as sympathy if I thought a brother could have sympathy for a prospect.
I cleared my throat. “I am a prospect in the greatest MC in the state of Florida,” I said through my teeth. “The Beach Bastards. I am not a son. I do not have a father. I am a soldier in the army of the lawless, and I am nothing more.”
Chop grunted his approval, “Hopefully this will teach you a lesson you seem to have a hard fucking time learning. I do not need or want a son. What I need is a good fucking soldier.” He released my cut and pushed me to my knees. Kicking me in the tailbone with his boot, I fell flat onto the floor, my cheekbone smashing against the black-and-white checkered linoleum. “Man the fuck up and start showing me some fucking respect before I send you to the same place I sent your cunt of a mother.”
Chop stormed from the room, pausing to exchange a brief annoyed look with the silver haired man. The rest of the brothers resumed their drinking and their game like we were never there.
The silver haired man knelt down and extended out his hand, and I shot him a look that must have conveyed what I was thinking, which was ‘is this a trick?’ because he laughed, grabbed my hand and pulled me up off the floor. I put my hand over my face where my cheek throbbed, and judging from the new red stain on the white square I’d landed on, it was bleeding as well. “It get’s better.” He said, slapping me hard on the back.
“Does it?” I asked, and I genuinely wanted to know. Needed to know. I saw what the brothers had, and it was what I wanted. The parties. The girls. The bad-ass bikes.
A little fucking respect.
But at that moment I needed to know if what Chop was putting me through was really going to be worth it someday.
“Sure does, kid. I’m Joker,” he said, leading me over to the bar.
“Joker?” I asked. “You a comedian or something?”
“Nah, I just really like Batman movies, but Batman didn’t seem all that subtle a road name, so they started calling me Joker.” He laughed, taking a swig of his beer. “I always liked the villains better, anyway.” He signaled to the BBB behind the bar, and she handed him two bottles of beer. He slid one over to me.
“I ain’t seen you ’round here before,” I said, taking a swig. It was in no way my first beer. “I’m used to knowing most everyone who hangs around here.”
He shrugged. “Figured since our clubs are friendly for this second in time, and we got some business going, thought I’d come check things out,” he said, spinning around so I could see that his cut read Wolf Warriors instead of Beach Bastards.
“Your club treat your prospects like shit?” I asked, taking a seat on the stool I knew was already on the highest setting so I wouldn’t embarrass myself by having to adjust the seat. I may have been the spitting image of my old man, complete with blond hair and ridiculous freckles, but at thirteen I’d barley hit even half of his height.
“Fuck yeah we do,” he said with a laugh, taking a swig of his beer. He leaned in close and lowered his voice. “But we don’t treat our sons like shit. Family is everything, kid. You remember that. Family is the entire point of all this fucking bullshit,” Joker said, waving his beer bottle to everything around us.
Finishing my beer, I stood up and set it on the bar. “Well, Joker, you heard the Prez yourself. I’m not his son.” I turned to leave, my shift at the gate about to start when something Joker said made me pause and spin back around.
“When the gavel is yours, kid, you’ll change all this. It’s in your blood. You’ll make it right again. I know you will. I have faith in you.”
I crinkled my nose. “Who are you again?” I asked the stranger who seemed to know not only who I was, but what I was destined for.
“I’m just a biker looking out, kid.” He put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and gave me a squeeze. He looked at me thoughtfully and nodded his head like he was confirming something to himself before strolling out the door.
I never saw him again.
CHAPTER TWO
Bear
Echoes of inmates cries floated through the cell block at night. Most