Chapter 40
Clyde
Riding with the Vultures feels strange even in a car. Their bikes are in front of us and behind us, as if I’m some precious cargo, not the man who was their enemy only days ago. Their willingness to have Road’s back, and by proxy, mine, is rapidly changing my mind about these men I so despised in the past. How much of the dislike was my own, and how much hatred built into being a Butcher?
If we got attacked right now, I wouldn’t find it easy to use Prophet as a human shield, or to offer Rooster to the Butchers for a chance to escape. And of course there’s Road for who I’d take a bullet and eat gravel. How fast can priorities change.
“You good?” Road asks from the passenger seat. He wanted to sit behind the wheel, but he’s not yet fully recovered, and I don’t want him to put himself under unnecessary strain. He hates not being the one in control, but he’ll live.
I stroke his thigh, unafraid that someone passing could see us. It’s a strange new reality I’m growing accustomed to fast. “I’m just thinking. That maybe there is hope, and that over time, your guys might accept me. I just hope neither of us dies before that happens. The Butchers don’t let go of grudges easily.”
Road’s face, sprayed with blood, with dull eyes and lips that can no longer speak my name flashes through my head like a bullet, and judging by his scowl my comment has served him with similar thoughts. He rubs his crooked nose, then the back of his head and drags his hands up and down his thighs, as if he needed to wipe dirt from them .
Or blood.
His hand settles on mine.
“Don’t fucking say such things.”
I shrug. “No point running from reality.” Even though it’s what we’ve been doing since the inception of our relationship. Hiding it from our clubs, pretending to ourselves that it’s just fucking, when deep down each of us knew the bond kept deepening like we were digging our own graves.
“I don’t want to live my life waiting for death. It’s too fucking short for that.”
I grab the bead necklace and wink at him. “Now that we have these, nothing’s gonna happen to us anyway.”
Tension drips out of him as he chuckles, rubbing his face with one hand. “Uh-huh, let’s just go with that,” he says and then leans forward, looking through the windshield. The men riding bikes ahead make a series of hand gestures, and he settles back in the seat. “We’re stopping at the gas station.”
I know the drill and follow the motorcycles ahead of us without issue. The station is a small place half-way to my house from Vulture Hollow. Quite picturesque even, among the forest, by a quiet road. It has a little shop with camping equipment and food, which is convenient because I was thinking about getting a snack. I wouldn’t use my credit card, but I carry enough cash for basics, and no one took my wallet when I played dead.
Road gives my hand a firm squeeze, and I look up, meeting his brown gaze. Usually, I barely even remember he has scars, and a mangled tattoo around his eye, but I notice them now and feel an ache deep in my chest when I remember I was the one to cause them.
“We can come back for more stuff if it won’t all fit in the van today, hm? Think what you need most,” he says and pulls back, exiting the car.
He goes to talk to Prophet, who is putting gas in his tank, and I drift off to the shop with the eyes of a dozen men following my every move. Not only am I now a curiosity because of being Road’s fiancé, but they must also still view me as a threat. A wild card, a ticking time bomb that could destroy them from within like the one I set in their warehouse last year.
In the shop, I’m struck by the intense need to get something for Road. I know he’d get me a pebble from the bottom of a lake if I asked, but I still feel strange about not having much to offer. If we’re lucky, the Butchers may have been unable to open or take away the safe in my house, so I might recover some cash. I didn’t tell Road, because I didn’t want him to get his hopes up.
For now, a selection of snacks is what I can get him, and since he has a weakness for meat, I drift toward the jerky sticks I’m seeing close by. One of the Vultures, Martin, is picking something out of the fridge too, his broad nose twitching as he compares two kinds of cheese, searching for something on the labels. I shouldn’t be so spooked about interacting with guys who from now on will be my people , but I find myself relieved that he’s busy and might ignore me if I grab what I need and go.
No such fucking luck.
“You sure you’re in the right section?” Martin asks before picking at a bit of skin peeling on his pink face. Did this guy ever hear of sunscreen? Guess he’s following my uncle’s motto of “Creams are for pussies” . Real men fight off skin cancer with testosterone. Probably.
“Yep.” I grab the meaty snack, and walk off to the wall of sweets, but Martin follows me.
“These. You’ll like these,” he points to a packet of pink strawberry twist marshmallows boasting to now have 50% more popping candy coating . With the edible glitter on them, they look like unicorn feed.
I sigh, not turning around. “And why would that be?”
