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Chapter One:
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Noa
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One good thing about being in jail: it gave you time to think.
Noa Callas was pretty comfortable on the cell’s wooden bench. His arm rested over his forehead as he stared up at the ceiling. There was a sting on his knuckles, bruised from the right hook he’d thrown in the bar fight that landed him here.
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More than a few beers were in his system when he’d started to get heckled. A comment was made about his hair, one thing led to another, and he was sliding a grown man over the top of the bar.
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Most people stayed out of his way. It would have been that way whether he was in an outlaw motorcycle club or not. But every so often, a tough guy would step up trying to test him. And they’d end up embarrassed, and occasionally in the hospital.
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Tough guys used to annoy him, but over time, he’d learned to enjoy them.
Maybe too much.
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This time, he’d made the mistake of being too far from home. The cops in this section of Florida didn’t know or give a shit about Death Skulls MC. They tossed him in the cell and seemed content to throw away the key for the weekend.
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He wasn’t alone. A meth head and homeless man occupied the cell with him. They retreated to their own corners once he was brought in and stayed quiet.
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Noa appreciated it.
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Between occasional naps, he spent this free time playing over the fight in his head. The guy must have been two fifty, maybe an inch or two shorter than his 6’4”, probably in construction. Noa had been completely minding his business at the bar. The intention was to scope the place out for some ass and go.
Then the bartender had to go and serve him the richest whiskey he’d had in his life; smooth not watered down. Almost worth the fight. It pissed him off that he forgot to ask the brand.
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A soft smile came to his lips thinking of the guy in his ripped plaid shirt, comatose on the bar floor as he was led away.
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It always brought him deep satisfaction putting an entitled asshole in his place.
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“Skorp, nothin’ else better to do last night?”
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Noa turned his head to see Mage “Tin” Jeffries at the cell door.
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Tin always looked like a man who’d been kept under Florida sun for a hundred years.
Regular beer consumption gave him a small gut, but otherwise, he was 5’9”, thin, and punched like an anvil. He kept his wild salt and pepper hair pulled back in a braid, his long beard frizzy and wild, rested at the center of his chest.
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Noa sat up and brushed the hair out of his eyes. “Nice to see you too, Tin.”
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The cop next to him carried a deep frown as he used his key to unlock the door.
“We don’t need bikers around this town,” he said sharply.
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Noa stood from the bench and stretched. His back was stiff as hell and he could use a fucking shower.
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*
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When they arrived at the clubhouse, it was practically empty. It wasn’t quite noon and everyone was still passed out.
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As he stared at the scattered unconscious bodies, Noa realized he hadn’t even gotten laid, which was the whole point of being at the bar.
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Noa thought he would shower and fall asleep midday as usual, but after cleaning himself up, he was still wired, and left his temporary room to return downstairs after pulling his long damp hair back into a ponytail.
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Tin was behind the bar cleaning up. Despite being president of Death Skulls Tallahassee chapter club president, he never minded the task. Noa suspected he had OCD but never intended to bring it up.
“Come on.” Tin moved some glasses off the bar. “Have a seat. Let’s talk a bit.”
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Noa did, letting the heel of his boot rest against one of the stool’s legs.
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“Did you get any sleep on that bench?”
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“I closed my eyes a couple of times.”
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“Closing your eyes and sleeping aren’t the same.”
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Noa grinned, resting his hands on the counter. “You ever slept real good in jail?”
“A bench is softer than concrete, kid.”
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“Is it?” Noa raised a brow. He was aware that Tin was older and wiser, but he also knew every so often he’d spout bullshit just to have a comeback.
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Tin did a half grunt, half chuckle.
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“Your eyes are red.” The older man already observed this, timing his mention of it.
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Noa rolled them. “I’m good. All these guys party all night and sleep most of the day if we’re not on a job.” He shrugged, still feeling some of the stiffness in his back.
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“Yeah, but you still do it even when there’s not a job. And you’re not always with a woman either before you use that excuse.”
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Noa closed his mouth. Annoyance started curling over his shoulders. “I sleep when I sleep. I’m not a zombie.”
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He didn’t raise his voice, but Tin paused and they eyed each other for a time.
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“I’ve tried to tell you to watch yourself down here,” Tin began, shifting the subject a bit. “You stray too far from our territory with no backup… bad shit can happen. I’m glad you didn’t get hurt.”
Noa dipped his head. “Lesson learned.”
A sigh undercut his voice, and Noa wondered if he was still considering the subject of his sleep. He hoped not.
“I need a favor from you.”
“You got it. Anything.” Noa spoke without hesitation.
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His mouth lifted in the corner. “How about you hear me out first?”
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Tin was the last of a dying breed. He led the MC with a quiet understood authority. He commanded respect from his deeds and actions, not lip service. Most of the Death Skulls looked at him as a surrogate father, with so many being runaways and outcasts.
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Noa was no different. If he ever claimed to have a father in this life, Tin would be him. The man probably never considered he felt that way, and Noa had never expressed it, but it was true.
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“You need some ice for that hand. If it swells too much, it’ll be hard to ride.” He leaned down behind the bar and the swish of ice was heard a moment later.
Noa glanced down at his hand, flexing his fingers. “It’s fine.” He brushed it off, but was handed a bag of ice anyway.
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“I need you to keep your nose clean from here on in.” Tin rested his arms against the bar.
Noa nodded.
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“It’s been two years and you haven’t found a chapter.”
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Noa knew this conversation would happen at some point, but honestly, he wasn’t in the mood.
“How long you plannin’ on stayin’ nomad?”
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Noa licked his mouth. “What’s that got to do with your favor?”
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Tin pursed his lips, probably holding back on whatever he planned to say.
“I need you to take a ride.”
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Noa nodded. “Where?”
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“Nevada.”
His brow rose in response. “The desert.”
“Not the desert. Amber Falls.”
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Noa waited.
“I need you to scout it out. Check out the locals, law enforcement, and report back.”
“My guess is this is a small town?”
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“Shit, yeah. Not even on the map.”
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Tin smiled in that way he had, a twinkle in his eye.
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Noa didn’t ask any more questions and stood up from the stool.
“I guess I better go pack.”
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A week later, he was in the desert.
For miles around, there was nothing but land that stretched out toward the mountains.
The air was different here.
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Thin, not humid like Florida. And the heat was dry, searing his skin well before mid-day.
When the darkness settled in, it was like being on another planet.
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Noa made a small fire since nighttime was surprisingly cool.
His back was stiff from riding all day and he would have loved for sleep to claim him, but he knew it might not.
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There was a deeper quiet out in this wasteland than he was used to.
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Noa had no distractions against the memory weighing down his shoulders.
He had pulled up to his clubhouse and began making his way over to it after grabbing a beer off the back of his bike. Music was playing: an Aerosmith song. The laughter was so loud, Noa knew everyone in the house was drunk off their ass. He recognized Syris’s crazy cackle and it infected him, curling his mouth up without knowing what the joke was.
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Then the rumbling came. Like something from the pit of hell.
The ground shook under his feet.
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Noa remembered dropping the beer as the flash erupted and he watched the building explode. The heat and force of it knocked him back into his bike.
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Metal stabbed into his skin and his head crashed against the dirt.
The fall knocked him unconscious, and he was awoken by the burning in the air.
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Everyone. All his brothers were gone.
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Noa blinked against the fire, willing himself away from the past.
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*