Sasquatch
As soon as he heard the door click closed, he opened his eyes. His little pudding cup was scared. He’d been too much and moved too fast, but he couldn’t help himself.
Nothing had ever felt as right as having Devin in his arms. He felt… worthy. And her whispered words burrowed deep into his very soul and curled up there like a contented kitten.
You’re the worthiest man I know and if my heart were whole, I’d choose you in an instant.
While he’d lain there feigning sleep, his anger was rising at her sneaking out of his bed like she was ashamed. He’d been debating whether to let his ego lead and confront her, or lay there with his wounded pride and let her leave.
His ego was about to win when she’d kissed him and spoke candidly to his sleeping form. It hit him then, she’s scared. Scared of emotions, scared maybe of her brother finding out, scared of something.
Squatch got it, he really did. Hell, he wasn’t exactly what anyone would call an emotional person.
He’d been shut down for longer than not.
His Aunt Phoebe had allowed it when he’d been younger, not knowing anything else to do, but she refused to let it continue as he got older.
Her persistence and tears paid off, and he’d allowed himself to open up and start letting people in.
Her with those damned healing crystals and aura vibes wore him down because he loved her like a mother. Hell, she was his mother in all ways but one.
The realization that Devin was running scared, kept him from bolting out of the bed, chasing down the car she’d called, and tossing her over his shoulder caveman style.
She didn’t think she was whole, but she was, she just didn’t know it. They were two jagged pieces with broken edges, but maybe together they’d fit perfectly. So much of Devin still lived in shadows, she just needed light, and he’d provide it anyway she needed it.
Starting with her bitch of a mother. Last night, after Devin had drifted off to sleep, he’d spent what felt like a lifetime cataloging the pain written on her thighs with his hands like Braille.
He’d been planning that bitch’s demise for a long time, even before Devin came to Provo months ago from Nebraska.
Squatch was Enforcer, and Croon’s friend. That was enough of a reason. He’d already run the idea by his prez. He planned to run it past members unofficially before deciding if it was better to involve Croon or not.
It didn’t sit right with Zombie that the woman had gotten away with all her shit yet Croon still paid her bills every month so she didn’t end up in the street, dumpster diving.
Which was more than she’d ever done for them growing up.
When alcohol and herb loosened Croon’s tongue, he told some horrendous stories of what he had to do to feed and protect Devin.
Yet the fucker was still beholden to that goddamned witch.
“I wonder how he’d feel if he knew some of the things Dev had confessed and almost confessed to him last night.”
Yeah, what he was thinking might cost him his cut, Squatch mused as he stood and stretched, but he knew what needed to be done.
However, since he’d actually claimed Devin last night via text, the say was his now and not Croon’s.
He’d talk to Zombie. If he wasn’t ready to make the call, put it to a vote, then Squatch would claim the right as her ol’ man.
Prez wouldn’t like it, would definitely punish him for it at best, strip his colors at worst, but Devin would come first, she deserved nothing less.
Padding to the bathroom his eyes snagged on a note. So that’s what she’d been doing sitting there for what felt like an eternity.
He plucked the wrinkled paper from the desk.
He’d heard her messing around and almost blew his cover when she groaned.
She must’ve tried to ditch the note. He smiled at the thought of how flustered she must’ve been.
He’d learned that she was uncomfortable being vulnerable and expressing emotions, and she’d proven it in many little ways last night.
Not as uncomfortable as she’d been taking compliments, but he would fix that too.
Jasper,
Had to jet. Work, appointments, and whatnot. Will be busy for a few days, but what do you say to dive bar twenty questions Friday?
Trailer park rules apply.
Devin
Under her name was a crudely drawn… pudding cup? His laugh rocketed out of him with such force it took him by surprise.
Smoothing the paper, he folded it and sought out his pants, tucking it in his wallet. His Aunt Phoebe was the only person who’d ever written him a letter or note and he would treasure it.
Even if it was because she’d snuck out after one of the best nights of his life.
After showering and packing, he finally checked his phone, both dreading and excited to see what Croon had texted back last night.
CROON: Not one or two, the ring. 9. Don’t be fucking late.
Precise and to the point, Croon wanted blood and Squatch would give it to him. It could be worse, he could have simply said no and Prez would’ve backed his play. Then Croon would get his blood and Squatch would never be allowed near Devin again.
