Caliber (Sin City MC) Read Online Cam Johns

Categories Genre: Biker, MC, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
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Growing up without a father is hard enough, but growing up with a great one who suddenly dies with no answers is harder for Callen Macleod. The echoing screams of his mother’s agony wake him every day, causing him to lead a lonesome life. Who wants to wake up next to some psycho screaming in the middle of the night, drenched in a cold sweat? He needed answers. Answers that led him to the Sin City Motorcycle Club under the guise of friendship and secrets. And he will find the answers he needed, by any means necessary.

Full Book:

PROLOGUE

BEFORE DEATH

Age 13

“Cherry Pie!” My nine a.m. alarm clock, my father, barges into my bedroom shouting Warrant’s song like he’s some rock star.

I snatch the pillow beside me and squish it on my face and ears, completely embarrassed. “Oh my god, Dad!” I shout, but it comes out muffled.

He continues the song, as he hops on my bed and jumps like a grown ass man-baby. I have one of two options: let him continue to get louder and louder, or join him and get on with my favorite Saturday of the month. I always make the same choice. I jump up and hop on my full-size bed with him, acting as if I’m playing an imaginary electric guitar.

I start the next part of the hook ecstatically— to a song a thirteen-year-old probably shouldn’t know so well or sing for that matter. Our routine never gets old, and we jam to it like it’s the first time, every time. I watch the glow in my father’s eyes and his wide smile as we sing. His medium-length auburn hair flops around as he jumps close to the edge of my bed, but he never falls or loses his balance, although I’ve secretly wanted him to just to laugh at him.

My mother hates this song and that we sing it so emphatically. Then again, she doesn’t like these father-son days at all because we end up at the club. Something they fight about often, although they don’t realize I know about it.

Today is no different. As soon as I get dressed, I go downstairs ready for a ride on my father’s Harley, and I hear them arguing about me not growing up to follow behind these ingrates. Ingrates. A word she uses to describe my father’s friends. I don’t really know what it means, but the fact she seems so disgusted with them can’t be good. I don’t know why. I like everyone there and they’re all pretty nice to me, especially Angus, the leader. I hate when they argue about this, because no one can make the decision but me.

“Dad, you ready?” I saunter into the kitchen, seemingly oblivious to their conversation. My mother rolls her eyes after noticing the Sin City Junior Secretary vest my father had made for me.

I think it’s cool.

“Let’s go, son.” He smiles and leads me out of the house toward his Harley. His motorcycle is massive, and although he wants me to have it eventually, I don’t see myself being able to handle it. I’m positive mine will be half the size.

We both hop on, put our gear on, and ride to our favorite eatery for a bacon grilled cheese. It is here, we sit at the same booth by the front window where he can keep an eye on his precious Harley, that I learn so much about his beloved motorcycle club family.

This particular Saturday is my parent’s wedding anniversary, so after his meeting we are supposed to pick up a necklace he and I chose for her last month. He does things like this for her, and even though they can get gross at times, I wonder if that’s what it will be like for me. If I will have the same arguments with my old lady.

“Dad, can I ask you a question?” I take a bite of the sandwich, letting the grease ooze down the sides of my mouth. The best part!

“G’on wean,” he responds.

“Why doesn’t Mom want me to join?” I lick my lips sloppily as he abruptly stops chewing.

“Haven’t a baldy notion.” His Irish is showing. He takes another bite of his food. “I know she wants you to go to college, make other friends besides those at the club. As do I, son. My boy is no eejit.” He smiles, shoving the last of his food into his mouth.

“No, Dad. I know that’s important to you. Almost as much as me following your footsteps in the club, as you did with your father.”

Although he smiles, his wide eyes tell me he’s done with this conversation, because he doesn’t like to talk about his father. I’ve never met him.

“Yes. Finish so we can go. I have to start teaching you my coding system.” He searches his wallet for a one-hundred-dollar bill and slams it on the table. He does this with every meal here even though the bill is never anywhere near that much. “You take care of those, who take care of you.”


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