3. Archer
THREE
ARCHER
“Prez, catch!” Thistle tossed a beer across the room with zero fucks about it shattering against the wall.
I lurched forward to grab it, glaring at my vice president. “Have you ever been inside a house that wasn’t a trailer? The fuck was that?”
My VP was nearly six foot seven, bald, and stacked with muscle. His laugh was throaty as he tipped the bottle back, drinking his beer. Moving boxes littered the counter and floor. I had a singular couch in the living room and a recliner, but that was all I had set up so far.
“We always threw our beer in the club. You never seemed to mind then.” Thistle burped while sifting through a box of plates and silverware.
I popped the cap off my beer and tried to calm down. My mind went to the club and how we were both absent from it at the moment. This new lifestyle change would be a lot to get used to.
Thistle tossed all the silverware into a random drawer without sorting it. “How come you only asked for me to come help unpack your shit?”
Because two days ago, I met my new neighbor, and I didn’t like how she looked at me as if I were a stain on her pristine, perfect life. Usually, I’d press in harder to piss her off, but she’d helped me out with Kane’s teacher, and while I had no idea why, it left me feeling cautious about having more of my club here.
“Just wanted to ask how things are going at the club. I didn’t want you to feel like you couldn’t be honest with me.”
Thistle let out a sigh and started placing more shit from boxes in cupboards. No rhyme or reason to any of it, just random chaos that I’d have to sort out later. “Honestly, it’s shitty, Prez. The men are testing boundaries, getting in fights, and a few scattered clubs from around the city have started wandering in…so far, nothing major, but I can tell they’re scoping shit out…testing for any weakness we might have.”
Several clubs made up New York City. Honestly, there were too many to fucking count, but of those, there were only about three that wore the one percent patch, which kept shit mildly manageable. Mayhem Riot didn’t shit in their territories, and they never crossed over into ours. For the most part, we kept things peaceful. It wasn’t broadcast that I had left because I hadn’t.
I was taking time to figure this out, but I hadn’t stepped down or left my post.
“I’ll have to come back and make an appearance. Go for a ride next week.”
Our conversation stalled as the sounds of cardboard shuffling filled the space. Thistle had thoughts but wasn’t sharing them. I’d wait him out; he eventually always spoke up once he sorted out his feelings. I moved to the box on the floor that contained my new television stand and started taking out the pieces that needed to be built.
With another sigh, Thistle spoke again, “You get anywhere with the custody stuff?”
No, but I wouldn’t tell him that. He was under the assumption that all of this was temporary. Me living here in the suburbs, this house I purchased, he assumed I placed in the club’s name, using club funds, but I hadn’t. I had told him very little about my brother, just that I needed to get him out of the shitstorm my father had created.
Kane needed stability, and I knew what it would take to provide that for him. I just had no idea how to do it.
“I’m meeting with my lawyer tomorrow; I should know more by then.”
“Doesn’t Kane start school soon?” Thistle moved into the living room, bending down to help me with the long wood pieces.
“He starts tomorrow…I'm going to pick him up from his foster home in the morning, bring him back for some breakfast, and see if he likes the place. Then take him in.”
Thistle had a bushy beard covering his mouth, making it somewhat difficult to read his expressions. His eyes were down on the instructions and the various bolts we’d need to sort out. His mind likely whirring based on how focused he seemed to be.
“You got something on your mind; just speak it.” My voice was low, encouraging. Thistle was as loyal as they came and always had my back. I had no doubt about that, but he often took his time to think through his answers before he gave them. On the rare occasion, this prevented him from saying anything at all.
“Just wish you had more support here. If any of our enemies catch on that you’re here alone, it’s dangerous. You should have the club out; be sure people know you’re not a lone wolf or anything.”
I nodded, knowing he was right.
“Not sure how my new HOA will feel about that.” I smiled, but there was a sliver of truth to it. Not that I gave a fuck about the fees or whatever power those stupid organizations had, but I didn’t want to attract any negative attention. I had to look like I was a good fit for my brother to live with. I had already talked with Ruth, one of our hackers, to see if we could have what was already on my record expunged, but in the eyes of the family court, I wasn’t sure it would make much of a difference.
Even as the president of a motorcycle club, with all the negative connotations that come with that, I couldn’t allow Kane to go to our father if he decided to pop up again. Establishing a way to balance the club's responsibilities while gaining legal custody of Kane would be a top priority, but to do that, I had to ensure I didn’t draw any negative attention to myself.
“That pretty new neighbor a member of the HOA?” Thistle’s question had my mind snapping back to the moment. Then picturing how her silky soft hair bounced against a narrow waist and round ass. How her amber eyes looked against her brown skin and those thick dark lashes. Even more so, how she’d spoken up to distract Kane’s teacher when she didn’t have to.
Wren. She’d said her name was Wren Vasquez. The name had looped around my head several times, forcing me to type it into a few social media search bars, but nothing came up.
I shook my head. “She sure acts like she is; I don’t think she likes me very much.”
“Just flash her that Archer Green smile, and I’m sure she’ll beg you for a ride.” Thistle’s laugh boomed through the empty room, his innuendo clear.
We both laughed and joked before he had to leave to get back to the city to work in the morning. I grabbed our glass bottles and a few other flattened cardboard boxes and exited through the back. The recycling bins were currently set up along the side of my house because my garage was full of all my shit.
