WAR & MAYHEM: Vinnie (Book 10)

VINNIE

The prison gates opened at eight in the morning, and the first thing that hit me was the heat. It rolled over my skin like a fucking blanket, hot and dry, carrying the smell of dust, eucalyptus and sun-baked bitumen. I stood just outside the gates with a small canvas bag hanging from one hand, blinking against the bright Western Australian sun. Summer had barely started, but already the temperature was climbing, and judging by the way the heat pressed against me, it was going to be one hell of a summer.

I took another step forward, then another, until I realised I was actually outside. No guard was telling me to stop. No locked door waiting for me. No concrete walls surrounding me. Nothing but open space and a road stretching out in front of me.

Five years.

Five fucking years.

I’d spent five years behind those walls. One thousand eight hundred and twenty-five days of waking up to the same concrete, following the same routines and knowing that every decision about my day was made for me. I’d counted the days at first, because when you’re locked away, counting gives you something to hold on to. Eventually, I’d stopped. Counting only made time move slower, and I didn’t want to spend five years watching a number get smaller. I wanted to survive the days instead of obsessing over how many were left.

Now there were none left.

I looked down at the bag in my hand. That was everything I’d accumulated during five years inside. A few changes of clothes, some paperwork, a couple of books and a handful of photographs. My entire life inside could fit into one small bag. I almost laughed at the thought of it. Five years, and this was all I had to show for them.

But then again, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. The things that mattered weren’t in the bag. They were waiting for me outside.

I lifted my face toward the sun and closed my eyes for a moment. I’d imagined this day more times than I could count. I’d imagined walking out of those gates feeling overwhelmed, nervous and maybe even terrified about returning to a world that had continued without me. I’d wondered whether I’d know how to fit back into normal life, whether the club would still feel like home and whether my brothers would still see me as one of them after I’d been gone for so long. Five years was a fucking long time. People changed in five years. Businesses changed. Relationships changed. The club had changed.

Yet standing there beneath the burning Western Australian sun, I realised I wasn’t scared.

I was relieved.

Deep, bone-deep relief settled over me as my shoulders finally dropped. I drew in a slow breath and filled my lungs with air that didn’t smell like concrete and disinfectant. I was free. The word still felt strange in my head, almost too simple for something I’d waited five years to have.

I opened my eyes and looked around. Cars moved along the road. People walked past, going about their mornings without giving me a second glance. Somewhere nearby, a bird was making one hell of a racket. Normal life was still happening around me, completely unaware that I’d just stepped back into it.

For five years, I’d wondered what would be waiting for me when I got out. I’d heard bits and pieces through letters, phone calls and visits. I’d heard about new members, new businesses and new relationships. I’d heard enough to know that the Highway Jokers hadn’t stopped simply because I wasn’t there. The club had kept moving forward, exactly as it should have.

But hearing about it wasn’t the same as seeing it.

I adjusted my grip on my bag and started walking toward the road. I’d barely made it a few steps when I heard the sound of engines.

I stopped.

A deep rumble rolled through the air, followed by another, then another. My heart kicked hard against my ribs because I knew that sound. I’d spent half my life knowing that sound. Motorcycles. The unmistakable growl of a group of bikes sitting together, waiting for someone.

I turned toward the road, and there they were.

The Highway Jokers.

Bikes were lined up along the side of the road, black paint gleaming beneath the sun, chrome catching the light. The patches on their cuts were visible even from where I stood, and seeing those colours after five years made something tighten in my chest.

My patch.

Our patch.

The bikes weren’t the only thing waiting for me. The brothers were standing beside them, and for a moment I couldn’t move.

Thrasher was at the front.

Still President.

That sight alone brought something strange to my chest. He hadn’t been President when I’d gone away, but five years could have changed everything. I’d wondered more than once who would be leading the club when I came home, whether the structure would be completely different or whether I’d even recognise the place I’d once called mine.

But there he stood.

Thrasher.

President of the Highway Jokers.

My brother.

Stone stood beside him, followed by Gravel, Skitzo, Redback, 8Ball, Blackout, SAW, Saint and Mage. Every one of them was there.

Waiting for me.

I just stood there, staring at them. Five years of wondering if this moment would actually happen had led to this. I’d pictured walking out and finding nobody there. I’d told myself I’d understand if they’d moved on. I’d told myself the club had every right to continue without me.

