Chapter 4
Clyde
“And he stabbed you here ?” A warm, slender hand dives under my T-shirt. I try not to stiffen, because this is the pretty girl Uncle Grizzly wanted me to meet, and I don’t want to offend him. Her touch is featherlight, fingers smooth, bony, and decorated with long red talons that now tickle the scar Roadkill left on me the night I can’t forget no matter how much booze I pour down my gullet.
It’s healed well, and while the flesh remains uneven to the touch, it’s the kind of injury I would have long forgotten if it wasn’t for who left it on me, and in what circumstances. I have dreams about the moment Road shoved his knife deep into my side, and in the reality conjured by my fucked-up mind, the smoke surrounding us is fragrant rather than choking. He’s watching me, wide-eyed, as the blade penetrates me over and over, sending electric sensations into my phantom body. It all ends in a gush of blood, and then I wake up in sweaty sheets, my cock hard as if I got off on the idea of this mongrel killing me.
I’m fucked up and no one can know this. I don’t even know if I’m gay, or faulty like a bike with missing parts. But if I’m broken somehow, I don’t know how to fix myself.
A warm breeze carrying the scent of the nearby woods weaves itself into my hair. The rally’s being held in a pasture owned by a relative of one of the men present. The people are mingling a bit, but each club generally keeps to its own bonfire. It’s unfortunate how often my gaze strays, seeking the hateful faces of the Vultures, because I should be paying attention to the touch ghosting over my skin .
The girl running her fingers over my abs is pretty, I can see that. My logical mind can go there. It’s not like I’m repulsed by her. But I don’t want her in the way all the men around me do, and trying to deny that would be useless.
For many years, I was able to drift, detached from myself thanks to my good friend Johnnie Walker and keeping busy with the club. And then that motherfucker pulls that long-buried lust out of me with his bare hands, eviscerates me, stabs his claws into me, and doesn’t even have the decency to end me.
If I never see him again, it’s too soon.
Too bad I get my share of dreams about him.
I’m getting too hot standing by the bonfire, and I want people to see me indulging a woman’s touch, so I fake a smile and pull my T-shirt off. Working out and rehab have been my saving grace. Might as well show it off. No one needs to know that some days I need to exhaust myself to the edge of passing out just to stop thinking about him and the things I would let him do if I knew for certain that there would be no consequences.
“Yep, and didn’t even skewer any organ. He’d miss my forehead even if his gun’s barrel was against it.”
I laugh. She laughs. My uncle laughs. And a few of the other Butchers around us laugh too. I have everything under control, I’m back on the hog, and I will find my brother’s killer in due time. You can evade the law, but not the vengeance of the Hell’s Butchers MC.
“Seems they won’t stink up the rally with their presence either,” one of our prospects says from somewhere in the back. I didn’t even get to memorize his name yet. Is it Pete or Paul?
Contented hums and laughs resonate around me as Bracer’s old lady hands me a paper plate with the burger I asked for. I nod at her and bite in, content that it provides me with yet another excuse to avoid flirting with the girl my uncle pushed at me tonight. I don’t remember her name either. Was it… Gracie?
“They’re chickenshits. Of course they’re not going to show themselves when they know we’ve come in force,” Grizzly adds with a self-satisfied smile as he toasts the prez of our Newport chapter with a beer bottle. Head was the one to tip us off about the Vulture cargo.
I notice Bracer scowl though as he looks farther into the distance. He’s our treasurer and a man of few words. Like my uncle, he’s an older guy who’s been a member from when my dad was the prez. Bracer’s bald, has a pot belly, and I doubt he could take a guy like Road in a fight, but he’s as sharp with a gun as he was in his youth. The black lightning bolts inked on the sides of his head also serve as a reminder that while he might need to wear glasses, he’s no mild-mannered accountant.
When I follow his gaze, I spot Rooster, one of the easily recognizable of the Vultures due to his red mohawk. Still a prospect, he’s young and skinny but has enough muscle on him to do a handstand and show off. It’s a warm night, but it rained yesterday, so the ground under our feet is quite muddy. Rooster’s hand slips, but when he falls, he laughs, happy as a pig in shit.
