Chapter 7
Road
I wipe the vapor from my bathroom mirror and stare at my reflection. The burn scar on my face is now healed, and while it did fuck up the switchblade tattoo around my eye, I keep being told it makes me look even more like trouble. Sexier.
Does Clyde find it sexy too, or is he only interested because I’m the one gay man he knows? I grab my best cologne and spray it across my chest then down the abdomen, creating a treasure trail for him to follow. Because, surely, he doesn’t actually plan to fight me when we meet?
Was “knives” a way to say “bare dicks” without leaving a paper trail, in case someone got into the burner and read his message? After all, he did come while watching me jerk off. I could sporadically hear the crackle of his breath, but knowing a man was on the other end of the line pleasuring himself as he watched my body was giving me the biggest hard-on of my entire life. I came so hard and fast, because how could I not when the short call aroused me more than anything I’ve ever done with a girl?
If I ever had any doubts about my real sexuality, the video call axed them for good.
I dress in my best jeans—made of black denim and showing off my hips and ass just right—and a dark red tank top, because my arms are one of my best features. Like everything I own, they go well with my leather jacket, which has a casual vibe due to the hood and faded gray color. I choose my fanciest belt buckle, with several pieces of amber embedded in the abstract design, and leave my cabin, knowing I need a distraction .
Dinner time is about to end in our community kitchen, so I rush down the path, heading for one of the largest buildings on club property. During this place’s time as a summer camp for kids, it served the very same function. Granted, it surely didn’t have weird taxidermy on display, nor photos from motorcycle club events, but I can’t imagine the food back then was as good as what Rhonda is serving. Many people are involved in preparing the meals, of course, but she’s still the boss of pot-and-pan land.
Creep’s having his meal on the roof, and while he waves back, he’s gone the moment I stop looking at him, likely disappointed he’s been spotted. Inside, lots of people who have already finished eating are gathered in groups, chatting or playing games, but the kitchen’s not closing for another fifteen minutes, so I head straight for the counter.
I’m not a fussy guy and have no problem taking whatever food they have left, so mashed potatoes and slow cooked pork it is with a random side of fried egg. I like to get my protein in, and if I get my way, I’ll need the energy tonight.
Clyde did kind of suggest he wants to kill me, but I prefer to assume he just needs an excuse to see me. After all, there was such urgency to his message. He doesn’t even want to wait until tomorrow. If he doesn’t fuck around, does it mean I’ll be his first?
My lips stretch into a silly grin at the very thought, and I’m buzzing with excitement. I know so little about him, and I can’t wait to amend that. Is he a hateful shit? Yes, but he’s also hot as fuck, horny for me, and will keep a secret. That’s good enough for me.
“Road!” Harvey roars at me from the doorway of the canteen and I groan to myself, because this doesn’t sound good at all, and I’m only halfway through my potatoes.
Harvey is as ginger as his son, Rooster, and while he’s in his early fifties, he’s the oldest member of our club. With his skinny legs and massive arms, he reminds me a bit of Popeye, though he’s not half as funny.
“What’s up?” I ask as the music grows louder to signal that everyone is expected to leave within half an hour, so the team on duty can clean up. I used to do that the year after I moved here. I was a scrawny kid back then, underweight, without a single dollar to my name, but the Vulture Hollow MC and the community they built gave me a chance—food, a bed to sleep in, and a way to earn my keep. They didn’t even alert anyone about the unaccompanied teen they’d found by the side of the road to get rid of the problem .
I very quickly understood that they’re good people as long as you follow the rules, and that being here might be a chance to turn my life around. Been trying not to fuck it up ever since.
“ What’s up ?” Harvey repeats, approaching me so red in the face his freckles seem to disappear. “You fucked up our truce! I couldn’t be there yesterday, because, guess what, my daughter has a newborn, and I can’t just fuck around at a rally. And now I’m hearing you got in a fight with the Butchers for no goddamn reason?” By this point, he’s yelling, and some of the adults are ushering the kids out.
I don’t mind being a spectacle, but that doesn’t mean it’s fine that he’s confronting me with lies. “What are you even talking about? Sit down,” I say just as loudly and stuff the pork in my mouth.
