sentence, though fuck knows why, he hasn't exactly acted like the ‘son of a preacher child' while being inside. But if he keeps his nose clean, he might just make it and live to tell the tale.

"You got any shit to get off your chest, do that with one of the sweet butts or Bronco, I'm sure he'd love to hear all about it."

"Why'd they send you?" Everyone knows Tag isn't one to converse with. I think this is the most he's said to me in all the time I've known him.

"Only idiot who didn't make himself busy."

"Nice. Can we stop off at Burger King?" I ask.

"No."

I groan. "You're no fun."

"Not here for fun. Cash needs you."

"Of course he does." I stretch back in the seat. "When doesn't he need a pretty face and a smart ass around the clubhouse?"

"I mean, he's got a job for you that doesn't involve shooting people in the head."

"Sounds borin' already."

Tag grunts. "Beats gettin' locked up again."

"Haven't had a job in ages, not since I started with the club."

"Shit comes back to haunt you."

"I'm a ghost," I remind him. "Got nothin' distinguishable about me, well, not like I'm gonna whip my dick out to prove that point bein' all wrong now, is it?"

"You lose some brain cells in the clink?"

I laugh. "Just tryin' to get a rise outta you, brother."

"Sounds like you're tryin' to get hit in the head. Just keep talkin'."

"You get yourself an ol' lady while I was gone?"

Another grunt. We all know that he's had a soft spot for Luna — one of the chicks who hangs around the clubhouse — for as long as anyone can remember. The only thing is she comes and goes and right now she ain't here. Maybe that's why he's so grumpy. She isn't a sweet butt; in fact, she's a good girl. I don't understand what she sees in him, or even if the feelings are reciprocated, but what I do know is he threatened every one of us for even looking at her when she came to the club the first time. The man needs to grow a set and do something about it.

"Fine, don't dignify it with an answer." I look out the window, my stomach growling. "Can we stop somewhere for food?"

"What are you, a mother fuckin' child? Have somethin' to eat when we get back."

"Don't want frozen lasagna. It's about time Cash got a real cook, the club is gettin' big enough to pay someone."

"Sure. Bring your concerns up at church, I'm sure Cash'll appoint a personal chef just to cater to your every whim."

I laugh. "You're pretty funny when you try."

"Not tryin'. Now shut the fuck up. Givin' me a headache."

Even Tag's grouchiness can't make me unhappy. Today is a good day. It's the day I get to turn my life around, because if I ever see the inside of a prison ever again, it might just be the last thing I ever do.