So maybe I didn’t get to have Mel—at least I still had this. I was good at it, too. I’d done some custom design work for guys even inside. Now that I was out again, I’d already talked to a couple of them about hand-painting their bikes. One was a weekend warrior who had too much money and didn’t mind me holding on to his bike for a couple weeks while I did the art.

Guess some of us live to ride more than others.

Not that I cared either way, so long as they brought cash.

Cranking up the music, I leaned toward the board again. Looked good. Real good. Maybe I’d take my brother Bolt’s suggestion and set up a website for my work. See if I could drum up some more business. It occurred to me that a guy with his own business—a commercial artist—might be the kind of guy a girl like Mel could settle down with. Christ, but I needed to stop thinking about her.

Wasn’t gonna happen.

Time to get over it.

•   •   •

Justin Bieber was singing in my bedroom.

The fuck?

Blinking, I stared at the ceiling, trying to wake up. Maybe figure out who I needed to kill to make the unholy wailing end. After an eternity, the noise died and I rolled over, pulling the pillow over my head, trying to figure out what crime I’d committed to deserve that nightmare.

That’s when it started again.

Fucking hell, it was my phone. I reached for it, a random picture of Puck’s middle finger flashing across the screen . . . And yeah, I recognized the finger because I’d seen it pointed at me at least ten times a day for more than a year. Sort of his morning salute back in prison . . . I frowned, answering.

“Like your new ringtone?” my best friend asked.

“Eat shit and die, fuckwad,” I managed to growl, but the insult wasn’t my best work—brain was still foggy.

“Someone didn’t get laid last night,” he replied, and I could practically smell him gloating. Dick. “Saw you took off with Mel and didn’t come back. Disappointed in you, bro.”

I hung the phone up, dropping it next to me on the bed. Damn, I felt like hell. Staying up all night painting can be worse than drinking, at least in terms of hangover. I’d finally passed out around six that morning—according to the clock it was only nine now. Used to be I’d pop something to wake me up, but I’d stayed clean through prison and I planned to keep it that way, so no joy for me.

Justin started howling again. I grabbed the phone, resigned.

“How the fuck did you break into my phone?” I demanded.

“Guessed the password, dumbass,” Puck said. “Know you too well—you can’t hide shit from me. Got a reason for calling, though, so don’t fucking hang up on me like a butt-hurt teen girl this time, ’kay?”

“You got thirty seconds.”

“We’re having the meet in an hour—all three clubs,” he told me, his voice growing serious.

“Thought that was this afternoon.”

“They changed it. Something came up. Guess Boonie needs to head out early, so we’re talking at ten.”

“Fucking great,” I said, rubbing my eyes. Shit, I was tired. “I’ll see you then.”

Hanging up, I dropped the phone back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The water stains overlapped each other in circular patterns and I had a feeling things might get damp in here once the weather turned. Not that I gave a shit—the garage below made a perfect studio, and that’s all I cared about.

The Biebs burst out singing again, polluting my airspace. I should really kill Puck, I decided. Community service.

“What now?” I asked, answering.

“Just thought you’d like to hear the song again.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

•   •   •

Once I was awake, the ride out to the Armory wasn’t so bad—fresh air felt good. This was the first big club gathering since I’d gotten out. They’d thrown me a party when I got home, of course, but we’d kept it small. Seemed safer that way, given the drama with Puck down south.

Today we had representatives from the Devil’s Jacks, the Reapers, and the Silver Bastards. Between our clubs we could claim most of Idaho, Montana, Oregon, and Washington. I wasn’t aware of any urgent business, but I’d been out of the loop for a while now.

The Armory was crawling with people, although how the hell they were all up so early after the party last night, I had no fuckin’ idea. I backed my bike into line and walked toward the main door. Standing outside was a group of Silver Bastards, including Puck. He looked ridiculously healthy and well rested. So far as I knew he hadn’t partied at all last night—guy was still fucked in the head over what’d gone down with that girl in Cali.

Couldn’t blame him for that . . . ugly shit.

These last couple weeks since we’d gotten home, I’d missed him, especially at night. Kinda messed up, but it’d been just me and him for the past year. We’d kept each other safe, standing guard, watching each other’s backs. Surviving. That kind of brotherhood doesn’t just end once your time is served.

“How goes it?” I asked, walking up to him.

“Nonstop thrills and excitement,” he replied, his voice dry. “Got a new driver’s license yesterday. Had to wait forever and the bitch next to me wouldn’t shut up. Still the most exciting thing that’s happened to me since we got home, so maybe we need to explore our options.”

“Callup’s a great little town to settle down in,” I told him, smirking. “You’ll get used to hitting the sack at seven every night, I swear. Of course, you could just go back to Montana. Love havin’ you around and all that shit, but if you’re not happy there, why stay?”

He shrugged. “Feels like I have unfinished business.”

“Yeah, but that business is jailbait, so you might as well get over it. Unless it’s true love, of course,” I said, taunting him. “True love is worth any sacrifice, right? Up to and including your balls?”

“Fuck off,” he said, punching my shoulder. I punched him back, but it didn’t go any further. Much as I loved sparring with him, now wasn’t the time.

“Good to see you again,” said Boonie, the Silver Bastards’ president. “Puck’s been tellin’ us everything you did for him inside.”

“Went both ways,” I admitted. “Woulda been a lot worse in there without him. Just glad we both came through alive.”

“Well, we appreciated it.”

“He’s a good brother.”

I glanced over to see BB lumbering toward us. The big prospect should’ve been a full member by now, but he’d dropped out for a while when his mom was dying. Cancer.

“Prez says it’s time to go in,” he told us. “They’re ready to start. Up in the game room.”

We all shuffled inside, passing through the main room, which served as a lounge, bar, and general hangout space. It filled the front half of the bottom floor, with a kitchen in the rear on the left, offices in the center, and a workshop that mirrored the main room on the backside.

The place wasn’t in half-bad shape, considering how big the party had been. There were empties tucked here and there, and a bra that’d gotten caught on the light hanging over the pool table. I saw a few girls wandering around, cleaning shit up. Didn’t recognize any of them, which wasn’t a huge surprise. I still wasn’t fully integrated back into the life of the club, and none of them gave off old-lady vibes. Then I spotted the one who’d blown me last night. She offered a little wave. I gave her a nod but didn’t make eye contact—no reason to encourage her.

The game room was upstairs on the second level, off to the right. By the time we got upstairs, most of the brothers were already waiting. Puck and I found a spot toward the back, leaning against the wall to watch. He’d only had his full patch for three weeks now, and I knew he planned to keep a low profile. So did I.

Picnic surveyed the room, flanked by other chapter presidents who’d come for the weekend, including Deke, Hunter, and Boonie.

“Thanks to everyone who came. Over the past couple years we’ve had a lot of conflict. Shit’s gone down, brothers have served time”—he nodded respectfully toward me and Puck—“and we’ve lost some along the way. It’s good to have some time just for socializing. But we can’t waste this chance to talk business, either. Deke and Hunter are gonna update us on the cartel situation, and then we’ve got some new business. Deke?”