Prologue
Blaine
Born to It
The Tail of the Dragon, Deals Gap, North Carolina.
The ride for life is love, loyalty, and respect. This is how I ride, because this is the legacy. This is how the Hellions ride.
My shoulders feel light. I don’t fucking like this feeling, not one single bit. I want my cut back on my body where it belongs.
Soon enough, I remind myself.
I’ve waited years for this moment, what’s another hour or two. This is just more time to take it all in, absorb every feeling.
I remember the first time I wore the leather vest. I was five years old when my dad was in the shower. I slid the heavy garment on my shoulders and climbed on my parents bed. While attempting to jump up and down, I pushed my body harder with my legs to accommodate the weight. I lifted myself up and over with my dad’s Hellions cut covering me to my ankles. Over and over again, I went up and let it wrap around me as I came down on the mattress. Every fall I took it came with me always covering my chest and back. My mom found me first and took pictures. My dad came out and took the leather from me and smiled proudly telling me one day I would have my own, but I had to earn it. This isn’t something you can buy at the mall. It’s full of history, tradition, and the sacrifices of the Hellions who came before me.
That day is here now. I was eighteen when I got my cut and the Prospect patch. It’s been hell doing everyone’s bitch work. Today though, today it’s a full rocker set and the title Brother that comes with it.
The honor, the respect, they are all mine.
The sun peeks in through the old curtains of the biker motel as it begins to rise over the mountains. The joint isn’t fancy, but we don’t come here for the amenities. It’s tradition. Everything about this place is a step back in time to when my grandfather was alive and built this club, this family. The view is beautiful. Nothing less could be expected on a day as powerful and important as today. It’s like Mother Nature knows how important today is and she made sure the weather would give us the best memories.
Today is the day I ride the Tail of the Dragon. It’s a rite-of-passage in the Hellions Motorcycle Club. Upon completion of The Tail ride, I will be presented with my cut again as a fully patched member of the Haywood’s Landing chapter of the Hellions MC.
Rising for the day, I stretch before heading to the bathroom and getting ready. Since today is so important, a party is sure to ensue, and therefore for once I don’t have Red as my roommate. Typically, we would all be bunked up two to a room unless you’re one of the brothers with an ol’ lady. As a prospect we didn’t get shit anyway, but today I have the room to myself so tonight I can find a bar fly for some pussy later. Before that though, I have to finish something I was born to do.
I’ve waited my whole life for today. Twenty-one is the age to earn my final rocker. Finally, after years stuck as a prospect doing the shit work for my dad and all his brothers, I get to be a fully patched member of the Hellions Motorcycle Club.
A club I was born to. A club my grandfather built with his friends who were family of their own making. A club that began in the small coastal North Carolina town of Haywood’s Landing and it now encompasses multiple charters throughout the Carolinas. With additional affiliations, connections, and markers we are protected and respected nationwide. My grandfather, Roundman, built this all by his word and deed.
His name is the name I now carry on.
Blaine “Roundman” Reklinger is a legend. One round, one shot, it’s all he ever needed. He was ruthless in business and gave no fucks about anyone but the people he called family. No one crossed him or his club, if they did, they paid with their life. He was everything this club stood for and who they stood behind. My mother, Delilah “Doll” Reklinger was his whole world outside of this club. To this day, years after he’s been gone, everyone still talks about him with the utmost respect. My mother gave me the best piece of him she could. She gave me a strong man’s name.
A name I’m proud to claim, and today a tradition I’m honored to carry on.
The Hellions, we aren’t a bunch of thugs. We’re not a gang. We’re not some outlaw, one-percenter diamond patch wearing crew fighting with the cops. We don’t shy from trouble, but we aren’t hell-bent on stirring it up either. We strike back because we won’t stand down, but if we’re left alone, we leave others alone. It’s a code and it’s simple don’t fuck with us and we don’t fuck with you. We’re about our freedom, our lifestyle, and protecting each other.
We are family.
