I lived a troubled life as a kid after being given up for adoption at a very young age, forced to live in a run-down orphanage, until I was adopted by an elderly couple who could never have kids of their own. They changed my surname to that of their own, Hogan. I wasn't the only kid this couple had adopted.

      Two other boys and two girls would become the new siblings he always wanted. All three of us would form a tight-knit bond with each other. First, there was the oldest, Me. I was two years older than Brick, who was born in Bosnia, but was brought over to the states during some kind of war. Then there was Seamus, who had the last name Finnigan before adoption, so we all called him Finn, he was two years younger than Brick.

      All three of us became inseparable, often getting into trouble at school and on the streets of Florissant. Our foster parents, coming from a different generation, were not very understanding of our plights and struggles as adopted children. We were often scolded and punished with no breakfasts or dinners and beat with belts.

      As we got older, I continued down a bad path, getting hooked on pills and other drugs, mainly coke. I struggled to function as I dove deeper into addiction as well as trying to hide it from my brothers, until Brick found out. I caught Brick getting into my stash, and as much as I wanted to beat his ass for even trying it, I restrained myself knowing that I was the one who got addicted and brought it into the family. Brick and I agreed to keep it between us, promising to keep that shit away from Finn and our young sisters.

      As Brick and I continued our life huffing blow and popping pills, but after I introduced Brick to my dealer, our world of drugs expanded fast. Brick was always the one with the mouth, able to talk up anything and anyone. For a while we were selling on the street, however this became a bust.

      There weren't many people in the city who wanted to buy coke from two high school students. It wasn't until I was 20 when a real opportunity arose. Brick and I both agreed not to jeopardize Finn's health; however, we didn't mean to exclude him from our family business. At this time, Finn was 16 with a new job working valet during baseball games at Busch Stadium.

      Brick developed the idea of using the expensive cars our younger brother would park as a front to sell drugs, making us look official and successful in our business. Finn would drive the vehicles to a parking garage where he would meet us.

      I would then drive Brick to a spot to sell, where Brick would work his magic and do the talking. This went on for a good, several months, showering us with cash. There was one particular car we would drive every chance we got. The owner of a 2005 Ford GT had seasonal suite tickets to watch the Cardinals play whenever they were at our home stadium. This was an exotic car Brick drove himself, he was absolutely in love with it. However, driving it so many times stacked up additional miles that couldn't be explained.

      It was just like any other day, Finn got the keys to the vehicle, drove it to the normal spot, then Brick and I took over. We rode to the customer, sold the smack, and started on our way back to the garage. In the middle of our transit, four individual motorcycles manned by four big, burly men with some kind of red cross patch on their clothing surrounded the car. They then closed the gaps between themselves and the GT, effectively herding Brick and I into driving wherever they us to go.

      While we were panicking inside the car, driving wherever we were directed, Brick lost control of the wheel, bumping into one of the riders and causing him to fall off his bike. He then crashed the Ford into a streetlamp, severely damaging the bodywork. As if this was our plan from the start, the bikers began roaring with excitement, taunting us. "He's REALLY gon' tear yer asses 'part now, boys!" A blacked-out van with the same red cross insignia barreled down the road towards the accident. In dramatic fashion, it skidded to a stop and power slid to have the side doors facing us.

      It screeched open to show Finn being held at the neck by a rugged, heavily tattooed man with a look of disappointment on his face. He threw Finn out of the van and commanded Brick and I to exit his vehicle at once. I knew the three of us fucked up big time. These men weren't going to turn us into the police, they were either going to jump or kill us.

      Instead, the man with the tattoos congratulated us on our little side hustle of joyriding in fancy cars to come off as some hotshot drug peddlers. Oh yeah, he's been watching us for a while. His attention then turned to that of the car. How could he pay for the damages to such an exotic vehicle? Surely, he can't spend any of his own money, he didn't do this.

      He can't claim insurance, because then there would be legal problems with us. No, instead he demanded that we give him the money we just made from our recent deal, all previous deals and all subsequent deals to pay directly for the damages made to the GT. Unknowingly to us, this one mistake would change the course of our lives forever.

      The man whose car we crashed was Clay Hawkins, a co-founder of an outlaw biker gang known as the Templars MC, and personally oversaw the Midwest Chapter. The club itself was modelled after the Knights Templar of old. They donned the well-known symbol of a red cross, though unlike the ancient organization where the cross was on a white background to symbolize faith and purity, the Templars MC have the cross on a black background, symbolizing chaos and corruption.

      Their motto was adopted from the Knights Templar, changed to fit the club: "Not to us, not to us, but to the club give the glory." The MC took in reprobates and the damned, taking advantage of their skills as criminals and giving their sad lives a bigger purpose, at least that's what Brick told Finn and I later. In the case of my brothers and I, once our debt was paid off, we were offered a choice: go back to our lives of struggling to sell drugs in the declining city of St. Louis or join the MC directly under the guidance of Clay Hawkins.

      Honestly, the latter option was the only choice. Working with Clay and the Templars to recuperate the dough needed to repair his GT was a blessing in disguise for us. We had an affinity for drug dealing. Our brotherly bond was unbreakable. What we did worked and with more representation and backing behind our operation, we would be unstoppable as well. Brick was quick to accept the offer, and so was Finn and me.

      Clay taught us many valuable lessons. From up until I was 21, it was just the three of us fending for ourselves. Now we had some sort of a father figure, something we lacked in the old man who adopted us and was legally bound as our father. Clay taught us how to ride and take care of a motorcycle.

      He taught us how to handle other drugs like heroin and methamphetamine. He helped Brick and I kick our addiction to cocaine, which in turn helped us sell better and stop making sloppy mistakes like the one that got us into this mess. We were taught how to use a firearm, how to evade or talk to police, how to handle disputes (whether with other club members or with rivals). Clay taught us everything we needed to know.

      My parents gave me away and a new set of parents took me in. All they gave me were the brothers I always wanted and needed. My brothers and I wasn't shown the love our sisters received. Speaking of our sisters, they avoided us completely. We were robbed of having family that cared, until Clay came in.

      He was the parent the three of us never had. Yet again, we were adopted into a new family, the Templars MC. Years passed. Clay passed. Now in his mid-thirties, Brick was completely absorbed into the life of an outlaw biker. He eventually took over as President of the Midwest Chapter. I would come in as VP and Finn would become a Road Captain. Our chapter was known to be the biggest movers of controlled substances in the entire Midwest region of the US.

      In response, the heat on our operations was growing exponentially high. ATF and the FBI were hot on the trails of our manufacturing and transport routes. To cool off from this unwanted attention from the feds, Brick contacted other Presidents of different chapters to discuss plans of expansion. He would leave the current op to an up-and-coming Sgt-at-Arms from Kansas City, and would take us and some other trusted members, as well as some prospects, to Europe.

      Clubs like the Hells Angels and Bandidos had international chapters all over the world. It was time for the Templars to have that same status. A decision was made. We would head to Norway to kickstart a new drug operation.