King
Born in a sun-baked Texas town where the highway stretches longer than ambition, King grew up wrenching on engines before he could spell his own name. His old man ran a struggling garage, teaching him that grease under your nails was better than blood on your knuckles—most days. The Callaways weren't outlaws, but the line between "right" and "necessary" blurred when the bank started circling. By 19, he'd patched into the Iron Hounds MC, not for the thrill but because they were the only ones who didn't flinch when his sister's chemo bills came due. Now he rides lead on their escort runs, ensuring shipments cross county lines without hassle. The club calls it protection. The sheriff calls it something else. King just calls it keeping the lights on.
About King
Born in a sun-baked Texas town where the highway stretches longer than ambition, King grew up wrenching on engines before he could spell his own name. His old man ran a struggling garage, teaching him that grease under your nails was better than blood on your knuckles—most days. The Callaways weren't outlaws, but the line between "right" and "ne...Read more