Chapter 10
Clyde
Two days have passed in a daze, and every time I close my eyes, I see Road above me, holding my wrists and flexing his shoulders. I think my nervous system got fried, and I’m left a charred husk, unable to do my job.
I’m distracted, unfocused, and unwilling to put my mind to any club business, because all I can think of is arranging another meetup with the guy I should want dead. And Road isn’t making it any easier on me, because he messages me incessantly .
Even before I got home from that failed knife fight, I had three messages waiting for me.
[We bof wont slip tonait.]
[Home. Keep tinking abot yor lips.]
[When do I see u? ]
But while I want him, I’m not doing this with him for chit-fucking-chat, so until I have things set up—a place and a good few hours when I know I won’t be bothered by anyone—he can wait. I still can’t believe I’m doing this in the first place. Is fucking a guy who doesn’t even know how to spell ‘tonight’ really worth all this effort? Practically risking my life?
But I know the answer is yes, or I wouldn’t be so desperate. The need for the kind of satisfaction he gave me is deeper than any other. Alcohol is nothing in comparison, neither is money, or holding on to my position in the club. The force inside me is animalistic, and just like there’s no fighting a storm, it’s about time I give in.
Road was right. He’s my best bet, because he has as much to lose as me.
I only wish he would shut up and let me get a grip on our next meeting.
I did text him once.
[Wait.]
But no, he’s impatient like a wolf in mating season, so the onslaught continues.
[Why?]
[I dont wanna.]
[Cum over]
[Somewhere.]
[Motel?]
[When?]
[Clyde?]
[Meet me]
[Chickenshit?]
*Missed call*
*Missed call*
*Missed call*
[Fuker. Dont back out now!]
[Just fukin answer]
[Clyde?]
[How about today?]
[You said it was good]
*Missed video call*
He’s lucky he’s so hot, because I’m half-ready to arrange a meeting just so I can strangle him. If all goes well, I might be free this afternoon. Until then, he can stew in his own cum for all I care.
And on the topic of his cum… Yeah, I haven’t washed the T-shirt from that night, because his spunk stained it. It’s crusty, disgusting, and I’m embarrassed to admit how many times I’ve smelled it.
“Any news?” Grizzly asks, appearing at my side so abruptly my blood freezes with the fear that he might have seen one of the messages. It takes all my willpower not to jump in my chair and stuff the phone down my pocket with the illusion of calm.
I shouldn’t even be checking the messages at our club’s bar. I got lulled into a sense of safety since no one was here.
“No, was just searching for movie times.”
“What are you going to see?”
Red-fucking-handed. I’ve had bigger fish to fry than checking what’s on at the cinema. It’s not like I’m going on a date with Road, buying him popcorn, then making out at the back. We’re two guys who want to get off.
“That’s the thing, nothing catches my eye. Only superhero shit.” Because there’s always some new superhero movie. I get up from the bar stool, because Grizzly’s arrival means we’re riding out. “I was just waiting for Puck to say he decided on our route.”
Our road captain appears as I finish speaking and offers me a crooked grin. Or, it’s just his lips that are crooked. He got the scar running through the side of his mouth five years back, and I’ve never been certain about his expression since.
“My son loves that dumb shit. They can sell anything to teenagers these days,” he tells us and bumps Grizzly’s fist. Only a fraction younger than my uncle, he used to be my father’s best friend. He was even his best man, back when my parents were still alive and reality seemed a bit less grim.
He’s short, stocky, with a short graying beard and faded tattoos he got way back, when he served on a ship transporting goods all over the world. I used to enjoy his company a bit more when I wasn’t the one needing to rein in his temper. But he is a great road captain, I’ll give him that.
Today’s job should be easy. We’re going to meet a new potential supplier of MDMA. Extremely minor league stuff, but we might be coming back with cargo, so it’s better if we go in force.
Minutes later, the whole chapter’s in the saddle, heading north like a swarm of hornets. I’m surprised when Puck leads us right, toward the territory claimed by the Vultures, but it’s not as if I can question him. Still, when we arrive on the narrow road that serves as a border between our territories, my hands stiffen on the handles, because it would have been easier and faster to go along the coast instead .
Dick-wagging—that’s all this is.
Fine. We do have a truce, so it’s not like I expect us to be shot at just for driving through here. The day is much sunnier than usual for May, the landscape of endless trees calms me, and if all goes well, no one will be reporting our presence here to the Vultures.
As far as I know, most of the Butchers are hungry for blood after my brother’s murder. Finding the killer is a point of pride, and the issue won’t be buried even if my recovery pushed us back in the search. Our bet is that someone from the Vultures knows about the deed.
Everyone knows Prophet is into some occult fuckery with that witch mother of his. At least I think she’s his mother, since I’ve heard her call him ‘son’. So the crow left inside my brother’s open chest was an obvious message to us. And yet they won’t admit it, even though only a dead vulture would have made their guilt more obvious.
All this means is that our truce won’t last. I don’t know when it’ll break down, but until then, I want to get my hands on Road’s body. Maybe he’s also worried about the fragile peace between our clubs, and that’s why he’s been so insistent about meeting up?
