Feeding it to him straight, in the most delicate way possible, I remain seated to address the kid. “As I told you before, if you want a new life, it’s yours. So, you don’t wanna be a brother. Fine. That might be better for you anyhow. I’ve got ya covered, if you want.”
Inhaling a shaky breath, a broken squeak vibrates in Mouse’s throat. “I-it might be b-better to k-kill me.”
Not a Fuck.
First, Kat gets abducted. Then Ryker’s hurt. Rosie leaves me. Now this. I dunno how much more of this rip-me-apart bullshit I can take. Who wants to die? What the hell has happened to this kid for him to think that’s okay? He advocates for himself and it leads here. I don’t get it.
The world doesn’t get me either.
That makes two of us.
Three, with my Swan.
Adjusting on the bed, my nails dig into my knee caps to keep me from doin’ somethin’ stupid that’ll scare the kid… like extract a knife. Which I could use about now, to rein in whatever’s making my pulse throb inside my ears. “What? Why?” I eventually ask, tone angrier than intended. Give me a break, will ya. He’s talkin’ about dying.
“I’m a b-burden. Always been a burden.”
“Is that what your brother and mother told you?” Okay, now I’m on the brink of yelling. What the fuck is wrong with people? Why do they gotta be such vile bastards. He’s no burden. He’s a kid. A. Kid.
Wrapping arms tighter around his middle, Mouse shrinks into himself. A teardrop slips down his cheek. “Y-y-ye-yes,” he croaks.
“Not to me, you aren’t. Got it. You’re not a burden to me.” Never.
“You d-don’t know me. You c-c-can’t know that.” Great, he’s trembling now.
“Is this about the gay thing?”
He shrugs, still refusing to look my way. It tears at my goddamn blackened heartstrings that the poor boy thinks I could give two-fucks about homosexuality. My father’s bisexual, and it’s well known. He doesn’t hide it. There’s no reason to. Just because I don’t wanna stick my cock up another dude’s chute, doesn’t mean Mouse shouldn’t want that. Different strokes for different folks. We’ve got a straight brother who likes to wear women’s lace panties. Ironically, his road name is Lace. He’s a goddamn beast. Barely comes ‘round. He’s too busy beating his gorilla chest inside a cave somewhere in those pink frilly panties he wears with pride. And trust me, it is with pride. Anytime he is here, he purposely shows them off. Most of the time it’s innocent—his pants riding low to present a strip of fabric. Nobody better ever talk trash about it with him around, or they’ll end up with a concussion, bruised ribs, and three missing teeth. True story. Happened three years back at a Christmas party.
I’m not giving up on this boy. “Listen, I know this is hard. I get it. I do. You want to protect yourself and have no reason to trust me. But you should know, I do what I say and say what I mean. I want to help you. Like you, I didn’t have the greatest childhood. It wasn’t awful… either. But it still wasn’t easy. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Mouse, to get it right. I could care less if you enjoy sucking dick, wearing dresses, or dying your skin purple. Though, I’d suggest red, ‘cause it’s a better color.”
Mouse covers his mouth with the back of his hand to hide a smile.
Victory blooms in my chest.
Ridin’ the momentum, I continue. “I’m gonna get off this bed now.” I stand but keep my distance and stuff both hands into my front pockets. “If you want to stay, under my supervision and protection, then you need to follow me. I’ll drop you in a room, where you can shower for as long as you want, watch TV, listen to music, whatever. While you do that, I’m gonna get you some food and find somebody to stand watch, for your safety. Tomorrow’s a new day for both of us.”
Not giving him a chance to chicken out or respond, I exit Croy’s bedroom. Mouse isn’t too far behind as I take a turn at the end of the hallway and stop in front of his temporary bedroom. I turn the knob and push open the door, but don’t step inside.
Mouse pauses five feet away eyeing me, the room, and back again.
Three long heartbeats pass before he pads into the space, head hanging low.
“Thanks,” I think he whispers as he gently shuts the door with a soft snick.
“Anytime,” I reply and mean it.
It’s time to feed the kid. He needs more meat on those bones.
