Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 47615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Tiny slowed at a reinforced gate. A guard in a booth nodded recognition, and the gate slid open. We rolled through to a big warehouse well away from the entrance to the compound.
Knuckles stood waiting at the inner entrance, arms crossed over his chest. He was built solid, heavily muscled but leaner and shorter than Tiny.
Tiny parked the truck in front of the warehouse, cutting the engine. I stepped out of the cage, feet planted firmly on the gravel. The air smelled of motor oil, leather, and something delicious cooking.
“Good to see you breathing free air,” Knuckles said, extending his hand.
I took his hand, the handshake brief but firm. His eyes held mine, assessing but not demanding. He didn’t try to establish dominance through the handshake, didn’t pump my arm or crush my fingers. Just a simple acknowledgment between equals which surprised me. Even if I were technically still part of Kiss of Death, Knuckles, as the president, outranked me significantly.
“Appreciate the welcome,” I said, the words coming easier than I expected.
Knuckles nodded, seeming to understand all I wasn’t saying. “Let’s get you settled.”
He led the way through the compound, Tiny and Rancor falling in behind us. A few club members moved about their business. They looked up as we passed, nodding respectfully but didn’t approach.
“Bottom floors of the outer buildings are club business,” Knuckles explained, voice low enough that only I could hear. “Upper floors are apartments for patched members. Inner buildings are all living quarters.
“Hannah, my woman, assigned you a unit in the east building, second floor,” Knuckles continued. “Quieter side of the compound.”
Knuckles stopped at a door at the corner of the back side of the building. He handed me a keycard. “Room’s yours as long as you want to stay. Old ladies will make sure you’re stocked. Don’t ask them to do your laundry. They will shank you.”
That got a bark of laughter out of me when I hadn’t expected to feel like smiling so soon. “I appreciate the place to crash.”
“No thanks necessary.”
The apartment was simple but far larger than any space I’d occupied in nearly four decades. A main room with a couch and coffee table. Small kitchen area with actual appliances. A window overlooking the compound below.
“Basics are all here,” Knuckles said, remaining by the door. Giving me room. “The girls brought linens and shit, so you’ve got bedding and towels. There’s probably a box of toiletries in the bathroom.” He motioned to a set of doors next to each other on one end of the room. “Bedroom and bathroom.” He pointed in the other direction. “Spare room for whatever the fuck you want to do with it.”
I moved farther into the space, checking the place out. Clean surfaces. No dust. The faint scent of something lemon. Someone had prepared this place recently, anticipating my arrival. The thought was unsettling in its kindness.
“Bathroom’s got everything you need,” Knuckles continued. “Hot water takes about thirty seconds to kick in. Pressure’s good and the shower is large. There’s also a bathtub. Anything else you need, just say the word.” He paused, watching me carefully. “When the old ladies come by to bring you more food, let them in, please.”
My head snapped up, surprised by his insight. I’d been calculating how long I could go without opening that door, how to minimize contact until I’d found my bearings.
Knuckles gave me a knowing look. “They mean well. And trust me, you don’t want to be on their bad side.”
A faint smile tugged at my lips again before I could suppress it. “Noted.”
“I’ll leave you to get settled,” Knuckles said, stepping back into the hallway. “Club meeting tomorrow at noon if you want to join. No pressure. Just know you’re welcome. When or if you’re ready to take an active role in the club, we would all welcome you to find your place with us.” He gave me another grin. “Welcome home, brother.”
He closed the door behind him with a soft click, and I was alone. Truly alone for the first time in years outside of AdSeg -- what most people call solitary confinement, or Administrative Segregation. Whatever you call it, AdSeg was the only time I didn’t have a cellmate breathing in the bunk below. No guards passing by at regular intervals. No constant background noise of men living in forced proximity.
Just silence.
I stood motionless in the center of the room. The space felt impossibly large after my cell, the silence deafening after years of constant noise.
I moved to the window, drawn by the natural light. Below, club members moved about their business. Two men working on a Harley. A woman carrying what looked like groceries toward another building. Normal life continuing in its rhythm.
My reflection stared back at me from the glass, superimposed over the scene below. A man caught between worlds, belonging to neither. The prison had released my body but kept pieces of my soul. The club had offered shelter but couldn’t give me back what I’d lost to them before. I thought I should move on, put this chapter of my life behind me, but the thought made my insides twist. Knuckles was right. Though the compound had moved location, the spirit of the club I’d first joined was within this fenced-off land. I could feel the energy all around me and it felt like home.