Chapter 17 #3
Using the back door, I step out into the relative chill of the night air.
An owl hoots, and I swear a bat only just misses me as I wind my way along the path that leads to the bunkhouse in the barn.
Entering, I climb up to the converted hayloft and head for the vacant room at the end, making a pit stop on the way to relieve my bladder, and then regret I hadn’t had the forethought to grab my toothbrush, razor, or even fresh clothes.
Still, there’s no way I’m going to disturb Bronwyn, so I’ll have to make do.
Won’t be the first time I’ve had to live like a vagrant, and truthfully, I’m too washed out to care.
Luckily, I’d popped a bottle of painkillers into my pocket and, using water from the tap, swallow a couple.
Then I proceed to my accommodation for tonight.
I open the door with just one thought in my mind – to collapse on the bed and hope the tablets will soon work. Fuck Freak for hitting my head so hard. I know I’ll be spending any waking hours plotting my revenge.
Oh fuck. My eyes widen as I look around. I hadn’t even thought to tell a prospect or one of the whores to get the room ready for me. There’s a bed, yes, but on it is only a bare mattress, and in the harsh overhead light, that’s covered in stains I’d rather not think about.
But I’m too damn tired to do anything about it now. I’ve been running on adrenaline for the last few hours. So, continuing on the homeless theme, I decide to sleep in my clothes, rather than risk getting anyone else’s cum on me.
I remove my cut and place it on the hook behind the door. Then I let myself collapse, lying down on my side, resting my head on my forearm, rather than risking skin contact with the bare pillow.
Exhausted, it’s not long before sleep comes.
But I’m not left to slumber in peace. I’m rudely awakened by a loud voice outside in the corridor. It’s Heathen and Knight who’ve decided to have a loud discussion about how it sucks to be a prospect right outside my fuckin’ door.
“You won’t be getting my vote unless you let me get some sleep,” I bellow.
“Fuck, I forgot Short was sleeping here.” I recognise Knight’s voice even though he’s tried to lower his tone.
“I can still hear you!”
There’s a scuffling of feet, banging of doors, then blessed silence once more.
I try to reclaim the sleep I was in before, when a rhythmic banging starts from the wall to the left of me, accompanied by a woman’s shrill encouragement. “Fuck me harder, Rat. I know that’s how you want it.”
Hell, I’d forgotten how thin these walls are. I can even identify it’s Star who Rat’s obviously got in his room. He’s a brother. I can’t put a stop to his fun. All I can do is lie here, endure it, and hope the man doesn’t last too long, or goes more than one round.
I get a new admiration for the brothers who actually live here, and I'm so fuckin’ grateful I’ve been a member so long that when a room came up in the main building, it had my number.
Closing my eyes, I try to block the sound out.
Fuck Rattler and his stamina, I start thinking, as fuck knows how many minutes pass.
He’s no fucking one-pump chump. I’ve heard Star scream out her pleasure at least three times.
No wonder he’s popular with the sweet butts.
I start looking back, wondering if my performance compares, and whether I give them as good a time.
It must be nearly an hour later when Rat finally roars.
Kick her out, I silently admonish him.
The door to his room bangs open and just as loudly shuts. Male footsteps echo on the wooden floor, and I mentally trace his steps. He’s headed to the bathroom to clean up. Fuck, I hope he’s not preparing for another round. I don’t think I can take much more.
Finally, I hear doors opening and closing again, and thank fuck, Star calls out a cheery goodnight. Blessed silence falls again, and I force myself to relax and wait for sleep to come.
I’m just dropping off when I hear someone coughing their guts up from the floor beneath me. God give me strength! Oh, fuck – is that someone barfing?
Uncaring of whatever residue is on it, I pull the filthy pillow over my head.
Sleep getting ever further away from me, I latch onto the idea I’d not thought too much of before.
Of setting up a home in the house I’d bought to do up and flip.
Hell, even if I move in there by myself, it would be better than spending another night in this frat house.
Bronwyn can have my room for as long as she wants it.
But the clubhouse is not the right environment for that boy.
Beggars can’t be fucking choosers. She’ll have to make do.
In the dead of the night, I admit to myself, if we’re forced into close proximity, I just might not be able to control myself. Not that I’m a man to force myself on anyone, but if she gave me any signal she was as interested in me the way I am with her, I might forget all of Saint’s warnings.
