“What a card.” Lou was a regular and had stationed himself on a stool next to me. The bar erupted into groans as the hockey game on the screen turned violent. An elbow to the face, blood on the ice, a player evicted. “I had a hundred bucks riding on that one.”
I stayed away from any and all forms of gambling. I didn’t need another addiction to wreck my life. I thumped his shoulder in sympathy and turned my attention back to the screen, avoiding eye contact with the blonde and the brunette who spotted me solo again at the bar.
Goddamn, what a night of surprises. First I’d been told to pick up the slack here in the Hog’s Den with the one man I attempted to show zero emotion toward. Except when I wanted to make him sweat. That was a hell of a lot of fun and nobody ever suspected anything.
Except for Cory and Jude, and that was only because they couldn’t not notice shit like that. But they’d never open their mouths about it. I’d come to know them and trust them over the past year.
But the way that man looked at me. Christ. With those malt-liquor-colored eyes. More and more I’d been wondering if we shouldn’t just get this thing between us out in the open. Work through it, though obviously not in front of the Disciples. They were an organization that didn’t stray far from original club code. Though I’d heard one time that Malachi had considered allowing his old lady into the inner circle.
Until she died of an overdose. Same as Mal’s dad, the former president of the Disciples. I knew Mal had a soft spot where addiction was concerned because he allowed me entrance into this club. I saw it in his gaze those times he’d come over to the Asylum’s compound—when they’d been on better terms—and I’d been as high as Mount Everest.
He saw something in my eyes, I suppose. Enough to ask if I needed help that one night. And I was vulnerable enough to say yes. He’d stepped in like my savior, had practically saved my life. Gave me the kick in the ass I’d needed, and I could never repay him. Certainly not by letting my queer side show.
Except lately all I’d done is fantasize about Vaughn. About that thick cock and those monster thighs. How smooth his skin looked beneath that black downy hair on his legs, fresh out of the shower.
“Club soda with lime, yeah?” Vaughn materialized in front of me, knowing exactly the thing I was craving. He set the glass down, held my eyes for a second too long, and then turned to the group of patrons who’d just walked inside.
Hell yes, I’d want one night with that guy. One long-ass night, where we got it all out of our system. Still, it could go terribly wrong in one way or another.
And now I was going to be stuck working with him? Fuck. I swallowed down the fizzy beverage, which helped douse that fire burning inside me.
I only hoped that I could remember how to make a damn drink. Should come right back, wasn’t rocket science. Might be missing some flare, though. The kind of effortless charisma that Vaughn seemed to possess in droves.
I hadn’t tended bar in years, not since my dad’s joint burned to the ground with him inside. A ton of crap went down between then and now, and I’d been pumping some heavy shit into my veins on almost a nightly basis.
I’d turned myself completely around since then. I wanted to impress Mal, show him that I no longer needed hard drugs. I had done two stints of rehab for the stuff, the last time being two years ago.
Good thing was, I never had a taste for alcohol, like some guys in my program who’d been saddled with cross addictions—the booze and the crack, the weed and the prescription drugs. Unless cinnamon gum was a thing. Hell, at least it wasn’t cigarettes.
Nah, for me, I had gotten my first taste of heroin and was a goner. Even now I could still feel her scorching my veins, making me feel completely invincible. Nothing had ever come close. But she became my fucking nightmare and I had to let her go.
The day I walked out clean, Mal had been there waiting for me, and I had never looked back. This brotherhood was different and I didn’t want to ruin a good thing. Even earlier, when Mal asked me to help Fish out with my old club, I couldn’t show him how freaked it’d gotten me.
I had seen some of my former brothers in passing over the years, but I was never alone, and Mal had said I was in the free and clear. He’d told my previous prez that the recruit to the Disciples was personal, and my prez let me go. Mal and I had pretended that we had some kind of mutual tie to our pasts, but it wasn’t anything more that Mal settling some emotional shit inside himself.
