Page 1 of Marcus: Sins of the Father

CHAPTER ONE – THE MISSION

Marcus—

The old wooden picnic table outside the clubhouse is weathered and carved with dozens of initials from brothers who came way before any of us. I run my fingers lightly over them.

Billy leans against the end, staring across the lot. My eyes lift to the back of his leather vest. It’s bare of the usual club patches, with only the bottom rocker that reads: prospect—same as mine.

We’re on a rare break from our club duties that usually keep us running 24/7, and came out to get some air, even if it is a chilly December day here in San Jose.

Billy bumps my shoulder and passes me what’s left of the joint he lit up a few minutes ago. I pinch it between my thumb and index finger and bring it to my lips, taking a toke.

It burns my throat and warms my lungs. I slowly exhale to the sky and offer him the rest, but he waves me off, so I stub it out.

Neither of us are big on drugs, partaking only of the occasional joint, mostly just to relax.

We’ve known each other since elementary school, and are as tight as can be. When TJ came into the picture, we became like the three musketeers. We were pretty much inseparable. It’s stayed that way through high school and the years since.

Billy pulls his vibrating phone from his pocket. The screen lights up with Green’s name, and he puts it on speaker. "Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”

“Look how well I’ve trained my wee little prospect. Always ready to jump.” I can practically hear his wide grin through the phone.

Green’s a full patched member of the club and is Billy’s sponsor, which, in layman’s terms, means he’s assigned to guide him through the process of prospecting for the Evil Dead Motorcycle Club. My sponsor is Crash. TJ’s is Wolf. It’s been a long process for all three of us— one I hope is soon coming to an end, but none of us have a say in how long that may be. The club decides when we’re ready, and the club decides if they want to bestow a full patch and make us brothers. It’s something the MC doesn’t take lightly. They’ve got to know they can trust us to have their backs when shit hits the fan. I get that. The brotherhood is everything. It’s one of the reasons I’ve wanted to join the MC since I was introduced to it. Billy was born into this club life and destined to be a member. It’s in his blood. His father is a member. Red Dog, he’s called. He’s a big man, and people say he reminds them of a Viking with his long red hair and burly beard.

But all that doesn’t mean shit if Billy can’t make it through the prospecting phase, and that means when they say jump, we jump. Right now, Billy needs to do whatever his sponsor asks of him.

“What do you need?” he bites back.

“Well, it’s your lucky day. I need you to do a pickup.”

That has me sitting up a little straighter. Could this be it? Our final test before we get our patches? They’ve never trusted a prospect with a pickup before. Billy and TJ are both club blood, so maybe a little more trustworthy than the average prospect, but still.

“Should I bring TJ and Marcus with me for this?”

“Uh, yeah. The more hands, the better.”

“Got it. So, what are the details?”

“I’m going to text you the address. When you get there, call me and I’ll fill you in on how it’s goin’ down.”

“Great. When’s the drop?”

“Now! Get your ass moving! Oh, and take the van. It’s a big load.”

“Yes, sir.”

He slides his phone in his pocket, and we cross the club yard to where TJ stands with Crash and Wolf. They're gathered around a roaring bonfire.

Billy lifts his chin to TJ. “We've got a pickup. Let’s ride.”

“A pickup?” Crash turns a questioning eye at the patch next to him.

Wolf shrugs. “I don’t fuckin’ know.”

“Green’s sending us to do a pickup.” He tries to sound nonchalant. They exchange a look.

Crash smirks. “Right. The pickup. I forgot about that.”

“Let’s go boys.” Billy jerks his chin, and we head to our bikes.

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