Chapter 22
Road
I’m fucked. Kind of.
No, definitely, I am. The consequences haven’t caught up with me yet, but they will, and when that happens I’ll be done with, and so will Clyde, and everyone I care about. Maybe I should have bitten the bullet and gone on one of those dating app hookups. What really is the likelihood of someone finding out who I am as long as I cover my tracks? And if they did somehow find out, maybe I’d no longer be welcome in the club, or even at Vulture Hollow, but my personal problems wouldn’t affect anyone else.
But no, I had to pursue Clyde Turner of the Hell’s Butchers MC.
How did I excuse going after him instead of some anonymous guy again? That’s right, a pact of mutual destruction. As if I couldn’t have just found some deeply closeted civilian. I could have been fucking a pastor’s son every Monday. The real truth is that after the near-death experience he and I shared, I didn’t feel like going back. I got it in my head that I could fulfill the filthy fantasies I had of him, and that was that. Game over. No one wants to eat a cold cheese sandwich after being promised a nice, hot pizza fresh from the oven.
I should have known this would happen. Because now I know that Clyde has secret smiles, a sense of humor, and that he’s a good cook. That he wears his hair long because he wanted to gift his mom a wig, and that he likes chickens. That he loves submitting to me but is still afraid to go all the way. He trusts me not to push him .
I now see that he is as human as I am, and going back to the way things were before is no longer possible.
I want to be a home for all his vulnerabilities. Whatever that would mean for us. Only that this home is built on rotting straw legs, and even Prophet’s tree house is more stable.
Just like he asked, I avoided the road he told me to avoid and didn’t even ask why. I assumed I’d rather not know.
The silence as I drive into our little village is worrying, but as soon as I go farther in, past the first few cabins, I hear commotion where our clubhouse is. A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me someone was either killed, or taken, just like Grizzly schemed.
We usually leave out motorbikes at the clubhouse, to avoid endangering kids and people’s pets, but the sensation inside me, as if I were about to make a giant drop on a rollercoaster, won’t let off until I know what happened.
I dash past the pens where the farm animals are kept, then slow down, using an unpaved shortcut that’s wide enough to accommodate my motorcycle. I see it the moment I emerge from between the trees—the transport van from a supplier who sells us the drugs we don’t produce ourselves, only distribute. The guy started making a fuss about the price a few days back.
A few of my biker brothers are tossing Rooster into the air while the small crowd cheers in celebration. Cans of beer are being popped open, and Prophet smiles as soon as he spots me.
“Where have you been, brother?” he yells from afar, reminding me of the night I spent spooned by Clyde. Another man. A member of our enemy club. I’ll never be able to untangle this. None of the people who became my family over the years could forgive this betrayal. But for now, they don’t know, and I dismount, rushing toward my prez, who stretches one arm toward me, inviting me into a friendly embrace.
He’s the one who picked me up from the side of the road. He’s the one who jokingly called me Roadkill so many times the name stuck. He’s the one who I consider my best friend, but that didn’t stop me from going behind his back. For sex. He would choke me to death if he knew.
I don’t fucking deserve his smile, but I accept it anyway when he pulls me into a quick embrace, then lets me go, with a pat on the back. His wavy hair is damp, and I notice wet spots where water drizzled from his beard onto his shirt, as if he left his home in a hurry to celebrate this …
“I thought you didn’t close a new deal,” I mutter, eying the van.
“Guess who outbid us?” There’s a mean glint in Prophet’s eyes now, and I dread the answer.
“Didn’t know there was another bid,” I say, fighting to keep my face neutral.
“The Butchers went behind our backs and paid our supplier more just to block us.” Prophet has a big swig of beer and hands me a can as well while the others lower Rooster to the ground. One of the guys shakes his can and lets the beer explode over our prospect’s mohawk like he just won an F1 race, or something.
Prophet makes a wide gesture with his arm. “But Rooster just so happened to be on an errand for Brigid by the Ruther farm when their driver stopped for a piss. And our dear quick-thinking boy recognized the van, jumped right in, and drove off like the maniac he is!”
Just fucking great.
Over a month ago, I would have applauded Rooster and maybe even suggested we patch him in soon, but now all I feel is unease. Two hours back, I came all over Clyde Turner’s club tattoo, kissed and held him. Now, I’m meant to celebrate the failure of his club’s big plan. But worst of all? We’ve broken the truce.
“I thought you all enjoyed the peace,” I say flatly, racking my mind for more arguments, more reasons that this is a fucked up way to mess with this new thing between me and Clyde without actually saying that , but I find nothing.
Business was supposed to be separate from our arrangement, but now it’s anything but. He called me ‘babe’ for fuck’s sake. Twice.
I watch Harvey pat his son on the back, tell him he did good, and even Sad Billy sports an almost-smile. And then there’s me, pretending I’m not pissed off with it all.
Prophet’s attention zeros in on me, and it feels like he’s trying to open my brain through the eyeballs to read me. “Are we supposed to just let them take over our business and wait for scraps from their table? Have you seen Clyde’s house?”
