Book One of the Rebel’s Cut MC Series
Copyright © 2018 Addison Kline
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Cover Design by Robin Harper
Written by Addison Kline
For James –
My Rebel. The best man, and the best friend, I have ever had the pleasure of sharing my life with. The only thing stronger than your loyalty and your sense of duty is your love. Thank you for choosing me, day after day. I love you.
The snarl of Rebel Reed's Harley motorcycle roared down the highway as the sun beat down upon his black helmet. A pair of charged eyes peered out, taking in the sly curve of the road. Rebel's earthy irises were filled with confliction. Vines of names, dates, allegiances and insignias created an elaborate map of ink across Rebel's fair skin. His ink told his history. On each of his knuckles was the tattoo of a letter spelling out his name. Rebel was emblazoned across the knuckles of his left hand, and Reed on his right, with a small black spade on the pinky finger on his left hand. Atop his right hand was the unmistakable brand of the Renegade - an emblazoned skull tattoo. Clenching the leather handles of his bike, Rebel's knuckles blanched white as he accelerated down the barren highway. Throttling over the Clayton, West Virginia border, this rebel most certainly had a cause - and he came to raise some hell.
It had been a year since Rebel left home in a furious rage, and he had no intentions upon returning so soon. But tragedy struck. Rebel's best friend Tug, a brother in every sense of the word, had lost his life under suspicious circumstances. And now, as any good brother would do, Rebel is returning, stepping right into the Devil's territory to pay his respects and collect on old debts. Almost a year to the day after bolting from Clayton, West Virginia on his bike with the Renegade club up in flames, Rebel has returned. He was certain that his father, Cedro Reed, president of the Renegade Rider MC, would give him a welcome fit for a king. A smile. A fatherly hug. A quick knife to the back. Rebel knew the game well. He had the script memorized by heart, and he had no intentions of playing by their rules. They’d have to find someone else to entertain the court.
Not this asshole, Rebel thought to himself. Wrong motherfucker.
The Renegade Rider Motorcycle Club ruled Clayton, West Virginia, and Cedro Reed reigned king. The Renegades had a reputation, and it was one that they had no trouble upholding. The Renegades had a flair for the dramatic, a penchant for violence, and a thirst for power. Their control over the town is nothing new. The MC has rocked Clayton, West Virginia since the charter was established in 1937, when a different Reed – Garvin Reed, Rebel’s grandfather, laid down roots in the small, sleepy town. The club would forever change the history of the town, taking it from a quiet and peaceful small village and slapping it directly on ATF’s radar. Set deep in the Appalachian Mountains, Clayton, West Virginia was a major junction on the map. Anyone trying to get to the other side of the mountain ridge had to pass through Clayton. West Virginia didn't exactly earn its nickname of "The Mountain State" by sheer coincidence. From east to west, north to south, West Virginia's terrain was nothing short of rugged. There was no just passing through. There was no avoiding Clayton. If you wanted to get to the other side of the mountain, you had to pass right through Renegade territory. This was not a fact that Cedro Reed overlooked. In fact, the Renegades knew all too well the power they had.
Rebel's eyes locked on the road before him. The scenery passed by in his peripheral sight, and as he throttled over the town line, his stomach slithered into a knot. As he whizzed past the "Welcome to Clayton" sign on his bike, he muttered profanities under his breath.
"Somebody better have Jerry Springer on fuckin’ speed dial," Rebel said in a raspy twang. "This is gonna be a fuckin’ shit show."
Rebel Reed kept his eyes drilled upon the stretch of road before him. Shifting his weight as he hugged the curve, the soulful croon of Creedence Clearwater Revival blasted in his ears, playing Fortunate Son. Bobbing his head along to the rhythm, Rebel let his two passions carry him home: his bike and his tunes. Music and mayhem. Rebel had been riding with the Renegades since he was seventeen. He had devoted fifteen years of his life to the charter. That all changed last year when Rebel left the club in a blaze of revenge. There are some slights you just can’t overlook.
