Chapter 17
Road
The soft wood yields to my knife, and another piece falls to the ground at my feet. The cats have already filled their bellies, and while most of them have left to roam, several others are enjoying the sun on pillows I laid out on my porch. It’s a peaceful morning, but since I’m seeing Clyde later, it only makes sense to add some finishing touches to the keychain I’m whittling for him.
It has the form of a stag, because that’s the beast he reminds me of whenever he stretches his toned body at the edge of the small lake where we’ve been meeting up for the past month. I’ve already carved two versions of this figurine, but since I wasn’t happy with any of them, I chose to make one featuring more detail, and it might be the one I’ll give him. I’m no artist, and even the best of my work isn’t something to write home about, but I want Clyde to carry something to remember me by, something he can safely handle when in the company of his club.
My own friends have been quick to note my frequent disappearances, but they let it go when I lean into the lie about there being a girl I’m into. Everyone takes it at face value, so every few days, I disappear for a couple of hours to indulge in a male body, and when I return, everyone pats me on the back as if I were off making babies.
A part of me worries that maybe I wasn’t even gay. That I’m simply broken and that I’ll grow bored of Clyde the same way I get bored of all my female conquests as soon as drugs and booze are out of my system. But being around him is somehow both peaceful and exciting, and I enjoy myself whether we’re making out in the sun, roasting meat over the fire, or getting each other off.
As horny as I am for him, my nuts aren’t bottomless, so we often end up entertaining ourselves between sex. Like that time we watched an action movie and couldn’t agree on how we’d handle the situation the hero was in. We ended up wrestling to put our methods to the test. I’m a little bigger, but the fucker is strong, I have to give him that. While our sparring was inconclusive because it ended in furious grinding, neither of us cared. Even though I often practice with my brothers, so everyone’s in shape if push came to shove, the mood is different with Clyde. Sex is always on the very edge of any interaction, like the right word on the tip of my tongue when I try to express myself to him.
I’ve never experienced such a frenzy of attraction before. It’s like I’m addicted to him. His smiles, his touch, when he winks at me, or when he makes those nervous moans he tries to hold in, only to always fail, uttering soft gasps in my ear. When I hold his sturdy body in my arms, I know he’s what I need. And later today, I’ll see him again.
It’s been four days since our last meeting, and the anticipation is starting to grate on me. Last time, he had me come at sunrise, to reveal that he planned to fish for our breakfast. I’m not the patient kind, so while I did follow him onto the boat, keeping my hands to myself proved impossible. We almost landed in the cold water, along with his equipment, but it was worth it.
The fish didn’t taste half bad after the fucking.
Sometimes when I lie in my own bed at night, listening to the cats fighting, I do wonder how I managed to ignore our ten-year feud. Am I that horny? Is it the different sides of Clyde I’m seeing that affect me this way? And I don’t mean his ass, even though those dimples could make a man forget any wrongdoings. Maybe it’s because he’s such a safe option for this mutually beneficial exchange of pleasure? Not really. He’ll keep my secret, but choosing him for sex is as dangerous as it gets. So is it that he yields to me like a beautiful animal? It attracts me like snacks luring the cats in every morning. But just like with the felines, some days I wonder who’s in charge. Is it me, because he gives me head as if it’s his favorite pastime, or is Clyde holding the strings because I’m so desperate for his touch?
The more I think about him, the less I can focus on my carving, so I put it down and grab my phone, hoping for a scrap of sexting while I wait to see him. But what do I send? Something filthy? A picture of my cock, or chest? I want to tell him how Rooster got drunk last night and ended up dancing with two chickens in his arms, but that’s something that might not be as funny without the visuals.
Exhaling, I trace the name Sue on the screen. That’s how I disguise his real identity, in case someone sees an incoming message from him. The attached icon features a female body clad in a sparse bikini. I imagine photographing him later today and gathering the pictures in a secret folder, where I could keep them forever.
Will he eventually get bored of the secrecy and find someone whose dick he can suck without betraying his club? The phone creaks as I squeeze it, so I shake my head at my own idiocy and send Clyde a quick, [ So horny not gonna jerkoff tho, savin my cum for yu ]
At night, he answers fast, but daytime is very patchy. I can only hope he’s alone and available to answer. I’m not even self-conscious about my spelling anymore. Clyde teased me about it once, but I shot back that I only have one hand available when writing to him, and he’s never mentioned it again.