Sure, I’ve heard the stories about the club skirting the line of the law. We aren’t choir-boys. We just don’t seek out illegal activities in the businesses our clubs run. There are things I don’t know about because until today I wasn’t a fully patched member. I’m sure the future holds more for me to learn, but at my core, I know who we are and what we represent. The side jobs we take for the club, well, yeah we’ve gone down for a handful of things, but overall we aren’t known for dealing drugs, guns, or pussy—patch or not, I know this holds true. We run transports. Sometimes do we break laws? Yeah. Sometimes, yes we have shed blood. There isn’t a line we won’t cross if provoked. Sometimes do we land ourselves behind bars? Yeah. Sometimes shit just happens.
Together we rise and together we’ll fall. More importantly, together we’ll rise up again.
I work in the garage for the most part. Occasionally, I take on a transport, but not often. Turning wrenches alongside my dad, Talon “Tripp” Crews and his brothers we restore, rebuild, and maintain cars of any make, model, year along with any motorcycles. It’s lucrative along with the mini-storage business and of course the transports.
As I climb on my custom Harley, I feel the smirk build on my face. I can’t help it. Shit is as real as it gets today.
Before I can crank my machine and pull away, my sister Dia comes running out of her room straight to me with our mother on her heels. Dia’s blonde hair is wild around her face as our mother who is the most beautiful woman I know has hers braided tightly down her back ready to ride. The two look like sisters instead of mother and daughter. Our mother doesn’t seem to age and our dad, while he has a few wrinkles, will still kick my ass or anyone else’s. Our parents are tough, but fair and have raised us with a firm hand. Given the thing I’ve gotten into over the years, well, my sister and I haven’t always made shit easy for them. Me, I like to drive fast and I’m fucking fearless. My sister, she’s got fire in her veins for blood and doesn’t take shit from anyone. Talking her down can be a full-time job for our mother sometimes.
“I’m ridin’ with you, BW,” Dia calls out to me as our mother shakes her head behind her. Oh no, this is a fight. I see the determination in my sister’s eyes. That look is the one that is going to break some man one day.
While I’ve taken my sister on plenty of rides, I know the rules about today. This ride, I can’t have a passenger. This is about my cut, my place in the club and has nothing to do with my little sister, Dia Nicole Crews.
“Not today,” Mom tells her.
I shrug my shoulders. “You aren’t ready, Dia. Your hair’s gonna tangle up and you’ll be whinin’ later if you try to ride like you are,” I explain to my sister trying to diffuse the situation.
I may be a grown ass man and my mother might be almost a foot shorter than me when I stand, but I know that woman will have not a single issue whipping my ass for disobeying her. My mother won’t let her size stand in her way. When she’s fired up, well Hell hath no fury like her. No matter how old I get my father won’t let me disrespect my mother in any way, shape, or form. Sorry to my sister, but our mother is a tiny tornado that will pick me up, spin me around, and land me flat on my ass. They both stop just in front of my bike which I balance between my thighs effortlessly.
“Why?” Dia challenges.
I want to laugh and say, because mom said so. But I don’t. Instead, I watch mixed emotions cross our mother’s face just as our father comes up behind her joining in the argument.
“What’s going on?” Dad asks Dia.
“I came out to catch BW so I can ride The Tail with him, but Mom said not today. Every Hellion rides The Tail. I wanna go too.” She’s fifteen going on thirty-five and thinks she can override any rule.
Our dad looks to our mom who gives a soft sigh. Her eyes take on a far-away gaze like her mind is somewhere else as she speaks.
“Sweet, Dia. I’m gonna tell you like my father told me. It’s not BW’s place to take you on The Tail. The Tail of the Dragon is a hidden beauty. This two-lane mountain road has over three-hundred curves in an eleven-mile stretch. It takes an experienced rider.”
Dia laughs. “So you don’t think BW can handle the ride. Not sure he should get that final rocker to complete his patch if he can’t keep little ol’ me safe on a few curves on a mountain.”
“You cocky little shit,” I fire back at her.
Our dad steps up to her. “Watch yourself, girl,” he says harshly before his features soften. “Dia, The Tail is a ride of many things. It’s a ride the Hellions have taken longer than you’ve been alive. It’s a ride of focus, where a man is forced to clear his mind. It’s a ride where a man is forced to accept the things he cannot change, challenge the things that he can, and be open to the possibility of new horizons in the future. He must become one with his bike or one with the pavement under him. The Tail has claimed a number of bikes and bikers to its gravel top. It takes skill. This is a serious moment and an important day for your brother.”
