Hook
HOOK
“ I don’t know what you said to Nova, but she seems to hate me more now than when we walked in,” groused at Devin. It wasn’t really her fault his night sucked, but he did wonder what she’d said.
Vengynce played an encore, and hadn’t a chance to do more than order a beer from Dale at the bar. Each time he approached, Nova became super busy. He wasn’t dense, and he took the hint. As much as he would love to get to know the curvy bartender, she just wasn’t interested.
It stung the fuck out of his pride, but it was what it was. Besides, it was probably for the best. You don’t shit where you eat, so to speak. If he did mix it up with her, and she turned out to be a stage five clinger, shit would get weird when he came in with another woman or met one there.
Yep, probably for the best, but that wouldn’t stop him from giving Devin shit about blowing it for him.
“I promise, I told her in no uncertain terms that we were not, are not, and never would be a couple. I told her how awesome you were. If you couldn’t close the deal, that’s on you.” Devin tried to stand but wobbled. “I’ll go talk to her again.”
“Sit down, Dev. Any more help from you and she might just kick me in the nuts for good measure. Some wingman you turned out to be.”
“Hey.”
Devin was a little tipsy, and didn’t think the back of a bike was the best place for her.
He was about to fire off a text to see who brought the cage when Outlaw approached, sans cut.
“Hey, Dev, you ready? I’ll be your Uber driver this evening. I expect five stars and a big tip. That goes for all you lovely ladies.”
He cast a glance back as Devin stood. Heidi was leaning on Zombie, and Dale’s sister Joanie was leaning on Wall Street. Those two had become fast friends since Heidi and Zombie got together.
The bar was devoid of other patrons, and Outlaw took the ladies to the cage. Nova and Dale locked up behind Outlaw, leaving the rest of the brothers to hang around for another drink or two.
Since Zombie had gotten leg shackled, he didn’t join them as freely for drinking at the clubhouse as he used to. Not that anyone blamed him. Shit had gotten a little dicey between his ol’ lady and one of the girls. That was an understatement, as Sherry had lied about being knocked up to come between them. She would’ve been gone if it wasn’t for Heidi. She’d been the only one to want Sherry to stay, but not from the goodness of her heart. That situation had been what she needed to establish her place as his ol’ lady.
There was a betting pool on how long Sherry would stay. One he’d already lost because he’d put his money on under forty-five days.
Croon had disappeared in the back office, then emerged with a smile on his face. He poured a round of shots and slid them across the bar.
“To a record night.” They raised their glasses, tapped them on the bartop, then downed them in sync.
“Vengynce is officially our top draw. More than doubled our previous record holder.” Making money was a reason to cheer.
Zombie clapped Croon’s shoulder across the bar. “I knew you were the right fit for both the club and to run this place.” Croon had always just gone with the flow , but Zombie, with that vision of his, saw more in Croon than just the annoying guy who took home the $250 every open mic night they had.
Croon had been one of the best prospects they’d had, and he turned The Metal Shop into one of the hottest local venues for death and thrash metal. He’d balked when they got rid of open mic night, but he was still serenading the ladies of Provo any chance he got.
“Looks like you found your niche.” raised his beer to Croon.
Being in the black felt good. Especially during the first few years of the chapter, they had dreams and attitude and not much else. They’d slept on old Army surplus cots in the salvage yard building, which had seen better days.
Now they had multiple businesses in the black on the reg. Their vision for the Provo RBMC was coming to fruition. Most people thought they were insane to stick around and establish their chapter in the heart of Mormon country, but Zombie saw things in a way few did, and it was paying off in spades.
“Oh, that reminds me.” Zombie downed the rest of his beer. “Got a call from our brothers in Montreal today. Vicious needs your particular skills, Croon.”
“What? Does he need someone to sing “Happy Birthday” at his big five-oh party this year?”
swallowed his beer wrong at the proclamation.
“I’ll be sure to pass on felicitations from you when I tell him you agreed to find what he’s looking for.” Zombie stood. “Let’s make it interesting, shall we?”
Up until that moment, thought he might be the dumbest man in the room. That was until Croon’s cocky ass spoke. Zombie didn’t have a poker face, and it was certainly about to get interesting. All could hear in his head was the voice of Admiral Ackbar. It’s a trap.
“Interesting’s good. Lay it on me.” Croon was grinning like a loon.
