His Promise
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
His Promise copyright @ 2017 by Brook Wilder and Scholae Palatina Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
HIS PROMISE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
PREVIEW: TAKEN
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
OTHER BOOKS BY BROOK WILDER
INTRODUCTION
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HIS PROMISE
Chapter 1
Rocco set his elbow on top of the front desk and turned his head towards the new biker standing a few feet away from him. Rocco jerked his thumb towards the wide, window where a row of motorcycles were parked near the street.
“You’re not going to get very far with that thing, man. Isn’t it from the early 2000s?”
The new biker, Victor, scowled and dragged his hand over his face. Rocco watched the way that Victor’s sausage fingers smoothed over the salt and pepper hairs of his beard.
Victor shrugged and said, “What do you want me to do, man? I don’t have a buttload of cash lying around to go get a new, fancy bike.”
Rocco pointed at his own bike, a brand new 2017 Harley Davidson. He smirked and said, “You’ll have to make something work, I’ll be halfway done with the race by the time that you even get that thing to start.”
Victor frowned and opened his mouth to reply but the sound of the kitchen door slamming against the wall stole the attention of both men. Clyde strolled into the front room, the fingers of his right hand were tightly gripped around the handle of his Chasing Spirits coffee mug.
Clyde nodded at Victor and walked around to the other side of the receptionist’s desk. He leaned back in his black leather chair and raised his eyes towards Victor and Rocco. “What are we talking about? It’s too early to start bitching.”
Rocco chuckled and ran one of his hands through his slick, dark hair. “I was just telling Victor here that he needs to get real about the kind of machinery that he brings around here if he plans on sticking around.”
Clyde lifted one of his sinewy arms and pointed his finger at Victor. “I know that you’ve never belonged to a motorcycle club before, but don’t pay attention to assholes like Rocco.”
Clyde smirked as Rocco snatched one of the notepads off of his desk and tossed it at him. It landed against Clyde’s hard, muscled chest, and he turned to Victor. “See? He’s an asshole.”
Victor chuckled and said, “I’ll see you fellas later. I’m going to go and take a look at my shitty bike, to make sure that it’s up to your highness’ standards.”
Rocco chucked another notepad in Victor’s direction. Victor ducked, the notepad whizzed past the top of his head. Rocco grinned and walked around to the other side of the desk. He leaned against the desk, and towered over Clyde.
Clyde raised his head and said, “So that’s what you’ve been up to this morning? Terrorizing the newcomers? We could really use your help with organizing some of these charity drives. I’m sure that Meish would love it if you sent some brain waves towards all of this drama with the Pythons.”
Rocco rolled his eyes. Tensions between the Chasing Spirits Motorcycle Club and the Pythons’ motorcycle club across town had been rising for weeks now. Meish, the president of Chasing Spirits, had been wringing his hands over it for weeks. One of the new riders that had been welcomed into the club less than a week ago returned from a ride downtown with a kicked in rear view mirror and a shrewd note from one of the Pythons’ riders.
I don’t see why I should worry about what the Pythons are up to. If Meish really wants to do something about them, then he can hop on his bike and have a chat with their president. Rocco shook his head and said, “Meish can worry about that, I’ve got too much going on. I’m going for a ride downtown later.”
Clyde’s fingers flew across his keyboard, and he leaned into the wide monitor that on the corner of his desk. Rocco watched as a multi colored calendar appeared on the screen, and Clyde said, “Meish doesn’t have the time to worry about the Pythons on his own,” he gestured at the screen and said, “he’s got all of this stuff to do, and I’ve gotta figure out who’s going to have the time to do it.”
Clyde had been the secretary for Chasing Spirits for years, and each year that he stayed there, he was rewarded with more responsibility. He stayed long after the club closed its doors for the day, and was usually the first one inside each morning. He interviewed new recruits that wanted to join the club, and he kept the peace between their current members while trying to keep Meish from finding out about any infighting. Any member of the Chasing Spirits Motorcycle Club would tell you that no one could handle Clyde’s job at the club other than the man himself, but there was one rider that consistently wiggled out from underneath Clyde’s thumb and did what he damn well pleased: Rocco Garrett. He and Rocco knew each other from living in the same shoddy apartment building on the south side of Chicago. Eight years ago, Clyde had been heading home from a late class at the community college, and Rocco had been standing outside of the building. He was occupied with half of a cigarette, and a crumpled newspaper that dangled from his hands.