But they hadn’t forgotten.

Thrasher caught my eye.

He didn’t wave. He didn’t shout. He simply looked at me for a few seconds before starting to walk in my direction.

My feet finally moved.

I crossed the distance between us until we were standing face-to-face. Thrasher looked me over, his eyes moving across my face, my shoulders and the bag in my hand. He didn’t ask about prison. He didn’t ask whether I’d had a hard time. He didn’t ask me to explain the last five years.

“You good?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He studied me for another second before pulling me into his arms.

The hug was hard and solid, the kind of hug only a brother could give. His hand slammed against my back, and for a second I closed my eyes and let myself feel it. I’d forgotten what it was like to be held by someone who didn’t want anything from me.

“Welcome home, brother.”

My eyes burned.

I swallowed hard and held onto the back of his cut. “Good to be home.”

He pulled back, but his hand stayed on my shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about anything today.”

I looked at him.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

A small smile pulled at his mouth. “Good.”

He squeezed my shoulder. “Today is about you being free.”

Those words hit harder than I expected.

Free.

I’d spent five years waiting to hear that word.

I nodded. “Thanks for coming.”

Thrasher looked almost offended. “Where else would we be?”

I didn’t have an answer because the truth was, I hadn’t known if they’d come. I’d hoped. I’d imagined it. I’d prayed for it on some of the darker nights when I wasn’t sure what the future would look like. But some part of me had been terrified that I’d walk through those gates and find nobody there.

Instead, every brother I’d left behind was standing in front of me.

Stone came next, grabbing my hand before pulling me into a hug. “Good to see you, brother.”

“Good to see you too.”

Gravel clapped me on the shoulder and welcomed me home. Skitzo gave me a solid nod before pulling me into a quick embrace. Redback grinned and shook my hand. 8Ball hugged me. Blackout did the same, while SAW slapped my back hard enough to make me stumble.

Then Mage stepped forward.

Seeing him brought a different kind of feeling with it. Mage had always been the oldest of us, the one who’d been around long enough to have seen more than most and somehow always managed to keep his head when everyone else was losing theirs. He’d been part of the club for as long as I could remember, and there was something about his presence that had always made him feel like one of the pillars holding the Jokers together.

He studied me for a moment before giving me a small nod.

“Welcome home, Vinnie.”

I smiled. “Good to see you, Mage.”

He pulled me into a solid hug, his hand gripping the back of my cut before he stepped away and squeezed my shoulder.

“Good to have you back.”

I nodded, swallowing hard.

That was Mage. He’d never been a man who needed a lot of words. He didn’t need to tell me he’d missed me or explain why he’d come. He was here. That said enough.

My eyes moved past him to 8Ball, his son, and I couldn’t help but smile. Seeing them standing there together reminded me that while I’d been gone, life had continued for everyone. Mage still had Vikki waiting for him at home. 8Ball had grown into the man standing beside us. The club had built families, businesses and lives while I’d been serving my time.

But somehow, they’d still made room for me.

Every greeting was different, but they all meant the same thing.

You’re still one of us.

You didn’t get left behind.

We didn’t forget you.

I looked at all of them and shook my head, trying to find the right words. “Fuck.”

Stone laughed. “That’s all you’ve got?”

I gave him a helpless look. “I just... didn’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to,” Thrasher said.

He was right.

There wasn’t anything I could say that would explain what it meant to walk out after five years and see all of them waiting for me. Words weren’t enough.

Saint stepped forward with a grin, ruining whatever emotional moment we were having.

“Look at you,” he said. “Five years inside and you still look better than the rest of us. That’s fucking rude.”

I stared at him for a second before laughing. “Missed you too, Saint.”

“See? I knew you’d missed me.”

“You haven’t changed.”

“Why would I?”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

Saint grinned. “And you’re still an arsehole. It’s good to have you back.”

I laughed again, and the sound surprised me. It had been a long time since laughter had come that easily.

Saint’s eyes dropped to the bag in my hand.

“Is that everything?”

I looked down. “Yep.”

His eyebrows rose. “That’s fucking sad.”

I stared at him.

“I’m serious. You’ve been gone for five years. Surely you’ve accumulated more than one sad little bag.”

