Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
NOAH
The clubhouse sits on an empty road on the way to who knows where.
The building itself is unremarkable, two stories, brick, windows covered with bars.
But the motorcycles lined up outside tell a different story.
Chrome gleaming under streetlights, each one worth more than most people make in a year.
I pay the taxi guy enough to keep him here for an hour as this won’t take long. As I approach the open gate, two men stand outside in leather vests, patches indicating rank and affiliation. One of them steps forward as we get close.
"Noah Bryson, I think Marcus would like to see me."
Both of the guys look at each other, recognition of my name on their faces, the larger of the two, a bald headed guy, makes a call on his phone, announcing my arrival no doubt to Marcus. As soon as he ends the call, he nods at me.
"Follow me."
Inside, the clubhouse smells like gasoline, old leather, and stale beer.
The main room is large with a pool table in one corner, bar along the back wall, mismatched furniture scattered throughout.
The walls are covered with patches, photographs, memorabilia from decades of criminal history.
This isn't a social club, it’s a fortress.
Men watch us as we walk through, some nod and others just stare.
All of them have questions, deciding if I’m a threat.
I’m led to a back office that’s more private.
A large wooden table dominates the center.
Behind it sits Marcus, and I have to give it to him, he controls his facial expressions well without giving too much away.
Another guy stands against the wall, and I recognize him as Ethan, Marcus’ friend and owner of the Infinity Hotels.
I did a little research on him before I met Marcus there.
He watches me with dark eyes that hold a familiar distance, an unattached manner.
He looks out of place here in an open blue shirt with navy pants, a belt and black leather shoes that have been shined to within an inch of their life.
Marcus stands as I enter. "Noah. Good to see you again. This is my friend, Ethan."
"Marcus." I shake his hand. "Ethan." Ethan nods but doesn't speak.
Marcus points to the chair where I sit, as Marcus sits behind his desk facing me.
"So, this is a surprise visit, you came on your own?" Marcus asks.
"Yes."
"Interesting, I would have expected you to turn up with one of the Kozlov guys."
“Why? I’m not part of them.”
“As I said before, you got balls, Noah. I take it you’ve made a decision?”
"I'll continue my father's funding. Everything will remain the same, but I want something in return."
Marcus leans back slightly. "What?"
"Three things. Access to club facilities when I need them. Safe houses, storage, whatever resources you have available."
Marcus nods slowly. "That can be arranged. What else?"
"Second, assistance with cover-ups when necessary. Bodies, evidence, witnesses. I need to know I can call on the club if a situation requires cleanup."
Marcus's expression doesn't change, but I see something shift in his eyes. Curiosity.
"And the third?" he asks.
"I want to participate in club operations. Specifically, any killings you carry out, interrogations. I'm not interested in drugs or extortion or any of the other business. Just the violence if the mood takes me, that includes me bringing any victims here. No questions asked."
The room goes very quiet. Marcus studies me for a long moment, then he leans forward, elbows on the table.
"You're asking for permission to kill with us."
"I'm offering to contribute, when I’m available, of course. In exchange for funding and resources."
"Why?"
"It’s something I enjoy, and I also need something that’s going to entertain if I have to live here full time.”
Another long silence and Marcus's eyes narrow slightly, processing this what appears to him to be an unusual request. I look at it as smart business for me.
I have urges, especially when triggered by anyone who comes close to Chase.
This will make it an easier and safer process, so Chase worries less and I get to fulfill a need when the mood hits.
"You're not like your father," he says finally.
"Thats a compliment I’ll take."
“He never wanted to get his hands dirty, but you, you're something else." Marcus glances at Ethan, then back at me. "You're secure telling me this because you know I'll figure it out eventually."
"It wouldn’t take long for you to figure out who I am, this just saves the bullshit. I don’t do friends, or chit chat or heart to hearts."
Marcus is quiet for another moment. Then, surprisingly, he smiles. "I like you, Noah. You're direct."
"I don't see the point in pretending."
"Most people do, they like to play a role." Marcus gestures toward Ethan. "Even Ethan here pretends to be something he's not most of the time."