Trees peppered the incline of the mountain, stretching as far as the eye could see. The woods were deep and vast, their lines only stopping where men before Rebel had cut a path for the highway. Cutting through the mountain pass, turmoil swelled in Rebel’s heart as he recalled the last time he had step foot in Clayton. It all boiled down to loyalties, and the unfortunate fact was that some people's loyalties changed like the weather; effected by circumstance and opportunity. Rebel did not identify with such passing dedication. His colors did not bleed – but he bled for what he held close to his heart. Rebel Reed was unapologetic in who he was, good, bad and ugly. When his head hit the pillow, and his eyelids closed shut at night, his conscience did not plague him. Despite any wrong he did or sins he had committed, he knew, he had stayed true to his loyalties. Rebel had done the best he could to make sure as few people got hurt as he could help; the innocents - women and children and people not involved in the war the Renegades were engaged in. Sometimes, being a good man means pulling the trigger. Sometimes, being a good man means that you have to make a mess before you can fix the big picture. He was as subtle as a bomb. Rebel did not believe in small gestures, whatever he did, whether for love or for war, he put one hundred percent of his blood, tears, sweat and grit into it.
Memories flooded Rebel’s mind with brutal repetition - like shot gun blasts rallying off one by one. This often happened. Glimpses of the past ricocheted in Rebel’s brain; familiar faces, words laced in betrayal and battery acid, a series of events that he was still trying to make sense of. The memory of Kayla smiling at him made Rebel’s stomach twist with pain. The scent of his father's musk on Kayla’s jacket when she claimed to be at work was enough to damn near drive Rebel mad. The shock in finding Kayla and Cedro together on the eve of his 31st birthday was enough to shatter many of the allegiances Rebel once had; to Kayla, to Cedro, to the club, to Clayton.
It was all a test. A point to be made. When the old man wanted something, he took it. Rebel was becoming too big for his britches, Cedro thought. Time to show him who's really in charge. Cedro took Rebel's girl. Cedro demolished Rebel's pride. Cedro incinerated Rebel's trust. He even tried to destroy his credibility. But in the end, Cedro didn't win. He lost Rebel, his second in command, and his only son - Vice President of the Renegade dynasty. Cedro expected Rebel to fall in line, he never once expected him to go Nomad; to turn his back on his legacy and his brothers. Cedro had attempted to make a fool of Rebel, but Rebel wasn’t about to play into the old man’s hand. The only way to win with a sociopath, is to remove yourself from the game. Rebel was not a man who could be swayed. There were no buy outs, tradeoffs, or back alley deals to be made. All the old man did was incite a dragon... and this dragon wasn't sleeping. Rebel wasn't a man you ever wanted to underestimate or doubt. He was always moving, always thinking, and if you betray him, you better believe you'll feel the white hot scorch of his rage. Rebel had to leave. If he hadn’t, he’d simply become a prisoner of his fate. Whether he was a prisoner of the MC, or a prisoner of the state remained to be seen.
&n
bsp; "No..." Rebel muttered. "I won't be staying long. Just long enough to say goodbye to Tug and handle my business."
Tug, Rebel thought. The name alone caused a storm to churn in Rebel’s heart.
Despite everything that had occurred, Rebel never wanted anyone to get hurt. Rebel never intended it to go this far. But when the old man had a point to prove, he'd do it, no matter the cost. Tug was just a pawn; a casualty in the war. It was this loss that hurt Rebel the worst. Kayla broke Rebel’s heart. Cedro damn near broke his soul. But Tug? Losing his best friend to his father's war was more than he could bear. Rebel wouldn’t abide this. He tried to get Tug to leave, but Tug was too wrapped up in Clayton to break free.
"The shorter I'm here the better..." Rebel spat as an icy expression formed in his gaze. But whether Rebel wanted to admit it or not, he wouldn't just be passing through. There was business to tend to. Personal matters that required his attention. And he would not stop until vindication was claimed.
The whirring alarm of a police car screamed as it tore down the highway. A Deputy had Rebel’s bike in his sight. Rebel knew he could outrun the squad car, but he wasn't looking for trouble in Clayton. Unbeknownst to him, though, trouble had just found him.
