Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
LUCIFER
The clubhouse is alive for the first time in a long time.
The stench of weed and cigarettes fills the air as my gaze sweeps around the common room, taking in all the chaos.
Bottles of Jack and Budweiser litter almost every surface, and the music blasts from the speakers mounted on the wall.
A UFC fight plays on the flatscreen, but no one is even paying attention to it.
Tormentor is too busy charming a redhead, and Nightmare is taking a few of the prospects to school, killing them in what appears to be a high-stakes game of pool.
Mammon is cozying up to a few of the saddle bunnies, and Homeboy is in the corner getting his dick sucked by a woman twice his age.
There’s no sign of Shadow, but that’s no surprise.
The man is rarely here anymore, and when he is, he locks himself in his room with Della.
I swear I don’t know how that fucking girl walks straight.
He’s always got her on her back. I can’t say I blame him.
If I had an ol’ lady, I’d fuck her morning, noon, and night too.
Then there’s Dread, sitting at the end of the bar, shooting the shit with the prospect currently on bartending duty. The fucker has a keen sense for detecting me, and once he does, he turns to face me, propping one boot on the rung of his stool as he assesses me.
I make my way over to him, parking my ass on the stool next to him as I help myself to his bourbon.
“Nice of you to join the celebration,” Dread says, signaling for the prospect to bring over another glass. “We were starting to think you bailed on us.”
That’s a load of bullshit if I ever heard it. I’d bet my Harley no one even noticed I took off after we returned from North Carolina. Everyone was too eager to get stoned or fucked. It’s how they wind down, and after our first supply drop to the Satan’s Knights being so successful, they deserve it.
I knock back the rest of the bourbon, welcoming the burn. “I had shit to do.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? How’s the wife?”
I narrow my eyes. This fucking guy loves to push my buttons.
“Lower your fucking voice.”
He rolls his eyes, lifting a freshly rolled joint to his lips.
“Oh, please, look around. No one’s paying any attention to us.
They’re all too busy trying to get their dicks sucked.
” He lights up a joint, and I watch the rolling paper burn as he takes a long pull.
“Speaking of which, there’s a shortage of saddle bunnies.
If you’re looking to get your rocks off, you might want to make a move.
” He pauses, inching closer before he wiggles his eyebrows.
“Unless, of course, you’re holding out for the missus. ”
I take it back. That, right there, is the biggest crock of shit I’ve heard.
“I haven’t seen her in over a month,” I growl.
The last time was the night I told her what I had done.
Hearing her tell me she would’ve preferred death over marrying me put things in perspective for me.
I don’t know if it’s pride or fucking remorse, but I’ve been keeping my end of the deal I made with Tori, staying far away from my miserable wife.
“Yeah, I may have heard that,” Dread says, offering me the joint.
I smack his hand away, my eyes narrowing into tiny slits. “Oh? And who the fuck may have told you that?”
He shrugs. “I like the steak at The Hideaway. Ran into the firecracker while I was there.” His voice trails as he brings the joint back to his lips and takes another hit. “Pretty sure she spit in my potatoes last night.” He glances back at me. “I still ate them.”
My jaw clenches hard. “Did she spit in them before or after you grilled her for info on Jess?”
“Oh, brother, I didn’t grill anyone. Our little firecracker sang like a canary before she could bring out the creamed spinach.”
I hope she spit in that too.
“Considering the only person Tori might hate more than me is you, I find that hard to believe.”
He hums thoughtfully, as if this is all one big fucking joke to him.
Maybe it is.
“I don’t know,” he drawls. “I think she’s warming up to me. Waitresses dig big tippers, and I’m a generous motherfucker, especially when my steak is served medium rare.”
My gaze slides to the joint, and for a second I wonder if he laced the herb with something stronger.
“Anyway,” he continues, “she actually asked me if you had been by the hospital.”
I can believe Tori spit in his food, but I’m having a difficult time wrapping my head around her striking up a conversation with Dread, especially where I’m concerned.
“Why the fuck would she ask that?”
“Well, from what I understand, Tori’s been working a lot.
Some shit came up with her kid too, making it difficult for her to trek it out to the hospital.
If I remember correctly, I think she said she hasn’t been to see her in over a week.
