Memphis, Tennessee had never been your typical city. While the melody of jazz music played down on Beale Street, tourists visited Graceland, and society folks had a drink at the Peabody, deep within the city, there were infamous gangs and rival MCs fighting to take control. Countless conflicts often ended with death and destruction, but when it was all said and done, there was always one that stood above the rest—Satan’s Fury MC. With blood, sweat, and tears, they’d claimed the territory. In doing so, the club had made quite a name for itself and was considered the most notorious MC in the Southeast. The mere rumble of their motorcycles roaring by would bring a sense of fear to anyone who heard it, for there wasn’t a single soul who didn’t know the bedlam they could cause when they came toe to toe with an adversary. Over the years, these bloody confrontations had become legendary in the city where the King of Rock and Roll had once lived.

I’d been a member for almost ten years—patched in just after my twenty-first birthday. From day one, I learned that even though we’d won many battles, the war to keep our territory secure was far from over. Every day there was a certain amount of bullshit to deal with: a fight to be had or a trigger to be pulled. It was just our way of life. For us, the club wasn’t just a group of guys who put on second-rate cuts, pretending to be some kind of hotshot on a crotch-rocket. We were family through and through, and there wasn’t one of us who wouldn’t take a bullet for a brother. We believed what we had was worth dying for, and when someone put our family in jeopardy, we didn’t think twice about taking them down—just like the night when we’d discovered that one of our runners had been skimming from the top.

I’d been asleep for hours when Murphy, our sergeant-at-arms, called my burner. I quickly answered, “Yeah?”

“Need you to get over to the warehouse. Runt’s on his way to pick up Johnny and bring him over there so Gus can have a word with him.”

Gus was the kind of president who stayed on top of things, and when it came to his club, nothing got by him—nothing. “At this hour, I’m guessing he’s not wanting to talk about tonight’s Cubs game?”

“Fuck no. That asshole came up short on this week’s payout.”

“How short?”

“Just over three grand.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

Three grand wasn’t even a drop in the bucket where our drug distribution was concerned. In a week’s time, we pulled in ten times that amount, but that wasn’t the point. Under no circumstances did anyone ever steal from the club—period. As I pulled myself out of the bed, Murphy grumbled, “No joke, brother. Now, get your ass over to the warehouse. We’ll meet you there.”

“I’m on my way.”

It was one of those hot, sultry summer nights in July, and even though it was well after midnight, the air was thick with humidity. The wind could do little to keep the sweat from beading across my forehead as I parked behind the warehouse. I headed over to Runt’s SUV and watched as he hauled Johnny out of the back, dragging his feet across the gravel as he took him inside.

Runt motioned his head towards the truck as he ordered, “Get Terry out of the back.”

Finding the other man cowering down on the floorboard with a pillowcase on his head, I reached in and grabbed him, following Runt inside. We dumped them both in the center of the warehouse as we gathered around, watching Runt remove Johnny’s blindfold. When Johnny finally got a good look at the man who’d kidnapped him, his eyes grew wide with terror. Hell, I couldn’t blame him for being scared shitless. One look at Runt, and any man would be shaking in his fucking boots. He was our club’s enforcer, and at six foot seven and three hundred and forty pounds of muscle, he was the biggest, most intimidating brother in the club. He had a knack for turning a man, big or small, into a pathetic, groveling mass of flesh, and this poor bastard didn’t stand a chance—nor did his sidekick, Terry, who was sitting beside him.

When I yanked the pillowcase off of his head, Terry lost it. “Please, man. I didn’t have nothing to do with this shit!”

“Um-hmm,” I scoffed. We all knew he didn’t have anything to do with his buddy’s mishandling of funds, but we brought him along for the show, knowing he’d spread the word about everything that was about to take place. I wasn’t about to let him know that, so with a condescending tone, I told him, “Whatever you say, Terry.”

“I mean it, man. I got no idea what he did, but I give you my word. I’m clean, man. I wasn’t no part of his bullshit.” He looked over to Johnny and shouted, “Tell ‘em, J. Tell ‘em I didn’t have nothing to do with this shit.”

He didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. He knew he’d fucked up, and there were consequences to be had—deadly consequences. The second Johnny saw Gus walking in his direction, he nearly lost his shit. The blood drained from his face, and the vein in his neck started pulsing out of control. He knew what was coming. He was well aware that our president had a reputation for dishing out some pretty grim retributions, especially for those who tried to double-cross the club like he had done, so it came as no surprise when the motherfucker started to completely freak out. Like a wild animal, he used every ounce of strength he had to try and break free from Runt’s grasp, but it was no use. He was no match for our enforcer, and he ended up with his face planted on the hard, concrete floor. As Gus approached him, Johnny started to beg, “I’m sorry, man. I’ll get your money back. I promise. Just let me make a phone call and I promise I’ll get it back.”

