Oath Keepers MC:The Collection

By: Sapphire Knight

Dedicated to-




MY SONS

Jr- For thinking I’m some famous Author. When in reality, I’m just another little fish swimming in a great big ocean.



Jay- For always getting Momma her laptop and another soda. You have no idea just how important your job really is.





Chapter 1


Cain

Six Months Ago…

Fuck, I’m hungover. I have to quit doing this shit to myself. Having a shower helped a little, but a shot of Jack and some aspirin should make the fucking pounding chill out.

I make my way out of my room and down the hall to the bar area. Glancing around, I take in the bar of the clubhouse.

Man, this place is trashed.

There are empty beer bottles and full ashtrays covering every surface. The shiny bar is the only clean piece of furniture in the room. It calls to me like a beacon. Trekking toward it, I kick trash and what looks like a few pairs of panties out of the way.

“Yo, Cain, you beat that pussy up last night, man?”

Glancing over, I notice 2 Piece sitting in a booth back in the corner of the room. “Damn, man, I didn’t see you. Yeah, I hit that shit then sent her ass packin’. Why? You hit it after me?”

I grab a glass and a lemon from the bar and make my way over to him. He’s already got a bottle of Jack in front of him. Guess he had the same idea.

“Fuck, no, man. I had that crazy redhead stripper grindin’ on my shit all night. Not bad pussy either,” he mutters and takes a big gulp of Jack.

Taking a seat across from him, I pour myself a double—just enough to chase this shit out of my head but not enough to make me want to puke.

“You chasing the beast, too, brother? My fuckin’ head is killin’ me today.” I drink and then suck on my lemon.

“Yep. You’re a nasty fucker, eating that shit after a nice sip of whiskey.” He cringes at my lemon with distaste, and I chuckle.

They never believe me when I tell them that lemon has Vitamin C and helps you bounce back quicker. They all give me shit for it, but whatever. I’m always feeling better quicker than they do in the end.

I finish my whiskey and stand up, stretching my muscles out. Shit. I’m sore all over.

“I’m out, man; I’ll be back later.” I salute at 2 Piece and head for the door.

“Later, brother. Don’t forget you have a fight tonight,” he calls after me.

Fuck. I did forget.

“Yeah, I’ll be ready,” I holler and roll my eyes.

Geez, I have to wake up some more.

“You better be, fucker. If I lose my money betting on your ass, I’m gonna kick it after you’re done.”

“Ha, your ass should be paying me for winning you that motherfucking money!”

2 Piece is cool as fuck. He’s one of the first brothers I got close to when I started to come around the club. Opening the door, the heat hits me hard. It’s worse on days like today when I feel like dog shit.

Hotter than a nice piece of ass today, I think and make my way toward my girl.

“Hey, pretty girl, you all ready to go for a ride?”

The guys give me shit for talking to my bike, but I’ve heard a few of them talk to theirs, too. They just like giving me shit since I’m one of the youngest in the club. I’ve fought my ass off this year for my bike. She’s a 2014 Harley Davidson Custom Iron 883 with Hard Candy custom black paint and all black trim. My girl isn’t really made for long rides, but I can always use my old bike if I need to.

I take my small shammy towel out and lightly dust her off, then climb on and kick my kickstand back and start her up. The rumble vibrates through my muscles, and it’s a feeling of comfort like a nice home-cooked meal.

Yeah, like I’ve actually had one of those recently. Speaking of food…

I need to get my ass to H.E.B. before all the church freaks show up. Glancing down at my watch, I check the time. 11:30. I may just make it before they swarm the damn grocery store.

****

I pull into the H.E.B. parking lot and, thankfully, they don’t appear busy yet. Sundays after twelve p.m. and everyone seems to leave church to come straight here. It’s like some weird ritual or something.

Then I have to deal with their judging eyes. The holier-than-thou seem to think I’m a menace because of my tattoo-covered arms, hands, and neck. I always wear clean clothes, but it doesn’t matter when I have my Oath Keepers MC cut on. I’m automatically a hellion.

I may be a brawler, in a motorcycle club, enjoy partying, and ride a bike, but I’ve known plenty of people that are worse than myself.

If any of you fucks had half a clue what bad really is, I’d look like a fuckin’ saint.

The air-conditioning hits me as I enter, and it’s like a drink of cool, refreshing water.