“It’s neutral ground. Let’s ignore them,” Bracer says, spotting the tightness in my jaw.
All I can think is that I don’t want to face Road, or I might kill him with dozens of witnesses around us. My uncle’s opening his mouth to contradict Bracer when I speak. “Agreed. Let’s eat, drink, and fuck, not turn the rally into a war zone,” I say and twist out of the girl’s arms as I step away from the bonfire. “Gotta take a leak.”
Grizzly’s face twists until the prematurely-aged skin resembles the muzzle of a bulldog, but he chooses not to contradict me. He might be our new prez, but he wants my opinions respected for that VP future he has planned for me.
I just need to avoid Roadkill. For all I know, he will want to stay away from me and keep the truce.
And yet, as I walk in the mud, zig-zagging from one bonfire to another and finishing my burger, I do wonder if Road really is gay, or if he teases me to be a menace. And if he does like men… Does his club know? Does he fuck around? Did he have some pretty boy take care of him during his recovery the way Gracie tended to me? Or is he as deep in the closet as me and doesn’t even consider finding a male partner for sex?
I grab a beer out of our prospect’s hand as he passes me, and don’t even look back. I need to be away and on my own. Despite my better judgement, I circle the area where I last saw Rooster. The Vultures travel in packs, so I expect to spot stragglers. Oddly enough, Creep is the one I notice first. Clad in all-black and with dark messy hair falling into his face, he melds into the shadows, leaving only his pale face visible. His eyes meet mine, but no emotion crosses his features as I walk by, fighting the urge to shudder.
Fuck, I hate that goddamn freak.
But as I move on, pretending to be unaffected by the gaze surely plastered to my back, more familiar figures are revealed by the glow of a bonfire close to the outer boundary of the field. Their whole shitty club’s here, as well as a force of hangarounds, as if they knew they needed to make up for the low number of men they have when compared to two Butcher chapters. The civilians living on their land might be loyal, but there’s a reason they don’t have patches on their backs. You earn those with blood.
I hardly expect the Vultures to break a truce that’s in their favor, especially with their enforcer nowhere to be seen—
For half a second, my eyes meet Road’s. He emerges from the darkness, zipping up his jeans, and I turn away without thinking.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Just moments ago, I felt like a shark circling the waters and assessing the little fish, but now it’s like I’m the one who’s spilled blood in the water. I clench my bottle, and I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t, but I tense my back as well, to show off all the lean muscle under my ink. I shouldn’t be wondering whether he likes my long hair loose either, yet it crosses my mind, as if pleasing him is something I care about in the slightest.
A petite figure emerges right in front of me out of nowhere, and red-taloned hands rest on my bare abdomen. I hold my breath, tense with the worry that this might be the prelude to a truce-breaking attack, but no, it’s just the pretty girl who prompted me to take off my T-shirt in the first place.
“There you are! Come on, Grizzly says we can’t open the good whiskey without you!”
“Hell yes!” This is perfect. I smile in relief and put my arm over her shoulders more eagerly than I would have otherwise. I want Road to see this. He will not be holding my moment of weakness over me like an executioner's axe.
I’m an attractive guy and maybe it’s just my past that’s messed me up. No need to delve into any of that.
But then Road has to open his goddamn mouth and fuck it up for everyone, as always.
“I wonder whose dick those pretty boy lips sucked to make them patch you in so young.”
I clench my jaw and turn around, because it’s over. I can’t let this go. I won’t.
On the side where the orange glow of fire hits Road’s face, the scars are a permanent memory of that fateful night when we almost died. Sadly, they make him no less handsome. He oozes masculinity—from his size, his heavy boots, his thick eyebrows, and the buzz cut, to the dark eyes that say ‘I’m gonna fuck you up’. Or ‘ fuck you ’. I don’t know which one it is, but we’re about to find out.