Gus crossed his arms, causing his muscles to bulge as they rippled down from his shoulder to his forearm. His fierce appearance was intimidating, to say the least, as he looked at him with disgust. “It’s a little late for all that, don’t ya think, Johnny boy?”

“I was gonna pay you back, Gus. I swear it. My girl just had a baby, and with all the doctor bills, I got behind.” There was something in his voice that made me believe him when he said, “I wouldn’t have taken it, but the baby needed some food, man … She’d been crying all goddamned night, and it was fucking with my head. The money was sitting right there … I know it was stupid. I know that, and I’m sorry. Just give me a chance, and I’ll get your money back.”

“So, you’re telling me you stole for your kid?”

“Yeah. I didn’t have a choice, man.”

With a shake of his head, Gus looked to Runt and said, “Pull him up.”

Runt gave Johnny a quick tug, and once he was up on his knees, Gus reached for his arm and pushed up his shirt sleeve, revealing countless track marks. Gus growled, “You’re a real piece of shit, asshole. Blaming your kid when you’ve been using my money to buy fucking drugs.”

Suddenly, panic crossed his face. “Those are from a long time ago. I haven’t used in months.”

Murphy shook his head and grumbled, “Only one thing worse than a thief, and that’s a fucking liar.”

Hoping that he could persuade Gus to give him a break, Johnny immediately started pleading, “Come on, Gus. I’ve been working for you for a long time, man. I’ve helped make you a lot of money, and I just fucked up this one time. You gotta give me another chance.”

Gus sighed as he looked over to Johnny and said, “My old man was a farmer. He had over five hundred acres of land and the best stock of horses any man could own. We had us a couple of field hands, and one of them was a good man … had himself a daughter about my age, and he worked real hard to make a decent life for his wife and kid. But back then, life was tough and he fell on hard times. One night my father found him stealing feed out of one of our barns. Now, at the time, I didn’t think much of it. I mean … what’s the big deal about borrowing a little feed, but then, I was just a kid. What the hell did I know?” He reached in his pocket and took out his pack of cigarettes. As he lit one up, he continued, “My father was one of the richest men around with pockets filled with cash. Losing a little straw and grain wasn’t gonna hurt nothing, so let me ask ya … What do you think he should’ve done about this guy taking feed from his barn?”

Johnny’s voice trembled as he answered, “I think he should’ve given him another chance.”

“I can see where you might think that, but like my father explained it to me—it wasn’t the first time he’d stolen from my old man. It was just the first time he’d actually been caught.”

“Not me, man! This was the first time … the only time—I swear it!”

“You and I both know that’s not true.” Gus pulled his gun from its holster and aimed it at his head. “A few dollars here. A few dollars there. That shit adds up, Johnny, but I’ll set your mind at ease. I’ll see to it that your stripper girlfriend and daughter are taken care of.”

And with that, Gus pulled the trigger. When the bullet pierced through his head, blood spewing in all directions, Terry dropped to his knees in horror. He brought his hands up to his head and squalled, “Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. You fucking killed him.”

When he noticed Gus walking towards him, his mouth clamped shut and the room filled with a deafening silence. Gus slowly knelt down beside him and placed his hand on his shoulder. With a stern voice, he told him, “You don’t fuck with the Fury, kid. You’d do good to remember that.”

He nodded. “Yes, sir. I got it.”

“Good.” As he stood up, Gus looked over to Runt and ordered, “Get his ass out of here.”

Runt nodded, and as he loaded him up in the SUV, Murphy turned to me and asked, “You good with cleaning this shit up?”

“Yeah. I’ll take care of it.”

Gus patted me on the back and said, “Go home, brother. I’ll get a couple of prospects over here to take care of this.”

“You sure? I can—”

He shook his head. “Go home, Blaze. We’ve got the run tomorrow. I’ll need you at your best.”

“Understood.” I lifted my chin, and then started walking out of the warehouse to head towards my bike. My neighbor was sitting with my son, Kevin, and I was eager to get back to make sure he was okay. “I’ll see you at the club first thing in the morning.”

Before I exited, Gus yelled, “Be sure to tell Kevin I’m expecting to see that class project he’s been working on.”

“You got it.”

Life as a member of Satan’s Fury wasn’t always butterflies and fucking rainbows, but there’d never been a time when I’d regretted becoming a member. My brothers were always there when I needed them. After my ol’ lady died in a car crash, they stood right by my side, helping me carry the weight of my grief. I was just getting back on my feet when I found out our son, Kevin, was diagnosed with leukemia, and if it hadn’t been for the club, there was no doubt that I would have given up hope. As always, they never let me down, and their support helped us both get through one of the toughest times in my life. I owed them so much, and through them I learned that having family isn’t just important—it’s fucking everything.