“I thought guys like you liked pink. And they last a long time if you suck on them.”
Okay. So this is what we’re doing. I squeeze the packet of jerky sticks to avoid punching him. I’m outnumbered, they’re doing me a favor, I know I need to take a bit of shit in this hazing process. On the other hand, I can’t let anyone think they can treat me like a punching bag.
I turn to him and raise my eyebrows. “So you’re an expert on sucking now?”
He grins, showing off an even smile that seems too white in his rosy face. “I could be a judge at the porn Olympics.”
“With all this knowledge, you might as well take part,” I say in full seriousness. “How’s your gag reflex?”
His smile drops, as if I’ve pulled on the skin off his cheeks, and darkness clouds his eyes like the heavy smoke that might choke me if unleashed. He shoves me back, face twisting when he squares his shoulders, as if I’ve just stripped him of all dignity. “Do you want to choke on a gun? Is that it? ”
I straighten, not even blinking as I stare him down. “Is this supposed to be a threat, or your idea of flirting? Should I tell Road about this?”
He scowls, but the brief stiffness that initially passed through his features tells me my threat did its job. I’m not happy about needing to hide behind Road either, but being in a precarious situation I am required to give up on a degree of pride.
“Pathetic. You’re gonna run crying to your man over a bit of teasing?” He gathers spit in his mouth, and I’m sure if we weren’t indoors, he’d release it.
Fuck what I’m required to do. Fuck being civil. And fuck Martin.
I punch him in the gut with the jerky still in my fist. I drop the packet when he pushes me at the wall of sweets so hard they fall all around me like a kid’s dream avalanche.
I already hear yelling from the other side of the store, but doing damage is my sole focus right now. I grab Martin’s top and pull him in for a headbutt.
The world shakes as I fall back, trying to make sense of the lamps and shelves around me. I barely have the time to protect myself when Martin dashes my way like a bull about to gore me, but a wet mop swings between us, spraying me with water. Martin makes the stupidest fucking face, pulling back his chin into his neck, as if he worried the water might be toxic, but then the elderly worker of the store pokes me in the chest, adjusting her thick glasses.
“Turner! You will not be doing that in my shop! Get out, both of you!”
I’m still dazed, and when she prods me out of the door, I fall over, embarrassing myself further. Martin is right behind me, still wiping his face, but at least he’s still standing.
“Both of you are banned for a month! I will remember!” the lady yells, supporting her weight on the mop as if it were a crutch. She’s only drawing more attention to this fiasco.
“What the hell’s going on?” Prophet shouts, and Martin responds before I can gather my thoughts.
“He was riling me up!”
I sneer. “You should have stayed the fuck away from me!”
I’m about to drag myself up from the asphalt when strong arms push under my armpits and help me up. I don’t even need to look back to know who it is, because I’d recognize Road’s scent anywhere. I can still sense the cherry tobacco from the pipe he had after breakfast, and only the presence of others keeps me from curling into his chest.
“What’s going on here?”
Martin glares at me. I glare back. I wish I’d punched him harder .
“Nothing,” I say, because yeah, I won’t in fact “go crying to my man” about some bullshit.
Prophet raises his eyebrows. “Let’s go then.”
The other guys whisper, gossiping again, but Road doesn’t leave my side, his hand gliding down my arm to slot in with my fingers. Something about this moment, the safety of feeling his warm skin against mine takes my breath away. I follow his lead all the way to the car. He’s making a point by holding my hand in front of them all.
He’s not letting me go. He’s gay. He’s proud of being with me. So much meaning in that simple gesture.
“I’m driving,” he tells me and opens the passenger door for me.
I don’t even argue this time and get in with a sigh.
“What did he do?” Road asks when he slides into the driver’s seat and buckles up, ready to go.
I groan and roll my eyes as we follow the formation of bikes. “Oh, you know, just talked shit. He was happy to dish it out, but couldn’t handle getting it thrown back at him.”
Road snorts. “Yeah, that does sound like Martin. Sorry I left you on your own.”
“It’s fine. You can’t be my guard dog.” When I stroke his thigh from this side of the car, the ring he gave me is so prominent on my finger it makes me smile.
He groans, clearly unhappy with this. “I know you can hold your own. It’s just that our history with the Butchers makes things difficult,” he says as we drive down the serene road.
I smirk and pat his thigh to lighten the mood. “I can get you a leash and collar if that’s what you’re after.”
