Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
As soon as they start to ask the Butchers questions about their bike licenses and registrations, Prophet ushers me to the car. With Rooster behind the wheel, me and Clyde in the back, we’re the first ones out of the parking lot.
“Good save,” I say to Prophet.
Rooster stares at Clyde in the rearview mirror. “Is he a hostage?”
“No,” I say right away, leaning back in the seat, my hand curled around Clyde’s fingers, because he’s so tense and distant I fear he might disappear if I let go. I hate cars, especially using them as a passenger, but with the weakness sitting in my muscles like poison, I’m grateful for not having to think about the road ahead.
“They don’t want him,” Prophet says tersely, staring ahead, as if the bungalows on the side of the road personally offend him.
But I do. I want him with every cell in my body. From his ice-blue eyes, his long, dirty blond hair, pursed lips, the scar on his face, and the deep scratch on his cheek he must have gotten yesterday. He’s all mine, and I will take care of what’s mine.
Chapter 36
Road
Silence feels like a gray cloud, choking us all as the car speeds down the country road, cutting through a field before entering the woods. Soon enough, we will be on Vulture property, but I remain nervous, wondering if the Butchers didn’t send the members of the other chapter to attack us on the way.
“Road?” Rooster asks, shaking me out of my own thoughts, which revolve around Clyde and the reason for his silence.
“What?” I mutter, trying to tickle my man’s palm in hope of receiving the tiniest sliver of attention. I know his life is falling apart, but now that he’s ignoring me, it feels like I’m to blame, when all I wanted was to talk.
“How can you be gay?” Rooster continues.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Prophet growls, rubbing his face.
“What do you mean, how?” I ask, scowling and I lean on Clyde, resting my head on his shoulder. “For the same reason you think asking such a stupid question makes sense. I was born like that. I always knew.”
Rooster’s frown suggests his brain is working overtime on this. “I’m just confused, that’s all. Didn’t you sleep with Samantha last year? Wouldn’t that mean you’re bi? Or pan, or something?”
I don’t fucking know what pan means, but maybe it’s something kids like him think is a real word. A soft sigh escapes my throat, and I try capturing Prophet’s gaze in the mirror, but he’s looking away. “You can fuck anyone, if the hole feels good, and your mind is in the right place. It’s not like I lied to her. It was just sex.”
The flush erupting on Rooster’s cheeks is as red as his mohawk, and I dread to think where I’ve sent his mind.
He opens his mouth, but Prophet shushes him because, thank fuck, we’ve arrived at the clubhouse. “Enough. You can ask him for sex tips later.”
Rooster rolls his eyes as he parks in the yard. Clyde shifts a little closer and shows me his phone filled with a stream of threatening messages and missed calls from a few hours ago.
[The fuck you think you’re doing? You’re a dead man walking.] is just one of many. The others are so vile I wish I could wipe them from his phone and make him forget, but ensuring his safety is the best I can do right now.
“Don’t read them,” I whisper, trying to ignore the crowd drifting our way. It’s a sunny day, but it seems that the threat of sunburn doesn’t scare off the people of our settlement, and they’re here, eager for gossip.
Clyde nods. “I just needed you to know what we’re working with.”
He’s so damn brave it makes my mouth dry, and I squeeze both his hands to communicate that I’m on his side and won’t falter.
Prophet opens his door first. “Come on. Let’s get this done.”
We get out, and I feel stared at from every side. Not everyone in the village has access to this area, but those who are allowed, are here, asking about what’s going on more or less blatantly. The other Vultures eye Clyde with suspicion, but Prophet makes a broad gesture toward the club.
“Club meeting,” he says.
The air’s fresh and fragrant with the scents of the forest, and while this doesn’t help with the sluggishness making my body unnaturally heavy, I’m glad Clyde can be here, protected from his former club brothers. I try acting normal, sending my usual smiles at those lingering close by, but I end up spooked by their suspicious expressions and keep my gaze on the asphalt as I make my way toward the clubhouse with Clyde’s hand in mine.
He squeezes my fingers so tightly it hurts, but I wouldn’t dream of telling him to loosen the hold if this is what he needs to feel safe. On the outside, he’s tense but pretty expressionless. I can feel the drumming of his pulse though, and it’s our secret.