“Hellock, it’s your lucky damn day.” The officer on duty looked pissed as hell as he narrowed his yellow eyes at me through the cell bars. “You’re free to go.”

I stood, stretching my back. Eighteen fucking hours had felt like a lifetime. I’d been sitting in that freezing cell on a metal bench trying to remember the night before. After my fifth beer, everything went fuzzy, but judging from my busted knuckles and torn jeans, it had been a rough one. Flashes of vague memories assaulted me: a burly guy getting in my face, smashing a bottle over his head, stumbling to my bike, then laying it down on a gravel road with blue and red lights flashing behind me.

“Happy Thanksgiving to me,” I muttered as the crotchety guard unlocked the door, stepping aside for me to pass.

Go through processing.

Get my shit back.

Get bitched at.

I’d gone through the same routine more times than I cared to count.

Walking out into the cool morning air, I got a few seconds of peace before Ryder crushed out his cigarette on the bottom of his boot and shot me a glare that would have killed me on the spot if I wasn’t so fucking used to it.

“Do you know what strings I had to pull to get you out of this one, Collin?” he barked before getting into the driver’s seat of his Ford pickup.

I rubbed my hand over my face. “I don’t even know what really happened.”

“Assault with a deadly weapon and a fucking DUI. How many more times am I going to have to pay off a damn judge for you?” Steam was billowing from his nose as my brother-in-law drove us to my mother’s house.

I was defeated. He was right. I kept fucking up, and Ryder kept cleaning up my messes.

“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t much, but I didn’t have anything else to say.

He reached into the back seat before handing me my cut.

“This is fucking earned, Collin. You of all people should know better than this. We all have our days—fuck, you know I’ve been bailed out more times than Raine or Holt would ever care to admit—but at least I didn’t do stupid shit like this to land me in the slammer.”

I felt like a beat damn puppy. Ryder wasn’t just my family; he was my president. He had more important things to worry about than me screwing up all the time.

“I’ll get my head on straight, promise,” I mumbled as we pulled into the driveway.

“This is your last chance, man. You better make good on that promise. Now, let’s move on and have a good fucking holiday for Crickett and Raine’s sake.” Ryder put his hand on my shoulder before adding, “You know I only get this mad because I see your potential and love you like a brother, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah, love ya too.”

“Uncle Collin!” My nephew, Abel, sprinted for me as I got out of his father’s truck.

Scooping the kid up, I hugged him tightly to my chest. “Happy Thanksgiving, punk.”

The five-year-old squeezed my neck as he giggled. “I’m not a punk—you’re a punk.”

Little Abel looked more and more like his name sake every day. His bright eyes and crooked smile made me miss my old man so damn much.

“Little brother out of the big house, I see.” Raine ambled down the front steps wearing an apron and a coy smile.

“Gotta keep life interesting.” I kissed her cheek as I carried her son into the kitchen.

My mom was chopping carrots and onions for her stuffing, humming to herself. It was one of my favorite sights in the world. Through all the tragedy she had seen in her life, my mother still was able to enjoy the little things and find reasons to sing to herself while she cooked for the whole Unacceptables family.

“Why don’t you go play in the living room while I help Grandma in here,” I whispered to Abel before he sprinted off to play with his Legos.

“Hey Ma.” I grabbed a beer out of the fridge before taking the knife from her. “I’ll chop the onions—can’t have you crying before you have to see everyone.”

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” She gave me a quick peck before patting me on the shoulder.

“Sorry.” I shot her a knowing glance as she pursed her lips.

“I’m sure you already got an earful on the ride over. No use beating a dead horse.” I could feel the disappointment radiating off of her, sending daggers into my heart.

“That’s for damn sure,” I replied, trying to hide the fact that the onions were stinging my eyes.

“We need to get all this in the oven and then head over to the bar to finish up. Dinner is at three this year and there are a lot of hungry mouths to feed.”

“Frying turkeys again?” I asked, scraping the chopped onions into the pot on the stove.

The crow’s feet around my mother’s eyes perked up as she smiled. “There’s nothing better than a fried turkey on Thanksgiving. It’s the best day of the year.”

Ryder strode into the kitchen, handing me the keys to my bike. “I had it towed to the garage last night. It’s a little banged up, but Ozzy should have it good as new tomorrow.”

“Thanks, brother.” I thumbed the worn keychain of a skeleton riding a Harley. It had been my old man’s good luck charm.

“Your daddy would be so proud of the feast we’re about to have today.” My mom’s eyes glassed over as she tripped down her own memory lane next to me.

