The Road Devils Motorcycle Club - Trax

Chapter 1

TRAX

Riding always helps me clear my head. The wind and the open road enable me to put things into a better perspective. Not to mention, they let me loosen up from being such a hard-ass all the time. I never learned to relax unless I was on my bike. Life taught me I had to fight for anything I wanted. Nothing was ever handed to me. Not as a kid and especially not as an adult.

Today, I needed to ride to get away from everyone. I love the club and the fucked up MC way of life, but sometimes I just need the sound of the road under my tires with the wind in my face and the sun on my back. That's why I've been out riding alone for the last few hours, and now I'm done.

My head is clear, and the tension I've been carrying inside of me has vanished. Riding is my own form of therapy. I spill my ugly secrets to the trees as their leaf-covered branches throw them into the wind to cleanse my soul.

That is if the soul of a devil...a Road Devil, could ever be cleansed.

There was nothing that specifically triggered this ride. The demons of my past will always haunt me. I can never fully get rid of them. I try to bury them down deep, but that only lasts for so long before they creep their way back into my head.

And they had. You would think, after all of these years, I could make it past my fucked up childhood.

I can never get past that feeling of abandonment that I live with every day. The people that should have loved me, never did, and threw a young child into a world that could only destroy him. And it almost did.

My mother abandoned me twice. Once to the booze, and then finally in her death.

I learned the hard way that smoking in bed when you're dead drunk, only leads to nothing short of a fucking disaster. She didn't pay much attention to me when she was alive, but it was better than none.

My brother, Merle, was ten years older than me. I hadn't hit double digits yet when he packed up his shit and left. My brother left me so he could find his own freedom and escape the brutality of the life we lived behind. His years in the army took away the only halfway solid thing I ever had in my life.

And he left me at the mercy of our old man. Will Dixon was a drunk, brutal man. I have the physical and mental scars to prove that.

And decades later, he can still get to me, even though he's dead.

Every once in a while, I need to take a ride like this. I had felt everything accumulating up on me...the garage, the club, and just me getting into my head too much.

The responsibilities of the garage I run, I take very seriously. I've always been good at fixing shit. Growing up, I learned to work on cars and bikes because I had nothing else to do. The MC helped with that.

I was a lost teen with no place else to go except to find my older brother. I split from my ol' man at sixteen and never looked back. He was oil, and I was water, and he was on my ass every single fucking day. Our last fight was the first time he lost. I was finally big enough to take him, and I did. That night I left him bloody and unconscious on the filthy kitchen floor as I quickly shoved my shit into my worn out backpack and took off. If I stayed any longer, they'd be hauling me off to jail for murder.

I wanted him dead, but not at the price of my own life. He wasn't going to fuck me up any more than he already had, so instead of a possible long jail sentence, I tracked down my brother instead. Merle, who had been in the army during most of my tough years, had joined a motorcycle club. That's where I learned to work on cars and bikes.

The club had a small garage for the guys to work on their own vehicles. Then they opened it to the public fixing cars here and there, but not many wanted to bring in their cars with all of those pissed off looking bikers around. Now many years later, the place has changed, and I run that garage – Road Devils Motors.