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 look out from my vantage point at the cabins scattered among the trees. The whole area used to be Camp Happy Bird all the way back in the seventies. Never in my life did I imagine living in a place like this in my childhood. My family was the kind that sent their kid shoplifting, not to summer camp, and while this is all now Vulture Hollow MC territory, there are still remnants of its past.
Where the archery range used to be, we now shoot guns, the old fire pits are still there for all to gather around, and the teens who live here still go to the treehouses for “birdwatching”.
This place is worth fighting for. Even if it’s built on drug money and moonshine, it feels like a dream to me. From the fresh air and the freedom of the surrounding forest, to the camaraderie of the commune and the club, I’ve never known belonging like it. I’d not risk my place with the Vultures for dick. Or at least that’s what I tell myself, because I’ve been thinking about one particular piece of ass more than I should lately. I don’t know what’s worse, that he’s a guy, or that he’s a fucking Butcher.
I’m out of my damn mind.
“Bet your buddies wouldn’t care if you climbed on another tomcat, huh?” I mumble, letting out clouds of flavored smoke while the other cats are still swarming on my porch. Leto purrs as I rub his chin, but when I notice a tall figure climbing the path leading toward my home all the way from the other cabins, I know peace is over.
“I hope you have breakfast,” I say, closing my eyes as the sun emerges from behind the clouds, and everything becomes too bright.
“Yep, fresh out of the oven,” Prophet says and throws me a paper-wrapped bundle. I barely manage to catch it, but my reflexes are still there. I do have to put down my pipe but that’s not a bad exchange.
Leto bounces off my lap when I don’t want to share my hot sandwich. The smell alone is pure bliss. Freshly baked bread with fried egg and bacon. I bite in with a happy groan, since I can’t cook for shit, and the community kitchen is my lifeline.
Prophet leans against the wooden post next to me, and appears relaxed enough for me to not worry, but it’s not like he visits me every morning, so he must want something.
“So, who needs killing?” I start, meeting his green eyes.
My prez lets out a low chuckle and stretches his muscular body. With the long, dark wavy hair, thick beard, and occult tattoos, he looks like a Viking. But while he believes in horoscopes and amulets a bit too much, he’s definitely not about the kumbayas. He’s a fair leader, though, and I appreciate that.
“Just the squirrel that burrows in my roof. Unless I manage to convince it to move,” he says and joins me on the steps with his own sandwich.
“Tough nut, that one,” I say with a straight face, and he shoves my shoulder so hard I almost drop my food.
“Anyway, I was thinking about that rally we were meant to go to next week—”
Anticipation warms my chest, and I stuff the remainder of my breakfast into my mouth. “What ‘bout it?”
“Apparently the Butchers are going. Two different chapters. Clyde is supposed to be there, show off that he’s all healed up and on the hog, and… I don’t think we should go. We’re barely digging ourselves out of the hole, and the truce will only last so long. I know how you’ll be when you see him, and we don’t need that right now. We’re voting on it tonight, and I want you on my side about this.”
Prophet is serious, worried, yet all I can think of in an instant is that Clyde Turner will be there. At a party that is supposed to be neutral ground. He and the ass that looks so good in jeans.
I haven’t seen him for months, since that day in the hospital, when he came into my room and slapped me with a crutch. One of the most erotic experiences of my life to date.
Yes, I am exaggerating. But not completely. I was too banged-up to do anything at the time, but loved seeing his ass when he shuffled out.
That guy will be at the rally, where I can stumble upon him by accident. Does he think about me as intensely as I do about him? Does he want me on top of him? Does he want me inside him? It’s not like I can DM him and ask...
Prophet snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Road. This isn’t the time to fantasize about revenge.”
“I’m not,” I say, waving his hand away as if it were a pesky fly. When my friend lifts his brows in a universal expression of disbelief, I pray he never finds out what I’m really thinking. If he did, he’d have me thrown into the lake, along with all my stuff, and I’d never be welcome again.