Chapter 2 Blood

"What do you mean I can't pay it off?" Mason asked, his voice shaking so hard he could barely hear himself.

Victor didn't answer right away. He put the ledger back in the safe, turned the key, and locked it like it was something that shouldn't ever be opened again.

"You can't pay it with money, Mason," Victor said. "You didn't really think two thousand would cover it, did you?"

Mason stood frozen inside the locked office, holding his father's old debt papers that now meant nothing. The papers were shaking in his hands.

"Then how am I supposed to pay it?" Mason asked. "My father only owed two thousand. You wrote one hundred thousand on that paper. What does UNPAYABLE even mean?"

"It means you'll work," Victor said, standing tall in front of his desk in his black cut and his black t-shirt, his shiny black boots and his silver rings catching the light. His hair was cut short and styled to the back, sharp and clean. "It means you'll stay here under my roof until I say you can leave."

"I can't stay here," Mason said. "I've got a job outside, I've got an apartment, I've got a life. I just came to clear his name."

"You had a life," Victor said and opened the door. "Jax!"

Jax walked in fast. He was twenty-four, same age as Mason, dressed in his mechanic shirt and black pants with his boots shined. His hair was neatly cut and styled to the back with only two strands brought out on each side of his smooth face. He didn't know who Greg McHale was. No one in this club did anymore.

"Take him to the prospect dorm," Victor said. "He's new and he owes us."

"Yes, President," Jax said and looked at Mason. "Come on."

Mason followed Jax out and the clubhouse hit him loud. Music was banging, bikes were parked so close you couldn't walk without touching one, men in black cuts were drinking and shouting.

"What's your name?" Jax asked while they walked.

"Mason," Mason said.

Jax didn't react to McHale. That name meant nothing to him. Only Victor knew what McHale meant and what he'd done to him twelve years ago when Victor was only twenty.

"Okay, Mason, last bed is yours," Jax said when they reached the dorm behind the garage.

The dorm was small and cold with six hard beds and dirty walls that smelled like oil and old sweat. Three prospects were already inside and they all looked up when Mason walked in.

"New debt?" one of them laughed, looking at Mason's clean shoes.

Jax gave Mason a quick look, like he felt bad for him, then left. He had work to do.

Mason sat on the last hard bed and put his father's papers down. Today was supposed to be his twenty-fourth birthday. Three months ago his mother died and they were supposed to celebrate today to make him feel better. Now he was alone on a hard bed in a biker dorm.

For twenty-three years he'd always been surrounded by his lovely parents. Now he was orphaned and was on the verge of losing his freedom too.

But courage cursed through him when he thought of his mother. He was gonna do everything to clear his father's name so he wouldn't die as a debtor.

At 5am the door banged open and Victor came in. He was dressed in his expensive custom-made black shirt and black pants, his shiny black shoes and his customized Rolex watch completing his cold look, and he didn't knock.

"Mason," Victor said. "Garage. Now."

Mason hadn't slept at all. His eyes were red but he stood up and followed Victor. The other prospects were still sleeping and they didn't hear anything. Victor had only come for Mason.

The garage was big and cold in the morning and one black custom bike sat in the middle under a light with MORNINGSTAR written on the tank in silver letters.

"Whose bike is this?" Mason asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Mine," Victor said. "You're gonna clean it every day at 5am before anyone else wakes up."

"I'm a mechanic, I can fix it, not just clean it," Mason said, his voice still tired.

"You'll do what I say, Mason," Victor said, standing in front of his big garage with his arms crossed, waiting.

Mason picked up a rag and started wiping the tank. His hands were shaking so bad the rag kept slipping. He'd never touched a bike this expensive.

"You're doing it wrong," Victor said behind him.

"I'm trying," Mason said, trying not to cry because his hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Victor walked up behind him and took Mason's wrist in his cold hand. His silver rings were freezing.

"Like this," Victor said, moving Mason's hand slowly across the black tank in one smooth line. "Slow. You don't rush my bike."

"Don't touch me," Mason whispered and pulled his wrist back fast.

Victor's tall and sharp features were a bonus to his looks but his smile wasn't nice at all when he looked down at Mason.

"You're in my clubhouse, Mason," Victor said quietly. "You don't tell me what to do. I tell you."

"I didn't mean to disrespect you," Mason said quickly. "I just can't be here forever. I can't."

"You had a life outside," Victor said. "Now your life's here."

Mason looked up at him, breathing hard. "Did you know my father?"

Victor stared at him for a long time without blinking, looking at Mason's brown eyes and his shaking hands.

"I knew Greg," Victor said.

"Why'd he leave?" Mason asked.

"He wanted a normal life," Victor said. "He wanted to go home to his family."

"How do you know that?" Mason asked.

Victor didn't answer. He walked past Mason to the big garage door and locked it. The lock clicked loud and now they were alone inside with just his bike light on.

"You asked what BLOOD means," Victor said, turning back to Mason.

Mason stopped cleaning and his heart started beating so fast he could feel it in his throat.

"What does it mean?" Mason asked.

"It means your father already paid," Victor said in a low voice. "With blood, Mason. And now you will too."

Mason stood there, his whole world crumbling at his feet, his rag falling from his shaking hand onto the cold garage floor.