Chapter 1
I veer off of the I-90 and guide my Harley onto the off-ramp. I grin to myself as I glance up at the huge, green highway sign looming above the road.
Welcome to Reyfield, Illinois.
I never thought I’d ever feel so damn happy to see that sign again but after all I’ve been through over the past three years, I just want something simple and familiar. I want to be in a place where I don’t feel antsy, like I’ve got to keep looking over my shoulder.
Reyfield is it. It’s almost like coming home…
Almost.
I’m well aware that the Masters’ left a lot of destruction in our wake the last time we were in this town – unpaid bills, unsaid goodbyes and at least one very broken heart.
Maybe it’s time to pay old debts, heal old wounds and make amends as best I can. Maybe it’s time for a fresh start.
It’s a chilly night. Fall is creeping its way into town. I breeze through the streets and everything feels familiar. It all gives me a little thrill in the pit of my stomach. The gothic architecture of the Presbyterian church…The washed-out “Go Tigers!” banner hanging outside of our old high school…The field where we played football…The burger joint we used to go to for lunch when the school cafeteria’s offerings resembled roadkill topped with warm dog food...
I take a left off of Clifford Boulevard and pull onto Hyatt Street. The corner store is right where I left it. I cut my engine in the parking lot and stroll through the front door. I give a quick nod to the middle-aged woman sitting behind the cash register and make my way down the narrow, brightly-lit aisles.
Man, it feels good to just walk down the aisles of a freakin’ convenience store. When you’ve been locked away for as long as I have, you learn to appreciate the simple things.
I stand in front of the chip display for a moment, trying to decide between vinegar and barbecue. “Fuck it…” I’m having both. And how about a bag of jalapeño-cheddar, too? I’m making up for lost time, after all.
I grab a case of beer — the cheap kind that we used to buy with our fake IDs when we were teenagers. I’m feeling awfully nostalgic tonight. Then, I grab more chocolate-covered pretzel sticks than any self-respecting 27-year-old man ever should.
When I get to the condom aisle, I pick up eight three-packs of XL Magnums.
Yes, that might seem overly ambitious but I haven't had sex in three freakin’ years and whoever I take home with me tonight is in for a hell of a good time. The ladies don’t call me Master Kee for nothing. My main priority tonight is to drain the tank into the first acceptable-looking broad that comes my way and to be honest, ‘acceptable-looking’ is pretty much open for interpretation at this point.
Because I’m horny enough to fuck my way through the Reyfield phonebook.
I drop my goodies onto the counter and the cashier eyes me with an arched brow and a subtle grin. “Exciting night planned?” she asks, tipping her chin toward the condoms. The innuendo in her voice is undeniable.
I give her a second glance. Is she Ms. Acceptable for tonight?
Nah, she’s probably older than my mother and she smells like she’s been marinating in cigarette smoke and cheap perfume all day. My definition of “acceptable” may be loose, but not that loose.
I nod politely as I glimpse at the number glowing on the screen of the cash register and pull a $100 bill out of my wallet. She drags her long fingernails along my palm as she deposits the change into my hand.
Did my cock just twitch?
Down, buddy. Down.
“Have a good night, Big Boy,” she purrs as I give her a quick salute and duck out the door.
I store my goodies in my backpack and jump onto my bike. When I rev it, the poor thing lets out a choked straining sound. I’ll look into it first thing in the morning, but for now, I’m on mission to get laid.
ASAP.