Chapter 2 #2
Maybe he’s here to murder me. Who the fuck knows?
The only thing I do know is that he already had me rattled before he told me his name, and I don’t like feeling fucking rattled.
I’m keeping my identity quiet until we can get home and I’m surrounded by reinforcements.
If I’m about to be murdered by the most intoxicating person I’ve ever had sex with—which is saying a lot, considering my dick is literally the only part of me that even touched him—I might as well go down fighting.
Maybe. Or maybe he’ll start tearing me limb from limb and I’ll just hump his leg in response, like a desperate animal, because apparently I’m into that.
Or at least I was earlier, when I stood there while he licked the blood off my neck, panting and feeling my dick throb instead of doing what a rational person would have done and pushing him away.
Pathetic. Horny and pathetic, that’s what I am. Not being the one in control is an alien sensation for me, and I fucking hate it.
Fallow seems oblivious to my distress. He’s content to sit in the passenger seat, also bloody and dirty but at least fully dressed, meticulously cleaning the blade of his knife as he hums and occasionally looking out the window at the countryside.
I can’t tell if his unaffected air is put on for my benefit or if he genuinely doesn’t care, but either way, it’s irking the shit out of me.
He murdered a bunch of people, fucked me, and then rescued me. The fact that the only real emotion I’ve seen on him was how pissed off he was when I touched his arm is rubbing me the wrong way.
God, even this whiny inner monologue doesn’t feel like myself. I tighten and then re-tighten my grip on the steering wheel, focusing on the sensation of the worn leather instead of the man sitting next to me.
After what seems like a lifetime, we hit the edge of the Banna property.
I refer to it as The Farm, and so do a lot of the other guys, even though it hasn’t been used to actually grow shit in decades.
It was a family farm once upon a time, then it got bought or press-ganged or something into service as the headquarters for a local motorcycle club.
They used to be the main dealers in the area, with us as their long-distance suppliers.
But when the Aryans started edging in on the territory, fighting broke out.
It cost the club a lot of their membership, either to death or prison sentences, and made it pretty clear we either had to make a strong presence in the area or cede the whole thing to the Brotherhood.
Padraig, my boss, isn’t a fan of ceding anything.
When Sav got injured a few months ago and we needed a place to stay outside of Oklahoma, it seemed like a win-win. I know Padraig’s plan was to eventually build up our presence here and leave Sav in charge, but his son had other plans.
He’s perfectly happy living free and having nothing to do with us, and I’m happy for him. And not because it meant I got to take over his role as local boss.
Okay, not just because. I wanted him to be happy, but I’m not exactly unhappy with the outcome of my sudden ascent to power. Except now, when I might be about to get murdered by someone who I think might be the first honest-to-god serial killer I’ve ever met.
The guards at the gate immediately go on high alert when they clock the unfamiliar vehicle but relax when they see me driving it. They give Fallow a questioning look, but he hits them with the same soulless grin he gave me earlier as they open the gate for us.
I don’t say anything as I go through the tedious process of driving up to the property and parking.
Mostly because I’m scared that the more I talk, the more he’ll see how much he manages to ruffle me.
As soon as we’re out of the truck, I start to lead him inside to my office so I can tell him the truth and get down to business, but of course, he interrupts me.
“What is that?” he asks.
Honestly, I’ve gotten so used to the noise, I barely notice it anymore.
It’s annoying, but in the same way that the sound of air conditioning is annoying.
Background noise. But on the rare occasions when we do have a visitor on the property, I’m always reminded that it’s pretty loud the first time you hear it, and it takes a minute to explain.
I can’t suppress a sigh.
“It’s foxes. I know they’re annoying, but you tune them out after a while. One of the ladies breeds them as pets that she sells. They’re in those kennels over there.”
I point to the chain-link runs lining one side of the building, Fallow’s gaze following my finger.
Normally, people look some combination of annoyed, disgusted, or bored at this point.
The noise is universally irritating for sure.
But it’s actually become a weird indicator of how much empathy people have deep down, whether their response is to not give a shit or to at the very least think it’s fucking gross to chain up wild animals and impregnate them for profit.
In my life, I’d never thought about it until I ended up inheriting this situation. Never thought about animals at all, really, unless it was how to avoid someone’s guard dog. The longer I stay here though, the more it grates on my nerves having to watch the damn things be penned up.
It makes me feel penned up. Who wants a wild animal as a pet anyway? They have the whole goddamn forest to themselves.
I literally sling fentanyl and firearms for a living, and it gives me the fucking morality ick. That has to mean something.
