Mason (Iron Reapers MC #1)

Chapter 1

ONE

MASON BLACKSTONE

I’ve been out of the country for a few weeks and just got back two days ago. Thank fuck. It feels damn good to be home, to be with my brothers back at the Iron Reapers’ compound. I’m not one of those fuckers who likes to travel and see the world. I did enough of that when I was in the Marines. What I like is to be on my own land running things the way I see fit.

After serving my country for twelve years I got out and was struggling. Bad. I craved the stability of brotherhood but didn’t know where to find it. For months I looked at the bottom of a bottle, but never found the answer. One night, drunk and angry, I picked a fight with a biker. Dagger kicked my ass then dragged me back to the Iron Reapers’ compound. He must have seen something in me, or some shit, because he introduced me around to his brothers and gave me a place to sleep off my bender. The next day I became a prospect. Ten years later, I sit here as their president, proudly leading them with Dagger as my Vice President.

We’ve just gathered for Church, our weekly club meeting, but my brothers are already becoming restless. Like caged animals, they need to be set free to ride and get into trouble. Not the kind of trouble that gets noticed, but the kind that lets them feel alive.

"Alright, let's get this shit wrapped up," I grumble, scanning the sea of leather and denim before me. The air in the Iron Reapers MC clubhouse is thick with cigarette smoke and the stale tang of last night's booze. “Brothers, thank you for holding down the fort while I was away. I know Dagger appreciates you keeping yourselves in line.”

A few of my brothers laugh, others give me a nod of respect.

“In the coming weeks, our deal with the Russians will be solidified. I’m counting on y’all to do right by your club, and step up where needed. This deal means bigger payouts, and more responsibility. I assured them we could handle it. Don’t prove me wrong,” I say, looking each of them in the eye. This time no one laughs. “Do we have any other business we need to discuss before Church is over?” I ask, looking around at my officers. Dagger stands.

"Pres," Dagger, the club’s Vice President and my best friend, cuts in. "We've got trouble brewing on the East end of town. The Vipers have been sniffing around, acting like they forgot who owns this town."

The Vipers are a motorcycle club two towns over. They’re a bunch of pussies playing at being bikers. All talk and no action. Or so I thought. We’ve had our eye on them for the last year. I never saw them as a real threat. But if Dagger says they’re making trouble, then we need to send them a message, one they’ll hear loud and clear. They need to sit down and let the big boys take care of business.

I lean back in my chair, arms crossed over my chest, feeling the weight of the patch on my cut. "They need a reminder then?" My eyes meet his.

"Damn straight," he growls, the scar stretching from his jaw to his ear twisting with his sinister smile.

"Make it clear. No Viper sets foot in this town without answering to the Iron Reapers," I command.

"Got it, Pres." Dagger's nod is all business, but the glint in his eye speaks of a storm coming. The man is crazy as hell. Glad he’s on our side of things.

The clubroom's walls echo with my orders, the tension crackling like live wires. We're a brotherhood forged in the ugly side of things. The parts of society most people don’t want to know about.

"Keep it tight, Dagger. No collateral," I warn.

"Always," He agrees.

“Iron Reapers don't start wars, but we damn sure finish 'em,” I tell the club, looking at the fifty or so brothers that make up our charter. I see the determination in their eyes to uphold the values the Iron Reapers stand for. It makes me damn proud to lead them.

"Ride hard," I add, feeling that familiar itch for action. It’s time to remind the city streets which boots they kiss when the sun goes down.

"Ride free," the entire club finishes, the mantra echoing off the clubhouse walls. “Church adjourned.”

We stand, united. Whatever storm's brewing on the horizon, we'll face it head-on, together. Iron Reapers—till death do us part.

I get Dagger’s attention for him to follow me with a chin lift. We head back to my office where I grab the bottle of whiskey I’m close to finishing and pour us each a shot. Dagger walks in and closes the door behind us then sits down across from me at my desk. Setting his shot in front of him, he picks it up and taps it against mine before we shoot them back.

“Is this anything we need to be worried about?” I ask, trying to get a read on what’s been going on since I’ve been gone.

He shakes his head, “Not sure yet. Turns out the Vipers have been pushing into our territory for a while now, little by little. They’ve set up a whore house on third street and I heard they’re running meth on that part of town too.”

“Jesus Christ,” I growl. “How come I haven’t heard about this until now?”

He gives me a hard stare. “You’ve been busy working the arms deal with the Russians.”

I nod. “True. But you could have told me something so I wasn’t blindsided in Church just now,” I growl.

“Got it, Pres. Just trying to carry some of the load as your VP.”

He’s right, but I still don’t like not knowing what’s going on. “Now that we’ve got the deal settled with the Russians, we need to take care of this before it becomes more of an issue than it already is. I don’t want the Russians thinking we can’t handle our territory.”

“I’ll take care of it.” He stands and knocks on my desk before walking out.

“Fuck me,” I growl, rubbing my hands over my face. I’m looking forward to tonight where me and my boys can let off some steam.