Sniper | Fallen Angels MC #3

Prologue

So excited to start Sniper's story! 

Who's been your favorite female lead so far? I can't decide!

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"I want to join the MC on the outside of town," I murmured to my parents.

Forks and knives dropped onto porcelain plates and the room went silent. I didn't dare look up from my plate.

"Noah, you've just graduated high school. You need to go to college, then get a decent job—"

"Mom, I know what I want," I insisted. My siblings silently ate their food, trying to stay out of the battle that would soon turn into a war.

My pressed button-down shirt suddenly felt tighter against my skin. I had thought about this for over a year. I knew what I wanted.

"You have already been accepted into top schools around the country, son. You're going to college," my father said. I shook my head.

I hadn't fought for myself my entire life. It was time. I clenched my fists on top of the thick, glossy table and pushed my plate away from me.

"I wasn't asking," I countered. My brother and sister, one younger, one older, both gasped. This sounded like a TV show with a live studio audience. My sister scooted away from me slightly.

"No son of ours will be involved with people like that," my mother scoffed. "Finish your dinner. Jeopardy is on tonight." She picked up her fork and continued to eat the meatloaf our chef had made for dinner. I yanked my cloth napkin off of my lap and tossed it on my plate.

"Because of you guys, I have no friends, no experiences...I'm sick of it! I'm joining the MC, whether you like it or not," I stood from my chair and shouted. My mother, in her pearl earrings and cocktail dress, gasped at my audacity.

My father, dressed in a full suit, stood to face me from the other side of the table.

"You're not joining those damn criminals!" He shouted. His face got redder and redder, and my sister scooted even farther away from me.

"Watch me," I threatened. I turned to jog up the stairs to my room but only made it up two steps before the back of my shirt was grabbed and used to throw me to the ground.

"Dad!" My older brother, Scott, stood to defend me. One glare from my father had him sitting back down in his chair.

I glared at my father and kicked his shin as hard as I could, wincing at the snap that echoed through the quiet dining room.

"Son of a bitch!" He cursed and swung his fist at me, despite his leg likely being broken. I rolled over on the floor and got to my feet as fast as I could to run up the stairs.

I yanked an old backpack out from underneath my bed and stuffed it full of clothes I wanted to keep, along with a few knickknacks and pictures. I reached into the back of the thickest drawer I had and pulled out a wad of cash.

This was it.

"Noah, god damnit get down here right this instant!" My mother screamed from downstairs. I opened my window, busted through my screen, and jumped out of my second story window.

My wrist took the brunt of the damage—it was, at most, sprained, not broken—and I didn't waste any time before running down the sidewalk. I could get on the bus four blocks from here.

The screaming from my house could be heard from the end of the street, but I still didn't turn back.

None of my siblings or I were allowed to get cars. My parents didn't want us to have the means to get away. They thrived on the control of all of our lives.

I made it to the famous clubhouse right before the sun moved on for the evening.

"Can I help you?" A dark voice shouted as I approached the gate. I clenched my bag tighter and cleared my throat.

"I want to prospect," I shouted back. Lights began to turn on all around the clubhouse, making it more visible behind the gates, and lit up the figure approaching the gate, too.

"Why?" The man grunted.

"Always wanted to," I answered. I tried to swallow but there was a thick, nervous lump in my throat.

"Go talk to Pres," the man pointed to the clubhouse. He opened a small door through the gate and let me walk past him. It couldn't be that easy. I opened the door of the clubhouse and entered straight into a kitchen and dining room full of bikers that went silent as soon as I entered.

"Here to prospect?" A man stood up. I nodded; a bit of fear caught in my throat.

"Yes sir," I coughed.

"Pres is in his office," someone pointed down the hall, "leave your stuff here." I dropped my bag right where I was standing and moved down the hall. I knocked on a door that said Pres.

"Come in," a deep voice murmured. My hand turned the nob slowly, slightly afraid of what I would find beyond the door.

A man sat in a large desk chair sat behind a thick, wooden desk. Two women were seated on either of his legs, nibbling on his neck. I grimaced but stepped into the room anyway.

"I'm here to prospect," I muttered quietly. He sighed, sat forward, and reached into a drawer in his desk for a leather jacket. He tossed it to me along with a small patch.

"Take it downstairs," he took a puff of his cigarette. "Mike will help you."

I rushed to exit the room, wanting to be anywhere but there, and smiled at the patch in my hand.

Prospect.

"Uh, Mike?" I asked tentatively when I arrived back in the kitchen area. A scrawny kid stood up from playing poker and walked over to me, a cigarette hanging from his lips as well.

"Congratulations," he stuck his hand out to shake mine, "the name's Rider, not Mike."

"Noah," I muttered. He laughed and shook his head.

"That's not going to work," he chuckled.

"We'll figure out a new name for you."

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Sniper! I think I'm really going to like him :).