Harvey’s nostrils flare, and he slams his hands on the table, making my glass of soda rattle. I grab it before it can tip over.
“Calling the prez’s nephew a faggot? You think they’re gonna let that go?” Harvey stands by my table, but doesn’t dare touch me. Yet. I’ve got my eye on him. There’s a reason I’m the enforcer, and most members won’t fuck with me. Problem is, there are times when they’d rather I was better at enforcing correct behavior in myself .
Always the struggle.
“The only person who said that word was Clyde,” I say, even though I did imply he likes dick. Potayto-potahto. “And it was just a scuffle between me and Clyde. Each of us threw a punch and that was that,” I say and hum, because the meat sauce is real good today.
“Why are you after him at all? Wasn’t months of recovery enough for you? Some of us have families and rather like the peace and quiet.” He stands over me like he’s my dad, and when he shoves my plate, it’s really starting to fucking grate on me. There’s a reason I’ve been chosen for my role in the club, and it’s not ‘cause I’m a nice guy. It’s because I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.
I rise, not even bothering to be quick about it. I’m taller than him, younger, faster, stronger, and definitely more vicious. Both he and I know that, and unlike him, I don’t have anything to lose. “Bastard looked at me funny”—technically true—“I don't like when that happens. And you know who’s looking at me funny now?” I ask, meeting his gaze .
Harvey huffs, balls his fists, but takes half a step back. “So you just gonna risk it all because of that?” he asks, and I appreciate that he’s not raising his voice anymore. “Clyde is dangerous. You may be bigger than him, but their club has several chapters. If he holds a grudge, he’ll find a way to stab you in the back.”
I roll my eyes. Oh, so now Harvey’s gonna pretend he’s the voice of reason. But I don’t want to have internal feuds either, so I exhale and sit down. Because he is right. I’ve picked on Clyde for no good reason other than wanting his attention, putting my club at risk out of selfishness.
Fuck.
“You’re right. But Prophet was there to mitigate. Pretty sure it will all be forgotten.”
Especially after I nail Clyde tonight.
Unless he does want to kill me, but I guess I’ll find out later. Is my judgement clouded by lust? It’s not impossible. That’s what almost thirty years of pent-up tension does to you.
Harvey glances over my shoulder. “Prophet? Road says it was just a scuffle, should I be worried?”
My back breaks out in goosebumps. I trust my brothers, but I’ve learned the reflex to be wary of anyone appearing behind me without warning in childhood, and it’s never gone away.
Prophet narrows his eyes and shakes his head at me. “We’ll see, but I don’t think reigniting the tensions would serve either of the clubs. Turner withdrew after I talked to him, and didn’t bother to come back with his guys. You done here, Road?”
I bet someone called Prophet over after Harvey started making a scene.
“Can’t a man finish dinner in peace?” I groan, but Prophet gives me one of the level stares that don’t take no for an answer.
“I need to talk to you.”
Fucking magic words, I guess, so I get up with my plate. I shovel some more pork in my mouth on the way to the kitchen and leave my plate there, giving my potatoes a final glance.
“The guys aren’t happy,” Prophet says as we exit the building.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck .
Why would I risk the truce? And for what? A chance to get my dick sucked by a guy? I’ve had opportunities before. Flirted, messaged guys on anonymous chatrooms, but each and every time, without fault, I chickened out at the last moment.
How pathetic is that? I might be ready for date night, but if my previous experience is anything to go by, I’ll end up staying in and jerking off to memories of my call with Clyde rather than fucking him.
“I messed up.”
Prophet sighs and pushes back his long hair. He sports two braids today, and I’m left wondering which of the women fighting for his attention pleated them earlier. The gesture only reminds me of the blond locks I want to grab tonight. He seems to know where he’s going, even if his pace is leisurely, so I follow.
“I hope it’s not about that girl? If we end up at war with them again, it really can’t be over pussy, Road.”
Girl? What girl?
“No,” I say as we stride between the large communal buildings and pass the vegetable gardens.
Prophet smirks. “So, how’d it go? You were strangely serious about me proofreading a dumb pickup line.”
Oh. That girl .
