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 check my watch. Eight p.m., the party will be in full swing within minutes, and the Bend chapter hasn’t even arrived yet.
This is bullshit. I’m stuck here instead of arranging a meetup with Road, on his damn birthday, all because members are required to be here to greet our Bend brothers. Many times before, I didn’t even think about such responsibilities much, because this is (was?) my home. Being one of the guys provided the safety I wanted, and the free flow of alcohol was my idea of fun, so it wasn’t as though I’d had anything better to do.
Now? I want to be under Road. I want those hungry kisses on my neck, and I want to indulge in his cock until I fucking gag.
No one here would understand that, but with the war brewing and about to spill over when I least expect it, catching moments of contentment seems especially important. This bullshit? A waste of time.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Grizzly mutters, and moments later, Puck calls everyone to shut their mouths and listen to the prez.
What is it this time? Are we to have a minute of silence for Roy and once again swear that we will flay the fucker who killed him alive? The facts are pathetically mundane.
“The guys from Bend won’t make it tonight. They had to deal with a local emergency,” Grizzly says and grabs his beer, emptying it in a series of continuous swigs.
There are whistles, grunts of disappointment, but the tightness in my gut loosens up somewhat as my uncle spits, “Puck, write them to come next week. The floor’s not burning under our feet.”
Maybe… I could go see him. Somewhere. Somehow. My club will be partying here till morning anyway, and it’s not like I’m needed for that.
My second phone burns in my pocket, my thoughts race, but I’m stuck when Samson puts his arms over my shoulders. He passes me a beer with a big smile.
“You see that girl?” He points out a short blonde in a leather skirt unpacking a whole tray of chicken wings by one of the tables. She looks awfully young and fresh-faced. “That’s June, and she’d like to meet you, if you know what I mean.”
I stall, because my thoughts are so far away from women nowadays it’s hard to even comprehend what he’s saying.
“Ah, okay, but I don’t know how long I’ll be staying.” All depends on Road’s availability. He might be partying with his club even if he did say he doesn’t celebrate his birthday.
Samson smirks and gives me a conspicuous look. “She’s a catch, Clyde. Real old lady material. Virgin too, I know from her sister. Young, pretty, has a crush on you, and cooks too.”
I frown. He sounds like he’s trying to sell me a cow, not introduce a girl to me. “I’m not in the market for a wife, but get me some of those chicken wings,” I add to get him off my case.
Will it start being suspicious over time if I reject women left and right? But what’s the alternative?
And why would he tell me she’s a virgin? Jesus fucking Christ. I grab a beer and disappear into a back corridor before the prospect can come back. I know he’s trying to please me, but it’s not helping.
I’ve heard that kind of talk from the guys over the years. “You always remember your first” and all that.
Sadly, I do.
And if I knew his face, he would be dead.
I lean against the wall when I’m alone, with only club photos for company, and I press the cold bottle of beer to my forehead.
All those years ago, I went out seeking a man to fuck me, and that ended so badly I convinced myself men weren’t for me. But then I think about how I felt under Road, with his hips slapping against my ass, and I can’t get it out of my head. My fantasies about him are nothing like what I survived, and neither were the times we had sex.
I know we have no future, not really, so do I have anything to lose? Am I chickening out on something I want because some fucker left a hateful imprint on me? I know damn well Road would jump on the chance if I suggested going all the way. If anything, he’s been surprisingly restrained about pushing for fucking me, which is kinda reassuring. It could be the experience he had in his teens that’s made him more understanding, and I only lo…like him more for it.
If I had a do-over, I’d like him to be my first.
We could fucking die in the coming weeks.
I want him inside me.
I lick my lips, hovering my fingers over the phone I don’t even know I’ve pulled out.
But I’m not getting fucked in some shack with no bathroom. Road deserves better on his birthday too.