His teeth dig into his bottom lip as he tries not to smile. “Is that what you want? To keep me on a leash?”
I stroke the back of his head. “I’d keep you locked away in my shack by the lake if I could get away with it.”
“I can behave. Sometimes. No need to be ashamed of me.”
“You can’t behave if your life depends on it.” I lean in and kiss him on the cheek. “But I love you that way. I might still have my dad’s dog’s muzzle around somewhere at my house if you wanna role play.”
Road blinks. “Well, I didn’t know you were kinky like that.” He seems ready to say more, but his mouth shuts as he focuses on something far ahead .
A plume of smoke.
All at once, I’m hit by a mix of emotions that render me silent.
I know what this means.
I don’t want to believe it.
After a prolonged silence, Road speaks. “It could be anything.”
I nod, and we drive at the pace set by the bikes ahead of us. It could be anything, but I have a sinking feeling in my gut, and when I see fire engines gathered at the entrance to my property, the seat sucks me in as a part of me dies.
“Those shit-eating mongrels,” Road huffs, but no amount of cursing can undo what’s already happened, and as the bikes all stop close to my driveway, the charred remains of my home come into view.
Firefighters are still assessing the area, but I release my seatbelt with trembling hands, desperate to go see if anything can be salvaged. This is where I grew up. This was my sanctuary. This is where I spent my first night with Road.
I want to cry, scream, but I hold it in, just like I’ve learned.
I walk toward the house, dazed.
I have nothing.
The house is an ashen carcass, it’s blackened bones peeking out of the rubble, and flaky skin taken away by the wind. The fire’s gone, but since I live in the sticks, the fire service didn’t come before all this devastation could be stopped.
Road grabs my arm. “I’m sorry. Maybe we can still salvage something.”
I struggle to breathe. I realize I bit my cheek to not burst into tears when I taste the blood on my tongue. “M-my family photos,” I choke out, my vision blurry.
It’s as if the reality of my situation is only now hitting, and the punches don’t stop coming. I see Prophet going to talk to the fire crew.
“Breathe,” Road whispers, his palm massaging my back in wide circles. To my right, I see all the Vultures watching the carnage with somber expressions, but the whole world is behind a glass wall now. Road is the only one who can reach through it. He pulls me close, whispering words of comfort that don’t help in the slightest. Still, I’m happy he’s here, that I don’t need to face all this on my own.
My brain is screaming at me to make a joke, pretend in front of them all that it’s not a big deal, and that I can’t be broken. I’m so sick of having to be strong though when I feel as brittle as the charred wooden beams of what used to be my house .
“It’s not just the items,” I whisper. “This is how much they hate me.” Even my voice sounds alien to me now.
“That’s because they’re morons,” Road growls, cupping my face with both hands and pressing his forehead to mine. “They hate me too, so that’s good company.”
I know he’s trying his best to cheer me up, but my grief feels bottomless when I shudder in his arms. Until I saw my house burned to the ground, I don’t think I fully grasped that the life I knew has ended.
“Fuck… I need to sit down.” I take a deep breath of air carrying the scent of smoke, and Road doesn’t stop me when I sit right there, in the driveway.
“I’ll go inside and see if there’s anything we can grab, huh?” he asks, sinking to his haunches right in front of me. “Is that fine? Can I leave you for a moment?”
I nod as my brain whirs with all the things I had in that house that I’ll have to replace. Or will I? I don’t even live here anymore. My mind is such a mess. I slide my fingers into my hair in a useless attempt to try soothing my brain. It pulses inside my overheating skull, making me nauseated.
Road straddles my legs and pulls my face to his chest. “I’ll take care of things. I’m here.”
Footsteps come ever closer, and I flinch at the sight of motorcycle boots looming on the edge of my vision. Road stiffens against me. “Seriously? Now?”
Martin’s voice is raspy and full of anger. “I came here to be fucking nice! You don’t need to protect him from me!”
I nod, because maybe he’s a welcome distraction right now.
“We’ll get the bastards,” Martin says and extends a packet of cigarettes toward me. Which is a surprising peace offering I end up accepting. Road lights it for me, and Martin goes on. “The guys are asking if there’s anything in particular to look for.”
I take a long drag of smoke that is so different from the stench in the air. “Photos, documents, and these… if you find any of these ceramic chickens, put them to the side.”
Martin doesn’t question it, just nods and walks off.
I look into Road’s eyes. My life might be falling apart, but I’m not alone.