It was almost dark, but as I rounded the small alley next to the house, I could see over the fence where Wren’s car was parked. She acted as though I disgusted her like my mere existence was a stain. I would almost assume she was doing it because she thought she was better than me, but her car was older, her clothes were from a discount store, and she seemed to be on her own with her kid. Maybe she just really didn’t like that I nearly hit her with my bike.
Maybe I should actually apologize instead of the bullshit apology I gave her.
My hands were full as I began shifting things around to fit inside the bins, but suddenly I heard a car pull up behind Wren’s.
A fucking Tesla parked, and the guy who crawled out from behind the wheel wore a suit and a tie…I glared at his slicked hair and the fact that he wore loafers without socks.
He didn’t see me watching him from my side of the fence as he pulled out his cell and slowly sauntered down the driveway toward Wren’s front door.
Was this her boyfriend? He seemed too clean…too perfect for her. It would be like pairing up a wildflower with a wax plant.
I continued to watch as he knocked on her front door, and then she stepped out, wearing a pair of pajama shorts and a thin tank top. She instantly started pushing at the man’s chest until he was away from her door. She seemed surprised, almost shocked, or panicked that he was there, which only proved correct when she started yelling.
“What are you doing here?”
I couldn’t see the man’s face, but he raised his hands and shoulders as if to shrug.
Wren shook her head, crossing her arms tight across her chest. “No, I didn’t respond to your messages. You can’t show up at my house, Brian.”
Brian? Oh shit, that’s too easy. Such a stupid name.
He said something back to her, then shoved his phone in her face. She didn’t seem to like that, and honestly, neither did I. It felt a little aggressive, especially considering she had already stated that she didn’t want him there.
I took a slow walk past my bins, setting all the materials down so as not to make a sound. Then I pushed open my side gate and rounded the drive, standing at the top of Wren’s. Neither of them could see me, and she was waving her hands and pointing at Brian’s car, telling him to go.
But he wasn’t moving.
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I made my way closer to the pair, and I heard the asshole saying something about the two of them fucking. Wren scoffed and rubbed at her forehead like she was exasperated. For no reason whatsoever, I detested the idea of the two of them together that way.
I kept walking until they both saw me and turned. Wren’s lips parted while those amber eyes went wide. I decided I liked that expression on her face and that I was the one who put it there.
“Hey, sorry to bother you both. I’m the new next-door neighbor, Archer.” I threw my thumb over my shoulder to indicate my house. “Just wondering if either of you had a screwdriver I could borrow?”
The man, Brian, I guess…was staring down at his cell phone while Wren glanced between us both.
“Yeah, I do. Brian, you can head out.” She lifted her chin toward his car while standing guard in front of her door.
Brian finally glanced up at me, then over at Wren. “I’m not leaving until we discuss this.”
I pivoted, my boots kicking up a bit of loose gravel as I moved directly in front of him.
“Yeah, you are.”
Brian’s eyes widened, and then his lip lifted in a sneer. “Who the hell even are you? I’m not?—”
I didn’t give him a chance to finish as I pulled on the back of his shirt and started dragging him back toward his car.
I heard Wren gasp behind me, but she didn’t stop me.
“Hey, wait…fuck,” Brian grumbled as he tried to get his feet underneath him. His hands twisted up, trying to break my hold, but I continued to drag him until he was next to his car, and I dropped his ass on the asphalt.
“When someone says no, it fucking means no. If they say leave, then go. If they say now isn’t a good time, then you leave. Period.”
Brian managed to get to his feet and pull his cell out. “I’m calling the police, telling them some redneck fuck in a motorcycle gang assaulted me.”
I kicked out, swiping his leg, which made him fall again, and his cell phone fell out of reach. I pressed my boot into his chest, and then I leaned down so he heard me quietly deliver my warning. “You want to find out exactly what this redneck fuck in a motorcycle club will do to you? For starters, have you ever had your leg crushed by a motorcycle's back tire? Or how about your face plastered to the side of one of our exhaust pipes after a long ride when it’s nice and hot. You want to fuck around and find out? I’ll make sure the police have a difficult time piecing you back together for their report.”
I released my boot and reached over to hand him his phone. I dropped it on his chest; he winced but caught it. He continued to stare up at me, and finally, with a jump in his Adam’s apple, he stood on shaky legs and opened his car door.
Once he drove off, Wren was behind me, her arms still crossed over her chest. Her caramel hair was twisted into a bun on top of her head, and little tendrils were left kissing her face. She was beautiful in a way that I hadn’t experienced anyone yet. I’d fucked plenty of attractive women, but I had never felt like I’d just watched my first sunrise when I saw any of them.
“Did you really need a screwdriver?”
I smirked, turning back toward my side of the yard. “Nah, just taking out my trash and saw you had someone lingering on your steps who couldn’t take a hint. Thought I’d offer to help.”
She turned toward me, even as I tried to turn to leave.
“He’s a work colleague; we hooked up a few months ago. He’s trying to get things started again.”
I nodded my understanding. “None of my business, but maybe?—"
Her laugh cut into my thoughts. She rubbed at her temple and muttered, “Fuck, he’s going to tell my boss…and when my boss finds out a motorcycle gang lives next door, she’s going to?—"
I cut her off mid-sentence, “The term gang is really fucking derogatory. I’m a part of a club; it’s not a gang…although, based on that tattoo on your arm, you’d be the expert on them.”
She tilted the back of her arm in front of her where the bleeding black heart was inked into her skin, with a bit of glare. I didn’t hear what else she said because I was already walking away.