*****
Frank
Frank’s phone buzzed against his hip as he stretched out across the rusty old truck bed. He was content to ignore it at first; most likely just Harley bugging him about when he was going to be back, something he didn’t feel like dealing with tonight. He needed to distance himself from her a little. What had started out as a game for him had grown into something far beyond what he’d wanted. She’d been a job. A procurement. And he figured, what the hell? If he had to drag her around, why not have a little fun? She was never supposed to get under his skin the way she had. He hated it, hated the way he craved the salty smoothness of her skin, craved her scent.
And yet, even when he fought to get a little peace and quiet away from her incessant nagging, his body—and something deeper inside—itched and squirmed with her absence. The animal inside him had hungered for her from the moment he’d been turned. It was like a switch had flipped. Once the wolf was alive within him, it had scented her and wanted her. Frank had never questioned his wolf. He’d submitted himself to it in all things, including her. But that didn’t mean he had to like the fact that he was drawn to a woman that drove him crazy in every way he could think of—good and bad.
Nursing the bottle in his hand, he tried to put her out of his mind. He needed a clear head tonight. Distractions could be fatal. As much as he’d like to pretend tonight was an escape with his boys, the truth of the matter was it was so much more than that. Tonight was going to change everything.
The phone nagged at him again, vibrating over and over until he slipped it out of his pocket and flipped it open. The screen nearly blinded him as it lit up, flashing the name "Joy Anne" across the screen. Frank sat up, knocking John-Boy from his unstable perch on the Chevy’s frame. His brothers laughed as the prospect fell face-first in the dirt, but Frank’s attention rested solely on the messages Joy Anne had sent him.
he knows
hes hedin straight to u
watch ur ass
Fantastic, he thought. His grin widened as he snapped the phone shut and shoved it back into his pocket, not even bothering to send a message back. Thank God that bitch could come through when it counted. Not that she’d had any clue she’d been nothing more than some moveable piece in his little game. Things were falling into place.
If Frank were a better man, he might have felt like a shit for tugging her along the way he did. But he wasn’t. And he didn’t. He needed her for his plan and nothing more. There had been no doubt in his mind she and Chuck would get into it and she would open her mouth. In fact, he was counting on it. He needed her to wind Chuck up, get him so pissed off that he’d fuck up. He’d be looking for blood. As long as he could keep Harley from finding out what he’d had to do, he’d be golden.
He briefly entertained the idea of Harley and Joy Anne being let off their leashes at one another. It was no secret how much Harley despised the woman; something that couldn’t be helped when the dumb bitch kept throwing herself at him right in front of her. But then again, she loved to stir shit up. It was as though she was trying to get a chance at Harley. Like she was just waiting for an excuse to sink claws into her. The idea of them fighting it out had started out amusing, but just thinking of Joy Anne hurting his girl made his skin burn hot.
Fucking women. They would be the death of him.
He tossed his empty bottle into the blazing fire, the sound of shattering glass almost musical to his ears. Things could go either way by the time the night was over. Might as well have one last drink with his boys, just in case. A low, almost-menacing chuckle escaped him as he snatched an unopened bottle from Paulie as he passed by.
"Asshole," he said, with a good-humored smile. "What are you laughin’ at?"
"Good times. Good company," Frank replied.
Paulie grabbed himself another beer from the cooler and leaned against the truck, tapping the neck of the bottle against the one Frank had stolen. "Good life."
As Frank brought the beer to his lips, he heard a hog approaching beyond the trees. His skin sung with anticipation. Soon.
He nodded softly. "It will be," he whispered against the glass before taking a deep, greedy drink.
With the sudden quieting of the engine, Frank laid back again, his worn boot kicked out in front of him while he leaned on one elbow and nursed his Budweiser. Even the danger breaking past the tree line and approaching hard and fast couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face. He didn't stop smiling as he watched the ball of fury coming his way. No, in fact, his grin actually stretched wider, his eyebrows knitting together. He raised his bottle in a silent cheer as his leader stormed towards him, then eyed him over the bottle as he took one last drink.