” He tokes on the joint. “Or something like that. I’m high as fucking kite, so my memory is a little hazy. ”
I let that sink in for a moment. I can’t imagine why she’d add more shifts to her workload when she signed up to be the sole member of Jess’s support system.
“When you say she’s been working a lot, do you mean they’re short-staffed over there, or she’s picking up extra shifts?”
His hand pauses, holding the joint midair as his gaze cuts back to me.
“How the fuck am I supposed to know all that? You think I asked questions? The girl didn’t let me get a word in.
She literally asked if you’d been by the hospital, then went on a fucking rampage, rambling on about all sorts of shit.
She got her period on Sunday in case you were wondering.
” My brows furrow at that, and he nods before he continues, “Yeah, I didn’t need to know that either.
I swear to Christ, the girl didn’t even pause to take a breath.
” He cocks his head to the side as he snuffs out the rest of the joint.
“You know what they say about a girl who can hold their breath like that . . .” He lifts his gaze to mine.
“I bet she gives great head. Might be the only way to shut her the fuck up.”
I stare at him. “For fuck’s sake. No.”
“No, what?”
I know how Dread operates. He’s the fuck ‘em and leave ‘em type, and while I don’t know Tori all that well, something tells me that’s the last thing she needs. Besides, the two of them together—that would be a recipe for disaster. They’d fucking burn the entire world down.
“You’re not going there, Dread.”
He laughs at me. “I’m crazy, brother, but I’m not certifiable.
I don’t care how skillful that pretty little mouth of hers is, a girl like that is too much work.
Besides, she’s got a kid and I ain’t looking to be nobody’s daddy.
” His shoulders tremble as he inwardly cringes.
“God, just the thought of that gives me the fucking creeps. Imagine me at school drop-off? Although, teachers are kind of hot.”
I sigh. “Can we get back on track?”
“His brows draw together. “What track are we talking about exactly?” He juts his thumb toward his chest. “Stoned, remember?”
Losing my patience, I ball my fists. I might need to seek anger management because I’m two seconds away from breaking this guy’s nose. “The track where you tell me everything Tori said about Jess.”
“Jesus Christ, man. If you’re so concerned, why don’t you call and ask for an update?
Hell, you don’t even have to call Tori, you can call the hospital and speak to one of her doctors.
” He leans in and lowers his voice. “Better yet, you could go visit your wife and see how she’s doing for yourself. Seems to me she could use the company.”
His words hit me square in the chest, and I stare into my empty glass, turning it between my fingers.
Little does Dread know, I’ve made that drive a dozen times over the past month.
Parked my bike in the hospital lot, sat there with my hands gripping the handlebars until my knuckles turned white, an unrelenting hunger to see my wife gnawing at my gut.
Each time, I told myself I’d go in, just for a minute.
Get my fix and go.
But every single time, I turned around, ignoring the selfish desire that consumes me every minute of every fucking day.
She doesn’t want me around. Allowing myself to be in her orbit when she’s made it clear she’s disgusted by me would just be selfish, and I’m trying to be better than that.
“You should go,” Dread says, his tone more serious now.
“She’s alone, man. That’s got to be a lot on a person’s psyche, especially someone in her condition.
” He pauses for a beat, turning in his stool to face me fully.
“Tori said she had another graft done about a week or so after she was transferred to the new hospital. That prolonged therapy, but they got her out of bed a couple of days ago. It was a lot on her, and according to Tori, she didn’t handle it too well. ”
Something hot and vicious coils in my gut. I think about her alone in that hospital room, with no one to console her. Dread is right. That’s gotta be torture to one’s mental health.
I push the glass away from me and rest my back against the stool.
“I thought you were too stoned to remember anything.”
“Yeah, well, you killed my high.” He claps his hand around my shoulder. “Go see your wife, man.”
She’s only my wife on paper. I don’t get to sit with her or care for her.
There are no meaningful conversations where we get to know one another.
No long rides on my bike where her arms wrap around me and I stroke her legs when we come to a red light.
No time carved out for me to get her to smile or hear her laugh.
I don’t get to hold her hand or taste her lips.
I’ll never sleep next to her or worship her body.
The sounds she makes when she comes will always be a mystery.
Those are privileges another man will get after I divorce her.
So, I really wish Dread would stop referring to her as mine.