Black and White (Storm's Soldiers MC Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

railroad spike, square and bulky and rugged. He always had a stern look on, like he were my Pop instead of my big brother, and it looked as severe as I’d ever seen it.
    “You really want Mom seeing you like this?”
    “She’s not gonna see me, bro.”
    His eyes tightened an instant, but then he shrugged. “You’re right. Fuck it. Why even bother paying our respects to dirt.” He faced the bar and took long focused sips.
    “You know I didn’t mean it like that,” I said. “I want to be there today. That’s what I want to do. My intention’s got to matter more than this surface shit right? If you think you owe her a fresh face and a floral arrangement, then you do that. But that’s not me.”
    “No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”
    He went back to his thoughtful sips. This day had always been harder for him. He was eight when she died. I’d been three. He knew what he’d lost that day. I only had a lone memory of a bubbling woman’s laugh at my back as I rode a tricycle through the house. I’d run it through my head so many times these past twenty years, I couldn’t even be sure it was real.
    Calix broke out of his thoughts and looked over me. “Fine. Do it for Pop then.”
    There was no use making a fuss over this. I keep playing this game, and he might start asking just what exactly had resulted in me stepping into this day looking so worn.
    I shoved off to the bathroom. My eyes were red and sat in dark circles. I smirked and wondered if that girl hadn’t just rubbed off on me when I buried my face in those pillowy breasts. A prick of heat lighted up below and I doused myself with cold water. What the hell was I thinking? Going after her had been foolish enough, and now my mind still lingered there?
    On this of all days. Fuck, if it was my intentions that counted, then I was still a piece of shit.
    Calix was at the door when I got back. He stepped out, and I knocked back the rest of my beer and followed. We straddled our hogs and rumbled through the farmland, past orchards and plantations. Lines of extra dark Mexicans bustled across the land, just throngs and throngs of them. Not another white face around.
    The Storm’s Soldiers were to be vanguard of a new white nation, but we couldn’t even find a place for our headquarters without other races around. It was a quandary I’d often pondered, when Thurge or Calix or one of the others would boast about our ever approaching victory in freeing ourselves from the shackles of our mongrel society. It was gonna be a pretty small nation if it was anywhere around here.
    We did run guns, but they were meant for protection, not attack. The distinction didn’t matter much to some, but for me it was everything. I would fight if it came to that, but only to preserve ourselves, not shove change on others. Otherwise we were no better than African warlords, endlessly murdering and raping. I’d studied war enough to know rebellion wasn’t a real option anyway.
    The farms gave way to forest, and soon after we turned up a tiny two lane road and rumbled up towards cemetery gates. A couple other cars were parked in a dirt clearing outside, but then I saw Pop’s faded blue sedan. As we parked, the old man himself rose up off a park bench and came out. With his black suit, severe look and full beard, he could have passed for a mortician.
    “Ya boys are late,” he said, as we strode up together.
    “Time’s fuzzy on a Saturday morning, Pop,” I said.
    “Hmph.” He eyed the flowers and patted Calix on the shoulder. “Those were her favorite.”
    “I know.”
    They set off into the greens together. I didn’t mind tagging back. I’d never really owned this moment like they did. I’d essentially come alive in a world without Dolores Black, but her loss had been a rebirth for these two.
    Mom’s grave sat under a lone tree that was starting to shed orange leaves. Calix brushed them away and lay the bouquet by her headstone. We stood across them from Pop and breathed