Chapter 1

Shitbox Sundae

The screech of tires on asphalt turned the heads of everyone in the bank, but it was the crunch of metal on metal and the clattering thud of something hitting concrete that had Maddox leaping up from his seat. All thoughts of the accounts he'd been in the middle of opening were forgotten as those tires squealed away. He reached the door as a flash of dark paint and taillights disappeared around the corner, eyes immediately zoning in on the spot where he'd left his baby.

The '67 Electra Glide lay on her side like a toppled turtle, the detached front fender was still spinning in front of the door to the Blue Star Diner, while the forks were mashed against the bricks between the buildings. His foot struck something as he hurried towards the downed bike, and he stared in disbelief as his shattered headlight skittered several feet before dropping off the curb.

What the actual fuck?

Growling, Maddox hurried after it, rescuing the mangled mess before anything could run it over. Not that it was salvageable. The crest was crushed, one of the eagle's wings was ground down along the edges. Even if he could remove it, it was worthless now. The moment he had it in his hands he knew it was destined for the scrapheap. He kept waiting for the sound of sirens, but there was nothing but the steady beat pulsing from the window of a car parked across the street.

Hoping the owner had gotten a good look at the vehicle that had wrecked his ride, he rushed over only to see that it was unoccupied, another reminder of the difference in small town living. In the valley where he'd grown up, no one would dare leave the keys in their vehicle and the engine running, even if they were in the middle of a bank robbery. Even inexperienced dumbasses were too smart to want to wind up fodder for the Dumbest Criminals reels, which is exactly what would happen if they'd rushed outside with a backpack full of stolen cash only to realize they'd been the victim of a car thief. The karma would have been epic, but still.

Turning, he returned to the downed machine, groaning when he saw the twisted condition of the handlebars. The forks looked bent, and the vintage seat was listing to the left and partially turned. Fuckin chrome was all scraped up and his paintjob was wrecked to boot. In short, it was a disaster that no amount of cussing was going to undo.

"They're sending an officer over," the financial officer he'd been working with declared from where he stood just inside the door of the bank, shaking his head at the mess.

"Fuckin' useless at this point!" Maddox snapped, wanting to bury his face in his hands and snarl like a honey badger when the man paled and immediately whipped around and disappeared inside.

One day.

One fuckin' day.

Not even a full twenty-four hours and he'd already gone and let his old self overshadow the man he was trying to be.

When he'd left the Marauding Demons, the only thing he'd carried with him from that life was the ink he bore on his skin, that bike, and his stepfather's approval. The ink was proof of the family he still had, and easy enough to cover beneath the long sleeves of his blazer and the gray V-neck shirt he wore underneath. His motorcycle he'd seen no reason to hide, especially not on a day like this. So what if he'd missed his kutte and chaps for just a minute when he'd gotten on, he told himself that was to be expected, even after all these years. That time in his life had shaped him and taught him to go after what he wanted with the same furious passion as when he'd been patching in.

Right now though, the furious, vengeful pieces of his past reared their ugly heads, wishing like hell he was still surrounded by his club brothers, because they'd have chased the bastard down and curb stomped his ass for hitting his Electra Glide. That'd have issued out a separate punishment for driving away after it happened, something that would forever mark them as a coward as well as a reckless idiot.

Which was exactly what he intended to do if he ever caught up to the asshole.

Breathe.

Catching felonious assault charges in his first week in Foggy Basin would not be a good look, especially not when he intended to launch a business here.

Before further impulses towards committing gratuitous bodily harm could take root and overshadow reason, a black squad car pulled up with the emblem of the police department emblazoned on its side. The woman who got out looked grim as she glanced from him to the bike, then scanned the street looking for the other vehicle.

"Don't bother, there isn't one," Maddox interrupted. "The son of a bitch took off."

"Did you get a look at it?" she asked as she stepped up onto the sidewalk, her radio crackling with the report of a vehicle versus pedestrian hit and run.

"No but I can tell you it's dark just judging from the flash I did see of it and the paint transfer," he said, pointing to the streaks on what was once an amazing paint job. Hellfire red, streaked with smoke, the ghostly image of demon faces appeared in several spots, shimmering when the light hit them just right. All those undertones of grays had given the red a dark, sinister look before it had gone sliding across the pavement.

"Thanks," she said and promptly turned, rushing back to her vehicle as finally, he heard the loudest siren he'd ever heard rise-up and drown out everything. The damned thing sounded like it was issuing a warning about an impending air raid, and it was only then that he realized that was exactly the type of siren he was hearing. Slowly, it was joined by slightly softer ones, including hers as she roared away before a sputtering Maddox could say anything else.

Quiet small town indeed! This was some bullshit!

Yanking his phone out, he stabbed the green icon beside Archer's name and barely waited for the man to say hello before he launched into a tirade

"I need you to bring your truck over to the bank. Some fucker hit my bike and tore off without stopping."

"Might have been the smartest thing anyone has ever done," Archer muttered beneath his breath, "I wouldn't have stuck around waiting for you to kill me either."

Maddox could hear him moving around, the jangle of his key and the thud of something hitting the ground echoing loudly through the connection.

"Save your snark for someone in the mood to hear it," Maddox cautioned the man he'd taken under his wing not long after he'd left the Demons.

All this time, Archer still hadn't learned that there was a time and place for certain things and right now wasn't one of them. That he might have had a point wasn't of any interest to Maddox, the only thing he wanted was to get his baby to someone with the space, tools, and talent to help him get her back on the road again.

"I'll be there in five," Archer replied, his words punctuated by the sound of silence after he'd ended the call.