When a banging comes on my door, I startle awake, surprised I managed to get any sleep at all.
“What d’ya fuckin’ want?” I shout out.
“Er, Short. Prez wants to see you over in the clubhouse.” Heathen sounds hesitant as well he should. Right now, I’d be happy to kill the messenger. After I delay any response, his voice comes again. “Short, did you hear me?”
“I fuckin’ heard you, Prospect. Loud and clear.” For a second, I think about instructing him to get me my toothbrush, other necessities, and fresh clothes. But luckily, I rethink it as I don’t want him barging in on Bronwyn and the kid. “I’ll be fuckin’ there.”
Prez will have to take me as he finds me. And if I stink through bad breath and lack of deodorant, then he’ll have to put up with it.
I drag myself off the mattress, grimacing when my hand finds something sticky, then stand to my full height, rolling my neck in an attempt to get the kinks out of it.
Pushing my hand – not the one with the suspicious substance on it – down my pants, I scratch my balls while simultaneously farting.
I’m a real man after all. After putting on my cut, I proceed to the heads, where I fight my morning wood, making every effort to direct my piss down into the bowl rather than onto the floor.
Spoiler, it doesn’t one hundred percent work.
Then, vowing never to spend another night in the barn again, I make my way to the main house, realising my night has done nothing to relieve the ache in my head.
If I see Freak, I’ll fucking kill him. Might not be up to using my fists, but I’ve got a gun and a bullet with his name on it.
Entering through the same door I exited last night, I enter the kitchen first, then go through to the clubroom. Seeing Trixie behind the bar, I make my way straight to her.
“Coffee. Stat,” I demand.
“Prez said send you straight through to him.”
“I need coffee, woman.” My snarl at least gets her moving. It’s only seconds later, she’s handing me a full cup, doctored just the way I like it. Black, but with enough sugar to give a man diabetes.
After raising my chin to thank her, I make my way to Bullseye’s office. I’m unsurprised when I see Saint already sitting there, looking fresh as a daisy, legs kicked out and totally relaxed. I’ve another bullet in my gun named for him.
“Well, it keeps getting worse with you, doesn’t it?” Bullseye doesn’t even offer a greeting before he starts.
I don’t pretend not to know what this is about. “Fuck, Prez. She came to me with the kid. What was I supposed to do?” I drop Saint in it. “The VP was here. He agreed to take them in.”
“Bronwyn’s one thing. She’s an adult and can make her own choices. The boy? He’s eight years old. She, and subsequently we, could be accused of kidnapping and child endangerment as this place is not right for a kid.”
“Going to have one running around here shortly,” Saint snaps, obviously unhappy with his prez’s words. “Pippa’s pregnant, remember?”
Ah, so perhaps Saint didn’t have the peaceful night I believed he did. “Pippa okay?” I enquire.
Saint turns tired eyes on me. “Peachy, if you discount her throwing up her guts every morning.”
Prez waves his hand dismissively. “Of course, we’ll be accommodating to rug rats of our own.
But Bronwyn’s brother is not our family.
And his real folks, Doc and his wife, will be going crazy wondering where he’s gone.
” I shrug, my brain not firing on all cylinders as yet.
Prez narrows his eyes on me. “Still don’t know why Doc hurt Bronwyn in the first place.
Could it be he knew you and her were… friendly? ”
I slam my cup down on his desk, not regretting for a moment that some of it spills over, staining the wood. “We’re not fuckin’ ‘friendly’ as you put it. I just offered her a safe space, one she took up when she had to.”
Both my VP and prez zero their gazes on me, but it’s Bullseye who states, “Can’t take the risk that Doc might blame the Kings for his kids’ disappearance. I want to make sure if he comes looking, there’s no trace of them here.”
“Already got that sorted.” The force of my exclamation sends a bolt of pain through my head.
Out of necessity rather than to gain sympathy, I take the bottle out of my pocket, tap out two tablets, pick up my coffee, and wash them down.
Only then do I continue in a more even tone, the optimism that the painkillers will take care of my pain, making me more reasonable.
“We’ll get Bron and Trip settled into my house.
There’s no way Doc can find out I own it.
It’s a recent purchase, so the land registry won’t have the correct details yet.
They can bunker down there, and no one will be any the wiser.
Doc can come here, search all he wants, but he won’t find them. ”