At least by Croon wanting to meet him in their gym instead, he and Devin were basically a done deal. It already was in Squatch’s mind. He may not be the sharpest tool in the box, but he knew better than to say that to Croon.
He headed to the front office. “Hey Cal, how’s tricks?”
“Great, Mr. Stanton. The accountant should have the monthly reports to you by close of business tomorrow. The renovations have been a huge hit. By my estimate, we’re about ten percent more than last month, and more than double overall since the reno.”
“Excellent.” He laid the key on the desk, rapped his knuckles against the surface twice then strode out.
The hotel was a newer investment. It had been a run-down no-tell motel when they’d decided to invest. The club put up fifty percent, with himself and Croon each dropping twenty-five. Of course, the club name wasn’t anywhere near it. To anyone pulling records, he and Croon owned it.
They’d made the call to not invest in renovating the outside just yet. They decided it was better for the time being if it still looked run-down. No attention drawn, didn’t clash with the bar or the area. Standing out in an area like that wasn’t always a good thing.
When he got to the clubhouse, it was already eight fifty. Going straight to his room he changed into gym clothes and headed for his appointment with Croon.
Damn near the whole club was there. Croon was already in the ring ready to go.
Squatch stepped up and ducked under the rope.
Croon glared at him, but it wasn’t all anger.
There was a fair bit of disappointment, a touch of betrayal too, but also something softer.
Something he didn’t dare try to analyze.
Murmurs rose as Croon hopped from foot to foot, shaking out his shoulders.
“Pipe down,” Zombie ordered. “Croon has been wronged by Squatch and they’ve agreed to settle it here.”
The club knew that much, obviously, they were here, but Zombie didn’t say why and that was interesting. Had Croon not said anything to the brothers gathered? Obviously, Zombie knew why or he wouldn’t have sanctioned it.
His curiosity was sated when Santa piped up.
“What’d he do? Steal your song at karaoke?” Ever the jokester, Santa tried to cut the tension but a glare from their prez shut him down. Being called out by a brother was serious.
“Oh, shit.” It must’ve dawned on Santa the only reason Croon would call for blood. “Devin.” The rest of the room gasped, while Hook practically exploded.
“You’re fucking around with Devin? I’m gonna kick your ass when Croon’s done,” he roared while Croon swung, landing his first punch, and Squatch took it.
“No,” Croon called over his shoulder. “This is my fight.” He spoke with an authority he didn’t usually bear.
“Besides.” His tone changed to almost mocking. “He’s not fucking around, he claimed her.”
Croon then turned all his attention to Squatch. “Are you gonna fight or not?”
“You only hit me once, you wanted two.”
Hook approached the ring, gripping the rope. “Claimed her? How long have you been fucking her?” Hook’s tattooed face was red like it was taking everything in him not to jump in and swing himself.
“I didn’t… wasn’t. Last night just happened and I texted Croon first. Now back off. This is between us.”
Hook huffed incredulously, but Zombie pulled him back with a hand to the shoulder.
“So.” Croon swung again, catching Squatch on his cheek splitting it open. “You’re not claiming her, you just wanted to feel better about fucking her?” Another swing, this one slit his lip, and still, he didn’t swing on Croon. His brother deserved to draw some blood.
“I meant it. She’s mine.”
“Oh yeah?” A surprise blow to his abdomen doubled him over. “What did Miss Independent say to that?”
“Nothing.” He ducked a head shot. “She doesn’t know yet.”
The laughter that tore through the room, even from Croon, took him by surprise.
For good measure, Croon punched him again, and swept his leg, dropping him to the mat.
“It’s true, the bigger they are, the harder they fall. That registered on the Richter,” Santa quipped from his side of the room.
Looking down at him with barely veiled amusement, Croon spoke. “Oh, oh, oh. What she’s gonna do to you will be way worse than what I could do to you here.”
Croon extended a hand and helped Squatch to his feet. One more punch, apparently for good measure, then Croon was pulling him into a hug.
Squatch slapped him on the back and stepped back. “We good, brother?”
“We will be once you promise to never hurt her. Because if she sheds a single tear over you. You won’t have the advantage of this ring. You won’t see it coming, I promise you that.” His voice was deadly serious.
Croon may look like a preppy rich boy, but he was lethal and sneaky.
Squatch nodded, about to give Croon his word when he added another caveat.
“And, as soon as you hit me.”
“What? I’m not gonna hit you. You had every right to call for blood. I—”