Frank knew what was coming. The rest of the guys had no clue, but Frank did. He'd made sure to be ready when Chuck reached him. His body tensed, muscles tightening in his arms and chest as Chuck closed those last few steps. He couldn't help himself. He winked before he lowered the bottle away from his face. Oh, he was asking for what was coming, but strangely, didn't seem to give a shit.
"Hey Chuck, there you are. Take a load off," Paulie said, bending at the waist to grab him a bottle.
Chuck's fist crushed through Frank's jaw.
Frank's head snapped with the force of the blow, blood spraying out in dark droplets across the truck bed. Voices raised and glass shattered as bottles slid from the hands holding them. Chuck grabbed Frank by his collar. Thick, meaty hands wrapped in his shirt and used it to pull him off the truck and onto his feet. He laid another blow into his gut, but there was less force to it thanks to Paulie and a couple of other men trying to pull the two apart.
"What the fuck, Chuck!?" Paulie cried out, stepping back towards Frank.
Frank staggered back a little, catching his balance, while rubbing his jaw. He laughed; a soft roll of chuckles that built into a very male, very deranged, laugh.
"You laughin', boy?" Chuck screamed over the group of men between him and his intended target.
"Fuck, yeah, I am," Frank said, standing more upright. His jaw ached as he ran his tongue over his teeth then leaned to the side to spit out a little more blood. "You hit hard for an old dog. But this time, I ain't going down."
Chuck lunged again, but his bulk was held in check by the other men. Each of them looked between the two men, confused. Out of their depths. Only Paulie slid a knowing look to Frank. Frank glanced back up at him, that ever-present grin still stretched over his lips, teeth tinged with blood that oozed from the cut on the inside of his cheek.
"Shit," Paulie whispered, barely louder than a breath. He leaned closer to Frank trying to keep his voice low, "You really fucking did it?"
"Oh, yeah," Frank said, eyes trained on the threat just behind his friend.
"Whatcha whisperin' for? You afraid the men you call brothers will think less of ya if they know? That they might not trust you to have their backs if they knew you were low enough to go and fuck my old lady?" Chuck's voice was rough and held a slight tremor as he hissed those words.
The men erupted in a symphony of reactions at the news. A couple of them gave Frank impressed glances, one gave a low whistle, while others looked at one another as if wondering whether they should watch their own women. Theo and Butch, two old dogs that had been with Chuck from the beginning, let their disgust towards this kind of betrayal show plainly in the curl of their lips.
"The question you should ask," Frank said more firmly, "is why would they follow a man who can't control his own bitch?"
Chuck loosed a guttural scream, lunging towards Frank again. The men that were holding him back lost their grip and had to jump on him to tackle him to his knees. They all knew if Chuck got to Frank in that moment, that he would kill him. Frank might have been an ass, but he knew most of the men they rode were loyal to him. Most didn't think a used up bitch like Joy Anne was worth such a sacrifice. More importantly, they all knew Frank was right.
Chuck grunted with the force of all those bodies holding him back. "And
who do you think they should follow?" he growled. "You?!" He screamed the last word as if it was vile.
"Yes," Frank said softly, his voice going empty and cold as his grin finally vanished.
Chuck stilled instantly. His eyes were wide, lips parted. The men holding him turned their attention to Frank now, letting Chuck push himself to his feet.
"You challenging me, Frankie?" he asked, that edge of growl still thick in his voice.
Frank laughed again, his hands flexing idly at his sides. "Yes, Chuck. I am fucking challenging you. I call you out as being nothing more than a squeamish, indecisive, weak-ass, pussy of an alpha."
"You ain't wolf enough to take them from me," Chuck said, a sudden roll of heat coming from him.
