Motorcycle Monk

Father Tim has a dream: to build a sanctuary village for San Diego’s forgotten souls. But when a ruthless real estate empire exploits a loophole to seize his family’s land, his mission—and his faith—hang in the balance.

To fight back, Tim must infiltrate the Red Diablo Motorcycle Club, a notorious gang tied to Big Corp’s corrupt CEO. Trading his collar for leather, he rides into a world of violence, loyalty tests, and temptation. The deeper he goes, the more he risks losing himself to the outlaw life—and to Tami, a fiery club member with secrets of her own.

Together, they uncover a conspiracy that reaches into Tim’s past, revealing the shocking truth behind his fiancée’s death. Now hunted by killers, Tim faces the ultimate choice: vengeance or forgiveness, darkness or light.

Motorcycle Monk is a gritty tale of faith and fury, where the road to redemption is paved with sacrifice—and the dream of peace may demand everything.

Prologue

Father Tim exited the hospital elevator on the top floor of Scripps La Jolla Hospital. The sign in the hallway read Hospice Unit. The bright lights half-blinded him, and the antiseptic smell, so common in hospitals, seemed overwhelming today. He was not wearing his clerical suit, the typical Catholic priest uniform, nor his traditional Franciscan brown habit. Today he was here not as a priest, but as a son, visiting his estranged, dying father.

He and his dad had shared a volatile relationship over the years. His father, Sterling Vale, was a well-known and successful real estate developer in San Diego. Sterling desperately wanted his only son, Tim, to join him in the company and carry on his business legacy. But the tragic murder of Tim’s fiancée, Lisa, in Mexico had completely changed the trajectory of his life.

Shattered, Tim turned to his faith for salvation, finding shelter in the Franciscan Brotherhood and eventually being ordained as a Catholic priest. Sterling vehemently tried to talk him out of it. He wanted his son to be successful and wealthy like himself. But after losing Lisa, the modern world of success and money meant nothing to Tim.

Tim had not seen his father in over a year, ever since Sterling’s first diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. He had avoided his father’s pleas to visit, to spend time with him before the inevitable end brought by this aggressive disease. Afraid of reopening old wounds, Tim always seemed to find his calendar too full to make the trip.

Finally, guilt caught up with him when his father entered hospice care. Tim decided he needed to visit. He stopped abruptly before entering the room, tears forming in his eyes. Inside lay a man once so full of physical prowess he could make professional athletes shrink in his presence. Now, Sterling was shriveled, covered in tubes and instruments—a ghost of the man Tim barely recognized.

Tim entered. His father’s eyes, foggy with morphine, opened to see him. Recognition flickered, a flash of excitement and joy at the sight of his son. No words were exchanged as Tim walked over, taking his father’s weathered, shaky hand in his own, tears flowing down his face.

I’ve been at the bedside of hundreds of dying people, Tim thought. I was always calm, always the one providing comfort without emotion. Why am I like this now?

Memories of their life together rushed through his mind—his father coaching basketball, family vacations, weekday dinners. Oh, how he would kill to go back in time, to sit once more at that dinner table with his mom, dad, and sister. There had been such simplicity and comfort in those moments. Tim whispered a silent prayer: Lord, is there any way to turn back the clock to those days, even just for a few minutes? Or just a year, so I could spend more time with my dying dad. I could apologize for being such a terrible son all these years.

Sterling’s eyes fluttered, but his grip remained strong. He drew Tim closer, lips moving slowly. Tim leaned in, smelling the mix of fear and death. “I love you, son. You are the proudest accomplishment of my life. I will always love you.”

Tim pulled away, sobbing, gasping for air. Sterling tugged him back, his breathing labored. “Land… yours…”

Tim thought, land? The downtown land? 

Sterling’s breath grew weaker. More words came, broken and faint: “Colt… danger… watch out…”

And with those final words, his breathing stopped.

Tim sat stunned, shivering. He leaned over the bed, hugging and clinging to the empty shell of his father. Tears poured as he whispered again and again, “I’m so sorry, Dad… I’m so sorry…”

Minutes later, a nurse gently patted his back, pulling him away. “I am sorry for your loss. Your dad was a good man.”

Tim stood, walked into the hall, and headed to the bathroom to wash the tears from his face. Looking into the mirror, he remembered his father’s last words: Land? Colt? Danger?

Was he leaving the downtown land to me for my village? What danger was he talking about? Who is Colt? Does he mean Grayson Colt?

Then, faintly, he heard a soft female voice: “Seek, and you will find.”

Chapter 1

I climbed onto the worn seat of my Harley. Wobbly from the last few shots of tequila, I stared at my bike, sweat dripping from my dark beard and down my arms. I had to stop this insanity—running with the Red Diablos motorcycle gang. If they ever found out who I really was and what I was doing, I’d be roadkill in minutes.

