Chapter 3 Grudge
GRUDGE
Afucking sundae.
It’s all I can think about the following evening when I should be reviewing the books with Catfish and Butcher, who’s shown up to help with the transition.
There are numbers, past, present, and future. Things I should be paying attention to. Things I should be making decisions on.
A whole side to being president that I hadn’t considered. Suddenly, I’m meant to be the grown up in the room.
Yet all I can think about is the way she still makes sundaes when she has a lot on her mind. How she used to be able to tie a knot in the stem of a cherry with her tongue when I bought her one at Margie’s Rainbow Diner.
And, fuck, the other things that tongue of hers could do.
Because I’ve known her since we were kids, I knew she was a virgin when our friendship toppled over into more. She wanted to take it slow, and because I wanted the two of us to be together forever, I didn’t rush her. But, God, the things we did before I ever got to dip my dick in her.
And it often centered on that goddamned talented tongue of hers.
Every spoonful she ate of her sundae was a tease. The way I’d get a glance of her sweet pink tongue every time she opened her mouth to take a spoonful.
Can still taste the swirls of cream and sweet cherries on her lips if I think about it hard enough.
She was so pure, she could wash away the most hardened sins of any sinner.
And yet, that tongue of hers ruined me for any other woman.
It’s a good thing I’m seated at the table we use for church, laptop out, like I know what I’m doing with a balance sheet and profit-and-loss table.
My dick pushes uncomfortably against the zipper of my jeans, like it has for much of the day when I’ve thought about how good she felt in my arms at the store.
She’s still the girl I used to know, but more of an armful of woman. She hasn’t budged an inch in height. But those tits of hers are a little fuller, the hips a little softer.
“It’s your call if you want to spend it or not. We can always push it through as dividends and pay it out,” Catfish says.
I shake my head to clear it, because I have no fucking clue what he’s talking about. “Gonna be honest, you’re gonna have to back up and start again because I spaced out there.”
“Catfish.” Butcher taps the table with two fingers.
Now he’s a nomad, he made me sit in the president’s chair.
He took Wraith’s spot, which used to be my spot, to the left of where I’m sitting.
“Thanks for this update. Leave it with Grudge, and he’ll get back to you with a decision. Can you give us the room?”
Catfish closes his laptop. “Sure thing. Feels like it’s time for beer anyhow.”
“Grab one for me,” Butcher says. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
Catfish leaves church and closes the door behind him.
“You know, when you arrived in prison that day, you looked so fucking intimidating, I knew you were gonna get shivved within the week.”
I look over to Butcher. “I did not.”
Butcher nods, thoughtfully. “Yeah, you did. Someone had told you to arrive in prison with your face a mess so it would look like you were more than capable of taking a beating.”
“How do you know that?” I never said a word. Just got Atom to hit me a few times, and I know Atom wouldn’t say anything.
Butcher chuckles. “Because it was just your face. Nowhere else on your body ached. Nowhere else was marked. You weren’t holding your ribs.
Didn’t flinch when you sat down. Weren’t limping.
Just your face, which was a patchwork of bruises, but nothing that affected your vision.
But with your attitude. The ink. The commitment to the hair.
You were fearless. Undaunted by the whole thing. ”
I huff. “Yeah. Maybe. But inside I was fucking ruined.”
Butcher nods. “You were. But not because of prison. You and I talked about that enough over the years that I know you wouldn’t change a thing about what you did.
You were ruined because you’d gotten your divorce papers the day before.
Because Lucy divorced you for doing what you did to protect her. ”
A silence settles between us. Butcher always could read me better than most people.
I can’t say he’s always been a father figure to me because my own father is still an active part of my life, even though he’s in prison without possibility of parole for killing an undercover FBI agent who tried to infiltrate the club.
But Butcher has filled in the gaps day to day.
He knows.
“I get it. You’re gonna tell me she derailed me once and not to let her do it again.”
Butcher laughs. “Maybe that’s what I would have said before I met Greer.
But what I would say now is this: Unfinished business is the kind of thing regrets are made of.
Whichever way it goes. Maybe you’ll regret not getting closure.
Maybe you’ll regret never getting the chance to show her she was wrong.
Maybe you’ll regret never recommitting to the one woman you were meant to be with for the rest of your life just because she made a mistake.
