Chapter Two

BISHOP

"How's everything coming along?" I questioned as Blue and I pushed through the doorway of the boxing gym. The sound of fists connecting with pads and bags was so loud I felt the vibrations moving through my body. The smell hit next—sweat mixed with that shit you rubbed on your muscles when they were sore. It's not exactly pleasant, but I've spent so much time here these days that I've become accustomed to it.

The club had bought Brawlers a few months ago. Some people might call it an investment opportunity. I called it a legitimate business that was perfect to cover illegitimate activities.

Not only was it a busy and well-known gym used by many boxers in the area to train and compete, but it also had a large basement big enough to house a new project, and I was here to check in on its progress.

"Yeah, it's looking good. Probably only be a couple of weeks before it's ready," Blue explained. Blue was my sergeant at arms, and he'd been tasked with running this place. He'd won regional and national championship belts in his younger days, but an injury kept him from making it any further. Since then, he'd been training up-and-coming fighters—many in this gym—which was how we'd ended up with it when the last owner decided it was time for him to retire. "Rafe also wants to speak with you about prospecting for the club."

"The kid who won the fight last night?" I asked, my eyebrow raised as we stepped into the open gym. There was a ring in the middle and many other spaces around the room for fighters to hone their skills. The place was almost packed.

Blue nodded. "Yeah. He's got some fucking talent but some real shitty circumstances. Been in foster care for a few years, but he'll be aging out when he turns eighteen in a few weeks, and it sounds like he'll be on his own once his foster parents stop getting paid. I've been working with him for free for months now, just in my spare time. The kid is angry but willing to listen and work hard."

"You gonna sponsor him?"

"I will."

Every new person looking to be patched had to have the endorsement of a full member. That member became responsible for the prospect as they worked toward getting their patch, and the process was not for everyone. It was hard work and humiliating at times because before the men in my club would trust you with their lives, they had to push you. They had to know how badly you wanted it and how hard you would fight for it.

If you were going to bitch and moan the moment a full member told you to get them a beer, you weren't made for this shit.

We'd all done it.

We'd all proven ourselves.

And in return for our strength and loyalty, we were awarded the most powerful fucking family in the world. And in our world, we didn't question if you were willing to die for the club.

Dying was the easy part. I wanted to know if you were willing to live for the club.

The way Blue answered immediately and confidently told me everything I needed to know.

"Okay. Tell him to come by for lunch this afternoon."

"Blue!" Blue and I both turned to see a young girl with pink gloves waving her arms from the ring. She pulled her mouthguard out. "It's Rafe and Jones!" She jabbed her hand toward the back of the gym where a small crowd had gathered.

"Goddammit," Blue cursed, and we took off running, dodging through people and boxing bags.

"What the fuck?" I hissed as Blue and I pushed and shoved our way through the circle of bodies to get to the three guys throwing wild fists in the center. I grabbed one by the back of his shirt and tossed him into the concrete wall of the building on my left while Blue wrapped his arm around the second guy's chest and pulled him backward.

Rafe was left huffing and puffing, his nostrils flaring while blood dripped from one side. "Can't hit me in the ring, so you and your buddies jump me in the back of the fucking gym?" he yelled toward the kid who had managed to detangle himself from Blue's hold. He'd calmed down but was still at major risk of ending up with the imprint of my brother's fist in his nose if he didn't wipe the stupid grin off his fucking face soon.

"All right, everyone move the fuck on," I snapped, waving the amused crowd of fighters away. They dispersed quickly, all except Rafe's assailant, who continued to grin, the blood decorating his front teeth, making his wide smile extra fucking creepy. "The hell is going on here?" I demanded, looking from one furious young guy to the other.

"I fucking knocked Hunter out in the ring last night," Rafe finally growled. He had. I'd seen it with my own eyes. "So he and his friend decided to jump me."

"That ref got it wrong," Hunter protested with a sneer. "Let's go right now, right here. Or are you scared your win was just pure luck?"

"You—"

"That's enough!" I roared, shoving Rafe toward Blue before I turned on Hunter, who seemed to be getting a real kick out of the chaos he was creating. "How old are you, Hunter?"

His smile faltered, falling into a frown as he turned his attention to me and away from Rafe.

"I'm fucking eighte—"

I drove my fist hard into his gut, sending him stumbling backward. He coughed and choked, holding his stomach as he fought to breathe. I stepped a little closer with my fist still clenched, lowering my voice. "Next time you want to fuck around with someone who is a part of my club, I will beat your fucking ass until you're crying out for mommy to come save you."

His eyes grew wider, and I ignored my brothers' booming laughter behind me.

He forced his shoulders back, even though I saw pain on his face. "You don't have the skills, old man."

"Jesus Christ," Blue muttered under his breath.

I lurched forward, grabbed the front of his tank top in my fist, and slammed him back against the wall, instantly letting go of him and letting his body sink to the floor, where he curled into a little ball.

Crouching down, I grabbed his face, forcing him to look up at me through the tears in his eyes. The stupid child was all talk and liked to look tough until he had to prove it, which was exactly why he'd come here with backup to fight Rafe instead of doing it in the ring, one-on-one.

Because he knew that was the only way to get back a little of the dignity that Rafe had stolen the night before when he dropped him with one fucking punch.

"This is the only warning you get. I might not have the skills in a ring, but I don't need them," I told him, slapping his cheek playfully. "Because you can't fucking outrun a bullet, sweetheart."

Standing, I stepped back, and his buddy, who had been smart and stayed the hell out of it, rushed in and helped Hunter off the floor. The two of them awkwardly hobbled back across the gym and out the front doors.

I turned to Rafe and lifted my chin. "You good?"

He swiped at his nose while still glaring at the exit. "I could have taken them."

Blue slapped the kid around the head, and Rafe pulled back. "What the f—"

"It isn't about whether you could have handled it yourself," I informed him, even though Blue was trying to send the same message with a dark glare that could have melted steel. "It's about letting assholes like him know that you have people behind you… the club behind you. We don't carry that weight on our own. We share it amongst our brothers so it becomes lighter."

He grabbed the towel he had discarded on the floor and wiped his face with it. "Does that mean you're going to let me prospect?"

"You come over to my place for lunch later, and we'll talk about it."

Rafe was already nodding. "Yeah, for sure."

His eyes had changed. The anger was gone, and I saw hope sparkling in them. That was what this kind of offer could do for a person who needed it.

A person who didn't have a family or people in their life who supported them, protected them, loved them. I knew that feeling because, at one time, years ago, I had been in his place, needing someone to take a chance on a young kid who had no one and nowhere to go.

My life started deep within a religious cult called The Valley. They had a compound not far from Detroit, with homes built far out in the countryside where they could brainwash and indoctrinate without being caught out and questioned about their practices.

A woman's purpose was to cook, clean, and breed.

Young boys started physical labor jobs from ten years old, working for little to nothing in pay, while The Valley and their businesses made millions.

I was fifteen when they tried to make me watch my thirteen-year-old sister marry a man four times her fucking age. A man who had children older than her. I stepped in to try and stop them. In return, I was driven out of the compound and left on some fucking back road in the middle of the countryside with no food, water, or money and told never to return.

I suspect they thought I'd die out there, but I'd been determined not to let them have the satisfaction.

It was almost four days later that I heard the roar of motorcycles and met the man who would change my life.

Rook. President of The Exiled Eight MC, Detroit.

He gave me a ride out of there.

And I never looked back.

Here's hoping Rafe would seize this opportunity because it would only be offered once.