Wild ridge book2 lightning

~Nick~

The name’s Nick Gracen, but most call me Lightning. I’m the local prez of the Wild Ridge MC Club. It’s a title that carries weight, respect, and a hell of a lot of responsibility.


I looked around the clubhouse, a place that had seen more action than most could handle. The air was thick with the scent of oil, leather, and a hint of whiskey—a comforting blend that felt like home. The brothers were scattered around, some tinkering with their bikes, others deep in conversation about our latest shipment.


“Prez,” a voice called out, breaking my thoughts. I turned to see Ironhead approaching, a serious look on his face. “We’ve got a situation.”


“What’s up?” I asked, already on high alert.


“It’s about the shipment. Looks like someone’s been poking their nose where it doesn’t belong.”


I clenched my jaw. “Who?”


“Don’t know yet, but I’ve got a lead. Thought you’d want to know.”


“Damn right, I do,” I said, my mind already racing. “Get the boys together. We need to handle this.”


As Ironhead nodded and went to gather the others, I took a deep breath, ready to dive back into the chaos. This life wasn’t for the faint of heart, but it was the only one I knew. And I’d be damned if anyone thought they could mess with the Wild Ridge MC and get away with it.


The men all gathered in our usual meeting spot in the club, the atmosphere tense with anticipation.


Ironhead stood at the front, a map of our territory laid out on the table.


“So, Ironhead, give me the rundown on what’s going down with the shipments. We need those weapons, and we need them before the cops come snooping around,” I stated, my voice firm.


Ironhead nodded, pointing to a location on the map. “Alright, here’s what we know. The shipment was supposed to come through the docks last night, but our contact says it got held up by some unknown person.


They’ve got the shipment stashed somewhere here,” he said, tapping a spot on the map just outside our territory.


“Who the hell is this unknown player?” Cutter, one of our enforcers, asked, his brow furrowed.


“We’re not sure yet,” Ironhead admitted. “But they’re not local. Could be a new gang trying to muscle in, or could be Feds running an undercover op. Either way, we need to get our hands on those weapons.”


“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. “Alright, we need a plan. Cutter, you and Snake take a couple of the guys and scout the area. Find out who these players are and what kind of firepower they’re packing. Ironhead, you keep digging for intel. I want to know who we’re dealing with and why they’re targeting our shipment.”


The men nodded, as they gathered their things.


And remember,” I added, “we can’t afford to draw any unwanted attention. Keep it quiet, keep it clean. We get those weapons back without starting something we cannot handle.


As the men began to disperse to carry out their orders, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Vick standing there, concern etched on her face.


“Be careful,” she said softly. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”


I gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Vick. This is nothing we can not handle”.


She nodded, but the worry in her eyes didn’t fade. As I watched her walk away, I steeled myself for what was to come.


“Death!” I shouted.


I watched as my most deadly enforcer came marching over. His presence was intimidating, a living weapon ready to strike at a moment’s notice.


“What is it, prez?” he stated, his voice a low growl.


“I need you to watch over the clubhouse while I’m gone,” I instructed. “Anyone suspicious, you detain them as best as possible. Other than that, if anyone comes in guns blazing, you show them no mercy.”


Death nodded, “Got it. No one’s getting past me.”
“Good,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m counting on you.”