By that time, I’d been such a train wreck and so totally useless to my club that it almost hurt how easily they had let me walk out that door. Still, I was thankful every day that they did, and now I was being dragged back into their business. I’d confess, it unnerved me.
The blonde and the brunette had found their opportunity to return and finish business, except I’d only been pretending to be interested because I wanted to mess with Vaughn. I sure as shit wasn’t into these ladies. Not tonight. Problem was that they didn’t care whom they hooked up with as long as it was a club member, which made them just as bad as the guys who did them time and again because they’d keep their mouths shut about any cheating.
I’d always told myself that if I ever had an old lady, I’d never betray her trust. But what the hell did I know? I’d never found somebody to call my own and probably never would. These guys viewed sex as messing around and nothing more. Sometimes it wigged me out how they stuck their cocks into any willing girl’s pussy.
Was I interested in getting my cock sucked? Sure. And I had done that on several occasions. But lately I wasn’t attracted to delicate lips—only firm and manly lips. It’d been way too long. My gaze sought Vaughn’s down the bar just as his tongue flicked out to trace his mouth. The fleshy tip passed over a small scar right below the bottom of his pucker and hell if the front of my pants didn’t pull tight.
A couple of the recruits swept inside, and I immediately pushed the brunette off on Simon. He might’ve been new, but could hang with the best of them. She didn’t seem to mind either way, and that was my whole damn point.
Still, she reached out her hand to rub along my neck, maybe hoping for a threesome.
“Another time,” I said, taking a step back.
When Vaughn’s bronzed gaze rose to meet mine, I stared hard before tipping my chin in a silent goodbye. It was bound to be awkward with both of us behind that bar.
Chapter Three
Vaughn
It was a Thursday and Smoke was due at the bar this afternoon. I tried not giving him one damn thought as I jumped in the shower, but I failed miserably as my hand wound its way around my cock. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to release some of this sexual frustration.
After getting dressed, I drove to the grocery store to stock my refrigerator as well as my old man’s, whose hip replacement surgery had placed him out of commission. Though by now he was supposed to be out and about more. Instead, the procedure had almost made him sedentary. Which wasn’t good for a man with a heart condition. He was supposed to be taking daily walks and keeping his sodium intake low.
I carried the two brown grocery bags inside his house and placed them on his counter. Immediately I heard the pulsing beat of the dozens of clocks Pop has positioned around the house. He and my stepmom, Leanne, had been into antiques big time before her death. They’d spend their weekends at flea markets and estate sales, bringing home all kinds of junk.
Dad had always returned with a clock of some sort, even still wore a Timex on his wrist from his youth. Grandfather clocks, rooster clocks, King Tut clocks. Any kind of strange looking ticker, he’d bargained for. Used to drive me insane, but now it was strangely a comfort. To walk through that door and hear that rhythm that somehow regulated my own heartbeat.
Dad was in his recliner with the television blaring in the other room. “Hey Pop, you okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” he said, not even twisting his damn head to greet me. Without even looking, I knew one of two channels was live on his screen. Either the one with the pawn shop e
pisodes or that antiques show. He loved to guess right along with the experts how much value the piece had. He used to own a little shop back in the day, which is where I must’ve gotten my business sense.
I knew his mobility was limited, but I wished he’d try to get out of the house more often, even if I needed to cart his ass around.
“How long have you been propped in front of that television?”
“Long enough, I suppose,” he said, finally muting the show, which showcased some kind of classic printing press, and turned his head toward me. There were smudges beneath his eyes like maybe he hadn’t been sleeping so well.
“Want to come up to the bar for dinner tonight, Pop?” I asked, unloading the bread on the counter and the milk in the refrigerator. “Maybe your friend Jim can pick you up. When was the last time you kicked back with a beer?”
He stared at me hard and then sighed. “You’re probably right. Maybe I’ll give Jim a call.”