“It’s a prison, Saint.”

“Yeah, but what the fuck were you doing in there? Not shopping?”

I snorted. “Where exactly did you think I was shopping?”

Saint shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought maybe they had a gift shop.”

I shook my head, laughing. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

He clapped a hand against my shoulder. “Still got the same attitude, though.”

“Still asking the same stupid questions.”

“Missed you too.”

For a few seconds, I just stood there with them, listening to the engines ticking as they cooled in the heat. Looking at their faces. Taking in the colours. Letting the reality of being home finally sink in.

Five years had taken a lot from me.

But it hadn’t taken this.

My brothers were still here.

The club was still here.

I was still a Highway Joker.

Thrasher nodded toward the bikes. “Your ride’s waiting.”

I turned toward them, and then I saw it.

My bike.

For a moment, I simply stared.

Five years.

I’d thought about that bike more times than I could count. I’d imagined the feel of the handlebars beneath my hands, the vibration of the engine beneath me and the wind hitting my face as I rode down an open road. I’d imagined what it would feel like to have nothing between me and the world except a helmet and the road ahead.

Now it was sitting there.

Waiting.

I walked toward it slowly and ran my fingers over the handlebars. The metal was warm beneath my palm from the sun.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this.”

Saint’s voice came from behind me. “Don’t get too emotional.”

I looked over my shoulder.

He was grinning.

“Shut the fuck up, Saint.”

“There he is.”

I laughed and shook my head.

Thrasher looked at his watch. “We should head out.”

Everyone started getting ready.

I put my bag away, pulled on my jacket and picked up my helmet. The familiar weight settled over my head when I put it on, and suddenly I felt as if I were stepping back into a part of myself I’d been forced to leave behind.

I swung my leg over the bike and rested both hands on the handlebars.

For a second, I just sat there.

Then I turned the key.

The engine roared beneath me.

The vibration travelled through my body, familiar and comforting. My fucking bike. My fucking freedom.

I closed my eyes for half a second.

Five years.

Five years without this.

Then Thrasher’s engine came alive beside me.

The others followed one by one, until the road seemed to shake beneath the combined roar of the Highway Jokers.

I looked to my left.

Thrasher gave me a nod.

That was all I needed.

He pulled out first.

The others followed.

I fell into line behind them.

And then we were gone.

The prison disappeared behind us.

I didn’t look back.

Not once.

I didn’t need to.

I’d spent five years looking at those walls. I’d spent five years knowing exactly where they were, exactly how high they stood and exactly how much they had separated me from the life I wanted.

I wasn’t giving them another second of my life.

The road opened ahead of us.

The wind hit my helmet, hot at first, then cooled as we picked up speed. I breathed deeply, filling my lungs with air that tasted different out here. Cleaner. Freer.

It smelled like summer.

Like dust.

Like eucalyptus.

Like petrol and hot bitumen.

Like Bunbury.

Home.

The landscape rolled past us in flashes of green and gold as the Highway Jokers headed toward Bunbury. The bright summer sun hung overhead, beating down on the road, but I didn’t care. I could have ridden all day.

All night.

Forever.

Nobody was telling me where I could go.

Nobody was watching me through a set of bars.

Nobody was counting the minutes until I had to return.

I was on my bike.

With my brothers.

Going home.

I watched Thrasher riding ahead of me, the president patch across his back. The others rode around him, each bike holding a piece of the family I’d spent five years missing.

I’d changed.

There was no pretending otherwise.

Five years inside changed a man.

I didn’t know how easily I’d fit back into the life I’d left behind. I didn’t know what would happen tomorrow, next week or six months from now. I didn’t know how much I’d changed compared to the man who had ridden away five years ago.

But I didn’t need to know yet.

Today was enough.

Today I had my brothers.

Today I had my bike.

Today I had the road.

And today I was going home.

The summer sun burned down overhead as we rode toward Bunbury, the roar of the engines surrounding me. For five years, I’d been a prisoner. A number. A man waiting for a date on a calendar.

Now I was Vinnie.

Highway Joker.

Brother.

Free.

I twisted the throttle slightly and felt the bike respond beneath me. A grin spread across my face as the road stretched ahead.

Five years were behind me.

The road was ahead.

And this time, it was mine.