"I know I can't shift like you can, but that don't change shit. I am still calling you out," Frank's grin returned, but it was more like a bearing of teeth than a smile. He moved towards Chuck, closing the distance between them until they were eye to eye. "And I was wolf enough for your girl. I took her every way she'd let me."
Chuck surged forward. With no one stepping in now, he hit Frank in a violent crash of bodies. He'd been pushed past his limit. Beyond the betrayal, beyond any hurt, Frank knew the motivating force behind Chuck’s attack all too well. Chuck was driven by things that were less human ego and pride and more animal instinct. Kill or be killed. The threat was in front of him, and he would take it down and tear out its pulse so it would never rise up to him again.
Only, this time, Frank was ready for it. He tensed, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, waiting for Chuck to make his move. When his body crashed into him with all the power of an oncoming train, Frank took the hit, absorbing the force and using his own momentum to turn them around before hitting the ground.
He landed on top of Chuck, arms locked into one another, trying to control his hands. It wasn't easy. Chuck's animal ferocity was almost impossible for Frank to hold at bay. It was all he could do to keep those anvil fists from slamming into him.
Chuck was a big man. Older, possibly past his prime, but he was a seasoned fighter. This is what he'd done many times before to get to this level among the rest of the men. That, and the sheer fury that raged through him, would make him dangerous.
The world flipped over and Frank was suddenly underneath Chuck, his bulk crushing him into the dirt. A hand slipped out of Frank's grip and he threw his forearm up, managing to block the heavy blow. With his head protected, and his other hand still gripping Chuck's dominant hand, his trunk was open to the next hit. Frank's stomach went up into his throat. It hurt. God, it fucking hurt. He coughed, feeling as if he might eject the entire contents of his stomach right there, but he choked it down. He couldn't afford to lose time getting sick. He'd be dead.
Most men might have doubled over, folded in half like a woman, clutching their gut. But not Frank. He had to stay alert, couldn't close his eyes, couldn't give into the pain. He may have been smaller than Chuck, but what he lacked in size he made up for in balls and brutality.
A rough, calloused hand found Frank's throat, squeezing tight. Frank gasped, his throat choking around his breath, as Chuck pushed down on him, not just squeezing but trying to crush his windpipe. Frank's fist beat into the other man's ribs, one desperate blow after another, but he was losing strength. The world was going fuzzy around the edges.
Chuck's grip tightened as the hits stopped. He was going to rip his throat out. He was going to put him down like a rapid dog that bit the hand that fed him.
"You lost, boy," Chuck whispered as he leaned into Frank's ear. "Don't worry... we'll take care of your little bitch when you're gone. I'll give everyone a turn with her before we take her to him."
A deep, rasping laugh squeezed through Frank's throat. There was something almost manic in the sound.
"You… ain't… won…yet," he hissed against the side of Chuck's face.
Chuck turned his head, still hovering against Frank's cheek, and opened his mouth but Frank was too close. Chuck had made a deadly mistake. As Chuck brought the front of his face closer to Frank's, the younger man opened his maw like a snake ready to strike. He bore down over Chuck's eye, sinking teeth into his temple and hooking his bottom teeth against the soft inner corner of his eyeball, and he bit into him. His teeth scraped along the curve of his eye, pushing deep into the socket, and sank into the soft, meaty flesh of his eyeball before it burst into his mouth like a big, fat grape. It exploded over Frank's tongue and oozed from the corners of his lips.
A scream that should not have come from a man of his age, and size, exploded into the night, echoing among the trees that surrounded them all. Chuck shot off Frank, his hands clasping over his eye. He stumbled back, a trail of gore oozed down his cheek as he screamed.
Frank drew in a sharp breath that burned his lungs, tightened his throat, and pulled in the thick, gooey liquid that had burst into his mouth. He didn't wait to be able to breathe again to get to his feet. He rolled to them, his eyes shining fiery amber in the light of the fire. Broad shoulders rose and fell as he caught breath but he never looked away from Chuck. Many might make the mistake of rushing towards the injured man in an attempt to get the upper hand on him, but Frank knew better. You don't corner a wounded animal. That was when they lashed out and tore your face off.
