Days.
What do you need?
Quickly sending him what I could, I waited impatiently for him to respond. When he did, all he said was…
Consider it done.
Opening a new server, I typed the words:Contract accepted. FIRE activated.
Destiny, California.
When my phone pinged, I already knew who it was. It was only a matter of time before I was called. So, when the text came, I just grabbed my bag and left without telling a soul.
My brothers wouldn’t understand.
None of them would.
My past was a closely guarded secret, something I was reluctant to reveal or discuss with anyone. There would come a time when I would have to tell them, but until that day finally came, I resolved to remain quiet. All that mattered now was the mission, and when it was done, I would return home as if nothing had happened.
Just like every time before.
Traveling alone, the journey to the rendezvous point was a solitary experience, marked by quiet contemplation and introspection. As I rode along the quiet roads, the crisp night air filled my lungs, while my mind raced with a chaotic mix of cherished memories and gnawing fears. With every mile, the landscape blurred into the background while my current life receded into the distance, replaced by a growing sense of detachment. I could hear the echoes of my brothers’ laughter and the sharp jabs of their arguments in my mind, a symphony of their bond—a bond I valued above all else.
Yet, I had to leave them behind, at least for now.
Reaching the designated location, I saw the faint flickering light of a streetlamp in the distance. My senses were heightened with anticipation, so I approached cautiously. Seeing the old phone booth, I dialed the lone number I knew by heart. Standing there in the darkness, I listened while the phone rang once before someone answered.
I said nothing as I waited.
“Lawton, Oklahoma. Key pickup in the men’s room of a Taco Bell on the corner of Gore and Sheridan. Second stall.”
And just like that, the call ended.
Hanging up the phone, I headed back to my bike. My targets were marked. Their execution was imminent. Whoever made the call wasn’t taking any chances. I didn’t just offer my services to anyone. So, it didn’t matter who the targets were.
They played the game and lost.
Now it was time to pay the piper.
This job was going to require precision, stealth, and above all, accuracy.
The stakes were high, and failure was not an option.
As I headed back to my bike, I couldn’t help but think about the circumstances that led me to this moment. The secrets I kept were not just my own. They were of a legacy, of a lineage steeped in blood and death. My father, like me and his before him, were born bastards. I never knew my mother. I assumed she was just some club whore. Like every bastard before me, I grew up never knowing who my real father was. All I knew was the club he belonged to.
The Brotherhood of Bastards.
Unlike most of my current brothers, I wasn’t raised with a family, in foster care or on the streets. Nope, I was a child of the Trick Pony. When I turned fourteen, I killed the sick fuck who had been abusing me my whole life. Instead of killing me, I was kicked to the curb with no education, no money and no idea where to go. That’s when Maggie found me. She was a nice older woman who, without a single thought, took in a skinny, angry kid off the streets and never looked back. Thanks to Maggie I managed to cram eighteen years of education into my brain in four years and even snagged myself a full ride to Florida State. After college, I joined the military and never looked back. Not once did I ever think of who my actual father was, until a few years ago when I got a call from some hospital in Salem, Oregon telling me that my father was dying and requested to see me.
Call me curious, but I went to go see him, even if it was to tell him to fuck off. But I never got the chance. By the time I made it to the hospital, my old man was dead, and all he left me was an outrageous medical bill and a two worded note sayingI’m sorry.
Athens, Texas.
I was different from my brothers in the club. I didn’t share their thirst for adrenaline-fueled nights. I harbored a dark secret, a shameful truth that gnawed at my conscience, one I desperately wanted to keep hidden from the world. It was mine alone. While my brothers all came from different pasts, mine was something darker, more sinister. It cultivated me into the man I was today.
While my club brothers embraced their true selves with confidence and swagger, I hid behind a facade, pretending to be someone I wasn’t. I remained hidden, only showing myself when absolutely necessary, the silence my constant shield.
I eventually found a home within the Gods of Mayhem Motorcycle Club. Bound by a sacred code of loyalty and brotherhood, the club transcended blood kinship. Their bond was deeper, stronger, forged in mutual respect and shared purpose. Every member brought with them their individual past, a distinct reason behind their decision to join, their hopes and dreams coloring their reasons. Some ran, desperate to escape the shadows of their past; others marched, driven by a need to find their place in the world. But none of them sensed the heavy, suffocating shadow that hung over my life, a constant, silent threat.