Just seeing that my message got read, and then the three dots of him writing makes my heart beat faster.
Clyde: [ You might have to. Sorry. I wanted to see you, but something came up. It’s important, so I have to go. Don’t call. ]
The pressure in my head grows so fast I feel as if my skull might crack, and my thumb goes for the green button… to press the red one before a connection can be established.
Instead, I rest my elbows on my knees and type, [ Wat? Why? We can muv it to a bit late ]
How am I supposed to wait another day? This is such bullshit. I have to get up and walk around my cabin, but it’s not helping. My eyes are glued to the screen, and this time my message hasn’t even been read. Does he really think he’s the only one to call the shots? What about me and what I want?
[ When? ] I write in frustration, feeling like a junkie begging for his next hit.
No answer.
I have to stop myself from throwing the phone at the wall. I wish I could shoot whoever’s cockblocking me today.
[ Clyde? ]
The ping from my phone makes me salivate as if I’m a dog smelling sausage, but my shoulders fall when I see it’s from Suzie. I don’t know her that well, but all the members of our little community have my number if shit needs to be dealt with .
There’s a problem, because of course there is, but at least I’ll be too busy to dwell on the shafting Clyde’s delivered. One of the cats gets spooked when I shoot up so fast the chair drops, but I don’t check which one it is, just head down the path, past people’s homes, the canteen, the playhouse, and then even farther, to the very back of our settlement, to a fenced-off area most people can access only under supervision. Our clubhouse is a large cabin that used to house parents visiting their kids at the summer camp. Made of whole logs and regularly maintained, it’s a sight to behold despite the concrete barriers around the porch, put there for the unlikely event of an armed confrontation. Behind it stands a rock wall and sheds put there to divert the attention from the area no outsider can know about.
My boots thump against the dirt, creating clouds as I run toward the caves accessible through a rocky passage behind the clubhouse. Shouting echoes along the walls of the gorge, and I soon spot a group of people gathered at the mouth of the main cave. Of course. People are always fucking hungry for blood and drama, and stepping in would have put a stop to the fun. At least it keeps me, as the enforcer, important.
And I’m about to fucking enforce , because I got a message about what this fight is over, and know the exact troublemaker who caused it.
I push through people warning me Parker has a knife, and while I take note of that, I’m not scared of a drunk with a blade. Though going by Suzie’s message, he might have also done drugs on the job.
As soon as I walk into the cave, its cool shadows are a stark contrast to the sunshine outside. It’s in these caverns and passages that our most lucrative (and most illegal) business is conducted. Here, many of the adults from our community do shifts on production and packing of herbs and mushrooms with properties some would describe as magical, capable of opening one’s third eye a bit wider, and broadening one’s conscience. But I’m not the kind of guy who wraps reality in pretty words. It’s drugs.
My attention is sharp as soon as I hear Parker yelling ahead, illuminated by the yellow light of the many lamps hanging on the rock walls.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you, son of a bitch! I told you I needed my car done today!”
Two bodies twist on the ground like two alligators locked in a deadly dance, and I dash forward, spotting Isaac’s favorite T-shirt. The last thing I fucking need is our best mechanic getting injured. I reach the two fighting men in time to see Isaac roll away from Parker’s grip. Blood colors his teeth as he snarls before delivering a hard punch that has the onlookers cheering him on. At least the knife is on the ground.
But this is not fucking entertainment. As strong as Isaac is, we need his fingers nimble and intact. Vehicles and appliances won’t repair themselves.
Parker’s eyes are so wide they might pop out of their sockets at any moment, and when he tries to leap at his opponent with a harsh cry, I grab him in a headlock.
“Third fucking strike!”
Parker screams out in fury, kicking his feet and grabbing my forearm. “He needs to do his damn job!”
Does he think I’m kidding? “No one’s fixing anything for you. You’re getting banished, shithead.”
Something must have gotten through his thick skull, because he stills.
Isaac is heaving as he wipes his mouth. “I told you not to start! Your fucking loss.”
“What was this even about?” I ask, kicking the back of Parker’s knee to make him drop. He smells like a goat, and it’s best I keep his sweaty neck as far away as possible.
I have a quick thought that I might have to shower again before I go see Clyde, only to remember I’m not seeing him today. It pisses me off so much I kick Parker once more for good measure.