Cutting through the woods like a machete, we only pass a handful of cars, but about halfway through our journey, Puck raises his hand and signals everyone to slow down. I attempt to look ahead, but the sun’s blinding me despite the dark goggles I’m wearing, so I follow his example and brake. I’m practically motionless by the time I notice a familiar motorcycle parked on the side of the road. Sloppily sprayed with neon blue and red paint, it’s the pride and joy of Rooster, the Vulture Hollow MC prospect. Blood runs cold in my veins, but it’s too late. We’re all parked, and he somehow hasn’t spotted us yet.
My first thought is that he’s hiding, not knowing how to deal with this unexpected confrontation, but I soon spot his blood-red mohawk a bit farther between the trees. Facing away, he’s rolling his head to a fast rhythm and bends down every now and then to pick something up from the ground.
Is he… gathering mushrooms?
“Puck? What’s the plan here?” I ask, taking off my helmet, but the impulsive ass is already headed Rooster’s way. In that way, he’s much like Roadkill. Just much uglier.
My call does grab the prospect’s attention though, and like his namesake, he straightens his neck and looks around. As soon as he spots us, he pulls out his phone, wide-eyed, and plucks something out of his ear. What a fucking idiot.
But despite initially freezing like a deer in the headlights, he stuffs his phone down his pocket and puts away both of his earbuds. The shake of his hands is unmissable even at a distance, but soon, he’s nonchalantly walking back to the road, as if he wants to demonstrate how little he’s affected by the pack of predators surrounding him.
“You guys wanna piss? Go ahead. Was just about to ride back,” he says and attaches a little baggie to his belt.
I don’t care about this piece of trash, but I don’t want to lose our truce with the Vultures over him.
Grizzly leans toward me. “He might just be a prospect, but he’ll know something.”
“Whoa there! We just have a few questions,” Puck says, and stands between Rooster and his bike.
There’s one of him and ten of us. He better talk if he knows what’s good for him.
The kid’s eyebrows rise, and his lips form a silly ‘O’ . “Ah, okay, I get it. So, like, when you want to start the ignition, you’ve got to turn this key—”
I grab Puck’s arm before he can launch his fist at the damn kid and make a little swirl with my fingers, prompting all my brothers to form a circle around him. And there it is—that stiffness in Rooster’s shoulders, the sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air. He knows there’s no way he can escape this without losing face.
So he stays and meets my gaze.
A part of me doesn’t want to do this. This is a kid, and he might not have even been involved in Roy’s murder. But what if Grizzly’s right and a bit of intimidation could get us the information we need?
“You’re hiding my brother’s killer,” I state coldly. “I know you have a big family, so I’m sure you understand that I’m not letting this go.” I hope to both threaten him and push his empathy buttons. “Whatever Roy might have done, he was my brother.” My feelings for him weren’t all that warm, but the statement is true.
Rooster swallows but meets my eyes. “See this patch?” He points to the PROSPECT on his vest. “I’m not in on any sensitive club information. Not that I’d tell you if I was,” he adds, then taps the baggie at his belt. “All I know is that Brigid really wants these weird brown mushrooms by noon.”
I admire the confidence with which he then tries to push past Puck to reach his bike, but our road captain isn’t having it.
My mind swarms with questions. Did Rooster admit that the MC members do know, or am I reading into things ?
I don’t get to have that question answered, because next thing we know the buzz of more than one hog approaches us at a fast pace. Grizzly mutters out something that sounds like a curse, but Rooster seems close to fainting with relief. Fucking great.
Puck twists his meaty hand in the kid’s T-shirt and delivers a punch to his stomach, which has me flinching a bit. The lanky teen falls to his knees with a choked grunt, but I grab the road captain again. “This serves nothing.”
If it did, I’d be the first one throwing the punch. We can’t let our enemies think that they can murder the president of the Hell’s Butchers MC and get away with it.
The first motorcycle to stop nearby with a screech of tires and cloud of dust is no one other than Prophet, the woo-woo obsessed asshole with a Messiah complex and more jewelry on him than a stand with cheap trinkets at a local carnival.
I try to keep my eyes on him as he takes off his helmet, but my gaze trails off to the man parking right behind him. The man who called me Blue Eyes and told me I smell good.
Roadkill doesn’t look happy to see me. Which is a disappointment, because seeing him stretch and move my way with a red shine in his gaze takes my breath away. In my porny dreams, he grabs my shoulders and shoves me against the tree before claiming me with a kiss for everyone to see.
It’s embarrassing. I’m embarrassing.
He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and unhinged enough that a sense of unease spreads among the Butchers, especially when his president and two other members follow, heading straight for us.
“Where’s—”
“I’m here!” Rooster chokes out, managing to drag himself back to his feet.
Little fuck must have texted them his location for them to arrive this fast.
Yet instead of confronting Prophet, my gaze is drawn to Road. He’s pulled out a knife. My knife. And he’s playing with it as if to remind me of our secret meeting. I was so flustered afterward that I forgot to search for it and only realized it was missing when I arrived back home.
“Just a friendly exchange of mushroom foraging tips,” I say grimly so Prophet fucks off.
