Page 49 of The Biker's Brother

Known by Sons of Sanctuary club members as ‘Edge’.

Looking at his history, Michaels could see that, over the years, club members had done well for themselves with ever increasing personal assets and responsibilities. Except for Edge.

He’d been working at Hollywood Wrecks and Rides, mostly answering phones so far as Michaels could tell, since he was nineteen. He made fifty thousand dollars a year, which was a fraction of what other club members were pulling in. He suspected that Stiles knew he’d been passed over for pretty much everything, which meant that there was almost certainly underlying resentment festering and quietly waiting for someone like Michaels to recognize and exploit.

He pressed a button near his right hand. Within seconds an assistant opened the door.

“Yes, sir?”

“Get Razenach.”

“Yes, sir.”

CHAPTER Nine

Austin, Texas

Edgar Raymond Stiles, known by SSMC club members as Edge, thought of himself as being unlucky. Even though he’d been loyal to the club and had never talked against management, he hadn’t been lucky enough to land one of the plum jobs that resulted in major scratch. At best, he felt overlooked. At worst, he felt ignored.

He’d been with the club since he was nineteen years old. He stole a car and got caught, but his dad, who wasn’t rich, bought him a community service sentence. Brant had known Edge’s dad since the days when Brant was head mechanic at the Yellow Rose. Edge’s dad had worked for Brant for a while before moving on and eventually opening his own German auto repair.

Reading the signs of more trouble to come, Edge was sent to Brant to straighten him out. Brant put him to work as a prospect and figured he’d spoil out in a couple of weeks. He didn’t. Edge did any and every job he was given, no matter how monotonous, ridiculous, or demeaning. And he did it without complaining. While that was to his credit, the other club members would have had to struggle to find something else nice to say.

Because there wasn’t an apparent reason to dislike Edge and kick him out, everybody let him slide, secretly thinking that the problem with him must be their own issue.

So year after year, Edge answered phones at the Hollywood Wreck and Ride and flew under the club radar.

If asked, he would have said that he was just as unlucky with women. He studied the way other club members interacted with the ladies. He tried to mimic what they said, what they did, but instead of getting him an invitation to a bed, or even a parking lot, he got the cold shoulder.

Women seemed to recoil when he came near. He wasn’t gorgeous like Arnold, but he wasn’t bad-looking either. At least he didn’t think so. Didn’t matter though. He knew when he wanted to get it wet, he was going to have to pay. And because he’d come to think of the fairer sex as wicked withholders of what he wanted and needed, he paid extra for the privilege of meting out punishment.

It had been a while, which was why he was watching a double stuff porn on his laptop when Razenach walked into the showroom. Razenach didn’t know that because Edge had the sound muted and was sitting behind a mahogany reception console.

Normally Edge would have gotten up and gone to greet the customer, as he’d been taught to do, but he had a bit of a chubby. So he decided to stay put until he got that under control.

“Welcome to Hollywood Wreck and Ride,” he said without getting up.

When the man turned his gaze toward the greeter, Edge’s halfie went limp quick. The guy looked like a preppie throwback. He was wearing a pale gray Polo tee with color, the kind with the hem shorter in the front than in the back, untucked over Levi’s. The Sperry topsiders completed the look.

If it wasn’t for what Edge saw behind those blue eyes, he would have taken the guy for more money than sense.

Edge got up and approached the man with the wariness usually reserved for rattlesnakes.

“What can we do for you?”

“Edgar Raymond Stiles?” The hair stood up on the back of his neck, but Edge managed to nod. “I’m Mr. Razenach. I’d like to outline a proposal that I believe you’ll find attractive.”

Edge poured coffee from the showroom set up and sat down to listen to what the man had to say.

CHAPTER Ten

New Mexico

True to expectation, the flight was rough for the first forty-five minutes, but gradually became smoother until they flew out of the rain pattern. The dark clouds became lighter clouds and finally see-through mists before they broke into bright sun and clear blue sky.

They were flying low enough to see everything below. Cami watched the ground as they flew over the forests and lakes of Arkansas, the Red River, the desolate plains of West Texas, into buffalo country in New Mexico.

“You know,” said the pilot, “a lot of people don’t know it, but when the pioneers came through here this country was covered with grass high as a horse’s knees. The Indians burned the forests every now and then to keep the buffalo plentiful. And so they could see who was comin’.

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