“Isaac delivered my car, and this idiot got offended,” Suzie explains, stepping out of the crowd in the same gray overalls everyone in her work detail is wearing.
“I fucking told him I need my truck this weekend. It’s an emergency!” Parker growls and twists around so he can face us both. He’s not looking well, and judging by all the sweat glinting on his skin, and the crazy eyes, he must have helped himself to some of the stock while at work.
The people get a massive discount on some of the stuff, as long as they don’t overindulge, but I’ve lost my patience for this junkie. We shouldn’t have let him move here in the first place, but it’s never just my decision.
“A gig is not a fucking emergency,” Isaac growls and cleans himself with the handkerchief someone handed him. “You’ll have to wait for your turn like everyone else.”
“Nah, he’s out,” I say, meeting Isaac’s gaze. “Get Hank to haul the car to the nearest town. This bastard’s on his own.”
I fully expect Parker to start begging for another chance, but his features twist with fury. He gets up on wobbly legs, holding on to his side. “Oh yeah? Just you motherfuckers wait! Would hate if word got out about what you’re cooking.” Parker shows me the middle finger on top of this threat. He’s out of his mind.
My hand shoots forward, grabs, and then twists the offending digit with a nasty crack. He’s at my feet, screaming like a banshee. Look at that, someone as delicate as him should know not to be such a loudmouth.
“You have a death wish?” I ask, kicking him over so I can see his face.
The voices around us are hushed now, so I easily hear a soft thump nearby. I turn, confused, only to spot Creep straightening. It takes me a second, but I glance up. He must have jumped down from the ledge next to a crevice high up on the wall. How did he get there in the first place? Fuck knows. That man is like some cave-crawling creature, and even Prophet doesn’t know where he sleeps.
Creep stares past me with eyes black as beetles. “Parker, do you really claim you’ll go to the cops when you’re a fugitive? We know you escaped from jail in Texas,” he delivers the information calmly, but there’s something disturbing in his blank expression. He licks one of his fangs as though he’s a vampire on the prowl for a victim. Or a mountain lion that will pounce on Parker’s back the moment he turns.
Parker freezes, maybe even sobering up a little at the threat. So I add another one. “Be a good boy, or I’ll come for you. You have until sundown to get yourself out of here.”
Everyone’s quiet now, and I can practically hear the crowd around us breathing as they await the final result of the confrontation. Parker’s chin trembles, but then he’s off, muttering beneath his breath. I catch Creep’s gaze, and he nods.
“I can keep an eye on him.”
I walk up to Isaac and pat him on the back. “You good?”
He nods and gives me a quick pat as well. “Thanks for having my back. Some time ago, you said your bike was making a noise. You want me to squeeze you in? I could take a look at it,” he says as everyone is ushered back to their jobs, deeper in the cave.
My mouth drops open, because I’ve forgotten about it. Clyde said the same thing once happened to him and dealt with the weird noise for me two weeks back. He looked really hot fixing my bike in the sun, hair in a ponytail.
“Ah… it was just a loose cover. Dealt with it myself, but thanks,” I tell him and pat his back.
Just as I’m leaving the cave, Prophet bumps into me. His bright green eyes search my face. “All good? Heard Parker’s out? ”
News travel fast here. When asked about it, Prophet sometimes jokes the birds tell him all the freshest gossip. I’m becoming inclined to believe that.
“Finally. Told you he was bad news. I know people like him,” I say, shrugging as we walk back to the settlement arm-in-arm.
Prophet scowls. “Everyone deserves a chance. You know yours—”
“Oh, come on,” I growl, frowning. “I was never like that junkie. Bet he only moved in for cheap drugs.”
So maybe I am snappy, but I’ve grown used to a steady supply of hot male flesh, and turns out I’m not getting any tonight.
Prophet sighs, glancing to the far-off lake glittering in the sun. He’s only wearing jeans and an open leather vest, which reveals lots of occult-themed ink, courtesy of Brigid. When I follow his gaze, all it reminds me of is Clyde stepping into the water naked, the cute little dimples on his ass becoming more pronounced as he clenches his butt.
“Fair. He got several chances. Can’t save those who don’t want to be saved.”
“Ah, there he is. The aspiring cult leader we all know and love,” I say, elbowing my prez in the side. “When are we bringing back orgies to get closer to the higher power?”