I am not the greatest speller, and since the last thing I wanted was for Clyde to see mistakes in the name of the contact I left on his burner, I asked Prophet for help, as if it was something I planned to DM a woman.
“We’re... talking. We’ll see what happens when she’s back from her trip to the East Coast.” The lie rolls from my tongue so easily, and while Prophet will never know the truth, the fact that I’m hiding this from him burns in my chest.
Maybe I should give up now and spend the evening with my best friend rather than chase sex with a guy who is literally one of our enemies. Am I that blinded by a hot body that I’m ready to risk it all? Or maybe it’s the forbidden nature of who he is that’s turning me on? I may hate him, but I know him. He’s not some anonymous dick. Hearing him moan on the phone was more exciting than any porn, because I knew it was Clyde Turner .
Prophet smirks. “Okay, okay. Keep me posted. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you interested in anyone. ”
Am I though? Am I interested? Or am I horny as fuck and looking for an easy lay? Hard to say, but Clyde is most definitely not easy anything. Drunk blowjobs from hangarounds are easy. They have their fun with a hot dick, I fantasize about guys while it happens, but since I’m technically doing it with a woman, no one suspects a thing. Dating one? That I can’t do.
Living as a gay man would have been so much easier in some big city, where I could reestablish myself without prejudice, but that would mean leaving a community that took me in when I needed it most. Here, I also get the paid work I’m skilled at. The Vulture Hollow MC will always have to come first.
It’s only when Prophet makes a turn right, toward a cabin at the very edge of the lake that I slow down. “Why are we going to her house?”
Prophet spreads his arms. “Because I don’t know what the Butchers are planning, and you’re the one who inflamed the situation, so you need to be at the reading. It’s our last resort.”
I swallow down a groan, because Prophet treats this stuff way too seriously for me to mock him after yesterday’s fuck-up. “You know the tarot cards mess with my head. The last time you made me do this, she said someone’s out to get me. So I was vigilant for days until that damn cat managed to sneak into the house, hide, and then scratch me in my sleep.”
I only accepted that rationalization so Prophet would stop asking if I discovered who was after me. I don’t believe all this woo-woo stuff, but it still creeps me out.
It doesn’t help that Brigid’s thatch-roofed cabin looks like a witch’s hut. She’s not Prophet’s real mother, but she took him in when he was a teen stray, and he treats her with reverence, so we all do as well. After all, it’s her land, and she graciously allows us to live here rent-free. What’s a prophecy or two in the grand scheme of things?
I hope she can’t really read my mind, because no one can know I have the hots for Clyde, nor that I might still meet him tonight. I’ve killed for Brigid, but she would not let such a betrayal slide regardless.
Prophet shakes his head and I feel like a cat being taken to the vet’s. “It has to be done, but I don’t think she has cards in mind tonight.”
We step onto the porch decorated with weird symbols made of thin branches and reeds, then go straight through the open door, where the smell of strong tea twists my lips. The interior is marginally less weird than the hut appears on the outside. Bunches of herbs hang from the ceiling, and log walls are hidden from view by cupboards full of jars, boxes, books, and the occasional artwork. Brigid doesn’t believe in electricity, so candles occupy many of the horizontal spaces. She does watch TV at times, but only in communal spaces. Thankfully for her daughter, Luna, the cabin does have access to running water.
Prophet senses my hesitation and puts his hand between my shoulder blades, forcing me to step deeper into the room, where Brigid is seated in a rocking chair, wrapped in a celestial-themed blanket. A tea set with just one cup is standing on the small table in front of her.
I groan. No. Not the tea. I hate that fucking tea.
Luna is a shy, blonde, toothpick of a girl. She does say hi when we enter but gets up and makes a beeline for her room. No surprise there, since she knows we’ll need privacy. But maybe she also just wants to avoid the tea .
“Hey Brigid,” I say, resigned to my fate. “Makes sense there’s only one cup, since Prophet is the prez and all that.” I try to reinforce the idea that there is no need to make one for me. It’s Prophet who believes this stuff anyway.