"Shit..." Rebel muttered as he kept his eyes drilled on his rearview mirror, his jaw tensing as he watched Deputy Mitch Jordan step out of his patrol car. He walked slowly towards Rebel’s bike, approaching him with a smug expression on his sunburnt face.
"Well, well, well..." the Deputy said in a deep, slow drawl. "What do we have here?"
Rebel's brow furrowed as he sucked air through his lips. He knew it was only a matter of time before he came face to face with the Deputy. Not only was Mitch Jordan the law around these parts, he also happened to be the over-protective father of Kayla Jordan; the only woman who had managed the seemingly impossible feat of making Rebel fall in love. Fall? Slip? Crash? Yes. That's it. Crash and burn.
"Deputy Jordan," Rebel said in a gruff voice as he pulled off his helmet.
"Jeremy," the Deputy said in a cool, unimpressed tone, calling Rebel by his birth name.
"No one's called me that in years..." Rebel said, gently correcting the Deputy.
"This'll be a day of uncomfortable firsts then, son..." Deputy Jordan eluded.
"Pardon?" Rebel said, unsure if he heard the Deputy correctly. Call me crazy, but that sounds like a threat, Rebel thought.
"This is my town," Deputy Jordan spat. "Don't be comin' up in here startin' no trouble."
Rebel laughed quietly under his breath. Raising his eyebrows in a teasing manner, Rebel quipped, "Last I checked, this was Renegade territory."
"Dangerous place for a guy like you, then..."
"A guy like me... Is there a problem officer?" Rebel spat as he dismounted his bike to stand face to face with Deputy Jordan.
"It's Deputy, son... and you can say that."
"Well then, what seems to be the problem, Deputy?"
“Well, you see, son… There’s an arson… a certain motorcycle club that went up in flames last year that we still haven’t made an arrest on.”
“Sucks for you guys,” Rebel said as he placed a cigarette on the end of his lip. With the flick of his American Flag zippo, he lit the tip. “A year later and still no one to pin it on. Pretty shoddy policework there, if you ask me.”
“That fire has your name written all over it,” Deputy Jordan pressed as he cast a charged glare Rebel’s way.
A faint smirk tugged at Rebel’s mouth. You don’t have shit, old man.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Rebel insisted.
“Of course you don’t. Why would you? That’s the Renegade M.O. Deny, deny, deny.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m not a Ren anymore.”
“Yeah…” Deputy Jordan continued. “Tell me about that... On the day the club goes up in smoke, and the day you break up with my daughter, I see you darting out of town on your hog. Funny circumstances.”
“Last time I checked, circumstantial evidence doesn’t hold water in court.”
“And what about Kayla?!” Deputy Jordan spat, his face turning a bright shade of red. "What kind of man ups and leaves his girlfriend of three years alone. No call. No letter. No god damn trace!"
Rebel scoffed. She wasn't alone. “Kayla ain’t no angel, let me tell you…”
“She deserved better than how you did her…”
"Kayla made it clear that she is just fine without me.”
"That is the first smart thing I've ever heard you say, son!" Deputy Jordan was having a field day. Rebel didn't bother responding.
Deputy Jordan eyeballed Rebel up and down, and finally, after a moment of awkward silence, Rebel spoke up. "Nice chattin' with you and all, but I best be going." Giving Deputy Jordan a cross look, Rebel revved the engine of his bike a few times. Before Rebel had a chance to slide his helmet back on, the Deputy began to bark at him once more.
"Things change when there's a child involved, boy..." Deputy Jordan snapped.
This got Rebel's attention. What the fuck is this ol chimney pipe talkin’ about?!
"Excuse me?" Rebel asked, unsure if he understood the Deputy's meaning. "Child?! What child?"
"Don't play dumb with me, boy!" Jordan barked. "She's been left to raise that baby on her own!"
"Child?! What child?!" Rebel snapped. "No one’s told me shit!"
"That's because nobody could fucking find you! What kind of man just up and leaves town like that! Leaves her all alone!"
