Chapter 2
GQ
Seated in the clubhouse bar, I glared at myself in the mirror behind the counter. Life continued to knock me down every chance it got. Just when I thought I was doing better, something made me feel emasculated.
“What did I do to deserve this wrath?” I asked the universe.
“What’d you say, honey?”
“Not talking to you,” I hissed at Letty.
She mumbled and worked on the tension in my shoulders.
Club bunnies. These days they were nothing but irritation instead of enjoyment.
And my fucking club brothers were just as irritating. I could have helped with Slay’s girl, Cass. Yeah, yeah. I was given the job of defending the clubhouse. Jefe’s precious wife and baby. Mama Virgie and the club girls. Somebody needed to be here and that someone had been me.
And of course, not a damn thing happened.
It was embarrassing being left behind. I was the fucking Road Captain. An original member who had helped build our chapter from the ground up. My blood, sweat and tears were all over this place.
If I said I could ride, Jefe should have fucking let me. Instead, he said no. My president insulted me and now that he and the crew were back from saving Slay’s woman, I would drink myself into the gutter.
“Cheers to the assholes who can ride and fuck.” I raised my glass of whiskey into the air. “You don’t know how good you have it.” I swallowed the amber liquid and savored the burn as it heated my chest.
“Wanna go try right now?” Letty asked from behind me. Her lips went onto my neck, and she pecked a trail up to my earlobe. “You’ve healed more since the last time you took me to your bed.”
I pondered her suggestion. Yes, I was physically better. My doctor gave me a clean bill of health months ago. He said I could resume my normal activities in small doses, working up to being completely normal.
Except, mentally, I couldn’t bring myself to try certain activities.
My pelvis had been fractured in the accident.
I had scarring on my torso and thighs from when I slid against the pavement after the garbage truck ran me over.
Following my second skin graft surgery, I was done.
I didn’t give a shit if my body was off-putting to women.
Fortunately, my face was in good condition, but that didn’t help with my erectile disfunction.
“Did you hear me, handsome?” She turned me around to face her. Sort of hated these swivel stools right now. “Or I can suck you off. You always enjoyed when I took you into the back of my throat and gagged.”
“Get gone, Letty.” El Jefe entered the bar and went to the fridge for a beer.
I had to hand it to him; his timing was perfect. Now I didn’t have to refuse Letty.
“Maybe later, darlin’.” I pinched her chin and winked.
“I look forward to it, G.” She stole a quick kiss then scurried away.
Truth be told, I had always liked to make Letty choke on my cock. Her sensitive gag reflex was quite arousing. But when I tried to have sex for the first time since the accident, my dick wouldn’t get hard. Nothing she had done turned me on. It was like I was dead inside.
El Jefe guzzled his beer, eyeing me. If I had to guess, Silvia told him about my meltdown after he and the crew left.
“Go ahead. Rip me a new one.” I braced myself for Jefe’s yelling.
“I don’t get you, man.” He crossed his arms on the counter and lowered to be at my level. “Ranting about me with my wife in earshot is inexcusable. If you have a problem with how I run this club, fucking talk to me!” His voice boomed, rattling the roof.
“You have no clue what it’s like being broken like me. It’s so easy to bark orders and move on to the next issue.” I yelled at him and got off the barstool. “You fucking insulted me today!”
“How? How did I insult you? I left you to protect my wife and baby son. Nothing was more important than them.”
“I don’t want to be a babysitter! After everything I’ve been through, I felt ready to ride with my brothers. But no. You demoted me and made me your personal babysitter.”
Jefe shook his head. “It wasn’t like that.”
“No? You didn’t think, GQ isn’t ready to ride? He’ll just hold us back. Better to keep him home.” My heart was racing behind my ribs. I never talked to my president this way, but at this point, I didn’t give a fuck. If he couldn’t trust me, then why in the fuck should I stick around?
“I guess I did think you aren’t ready to ride. We almost lost you. You could have died that day.”
“I wish I had died!” The truth flew out of my mouth, and I didn’t try to stop it. “Then I wouldn’t be a miserable fuck.”
“You’d rather be dead?” Jefe blinked as if he couldn’t believe what I’d said.
“Yes.”
Jefe’s jaw twitched as he came out from behind the bar and stalked toward me. “Don’t ever say that again.” He embraced me and squeezed. “We need you, brother.”