"I'll fucking kill you!" Chuck screamed, moving his hand away from his face to reveal the mangled mess of his injured eye, streaming with blood and thicker things.
Frank held his hand to his stomach, coughing. Fighting past the nausea from the taste of it. Blood burst from his mouth, spraying out to fall to the ground, dribbling down his chin.
"You'll try," Frank spat back at him, still regaining his breath.
A low growl rolled from Chuck's throat. It was a sound that did not belong to a human body. It was the growl that caught Frank's attention and put him back on highest alert. If Chuck shifted, it was all over. He had to keep that from happening if he had any chance of getting out of this alive. Once claws and teeth came out, he was dead. Those razor-sharp claws would tear through his body like wet tissue paper. He needed to make Chuck want to kill him so badly he couldn't think past it, couldn't focus and bring those claws to bear.
He straightened his back and cleared the dirt from his sleeves and shoulders. To everyone watching, it seemed like he wasn't paying any mind to the man in front of him, might look like he didn't see Chuck as any kind of threat. Nothing could be further from the truth. Frank honed every sense he had on that raging bulk of a man, and he was thinking of his next move.
"Well, fuck me," Frank said, laughing just the right way to stoke the embers of Chuck's rage. He looked to Chuck again, hands drawn out, palms up, to either side of him. "Oh, in case you were wonderin', that's how it all started. She came to me and begged. 'Fuck me, Frank... Please'. Hard to deny that girl of yours when she was comin’ at me like a bitch in heat."
The men grew eerily silent, struck dumb by what Frank was saying. It brought a mirthful grin to his lips, teeth still edged in red. They set the stage for this, allowing Chuck to see their realization that he was not the strength and power they thought he was. He was going to milk it for all it was worth.
"'Cause she did. You know... beg for it," he said low. "She begged for a real man to fuck her good and hard," he repeated as he reached down and cupped his crotch.
Words are for an educated and civil mind. A way to communicate the complex thoughts and ideas of man. Animals were not so complex. Fear, food, fighting, and fucking. Four simple instincts that drove them. If you weren't afraid of it, didn't want to eat it, and didn't want to fuck it, then you fought it. You destroyed it any way you could before it destroyed you. That was what Chuck's animal scream expressed as he threw himself at Frank.
Frank was ready. He anticipated the attack, waited for the right moment when Chuck was too far gone to change tactic and not quite past the point of 'too late'. Sweat beaded at his brow and neck, drying blood flaked on his chin, and he waited. He waited, ev
en as his mind urged him to move. To attack or to run. His body knew the plan, listened, told his mind to shut the fuck up. When Chuck seemed like he might weigh-lay into him, Frank stepped back, turning his body just enough so that Chuck hit the fender of the truck head on with a deafening clank.
He was stunned for just a moment, but that was all the time Frank needed to finish this once and for all. He grabbed Chuck by the back of his hair and beat his face into the already dented fender. He loosed a primal and bone-chilling scream as he married the man's face into the truck over and over again, painting it red with fresh blood. Each blow flattened Chuck's face, crushing cartilage and bone alike.
He jerked him away from the truck and tossed him closer to the fire to groan and sputter as he tried to breathe through the ruin of his face. A half-empty beer bottle caught Frank's eye, and he bent at the waist to snatch it up. As he stood upright, he brought the bottle back to crack it sharply against the truck bed. It shattered, leaving a jagged bottle in Frank's blood-splattered hand.
There was movement in the gathering of men. Frank's eyes looked to all of them as he slowly stalked toward the fallen alpha. Faces of horror, of disbelief, of awe, and even disdain met his gaze. He took note of those that sneered at him, that looked ready to fight for their fallen brother. They would see, soon, just what kind of man Frank was. They thought he was ruthless? They hadn't seen nothin' yet.