My dad still didn’t own a cell phone even though I’d encouraged him to buy one in the case of an emergency. So I picked up his landline from the end table and handed him the receiver before I returned to putting his fruit and vegetables away.
After he got off the phone he made his way to the kitchen, and I tried not to stare at his painfully slow pace. I wasn’t going to baby him. He needed to be exercising that muscle, not sitting in that chair for so damn long.
I motioned to him with an apple before putting the rest in a bowl.
He accepted the Red Delicious, his favorite, taking a hearty bite.
“If you want, we can find a good flea market in driving distance. You haven’t bought another clock since Leanne passed.”
Sadness filtered through his eyes. Maybe I had hit the nail on the head. Maybe time had all but stopped for him since she died more than six years ago. I felt like shit for even mentioning it.
“Look, Pop. I just worry you ain’t—”
“No need to even say it,” he said, chewing on his apple. “I’ll get back out there when I’m good and ready.”
He held my gaze, sturdy as a locomotive, and I knew to drop the subject.
“How’s business at the bar lately?” he asked, taking a seat at the kitchen table.
“Pretty decent,” I said, noticing how thin he looked as he angled himself in the chair. “Packed on the weekends as usual.”
I’d owned the Hog’s Den back when my investor—also known as the last guy I had steadily fucked—pulled out, skipped town, and left me with a flailing business. I was simply trying to keep me and my pop afloat after my stepmother had passed away from a long bout of liver cancer. The medical bills were piling up, and he had retired from his factory job to tend to her.
I had gone to high school with a friend of the Disciples named Kurt. Apparently he had spoken to Mal, who approached me at my place of business one day. He asked to invest in the bar and allow it be a resting spot of sorts for his club. He said he’d front the money for improvements.
I’d been leery at first because the Disciples’ reputation had preceded them. We were a family of motorcycle aficionados. My pop and uncle had been with a vintage Harley group at one time that in no way identified with the one-percenters, the ratio of owners who considered themselves outlaws. We just genuinely enjoyed riding.
Mal convinced me he was changing his club’s tactics and it might take a couple more years. He had pulled them out of drugs, was working on leaving the gun trade, and assured me that I’d have an out at any time, no questions asked. But he needed a solid place to land with somebody he could trust, and I guess Kurt told him I was good for it.
So with my pop’s blessing, I gave it a decent shot. I had no other choices anyway. Turned out we were a fit. I was no saint, that was for certain; I’d had my share of run-ins with the police in my younger, more stupid days. But climbing into your thirties did something to you—made you think about life and where it was heading.
“Didn’t you mention that you’re out a bartender?” Pop raised an eyebrow like he was gearing up to lecture me. “When are you replacing him? You’re going to wear yourself down, son. You work too much.”
“You know it’s hard to find a good fit with that crowd,” I said. “But I got somebody filling in tonight.”
Pop knew full well that the Disciples needed to be down with you in order for you to be accepted into any segment of their organization, even if it was only manning a part of their bar.
“That bar is all I got,” I said when he crossed his arms. “Just how it is, Pop.”
My stepmom was forever asking me about settling down with a nice girl. But how did you tell your folks that you’ve never even come close to finding the right one, and that all your fantasies lately consisted of one guy with a lean body and a large dick?
“Who is it?” Pop asked suddenly, as if he’d been privy to my fantasies.
“His name is Smoke, one of Mal’s boys. Guess he has prior experience or something,” I said, ducking my head so he didn’t see the wash of color. “I’ll find out later.”
“What the hell kind of name is that? Them boys and their nicknames,” he said, crunching into his apple again. “A good solid name is all you need in this town.”
I never considered why I didn’t know Smoke’s real name or how he’d come to own that moniker. Though I could only imagine.
“Who knows,” I said, shutting the refrigerator door. “I’ll bet you had yourself a nickname or two back in the day.”
A ghost of smile tilted the corner of his lips. No doubt he was remembering his former glory days.
