Smokey: Satan's Fury MC by L. Wilder

Author:L. Wilder [Wilder, L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-10-15T21:00:00+00:00

It was one of those mornings. The sun was shining bright without a cloud in the sky. Every tree around was blooming, leaving no doubt that spring was just around the corner. The season was turning, and with the temperature rising, it was a perfect morning for a ride. I grabbed my cut and, after a short drive out to the cliffs, headed into town to find Guardrail. I needed to talk to him about the house. Along with being the club’s VP, he also ran the club’s construction company. It’d started as a cover, but he’d quickly turned it into much more than that. He was good at his job, and people from all over were lining up at the door to get him to do their renovations. He was looking over some plans when I walked into his office.

He looked up at me and asked, “What brings you all the way out here?”

“Wanted to talk to you about doing some work on the farmhouse.”

“Whatcha got in mind?”

“A complete overhaul inside and out,” I explained. “Need to bring it up to date.”

He gave me a puzzled look. “You planning on living out there?”

“Yeah. Figured it would make things easier in the long run. Need to be there to keep an eye on things.”

“What about your place? What are you gonna do with it?”

“I’ll hang onto it for now. Thought one of the brothers could use it or something.”

“Sounds good. I’ll come out there this afternoon and have a look around. See what we can come up with.”

“Thanks, brother. I appreciate it,” I told him as I started for the door. Just before I walked out, I turned to him and added, “Big. Think big.”

Laughing, he replied, “You got it, Smoke. See ya in a couple of hours.”

After leaving there, I stopped by the clubhouse. Things were pretty quiet. Most of the guys were off working, and since the prospects were busy cleaning the garage, I headed back out to the farm to check on Wes. When I pulled up to the barn, I could see him standing on a ladder while the younger version of him stood below taking notes on a small notepad. I got off the bike and headed over to them asking, “Is everything looking okay?”

“So far so good. Going through each tree. Gotta check them for signs of disease or beetle infestation, but we haven’t found any yet.”

“That’s good.” I looked over to who I assumed was his son and said, “You must be Crockett.”

He extended his hand. “Yeah, that’d be me. Nice to meet you, Mr. Abrams.” Crockett looked to be around twenty-five or so, but the plaid button-down shirt he was wearing made him look a few years younger. He had light blond hair and a day-old beard, and his smile was crooked like his old man’s.

Hearing him call me by my dad’s name made me cringe, so I told him, “None of that Mr. Abrams crap around here. That was my dad. You can just call me Smokey.

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