Chapter 23
Clyde
It’s eating me from the inside.
Maybe the preacher who I recently saw in the parking lot of a strip club wasn’t wrong when he claimed lust is like a beast that only grows when fed? That it eventually consumes a man so much, only a hollow shell is left?
But if so, then why do I feel empty only when I’m away from Road? Why does his touch make everything hurt less? I cling to the memories of the last time he stroked my nape, right before he left my home and everything went to shit.
It’s been two weeks. Two agonizing weeks that feel like fucking forever. We talk on the phone, yes, but with people coming over to mine without announcing themselves, I can’t invite him over, or allow myself time off to meet him in the woods. Most days I don’t even take my second phone with me, but I’ve been increasingly slipping on that, my greed for him outwitting my paranoia.
The lack of plans hurts especially bad today, because it’s his birthday. A big one too, thirty. I’d assume he’s celebrating with his buddies if he hadn’t told me it wasn’t a thing for him. I want to make it a thing. Something special just for us.
Which is so fucking sappy I want to punch someone to make sure I haven’t gone soft.
But here I am. At our bar, not allowed to leave, because our Bend chapter is coming over after endless negotiations. When they arrive, the war that’s so far only been a fat powder keg might finally be lit and go off in a way I dread to imagine .
I’m no stranger to violence, and I’ve invited it often. This time though, my thing with Road is on the line. His safety is on the line, and that’s causing an anxious itch buried too deep to scratch. We joked around about not killing each other, but the humor masks a deep anxiety about a future in which he’s hurt and I can’t do anything about it.
What if one of my brothers kills him? What if I pretend to join the fight and then find him with a bullet hole in his forehead? Those worries are a virus spreading through my body until every sound makes my hair bristle, until my favorite beer tastes sour, and the people I’ve been true to all my life feel like enemies.
What the fuck have I done? I should have let things go. I should have never met Road alone and let him get so deep under my skin. But it’s too late now. He’s already there, etching his way through every bit of me. No longer the enemy.
My gaze is stuck to the grime clinging to the faded carpet. I don’t remember who thought it was a good idea to have the floor covered wall-to-wall with fabric. But they didn’t take into account that we all have dirt on our boots, or that the booze and other fluids spilling to our feet at every party will not let the color stay very long. The guys have their old ladies clean it on a regular basis, but at this point both the stains and the reek of beer are never going away.
Despite this, I used to always enjoy this place. It’s cozy with its wooden-paneled walls, even if old-fashioned. And the fact that the neon stripes on the bottom of our old music box resemble the gay men’s pride flag has always given me a bit of a thrill, even though it must be a coincidence.
I’m distracted from my thoughts when I hear Harlow ramble to my uncle about something that piques my attention.
“I’m just saying that if we burn down their whole village, we’re putting the trees at risk, and fuck knows we’ve had enough forest fires in the past years. I’m no hippy, but regular folk have houses and farms some miles away from there.”
I slide my bar stool a bit closer, cringing at the screech it makes. At least I’ve got everyone’s attention. “It’s true. The warehouse fire didn’t have that kind of risk, so the cops dropped it with a little financial nudge. This wouldn’t fly.”
“That’s right. The sheriff’s parents-in-law live on the other side of the woods and could be affected. The cops would not let that go,” Bracer adds and adjusts his glasses.
Is that what we’re doing now? Discussing whether attacking the whole settlement of Vulture Hollow might end up siccing the dogs on us? It’s safe to assume that most of the adults there are involved in the Vulture operations in some shape or form, but they’re still just civilians, and then there are all the kids.
Puck shrugs, leaning back in his leather chair. “Well, at least we’d be done with them once and for all. Even if some of them survive a fire, they’d have to run with their tails between their legs.”
Samson snorts, nodding, as if he has the right to an opinion despite being only a prospect. “They could go live deep in the caves, eat the mushrooms off the walls or some shit.” He crosses his bulky arms over his chest, proud of himself.
I shake my head. “Or we could bury the hatchet with them, so they can live in their squalor, we continue to make money, and no one has to die.”
I hate the silence that follows for all too long. Really? No one wants that? I swear Bracer was talking about money again , just yesterday.
“Someone has died,” Grizzly says. “Your brother. And why would we share even scraps with those backwards cunts?”
“Yeah, are we to wait until they actually sacrifice one of ours again?” Samson asks, and this time, he’s squashed by a choir of unhappy grunts. I bet he wants an opportunity to prove himself so he can get patched in.
Grizzly shoots up from his seat and slaps the back of his head. “Enough of this bullshit. Roy was not sacrificed. The symbols and the crow were only there to let us know it was them, but no one fucking hangs a man off a crane at a construction site to celebrate Satan or… whatever it is the Vulture witch and their president believe.”
He’s flushed now and spits on the floor. Despite being chastised moments ago, the prospect rips a paper towel off a roll and scoots down to wipe the floor.
Bracer sighs, rubbing his thick rings across his palm. “I mean… If Clyde was able to let it go, I’d consider it.” Like he hasn’t pushed for that in private. The man is a snake, but could be a useful one. “I’m a numbers man, and a war feels unnecessary if we could come to an agreement with them.”