“So what did Jim say?” I angled my head toward the phone. “He picking you up for a burger and beer?”
“Yeah,” he said and then pitched the apple core into the garbage can behind him. “So we’ll be up around dinner time.”
“Good thing, Pop,” I said, making my exit. “See you then.”
I headed to my place to unload my own groceries. I made myself a turkey sandwich for lunch, and then lifted some free weights to blow off steam or maybe more sexual frustration. Always did lately, especially if there was a good chance that Smoke would show his face in the bar that night. And now I was going to have to actually work with him.
Goddamn. But maybe this was good. Maybe he wouldn’t be such a darn enigma anymore once I heard more than a couple strings of sentences out of his mouth.
Thing was, even though we barely spoke more than a few words at a time, we were always on the same wavelength, it seemed. All I needed to do was give him a look and he’d provide backup to kick some douche out or to give me the heads-up that the prez was on his way back to the bar.
It was as if we had some damn mental telepathy or something. Like there were cobwebs of understanding and tension continually linking us together.
Fuck. Here goes.
I grabbed my keys, hopped on my bike, and drove my ass to the bar.
Chapter Four
Smoke
I put some hours in that morning at Chrome, the club’s auto parts store, and stayed into the afternoon to work on a couple of my metal art pieces. I’d made the signs hanging on the walls in the Hog’s Den and a few for the guys’ bachelor pads.
It was something I always did to blow off steam—plus, I was decent at it—and I could’ve used a dose of distraction right about then. No such luck. All I could picture was Vaughn’s full mouth with those wine-stained lips, the jagged scar beneath, and his biceps flexing in that damn Hog’s Den shirt while his fist pumped me into oblivion.
Still, it felt good to hold those sharp and rough pieces and mold them into whatever I wanted in the back room of the shop. I loved the creative outlet, but I was always so busy, I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I got my hands dirty again.
Mal threw a smile my way when he stopped by the store and encouraged me to work more shifts. I was cool with wherever Mal assigned to me because being with his club had given me purpose again. I was so far down the rabbit hole a couple years ago that
I thought for sure I was on the road to my death.
If being with the Asylum hadn’t killed me, I would have died by my own hands. I was pumped so full of drugs, it was a wonder that my heart beat all on its own. So being able to put my brain and my body to good use had its rewards.
I pulled up to the nearly empty lot of the Hog’s Den and parked right next to Vaughn’s Harley Roadster. Our bikes were twin versions, black and orange. Fire and smoke. Spark and flame.
This felt like a clandestine meeting, after we’d pretty much avoided direct contact with each other for months. Go figure. I’d only ever seen Vaughn at the bar and rarely at the compound. The man seemed to work nonstop, like he was married to his job. Kinda like all of us were sworn to the club.
Vaughn’s back was to me when I stepped through the door. Those damn ragged jeans with those heavy black boots. That white T-shirt with the blue lettering pulling tight across his muscular back.
Right then he turned to me, a stack of pitchers in his arms, and we gazed across the bar at each other.
Finally my legs moved toward him. “Ready to work.”
“Yeah?” He struggled not to slide his gaze down the front of me. Tried, but failed. “Sorry if the prez put you in a tough spot.”
“Nah, it’s a nice change of pace,” I said, because it was the truth. “Actually enjoyed working in my bar.”
“What bar was that?” he asked, dumping his armload on the bar top.
I straightened one of pitchers nearly spinning off the side. “It was a little place off the interstate called Mitsy’s.”
“Sounds familiar,” Vaughn said, his eyes losing focus as he tried picturing it. It was a small, run-down building with a neon sign, in the middle of nowhere, but it had always felt like a second home. “Wasn’t that the place involved in an arson?”
“My family owned it. Thought I’d inherit it some day.” My hand gripped the barstool until my fingers turned colorless. “Before everything went to shit.”
The Darkest Flame Page 2