Frank stepped one boot over the man on the ground, standing over him like the grim reaper waiting for his final breath. He was a ruin of a man, somehow less than half the size he had started, but he could heal. Frank knew that, if given the time, Chuck could be almost back to full health. He might not ever save his eye, but he wouldn't need it to tear Frank's throat out. He crouched over the big man, nearly sitting on his round stomach.
"They're mine, Chuck. All of them. Your bitch was just the first. They'll all follow behind me, because they crave a real leader. Thanks for keeping the seat warm for me." He glanced to the line of men that seemed to be pushing closer, watching him.
The sharp edge of the glass bottle bit into Chuck’s flesh, just under the sternum. In movies, they always aim just over the heart, but they forget about the ribs encasing that precious organ. He put pressure on it and twisted, cutting and digging into the skin with wet, meaty sounds that were quickly drowned out by ragged screams. Chuck's flesh peeled away like over-ripened fruit, the glass disappearing further and further into him.
As the screams died down to a wet gurgling, Frank could hear a soft, retching behind him. One of the men couldn't hold it in. Too much beer, falling adrenaline, and the sickly sweet smell of blood and meat made his stomach clench and spill out onto the ground behind him. The rest of the men watched Frank cut their fallen brother away.
The bottle emerged with a thicker, darker coating and Frank tossed it over his shoulder, a glob of viscera landing on the shoulder of his jacket. He glanced at the men, his men, and locked eyes with one still looking at him with a defiant gleam. Without taking his eyes off him, Frank plunged his bare hand into the tunnel he'd carved under Chuck's ribcage, his fingers digging the rest of the way through. Muscle and tissue gave way as his hand searched, moved, twisted, and finally he pulled it back out with a thick, meaty heart in his grasp.
He stood, blood slicked up to his elbow, and held the heart out to the side of his body. He stared at the men still gathered, letting them see the life source of their former boss before letting it fall to the ground. All eyes were fixated on this man before them.
"Now," Frank said, his voice gravelly, "shit's gonna change. I know you all loved Chuck. Hell, I loved him too."
A snort of bitter laughter rung out from within the men.
"You got a funny fuckin' way of showin' it," said a slender man with graying hair. His skin was dark in the way only a lifetime of being in the sun could manage.
"This ain't preschool, Theo. You want group hugs and story time get on your hog and blow the fuck on outta here. This is the nature of the beast, gentlemen. If you lead, you fight. If you lose... you die. Chuck knew how it is. He was a helluva guy, but we need more than just a helluva guy to take charge and do what's gotta be done to get the respect we deserve. Now, if y'all wanna sit here and bitch and whine about how shit's done, then be my guest. The rest of us are gonna move on to bigger and better things. The rest of us are gonna live life the way it's meant to be lived. Wild and free and answering to no one."
Frank looked from Theo to the rest of the men gathered around the truck. Many nodded at what he had to say and looked ready to fall in line. Some still looked as though they might turn on him. That was fine. Frank had no love lost for the old dogs Chuck had brought with him. None of them were real threats. Weakness like that could be left in the wind as far as Frank was concerned.
He shook his hands at his sides, the last remnants of Chuck's life dripping from his fingertips, and started walking towards the trees and the line of bikes parked just beyond them. Those that would follow him would do so. Let the dead weight stay with the dead. As he thought about that, an idea came to mind. He glanced back to the fire and the crowd of men moving towards him.
"Go back and get him," Frank said to two of the men closest to him.
They looked at him with identical expressions of confusion.
"Chuck. Get his body, prop him in Theo's sidecar," he said without elaborating any further.
As Frank went to his bike, the men glanced at each other then back to where they'd left Chuck lying on the ground. They weren't sure what Frank's intentions were, but looking at Chuck's heart lying cold and motionless on the ground, they sure the fuck weren't going to ask him.
Deny the Moon Page 3