Rebel was a patient man. He could stomach a lot of things. One thing he couldn't stomach was the Deputy acting like his daughter was an innocent damsel in distress. Kayla was anything but innocent.
“Last time I saw your baby girl, her pretty little lips was hangin’ off my old man’s dick. Maybe you should be checkin in wit’ him,” Rebel said under his breath. The deputy could hear him, but just barely.
“The hell did you just say?!”
"Okay, slow your roll, Pops... Let's get a few things straight," Rebel said, waving his left hand, cutting Deputy Jordan's point off with his sharp barbed voice. "Number one, Kayla wasn't alone. She was cozying up to your pal Cedro while I was out supporting her lyin' ass..."
"That is a lie!" the Deputy insisted. Rebel chuckled dryly, because as the words rolled off Mitch Jordan's tongue, there was a look of regret in his eyes. Jordan knew the truth about his daughter.
"Fact is,” Rebel continued with his arms crossed over his toned chest. “I think you're hoping that the father of that kid is me, because you know I'll own up to my responsibilities.” Rebel scoffed loudly before continuing. “If he's the father," Rebel said, referring to his father Cedro. The Deputy's gaze seemed to soften as he looked at the only son of Cedro Reed. Rebel's tone or gaze didn't soften though. He continued in a sharp bark, "All I gotta say is Lord help y'all."
"Don't leave town without talkin' to her..." Deputy Jordan said. It wasn't a demand. It was a plea. "That child needs a father."
Deep down, despite his ties to the Renegade club, Mitch Jordan knew that Rebel was a good man. A man that upheld his obligations. That is why his hasty departure from Clayton last year took him by surprise. Holding the Deputy's gaze, Rebel processed his thoughts. Though his heart would never thaw to the Deputy's daughter, those feelings did not extend to the child; if the child was in fact his. One way or another, Rebel Reed had just gained a new family member. The question remained, though, what role he would be playing; father or big brother. What a fine fucking mess this is, Rebel thought. A paternity feud between a father and a son. Feud? What the fuck am I thinking? Old man probably doesn't even give a fuck. I've been off the grid for a year. Had she tried to contact me? Had she tried to tell me what had happened? Everyone at Sam’s garage knew where to deliver my mail, Rebel opined. Not that Kayla would have the courage to walk up there and ask for it. His thoughts were going a mile a minute, but eventually, he settled on his course of action. Nodding at Deputy Jordan, Rebel cast him
a serious expression.
"I’ll stop by at seven o'clock tomorrow. Same address?"
Deputy Jordan's expression softened. "Yes. 657 Wallace Road."
Rebel nodded again, slid on his helmet and jumped down on the throttle once more.
"Hey son..." Jordan called out looking noticeably less rabid.
"Yeah..." Rebel replied, looking over at the Deputy with a hooded gaze.
"Thanks."
Rebel's eyes narrowed upon the Deputy's face. "Don't thank me yet, Pops. I'm not making no guarantees."
May’s Café
712 Lincoln Avenue
Clayton, WV
“Order up!” a voice bellowed from the kitchen of May’s Café as a heavy hand slammed down upon the service bell. Kayla Jordan, with her arms loaded down with trays of food, nodded at Jake through the service window, while she maneuvered through the dining room delivering meals to patrons and checking on tables while she passed through. Reverend Murray flagged Kayla down, and she promptly refilled his glass of water, exchanging small talk and making sure he was satisfied with his meal. Meanwhile, table seven was occupied by a trio of rowdy Renegades – members of the town’s motorcycle club. They didn’t bother Kayla much. They knew there would be repercussions for getting her all worked up, and the last thing they wanted to do was piss off Cedro Reed. Sadistic. Cruel. Shrewd. Impatient. Demanding. These are just a few words used to describe the President of the Renegade Riders’ MC. Cedro Reed. Never speak these words to his face, though. Not if you want to live, that is. Never look him in his eyes. Never disrespect him. Always call him sir. He was not a man to be trifled with.
Rebel's Cut Page 1