Chapter Eighteen
Kade
Three shots of tequila are lined up on the kitchen counter ready for me to consume. I ignore their presence as I finish packing two pieces of bread full of deli meat and cheese. I’ve got slices of tomatoes, onion, lettuce, and pickles on the side for Mouse to assemble however he likes. From inside the cupboard I remove a disposable bowl and plasticware. Then open squeeze bottles of mustard and mayo. I squirt a fair share in two different sections of the Styrofoam and drop a plastic butter knife in it for ease of use. Since I know the kid’s been malnourished for longer than he’s been here, I pop open the bottom cupboard and grab a fresh bag of Doritos off the junk food shelf. This should be plenty to fill him up.
“Who’s all that for?” Hammer asks, leaning against the counter beside me as he takes a pull directly from a fifth of Grey Goose.
“Does it matter?” Like hell I’m telling him anything about Mouse. He’s one of those brothers I was talking about, who won’t take too kindly to the kid’s presence. The last thing I want is to end up in a fight tonight. To beat this already cocky motherfucker up, then doctor his boo-boos afterward. That’s my job ‘round here. I’m the resident boo-boo fixer. Get knifed, I’m your dude. Break your nose? I’ve got ya covered. Your old lady caught you with a club whore and she racked you in the sac… Sorry about your luck, buttercup, put some ice on it.
“Fuck you,” he hisses, glaring at me like I give a damn. “I come bearing gifts and you’re already bein’ a fuckin’ dickhole.”
I don’t think bargain basement tequila counts as a gift. Not when Pops has a top-shelf liquor stash in his office that Ryker and I are free to pilfer whenever we want. A hundred-dollar bottle of pure Mexican gold or watered-down dog piss, there’s no contest. If you want Hammer’s dog piss, you’re welcome to it.
Pretending the biker equivalent of a diva isn’t here, I finish Mouse’s meal just as Bongo struts into the room wearing his Stetson and a constipated smile.
“What’re you doin’ here?” I ask, surprised.
“Cowboy decided to grace us with his presence, oh-thee-hermit-one,” Hammer takes an exaggerated bow, arms out, the neck of the vodka bottle clutched in one paw. A shit-eating grin swallows half his ugly mug.
Rolling my eyes at his stupidity, I shove the jackass hard, and he stumbles. One foot catches the other and down Hammer goes. Vodka splashes all over him and the floor, as he collapses onto his side with the grace of an elephant.
“Fuck. You!” he howls, rolling onto his back to rub his shoulder.
Bongo and I lock gazes for half a second. I smile, he smiles wider, then we freakin’ lose it. A chorus of deep gut-busting laughter bounces off the walls as Hammer curses the alcohol that’s gotten into his eyes, which he rubs like a madman.
At some point Hammer rolls onto his hands and knees. Half blind, he accidentally sets his palm in a pool of liquid and takes a hilarious nose dive, nearly kissing the ground with his face. A fresh bout of shits and fucks ensues as does the dark and demented pleasure we get watching him struggle.
A couple failed attempts later and he clambers to his feet. “Fuck you. Fuck you all. I never wanna see your ugly asses again.” Furiously wiping his watery, bloodshot eyes, snot running down his face, Hammer darts from the kitchen drenched in vodka.
I rub my laughter-sore abs and inhale to calm myself.
Bongo wades further into the kitchen, careful not to slip on the vodka mess. I’ll make a prospect clean that up later.
“Think that made my night.” He nods toward the stray Grey Goose bottle laying on its side. Not wanting anyone to t
rip over it, he toes the glass toward the trash bin with his boot and leaves it there for someone else to pick up.
“That was funny. He’s a douche.” I glance at the shots. Fuck it. No use in lettin’ them go to waste. I hand one off to Bongo and grab one myself. We clink our glasses together in silent comradery and down the hatch it goes, warming a path all the way to my stomach where it spreads, heating me from the center out.
Bongo wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and slams the glass on the countertop. “Damn. That hit the spot.”
I flip my empty in the air and catch it before setting mine beside his. “There a reason you’re here?” Leaning my lower back against the counter, I cross my arms over my chest to get comfortable. Truth is, I’m not feelin’ the party vibe tonight. Letting the beast out has its perks, a fuckton of them. But it also makes me tired as hell afterward, or horny. And since my dick has a new owner, even a blowie is off the table. Not that I care. I’d rather sleep than be here. Although, it is Ryker’s first night back. The least I could do is show my support. It’s not like he was fond of comin’ either. Might as well make the best of a meh situation. The music is thumpin’, booze flowing—what else can you expect.
