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)
“Yep, and didn’t even skewer any organ. He’d miss my forehead even if his gun’s barrel was against it.”
I laugh. She laughs. My uncle laughs. And a few of the other Butchers around us laugh too. I have everything under control, I’m back on the hog, and I will find my brother’s killer in due time. You can evade the law, but not the vengeance of the Hell’s Butchers MC.
“Seems they won’t stink up the rally with their presence either,” one of our prospects says from somewhere in the back. I didn’t even get to memorize his name yet. Is it Pete or Paul?
Contented hums and laughs resonate around me as Bracer’s old lady hands me a paper plate with the burger I asked for. I nod at her and bite in, content that it provides me with yet another excuse to avoid flirting with the girl my uncle pushed at me tonight. I don’t remember her name either. Was it… Gracie?
“They’re chickenshits. Of course they’re not going to show themselves when they know we’ve come in force,” Grizzly adds with a self-satisfied smile as he toasts the prez of our Newport chapter with a beer bottle. Head was the one to tip us off about the Vulture cargo.
I notice Bracer scowl though as he looks farther into the distance. He’s our treasurer and a man of few words. Like my uncle, he’s an older guy who’s been a member from when my dad was the prez. Bracer’s bald, has a pot belly, and I doubt he could take a guy like Road in a fight, but he’s as sharp with a gun as he was in his youth. The black lightning bolts inked on the sides of his head also serve as a reminder that while he might need to wear glasses, he’s no mild-mannered accountant.
When I follow his gaze, I spot Rooster, one of the easily recognizable of the Vultures due to his red mohawk. Still a prospect, he’s young and skinny but has enough muscle on him to do a handstand and show off. It’s a warm night, but it rained yesterday, so the ground under our feet is quite muddy. Rooster’s hand slips, but when he falls, he laughs, happy as a pig in shit.
“It’s neutral ground. Let’s ignore them,” Bracer says, spotting the tightness in my jaw.
All I can think is that I don’t want to face Road, or I might kill him with dozens of witnesses around us. My uncle’s opening his mouth to contradict Bracer when I speak. “Agreed. Let’s eat, drink, and fuck, not turn the rally into a war zone,” I say and twist out of the girl’s arms as I step away from the bonfire. “Gotta take a leak.”
Grizzly’s face twists until the prematurely-aged skin resembles the muzzle of a bulldog, but he chooses not to contradict me. He might be our new prez, but he wants my opinions respected for that VP future he has planned for me.
I just need to avoid Roadkill. For all I know, he will want to stay away from me and keep the truce.
And yet, as I walk in the mud, zig-zagging from one bonfire to another and finishing my burger, I do wonder if Road really is gay, or if he teases me to be a menace. And if he does like men… Does his club know? Does he fuck around? Did he have some pretty boy take care of him during his recovery the way Gracie tended to me? Or is he as deep in the closet as me and doesn’t even consider finding a male partner for sex?
I grab a beer out of our prospect’s hand as he passes me, and don’t even look back. I need to be away and on my own. Despite my better judgement, I circle the area where I last saw Rooster. The Vultures travel in packs, so I expect to spot stragglers. Oddly enough, Creep is the one I notice first. Clad in all-black and with dark messy hair falling into his face, he melds into the shadows, leaving only his pale face visible. His eyes meet mine, but no emotion crosses his features as I walk by, fighting the urge to shudder.
Fuck, I hate that goddamn freak.
But as I move on, pretending to be unaffected by the gaze surely plastered to my back, more familiar figures are revealed by the glow of a bonfire close to the outer boundary of the field. Their whole shitty club’s here, as well as a force of hangarounds, as if they knew they needed to make up for the low number of men they have when compared to two Butcher chapters. The civilians living on their land might be loyal, but there’s a reason they don’t have patches on their backs. You earn those with blood.