“Dumbass,” and more than one of his brothers mumbled, shaking their heads.
“Ten days, Croon. Find a ’69 Road Runner or ’65 Satellite for our Canadian brother, or you’ll serenade their Veep at his not- fiftieth birthday, Marilyn-style. Complete with a white dress and red lips.” Zombie smiled wide, and the room erupted in riotous laughter.
“Vicious will fucking love that.”
Squatch whooped. “The club’s social media will blow up when I post the hell out of that video.”
Croon’s jaw was on the bar. “Dude, pick your jaw up and get to work,” Santa scolded. “Those ain’t a dime a dozen.”
“Prez!” Croon called once his brain caught up to his ego. But it was too late, Zombie was gone, and Croon was fucked.
But maybe not, the man had a knack.
Iron slapped five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills on the bar. “I got five that says we’re about to see how purdy our songbird can be.”
felt bad because no one was putting their money on Croon. took pity on him and slapped the cash down. “He may be a dumbass who can’t read a room for shit, but he has a knack for these things. He found me a Corvair, didn’t he?”
Santa chuckled and added some green to the growing pile. “That’s true, , but he didn’t have just ten days, nor was there pressure to wear a dress if he failed.”
Croon surveyed the room. “Really? ’s the only one who has an ounce of faith in me?” He looked truly hurt, especially when his eyes fell on the man who he seemed to admire most.
Virus threw his hands up in surrender. “At least I didn’t put money against you. That counts for something, right?”
Croon just stared as Iron gathered the cash from the bar. Then he and his brothers stood to leave.
“Come on, brother, let’s not keep ‘em waiting,” beckoned him.
When they got outside, most of the tension he held from earlier, from her, leached from his body. The rumble of the pipes and the vibration of the machine between his thighs was perfection. Scanning his brothers brought him a sense of peace and belonging. One he hadn’t had until he found a family in the Bastards.
The ride back to the clubhouse drained everything negative that was lingering. But as soon as he dismounted, it was all back with a vengeance. The past was screaming in his brain, as it tended to do every so often.
He’d decided he would stay at the clubhouse tonight instead of his place. He could use the company and another drink or ten to silence the memories.
With Prez and Heidi at their home, the girls were waiting for them when they arrived.
Drinks poured, snacks made, and tits out.
Perfect.
decided blackout drunk was called for. It wasn’t Nova and her rejection that were riding him, but what it had brought to the forefront of his mind. Shit he’d dealt with and buried a long time ago, but her rejection was there with a shovel rasping into the earth of his brain and exhuming shit that should never again see the light of day.
Gwen met him as soon as he entered and led him to the couch. With her sitting in his lap, he licked the valley between her breasts. Her skin tasted like perfume, and she was doing nothing for him sexually.
Limp as a noodle.
Squatch whistled, gaining his attention from the pool table, where he’d racked up the balls and needed a partner.
“Sounds like a swell idea to me,” he called from the couch before he stood on drunken legs.
Expending some energy, knocking some balls around seemed like it’d help. Maybe not as much as knocking heads around, but he had to make do with what was available. He could take out some tension on the table and the rest later.
“Best two out of three,” offered after they’d each won a game. “No slop this time,” he groused as he racked the balls.
“I’m not the one relying on slop, brother,” Squatch said below his breath, but heard it anyway.
As the game dragged on, Squatch started singing to the same damn tune he had since Devin arrived. Only the lyrics changed.
“I just don’t know, man. Should I take that chance? If shit works out, we can have fun and part on good terms. Everything will be golden. If it doesn’t, it can fuck up everything with my club brother.”
“Dude. Just shit or get off the pot already, damn.” sank his next-to-last ball.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you fucking can. Either talk to Croon or don’t. Either fuck her or don’t, but quit fucking whining about it.”
knew he was being an asshole, but his brain was ripping itself apart. The past was clawing to the front of his thoughts.
His brother’s parting words from decades ago were pinging around his brain like the billiard balls banking off the sides of the table. Their exchange was playing out in living fucking color behind his eyes.
“You’re twelve now. My freedom is finally bought and paid for,” he’d said as he shoved his clothes in a duffel.
“What do you mean, Casey?”
His brother turned on him with cold eyes and a Playboy in his hand. He slapped the magazine against ’s chest. “Take this. Think about the blond in the center. It’ll help. To a certain point anyway,” he’d said bitterly , shouldering the duffel and heading for the door.
