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)
“Is being a shrink your new gig?” I ask in a light-hearted voice, but even I know my movements remain stiff as I stuff my hands down my pockets and walk through the gate, descending the hill where our clubhouse is located.
“I just can’t have you distracted, brother,” he says even though we both know he cares.
He’s no touchy-feely guy, I’ve seen him cut a man’s throat open, and he was the one who helped me entrap Roy Turner, but it’s that warmth and skill in observing others that makes him a good leader. He’s only a few years older than me, but people follow his suggestions because they trust him, not because they fear him. I want him to be proud of me too, but how can I bare myself when the secret I carry would be impossible for him to accept?
One time, Prophet told me a story from ancient Sparta, about a boy who stole a fox, and when discovered, kept lying until the animal chewed into his insides, resulting in the boy’s death.
I am that boy, and like him, I will not make a peep about my sexuality, or what I want to share with Clyde. If that vicious animal of a secret ends up being my doom, I accept that.
But I have to give Prophet something. “There’s just… stuff going on. I’ll be back to normal soon.”
“Okay, but you can talk to me if you need to.” He gives me a brotherly pat on the shoulder, which I do appreciate.
If Clyde wasn’t one of the Butchers, I would have tracked him down, gone to his house or something, but it’s too fucking risky.
Prophet goes on. “I’m voting for keeping the truce for now, we’re not ready for a war, but between you and me, Clyde and his uncle need to go. They won’t stop throwing salt at this whole Roy wound.”
My stomach squeezes into a ball, and I barely stop myself from holding on to where the cramp is most painful. But I’ve been through far worse than the threat of my enemy-with-benefits being offed, so I keep my composure as we stride across the central part of the settlement, passing a playground for the children, which the members have erected themselves. Everyone greets us in some fashion, and we answer in kind, even though both Prophet and I have our heads in stormy clouds.
“And how would that not end in a war? They will know it was us. And even if they won’t know, they’ll choose to believe that.”
“They’re the only Turners left. The legacy of their father, Grizzly’s brother, lives on in them. Prune those branches, and I doubt those left behind will care as much about revenge when someone new takes the helm.”
I wouldn’t spit on Grizzly if he was on fire, but Clyde… I’m feeling a bit selfish about him when I remember how he smiled at me.
He’s my bone. I want to chew through him until I reach the marrow, and even after that, I’ll want to have him around.
This alone is betrayal, I know that.
Fuck.
“I think you’re underestimating their loyalty,” I say, averting my eyes when two parents help their young son off the fake castle in the playground. This place makes me feel weird, so I tend to avoid it.
Instead, we turn toward the two large barns that serve as garages. Several people work there, but I’ve got my favorite guy who knows how to handle my motorcycle. Isaac is a forty-something guy who joined our commune a few years back, and his passion for everything to do with cars and bikes shines through in his work.
“You’re just talking out of your ass,” Prophet grumbles. “Several of the Butchers never even met Gary Turner, so what do they care about the club founder?”
“Nothing, but they do know Grizzly and Clyde,” I mutter, pushing through the side entrance and into the garage. I’m hit by the scent of motor oil and gas. It would have been a relief if I didn’t want to be alone, because my thoughts keep gyrating back to Clyde’s eyes, mouth, his hard body under mine…
Isaac will serve as an excellent distraction, so I look around, from the enclosed space where one of the mechanics is repainting the van delivering supplies to the community kitchen, over to where Val, the lone female worker here is snacking on chips.
“You know what? We need to do some digging and find out who in their club actually—” Prophet has to bite his tongue when Isaac greets us with a smile, because this isn’t a conversation for civilians.
And good, because I don’t have the mind for it.
Just as I squeeze Isaac’s hand and ask about my bike, the phone in my pocket buzzes.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
My blood runs hotter, creating vapor inside my skull. How am I to think clearly, when it could be Clyde’s messages burning in my pocket?