Maddox used that time to gather up the few other pieces that had been knocked off the bike, cursing at the condition of his gremlin bell. A gift from his road dog, Joshua, it would never jingle again. Holding it in his hands was like holding Joshua's broken corpse all over again, the painful tangle of memories slashing at him as sharply as the knife some damned Joker had raked across his ribs years before. He'd been lucky that reinforcements arrived before the bastard had gutted him, but the out and out war that had ensued had kickstarted his desire to escape that lifestyle. Joshua's death had been the final atrocity and the one he'd never be able to forgive.

When Archer pulled up eight minutes later, disheveled hair sticking up in several directions and a trio of hickeys on the side of his neck, Maddox didn't have to ask what the delay had been, Archer was wearing it from his backwards, inside out t-shirt to the unbuttoned fly on his jeans.

"Drop the tailgate," Maddox barked, glaring when Archer let out a long, low whistle at the sight of the Electra Glide. "And don't say a goddamned thing."

So, the little shit saluted him instead, then dropped the tailgate and moved around to the back of the Harley and eyed her skeptically.

"Pretty sure it's going to take more than the two of you to get her in there," a burly beast of a man called from across the street.

He and an equally large guy in a worn green flannel waited for an old Cadillac with a rubbernecking couple to pass before they crossed the street. Between the four of them, they were able to muscle his baby into the back of Archer's pickup, a feat that might not have been possible if he'd had a lift kit on it like some of the other truck he'd seen around town since they'd arrived. Now that he thought about it, those taillights he'd seen had been higher than on a standard vehicle, which meant that the dark paint he'd spotted on his baby's side could have come from the black pusher bars many pickup truck owners installed to protect their grills. Now that he thought about it, the two seemed to go hand in hand around here, along with roof mounted spotlights and black, diamond patterned running boards.

Shit.

That meant the color of the actual vehicle could be anything.

Damnit all.

Fuck!

Breathe goddammit, breathe.

He could worry about all that shit later, along with filing the insurance claims. He'd already snapped dozens of photos of the accident site since the officer had taken off to join in the pursuit of the hit and run vehicle. They'd better catch the fucker before he started looking, that was for damn sure.

"Why aren't you driving?" Maddox asked after they'd been sitting in the truck with his Harley in the back for a good five minutes while Archer scrolled through his phone.

"'cause you haven't told me where you want to go yet."

"Where do you think I want to go?" Maddox grumbled peevishly.

"The nearest Harley shop," Archer replied. "Which is what I'm trying to find."

"For fuck's sake!" Maddox snarled, seriously beginning to regret letting Archer talk him into opening their specialty grocery store and outdoor market in this tiny ass town.

Hell, the only reason he'd agreed to the plan was because Archer's siblings ran the local dispensary and many of their products were marijuana infused. The potential for a lucrative partnership had seemed like more than enough reason to relocate, but now he was beginning to rethink how well he'd do in a small-town setting where not a single goddamned thing seemed to be open after nine except the gas station and a handful of bars. When they'd sat immobile for another five minutes, Maddox nearly lost his shit and told Archer to forget the whole deal and drive him straight back to the valley where he knew several guys who could have his baby running right in inside of a week, as long as they could find the parts.

Shit. Shit. Fuck.

Baby was a classic and he'd brought her to the middle of nowhere where he doubted anyone had ever seen a classic Electra Glide before, let alone knew how to fix one.

"Do you mean to tell me that there isn't a mechanic in town that works on bikes?" Maddox grumbled.

"There is," Archer replied, but Maddox had been reading people long enough to know that he was hedging about something.

"Then why aren't we headed there?"

"Because I'm not certain he'll want to work on your bike if I'm with you."

"Fine, then you keep your ass outside where whoever you pissed off can't see that you know me."

Archer said nothing, and he still didn't drive.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" Maddox said at last.

"Probably not."

"I told you from the jump that you needed to give me full disclosure about what you were getting me into in regard to coming here."

"And I have."

"Then why aren't we moving?"

Archer sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "So, remember when we visited the dispensary and you met my brother, River, and he was telling us about him and my sister's plans for the space between the dispensary and the gas station?"

"Yeah, all that bright pink hair is impossible to forget," Maddox rumbled, doing his level best not to lose his patience. "Not sure I recall much about the conversation though. I was too busy checking out all the strains he had on his shelves."

A shrewd, calculating man, there were few things that got Maddox bent out of shape these days, but something happening to his ride was right at the top of that list. The thought of being denied his wind therapy for any length of time left him feeling like someone was taking a cheese grater to his nerves. Archer had better get to the point and quick, or Maddox was libel to say something they'd both regret later.

"That space is where the auto shop is."

"And again, I ask why we aren't already headed in that direction?" Maddox huffed.

"My younger brother, Haven, is the mechanic."

"You never introduced me to him."

"I know, he was still in jail. He got out a couple weeks ago."

"And unless he was in for stealing or stripping bikes and selling off the parts, I don't give a damn," Maddox replied. "Hell, at this point, even carjacking isn't an issue as long as it isn't my baby he decides to make off with, which in her current condition still isn't an issue so put this bitch in gear and let's get moving."

And yet they continued to sit while Maddox's temper moved from barely contained simmer to full, roiling boil.

"I haven't seen my brother since the night he got locked up," Archer admitted.

"And you won't have to see him today as long as you keep your ass in the truck!"

"Yeah…yeah…okay," Archer muttered and finally turned the fucking key.

Maddox stewed for the whole six blocks it took to get there, hoping this wasn't going to be another heaping scoop of shit to add to the top of the shitbox sundae his day had rapidly morphed into.