MARCUS' POV:

　　18 months ago:

　　I sat there on my bike and watched my prez shoot another guy in the back of the head. Just another guy who looked at him funny on one of our drug runs.

　　I took a breath and looked around before seeing a house not too far away. Prez had his fun as he pissed on the guy, and finally spit on him. Some of the patches that were technically family had already dug the grave, rolled the body into the hole and started to shove dirt over his body.

　　He'd be nothing but a corpse soon, with the heat here in the desert. I looked up and around again and saw birds already flying high above us, hoping for a snack.

　　I squinted and looked at the other guys with us on the cocaine run, I wasn't carrying but I was the one who carried the cash to buy the shit. My hands touched the money not the drugs and Prez made sure of that.

　　President of the Razorback Las Vegas chapter went by the name Monkey, or at least he used to. He could climb shit like it was natural. I saw him scale a 10 foot impound gate alone with no help. He got over and got our last Prez's bike back when he was just a patch in.

　　He could climb anything. Even the ladder of the club until he was in charge. His real name was Maxwell Davis. Stepson of the former VP of the club, and he made sure everyone, even me, know it. I remembered the first time I saw the little scum. I was 17, he was 14, new to the biker world, and tried to hang out with all the men. Even I didn't do that. I knew the boundaries, kids underage don't get involved.

　　He was put in his place quickly, told to fuck off and to stop acting like he was down for the club when he wasn't even a patch. I was already a patch, started when I was 15 and when I hit 18 I was added in on the lowest level above patches. I got my tat, I got my cut, and I worked my way up from being a counter, to a mule, to a dealer.

　　I was busted, all of us were at one point in time. I did a couple years in prison and was out quickly. I had filled out on the inside though, and when I came back to the club, he had worked his ass up from puke to new VP, taking over his step dad's position.

　　I kept my head down and did as I was asked. I didn't know what he did to the Prez I knew, but it wasn't long until he was calling the shots and Prez was gone. I buried my dad, my sister, and my mom was close to being put in the ground when I was kind of done with all the bullshit the club was getting into.

　　It used to just be drugs, some weed, a little coke, nothing too dangerous. But as soon as Max took over... he was dealing drugs, women, and guns. It was getting dangerous to even talk to the fucker. If he didn't trust you and you questioned him... bullet in the back of the head to show the rest of us who was boss.

　　I worked as a small launderer. I had a record so he didn't want me too close to the actual 'merchandise' in case my P.O. or some cop did a search and detain detail on me. I took manager classes, got in to the positions at a restaurant and a strip club.

　　I did my job well and with no fucking problems. I did some security for the Prez when he demanded it, and I made sure my count was always good so I didn't end up on my knees and buried in the fucking dessert.

　　Looking around now I was still fucking paranoid one of the guys knew about me. The FBI showed up at the restaurant one day, pretended to want to buy the place and I pretended to be interested in their offer. Most of the waitresses there weren't club bunnies so it was safer than them coming in and trying to get in good with the strip joint.

　　They asked me if I wanted immunity. Told me that they knew I did some shit in my past but they could tell I wasn't using and I wasn't dealing anymore. I told them that club life didn't really work that way. I told them that I had to work for the club as a brother. I didn't want to lose my life, and I didn't want to die either.

　　They offered me a deal. They'll give me immunity if I give them information. A body or two, names, and of course contacts. I gave them enough to trust me our first meeting, and the next... I met the Federal Attorney on my side and she gave me a contract to sign.

　　I signed away my rights and for 10 months I made sure to put my ear against doors and put my foot in meetings. At the bust I was made sure to be roughed up until I was knocked out by an agent and made sure the word of me being released traveled because of all the excessive force used by the FBI. Not to mention they really didn't mirandize a knocked out biker.

　　It took two days to hear back from some other Chapters I wanted to join, thankfully there was one just on the other side of the boarder and I got to join the land of the California Razorbacks. This time I was under a guy with the actual nickname Razor.

　　Ryan was a good guy, he had an old lady, his second had an old lady... and they didn't deal in drugs, women, or guns. Shit the most illegal thing they did was loansharking but even that was kind of easy to get away with even outside of an MC.

　　I left the FBI, the trials, and the shit of my last club behind me and was glad for the new start. Thankfully, that meant I might be able to be like the guys I met the first night there, happy, even if that means finding someone to be committed to.