Chapter 3
Road
I’m the most stubborn motherfucker this side of the Blue Mountains. It took me months to recover from the injuries left behind by the warehouse explosion, but that’s only because my body couldn’t catch up with my mind. I did all the damn exercises, swallowed supplements like they were candy, and I even abstained from alcohol. Most of the time.
Okay, I drank less than usual, which clearly counts, because it’s May, and I’m good as new. Sure, I’ve added a few more scars to my collection, including the burn on my cheekbone, lost half an ear, and one of my joints needs to be put to work slowly, or else it sends shocks of pain down my leg, but that’s nothing. Will be back to normal by the time I say my wedding vows.
Which I don’t plan to ever do, but that’s just a detail.
During my recovery, I’ve not been away from the community run by the Vultures often. It was safer to stick to my cabin, especially since in the winter the mountain roads become treacherous. At least I wasn’t needed out there, because after the shitshow at the warehouse, Prophet negotiated a truce with the Hell’s Butchers MC. While I think they should all rot in unmarked graves, I’m glad for the peace we’ve enjoyed since. What we lost that night is still a financial black hole we’ve not dug ourselves out of, so it’s not like we can afford an all-out war .
I’d be lying if I claimed I’m not interested in any gossip about Clyde and how his recovery is going. Not a day has passed since I left the hospital that I didn’t think about the dimples on his ass. My brain took a vid in fucking 4K, and I replay it in my head before bed each night along with his whisper.
“I would have let you.”
The option dangles in front of me like a candied apple on a string, and I can’t fucking bite into it no matter how hard I try.
That fateful night, when we both lay dying, he told me the truth for once in his life, and now I keep wondering if I really know much about him at all. I hate his guts, but when I think of him under me, suddenly, he doesn’t seem so bad.
A loud meow makes me sit up in bed. Listening to the imaginary Clyde offer himself to me in an increasingly pleading tone gave me a chubby, but I get up and head to the kitchen anyway. “Yeah, yeah, just a moment,” I shout and grab some cans from under the sink.
My home’s a mess, with crumbs on the floor, and empty bottles from the day before yesterday still occupying the coffee table, but it’s mine. No one bothers me here, and even when they do, I can always shut the door in their face. Then again, there are some guests one doesn’t deny.
“Well, hello, leeches,” I say, stepping out onto a porch crowded with furry bodies. I drag my feet to avoid stepping on a paw or tail, but it’s a free-for-all, and I resort to pushing one of the cats off the shelf where I keep clean bowls. Once they’re filled with the meat-mush-and-jelly mixture, I put them down and watch the tiny predators gobble their breakfast.
I refill the kibble bowls next, but most of the animals are here for the gourmet option.
I sit on the wooden steps leading from my porch and pull out my pipe. It’s an old thing I found at a second-hand store after someone got rid of their entire collection. I have no idea how old it actually is, but they don’t make things that fancy anymore. Made of dark wood, it’s small, with the head shaped like a hand holding an old-fashioned goblet. Ideal for smoking cherry tobacco.
I’m sucking in the first round of smoke when Leto, one of the strays that found a home in our compound, approaches me, licking his black face. “What is it, Old Boy? Satisfied?” I ask as he climbs into my lap and drops in it, as if it were his spot .
I look out from my vantage point at the cabins scattered among the trees. The whole area used to be Camp Happy Bird all the way back in the seventies. Never in my life did I imagine living in a place like this in my childhood. My family was the kind that sent their kid shoplifting, not to summer camp, and while this is all now Vulture Hollow MC territory, there are still remnants of its past.
Where the archery range used to be, we now shoot guns, the old fire pits are still there for all to gather around, and the teens who live here still go to the treehouses for “birdwatching”.
This place is worth fighting for. Even if it’s built on drug money and moonshine, it feels like a dream to me. From the fresh air and the freedom of the surrounding forest, to the camaraderie of the commune and the club, I’ve never known belonging like it. I’d not risk my place with the Vultures for dick. Or at least that’s what I tell myself, because I’ve been thinking about one particular piece of ass more than I should lately. I don’t know what’s worse, that he’s a guy, or that he’s a fucking Butcher.
I’m out of my damn mind.
“Bet your buddies wouldn’t care if you climbed on another tomcat, huh?” I mumble, letting out clouds of flavored smoke while the other cats are still swarming on my porch. Leto purrs as I rub his chin, but when I notice a tall figure climbing the path leading toward my home all the way from the other cabins, I know peace is over.
