Crow: Kings of Carnage MC - Prospects

Lifting my chin, I slowly swallow the lump in my throat. I know where he’s taking me… to The Kings of Carnage MC.

Is this my chance to get in?

Following North, we head down a single road and turn off toward an old-looking fire station with motorcycles parked out front. So it’s true, they did take over the old firehouse and converted it into their clubhouse. North parks right in between two black slick-looking bikes. I stay back and turn my headlights off so they’re not blinding him and the couple of guys that are standing outside.

Grabbing my keys, I slip them into my pocket and get out, shutting the door behind me. North is already heading toward the men. The moon hanging in the sky casts an ominous shadow along their faces as they all watch me. None of them look friendly, their expressions hard, and bodies tattooed and clad in leather.

“Chaos, Ruin, this is Crow, the guy I was talking to you about,” North introduces me before leaning back against the building, one knee bent and his thumbs in each of his pockets. A guy steps out into the moonlight, his hair and beard blonde, his arms muscular and shoulders wide. My eyes fall to his cut. Chaos, the president of the club. He’s the one that says what goes down and knows everything that happens in this town. Biggest fucking outlaw in the area.

“Crow, what kinda name is that?” His voice is low and gravelly.

A small smirk pulls at the right side of my mouth.

“One that’s followed me around since I was a kid, I suppose.”

He looks back at North and his sullen expression pulls at his tough-guy features.

“What the fuck happened to you?” He must be talking about the bruise on North’s face from the fight.

“Fucking guy at the club tonight, if it weren’t for karate kid over here, he would have hit me again.” He points toward me and Chaos and the other guy both look my way again.

“Is that right?” Chaos mumbles.

The other guy who looks identical to Chaos but younger, laughs, walking toward me, he palms my shoulder. The name Ruin on his leather cut.

“Damn, North, you losing your touch and need someone younger to help you? Maybe we can put a life alert around your neck so next time you get your ass handed to you, someone can come help you up?”

Chaos and Ruin both laugh, and I admit, it’s pretty fucking funny to picture someone like North needing help.

“Fuck you both.” He raises his hand, giving the middle finger to us.

“So, North thinks there’s something in you we need. What do you say to that?” Chaos turns his head to the side, eyeing me with dark, mischievous eyes. He’s offering me a chance into the club.

“Prospect?” I rub my hands together, raising a brow at the thought of getting my shot to shine.

“Yep, means you—”

“I know what it means, and yes. I’m in,” I interrupt him. I’m the bitch until I prove myself to the whole club, if I fuck up, it’s on North. My eyes sweep over to him, considering we haven’t talked much, he must really see something in me that I don’t.

“We’ll see if you’re worthy,” Ruin grunts, pulling the door open to the club, the sound of music and smoke pouring out before he disappears inside.

“North will get your cut, a gun, and—”

He looks over my shoulder, and I follow his gaze.

“You got a motorcycle, right?”

My eyes flick to North, who inconspicuously nods.

“Yeah,” I lie.

“Good, ride it. This is a motorcycle club after all, not the fucking Ford girl scouts.”

Two Days Later

Crow

The truck and trailer backs up my driveway, the loud beeping noise alerting the entire trailer park that I’m having a Harley Davidson delivered. Grabbing my leather by the lapels, I pull it on a little tighter to show the nosey neighbors exactly who they have living among them. This makes most turn around and go back into their homes, all except one, the woman in the trailer across the street from me. Her light brown hair is over both her shoulders, a white tank top not thick enough to hide her nipples from the cool morning air, and little baby blue shorts that have untied strings dangling down her tan thighs. Leaning over the rail of her porch, she brings a white coffee mug to her mouth, taking a sip while she watches.

“Alright, sign here and she’s all yours.” The driver grabs my attention, handing me an electronic handheld device to sign my name. I scribble across it with a plastic pen and hand it back to him.

He holds the keys out, and I take them, looking them over in my palm. Holy shit, I have my own motorcycle, and not just any fucking bike. A Harley Davidson, a 2021 Harley Davidson XL 883N Iron 883 to be exact. The side is scratched, and you can tell it’s been laid over, but it’ll be perfect for my first bike.