“I really miss him. It doesn’t feel like a holiday without him.” The words caught in my throat. My father’s murder was something I would never be able to get over. He had been the backbone of our entire family, blood and brotherhood alike. Even though it had been over five years, the wounds were still fresh cuts stapled together by the bonds he’d left behind.

“Let’s make Abel proud today and celebrate instead of moan.” Ryder’s words hung in the air as he took the Pyrex dishes from my mom.

“Amen to that, son.” My mom was stronger than any woman I had ever met.

“Let me just clean up a bit.”

I slunk into the bathroom, stripping out of my grimy clothes, balling them up in the corner.

It’s going to be a good day. I forced myself to believe it.

Sitting in the bottom of the shower, I inspected the cuts and scrapes that covered my hands, arms and legs. I should have been so much my banged up for how bad the night had been.

“Dad!” I yelled as I threw open the front door when I heard his bike pull up to the house.

“There’s my little man! Merry Christmas, son.” I leapt into my father’s strong, tattooed arms before he could even take a step away from his Harley.

“Santa came!” I was an elated five-year-old consumed by the magic of the holiday.

The black eye and busted lip wasn’t anything new and in my kind brain, I didn’t think much of it.

“Well, let’s go see what Santa brought.”

Little memories like that were bittersweet. My father was one of the best men and he would have kicked my ass for getting in trouble the night before a holiday. He would remind me that just because we were outlaws, it wasn’t an excuse to act like a dirt-bag.

The gravel parking lot in front of the Unacceptables Bar and Pool Hall was full of bikes and trucks by the time we got there. Three fryers were set up, ready for us to drop turkeys into.

I helped Raine out of the back seat of Ryder’s truck before grabbing some of the food from her.

“Will you chop some wood for the fire? It’s going to be a cold one.” Raine’s sweet eyes met mine as I nodded.

“On it.”

Making my way into the back office, I grabbed my grandfather’s ax off of the wall. Ravage had been called the Butcher for a reason. While in his possession, that ax had seen more blood than wood. Gripping the stained wooden handle, I couldn’t help but feel like I wasn’t living up to my legacy. I was the son of Abel Hellock and the grandson of Ravage The Butcher Hayes, two badass fallen heroes of my organization. All I had to show for my time wearing the Unacceptables’ skull and bones on my back was a rap sheet of bar fights and stupidity a mile long.

The chilly air seeped into my body as I chopped wood behind the bar. It was therapeutic. With the blade hacking through the logs, the sweat pouring down my back, and the sound of the wood shattering, calm washed over me.

“Yeah, man. I’ll talk to him about it now.” Holt hung up his phone as he made his way over to me.

The grizzled VP of my club took a seat in a metal chair in front of me.

“How’s it going, man?” I asked as I put the broken wood in a pile next to him.

“Heard you had a rough night.” He lit a cigarette, waiting for my reply.

“News travels fast, doesn’t it?”

He shrugged. “When one of us goes down, we all have to rally together to make it right. It wasn’t easy coming up with the twenty grand on such short notice.”

“Fuck, was it that much this time?” Holy hell, that was way more than I’d expected.

He pulled hard on the tan filter. “You’re going to make it up to us—well, the guys in Sweetwater, actually. Blaz is the one who dug you out this time.”

“What do I have to do?” There wasn’t a task too large or small; I’d do whatever it took to make this right. It was time for me to man up and be the son my father had known I could be.

“They have a toy run coming up this weekend. You’re going to head up there and help them with it and anything else Blaz needs. If you ask me, you’re getting off easy.” The disdain in Holt’s voice was tangible as he sat glaring at me.

“I’ll leave as soon as Ozzy has my bike up and running.”

Holt stood and shook my hand. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

And just like that, I was alone again. It wasn’t a secret that most of the guys questioned why I was even in the club—it felt like I wasn’t cut from the same cloth. It was now or never to prove myself worthy of the oath I’d taken.

“Looking around this table, I see so much love for a family that has been built over generations.” My mother’s voice boomed as she smiled at all of us seated along a table in the middle of the bar. “Know that today and every day I am so thankful for each and every one of you gathered here.”

“Hear, hear!” Red called from the other end, raising his beer high in the air.

All of my brothers along with their families dug into the feast we’d come together to prepare. As sure as the leather on each of our backs, I knew we were a family with a bond forged in blood and sweat built on the backs of the love we had for everyone.

That’s why I am here.

That’s why I need to make everything right.

I had fallen far off the course I needed to be on. In Sweetwater, Tennessee, I would start to make amends, and I knew it wasn’t really for anyone but myself that I had to prove my worth.