Rebel punk, Oscar Bradley, discovers that his party friend, Max, is the prince of Kingsport's Irish Mob; fierce rivals of the biker gang that's served as Oscar's surrogate family. With Max quickly pulling him deeper into his luxurious but deadly wor...
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When they arrived at the dealership, Oz was like a kid in a candy store, only the kid was an adrenaline junky, and the candies were very shiny, expensive high speed death machines.
At first, Oscar had told himself that he'd stick close to tradition—something that would still have the same spirit as what he had before. Yeah, that was before the dealer showed them their all new Ducati in cherry red. That had ended the shopping real quick. But before Max handed over the key to his eager little punk, he had one rule.
"Seriously? A Helmet? What am I, eleven?"
"That's the rule. No helmet—no bike."
"But I used to ride around all the time without one!"
"Yeah, on a piece of shit, not a fucking crotch rocket that can hit two hundred miles an hour!"
"It can hit two hundred?"
"Helmet!"
"Fiiiine!"
Max relinquished the key then, unable to keep from grinning as he watched Oscar test his weight on his new bike. If the old bobber had character, Oscar's new bike had straight up sex appeal. It looked dangerous with its sleek, meant-for-speed design and bright red body. It was gorgeous. And Oscar looked hot as fuck astride it.
"Meet me back at the house?" Max said as he headed towards his car. "Your suit for tomorrow night came, by the way."
Oscar nodded before putting on the helmet, which felt awkward and heavy at first, but he was pretty sold on it once he'd connected the Bluetooth, and could listen to his music without the sounds of traffic cutting in constantly. By the time he'd made it back to the manor, it had grown on him as much as the bike had.
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The day of the party was certainly something, it started at first light, when the catering service arrived and that meant the kitchen was officially off limits. Mrs. Gallagher spent all morning touring the house with her event planner, who had her people dragging in all sorts of tables, lights and decorations. For the better part of the day, Oscar's job along with pretty much everyone else, was to stay out of the way.