Friction (Oath Keepers MC Book 5)

By: Sapphire Knight

Dedicated to my readers…

You’ve asked for more, letting me live my dream.

I can never thank you enough for believing in me.

You mean so much!


Bet- yes/okay/got it

Church- MC sit down to discuss business

Compound- MC clubhouse/living area/office

Ol’ Lady- Significant other to MC member


I strongly recommend reading Forsaken Control prior to Friction.

“It’s been an ugly day,” she said.

“Tell me something beautiful?”

And he said her name.


Blood. I see dark, fucking red liquid everywhere. Am I losing my mind? Who could do something so horrific to these angelic creatures? Maybe I should cry for help?

Ha! What fucking help? It’s done. It’s fucking over—I’m too late. Just like I was too late for her birth, I’m too fucking late for her death.

What have I done to deserve such madness? Maybe I should kill myself? I should rip the fucking heart right out of my goddamn chest, because whatever’s in there beats no more.

They were my everything: my life, my soul, my death. Now I’m faced with a pain so deep no knife could ever touch.

Bending down, I gently hold my sweet baby girls limp, cold hand. Her heart beats no more, so why should mine? I swallow down my puke and gently cut the masking tape securing the plastic bag and pillow over her head. My face is wet—maybe tears. I have to get this bag off; God deserves to have to look at the innocent face that was stolen from me. He needs to see what’s been done. How is there a God, when there’s blood coming from between her legs? How is there a great power when she breathes no more?

The plastic falls away and her honey blonde curls stained with blood remind me of her momma. I’ll never again see her eyes—blue as a beautiful sky—again. I’ll never hear the soft pitter-patter of her feet running.

Carefully placing her hand beside her, I climb to my feet, and my eyes find Marissa’s body a few feet away.

A cord’s securely wrapped around her neck—over and fucking over. Her once flawless, sun-kissed skin is ruined. Her clothes were torn to shreds, blood everywhere. She fought whoever did this. She fucking fought them until her fingers bled.

Dropping to my knees, I bring her into my arms and I scream. My fucking life is right in front of me—gone. No fucking more. I was robbed. Everything I love taken in a blink of an eye, and I wasn’t here to save them.

I’m never fucking here.

Fuck the Army, keeping me from my family. I missed fucking everything. More tears fall, and all I can do is scream until my voice is taken too.

It’s done. I can’t possibly live without my heart and soul. Tenderly, my shaky lips meet Marissa’s cold skin, and I carefully place her back on the floor.

My feet carry me back to my Camaro. I’m in a daze as I slam the car door and rev the engine over and over. I can’t live. What’s done is done, and I will be with them no matter what.

Letting loose the clutch, the pretty girl roars to life, taking me away from what once was my home, away from the blood. Higher and higher the speedometer climbs as I accelerate faster. I start to round the bend and like it was meant to be, a tree waiting straight ahead.

Pounding the gas pedal to the floor, the car flies over the asphalt, and as the car slams into the massive trunk, all I can think is, I will see you soon.



You’re either wasting it or chasing it, but when it comes right down to it, you never have enough of it. I wish I could turn it back; I’d go to the day before my life went to fucking shit.

I’d go to the last time I kissed my wife and told her how fucking sexy she was, to when I spun my baby girl around and heard her giggle. Those were the good old days.

You stressed out? Got shit you think is bad? Your wife and kid wasn’t viciously raped and murdered. You didn’t come home to find your entire world brutalized and over. Fuck your problems; you don’t know shit about stress!

My story isn’t for the weak.

One small crack does not mean that you are broken,

it means that you were put to the test and you didn’t fall apart.

-Linda Poindexter


My old Cutlass flies down the highway, windows down with ‘Blue Da Ba Dee’ by Eiffel 65 blaring loudly on the blown speakers. I swear, every time I hit a bump the car bounces so much I feel like this kid could pop out early.

The route from Cali to Texas is so dry and surrounded by a whole lotta nothing. I’ve called my brother a few times but he’s sent me straight to voicemail. Jerk face.

I’m thinking he may be on a run for his club that he failed to tell me about. He promised that he’d call when he goes on the road like that, because I tend to worry about him.

Well it’s too late now; I’ve packed what belongings would fit into my car and loaded the rest into a small storage unit. I hate leaving Mom and Dad’s house there, but I have no other choice; the doctor I work for just informed me I’m high risk and should stay home. Since my brother obviously isn’t coming to me, it’s only fitting that I go to him.

I put the house up for sale, which I know will blow Silas—that’s my brother’s name—away. He wanted me to do it years ago, but a stubborn part inside me told me to hold out longer. I know my parents are druggies, but I’d secretly hoped that eventually the people who created me would get better and come around.