A topless club whore passes the doorway and waves, flashing us a sexy smirk. My cock doesn’t give a rat’s ass. He’s cozy right where he is, inside my boxers, fast asleep. It’s weird that a massive set of surgically enhanced jugs doesn’t tickle his fancy anymore. Baby tits are all he gets off on now. Small, perky peaches made to drive us insane.
Bongo knocks back the final shot, then mimics my stance an arm’s length away. “I got an invite to come.”
Sure, he did. Pops has everyone in a group text.
“You’re a brother. Every one of ya gets an invite. Even Lace.”
Out of my periphery, I see Bongo adjust his Stetson. “Who’s also here.”
“He is?” Didn’t expect that. There’s a handful that get invites but never show. Seems two of those five decided to come out of hiding.
“Just saw him talkin’ to Ryker when I walked in.”
“Huh.” Still… Fuckin’ weird.
“Ryker’s alive, so everyone’s gonna show tonight out of respect.”
Makes sense. See, our band of Sacred Sinner rejects can play nice every once in a while. That’s what’s different in our chapter. We’re full of men who don’t fit anywhere else. We do what we want, more so than the others in our brotherhood. It’s hard to keep a leash on wild animals. And that’s what we are. Every one of us. I might’ve been born into this brood, but I’m the twistiest fucker of them all. Some fight the darkness. Others become it. I bask in the latter.
Knowing what I gotta say, I pull out a knife to keep me company before I do. “There any other reason why you’re here?” I sure as hell hope so. Any news is better than no news.
Bongo snorts in amusement. “If you’re referrin’ to our mutual blonde friend that also loves knives, I won’t talk about her. So, no.”
I’d say I wanna gut him and dance on his freshly maimed corpse for keeping her from me, but I won’t. You can’t buy the kind of loyalty Rosie’s earned. Much like she’s done with Big. Who’s more fond of her than he is anyone else I know, apart from his old lady. And that’s sayin’ somethin’.
“See, you’re a smart guy, you read my mind.” I double tap the side of my skull for emphasis.
“I’m not goin’ there, Kade.”
“Fine, fucker. Can’t blame me for tryin’.” The blade of my knife sweeps up and down my forearm, keepin’ me together.
“No. I can’t,” he agrees. “But I’m not gettin’ in the middle of whatever that is. Y’all deal with y’alls own shit. Leave me out of it.”
The fact he knows we have shit, gives me hope. If she was done, done with me, with this place, with my fuckin’ heart, then there wouldn’t be shit at all. There’d be this black void she left behind I’d have to contend with. Alone. Heartsick.
Soaking in the small gift, I change the subject. “Do you know much about Mouse?”
Bongo groans as if I’m pushin’ all the wrong buttons. “Christ, you’re a nosy one tonight. You know I can’t talk about that either.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t answer to you.”
“So?”
What the hell? He was a prisoner. Not a cherished friend. Bongo, much like Gunz, is always in the know. If you want the low down, you ask him.
“Hierarchy,” he states like it’s a perfectly acceptable reason. Just because I’m not the prez or VP doesn’t mean I can’t know stuff. I’m the brother who handles lots of the dirty work ‘round here. Finding out more about the boy is the right thing to do. I don’t want any more surprises sneaking up on me.
“Brotherhood,” I return with venom.
“Club business,” Bongo ping-pongs back.
“He’s my ward.”
Our club cowboy massages his chin thoughtfully. “Oh. Didn’t know that.”
“I’m sure Pops will announce it soon enough.”
“He here?”
“Mouse is upstairs, if that’s who you’re talkin’ about.”
Bongo nods in response.
“If you don’t feel like hangin’ with us tonight, you’re welcome to take his food upstairs for me. I was gonna grab someone to hang outside his door, just in case.”
“I can do that.”
Figured he would.
“You sure?” I double-check.
