Page 1 of Sparrow

Chapter 1

Jacob “Romeo” Karolsson

Rolling his head to crack his neck, Romeo stepped out onto the concrete when he exited Lewis and Clark County Jail. His third conviction for assault meant he received the maximum penalty in Montana—six months in the county jail and a five hundred dollar fine. The annoyance was a mere money-making scheme for the county. He swore the cops viewed Odin’s Fury Motorcycle Club as a cash piñata. Every fucking quarter was a damn shakedown in the form of arrests of club members, or potential members, usually prospects.

It wasn’t that he was sloppy, on the contrary. His first conviction had been him taking the fall for a patched member while he prospected. The second had been unexpected when the girlfriend of someone who owed the club money was where she wasn’t supposed to be. This last one, the third one, well, he’d trusted a prospect to cut the closed-circuit cameras. He missed one. He should’ve known the fucker was too green.

In the end, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he’d be running for political office anytime soon. Everyone wearing a one percent patch did time at some point. It wasn’t just a decorative patch—it meant something. Their club wasn’t exactly on the up and up with everything they did. Sure, they had a few legitimate businesses—the auto repair shop, the strip club—but really, their substantial income didn’t come from anything Uncle Sam knew about. So, it was inevitable someone would get caught occasionally. There was no such thing as the perfect criminal. It’d just been Romeo’s turn.Again.

Running his tongue along his bottom teeth, he squinted into the bright midday sun and smiled when his gaze landed on his bike, shining, freshly washed. Going without pussy, though annoying, was easily managed while in jail. But not being able to ride was enough to drive a guy crazy. He didn’t know how any patches could stand being away from their bikes for years or even lifetimes. He had a newfound empathy for his brothers serving life sentences with no possibility of ever feeling the wind on their faces again. There was just something about riding that soothed his soul. It was in his DNA.

Seeing his Fat Boy had his palms itching for the throttle. He was mere steps away from the vibration between his thighs and the wind through his hair. This was what he dreamt about while behind bars. This was his world.

Some guys dreamed of their families or the women they could be fucking. Not Romeo. All he could think of while locked away were the miles he could have ridden—the curves he could have leaned into—and all the sunny days he missed on his bike. Bikers are a different kind of breed of man. Born into this life – he knew nothing else.

A squeal drew his focus away from his baby when Molly jumped and ran toward him.Goddamnit. Reflexively he’d caught her—another thing he regretted. He glared at his bald, stocky sponsor while the brassy-haired club slut he’d been tapping on the regular before he got locked up dangled from his neck.

The shit-eating grin meant Dash hadn’t lost his sense of humor and he knew exactly what he’d done by bringing the woman.

“Finally!” Her high-pitched chirp rang in Romeo’s ear when her arms and legs wrapped around him like she were some sort of baby lemur monkey. Rolling his eyes, he did his best to try to peel her off. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought her to be part octopus. Every time he thought he freed himself of a limb, she took hold again somewhere else.

This was supposed to be a good day. He was reunited with his bike, he’d sleep in his own bed tonight, and he’d be with his brothers again. But no. Dash brought this fucking club whore who clung to him like a leech, peppering him with annoying kisses.

Doing his best to dodge the shower of pecks she bestowed upon him, Romeo continued to try to kill Dash with his eyes. Now would be the perfect time to develop one of those cool super powers from the comic books where he could shoot lasers from his eyes.

The older biker snickered.Fucking bastard.

“I missed you so much,” she said between affections. Holy hell, she needed to back off.

He didn’t know what got the message through, but shefinallyrelented. Somehow, in his many yanks and swats, he got her to unhook her ankles. She unwrapped her legs from him but still hung off his neck.

Trying not to trip over her, he took awkward steps forward while the woman kissed him. She blocked his view of his bike. The one thing he’d looked forward to for the last six months, and she stood between him and it. If she didn’t move out of the damn way, he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t throw her.

He wanted his bike, not pussy right now. Pussy could wait. There was plenty of pussy, but he had only one bike.

Once he got close to Dash, his sponsor held out the leather. “Kept it safe for you, brother,” he said. “Want a butt?”

“Jesus-fucking-Christ-on-a-cracker, Molly,get offfor a second,” Romeo hissed. “Nah.” He waved a dismissive hand toward Dash. “Quit inside.”

Pouting, she peeled herself from him and stood watching as he slid his well-worn leather over his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he took a moment to reacquaint himself with the feeling of his cut. Six months was a long ass time to be without a part of himself. It’d been like missing a layer of skin.

The rectangle patch on the front which read his road name,Romeo, carried smudges from wear. Gone was the blaring white newness from when he’d first received it. His fingers trailed along the letters on his side, FFFF. Forever Fury. Fury Forever. The corner of his mouth slid upward into half a grin as he found the errant thread from the final F. He reminded himself to stitch it on better, despite the comfort he found in that Forever F still hanging on.

He hadn’t gotten a chance to get club ink yet. His cut was all the club colors he had. Odin’s profile with his axes crossed over his shield. The symbol of his club—the purpose of his life—the reason he got up the morning. Being away from his cut had been like having his arm severed from his body. He needed to rectify anyone being able to take his colors from him. Club ink. That was third on his agenda of things to do now that he was out—get a club tattoo. So, he’d never be truly without again.

“Do we need to start calling you Nancy?” Dash broke into his moment of peace.

Still only a member while the bald biker was an officer, all he could do was glare, and he could only do that because it was just the three of them. If anyone else had shown up, he would’ve had to show restraint.

Chuckling in response, his club brother whistled. “Come on, girly, we gotta go to the clubhouse.”

Molly’s brown eyes widened before they darted between the two. “Wait.” She slipped her hand against Romeo’s. “You’re not gonna let me on the back?”

Romeo snorted. “Fuck no.” The words came without a moment of hesitation. He stepped away from her and mounted his bike with a blissful groan. It felt good to have her between his legs again. Sliding his hands over the rubber grips, he flexed his fingers. “Get in the truck with Dash. I need to take my girl for a ride.”

Firing up the bike, he let out a proud chuckle. She sounded spectacular, if not better than when he’d left her. Busy in his admiration for his bike, he ignored the daggers Molly threw as she stared at him. Instead, he focused on the feel of the bike rumbling beneath him while he shoved the helmet on and buckled the straps beneath his chin.

Molly wasn’t his. She wanted to be. You’d have to be deaf and blind not to see it, and fuck Dash for bringing her along. He knew. Goddamn shit-stirrer that he was.

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