As I revved the engine, Big Bob, the gang leader, pulled up beside me. “Hey, Padre, ready to raise some hell?”

Padre—that was the nickname they’d given me because of the cross tattoo on my shoulder. Ironic, isn’t it?

Our gang of twelve roared out onto Highway 76, leaving behind a Josies Hideout Salon, five miles north of the Morettis Junction.

Tonight’s MC mission was simple: find a rich guy or gal, scare them to death, and steal everything they had in their vehicle. I had passed my initiation rites, and this was my first mayhem ride with the Reds. The strange thing was, I was excited and at home.

We quickly found our first victim, a rich guy driving a black Tesla truck, creeping along at 55 mph.

As we approached, Tami, in tight leathers and bright red lipstick, pulled alongside me. She gave me a sexy smile, a wink, and showing off her riding skills, she let go of both handlebars and formed a heart sign with her hands. A door of excitement inside me opened wide, casting a shadow across my soul.

Fueled by tequila and testosterone, I raised my fist, signaling to the gang that I would take the lead. I revved my engine and cut in front of the Tesla. Fear flashed across the driver’s face as he slammed on the brakes to avoid colliding with me. The gang encircled the truck, engines roaring, fists raised, snarling insults.

On the straightaway, Nasty Gator, he’d earned the nickname by wrestling and killing an alligator, pulled alongside and unleashed a salvo of black and red paintballs, our gang colors, covering the truck and windshield in seconds.

The Tesla pulled over. We let loose another barrage, turning the sleek black truck blood red. Nasty Gator climbed on top, torch cutter in hand, slicing through the roof. Heat and smoke filled the air as aluminum melted away.

With a hole cut, Gator dropped inside, climbing over bags of groceries to unlock a rear door. At the same time, the driver bolted from the front seat, trying to escape. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him running. I switched my paintball gun to full auto and peppered him until he collapsed, curling into the fetal position.“Get up!” I screamed, unloading another burst.

By then, the gang had ripped open every door and the truck bed, stuffing rucksacks with whatever they could grab. The haul was heavy: about five grand in cash and a stash of expensive wine.

My adrenaline was in overdrive. The driver was crawling away, I could see the welts rising from the close-range paintballs. I felt a jolt of compassion for him that disappeared as quickly as it came. Who am I becoming?

Tami appeared with an open bottle of Cabernet, handing it to me. I chugged a third of it before she wrapped her arms around my neck, pressing her body hard against mine. She whispered something in my ear that made me blush as red as the wine. With a wink and a pat on my butt, she sauntered back to her bike.

Suddenly. something inside me shattered. A euphoria surged through me, warmth rising from my feet to my chest. I stepped toward the road, gazing at the deep blue Pacific Ocean. With a maniacal grin, I raised the bottle overhead, screaming into the night, chains of guilt breaking free.

Who am I? I wasn’t sure. But I knew one thing: I was beginning to love this motorcycle gang life.

Then, oddly, I heard a soft female voice deep within me whisper: “Seek, and you will find.”

From the rear of the pack, Gator and Johnny watched Tami climb back on her bike. Jealousy burned in Gator’s eyes. “ Tami’s got a nice body doesn’t she?” he muttered.

Johnny smirked. “She sure does and she’s got the hots for that new guy, Padre. Padre’s is such a skinny nerd.”

Damon snarled. “I’ve been in this gang six years, worked my way up to enforcer. Padre’s a whiny rookie who thinks he’s hot shit. I’ve chased Tami for three years—what’s wrong with me?”

They watched as Padre circled the ruined Tesla, fist pumping like he’d scored a touchdown. Damon squirmed in his seat.

“What a fake. There’s something about that guy I don’t trust. I’ll find out his real story. And when I do, I’ll end him. Padre, you’ll go to confession with me one day.”

Chapter 2

After a raucous celebration back at the clubhouse, it was time for me to go. I had work at my day job early in the morning. I was scheduled to say the 8:00 a.m. Mass.

I pulled my Harley into a hidden garage in Pacific Beach, riding through a concealed panel door. Parking at the back, I walked to the main garage. I smelled like a goat and needed a shower.

Up a narrow staircase along the north wall, I entered a small room with a toilet, sink, and shower. I stripped off my paint-stained gang vest and stepped under the hot water.

I was still shaking from the adrenaline rush.  I watched as the red paint and sweat washed down the drain. Could this be my biker’s baptism?

After scrubbing clean, I caught my reflection in the fogged mirror. At first, I didn’t recognize myself. My eyes were larger, more intense, but dimmer—like the light from my soul could no longer reach them.

I wiped the fog away, desperate to find the brightness that once shone. Dropping my head to my chest, three questions haunted me: How long can I do this? Will it be worth it? And why in hell do I love this life so much?