As a kid, I never knew much about my father—in fact, not a damn thing. I figured that my mother would’ve, at least, given me some small pieces of information about him if she thought he was even the slightest bit worth it. Instead, I convinced myself that he was just some deadbeat dad who’d left her in the lurch. A real man would’ve taken care of his kid regardless of what kind of relationship he had with his mother, so I decided he was better off kept in the shadows. He remained there the entire time I was growing up as I tried to pretend that neither his identity nor his actual existence bothered me. When I was three, Mom married Carl, and the pretending became a little easier. Carl was a good guy: kind-hearted and easygoing. He was older and already had kids from a previous marriage, so he had no problem adding one more. Together, they worked their asses off to make sure that I had everything I could possibly need, and I don’t mean by putting a roof over my head and clothes on my back, they loved me and made damn well sure I knew it.

Overall, I had it pretty good growing up. I was happy, but thoughts of my father were always in the back of my mind. Every time I looked in the mirror, I wondered if I had his eyes, his build, or if I looked anything like him at all. It was the nature of the beast to be curious about the man who had something to do with bringing me into this world. I often wondered if he would’ve been proud of how I’d turned out. By the time I had turned twenty-four, I figured I’d never find out, but that all changed when my mom got sick. She’d given her fight with cancer everything she had, but in the end, it got to be too much for her.

Things were looking bleak, and we all knew we could lose her at any time. After a long night at the shop, I came home and found Carl sitting on the front step with a beer in his hand. He wasn’t one to drink, so I knew it had been a bad night. “She’s been asking for you.”

I patted him on the back and started towards her room. When I walked in, it was completely silent as the nurse hovered over her; suddenly, I worried that I’d gotten there too late. “Is she …”

“No, sweetheart. She’s still holding on,” she warmly replied as she made her way over to me. “She’s been waiting for you to get home.”

Dread washed over me as I looked towards her bed. Seeing my mother’s frail, ashen body made my heart ache in a way that made it hard to breathe. I walked over to the edge of the bed and took her hand in mine; she was just skin and bones. I leaned towards her and whispered, “Hey, Momma. It’s me, Scotty.”

Her eyes slowly flickered opened as she turned to look at me. Her voice was weak and strained as she mumbled, “I need you to go … over to my jewelry box … Bring it to me.”

“What for?”

“Just … bring it to me, Scotty.”

“Okay, Momma.” I walked over to her dresser, retrieved the small wooden box, and brought it back to her. “Here. I’ve got it.”

“Open … the bottom drawer”—she watched me intently then took a deep breath—“and look under the fabric.”

I did as she asked and found an old photograph hidden beneath the bottom layer of red velvet fabric. Carefully, I picked it up and studied the picture of a man who was standing next to a motorcycle. He looked to be about my age with shaggy, blond hair, and he was wearing a leather vest and jeans. The photograph was faded and yellow and looked like it was at least twenty years old. As I sat there staring at it, it quickly dawned on me that it was a picture of my father. I flipped it over and noticed a name and address written on the back and then looked over to Mom. “Is this really him?”

“Yes, sweetheart. That’s your father.” She sighed. “You should know … he doesn’t know about you, Scotty.”

“What?”

She placed her hand on mine as she continued, “I was young and naïve. He never loved me the way I loved him, Scotty. When he met Melinda ... he fell head over heels for her … and forgot all about me. I was embarrassed … I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that I was pregnant.”

“So, he never had any idea about me?”

“No, sweetheart. I left town … as soon as I started showing.” A tear trickled down her cheek. Listening to her say that he had no idea I was his son felt like the rug had been pulled out from under me.

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“I was wrong to keep you from him … It wasn’t fair to either of you. I was selfish, and I regret that now.” She gave my arm a squeeze. “You should go to him ... and tell him who you are … Tell him you’re my son.”

“It’s too late, now. Too much time has gone by.”

“It’s never too late to meet your father, Scotty.” Her voice trailed off as she turned and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry I never told you sooner.”

“You did now. That’s all that matters,” I assured her and then leaned over to place a kiss on her forehead. “Now, get some rest. It’s been a long day.”

Just as I was about to walk out of the room, I barely heard her soft voice, “You’re a wonderful boy, Scotty. He’ll be proud to know you’re his.”

I wasn’t so sure she was right about that. I doubted any man would be exactly thrilled to know that he had a son he never knew about, only to have him show up at his door twenty-one years later. I didn’t have a response for her, not one that she’d want to hear, so I just nodded with a half-hearted smile.

“I love you, Scotty.”

“Love you, too, Mom.”

When I left her room that night, I had no idea that it would be the last time I’d actually speak to her. The next morning, Mom had slipped into a coma and she died two days later. I did my best to be there for Carl, helping him with the funeral arrangements and everything in between, but once the dust had settled, I couldn’t handle being in that house—not with all the memories. After I said my goodbyes, I packed a bag and got on my bike, hoping some time on the road would clear my head. A few days later, I found myself in Seattle. In the back of my mind, I think I always knew where I was going. I needed to see him—even if it was just from a distance. It was almost dark by the time I finally found the little brick house with a car and a Harley parked out by the garage. Relieved to see that the lights were on inside, I parked my bike across the street and waited, hoping that someone would eventually come out. Since I hadn’t taken the time to search his name or even call the phone number listed on the back of the photograph, I had no idea if he still lived there.

After about an hour of sitting and waiting, the front door finally opened, and a man and a beautiful, young woman stepped outside. The woman rushed to her car, and with a big smile, waved to him and pulled out of the driveway. When I glanced back over to the man, I could tell he was older, much older, but there was no doubt he was the man in the photograph. As he got on his bike, I noticed he was wearing the same leather vest that he’d worn in the photograph. Curious to see where he might be going, I followed him out onto the main drag; after a twenty-minute drive, he turned down an old country road.

