Rune (Henchmen MC: Next Generation #16)

Chapter One

Rune

The blonde let out a high-pitched squeal as the redhead whacked her with the inflatable baton and finally loosened her slippery hold on my shoulders with her legs, sending her crashing backward into the water.

She surfaced, sputtering, as the redhead threw up her baton in victory while she sat on my brother’s shoulders.

“You good?” I asked as the blonde pulled herself up onto the edge of the pool, trying to wipe the eyeliner that had smudged under her eyes.

“I want to blame you for this,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me, “but I lose every time we play, no matter whose shoulders I’m on.”

“You’re taller, which makes you easier to hit. Also, your legs flail when you get whacked,” I told her.

“They do not.”

“They do.”

“Consolatory drink?” Spike asked, moving to drop down next to the blonde and offering her something red in a glass… with an umbrella.

He nodded toward the clubhouse in a universal ‘get lost’ gesture.

Maybe another night, I would have been annoyed by that.

But I wasn’t really vibing with the blonde.

Or anyone else at the party, to be honest. And judging by the way the blonde giggled and leaned into the tall, dark-haired, slim-fit biker, I figured he was halfway on his way to having a very good night.

It wasn’t that the parties had gotten old, per se.

There was always a different kind of energy to them when the club had new prospects like Spike and Cain.

It was probably more that, for the first time since coming back to Navesink Bank, I was the most senior club member at the parties. It changed the vibe. I felt more in charge and less like someone who was just there to have some fun.

Add in the fact that not only was my twin brother here, but so was our younger brother, Vas. And two of our cousins around the same age: Ronan and Carver. Those three weren’t technically prospects yet, but it would be coming soon.

I felt like I’d spent half the night making sure no one did anything so stupid it couldn’t be undone.

The responsibility of it, that suddenly took me back. To another place, another organization, another phase of my life that I’d walked away from declaring that I never wanted the mantle of leadership again.

That was what was so appealing about the club.

Yeah, some part of me knew my brothers and I would always find our way back to that life, but it took on a new meaning to know not only was Fallon the one in charge, but he was followed by Brooks, Malcolm, and a whole list of other guys who would outrank me.

No one would be looking to me to make life-or-death decisions again.

I’d never have anyone’s fate on my conscience again.

Objectively, I knew I could relax. There was very little trouble these guys could get into. But some roles stuck with you: big brother, leader.

Cain moved in at my side, surveying the grounds with me.

Like Spike, he was a newer prospect. Unlike Spike, he wasn’t a lifelong delinquent. Cain had been on the other side of the law for most of his life, working SWAT until he saw some shit he couldn’t look past in his crew, reported it, and got kicked out on his ass for it.

The two men were as contrasted in looks as they were in their histories.

While both were tall, Spike was almost thin, whereas Cain was a big fan of the gym.

Spike’s face was thinner with cheekbone hollows that almost made him gaunt-looking, black hair and black eyes.

Cain had a square jaw, dark blond hair, and blue eyes.

“Looking for fires to put out?” he asked.

“Not used to having my little cousins and brother here.”

“Get that they might be ‘little’ to you, but they’re grown men.”

Grown men.

Christ.

When did that happen?

I could swear it was just a year or so ago that I was grumbling that they were always hanging around me and the older kids like little lost puppies.

He wasn’t wrong, though.

Vas, my youngest sibling, had shot up like a weed while Croft and I were away. Then he’d filled out like a man, looking more like our father every day.

Ronan and Carver were both tall and fit too, like all three got a deal on a fucking gym membership and used the hell out of it. Gone was all the baby fat on their faces, chiseling them out.

It was a strange feeling sometimes being back.

There was a familiarity spliced with the unknown.

Because I’d been gone during some of the most formative years of their lives.

When they stopped just being kids and became actual human beings.

I knew what shows they liked as kids, what embarrassing shit they used to do, but I had no idea who they actually were anymore.

And it was that way with all the cousins.

It’d taken me a long time to get to know the ones in the club already, and the princesses.

It was really just these younger ones that were still basically strangers to me.