As Brigid leans forward to pour the tea, her black-gray curls cascade down her shoulders. There’s something eerie about her, a feminine sensuality I don’t resonate with, and which always leaves me with a sense of unease. She’s attractive, and looks younger than she supposedly is. But it’s the confidence with which she commands respect in everyone around her that’s so admirable. She makes a living from fortune-telling, casting spells for people, and producing potions, yet no one questions her position. Oh, and she’s also our resident tattoo artist. Quite a lot for one woman to handle.
Me? I’ve been unnerved by her since she first treated me to the goddamn tea, on the day after my arrival here. She served it to me burning hot, and since I hate tea, I chugged it all in one go. One of the worst fucking things ever.
She’s been serving it to me much colder since.
“Drink,” She says, pinning me with dark, kohl-lined eyes.
I don’t have a choice here, do I?
I sit down in one of the chairs and pick up the cup. The bitter, herby scent makes me wrinkle my nose, but I’m ready to take one for the team and swallow the disgusting liquid.
Prophet huffs in frustration. If he’s so eager, I would have happily shared my punishment. “Are you sure I shouldn’t drink too?”
“Leave us, son,” Brigid says. “I have a feeling this is about Road. ”
Prophet pats my shoulder and reluctantly leaves. Brigid must be the only person who can tell him what to do. I hope this won’t take long. I’m still not certain what to do about Clyde, and if I am to be sure of my decision, I need time to myself, not... this.
“You’re tense,” Brigid says as she picks up the empty cup and glances inside, no doubt seeking meaning in the random assortment of dregs I’ve left at the bottom.
“Just tired,” I say, attempting to keep my thoughts blank. In case she can read my mind. I don’t really believe it, but with Prophet treating this so seriously, I can’t help but have some of his confidence rub off on me.
She lifts her gaze to me, lowering her long lashes. “And yet you don’t seem lethargic. I’m getting a lot of nervous energy. The tea dregs are scattered, as your mind seems to be.”
“Fine,” I mumble, spreading my arms. “I messed up at the rally, and now everyone’s worried about the truce ending. I don’t even know why I did it.”
Brigid hums, and the wind chimes outside her window jingle louder. “The need for revenge is a powerful and dark force. It’s possible for it to latch on even once justice is done. It might still be attached to you, and pushed you to attack Clyde as the closest conduit for his dead brother’s soul.” She reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “Or it is his unrealized need for vengeance that pulls him to you. He may not know what you did, but his blood is suggesting the answer.”
It’s mumbo jumbo, I know it. And yet, when she’s looking at me with such intense sincerity, her words send a jolt down my back. And the thought of Clyde being mystically pulled to me because I put down his older brother is weirdly hot. Even though it shouldn’t be.
“Maybe.”
She watches me for the longest moment, then glances back down into the cup. “If you do not refocus, this spirit of vengeance can infect the whole club. It’s as serious as the promise of death. There is something that gnaws at you, Road, under the tar black need for fresh violence.” Brigid closes her eyes. “Like on that day Prophet found you by the side of the road. A wolf? A black coyote? It devours your innards, and will not be chased away until you feed it something other than your soul.”
My mouth is dry as a desert. What is she saying?
A coyote eating my insides? Like what... like that longing to find a guy to fuck?
Is this fortune telling me to throw caution to the wind and see Clyde?
“So… I should stop it from… doing that? Should I let it loose? ”
Brigid squeezes my hand and looks into my eyes. “Nurture it, and it will protect you from the demons. I sense… it’s not an evil creature, just lost and hungry. Don’t let it hurt you any longer.”
My throat tightens, and I tighten my fingers around hers as I lower my gaze to the wooden table. “And what if… others find out about it? What if they don’t like what I’ve let loose?”
She cocks her head at the tea dregs. “You are a Vulture. You don’t live to be liked by all. You need to make them respect your beast.”
She’s right.
Damn it.
I might not believe the dregs showed her anything, but I can’t disagree with her advice. Maybe it’s time I do something that’s just for me.
I will see Clyde Turner tonight. And this time, I won’t chicken out.
I get up with new energy pumping in my veins, but Brigid doesn’t let me leave yet, and hands me the damn cup.
“Take the tea dregs and dry them, then burn them, every last bit. You will be free of the vengeance residue and free of Clyde Turner.”
Guess she doesn’t read minds after all.