My dad speaks in a way that is almost poetic for a rugged biker. Each word is full of passion and history from our club.
“I’m not gonna be a distraction,” Dia says jutting out a hip and resting her hand on it.
“It’s not about you, Princess.” Our father tells her with a firm stare. “Today, it’s about your brother. The man he has grown into. The dues he has paid. The cut he has earned. This ride is his to take and his to take alone.”
“Ol’ ladies ride,” Dia again challenges to which our mother glares.
Our mother being the head of the women in the club mimics my sister’s stance as she explains. “Ol’ ladies earn their place too. It ain’t about being born to this club, Dia. You gotta understand that.”
She throws her hands up in frustration. “It’s all about BW. I get it. His day, his ride, his cut. All because he was born with a damn Y chromosome and a dick.” Dia rushes off as our father glares and his nostrils flare with anger.
“Check your attitude, Dia,” he shouts out after her. “I won’t be disrespected because you wanna throw some damn temper-tantrum.”
Our mom pats our dad’s chest. “Easy, Talon. It’s hard to be raised to be a strong, independent woman, only to then get told you gotta stay in your lane. She’s young. At fifteen, I begged my dad to take me on The Tail. Every year he gave me the same speech and it wasn’t until I took the ride with you that very first time twenty-three years ago that I truly understood what he had told me for my entire life.”
I look out at the road ahead. I know all about the ride. I’ve studied the map and readied my mind.
Year after year, people ignore the warnings. The asphalt here is unforgiving and is happy to swallow man and machine whole. I may have adrenaline in my veins, but I still have my brain. I’m not about to fuck up because my mind didn’t understand the ride ahead of me.
The curves of The Tail are like the curves of a woman. And Heaven knows, I love my women to be full of curves. Deep ones, short ones, sharp ones, and wide ones, I want to touch them all. Today, like a woman I’ll grab the pavement and hug that shit tight, hold it close, and caress it gently, but always with a firm hand. This ride defines me from a boy into a man.
For the club, the ride is to solidify your trust in your new brother. We ride two by two, only feet separate our handlebars as we glide through each mile of mountain black-top. It’s a ride where the ol’ ladies hold on tight, giving their complete trust to her man. We ride all together as one.
As we line up, Red, my best-friend and I take our place in the back like we have more than a thousand rides before. Except as we settle into our places, two-by-two, the brother’s all move creating a parting of the sea of bikes from the club. Every charter we have from the Carolina’s is in attendance today. Slowly, we ride our way up the rows. When we reach Rex, my father’s cousin, right-hand man, and Catawba Charter President, I get a chin lift as he too moves from behind my father.
When the club rides together, my father always leads with Tank, Red’s dad at his right side. Everyone falls in line with officers first and fading back to patched members, and prospects hold up the rear. When all the charters are together, my dad leads with Tank at his right, and Rex is always directly behind him with Shooter, his VP to his right. Never has there been a separation farther than that between the cousins and patched brothers.
Red and I roll to a stop behind my dad and his. Talon “Tripp” Crews has been the president to the Haywood’s Hellions MC and overseer to the entire club with Frank “Tank” Oleander as his VP since Roundman passed the gavel to him. Kenneth “Red” Oleander and I have been inseparable since birth and today is no different. He’s at my side as we both get our cuts.
My dad climbs off his ride as does my mother. Tank and Sass, Red’s mom, climb off as well. Reaching into their saddlebags, a feeling of pride overcomes me as I see my father lift my cut.
“Typically this waits at the end of the ride, but you boys have busted ass and taken your shit. I’m honored to have you take this ride as my son and my brother. The vote was unanimous. You’ve done your time, paid your dues. I couldn’t be prouder of the man you’ve grown into. Blaine Ward Crews, today you ride with this cut. You’re not just my son, BW, you’re now my equal. My brother, it’s time we take your ride.”
He tosses me the leather and I put it on feeling at home and at peace.
I was born to wear this cut.
I was born to be none other than a brother in the Hellions MC.