“Doesn’t look friendly to me,” Prophet snaps, approaching alongside Road. With that scowl, he no longer looks like bad boy Jesus, but I’m more than ready to take on the rings he might use as knuckle dusters. If they want a fight, we can have a fight .
They’re the ones with the smaller club, benefiting more from our truce.
I can’t help it. I look back at Road, and my heart skips a beat. The hooded eyes give him that lazy expression, as if he’s about to either pet a kitten or murder someone with my knife. And oh, how I want to be the kitten in that imagined reality.
Tension spreads through the Butchers when Road steps between us without fear, heading for the prospect who’s picking himself up from the ground.
“So kind that you all found him,” Prophet says just as one of our more junior brothers catches my gaze, as if not sure how to react when Road heads for him like a battering ram.
I don’t like the spotlight. I much prefer being one more body in a crowd of Hell’s Butchers to having all those expectations forced on me. All because as Roy’s brother, Grizzly’s nephew, and the son of the MC’s founder, I’m considered a legacy member. It’s as close to royalty as one can get on a hog instead of in a fancy carriage with golden wheels.
My imagination delivers visions of my uncle stabbing Road in the kidneys in this uneven confrontation, but when I give the gentlest shake of my head, the Butchers step away, letting my secret—what? Lover? Enemy with benefits?—get through to Rooster.
He brushes past me, all too close, his shoulder bumping mine, as if he couldn’t deny himself the chance to touch me. Does he have a fucking death wish? I hope agitating ten angry bikers is worth making me shiver.
“Watch it,” I snarl, somehow self-conscious about needing to seem more angry than I am, as if otherwise our secret will be written all over my face. And— fuck —when I smell his cologne, its musky aroma, sweet and bitter like our budding… thing, takes me right back to the garages and the moment my climax started to build while he rocked on top of me.
Rooster, the fucking prospect brat, rolls his eyes at me. “At least it’s not a fist in the guts.”
Road grabs him and tugs on his arm, sending him back toward the road through the passage he carved with sheer will. “Oh? Who did you piss off this time?” he asks, and when he passes me, his fingers slide over my hip. I barely bite back the groan pushing at my lips, because the touch, so dangerous even with all the bodies to obscure it, feels as if Road managed to dip them into my flesh and caress the nerves responsible for carrying pleasure over my entire body.
Rooster scowls at Road, unaware of the game his enforcer is playing with me. “I didn’t do nothing! Just gathering mushrooms. ”
I watch Road with eyes that I can only hope look cold, because the inferno inside me might soon turn them red. When he stops and meets my gaze, my heart stops beating.
“That true, Clyde? He didn’t cause trouble?”
I shake my head and dismiss him with a gesture so we can end this stupid game. But he’s a crazy guy and has proven it many times before, so my dismissal isn’t enough, and he comes so close adrenaline oozes off my club brothers. “Answer. Me. Clyde,” he shouts in my face. I smell cherry tobacco on his breath, but also his cologne, and the fearless determination a part of me always admired him for. He’s deep in my personal space, nose maybe two inches away from mine, but we do not touch, even though right now he is definitely not telling me to speak about Rooster’s behavior.
He’s pissed off about me not texting him back, and he’s making it my problem.
I don’t flinch, don’t even blink. It’s such a turn on that he wants me so much.
“You always so needy for acknowledgement?” I ask quietly, while Grizzly waves his hand at us.
“Leave it, Clyde, not worth the hassle.”
Before Road can answer, I speak to him only. “It is worth the hassle.”
I’m moving a lot of parts in my life to make room for him, so the least he can do is be patient.
My heart beats faster when his nostrils flare, as if he were smelling me too. Tension grows around us, since everyone expects him to say something abrasive, but after a wordless moment, he nods and shoves Rooster forward, following him.
I’m so fucking aroused.
“Good day. We’ll be on our way,” Prophet says and gestures to the remaining Vultures, who reluctantly retreat to their bikes.
I shake off the tension and grab a cigarette to ease my nerves, but I still discreetly glance back at the man occupying all my recent daydreams. Maybe me not answering is a subconscious power play with him, because deep down I know I want to be under him, and I can’t lose myself in that.
Relief floods my body when the Vultures leave my club behind, but Puck, fucking Puck , just has to spoil everything and takes two steps behind Road. I ball my hands into fists, torn on whether I can stop him in time, and whether I even should, but Road spins around and throws the knife he’s been playing with—my knife—at my road captain .
The air thickens. Grizzly reaches for his gun, others freeze, but the tension dissipates when Puck glances at the blade embedded in the tree right next to his head.
“Keep it,” Road tells us, with a pointed glance my way, before walking off while I have to stand there, stewing in my own nerves.
Did we even understand each other? I don’t want to text him as if I’m desperate for approval. He shouldn’t even need that. We’re not in high school. We’re two grown-ass men trying to establish a mutually beneficial arrangement for a fuckfest.
Puck shakes his head as the Vultures drive off. “I’m gonna fucking kill the bastard.”
I pluck the knife out of the tree on my way to my bike. “Let’s go,” I say curtly, because we’re done here. “We have a meeting in two hours.”