Prologue
Atlanta, Georgia
April 23, 1969
Clay awoke with a nagging pull in his stomach. He’d had that dream again. He would have to talk with Sean or Benji. Carefully getting out of bed so he wouldn’t disturb the sleeping man beside him, he stepped into his lounge pants and padded to the kitchen.
Mindlessly, he prepared the coffee; scooping the grounds into the basket, filling the pot with water, then turning on the heating element on the stove to get the coffee brewing. Wouldn’t a machine that would do it all be great?
Soon, the apartment filled with the aroma of percolating coffee. Clay grabbed the bread, popped two slices into the toaster, retrieving the butter and apple jelly from the refrigerator as the bread toasted.
Minutes later, Clay was finishing his toast and a cup of coffee while doodling in his notebook, a combination journal, scratch pad, and idea book. Trying to focus on anything except that dream, his mind denied him. Finally, he rinsed his plate in the sink, then grabbed the phone and punched in the seven numbers to connect to the person who would have the answer.
After a few rings, Clay relaxed as the call was answered.
“I hope I didn’t wake you,” he said, and was relieved he hadn’t. “I need to talk to you about this crazy dream I’ve had. You’re the best one to help me figure it out.”
Hearing the response, Clay continued, “Great. Can we meet at our spot in an hour? I need to shower and dress, then I’ll be on my way….”
The reply was brief, and Clay was relieved. “Thanks, I’ll see you there.”
Before going to the shower, Clay washed his plate and added it to the draining rack, refilled his coffee cup, and took a gulp.
Going through the bedroom to the bathroom, he bent over and kissed the exposed shoulder of the still-sleeping man, whispering, “Good morning, lover boy.” The man made a contented sound. He should be contented, Clay thought, after the night of passion they had just shared.
Clay considered a leisurely shower, but rejected it to make sure he’d be on time for the arranged meeting. He could luxuriate later. Clay showered, combed his shoulder-length dirty blond hair, and brushed his teeth. A spritz of his favorite cologne, then time to dress.
Deciding against his tendency to wear provocative shirts, Clay chose a turquoise blue deep-vee tee, a pair of sandstone hiphuggers that highlighted his ass, and a pair of fleece-lined moccasins.
Clay grabbed his keys—the apartment key and the key to his red Mustang, his treat to himself. Sean had a matching blue Mustang; their tags were the easiest-spotted on the street: Sean’s read P R DRUMS and Clay’s was P R BASS.
Clay’s mind was in turmoil. He’d had the same dream four times over the last week, and it worried him. It started with Dougie visiting, like the end of the first tour.
Douglas—still Dougie to Clay, though only two years younger—had turned 18. Clay always felt protective of his “little brother.”
In the dream, Dougie met a lot of guys, starting with the group. There seemed to be a spark between him and Todd; no one was certain. Dougie met Davey’s crew, all good. Then he went to a biker bar and met some rough guys, and one decided Dougie was just the “fresh meat” he’d been looking for.
Dougie was excited—he’d never had affection shown him by an adult male other than his brother Clay, who was a good brother; his father was gone before Dougie got to know him, and his stepfather was a cold, calculating dick. So this biker character, in the dream, drew Dougie in, like a spider would a fly. Clay, dreaming it, hoped his brother would pull away, but he didn’t. Soon the guy had Dougie ensnared, and that’s where Clay always woke up, terrified, afraid his brother would be hurt….
Pulling into the parking lot of the Midtown Bowling Center, Clay saw there weren’t many cars. He spotted the one he wanted to see—a bright yellow Camaro with a black racing stripe down both sides. The custom license plate spelled out BENJI T. Yep, Benji was there.
Not only that, he was watching for Clay. Once Clay got out of his car, Benji raced from the front door of the bowling center as if they hadn’t seen each other in years, hugging Clay warmly.
“I mebbe got jes’ a bit rushed gettin’ here,” Benji said, pulling back.
“Have you been here long? Waiting, I mean?”
“Naw, been here ‘bout four, mebbe three minutes, babe, no sweat. Let’s go inside and get comfy,” Benji smiled. Clay understood why Ravynn—Robin—fell for Benji.
Inside, Benji picked a booth in a quiet area away from most of the traffic in the bowling center. They could talk uninterrupted, unlikely to be overheard. Clay told the dream, and Benji listened closely. Once Clay finished, Benji sat quietly a moment, then leaned forward and almost whispered.
“You don’t want your bébé brother to be a biker bitch? I understand that, but you know, he is old enough to make his own decisions.”
“Trust me, I know how strong-minded Dougie can be. He’s been the buffer between our stepfather and me, and between our stepfather and our mother, too often.”
“Sounds to me like the young ‘un knows what he wants and goes and gets it,” Benji summed it up.
“Yeah. Did you notice….”
“The spark between him and Todd back in July? I couldn’t-a missed that if I’d been blind! I think they got what Rave and me have, a special bond. If they listen to their hearts.”