Chapter 2
Clyde
My head feels split in two. I already know I’m dreaming, but waking up remains a struggle. Debris and dust falls on me like snow, fire glowing somewhere far away as I walk through the endless ruins of this building.
It’s my fault. I set up the bomb. I should have fought tooth and nail to leave.
Someone calls my name, and I open my eyes to see my uncle, Grizzly.
A machine beeps somewhere close. I’m hit by the smell of disinfectant, and pain floods my body. So much pain.
I must be on painkillers though, because the discomfort is behind a wall. I must be in real bad shape if I feel it anyway.
My head spins as I move my gaze from my uncle’s worried frown to the calming pastel blues of the hospital’s interior.
The memories of what happened are a knot I’m only now untangling. I expected to be dead. And I’m not. One of my legs is in a cast, my arms are covered by layers of bandages, my side aches like a motherfucker, but I’m most definitely alive.
Grizzly cracks a smile, showing off his gold fang. My uncle’s in his fifties, has gray in his beard and a face carved by wrinkles after a lifetime of too much tanning, but he’s fit, muscular, and always ready for a fight.
“What… what happened? ”
“You did it, Clyde. You blew up the warehouse, and the cops were all over the place like flies on shit. They found some of the cargo in the rubble, both drugs and guns, so Katze, who was the official owner of the building, is going away for a while. And it gets even better. Before the cops got there, we took some of the ammo.” He looks into my eyes and slows down. “It’s a lot to take in, sorry, you’re probably still out of it. It’s been a week.”
A week ? I’ve been out for an entire week?
I try to speak, but my throat is so dry even the moan I end up making sounds parched.
Grizzly grabs a cup with a straw and offers it to me. “Here, I’ve got you. Shame you can’t be at our local hospital. My old lady would have taken great care of you there, but I suppose this big hospital in the city must have better equipment. You’ve done good. Roy would be proud,” he says and pats my cheek with a satisfied smile.
My brother would have been more proud if I’d gotten the fucker who killed him, and we still don’t know which of the Vulture bastards did it. I’d wipe them all out, but annihilating twenty or so bikers wouldn’t go unnoticed by the law even in that backwards village they all live in like some incestuous commune of violent hippies.
I never thought I’d get to be anyone important within the club hierarchy. Especially not at twenty-seven. My older brother was the prez, but me? Just your average member of the Hell’s Butchers MC, ready to stick my neck out when needed, but only then. After my older brother’s murder, my uncle took over the reins, but he seems to want me to step up as well. He might even expect me to become his official right hand in the future. As a younger guy, I could become the anchor of the club, whereas he might have just ten or fifteen more years left on the hog. I didn’t expect it, but I’m tied to the club for life, so if push comes to shove, I might have to go with that flow. The only way I’m ever leaving is in a body bag anyway. At least closer to leadership, I’ll be able to steer the club toward revenge for Roy’s death.
We just need to find out who did it. Who left him hanging off a hook and bloodied, with a crow inside his chest…
But something else strikes me from the left field.
I remember what Roadkill told me before I lost consciousness. Even worse, what I answered. A sudden bout of nausea hits me so hard some of the water I’ve just drunk rises in my gullet.
No no no no.
“Roadkill. Is he dead? ”
Please be dead.
Grizzly sighs, only to tear my ribs apart without even trying. “The fucker’s about as dead as you are. I swear, that cockroach might even survive being shot point blank with a shotgun,” he says and opens his mouth, as if he were about to spit over his shoulder. He does stop himself since we’re in a hospital, and rolls his eyes. “But he’s worse off than you. It’ll be a while until he goes back to being a menace.”
The nausea is back in my throat, because all I can think of is that cocky half-smile on Roadkill’s bloodstained face as he announced he’d want to fuck me. Like not doing that was his one regret in life.
I hate him.
I want him.
But I hate him more. Because he lured me into an answer I would have never given if I hadn’t been sure I was dying. No one can know this, and especially not some fuck from the Vulture Hollow MC. I’m hot and cold all at once as I consider my next step.
I have to kill him. There’s no other way out of this.
I clear my throat. “He’s in the hospital?” Hospitals are considered neutral ground, but if I have to make an exception for Roadkill, I fucking will.
Grizzly snorts and adjusts his worn leather jacket. “Literally a few doors down the hall. You couldn’t make this shit up. God’s turning our lives into a bad sitcom.”
“We are the Hell’s Butchers. He’s not gonna make this easy on us.” I try to chuckle, but it hurts my ribs too much. “Listen, I feel like shit. Could you go get me a Twix from the vending machine?” I’ve been here enough times to know they have those downstairs.
Grizzly taps his knees and rises. “Sweet tooth? Just imagine how badly you’ll want a beer the moment you’re out of here,” he says, padding to the door, ignorant to the turmoil inside me.
“Can’t fucking wait.”
But what I really can’t fucking wait for is Roadkill’s death. I can start gathering my thoughts once my uncle leaves, but I’m not faring well. My body is one big ache, and it’s distracting me from the task at hand.
Still, I force myself to sit up. I’m attached to an IV drip, and my leg’s in a cast, but fuck it, I’ll use the IV stand to help me walk.
My head is in such turmoil though. Roadkill’s gay? I’ve never even heard gossip about that, so I’m guessing he might be like me, steamrolling over that fact until it’s buried deep enough that it doesn’t even matter anymore. But we’ve both unearthed it, and I’ve got no idea what to do with that.
I hate myself for telling him I’d let him do me. Shame washes over me every time I think about it. I said it out loud. Not only to just some guy, but my enemy. He’s been that from the day I met him.