Clyde would have breezed right past Rocco, writing him off as a hood, if Rocco hadn’t stepped in just as two men that tired of waiting for the bus stop approached Clyde. They shoved him hard enough to send his three-ring binder and textbooks sailing towards the cement. Clyde remembered how he threw his scrawny arms in front of him, and hoped that the thugs would lose interest once they realized that he wasn’t going to fight back. Rocco tossed his newspaper to the ground and flicked the still lit cigarette into the face of the thug that seemed to think he was the toughest.
“You don’t have anything better to do, huh? You’re just going to beat up on this kid?” Rocco questioned.
“No one was fucking talking to you,” The taller thug said, he shoved his hands into Clyde’s chest and sent him falling back onto the cement. Rocco slammed his elbow into the first thug’s nose, and ducked just in time to be able to send his knee into the stomach of the other one.
“Fuck these guys, Al. They’ve got some kind of romance going on here,”
Rocco guffawed and said, “You want romance? My foot’s going to be making love to your ass if you don’t get out of her
e,”
After a short lived back and forth between Rocco and the two men, he turned around and extended his hand to Clyde. At 6'2, he towered over Clyde. Rocco’s toned and sinewy body intimidated Clyde far more than the man that had just been standing in front of him. Clyde accepted Rocco’s hand and said, “Thanks for that. I know that you probably just wanted to smoke your cigarette.”
Rocco shrugged and Clyde couldn’t help but notice the honest look behind his chocolate hued eyes. “Whatever. I’ve been meaning to quit.” Rocco knelt down and gathered the binder, as well as the Economics 101 book that had fallen on the ground. He shoved them into Clyde’s chest and said, “Here you go. You know, in between studying, you should really consider hitting the gym. You don’t have to let guys like that get the best of you.”
Clyde managed a smile and said, “Yeah, I think I’ll start hitting the gym after class every night. You free around this time? I could use some help.”
Rocco grinned and pulled open the gate in front of the apartment building, “I’ve got nothing better to do. I’m going to need a new hobby now that I’ve quit smoking.” Both men shared a laugh as they head inside, and Rocco and Clyde went from working out together twice a week to looking for women in bars. Over the months that followed, Clyde had transformed his body, and while he would never be as tall as his best friend, his muscles were twice as swollen.
Clyde sighed and said, “Well, what are you going to do today? Are you going to make yourself useful?”
“I’m going to-”
There was a loud click, and a petite young woman in leather boots stepped out of one of the lounge rooms on the other side of the club. She tucked her platinum blonde hair behind her ears and kept her eyes away from Clyde’s as she moved towards the front desk. She wrapped her arms around Rocco’s waist and said, “I had fun. Don’t forget to call me later,” she pressed her lips into Rocco’s neck and headed towards the front door.
Clyde raised his eyebrows and said, “I hope that you cleaned up in there. You’re not going to call her, are you?”
Rocco grinned and said, “To be fair, I never said that I would. She thinks that a quick screw in the lounge means that we’re boyfriend and girlfriend.”
Clyde sighed and turned his chair to the right of him. His open palm hovered in front of the printer tray while the machine beeped, and came to life. “Rocco, I think that one night stands stop being cool when you’re barreling towards thirty.”
Rocco shrugged and said, “I don’t think that the freedom to come home whenever you want ever gets old.”
Clyde snatched a bundle of papers out of the printer tray and set it on top of his desk. “I know that you don’t actually feel that way. It’s been years since Mariah-”
Rocco breathed a sigh of relief when the frosted glass door to the right of them opened up and Meish stepped out of his office. His hands were tucked inside the pockets of his slacks, and the flaps of his suit jacket flapped loosely around his potbelly.
He nodded towards his office and said, “I could use my secretary and my VP. We’ve got somethings to go over.”
Rocco and Clyde shared a glance before Clyde pushed his chair back and led the way inside of Meish’s office. Rocco rubbed at the corners of his eyes as he eased onto the leather sofa that sat opposite Meish’s solid oak desk.
Meish eased into his chair, and twisted his chair towards them. He folded his hands and set them on top of the desk. “Look, I’m going to be straight with you. I don’t know what to do about the Pythons.”
Rocco crossed his arms over his chest and said, “Well, we’ve known that for a while now. What’s your point?”
Meish grunted and said, “My riders are being terrorized by their people and their groupies. We can’t keep this nonsense up, none of us got into this to get into playground scraps with people across town.”
“I don’t mind a scrap every now and again.”
