Home > Lynch's Rule (Ruthless Sinners MC)

Lynch's Rule (Ruthless Sinners MC)
Author: L. Wilder

 

PROLOGUE

 

 

There are moments in our lives that we hold closer than others.

They become part of our very existence.

For me, it was the memories of my father and the racetrack that stuck with me the most. There was nothing in the world like it.

Win, lose, or draw, he raced the track every weekend, and I was right there cheering him on. And I wasn’t alone. The stands were always packed with fans, and we were all there for the same reasons:

The loud rumbling of engines.

The scent of burning tires against the asphalt.

The deafening roar of the crowd as they watched the two cars barrel down the track and cross that finish line.

I loved every minute of it.

I can still remember how my heart would pound whenever my dad would pull up to the starting line in his 1968 Camaro. He’d hammer down on the accelerator and rev the engine for the crowd—and me. I’d immediately stand up and lean in for a better look.

My entire body would tense the second that light changed, and it would remain that way until Dad took off. Even though there was no way he could hear me, I’d cheer him on until he finally crossed that line.

I celebrated my father’s wins and mourned his losses like they were my own, and through each of those races, he’d taught me something about being a man.

There were times when he would be nervous, even a little scared about the fact that he was going up against a faster car or a better driver. He might not have felt like the wheels of luck were turning in his favor, but he never let his fears get the best of him

He never backed down.

He gathered every ounce of grit and determination he could muster, and he got behind the wheel. He pressed his foot against that accelerator, and it wasn’t long before the thrill of the speed overcame the fear.

For him, it wasn’t just about winning.

It was about giving it your all.

My ol’ man taught me that your reputation meant something. It’s the one thing money couldn’t buy. It was something that had to be earned. When my father was out there on that track, there were no tricks.

No stunts.

No sleight of hand.

No cheating of any kind.

My father won or lost the race at his own hand, earning the respect of all those around him. Everyone knew Dad was a man who could be trusted, and that reputation carried him a long way.

I’d taken the things I learned from my father’s racing days and carried them with me when I became a member of the Ruthless Sinners MC. They’d helped me through some tough spots, but there was no lesson that could get me through what I was about to face.

Nothing could.

 

 

LYNCH

 

 

It happened in an instant.

One minute I was sitting at the bar with Country and Widow, and the next, there was a loud blast and I felt an intense heat against my skin. Before I had a chance to react, my two-hundred-and-forty-pound ass was being hurled across the room like I was a fucking toothpick.

I landed on the floor with a hard thud, the impact nearly knocking me out cold. I wanted to get right back up and shake off this shit, but I struggled to overcome the thick haze that had fallen over me.

I could only lay there with my face against the cold concrete floor, my head pounding and every muscle in my body aching. Both ears were ringing, smoke filled my nose, and my lungs burned with every breath.

I knew something was very wrong and could feel the urgency growing inside, but I didn’t have it in me to move.

It felt like I’d fallen into a pit of fucking black tar, and I couldn’t break free no matter how hard I tried. Even after hearing movement next to me, I couldn’t budge and started to wonder if I was alive or dead.

Then someone’s hands nudged my back as they called out in the distance, “Hey, Lynch! You okay, brother? Lynch?”

My head was throbbing to the point where I thought my skull would explode, so a groan was all I could muster. I felt myself being shaken as someone called out again, “Lynch! Come on, man. Wake the fuck up!”

There was something about the panicked tone of my brother’s voice that pulled me to my senses. I finally managed to force my eyes open, but everything was contorted and blurred. My head was throbbing as I looked around and tried to make sense of what was going on.

Widow continued to yell and tug at my arm until I finally grumbled, “Gonna need you to stop that shit.”

“It’s about fucking time.” My ears were still ringing, but I heard him ask, “You alright?”

“No... No, I’m not.” I continued to squint, trying to see through the thick cloud of dust and smoke. “Gonna need a minute.”

“Sorry, brother, but that’s something we just don’t have.” I could hear the urgency in Widow’s voice as he pushed, “Can you sit up?”

“Yeah, I’m trying.” I ran a hand over my face, attempting to collect myself. “What the fuck happened?”

“Got no fucking idea. Some kind of explosion.”

I looked up at Widow and found him covered from head to foot in dust and mortar. He had multiple cuts and scrapes along his face and arms and a slight gash on his thigh. The poor guy looked like he’d gone a round or two with a fucking tornado, and the tornado won.

I turned and glanced behind him to find the entire south wall of the strip club in utter shambles, and the guest bathrooms were all but gone. Concern marked his face as he motioned his head down the hall. “Looks like it took out the bathrooms and at least one of the red rooms is gone.”

“Anyone hurt?”

“Nothing too serious.” Widow helped me up to my feet, then motioned his hand towards my side. “What about you?”

“Huh?” I looked down and gasped after noticing blood seeping through my shirt. I lifted it and assessed my jagged wound. “What the fuck?”

“You got a pretty good gash on your head, too,” Country announced as he came shuffling up behind us, holding an extinguisher. Like Widow and me, he looked like he’d been through hell and back. He was covered in debris and had numerous gashes all over his body, including various bruises and a knot on his jaw. “You don’t gotta worry, though. With a hard head like yours, you’ll be fine.”

“You should know all about having a hard fucking head.” I stepped over the busted brick and mortar and told him, “We need to make sure the fire is out.”

“Already done.” Country shook his head. “Fire’s out, but we’ve got ourselves one helluva mess.”

Widow and I followed him towards the hallway where the guest bathrooms used to be, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was nothing left, just a gaping fucking hole. Brick and splintered wood were strewn all over the floor, while blackened char and extinguisher residue marked what remained of the walls. Widow looked around in awe. “Damn.”

“I told ya.” Country looked over at me. “You think someone planted a fucking bomb in here?”

“Certainly looks that way, but we won’t know for sure until we start sorting through all this shit. For now, that’s gonna have to wait.” I took a step back. “We need to find out if anyone else is hurt.”

The words had barely left my mouth when Candy and Misty, two of our strippers, came rushing over to us. They’d changed out of their skimpy dance numbers and were now wearing jeans, and they both looked utterly distraught as they surveyed all the wreckage.

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