Steel My Heart Read Online Free PDF Page A

unfolding himself to his full height and brushed his hands across his jeans. Looking down at his short, pudgy parole officer, he grinned then clasped the hand extended to him. "I'll do that. And thank you."
    Officer Sayers nodded and straightened the papers on his desk. "You're free to go."
    Free , the word clanged in J.'s mind like a bell. He felt ten pounds lighter as he stepped across the threshold of Sayers' dingy office and out into the warm spring air. It was perfect riding weather, and there was no better way J. could think of celebrating. Free free free .
    J. swung his long leg over his custom Harley. It was the shiniest and cleanest thing on the entire block. He had been customizing for ages, adding parts as the money trickled in. It had been hard to scrape together while he was still paying his restitution to his victims, but now he was done. His money was his to do with as he pleased.
    He kicked the bike to life and slowly made his way out of the narrow streets of North Philly The entrance to I-95 was clear, the early morning traffic snarl having cleared up a while ago. He roared onto the highway, heading north, away from the skyline, away from the congestion. J. wanted to ride on hills, he wanted to see trees and smell spring in the air.
    Ride to live. Live to Ride. It was the unofficial motto of the Sons of Steel M.C. J. could see his brand new patch out of the corner of his eye as his cut fluttered in wind. Road Captain - it was a phrase that filled him with more pride than he had ever felt before. The position of Road Captain meant that he rode in the rear of the pack when the club went for long distance rides.
    It was up to him to watch for signs of trouble.
    When a brother fell out of the pack with mechanical problems, J. was right there with his toolbox, ready to fix things on the side of the road. Being Road Captain meant he kept the brotherhood of bikers together. Anytime they rode together, he was there blocking traffic in the passing lane until everyone in the pack could get over, anticipating lane changes and spotting problems before they happened. He watched out for them, and the brotherhood knew that he had their backs.
    Prison had taught him how to keep an eye out for trouble. Six years of ducking both the COs and his fellow inmates had sharpened his senses to hyper awareness. Six years of fear had reshaped him. He was tuned for fighting, like a radio that only broadcast one station.
    J. gunned the bike faster, hoping the wind in his face would blow away the bad memories that threatened to overtake him. Faster and faster he wound in and out of traffic, but his pain was even faster. The anger hit him like a punch to the gut, forcing him to relive it all.
    The low points where he wasn't sure if he'd make it out alive.
    The courtroom, the anxiety, his sister's anxious face . Waking up in a steel bunk every morning. The depression that threatened to swallow him whole. Red rage that made him ball his fists and blinded his sight.
    Motorcycles saved his life.
    It was a complete fluke that led him to sign up for the motorcycle repair course. J. had never had much use for school. He and his best friend Randall had skipped more days of school than they had attended, but the chaos of Strawberry Mansion High School meant that he was passed from grade to grade regardless. But once he was behind bars, his boredom led to curiosity, which led him right into the vocational classroom of Teach Jones, philosopher-mechanic.
    J. had never met a man like Teach. He had been working as a votech instructor at the correctional facility in Perkiomen for nearly twenty years and he had seen it all. Nothing flustered him. Nothing set him off. Instead, the older man radiated calm authority. He commanded respect as his due.
    One day in class, one of the inmates, a squirrelly little wannabe skinhead, gave Teach shit. He stood up at his worktable, screaming out slurs and complaining that Teach's long gray dreads stank too badly for him