Chapter 1
Jason
I stand up at the knocking sound on the wall. Grayson, a fellow Guardian, is standing in the doorway looking at me with a smug look on his face. He crosses his arms over his chest. "The Pres wants to see you."
"Fuck," I mutter. The last few weeks have been tense. Our club moved from Texas to this small town called Whiskey Run. We've been working hard trying to get everything in place, but tensions have been high. "What's he want?" I ask as I wipe my hands off on the rag hanging from my pocket.
Grayson just shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. Did you fuck up or something?"
I think back to the last few days. Pres had warned us to lay low since we got here, and I've done exactly that. I haven't even visited the bar in town. As a matter of fact, the only thing I do when I leave the compound is go downtown to the Sugar Glaze Bakery. The other guys go for the pastries, but I go for Tara. I take a deep breath and shove past Grayson. "I guess I better go see what he wants. I'll be back."
I walk down the hallway and realize that Grayson is right behind me. I look over my shoulder. "What are you doing?"
Grayson just laughs. "There's no way I'm going to miss you getting an ass chewing." I flip him the bird and keep walking to the other side of the building where Pres' office and conference room is set up. I take a deep breath and knock on the open door. "Hey, Pres. You wanted to see me?"
"Get your ass in here."
I walk through the door, and Pres is standing next to his desk, his arms crossed over his chest. "Sit your ass down."
I do as he says. There's not a lot of people that I let tell me what to do, but Pres is one of them, mostly because I respect him. I sit down in the chair and wait. I know how Pres is when he gets into these moods; it's better to just wait it out and listen. He moves around to the other side of his desk and leans across it, his arms firmly planted on the desk that is now in front of him. "You got something you need to tell me?"
I think about it before I respond. But honestly, I wasn't lying to Grayson. I've kept my ass out of trouble since we got out to Whiskey Run, mostly because I've spent my time chasing Tara. "No, sir," I answer.
He nods like he expected me to answer that way. "Okay. Do you remember when we had church in Texas? What was said before we left there?"
I think back to the meeting where it was announced we were all moving to Tennessee. Some of the members, and definitely the prospects, were surprised by it, but I wasn't. I've been a part of the club for a while now, and I've learned to not let anything surprise me.
"Yeah, Pres. I remember the meeting," I answer.
He nods. "All right. Well then, you remember my one rule for when we got here."
Finally, it's starting to click. I'm starting to understand what's happening. "We were to lay low when we got here, stay out of trouble."
He bangs his hand on the desk and stands up to his full 6'4” height. "That's right. That's exactly right. But for some fucking reason, you guys can't listen to what I say."
I shake my head. "Pres, we haven't done—"
But he interrupts me and doesn't let me get the rest out. He points at me. "Do you think laying low is taking ten bikers through downtown Whiskey Run and invading a bakery? Huh, Jason, is that what you’d consider laying low?"
I sit up straighter in the chair. "We didn't invade anything. We paid for what we ordered, and I think those girls are happy to see us. We probably brought them more business than they've had in a long time."
Pres rolls his eyes and mutters, "Are you kidding me right now? Have you looked at you guys? Have you looked at yourselves? Do you think we fit in here at Whiskey Run?"
The question only infuriates me. I'm used to being an outcast. Hell, I've been one my whole entire life, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to hide from society or that I'm going to stand by so some other motherfucker will find the value in Tara. No, there's no way I'm going to stand by and let her date another man.
I grit my teeth and try to keep myself calm. "No, sir. I don't think that we fit in here in Whiskey Run, but I don't know what you were expecting when you moved 20 bikers—a motorcycle club—from Texas to the smallest town in Tennessee. You think people weren't going to notice?"