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 of these guys were hard gangsters by day and puddles of useless misery at night. It seemed that lights-out was the only time acceptable to wallow in the shitty hand you’ve been dealt.

Not me.

In my game I was both player and dealer, and I knew what cards I held before anyone else did.

Especially Ti.

It pained me to remember the look on her face when they slapped the cuffs on me she thought were meant for her. Her face scrunching up in confusion, followed by her eyes widening in surprise. When she called out for me I almost didn’t look back, thinking that she might never forgive me for what I’d done. But I had to. One last time for only who knows how long. And when I did, I didn’t expect her to leap into my cuffed arms and press those perfect pouty pink lips against mine.

Those fucking lips.

I thought time away from Ti would make me forget. Not about her, just about the little details. The things that might drive a man crazy when he couldn’t be with the one he wants most. I thought that maybe as time passed her beautiful face would start to grow blurry and it would be harder for me to picture her. That maybe I wouldn’t remember the incredible way she smelled.

Her soft moans.

The way her cheeks flushed when she was about to come.

No, that didn’t happen.

What did happen was that I remembered everything, and in bright vivid detail. The more I thought about her the more I remembered.

With so much time on my hands, it was possible I remembered her in even more detail than I had when she was standing right in front of me. Like the way she shifted on her feet when she was uncomfortable. The way she bit the side of her thumb when she was nervous.

I’d never had the need to claim a bitch my entire life. But then I tasted her by the fire and I knew there was no turning back. Not for me. Not ever. That first time with her in the truck, I swear I was chanting MINE in my head as I pushed in and pulled out of her incredible pussy.

If I thought long and hard enough I could still smell her on me.

I often had to remind my cock of where we were and of the immediate threat at hand, because it was easy to get lost in the memories. Naked. Writhing. Panting.

Fuck.

* * *

AS EASY AS it was to get lost in the thoughts of her, it wasn’t easy to forget about the immediate threat that could be looming beyond every turn. No cell was safe. No hallway. No bathroom. Not even the yard.

When Bethany told me they had enough evidence to arrest Ti, there was no way I was going to let them take her and spared no fucking second thought about taking her place. Which is all the more reason to make sure my guard is up and that each and every Bastard who thought they could come at me in County would end up mangled or dead. Didn’t really matter because either way, it wouldn’t be Ti.

Unable to sleep, I stood at the cell door and leaned against the bars. Across cell block, through the high window, the ONLY window, was the full moon obscured by thin passing clouds, offering the only glimpse of freedom I was sure to have for a long while.

If ever.

The D.A. announced shortly after I’d been arrested that they were pushing for the death penalty.

The clouds parted and the light of the moon lit up my cell like a spotlight. Oddly enough illuminating the graffiti on the cell block wall above the toilet.

BEACH BASTARDS, LOGAN’S BEACH was tagged in thick marker.

I sighed. Even in my fucking cell I couldn’t escape their reach, even if it was only in ink form.

For now.

The Beach Bastards used to be more than just a motorcycle club, more than my home even. They were a brotherhood, bound by loyalty. At the time nothing compared to the feeling of belonging to something bigger and more important than myself.

Something I believed in with everything I had and was.

When I left the MC, I never thought I’d have that again, but I was wrong. Although the packaging was a little different. Instead of leather and tattoos, it was a smart mouth and a body I wanted riding my face every fucking second of the day.

When I was a Bastard, I’d lived and breathed by a code. The very foundation the MC was built around.