Emotion threatened to choke me. I closed my eyes to trap my tears.
Yelling came from the direction of the kitchen. Jefe and I pulled apart.
“I better go check on Slay. He’s out of his mind right now,” Jefe said.
“Understandable.” If I had a woman who’d been drugged by a Russian running a sex trafficking business under the guise of a mail order bride, I’d be raging.
“We good?” Jefe asked.
“Yeah. I appreciate you, brother.”
He pinned me in place with an intense stare. “If you ever think about taking your own life, tell me. I will get you the help you need. Don’t let your pride get in the way. You have a lot of life ahead of you to live.”
“I will.” I almost mentioned my ED but decided not to. That was more personal than I wanted to get with him. Besides, it wasn’t the right time.
“Where in the hell is the nurse?” Slay shouted at the entrance of the bar. “I’m going to bust Hector’s ass. She should have been here by now.”
“Go be with Cass. I’ll check into it,” Jefe told him.
“Fine.” Slay stormed away.
Jefe gripped my shoulder. “We’ll talk later.”
“I’m feeling better.”
“We. Will. Talk. Later.” He emphasized each order as he left in a tone that meant I had no choice. Whatever. Maybe he’d forget about this incident. The shit with the Russians was more important than me and my issues.
Finally, alone in the bar, I rolled my hands into fists. I’d been sitting too long, and my tailbone ached like a motherfucker. My first thought was to pour me another drink and take a pain pill.
Oxy and alcohol didn’t mix well and were a no-no according to my doctor. I hadn’t listened to him before now. Following my release from the hospital, all I wanted to do was drink and sleep. The accident had changed me. It changed my body.
I hated my miserable life.
But I needed to be clearheaded in the event the club found itself in a war with the Bratva. Too many innocent women were in the building, along with baby Chance.
I took out the pills I carried in my pocket and took two. The drinking would have to wait until I went to my room for the night.
“Set those tables up to make a buffet line,” Mama Virgie told a couple of members. “Tequila is bringing some food from his restaurant, and I have enough pozole and pan dulce to feed all of México.” She waved her hand in the direction of where she wanted the banquet tables set up.
The funny thing about Mama Virgie, El Jefe’s mother, was she loved to give orders even if she’d given them a million times.
Everybody knew where the banquet tables went.
They were in the same spot for every event because to the right of the bar was the only available space.
But that lady marched around dictating to all of us like we were her children.
I didn’t have a mother, so she could order me around all she wanted.
I chuckled to myself as the guys nodded, each carrying a table. They unfolded the legs and placed them along the wall as directed.
“Good job,” she told them. “Now go find Jefe and see if he needs you to do anything.” She waved them off and shuffled toward me.
The sound of her flip flops on the wooden floors was familiar.
No matter how cold it got, you could bet she was wearing what every Mexican in the club called chanclas. She owned several colors, too.
“Hey, Mama.” I jerked my chin at her.
“How are you, Mijo? You’ve been busy today.” I liked when she called me mijo. Naturally, she called all the Latinos mijo, but she treated us white dudes exactly the same way.
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t lie to me.” She pointed her finger at me. “I can tell you’re in pain. Your eye twitches.”
I touched my right eye. Now that she mentioned it, I felt it twitch.
“See, you know I’m right.” She nodded and made the sound all the Mexican women made. “You should go rest for a while before things get crazy around here.”
“I need to keep watch. Can’t be too careful.”
“You’re a good boy, Gideon.” She patted my cheek.
“Shh, don’t say my real name,” I whispered, sternly. Not that I minded what Mama Virgie called me. It was just that Gideon wasn’t a cool biker’s name, and I preferred to be called GQ.
GQ was what Jefe called me the day we met not long after I graduated high school.
He’d approached me in the park where I’d sit on a bench for hours a day, pondering my sucky life.
When I told him my name was Gideon Quick, he quickly said gross.
That my birth name didn’t fit with my pretty face and I should be on the cover of GQ Magazine.
I laughed so hard, I nearly broke a rib.
From that day forward, I was GQ to everyone I met and when I patched into the club, it was my road name.
Looking at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar, I didn’t like what I saw. I wasn’t as pretty as I used to be.
The garbage truck had won. It tore me to shreds dragging me across the road. Broke me in multiple ways. I would never be the carefree, playboy I used to be. Probably spend the rest of my days alone and hating the universe for destroying my life.