I was seventeen, drunk as fuck on the night I got patched in as prospect, and still inexperienced. To celebrate, our club went to get wasted at the Fleece, a bar the Vultures were known to hang out at. When I went to piss, I might have glanced at his dick a bit too long before I even noticed the patches he was sporting. Thick dark brows, tattoos, hooded eyes with long lashes, and a crooked nose proving he wasn’t afraid to get in a fight. I couldn’t deny his appeal even if I wasn’t gonna do anything about it.
He was everything I wanted and couldn’t have.
One ' The fuck you looking at ?' turned into a fight where he split my lips, and I broke his finger, and there was no going back. He became my main enemy and obsession. I always look for him if I see a group of Vultures. He's a bit bigger than me, so I’ve learned ways of fighting him efficiently.
But even when my thoughts want to stray, I’ve never imagined we could—
Now is the time to get rid of the temptation he presented. For good.
Everything hurts. My hope is Grizzly will take this as an opportunity to grab a smoke while he’s away, which should offer me a bit more time, but even getting off the bed so soon after waking up is torture . My leg is itchy under the cast, my muscles must have already started wasting away from lack of use, and my head keeps spinning whenever I move that bit too fast. But I’m determined to eliminate the threat to my existence, and nothing’s going to stop me. Especially not my own body.
I move one foot after the other, huffing along the way. I find a crutch behind the bed and take it with me so I don’t have to put weight on the cast. It only makes my trek a tiny bit easier, but I’ve spent my life getting tough, and a bit of pain is not about to stop me.
I glance through the little frosted windows in the doors I pass, trying to act casual, but there’s no nurse in the corridor, and maybe for once in my life, I’ll be lucky.
A few doors down the corridor , Grizzly said, and when I notice a motorbike figurine on a table inside one of the rooms I’m passing, my heart speeds up, beating harder, as if it’s pumping more blood .
My vision’s blurry, the edge of the cast digs into the flesh of my groin, and I’m barely holding myself upright, but the moment I touch the door handle and pull the door open, my fate and Road’s are sealed. Not everyone might outright believe him if he revealed my secret, but even a shadow of doubt might be enough to stain my reputation forever. I can’t have that.
For half a second I’m not sure what I’m seeing, but as I close the door behind me, I realize half of Road’s face is bandaged up. In the most pathetic assassination attempt in history, I limp to his bed, dragging the IV with me. If I’m lucky, I’ll kill him in his sleep. Put a pillow over his fucking face and be done with it.
But his one eye opens, and he doesn’t seem groggy like I still am.
Not knowing what to do, I end up staring back at him, because maybe… he doesn’t remember what he said. Roy once had a bike accident, and lost memory of the two hours before he drove into that ditch.
Road’s looking awful, even more banged up than I feel. Both his arms are trapped in casts, and what I can see of his face is swollen and bruised. Even the eye staring my way is somewhat bloodshot, as if someone slammed his face just yesterday.
A moment passes in silence, but then his mouth twitches into a smile. “Ooh, didn’t think you’d come for that fuck so fast,” he rasps, moving all his fingers, as if he wanted to show me how eager he is. “Might be difficult in the cast, but I’ll take a hand job any day.”
He looks like shit. He’s not even touching me, and I’m already flooded with so much heat I’d worry about getting a flush if I wasn’t bruised like all fuck.
He remembers. He fucking remembers. For a moment, I wanted to give him a pass, since he can’t defend himself, to keep the honor of not killing a man at the hospital, but he’s crossed a line.
Holding on to the IV, I limp closer. I want to smash my crutch into his face, but I’m too weak and end up bringing it down on his chest with hardly enough force to cause real damage.
“I don’t know what you’re on to say shit like that!”
“The good drugs,” Road tells me and laughs, as if my attack didn’t even cause him discomfort. My gaze wanders to the IVs attached to his body. Could I overdose him and this way bear no responsibility for his passing ?
“Don’t worry,” he goes on, watching me from behind the dressings. “I won’t tell your secret to anyone, but it sure gave me something to think about during lonely nights at the hospital.”
I get goose bumps all over and my heart beats faster. He’s awakening something in me I don’t like. Something no girl I’ve been with could. Deep down I’ve always known why, but facing the reason doesn’t bring me joy.
“Don’t even dare think about it. I was talking shit,” I say as I drag the crutch back to my side.
“Sure you were. As we all do when death’s about to strike,” Road mumbles, and while amusement keeps flickering in his visible eye, his voice softens, until it‘s like a warm hand stroking my nape.
How would his hands feel on my body? Fuck, no matter how much I despise him, a part of me wants to find out. I’m chewing on his words when the door behind me opens, and frost overcomes the whole room.
A woman clears her throat. “I—I didn’t know you were awake.”
Road’s done this on purpose. Kept me talking, so I wouldn’t kill him. I stalled like a fucking dumbass. Like convincing him of anything was more important than disposing of him. Or did I just like him talking to me like that? If I did, I wouldn’t be admitting it even to myself.
A chuckle behind me rips me out of my thoughts and I’m faced with several members of the Vulture Hollow MC.
“Fancy seeing you here,” their prez, Prophet, says without humor in his voice. “You brought Road some flowers? Or just exchanging tips on dealing with broken ribs?”
Road exhales, rubbing the back of his head against the pillow, as if trying to get rid of an itch. “He came to tell me he’s waiting for a rematch in the future.”
I let out a non-committal grunt, and push my way through them, making sure I drag the wheels of my IV drip over Creep’s foot, since he wears those weird soft barefoot shoes. Sadly, the snorts behind me still leave me humiliated because I’m all too aware that in the damn hospital gown half my ass is showing.
A nasty part of me, one I buried away with half my soul long ago, wonders if Road liked getting a glimpse.