Page 30 of 12 Months of Mayhem

Despite the chaos, there’s a sense of peace within the storm, a reminder of why I love these rallies—the thrill of the ride, the freedom of the open road, and the bond shared with my brothers. As I light a cigarette, the smoke curls into the warm air, blending with the surrounding scents, and I can’t help but feel grateful. This is my world, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

At this rally, the biggest of its kind, we’ve made a pact—no violence. We’ve all come to party and have a good time and know better than to let our tempers flare amidst the celebration. It doesn’t mean we like you any more or less, it’s just the way of things out here. This week, we’ll let our grievances slide, setting aside the usual tensions that simmer beneath the surface.

“Whiskey,” Tracker greets me, thrusting a cold beer into my hand.

“Where the hell did you have that hidden?” I raise an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

He smirks, that familiar mischief glinting in his eyes. “Do you really want to know?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “No.” I twist off the cap and take a hearty swig, the bitter fizz hitting my tongue and sending a satisfying chill down my throat. “Where are we situated?”

“Same as last year, but thank fuck we don’t have those dickheads, the Savage Angels, next to us. This time, it’s the Loyal Rebels.”

“Who the fuck are they?” I ask, intrigued.

Tracker shrugs, a nonchalant grin on his face. “The organizers didn’t want a repeat of last year, so they put them next to us instead.”

I bark out a laugh, the memory hitting me like a punchline. The president of the Savage Angels, Dane, is married to Kat Saunders. She’s in The Grinders, used to be their lead singer, and Twitch had a serious hard-on for her, nearly starting a fucking war over it. “Probably good they moved.”

Tracker nods and chuckles. “Fucking Twitch.” He takes a sip of his beer. “You need help setting up?”

“Nah. Go have fun.” I wave him off, then stop. “But if you see Twitch heading for Kat Saunders, stop him.”

Tracker grins. “I can do that.”

We rolled in two groups a day apart. Tracker and Twitch led the first envoy while Gamble, my sergeant at arms, and I followed in the second. The atmosphere is buzzing with excitement, but I keep my guard up. This is supposed to be a friendly weekend, but it pays to be cautious.

Years ago, a war broke out here, a brutal clash that left many dead, not just MC members but civilians caught in the crossfire. Now, everyone is a bit more careful, but as with everything, time can dull those memories, making people forget how bad it really was. I glance around at the sea of bikes, the patches and flags fluttering in the breeze, and I can’t help but feel the weight of responsibility on my shoulders.

As long as I’m president, I’ll act cautiously every time we attend this rally. I won’t let complacency slip in. I will not forget the past. It’s my job to keep our brothers and sisters safe.

“Hey, Prez, Twitch left you a space next to his in the second row,” Gamble calls out, scrubbing a hand over his face like he’s trying to wipe away the road dust.

“Where are you?” I ask, scanning the lot for his bike.

“On your other side.”

Juniper, Gamble’s old lady, bursts out laughing. “We’ll try to keep it down,” she teases, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Gamble chuckles, playfully hitting her on the ass as she walks by. “As if you could.”

Juniper’s laughter rings out even louder, a warm sound that blends with the roar of engines and chatter around us. She strolls back to their bike, her movements confident and carefree as she unloads their gear. I catch Gamble watching her, a smirk dancing on his lips, his expression full of pride and amusement.

The music from a nearby band blasts through the air, cutting sharply through the noise of revving bikes and animated chatter. The heavy rock sound wraps around me, instantly lifting my spirits.

“Seems like the party has started,” I mutter to myself, grinning as I open my saddlebags.

I pull out my swag and a two-person tent. Every man needs a little privacy when he’s found himself some company, and I fully intend to find a woman to spend some quality time with this week.

As I set the gear aside, I take a moment to soak in the atmosphere. The air is warm, tinged with the scent of grilled food and the faint musk of leather, and I can’t help but feel excited about what the night might bring. This is what I live for—the freedom of the open road, the camaraderie of my brothers, and the chance to connect with someone new under the stars.

Gamble and I set up camp, sharing a few cold beers while the sun dips lower in the sky, casting golden hues across the horizon. The rhythm of the rally pulses around us, and soon, the pull of the music draws me toward the stage.

As I make my way through the crowd, I hear the distinct sound of a rock band jamming out, the energy electric. The lead singer’s voice is gravelly and powerful, reminiscent of Kat Saunders, and I can’t help but feel an undeniable draw to the performance.

“Whiskey, wait for me!” Gamble calls out, his voice cutting through the crowd.

I glance back to see him reaching for Juniper’s hand, helping her to her feet. She sways slightly, a playful smile on her lips as she nods, regaining her balance.

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