“I hope you have breakfast,” I say, closing my eyes as the sun emerges from behind the clouds, and everything becomes too bright.
“Yep, fresh out of the oven,” Prophet says and throws me a paper-wrapped bundle. I barely manage to catch it, but my reflexes are still there. I do have to put down my pipe but that’s not a bad exchange.
Leto bounces off my lap when I don’t want to share my hot sandwich. The smell alone is pure bliss. Freshly baked bread with fried egg and bacon. I bite in with a happy groan, since I can’t cook for shit, and the community kitchen is my lifeline.
Prophet leans against the wooden post next to me, and appears relaxed enough for me to not worry, but it’s not like he visits me every morning, so he must want something.
“So, who needs killing?” I start, meeting his green eyes.
My prez lets out a low chuckle and stretches his muscular body. With the long, dark wavy hair, thick beard, and occult tattoos, he looks like a Viking. But while he believes in horoscopes and amulets a bit too much, he’s definitely not about the kumbayas. He’s a fair leader, though, and I appreciate that.
“Just the squirrel that burrows in my roof. Unless I manage to convince it to move,” he says and joins me on the steps with his own sandwich.
“Tough nut, that one,” I say with a straight face, and he shoves my shoulder so hard I almost drop my food.
“Anyway, I was thinking about that rally we were meant to go to next week—”
Anticipation warms my chest, and I stuff the remainder of my breakfast into my mouth. “What ‘bout it?”
“Apparently the Butchers are going. Two different chapters. Clyde is supposed to be there, show off that he’s all healed up and on the hog, and… I don’t think we should go. We’re barely digging ourselves out of the hole, and the truce will only last so long. I know how you’ll be when you see him, and we don’t need that right now. We’re voting on it tonight, and I want you on my side about this.”
Prophet is serious, worried, yet all I can think of in an instant is that Clyde Turner will be there. At a party that is supposed to be neutral ground. He and the ass that looks so good in jeans.
I haven’t seen him for months, since that day in the hospital, when he came into my room and slapped me with a crutch. One of the most erotic experiences of my life to date.
Yes, I am exaggerating. But not completely. I was too banged-up to do anything at the time, but loved seeing his ass when he shuffled out.
That guy will be at the rally, where I can stumble upon him by accident . Does he think about me as intensely as I do about him? Does he want me on top of him? Does he want me inside him? It’s not like I can DM him and ask...
Prophet snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Road. This isn’t the time to fantasize about revenge.”
“I’m not,” I say, waving his hand away as if it were a pesky fly. When my friend lifts his brows in a universal expression of disbelief, I pray he never finds out what I’m really thinking. If he did, he’d have me thrown into the lake, along with all my stuff, and I’d never be welcome again.
But Prophet, or my other friends, won’t despise me for things they know nothing about, and since Clyde’s in the same boat as me... maybe a mutual destruction agreement could be on the table? I don’t need to like him to fuck him. I just have to meet him in person and ask.
“So what, you think we should run with our tails between our legs and show everyone we’re scared of the Butchers?” I ask, challenging Prophet with my gaze.
My motives may be wrong, but my reasoning isn’t.
Prophet groans and pushes back his hair. “We’re not scared, it would just be better to lay low a little longer.” He doesn’t believe it himself. He knows it would seem weak if we didn’t go. I need to twist that knife in harder.
“Let’s stop policing whether they cross our land too. Why prod the big bad Hell’s Butchers when we can just stay hidden in the woods? Maybe we should ask them for a fishing permit too? Just in case they have an objection.”
Prophet glares at me, but the message hits home. We can’t back down. Especially not when Clyde is up and running. And willing… potentially.
“Fine. I see how you’ll be voting. Better bring your steel-capped boots then.”
My prez isn’t happy, but fuck it. All I can think of is how Clyde’s pale blue eyes bore into me right before the roof caved in on us. He saw me, and thought to himself I would . That alone makes me so horny I can’t think straight, and I’m glad I’m in sweatpants. I don’t care that he broke my finger, spat at me, or set a damn bomb in our warehouse. I want him.
It can be our secret. I need to make him see that.
“Road! Prophet!” Rooster is yelling as he runs toward my cabin, his ginger mohawk flapping from side to side. “Molly’s giving birth!”
And just like that, we both get up to go and provide his sister with whatever she might need.