When he approached the entrance to an old warehouse, I held back and pulled over on the side of the road and watched as he drove through the gate. I killed my headlight and got off my bike, moving closer to get a better look. There were a bunch of bikes parked by the front door, and every time it opened, I heard loud music blaring from inside. Several guys were standing outside talking with beers in their hand and scantily dressed women at their side. It was right then when I realized my old man was part of a biker club.

One day, after following my father for almost two weeks, I went over to the diner across from their garage for a cup of coffee. I was staring out the window, watching the brothers wander in and out of the shop, and never noticed that the front door of the diner had opened. Seconds later, the seat across from me shifted, and I quickly turned to see why, only to get the shock of my life when I found my father staring back at me. “You wanna tell me why the fuck you’ve been tailing me?”

“What?”

“You don’t think I’ve seen you?” he scoffed. “I know you’ve been watching me. I just wanna know why.”

“I … uh … I,” I stuttered, not having a clue what to tell him.

“You got a problem with me, kid?”

“No, sir. I got no problem with you.” I certainly didn’t want to piss him off. I knew what kind of man he was. Over the past few weeks of stalking him, I’d learned that he wasn’t just part of a club, he was the fucking president. He’d actually been the one who founded the Chosen Knights. He and a group of his friends started riding together, but it quickly turned into something more. They lived by the motto “Chosen by Fate. Bound by Honor,” and it was clear that my old man was pleased with his life and his club.

“You in some kind of trouble with the cops or something?”

I shook my head, “No, sir.”

“Then, what the fuck is your deal?”

I didn’t want to tell him I was his son, not until he had a chance to get to know me. I wanted to prove myself and show him that I was someone he could be proud of before I told him, so I decided to keep my true identity a secret, at least for the time being. “I was hoping I might be able to prospect for the club.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What makes you think I would let you prospect?”

“I don’t know. I guess I was hoping you’d take a chance on me. I’ve heard a lot of good things about the Chosen and would really like to contribute.”

“What the fuck have you got to contribute? The way I see it, you got nothing. I know you ain’t got nobody you know around here. No job. No decent place to stay.”

“How’d you know that?”

He tugged at his long, unruly beard and chuckled. “Hell, I’ve had eyes on you since that first night out at the house, boy. You been staying out at the old Weston place, which ain’t exactly the nicest dive around”—he glanced down at my cup of coffee and plain piece of toast—“and you’re running low on cash.”

Most of the Chosen’s brothers worked blue-collar jobs like mechanics, welders, and line workers. Eventually, they decided to pool their resources and open a shop of their own. Thinking I might be able to use that to my advantage, I said, “Yeah, but I’ve gotta lot of experience with engines. Almost eight years. There’s not a motor I can’t fix. New and old. I’m a hard worker, and I think I could be a real asset in your garage.”

He sat there listening and studying me as I spoke. I wondered if he might’ve seen himself when he looked into my eyes. It was doubtful, but maybe, by some kind of intuition, he already knew I was his son. I’m not sure what he saw, but I could definitely tell the wheels were turning inside his head. A man like him wouldn’t trust easily, not with the men he’s dealt with, but for some reason he seemed to take stock in me. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have asked, “You got a name, kid?”

“It’s Scotty.”

“Okay, Scotty. Are you good at doing what you’re told?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You know, prospecting isn’t for everyone. It’s grunt work at its best.”

“Yes, sir. I’m good with that. I just need a chance.”

He hesitated for a moment, then said, “I’m not making you any promises, but come over to the clubhouse tonight and we’ll talk.” He stood up and as he gave me a disapproving look, he said, “I’m guessing you still know where it is.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And kid?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop calling me sir. You’re making me feel old as shit.” He scowled at me and added, “Just call me Lucky.”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Shaking his head, he walked towards the door. “See you tonight, kid.”

That conversation changed the direction of my life in ways I couldn’t begin to imagine. I got to prospect for my old man and learned that not only was he a good man, loyal and hard-working, but I also discovered that he had a daughter—my half-sister, Zoe. I’d found what I was looking for, and I busted my ass to prove myself to the brothers and to my father. Almost a year had passed, and I’d yet to reveal my identity to my father. I tried to tell him, but the timing was never right. And with each new day, it became harder to come clean about who I really was to him. Now, I’d never get that chance. A few weeks before I was to be patched in, my father wrecked his bike, killing him on impact.

Nothing haunts a person more than the words we’d never get a chance to say. They fester and grow into something they weren’t intended to be—lies and untold truths.

Zoe was devastated. Hell, I was, too. It seemed everything I’d worked for was in vain. Without my old man around, things quickly started going to shit in the club; I was actually relieved that no one knew who I was. I considered leaving, but deep down I knew I couldn’t walk away from Zoe. Whether she realized it or not, she was family, and it was up to me to protect her. I had no idea how bad things would get after I’d made my decision to stick around, but I saw things that made my blood run cold and knew I had to get Zoe the hell out of there, especially when one of the brothers started making claims to her. Slider was a member of the Chosen with nothing but greed running through his veins—a piece of shit through and through. There was little I could do since I hadn’t been patched in yet, but I couldn’t have been more relieved after finding out she’d gotten herself tangled up with one of the brothers from Satan’s Fury.

When they caught wind of what the Chosen were up to, and that Zoe was in danger, the Fury took them down. By the time they were done, there wasn’t a trace of their club or any of their shit left behind. Zoe was finally free, and for that matter, so was I. Once the dust settled, I laid it all out there and told Zoe everything, and when it was all said and done, we’d both found ourselves at the footsteps of the Satan’s Fury clubhouse.