“Hard to see them that way,” I admitted.

“Because they were young when you left?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Let me ask you something. If you came here to prospect and your old man was watching your every move, how would that feel?”

My old man was pretty chill, but I got what he was saying.

“You’re right,” I agreed. “I’m gonna go wash the pool water off me. If one of them does something monumentally stupid while I’m gone, I’m gonna go ahead and blame you,” I said.

To that, he let out a chuckle.

“It’ll all be fine.”

With that, I headed back into the clubhouse, surprised by the feeling of “home” the place had in such a short amount of time.

Then again, the clubhouse had been a second home to all of us growing up.

I couldn’t count how many afternoons we all hung out here—screwing around in the glass room, basement, or in the backyard.

When we were older, we stole some booze or tried to eavesdrop on the adult conversations.

Until, eventually, they kicked us out so they could party.

I mean, they said that we had to “get home and do our homework,” but we all knew about the parties.

One of my most vivid memories was sneaking out of our house at fifteen or sixteen and creeping up to the clubhouse fence to see one of the club guys chasing a topless woman around the backyard.

Back then, all we could talk about was getting old enough to prospect.

Until, of course, we made a different decision for ourselves.

I made my way into the hallway of bedrooms, catching myself when I automatically tried to walk back toward the prospect room where my brother and me had been living since we got home.

But Perish had recently moved out, so his room was given to me.

It came to me as a bare-bones space, and I had a sketchbook full of plans.

It wouldn’t be easy to make a room without a window feel inviting and not like a basement, but I was relatively sure I could pull it off.

At least for the time being. The ultimate plan would be a place a little closer to the beach.

But I was likely going to be in the clubhouse for a while still. Might as well make the room my own.

I moved through the bedroom into the connected bath, cleaning up as the music and voices swelled out back as, I assumed, everyone got even drunker.

I threw on some sleep pants and a tee, then made my way out of my room to grab some of the cold pizza in the kitchen.

Or, at least, that was the plan.

I stepped into the common room, and it was impossible for me not to clock everything that would need to be done in the morning.

After being a prospect for a while, you learned to spot what tasks needed to be done before a patched member had to ask.

Red party cups were everywhere, some on the floor, their contents spilled.

It would be sticky and hard to remove by morning, but that was now Spike and Cain’s problem.

So were the various beer cans and bottles, the plates of half-eaten food, the red stain on the wall, and the spray of what looked like soda all over the front of the bar.

To be honest, the position of prospect had been a good one for me. I’d never admit it out loud, but I’d always been a bit of a neat freak.

When Croft and I were young and still shared a room, I used to put a strip of masking tape all down the center and throw a holy fit if his ass let his mountains of laundry, dinosaurs, car tracks, and building blocks cross over onto my side.

Where everything was neatly folded, put away, and organized by toy type in a stacking unit I’d asked for for my birthday.

Yeah, I was that kid. Why, I had no idea.

I imagine it was just in response to my brother’s slobbery.

It was a preference and habit that followed me through to adulthood. I kept my clothes in the hamper, made my bed, vacuumed, mopped, occasionally even wiped down the walls, and—obviously—scrubbed the shit out of the kitchen and bathroom.

I guess I’d have to replace all those hours spent cleaning the clubhouse with designing my room.

Though, let’s be real, I would probably get frustrated if the common areas weren’t cleaned quickly enough and do some of the work myself.

Just as I was considering grabbing a few half-full glasses before someone knocked those down as well, the front door burst open, and in walked a woman.

Not just any woman.

The most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen in my life.

She was tall, with an athletic build softened with gently sloped hips and thick thighs, long chestnut-brown hair in a sleek slick back, tan skin, a heart-shaped face with a gently pointed chin, high cheekbones, pouty, pillowy lips, and round brown eyes.

For just a second, there was a tug of familiarity, something toying with the edges of my memory, but it was gone before I could even try to grab a hold of it.

Because when my gaze searched her face again, I knew there was no way I’d seen her before.

There was no way I wouldn’t remember, wouldn’t have gone and got her name, her number, taken her out.