A rhetorical question meant to point out Clyde’s fat wallet, but I almost choke, because I freaking promised to add insulation under his roof last night. And fixed his showerhead. So yeah, I’ve seen Clyde’s house, up close and personal. It’s borderline embarrassing how much I wanted to please him. How very much I longed to taste his cock and cum .
I close my eyes and exhale before focusing on the amulets hanging down Prophet’s chest on leather straps of various length. Is there anything I could say to convince him this was a mistake?
“Thought last time you had your fortune read, Brigid said you’re in a good place. Why spoil it? You think the violence won’t reach our people here?” I ask, gesturing at the nearby homes. “We could just stick to herbals and shrooms, like we did at the beginning. I know hard stuff brings more cash, but we were the ones who started undermining their monopoly in the area,” I mutter.
He pulls on my arm and leads me a few paces away, to a quieter spot. “I thought you’d be the one already sharpening your knife. This is an opportunity to reestablish ourselves as an important player. What we lost last year in that warehouse crippled our whole business. That van and its contents is payback for it.”
The old me would have provoked my boys to flaunt this win in the Butchers’ faces, but now my thoughts are scattered as I attempt to work out a way to salvage this mess. Clyde and I had a breakthrough last night. I don’t want our thing to end yet. It’s too soon.
“Yeah, we might gain, but we might also lose everything.”
Prophet cocks his head at me. “What’s that supposed to mean? Sounds like a lot of nothing to me. Since when are you not up for a fight?”
Shit.
Fuck.
“I didn’t say that. I just don’t think we’re ready, that’s all. What do you think they’ve been doing during the truce, huh? Planted flowers and went on picnics?” I growl out when Grizzly’s comments about the Butcher’s preparation pass through my mind over and over, until I’m lost in my own thoughts. It’s technically not using what I’ve overheard since it’s obvious they would have been preparing.
Prophet spreads his arms. “Let them show us what they’ve got. I’m done laying low, and the other guys are too.” He points to our brothers inspecting the van and talking with big smiles on their faces. All they see in the cargo is free money. I see a confrontation with Clyde and I wonder how to tackle him without breaking any of those lovely bones.
My phone pings in my pocket before I can come up with any sensible answer, because my brain is stuck on Prophet suggesting he plans to get his hands on Clyde.
Rage buzzes in me like a hornet, but my real feelings need to be contained, so I bite on the inside of my cheek until the taste of blood fills my mouth. Whatever we do, the honeymoon is over. “He shouldn’t have acted without approval. He’s just a prospect,” I add in a low voice that sounds strained even to my own ears.
Prophet nods, looking back at Rooster. “We’ll have that chat, but let him have his moment in the sun. Shit like this deserves the recognition. Remember how you set Clyde’s bike on fire? Crazy move, but you saw the opportunity, and what can I say? The look on his face was worth it.”
I pull out my phone and my stomach drops when I see a message from Clyde.
[ Call me. NOW. ]
I must have made a face, because Prophet gives my cheek a gentle poke. He’s being playful, trying to loosen me up and work out what’s bitten my ass, but for once in my life I do have something to hide, and his inquisitive gaze is a threat. “You look like you’ve just spotted the Grim Reaper.”
“Again, I don’t need protective runes, or amulets… you know I don’t really believe in all that stuff,” I say, frantically wondering how to excuse myself for long enough to make the call without arousing suspicion.
“And look who ended up with all their limbs broken last year,” he mumbles and pulls on his thick beard. I don’t need to have this conversation right now, but before I can release my anger, Prophet delivers the excuse I need straight into my lap. “You having trouble with your shy girl?”
“That… yeah,” I mumble, stuffing both my hands into my pockets.
Prophet reaches toward my top, and I only understand what he’s doing when he pulls a long hair off it with a smirk.
“Blondie?”
I groan and say nothing, but my heart speeds up. It’s ridiculous of me to worry. Prophet wouldn’t possibly be able to put two and two together, but it still feels as if Clyde’s shadow is already too close.
“Maybe you should give Carla a shot after all. That girl’s not shy, I can tell you that.” He smirks and we both glance at Carla climbing the van in nothing but her booty shorts and a wide smile. I can see why someone might be attracted to her—she has all the right curves, and a personality many guys enjoy. She also gives good head, actually, but that is beside the point, because getting wrapped up in some fake relationship in order to divert attention from whatever might be happening in my secret life is the last thing I need .
“I know, but I don’t want Carla. Need to call my girl,” I tell Prophet, stepping away from him at last.
Prophet waves me off with a smirk and joins the others as I walk off.
Clyde might not be “my girl” , but he sure feels like my something, and that thought chokes me, until I have to massage my neck to relieve the sudden tension in it.
As soon as I’m far away enough for the call to be private, I choose Clyde’s number, and he answers before the first ring even ends.
“That’s how you repay me?” he yells, and I can envision him pacing in his bedroom, face red.