Hope blooms in my heart for a moment, only to be squashed by my uncle’s roar. “Who would we be if we let shit like that go? Out of the fucking question for as long as this patch honors my chest!” Grizzly taps his vest for good measure.
Bracer raises his hands, but I’m sensing discontent in the way some of the guys don’t want to look into Grizzly’s eyes. Has Bracer been talking to them too behind our prez’s back? Could this be useful ?
“Fine, no need to get dramatic,” Bracer says, and Grizzly is at his throat quicker than an actual bear would be.
“Show some damn respect!” he yells, and before I know it, I have to jump off my stool to not be in the way of their brawl.
No one even tries to stop them as they wrestle their way through several tables, and even break a chair when Grizzly falls on it. Everyone understands they need to let steam off. Since no guns are being drawn, the level of violence seems acceptable. Some of the guys even choose sides and cheer them on.
It’s when Grizzly pushes Bracer at the bar, and a keg of beer falls over because of it that the fight cools off in an accidental fountain of beer foam covering both of them. They start laughing like good friends, pats on the back follow, one of the guys turns up the music, and like clockwork, women arrive through the front door with bags of food.
I check my watch. Eight p.m., the party will be in full swing within minutes, and the Bend chapter hasn’t even arrived yet.
This is bullshit. I’m stuck here instead of arranging a meetup with Road, on his damn birthday, all because members are required to be here to greet our Bend brothers. Many times before, I didn’t even think about such responsibilities much, because this is (was?) my home. Being one of the guys provided the safety I wanted, and the free flow of alcohol was my idea of fun, so it wasn’t as though I’d had anything better to do.
Now? I want to be under Road. I want those hungry kisses on my neck, and I want to indulge in his cock until I fucking gag.
No one here would understand that, but with the war brewing and about to spill over when I least expect it, catching moments of contentment seems especially important. This bullshit? A waste of time.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Grizzly mutters, and moments later, Puck calls everyone to shut their mouths and listen to the prez.
What is it this time? Are we to have a minute of silence for Roy and once again swear that we will flay the fucker who killed him alive? The facts are pathetically mundane.
“The guys from Bend won’t make it tonight. They had to deal with a local emergency,” Grizzly says and grabs his beer, emptying it in a series of continuous swigs.
There are whistles, grunts of disappointment, but the tightness in my gut loosens up somewhat as my uncle spits, “Puck, write them to come next week. The floor’s not burning under our feet. ”
Maybe… I could go see him. Somewhere. Somehow. My club will be partying here till morning anyway, and it’s not like I’m needed for that.
My second phone burns in my pocket, my thoughts race, but I’m stuck when Samson puts his arms over my shoulders. He passes me a beer with a big smile.
“You see that girl?” He points out a short blonde in a leather skirt unpacking a whole tray of chicken wings by one of the tables. She looks awfully young and fresh-faced. “That’s June, and she’d like to meet you, if you know what I mean.”
I stall, because my thoughts are so far away from women nowadays it’s hard to even comprehend what he’s saying.
“Ah, okay, but I don’t know how long I’ll be staying.” All depends on Road’s availability. He might be partying with his club even if he did say he doesn’t celebrate his birthday.
Samson smirks and gives me a conspicuous look. “She’s a catch, Clyde. Real old lady material. Virgin too, I know from her sister. Young, pretty, has a crush on you, and cooks too.”
I frown. He sounds like he’s trying to sell me a cow, not introduce a girl to me. “I’m not in the market for a wife, but get me some of those chicken wings,” I add to get him off my case.
Will it start being suspicious over time if I reject women left and right? But what’s the alternative?
And why would he tell me she’s a virgin? Jesus fucking Christ. I grab a beer and disappear into a back corridor before the prospect can come back. I know he’s trying to please me, but it’s not helping.
I’ve heard that kind of talk from the guys over the years. “You always remember your first” and all that.
Sadly, I do.
And if I knew his face, he would be dead.
I lean against the wall when I’m alone, with only club photos for company, and I press the cold bottle of beer to my forehead.
All those years ago, I went out seeking a man to fuck me, and that ended so badly I convinced myself men weren’t for me. But then I think about how I felt under Road, with his hips slapping against my ass, and I can’t get it out of my head. My fantasies about him are nothing like what I survived, and neither were the times we had sex .
I know we have no future, not really, so do I have anything to lose? Am I chickening out on something I want because some fucker left a hateful imprint on me? I know damn well Road would jump on the chance if I suggested going all the way. If anything, he’s been surprisingly restrained about pushing for fucking me, which is kinda reassuring. It could be the experience he had in his teens that’s made him more understanding, and I only lo…like him more for it.
If I had a do-over, I’d like him to be my first.
We could fucking die in the coming weeks.
I want him inside me.
I lick my lips, hovering my fingers over the phone I don’t even know I’ve pulled out.
But I’m not getting fucked in some shack with no bathroom. Road deserves better on his birthday too.
I smile to myself as I start typing, and my heart beats faster. He is gonna lose his mind.