Ethan's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Careful, Marcus."
I stand slowly, unable to stop myself from crossing the room toward Ethan. He straightens slightly as I approach, but doesn't move away. So alike. I stand in front of him.
"You wear a mask," I say quietly, before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, before blowing the smoke into his face to test him.
He remains neutral, absolute control. My voice is barely above a whisper, intimate in a way that has nothing to do with warmth.
"I can see it in the way you smile, the way you speak. The careful construction of normalcy."
Ethan holds my gaze. Something dark flickers behind his eyes that matches what lives inside me. I’ve never met someone like me before and it’s fascinating.
"Everyone lives in a disguise," he says.
"No." I take another step forward, my voice dropping even lower. "Not everyone, some of us just are. But you…you hide and pretend. You bury what you are beneath the charm and sophistication to fit in. I bet you even practice how to act in public." That last comment gets a harsh smile in response.
"And what do you think I am, Noah?"
I tilt my head, studying him the way I'd study a puzzle. "The same thing I am. A monster that doesn't feel the way humans feel. Something that hunts."
The air between us feels thick and demonic. In my peripheral, Marcus has gone very still at his desk, watching this exchange with the wariness of a man who knows danger when he sees it.
"Remember you don't know me," Ethan says, but his voice lacks conviction and his posture has shifted, engaged in the conversation.
"I don't need to know you." This isn’t an attraction to Ethan, its recognition of another species from my world. The closest I have ever seen was my mother.
"Animals scent other animals and predators sense predators close by. I can sense it in you, that same emptiness that lives in me."
Ethan's breathing has changed, becoming shallow. His eyes are locked on mine, and I can see it now, all of the things he hides. The darkness he keeps carefully contained.
"Stop hiding it," I say, the words are soft, almost gentle, but there's nothing gentle in them, I’m wanting him to live it. "Stop pretending to be something you're not. Embrace what you are. Embrace the evil inside you. Let it breathe."
For a long moment, neither of us moves. The room feels airless, wrong, like reality has bent slightly out of shape. Two things that shouldn't exist standing too close together, recognizing each other in a way that defies the natural order.
Then Ethan laughs, a genuine sound, but there's something broken in it that confirms everything I've said.
"You're right," he says quietly. "I do wear a mask. Most of the time."
"It's unnecessary, at least here. I bet you haven’t acted on half of your impulses, have you?"
"Maybe." His eyes are still locked on mine, and I can see the real him now, fully visible, no longer hidden. "But the world outside this room requires a lie. You'll learn that eventually."
"No, unlike you I just don't care."
I step back, returning to my chair as I take another inhale from my death stick, but stubbing it out in the ashtray on Marcus’ desk. The temperature in the room seems to normalize, though the wrongness lingers like a bad taste.
Marcus clears his throat. "Well, that was fucking terrifying."
I turn to face him. "Do we have a deal?"
Marcus studies me for another moment, then stands, extending his hand. "We have a deal, Noah. You fund the club, you get access to our resources. And when we have work that requires your particular skill set, we'll call you."
I shake his hand. "Good, I also expect this in writing."
“Of course. But understand, Noah, this is a partnership. Not a hierarchy. You're not a member of the club. You're an associate—a very valuable associate, but still separate."
“I have no desire to be part of this club. I’m a lone wolf, Marcus.”
"And what about your husband?" Ethan says, not surprised they would do some digging into my life.
“No different than your husband, Ethan. Leo is his name, right?” Ethan glares at me, unhappy that I have said his name out loud.
“I did my research too. I know everything about everyone in this club and in your life too, Ethan. It would be dumb not to. Husbands are off limits but come under protection.”
"Then welcome to the Blackrose Saints, Noah. I think this is going to be a very productive relationship," Marcus says.
Ethan pushes off the wall, crossing to shake my hand as well. When our palms meet, his grip is firmer than it needs to be. "I think we're going to get along very well."
“I doubt that,” I say as Marcus stands.
“Let me show you out, Noah,” Marcus says, and I hold my hand up to stop him.
“No need, I can see myself out,” I say as I walk out of the office, letting the door close behind me.