If I had to pick anyone to keep an eye on Mouse, apart from myself, I’d choose Bongo. The brother’s less violent nature and unshakable code of honor is a sure bet. Unlike many of the other members, he uses his brain, often.
Turning to face me, he arches a brow, and I stow my blade. “You think I enjoy these parties?”
Knowing that’s a rhetorical hell no, I push the platter of fixins and bag of chips his way. To cover the bases on Mouse’s behalf, I reach into the drawer beside my hip and pull out a stack of napkins that I pile next to the food. Still not satisfied, I cross the kitchen and snag a bottle of water from the fridge. Since I’m already here, I tuck it underneath my armpit and snatch two bottles of brew and a can of Coke from the bottom shelf. Our prospect will have a field day later when he has to restock the fridge. If he misses it, Pops will hand him his ass. The fridge drinks are supposed to be reserved for non-party days. Ya know, when ya get a-hankerin’ for a cold Bud at dinner. To save on money, kegs are brought in for nights like tonight. As is bottom basement liquor by the box load. When you’re lookin’ to get smashed you don’t care how you do it, alcohol’s alcohol.
Rejoining Bongo, I place the Coke and water with Mouse’s food and hand the extra brew to our resident hermit hacker. A comfortable silence falls between us as we drink in peace, away from the rip-roaring drunkfest. When he’s through, Bongo checks his phone, then dips his head in respect and collects Mouse’s items before exiting.
“The room across from mine,” I call to his retreating leather-clad back.
“Thanks.”
A different club whore passes him, paying him no mind. Her hand’s clasped in another brother’s. A slew of girlish giggles ring through the pot-scented air, that makes me wanna stab myself in the eardrum. How did I ever find this fun? Why? I’m gettin’ too old for this shit.
Rubbing the nape of my neck, I groan.
Fuck. I miss my Swan.
Chapter Nineteen
Rosie
Not wanting to make a grandiose entrance, I park my Ducati beside the long row of chrome. The brother manning the porch lifts a hand in greeting. I return the gesture and dismount my bike. My helmet rests on the seat as I double-check that I’ve still got the paper that’s burning a hole through my pocket.
Music thumps, vibrating the windows, as I skirt the side of the plantation-style clubhouse, refusing to enter through the front door. The last thing I want is all eyes on me. Slipping in the back has always been more my style.
Through the window panes, I watch bro
thers and club women socialize in various stages of inebriation and dress. If you can’t stomach bare skin and lewd sexual acts on display, then I’d suggest you never attend a Sacred Sinners party. They’re notorious for this shit. Doesn’t matter which chapter, they’re all the same. Not that I would expect anything different. Bikers like to let loose as much as the next person. If I was a normal human being, I’d be among that lot. But I’m not. So, coming here for business on a night like tonight probably wasn’t the best choice.
Reaching the back corner of the house, I come to a standstill as my phone begins to vibrate inside my pocket. I check the message out here, to keep distractions to a minimum once I make my way indoors, where the alcohol’s free-flowing and I have to be on alert.
Bongo: I’m babysitting a kid upstairs, if you need me.
Me: You didn’t have to come.
Bongo: Yeah, I did.
Me: I’m fine by myself.
Bongo: Never said you weren’t.
Me: It’s implied.
Bongo: I’m not Big. Nothing is implied. I’m here of my own free will.
Sure, he is. Bongo barely leaves his trailer and parties aren’t his style. When I picked the paperwork up from him tonight, he’d mentioned there was something going on at the clubhouse. Up until the point he realized Ryker was here, he wasn’t coming. Now he is, because I am. Allegiance is strong with that one. Can’t go anywhere without him showing up as unnecessary backup. If I wasn’t fond of the man, I might take offense.
Stowing my cell, I round the rear of the house and open the unmanned back door, that welcomes you straight into the kitchen. I make it two steps inside, my eyes scanning my surroundings out of habit, when I come face to face with the whole fucking reason I wasn’t coming through the front. What’s worse is the devil is staring straight at me, his mouth agape, eyeballs bulging. He has a bottle of beer clutched in that perfect man hand. The muscles in his throat ripple as he swallows.
Wrecked & Reclaimed (Sacred Sinners MC - Texas Chapter Book 5) Page 16