“I had nothing to do with it,” I whisper, looking around, worried someone might be in the bushes, or beyond the nearest hill and overhear me.
“Oh yeah? I tell you to stay off one road. One damn road. And the next thing I hear is one of your guys stole our van! Did you send him just so you could tell me you didn’t know? You think I’m stupid?”
His words shouldn’t hurt, but it’s as though he’s slicing me open with his mistrust. And the worst thing is, I hold the kind of secrets which deserve it and then some.
“You think I’d lie like that? For a van?” I slam my hand against the nearest tree, and the impact travels up my arm, soothing me with pain. “If I wanted to use you, I’d do it in style. The damn transport was here when I arrived. One of ours took it because he saw an opportunity. The guy moving the goods didn’t do his job, or you didn’t send anyone to escort the van.”
“Oh? So now you’re telling me I didn’t do my job right?” Clyde’s yelling my ear off, and still, I’m happy he’s not just hanging up and telling me to forget he exists. I wish I was there to let our bodies do the talking, but that’s not going to happen.
“I’m saying that I didn’t do this. Literally told them to return the fucking van, but it’s a lost cause. They want blood as much as your uncle does,” I say and rest my forehead against the rough bark.
“Fuuuck!” he yells, and by the following sounds, I’m guessing he’s punching the wall.
My only consolation is that he seems to believe me.
“Hey, hey, hey! Careful. Breaking your fingers isn’t gonna help,” I tell him, breathing in the aroma of sap, which somehow reminds me of the soap we use at Clyde’s.
All I hear for a while are deep, shivery breaths. I wish I was there to hold him through it even though I don’t wish his club well .
“You know this will be war, right?” Clyde says while I worry about his knuckles. It’s enough that some fucker hit him in the face hard enough to leave a bruise on his jaw.
I shut my eyes, wishing that the world would stand still around me. I don’t want to make any difficult decisions, but that’s not an option when I’m just one feather in a vulture’s wing. “What will we do?”
He swallows so loudly I can hear it. “You want to… end things?”
I can’t force words out fast enough. “What? No! No… I mean…” I wrap my free arm around the tree, and while it’s colder and harder than Clyde would have been, its presence is a comfort. “I— uh… you still need that insulation installed in your attic, right?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood, even though my insides feel as if I was punched over and over.
“You can’t come here, Road. I’m not kidding. With this new situation, I’ll never know when someone needs to visit. Only my uncle has a spare key, but that doesn’t help. I’ll need to be at the club more too.”
Like four days apart from him wasn’t enough torture to drive me to stupid shit like breaking into his house. How long until I lose my patience this time, and how badly will that end?
I groan and dig my fingers into the bark until my nails feel as if I’m removing them with pliers. “Perfect birthday gift from fate. Why does something always happen during this time of year?” I complain, increasingly annoyed as I look back toward the clubhouse and see the guys unloading the van.
I wanna set it all on fire.
Why do they get to be so happy when joy is slipping out of my grasp? I’ll be thirty soon and I only now got my hands on a man whose scent makes my blood run faster. Just my luck it had to be Clyde Turner. An enemy. A snake.
The ripest fucking fruit on the table had to be the one that’s poisoned.
“It’s not fate. It’s consequences,” Clyde says.
“Because you know everything about me and my life,” I say bitterly and turn my back to lean against the tree, eventually sliding down, until my ass hits the ground. I feel empty, but in that achy way, as if some invisible hand scraped my insides.
Most of the shit that’s happened to me has nothing to do with my actions and everything with me picking the shortest straw.
The silence on the other side stretches for a moment, but I don’t mind as long as I hear his breath. Finally, Clyde speaks .
“I like that my sheets still smell of you.”
Is he trying to… cheer me up? Even though he was the one calling to yell shit at me?
And what do I have other than the scent of soap, which will be gone when I take my evening shower? His mugshot that hangs in our clubhouse to throw darts at? “When do I see you again?”
“I don’t know. The next few days are out of the question. I’ll be on call all the time. Our other chapter might be summoned, so… we’ll have to play it by ear.”
He’s telling me more than he should, and we both know it, which means he must trust me enough. It doesn’t make hearing it any less painful. I don’t want to see him next time with a gun in my hand. Even though our meetings were sparse, their certainty gave me something to look forward to. Now? Everything feels scattered.
“What about calls?” I try, refusing to go and help with the unloading, because fuck that. I am already working for my own doom, and I’m not gonna do anything that speeds up the inevitable.
“Only pre-arranged. I can’t always have this phone on me. But I wanna hear from you. I wanna hear… you. We’ll make it work.”
Just carve me open and slice my heart into pieces while you’re at it.
What did I get myself into? I was never like this with anyone I was sleeping with. Possessive, greedy, and out of control. Is it just because he’s a man, or—
“I’ll try not to shoot you if we run into each other with others present.”
Clyde chuckles and the sound gives me a semblance of peace. “I’ll only stab you where it won’t kill you.”
Too late. He’s already stabbed me in the heart.