It’s out of my control, though. The deal we made when we took the property was that the club prez’s widow would get to stay, and she comes with fucking foxes.
Sav even refers to her as “the fox widow” and thank God he’s not around, or all the guys would be copying him.
Padraig may be a piece of shit when it comes to a lot of things, but he takes his word very seriously, so her and her foxes are here to stay.
Fallow doesn’t look annoyed at the noise, though. His face is positively serene, in fact.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Mmm,” he says, nodding. “I’ve never really heard anything like this before.”
“Like the screaming of a demon-chorus that’s coming to take your soul?”
That almost makes him laugh, just enough that the tip of a very pink tongue peeks out between his teeth. Once again, I’m hit with regret that I never got to kiss him before I aggressively shove the thought away.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice breathy and completely out of sync with our surroundings. “It’s peaceful.” Then he cocks his head to the side. “A little sad, maybe.”
I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that.
He clearly clocks my reaction as well because his hint of a smile broadens as he holds my gaze.
It’s obvious he gets unending pleasure from making the people around him uncomfortable or feel off-kilter, and from what I can tell, he’s a fucking master at it.
We stand there in silence looking at each other for a beat too long. I’ve forgotten all about the greater context of what we’re doing, distracted by that damn tongue, and I don’t usher him into the house fast enough.
Instead, the screen door swings open with a creak before smacking against the side of the house, and the too-familiar sound of Lucky’s voice grates my fucking nerves.
“Yo, Colm! Where the fuck are Archie and Vince? And what took you so long?” He trots down the few stairs leading up to the porch and jogs over to us.
His mohawk looks even more green in the bright sunlight, or maybe he re-dyed it recently based on the matching green stains on his ears, and there’s a fresh bruise forming under one eye.
He’s always goddamn fighting. In the house, out of the house, as a joke or seriously, it doesn’t matter. I’m getting sick of it. It pisses me off so much I don’t process everything he’s saying as quickly as I should.
“Who’s your creepy friend? And why are you naked?” The torrent of questions continues.
He reaches out to poke my arm, like he’s confirming that I really am shirtless, but I bat his hand away with a growl.
“Archie and Vince are dead. I’ve been with the Aryans getting tortured, if you can call it that, and now I’m back.
No thanks to the rescue party you guys didn’t send out.
Nice to know I can be two hours late and no one thinks to look into it.
I’m starting to think the fucking foxes would make better guards. ”
Lucky’s eyes widen, his lips part like he’s going to keep motor-mouthing, but I’m not in the mood to hear it.
“And who this is is none of your goddamn business. But if you insult him again, I’ll build a woodshed just so I have someplace to take you out back and belt you like your daddy clearly didn’t. You’re an adult, Lucky. Watch your fucking mouth.”
That might have been an overreaction. Okay, it was definitely an overreaction, but Lucky has always rubbed me the wrong way—especially when he won’t shut the fuck up—and I’m on wafer-thin patience right now.
My body is getting sore now that the adrenaline is well and truly gone, and if he sniffs a scent of queerness on Fallow and starts one of his homophobic, oh-so-clearly self-hating rants, I don’t think I have the ability to play nicely—or heterosexually—about it.
“Ignore him, he’s an idiot,” I say to Fallow. “Come with me.”
Turning to lead him into the house, it takes me a second to figure out why he’s looking at me with narrow eyes and an assessing expression. Then he speaks, and the penny drops.
“Sure thing, Colm.”
Fuck.
I let out another heavy sigh.
“Look, I’m tired. Can you please murder me after I’ve had a shower and something to eat? It’s been a very long day.”
Fallow looks between me and Lucky, his gaze bouncing back and forth as he seems to make a complex series of assessments. Eventually, the tension falls from his face, replaced by a smirk, and he licks his lips.
“Sure. I know you’re probably covered in all kinds of unsavory fluids you need to be scrubbing off.”
It’s an obvious dig and reminds me that while I wiped myself off quickly before I left, anyone who looked close enough could potentially see evidence among the dried blood and dirt of the cum I practically begged him to spray across my chest about half an hour ago.
Warmth pools in my cheeks at the thought, something else that never happens to me, and I turn around swiftly to hide it.
“Emergency meeting!” I bark, hoping my voice carries into the house as I storm in with the other two in tow. “Twenty minutes. And somebody make me something to goddamn eat while I’m in the shower.”
I swear I hear Fallow laughing softly behind me, but maybe that’s just the sound of blood rushing in my ears from humiliation.