Stole.
Bitch.
There was nothing in my truck other than the registration and insurance papers. And my favorite fucking T-shirt. I knew exactly where the truck was from the GPS tracker that was on it. But I figured she knew that too and was waiting for me to come get it. I just hope she isn’t holding her breath.
On second thought, I hope she is.
A cab takes me to the airport, and by Monday afternoon, I’m back in Jackpot, Nevada, where I’ll be spending the next couple of weeks. Rookie and a Prospect meet me at the gates. I’m happy to see my brother. I’m happy to see my bike waiting for me. But it’s the sight of my cut Rookie pulls from his saddle bag that has me completely elated.
“Welcome home, Shady.” Shady. My fucking name.
The smell of leather engulfs me. The weight of it hangs heavy on my shoulders. With it surrounding me, I feel complete. My 1% patch is worn over my heart. The number thirteen is across from it. My side rocker states that I am Night Crew. My back patch says I’m Sinner’s Creed. The heart in my chest awakens, making me feel more alive than I have in months. The heavy beats pound out a message—I’m home.
I ride for hours, only stopping for gas. Rookie rides on my right, the Prospect directly behind me. Sometimes we ride hard—speeding at a pace that exceeds a hundred miles per hour. Sometimes we ride slower—taking the time to enjoy the view. There is no music, only the sound of pipes and the rush of wind.
By the time we make it to the bar with Nationals, it’s the early hours of the next morning, but the party is still in full swing.
“Heyyyyy, Shady,” the girls at the bar greet me with a smile. I’ve known them for years. They’re always here, always willing, and always ready. There’s no challenge. No bets or deals or games to play. If I want it, I get it.
“Heyyyyy, ladies,” I drawl, thickening my accent.
“We missed you.” Monica pouts, poking her lips out and reminding me of why I like them so much.
“It just hasn’t been the same without you here,” Jennifer adds, lining up shots on the bar.
“I missed y’all too.” I toast with them and, keeping to tradition, I announce to the entire bar, “Rally rules!” The girls squeal. The men cheer. And I sit back and watch as the women stand on the bar and start peeling off what little clothes they had on. Damn, it’s good to be back.
Before I indulge too much in the premium liquor and the easy pussy, I make my way to the porch, where I know Nationals are waiting. They all stand to greet me, taking turns to shake my hand and clap me on the back. Everyone else is dismissed and I find myself inside the circle of men who call the shots for Sinner’s Creed.
With the pleasantries out of the way, they get right down to business.
“We got an offer for you, Shady,” Jimbo, Nationals president, says. “We want you as a Nomad.” My back stiffens at his words.
“Why me?”
“You’re the best man for the job.” He shrugs as if it’s just that simple. But it’s not. Being a Nomad comes with a huge responsibility and one of the highest levels of respect. There are many other men in our club who are more worthy of the title than I am.
Being a Nomad was never really something I wanted. I liked being behind the scenes. But only because Dirk needed me there. Nobody could do what he did. Not even me.
“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I have what it takes,” I answer honestly. I didn’t want to disappoint my club. I didn’t want to disappoint Dirk.
“Yes you do,” Chaps, Nationals enforcer, says. “People respect you. They listen to you. You have more knowledge about the field than anyone else. You were Dirk’s right-hand man. The two of you were a team. Together, y’all made a difference. You deserve it. And we all agree that Dirk would have wanted you to have that rocker.” The men around me all nod in agreement.
Jimbo leans forward in his seat, wrapping his hand around my shoulder. “Dirk set the bar high. He’d been a Nomad for years. He earned everything he ever got and then some. You’ll do the same. It’ll take time, but I know you can earn that same level of respect from your brothers as Dirk did. Don’t doubt yourself, Shady. If I didn’t think you could do it, I wouldn’t ask you to.” He drops his hand and leans back, lighting a cigarette.
“Take six months and think about it.” Jimbo levels me with a look. He’s giving me the time I need to finish my current job before taking on this one. “In the meantime, enjoy yourself while you’re here. I need you in Texas next week. Got a big shipment coming in.”
I’m dismissed, but the meeting is still in order. I’m sure they’re discussing whether or not I’ll take it. If they know me like they should, then they won’t have very much to discuss. I don’t care about being a Nomad. The title don’t mean shit to me. But I’d just been asked to fill the biggest shoes of the best man I’d ever known. So I’ll say yes.