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)
I want to be a home for all his vulnerabilities. Whatever that would mean for us. Only that this home is built on rotting straw legs, and even Prophet’s tree house is more stable.
Just like he asked, I avoided the road he told me to avoid and didn’t even ask why. I assumed I’d rather not know.
The silence as I drive into our little village is worrying, but as soon as I go farther in, past the first few cabins, I hear commotion where our clubhouse is. A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me someone was either killed, or taken, just like Grizzly schemed.
We usually leave out motorbikes at the clubhouse, to avoid endangering kids and people’s pets, but the sensation inside me, as if I were about to make a giant drop on a rollercoaster, won’t let off until I know what happened.
I dash past the pens where the farm animals are kept, then slow down, using an unpaved shortcut that’s wide enough to accommodate my motorcycle. I see it the moment I emerge from between the trees—the transport van from a supplier who sells us the drugs we don’t produce ourselves, only distribute. The guy started making a fuss about the price a few days back.
A few of my biker brothers are tossing Rooster into the air while the small crowd cheers in celebration. Cans of beer are being popped open, and Prophet smiles as soon as he spots me.
“Where have you been, brother?” he yells from afar, reminding me of the night I spent spooned by Clyde. Another man. A member of our enemy club. I’ll never be able to untangle this. None of the people who became my family over the years could forgive this betrayal. But for now, they don’t know, and I dismount, rushing toward my prez, who stretches one arm toward me, inviting me into a friendly embrace.
He’s the one who picked me up from the side of the road. He’s the one who jokingly called me Roadkill so many times the name stuck. He’s the one who I consider my best friend, but that didn’t stop me from going behind his back. For sex. He would choke me to death if he knew.
I don’t fucking deserve his smile, but I accept it anyway when he pulls me into a quick embrace, then lets me go, with a pat on the back. His wavy hair is damp, and I notice wet spots where water drizzled from his beard onto his shirt, as if he left his home in a hurry to celebrate this…
“I thought you didn’t close a new deal,” I mutter, eying the van.
“Guess who outbid us?” There’s a mean glint in Prophet’s eyes now, and I dread the answer.
“Didn’t know there was another bid,” I say, fighting to keep my face neutral.
“The Butchers went behind our backs and paid our supplier more just to block us.” Prophet has a big swig of beer and hands me a can as well while the others lower Rooster to the ground. One of the guys shakes his can and lets the beer explode over our prospect’s mohawk like he just won an F1 race, or something.
Prophet makes a wide gesture with his arm. “But Rooster just so happened to be on an errand for Brigid by the Ruther farm when their driver stopped for a piss. And our dear quick-thinking boy recognized the van, jumped right in, and drove off like the maniac he is!”
Just fucking great.
Over a month ago, I would have applauded Rooster and maybe even suggested we patch him in soon, but now all I feel is unease. Two hours back, I came all over Clyde Turner’s club tattoo, kissed and held him. Now, I’m meant to celebrate the failure of his club’s big plan. But worst of all? We’ve broken the truce.
“I thought you all enjoyed the peace,” I say flatly, racking my mind for more arguments, more reasons that this is a fucked up way to mess with this new thing between me and Clyde without actually saying that, but I find nothing.
Business was supposed to be separate from our arrangement, but now it’s anything but. He called me ‘babe’ for fuck’s sake. Twice.
I watch Harvey pat his son on the back, tell him he did good, and even Sad Billy sports an almost-smile. And then there’s me, pretending I’m not pissed off with it all.
Prophet’s attention zeros in on me, and it feels like he’s trying to open my brain through the eyeballs to read me. “Are we supposed to just let them take over our business and wait for scraps from their table? Have you seen Clyde’s house?”
A rhetorical question meant to point out Clyde’s fat wallet, but I almost choke, because I freaking promised to add insulation under his roof last night. And fixed his showerhead. So yeah, I’ve seen Clyde’s house, up close and personal. It’s borderline embarrassing how much I wanted to please him. How very much I longed to taste his cock and cum.