“Wait.” stood to follow. “I don’t understand. You’re my brother. I need?—”
Casey turned furiously. “I’m not. And if you don’t understand by now, you’re a fucking idiot, and there’s nothing I can do to help you.” He turned again , and as he fled from their room , his last words echoed after him. “If you’re smart, Jeremy, you’ll pick an older one than I did so you can get away before your soul is completely destroyed.”
The full scope of his brother’s words and deeds didn’t sink in for some months after that.
“Shit, . No need to be a dick. I’m just sharing my problems with you and looking for a little advice.”
For a big guy, Sasquatch was probably the most in touch with his feelings than anyone else. It was a true contradiction. Most days was happy to be there for any of his brothers, but the past was riding him like he was the longshot at the Kentucky Derby.
thrust his cue forward, and before the cue ball made impact with the eight ball, he tossed the cue stick to the floor. He knew the words about to spill from his mouth he couldn’t take back, and Squatch would never see him the same again, but he couldn’t stop them. Lord knew if he could chew them up and choke them down as he’d done for the last couple of decades, he would’ve, but it was too late.
“I’m broken!” he shouted. “I’m the last person qualified to give you advice on who to fuck. I spent too many years without that choice. My brother bought his freedom from that same hell with me, and when I had the chance to buy mine the same way—” He cut himself off. He’d said way more than he ever intended to. Squatch was looking at him with shock, not judgment, which just made him feel worse.
The fire had burned out in his head, leaving just ash and char in its wake. “Just make your choice, brother. Life’s too short to wait to act. Best case scenario, you get a happily ever after. Worst case, you get your ass handed to you and a few months of dirty looks. Believe me, neither choice is so bad you can’t handle it.” Especially if there’s a chance for your happiness without costing someone else theirs, added mentally.
“,” Squatch breathed out with sorrow and a million other soft feelings that he wasn’t equipped to handle while the past was busy fucking him.
“Gwen!” shouted and snapped his fingers. She appeared at his side before Squatch could say another word. couldn’t even look at him.
On the outside, he was a grown-ass man with ink every-fucking-where one could ink. One who could and did make his own choices, but inside, in that moment, he was a twelve-year-old fresh-faced boy who was popular with the ladies his mother chose for him who wasn’t allowed to say no.
He practically dragged Gwen to his room, but he wouldn’t fuck her or even pleasure her. just couldn’t stomach solitude tonight. The idea of sleeping alone wasn’t palatable after everything in his head and what came out of his mouth tonight. His brain hurt thinking about it. Everything hurt.
Gwen knew the score. She was probably the only person who did, sort of. Many a night he’d taken her to bed only to come up with an excuse. She wasn’t pushy like Sherry. Sherry would dig and dig and beg. That one didn’t take physical rejection well.
Gwen, she was like him. She found power and pleasure in the choice. suspected it had been taken away from her at some point in her past, too.
When they got into his room, she cupped his cheeks. “I heard what you said to Squatch, you’re not broken, . Whoever made you feel that way? Whoever tried to break you? They’re the broken ones.” He could see in her eyes that she’d heard everything, but being the sweetheart she was, she pretended she didn’t hear all the other secrets he’d spilled.
really hoped one of his brothers saw through her role at the club and fell for her one day. She’d be a good ol’ lady. She knew when to speak and when to keep silent. When to pretend she didn’t have knowledge and when to share.
“Come on.” She dropped her hands and led him to the bed. “I’m tired as shit. Sleep first, fuck later if you want,” she joked.
smiled despite the tears that were falling. They’d never fucked and never would, but she always left it open.
His choice.
With the lights out and their clothes on, held a club whore and cried like a little bitch. The past loosened its hold on him as sleep crept in. Before it could claim him, Nova’s visage floated through his mind. He was appreciating every inch of her and wondering why she wouldn’t even give him a chance when her eyes came into stark focus. So close, he could see the color striations in the irises. That’s when he had an epiphany. There had been pain and mistrust. She’d been hurt too.
She believed herself to be broken, too. It was a specific look. One he saw in the mirror every damn day. He didn’t know what or how or who, but he would find out.
He’d already slain his demons, and one day he’d slay hers. Demons were easy to kill, it was the shades they left behind that did the haunting. His shades were finally quiet, and sleep claimed him.