Page 4 of Wild Ride

Once again, please accept my sympathies for your loss.

Truly,

John Gentry

Thunder Rock Estate Law Firm

Holy.

Shit.

I guess my mom never had to worry about me finding my father because now he’s dead, and I never even met him. Chewing on the corner of my bottom lip, I stare at the name of the town. Thunder Rock, North Carolina. I’ve never heard of it before. Not that that means anything. It’s not like the commune taught me much about geography.

But he’s been all the way across the entire country, somewhere on the East Coast. I can’t help but wonder what kind of threat he truly was to us, to her, to me. And why was my mother so damn scared of him?

He left me everything.

Everything.

Which means he knew about me, and he knew enough to know where to have this letter sent. It’s not like I’m easy to find. I rent a room from Briana, and the only bill I have in my name is for a cell phone. I can’t imagine he would be able to find me from that alone.

But maybe he’s always known where I was.

BULLET – 42 YEARS OLD

The president of the Vicious Reapers MC is dead.

His funeral was amazing. Probably the biggest funeral I’ve ever attended. To say that Shade was respected as a man, a brother, a president, and a friend is an understatement. This man was beyond respected.

He’s the only father figure I’ve ever known, and if I were to poll the rest of the club, I’m sure they would all say the same thing. Losing him feels like I’ve just lost part of myself. Standing at the grave, I watch as they lower his casket down into the hole.

I only leave when people start to cover him with dirt. I can’t watch that part. Turning around, I make my way back to my bike. I straddle my machine then lift my hand to the other men who have been waiting for me.

Together, we ride. But it’s not with the same spirit we usually ride with. It’s somber, and it’s the last moments we have to grieve in silence. When we get back to the clubhouse, there will be a celebration of life.

And we will celebrate Shade’s life with gusto.

It doesn’t take us long to ride back. None of the prospects came to the funeral. Neither did the clubwhores. Instead, they stayed back at the clubhouse and set up the celebration of life. Riding my bike up to its normal parking spot, I stop but don’t climb off.

Instead, I stare at the little sign in front of it.

Vice President.

I’m not that anymore. But when my gaze shifts to the left, I can’t bring myself to park in my new spot. At least not yet.Maybe tomorrow. For tonight, the president’s spot stays empty out of continued respect for him.

I’m honored to carry on the title, but I wish it were under different circumstances. If it were up to me, he would have handed it to me when he was retiring, ready to live the life of a legacy member and enjoy everything he’s built.

He would have never got sick with that bullshit cancer and died.

He would still be here.

If it were up to me.

“Hey, baby, you coming in?” a voice moans out.

Lifting my head, I look up to see Exorcist standing just a few feet away from me. She’s wearing two little fucking stickers that barely cover her nipples, the rest of her tits fully bare, and a skirt so short that I can almost see her cunt beneath it, which is likely bare, too. Freshly waxed if I know her—and I do.

On her feet, heels so high it’s a wonder she doesn’t tip over and fall flat on her fucking face. Her bleached hair is bigger than usual, her makeup thick and dark, with deep bloodred lips that are no doubt going to stain my dick as she drains my balls.

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