Meish scowled and said, “Be serious for once, will you, Rocco? I need to get these people to sit down with us and negotiate, but their president snubs me every time that we run into each other.”
Clyde leaned forward and rested his elbows on top of his knees. “Well, maybe we can ambush them. We could show up to one of their rides for charity.”
“That would only piss them off more,” Rocco interjected. “We’ll need to think of something a little smarter than that, something that will quiet them down long enough for us to get their attention.”
Clyde and Meish shot ideas back and forth, but their voices turned into a low rumble in Rocco’s ears. His eyes flew around the room, the dark red paint that covered all four walls always put Rocco in a serious mood. His eyes stopped on one of Meish’s favorite paintings, a piece that was done by a rider that had moved just last year to be with his family in Seattle.
There was a sparkling Harley Davidson reflected in the painting, the densely populated sidewalks of Chicago stretched out behind it. In the far back, just past a crowd of people, was a lone girl. Her blonde hair fell past her shoulders and just barely covered her breasts. Her eyes were focused on the bike, while everyone else moved past it.
Rocco sighed and stretched his legs out in front of him. He focused on Meish’s lips as the older man said, “We can’t put up with this shit for much longer. Chasing Spirits has always been known as the least antagonistic motorcycle club in Chicago, I can’t have my guys overreacting because losers from the Pythons wants to prove themselves as tough guys.”
“Then, let’s squash the whole thing. Let’s just corner the Pythons, address our issues, and find a way to bring the club together.” Rocco snapped and Clyde yelped beside him.
He narrowed his eyes and said, “I’ve got it. What if we do what some older fashioned clubs would have done?”
Meish leaned back in his chairs and pulled his glasses off of his face. He set the black, wire rimmed glasses on top of his desk. A heavy sigh slipped past his lips and drew out each letter in every word as he said, “What the hell are you talking about?”
Rocco scooted forward and said, “Back in the day, clubs around the city used to go out of their way to unite both groups when their members were going at it.”
Meish raised his eyebrows and said, “There hasn’t been a merger between clubs in years. We could ruin everything that we worked for by pushing Chasing Spirits together with the Pythons.”
Rocco shrugged and said, “We could try it. It might make them feel less threatened by us if they knew that we were on their side.”
Clyde sighed and said, “The problem with these assholes is that they plug their ears when you try to tell them anything. They’re making the rest of us look like idiots to the public.”
Meish placed his open palm flat on his desk. He chewed on the loose skin on his lower lip and said, “Rocco, you could take one for the team.”
The corners of Rocco’s lips turned down into a frown. “What the hell does that mean, Meish?”
Meish drummed his fingers along the surface of the desk and his eyes swiveled back and forth between Clyde’s frustrated expression and Rocco’s angry face.
“Well, since you were the one that brought up bringing the clubs together-”
“Yeah? Get to the point, Meish.”
Clyde tossed an irritated glance towards Rocco before sitting back against the safe. He crossed his arms over his chest and said, “I think that you should be straightforward, Meish. Looks like Rocco is in one of his moods today.”
I’m not in any mood, Clyde. I just want to know what the hell Meish is beating around the bush about. Rocco rolled his eyes and said, “What were you talking about?”
Meish replied, “Well, you could marry the Pythons’ President's’ daughter.”
“ What? ”
Meish held his hands out in front of him and said, “Now, come on, think about it. It could bring both of the clubs together in an untouchable way. No one is going to risk pissing off either person involved, or it’s their ass. Since you’re the VP, it
would look great to the rest of club if you took one for the team.”
Rocco’s eyes widened and he jumped to his feet. “How about we marry you off instead? I’m not getting married, I haven’t even been on a date in years!”
Clyde nodded and said, “That’s true. He just kicks a new woman out of his bed every morning. Do you really want the Pythons’ President’ coming after us because Rocco fucked around on his daughter?”
Meish opened his mouth to reply, but the shrill scream of his desk phone cut through the thick cloud of tension that had settled into the room. Meish held up a finger towards Clyde and Rocco while he wrapped his other hand around his headset. “I have to take this. We’ll talk about this later.”
“Damn right we will,” Rocco mumbled under his breath. He strode towards the door and pulled the door open. The door smacked against the wall and a low whistle slid past Clyde’s lips as he ran his eyes over the thin crack that had appeared on the frosted glass door to Meish’s office.
Rocco groaned and stomped into the kitchen just past Clyde’s desk. He slowed his footsteps and inhaled deeply before wrapping his hand around the black, plastic handle of the coffee pot.