Prophet rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as we walk past the basketball court. “There’s a right time for everything—”
“Which means what? That you aren’t yet sure if you should allow just women, or everyone?” I tease.
Prophet points to my neck. “Maybe if you bring the girl who gave you that hickey, I’ll allow you to stay at my orgy.”
I stall, touching the mark Clyde left on me last time. It’s embarrassing, but I’ve already lied about dating someone, so I might as well continue with that. “She’s… shy about people knowing.”
Prophet’s expression changes from playful to a concerned frown. “Don’t waste time on a girl ashamed of seeing you, brother. Unless she’s a throwaway, then who am I to judge?” He stretches in the sun, showing off his chest tattooed with all kinds of symbols I know nothing about. Brigid also tried to get me to tattoo some protection sigils. I refused.
Prophet doesn’t know much about the person I’m seeing, but his words still grate on me. “Watch your mouth,” I tell him, briefly tugging on his magical necklaces. “We’re working things out. She doesn’t know whether she... wants to rock the boat yet. With her family, I mean. ”
Prophet raises his hands in defeat. “Okay, okay, my lips are sealed, but speaking of bruises… Apparently Clyde Turner’s got a big one on his face. My friend at the gas station saw him today. Loads of Butchers were leaving town. Something’s brewing.”
My sole digs into the crack between two slabs of concrete making up a path, but I manage to keep myself upright and clear my throat. “Yea? And you don’t know anything?” I ask while my imagination suggests that someone might have discovered Clyde’s secret and is now blackmailing him. Is that why he can’t see me? Or are the Butchers involved in something dangerous? I shouldn’t care—and I don’t—but don’t I deserve to know why my fuckbuddy is jilting me?
“No, but I’m sending out Creep. Maybe he can get us some intel. If there’s internal trouble in their club, I need to know. This could be a chance to pull some strings if we play our cards right. Imagine getting rid of Clyde and his uncle without even getting our hands dirty.”
That’s it. I need to know if Clyde is fine.
“Sounds… grand,” I say, though it comes out a bit flatly. Prophet must be in his own head, because he doesn’t seem to notice and pats my back.
“I’ll let you know when we find out. You going to meet your girl tonight, right?”
My stomach retreats, as if it wants to curl around my spine. “Yeah.”
“Good luck. But if she dumps you, you can still bring her to the orgy,” he says and walks off with a wink.
As soon as I’m alone, I pull out my phone, instantly annoyed that the sun is so bright I can’t read shit on the screen. I have to move under a tree, but all I see is that Clyde hasn’t answered me at all.
I text him a question mark, followed by [ everyfin ok? ] as I make my way back home with a dark cloud spreading inside me like smoke. Something’s burning, and I can’t fucking locate the source. Why would Clyde have bruises on his face? Did he fall? Get in a fight? Did someone punch him when they found out that… he has pictures of a man on his second phone? I open my own smartphone and browse through our conversations, but we are keeping them casual and never discuss anything related to club life. So they wouldn’t know it’s me he’s fucking around with, unless he told them.
My mouth runs dry by the time I sit on the steps leading to my porch and grab the unfinished stag. How long until he responds? Will he even respond, or is this the end, and I’ll never hear from him again? If that’s the case, would he even acknowledge that there was anything between us once we, inevitably, meet face to face in the future?
I shake my head, cutting away bits of wood while my insides stew in their own juices, ever spicier as my anger grows. Because this is fucking inhumane. He should have let me know what’s up. I don’t want details, just a I’m-fine-can’t-wait-to-lick-your- balls-when-I-see-you-tomorrow. But no, he needs to be all cryptic and forbid me from calling on top of that.
I press on the knife with more force than I intended, and a sharp pain travels up my hand as I stare at the short blade embedded in the middle of my fingertip. I pull it out, and blood gushes down my hand.
“Fuck. Fucking fuck,” I mumble, dropping both the stag and the tool on the way inside. It takes me several moments to stop the bleeding, and by the time I go back outside, a scrawny cat I call Bean is licking my blood off the figurine. He’s never sleeping in the same room as me after this.
But despite the discomfort in my left hand, my thoughts return to Clyde, and when I see that he hasn’t even read any of the new messages, one thing becomes clear—I need to see for myself if he’s fine.
I know where he lives.