Prologue

Eagle

Pulling up beside my two Marine brothers, I turned my Harley’s engine off, but like the others, I stayed seated on my bike. As was habit after so many years on deployment together, I glanced to the man on my right, to follow his lead. Over my fifteen years of active service, I’d been on several missions with Jacob ‘Mac’ Miller. The last few he’d been my gunnery sergeant. I trusted him with my life, and would follow him just about anywhere.

He sat staring into the front window of the little hole-in-the-wall cafe we were due to meet in, and I figured, like me, he was wondering what the fuck we were all doing here.

“We going in?”

Donovan ‘Taz’ Lee’s Australian accent was still thick, even though he’d been living in the States since he was a teenager. I sincerely hoped the man never lost it. I’d been hearing it regularly since we’d met at boot camp, after we both enlisted in the Marine Corps after the 9/11 attacks. We’d both gone onto further training, him as a sniper and me as his spotter. Fuck, I could barely remember a time when I hadn’t heard his Aussie drawl on a daily basis.

“Yeah, let’s go see what the fuck this is all about.”

Mac was the first to dismount his ride, Taz and I following. Tension coiled in my belly, because we all knew Sergeant Major Johnson wouldn’t want to have lunch with us to just shoot the shit. He was up to something.

With quick, efficient movement, I stored my helmet and followed my brothers into the cafe. My instincts didn’t pick up any threat, but all three of us still scanned the area, both outside and then the interior. We might have left the Marines eighteen months ago, but our training never left us. Once a Marine, always a Marine. Even here in southern Texas, which was a shitload safer than the Middle East, it wasn’t without its dangers.

Sgt. Maj. Johnson stood as we entered, not that we didn’t already know precisely where he was. The man had a presence about him that made you stand a little taller, no matter whether he was sitting, standing, or lying the fuck down.

“Afternoon men, glad you could make it.”

Taz stepped forward to shake his hand first. Even after all the shit we’d seen and done while serving, Taz had never lost his easy smile or friendly demeanor. Of course, those close to him, like myself and Mac, knew it was a well-constructed mask. We also knew the man wasn’t ready to confront his demons, so until that time came, we simply acted as though he was fine.

“Hey, it’s been a while. How’re the wife and kids doing?”

“They’re all fine. Britney married last month–some skinny little runt that’ll blow over if the wind blows hard enough. He’s an investment banker, or some shit. No idea what my girl sees in him, but she appears happy.”

Mac and I silently watched on as Taz chuckled. “Good thing you taught your girl how to take care of herself then. Doesn’t sound like her man will be much good if something does go down.”

A smile spread across the older man’s face and a gleam entered his eyes. “Best thing I ever did was teach that girl how to fight. Of course, her brothers didn’t think so when they were teenagers and she could hand them their asses when they tried to pick on her.” He paused to shake his head. “She’ll probably save his butt if anything ever happened.”

The small talk continued as Mac moved in to shake Sgt. Maj. Johnson’s hand and I frowned. The sergeant major seemed overly calm–as though he was putting on a front, but underneath was nervous. Once Mac finished, I moved to take his palm and greet him.

“Sir, why do you need to see us? You know we’re not re-enlisting.”

Disappointment flashed in his eyes for a moment. I knew he’d been sorry to see the three of us go, especially Taz. He had been one of the best snipers the USMC ever had. I’d been by his side, spotting for him, for over twelve years of missions. That added up to a fuck-load of kills. I tried not to focus on the number. They’d all been our enemies, but they were still human. And I don’t care how badass you are, after twelve fucking years of looking down a scope, killing people, you needed, and had earned, a fucking break. The three of us had decided when our last re-enlistment came up that we’d retire–spend some time stateside, seeing the country. Take a breather from war and gunfire and just fucking relax for a while.

“I’m not here to ask you to, not that I’d turn you away if you changed your minds.” He looked to each of us, and when he saw we had no intention of changing our minds, he kept talking. “Take a seat and order some food, then I’ll explain.”

Curiosity had me wasting no time in ordering quickly, as did the others.

“Now, what’s going on?”

Mac, who always liked getting straight to the point, didn’t wait long to start pushing the sergeant major for an explanation. It was probably one of the reasons Mac made such a good gunnery sergeant. Mac had already served for a few years before Taz and I enlisted. When we were assigned to a platoon with Mac several years ago, the three of us quickly bonded and hadn’t hesitated to stick together once we left the service.

The way the sergeant major’s jaw flexed before he cleared his throat had me focusing fully on the man. This was going to be something big.

“I’ve been keeping tabs on you three since you left.” He raised a hand, palm toward them. “Don’t jump on me. I haven’t done it constantly, just every now and then. Enough to make sure you’re all doing okay in civilian life. By that, I mean I know you three have been riding around the country on Harleys since shortly after you returned stateside.”

“That can’t shock you. Plenty of men turn to riding once they return.”

Taz almost sounded defensive. I would have been too, if I hadn’t sensed the sergeant major was leading up to something. And it wasn’t kicking our asses for wasting time touring around.

“True enough, but since you’re the only three I know who have, that I trust, and that are living here in Texas, I’m here talking to you.”

The waitress arrived with our food and silence descended as she laid our plates out. The air around us was filled with tension as all three of us waited for Sgt. Maj. Johnson to get to the point.

“I’ve been approached with a request that I think you three are perfect for–if you’re interested, that is. Any of you heard of the Charon MC before?”

I stopped eating. Anyone not living under a rock in Texas had heard of the Charon MC. They were known for serving justice when the legal system failed, and keeping their hometown of Bridgewater drug and crime free. They also owned a few local businesses, which were thriving.

Mac’s expression hardened as he leaned forward. “Of course we have. They’re based down in Bridgewater, near Galveston, but their reputation spreads a hell of a lot further than that.”

“The FBI wants to get some undercovers in the club. At this point, they’re not considered a one-percenter club and there’s nothing going down right now that they’re aware of. The issue is the club is growing in numbers and power, and they’re skirting the edge of the law more often. It’s making them nervous and they’d like to have a man or two on the inside to pass on any information they might require. You three interested in joining a motorcycle club for at least the next couple of years?”

Mac frowned over at the sergeant major. “Once you join one of those clubs, you don’t just leave after a couple years, and you know it.”

“Okay, so prospect in, and if you really don’t like it by the time you’re ready to patch in, call it quits and walk away. I’ll tell the feds they need to look elsewhere. How does that sound?”

I thought it through for a moment. On the surface, it didn’t sound like a bad idea. But Mac was right. If we decided to do this, it was a long-term thing. That meant we needed some time to discuss how to proceed, because if one of us was out, all of us were.

“We need to think and talk about it. When do we need to let you know?”

Sgt. Maj. Johnson pulled out a leaflet and put it on the table in front of Mac.

“Next Saturday they’re having a poker run, open to the public. They do them every so often this way, and it’s the perfect way to get their attention and ask the right questions to get in the door. I can’t imagine they’ll turn away three decorated marines wanting to join their ranks. I’ll be watching along the way. Whether I see your bikes in the mix, or not, will give me your answers.”

After the sergeant major stood, tossed a couple bills on the table and left, I eyed off my two best friends.

“So, what do you think?”