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Revenge (Reckless Renegades MC #1)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Jessica Gadziala

Book Information:


He took everything from me.
My friends.
My family.
My club.
My freedom.
I planned to get it all back.
I didn’t need any distractions.
Yet there she was anyway…


He took the only thing that mattered to me.
I would do just about anything to get it back.
Even if that meant relying on some outlaw biker fresh
out of prison with slim to no hope of succeeding in
his plan.
It was supposed to be a simple arrangement.
Quid pro quo.
Just business.
Nothing personal.
But there was no denying it, things were quickly getting very personal…

Books in Series:

Reckless Renegades MC Series by Jessica Gadziala

Books by Author:

Jessica Gadziala Books



There’s a reason pimps and drug dealers wear gold chains.

Aside from maybe thinking they look good or that others see it as a status symbol.

See, when you’re arrested, cops can take your cash if they claim it’s connected to illegal activity.

Civil asset forfeiture.

A fucking crime in and of itself if you ask me.

And while they can take your hard-earned cash, they have to give you back your personal items.

Jewelry included.

This was what was on my mind as I stood in front of a desk manned by a middle-aged guy with a beer belly and jowls that jiggled when he talked – likely stuck at a desk job when they realized he’d likely have a major cardiac incident if he even tried to subdue an out of control prisoner.

It was lucky I was raised up to know the finer points of a criminal lifestyle. Otherwise, the bag Mr. MyWifeHasn’tSuckedMyDisckSinceTheNineties was going through would only have consisted of my wallet with cards that had likely expired, a cell that was long dead, and an old condom.

Not the Submariner Date Rolex 40mm Oystersteel and yellow gold watch he was currently fondling with sausage fingers.

Even used, it would clear me a cool ten grand.

More than enough to get me home.

From there, I could access the cash stores I had stashed so deep that no one even knew they existed.

Not even the backstabbing motherfucker who took everything else from me.

“Now, don’t come back, y’hear?” he asked as I signed the paperwork in front of me, accepting the gate money – cash from my commissary prison grind accounts – and tucking it into my pocket.

“If I’m be inside bars again, it will be at a supermax,” I told him, shooting him a smirk when his mouth fell open slightly. He was likely used to everyone telling him that they had no intentions of going to prison again, that they were innocent in the first place, yadda fucking yadda.

I wasn’t the most moral of men.

But I wasn’t a liar.

I did what got me inside in the first place.

And, with what I had planned now that I was free, there was a good chance I was going back.

It would be worth it.

But I wasn’t necessarily naive enough to think I would get away with it.

There was a good chance I would end up in San Quentin on death row waiting for that fateful day they’d strap me to a table and inject liquid fire into my veins.

Again, it would be fucking worth it.

I was just realistic about my future.

Making my way out the doors, I squinted up at the blinding early summer morning sun, taking my first breath of freedom in nearly three years.

I was only in for two on a misdemeanor assault two. But, well, I was never great getting along with a bunch of assholes who think they are more important than they are. Got some time tacked on, something I only regretted because it meant I had wasted some precious time I could have used to plot payback.

It was alright, though.

Because I was out.

I was ready.

Now, I just had to get out of Bumfuck, Nowhere, and back to my hometown.

I jumped on the first bus out of town, then had it drop me off at the next stop that had a strip of small mom-and-pops, one of them boasting a gold buying store.

“This is a hell of a watch,” the man behind the counter told me, having clearly never handled anything of the like before, likely running a business consisting on buying back Great Aunt Edna’s wedding band or Grandpa’s pocket watch, not a watch worth more than the car he had parked out front.

“Yep,” I agreed, impatiently tapping a hand on the counter, needing a smoke, needing to get the hell home, find my brothers, figure out what the fuck had happened to our lives.

“Let me just look it up,” he said, going to his computer straight out of the early two-thousands with a goddamn extended back and everything. I was half-surprised not to hear the dial-up of AOL when he turned it on. “Well, I can’t pay you exactly market value…”

“Figured. What can you offer?”

He pretended to hem and haw that for a minute like he didn’t know exactly how much precious cash he could part with at the moment. “Nine? I know that…”

“If it’s cash, we’re good. Count it out.”

“In a rush, eh?” he asked, turning away with no small bit of suspicion as he squatted to plug in his safe code.

“Meeting my brothers out in Toptown. I’m running late,” I explained. “Any place in town I can get a cell? Pre-paid,” I added, not having time to fuck with people at some chain store with plans and paperwork.

“The convenience store carries some,” he told me, coming back with a wad of cash, eyes roaming over me like he was checking me for some hidden gun.

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