Or maybe you’ll regret never telling her what a cunt she was to you. ”
The word cunt sets every nerve in me on edge. It’s like the hard snap of a static charge. I use that word all the fucking time. But in the context of Lucy… I don’t want anybody calling her that.
Maybe that’s the sign.
“I think there’s unfinished business. That’s all.”
“Then go talk to her. Sort it out. Let it go. This is your time to prove to the club you’re capable of taking charge. Then, you can rise above the stupid fucking whispers.”
I heard them again this morning. Overheard Gump, one of the old-timers, talking with Dice. He referred to me as Butcher’s charity pick. And that Butcher could have thanked me in other ways for saving his life in the last ten years without making me president.
I’m aware that people don’t think I’ve earned this. And that’s maybe why I already feel like I’m failing.
I sniff, pull back my shoulders, and recommit to not letting Butcher down. His legacy can’t be marred by his decision on who should replace him. I’ll figure out how to be a great fucking president.
And I’ve done fine all these years without Lucy De Bose. “I got this, Butcher. I won’t let you down.”
Butcher stands and squeezes my shoulder.
“I know you won’t. Wouldn’t have picked you if I thought you would.
Sometimes, it’s just hard to start the difficult thing.
So, it lingers. Borrowing your mental energy as you try to keep it parked on the back burner.
It doesn’t matter if you see her or not—she can still suck the life out of you. ”
Think you just sucked the life out of me, Luce.
I remember saying that to her the first time she gave me a blowjob in the cab of my father’s old truck.
Fucking memories.
“I’ll deal with it.”
I’ll deal with her.
He packs up his shit and pulls his jacket on.
“I know you will. If you want my opinion on the cash, I say leave it in the bank. There’ll be lean months ahead.
We’re almost in December. The next quarter is the tightest. You’re gonna need it to make payroll in January.
And you might need some extra insurance.
The Rebels are not going to let what we did to them go lightly. ”
What went down in that field, when there was finally revenge served, won’t be spoken of again. But Butcher is right.
They won’t let us get away without some kind of retribution. And we still don’t know why Wes Granger, the former president of the Midtown Rebels’ local chapter, was trying to buy some land this side of Idaho Springs.
I nod. “Drive safe.”
As I look around church, I can feel the whispers of all the presidents who have sat in this room before me. I’m aware I’m not the leader of the club. More of a custodian or steward of it. Mine to shape and grow for some undetermined period of time.
Then, it will become someone else’s responsibility.
Speaking of responsibility…
I reach for my phone and call my mom’s number.
“Zachary,” she says, joy in her voice. She’s the only person who still calls me by my legal name. Well, her and Lucy. “How’s my boy?”
“Ma, I’m thirty next birthday.”
“As if that makes a jot of difference to the feeling of you being my boy forever. Are you okay?”
“I’m good. Do you need anything from the store? I can grab it for you.”
I rub my thumb over the rounded edge of the table where so many bodies over time have brushed against it, trying to pretend I didn’t just offer to get Mom groceries from the store again on the off chance I see Lucy in there.
“I’m good, sweetheart. But thank you for asking. Are you at home?”
I look at the glass cases containing the cuts of Outlaws legends that hang on the wall. “No. I’m at the clubhouse.”
“Well. Take care driving home. It’s wet outside, threatening hail.”
“Will do, Ma.”
A knock at the door interrupts me. “I gotta go, Ma. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Zachary.”
I hang up the phone and shout, “Come in.”
Isla walks in. She’s wearing a torn-up vintage Iron Maiden T-shirt, which, to be honest, although it looks great over her tits, is sacrilegious. She’s wearing jeans so tight, they look like they’ve been spray-painted on. And boots with an impossibly tall heel.
For a moment, I have the thought of bending her over the table. Shimmying those jeans down just enough that I could force my dick between her lips and find some release for all the pent-up tension I’ve felt all day about Lucy.
“You okay in here, Prez?” She steps behind me and massages the tension in my neck and shoulders.
I sigh and roll my head to the right so she can get more access to the left, where it feels the tightest. “All good.”
She chuckles. “The knots in these shoulders would call you a liar.”
“Just overworked my traps yesterday,” I say, lying again.
She leans forward and places a row of kisses along the side of my neck. Her touch is familiar.
“Your lips are always so fucking soft, Luce.”