Shepard

Welcome to Snakes Henchmen MC! This book is free to read until the foreseeable future, so don't worry about it suddenly switching to pay to read. It won't :) Now, a little warning. The men in this series swear like sailors, fight, and kill at will. They're a motorcycle club, so don't expect gentlemen! There will be tough subjects in each book, but remember to always trust the process. I know what I'm doing. There will be no cheating, sharing, or beating on their women. That's not what these men are about. Once they find the one for them, she's theirs for life! These books are written and ready to be posted, so you won't have to wait for updates. Sometimes there will be mass updates for you to enjoy. All I ask from you is to please, please leave comments to let me know how you like the book. It really helps to get the stories noticed and for me to keep each and every book free for you to enjoy! So, happy reading :D Shepard Forget what you see in the movies; murder is nothing like that. Killing comes easy only to those who have lived it for so many years; they know nothing else. Killing a man isn’t the end of the story. Hell, no, it’s only the middle. There’s the planning. Because you need a plan to make sure everything goes perfectly. Of course, it doesn’t always work out; that’s why you need a backup plan. Always have one of those, especially if no killing is involved to begin with. Trust me, killing will be essential eighty percent of the time, even when not planned. On those occasions, most of the planning comes after the kill. That’s okay; every kill can’t be perfect or anticipated. Ensure you always have a cleanup crew on standby for the kills you expect. You do not want to leave anything behind. DNA is a bitc.h and will land you in jail faster than you can blink. You don’t want to leave anything that will tie you to the scene of the crime. All those bullshit things you see on TV and in the movies won’t save you from doing time in real life. All those fancy scenes that show you where the killer corners his prey, where the cops all are, yet no one sees a damn thing when you make your escape; it’s all bullshit. If the fuckin.g cops were around, they’d see you. Unless you were a damn good fuckin.g assassin, or you’ve got the cunts on the payroll. I’m no assassin, but I’m a damn good killer. I made my first kill when I was fifteen. Yes, that’s what I said, fifteen. I saw some guy corner my dad outside his clubhouse. Pretty fuckin.g ballsy to corner the President of the Snakes Henchmen outside his own clubhouse. Motherfucker didn’t see me standing in the shadows. I shouldn’t have been there. My dad had told me a million times that he wouldn’t make me a prospect until I was seventeen. He would never introduce me to killing at that age, that’s for sure. However, I just kept on trying to prove to him that I was ready to be the biker I was born to be. No kid of fifteen is ready to join a motorcycle club. There’s no way for them to know what the fuc.k they’re getting themselves involved with. Hell, there’s no way a seventeen-year-old kid could understand what he’s getting himself into. Not that prospects are used for anything other than clearing up the mess patched members make. Tests of loyalty and any shi.t job you can think of are passed to each prospect. Whether you can handle it or not will soon be proven. Having the Prez beat you to a pulp to see how much you can take before you crack is challenging, especially for me because he’s my father. However, those are the club’s rules, and I was prepared for it. I had to wonder why my old man was outside the gate with only two of his men as backup. I didn’t think about it. I couldn’t fuckin.g think about it; I was too hyped up, watching what was going down. There was no way I would let any motherfucker off my old man, even if the guy had balls of fuckin.g steel to stand up to three Snakes all alone. I don’t know what was going through my fifteen-year-old brain right then, but I crept around the massive oak tree, nothing on my mind other than protecting my old man. I’d defend him like he did my Ma, Robbie, and me. Fuckin.g loved my old man; he raised me right, taught me right from wrong, even keeping to the biker’s code to do so. He’d been a good Prez, and every damn brother respected him. There was no way I was going to let this punk-ass motherfucker end my father’s life like he was nothing; he was everything to me. The cun.t in front of my dad, a Devils Hornet of all things – saw the massive patch on the back of his cut – was somewhat bigger than Apollo, my dad, taller, too. My dad taught me that it didn’t matter how big a guy was; it was all about brains and using them right. There’s no pride in facing a man down if you intend to stab him in the back. I had a feeling this motherfucker was going to do just that. Even at fifteen, I knew he would wait until my dad turned around before he took his shot. There was no point pulling his gun; CueBall and Decker would pop a cap in his fuckin’ head before he got it out of his damn belt. I couldn’t hear what the fuc.k they were saying. I had too much adrenaline pumping through me. My hand clasped over the blade at my ankle. A knife my grandfather gave me a couple of months before. He told me that one day soon, I’d prove myself worthy of the club. That day had come all too soon. ‘We ain’t askin’ for much, Apollo,’ Hornet cun.t said. ‘You ain’t pushin’ drugs in my town, Thorn. Don’t care what deal you’re tryin’ ta cut with us. We don’t make deals with Hornets.’ Drugs. About right for those cunts. My daddy cleaned up the drugs in this town when he took over the club from his father, Spike. Devils Hornets MC wasn’t the first club to come to my father with the idea of trafficking drugs through Bardsville with his help. The local Mafia was in charge of the drug scene, even though they didn’t push them through our town. Apollo had made a deal with Vinnie Vidal years ago to keep this town clean. ‘You’re a dead man, Apollo! Any fuckin’ day now!’ I blocked everything out, making my way like some fuckin.g ninja in the night to the fucker threatening my old man. I might have only been fifteen, but I knew then that no one would threaten those I love and get away with it. I was a tall kid, already one hundred and forty pounds of muscle. Pays to work out in the gym with your daddy every day. I was as tall as the guy threatening Apollo. Almost 6-foot. Yeah, I was a tall kid. I grabbed the back of motherfuckers head and jerked it back. I didn’t give him a chance to fight me, didn’t give him a chance to say anything; I merely told him, ‘Go to hell, you Hornet cunt!’ That’s when I slit him from ear to ear. Was it like the movies where I stood there with a heaving chest and crazy eyes? No. Not even close. The heavy bastard jerked in my arms as he died, blood spurting all over the damn place. My arms ached, my stomach was tight, my legs felt like Jell-O, and I was seconds from throwing the fuc.k up. I’d killed a man. It wasn’t until my dad grabbed me that I let go of the dead guy and snapped out of my trance. ‘What the hell did you think you were doin’?’ ‘He was gonna kill you.’ I ain’t no puss.y ass motherfucker, but I won’t lie and tell you that I wasn’t scared and didn’t have tears falling from my eyes. I did. I was fifteen, for fuck.s sake, and I didn’t think it through before I carried out the kill. ‘So you decided to fuckin’ kill him first?’ ‘I’d kill any and every man who ever threatens you. You’re my dad, but you’re also gonna be my Prez someday. I’d fuckin’ kill, bleed, and die for you.’ ‘Vince,’ He grabbed me, hugging me like a damn bear. ‘Boys got fuckin’ balls, Prez. Every brother in this damn club will one day follow him like a shepherd herding his sheep.’ ‘You’re right, CueBall,’ Apollo grabbed my shoulders. ‘He’s gonna be a damn fine shepherd one of these days, but it ain’t today. Get this shi.t cleaned up, boys. Make sure you get rid of the body so no one finds a damn trace of that sonofabitch. You come with me.’ I had my first real drink that night. I made my daddy proud; we never told my mother, however. She’d have blown her lid and locked me up in my room until I reached eighteen. I got my road name that night, too. Shepherd. Only my poor momma is dyslexic and couldn’t spell Shepherd. She ended up sewing Shepard on my patch. Didn’t give a shi.t, the name stuck, and that’s who I became. The man I have been ever since.