Muscles in my back burned, sweat soaked my shirt and trickled along my temple and even my balls were stuck to the side of my thigh. On my knees, I worked along the roof laying shingles.
Steele whistled, catching my attention. He’d brought me on this week because he was down a couple of guys. Another good deed for a brother. I guess we were quitting early. Guys were gathering their tools and cleaning up their areas.
I grabbed my tools—they were actually Steele’s tools—and climbed down the ladder.
“The guys are heading over to the Landing Strip for a drink,” Steele said.
I loaded the tools into the back of his truck then wiped my brow with a bandana. “Are you going?”
“I can’t. Lili has a soccer game.” He pulled his keys from his pocket. “I have to admit, I take a bit of pride in her passive aggressiveness. Last week she wore her tutu over her uniform. If Stormy hadn’t told her soccer would help with her ballet, she wouldn’t play. Not that she’s scoring many goals as she twirls down the field rather than going after the ball.” He slammed the tailgate shut.
“I think I’ll head over to the MC.” I needed a shower, food, and maybe I’d even crash for an hour or two before I worked the bar.
This week had been good between McKelle and me, even after I’d bailed on a family barbecue this weekend. I climbed onto my bike, slid my feet onto the pegs, and rolled out onto the quiet neighborhood street.
On the way to the MC, I picked up chicken fingers and fries. By the time I rode through the gates of the club, there were a few bikes parked out front. Twenty minutes later, I’d scarfed down my food and grabbed a quick shower. Two minutes after I’d stretched out on my bed, I’d fallen asleep for a couple of hours.
And I’d slept hard. I startled awake, not sure if I’d slept through the night, or ten minutes. Voices chatted outside my bedroom door. I stretched, slipped on my cut, and stuffed my phone into my back pocket.
Saturday nights at the MC were busy. Romeo was behind the bar, counting bottles and then writing numbers on his clipboard. “I got Pike and Seven to cover for you tonight.”
I slowed my steps because my gut was in my throat.
Not that I didn’t like Seven. The club thought he was good enough to bring in as a new prospect after he’d been hanging around for a couple of weeks. Last night at church, he’d been given his road name. Dude was a serial monogamist. He’d been married seven times. Butch, his sponsor, claimed the MC was Seven’s twelve step recovery process.
And I still didn’t have the patch. I swear to fucking god, once I’d earned those colors, I was never taking off my cut. For the next two weeks, I wouldn’t be obsessing over it. Next Friday night, the MC would be packed. Tank had six days to the gate. Six days to his parole.
My gut clenched. No way would they vote on my patch on a night to celebrate Tank’s homecoming. And now, Romeo didn’t want me working behind the bar. Fuck, maybe they’d decided I wasn’t good enough.
“Is there a reason you don’t want me behind the bar?”
“Because Bullet was here earlier with Kodiak.” Romeo glanced up from his paper. “He said you needed the night off to work for him. That means you’re not working the bar.”
“Fuck.” I raked my hands over my head. “Maybe ask me next time.” Because this was bad, but this wasn’t Romeo’s problem. He didn’t need to ask me anything. I was just a prospect. I checked my tone and took the sharp edge off. “I was looking forward to working tonight. I need the tips,” I quickly added because no one wanted to work the bar. That’s why prospects were always doing it.
Romeo chuckled. “I’m not in the habit of telling Bullet no. No way would I tell him I’m checking in with a prospect first. Whatever you’ve got going with Bullet tonight is none of my business.” He grabbed his clipboard. “And not my problem.”
No, it was my fucking problem. There was a red warning light in the back of my brain, and it just reached DEFCON one. Imminent fucking nuclear destruction. I checked my phone and scrolled through my text messages.
Fuck me. Somehow, I’d missed two messages from Bullet, one from late last night.
Bullet: Tomorrow night. Indulgence.
I’d seen him at church, and he hadn’t said anything about the filthy fairytales, and I didn’t want to bring thesituation up around McKelle. Another message from an hour ago.
Bullet: We’re all set. Thanks for doing this.
I stared at the words, my throat tightened, and my gut burned as I took an emotional tumble into hell. Bullet expected me to come fuck his girl on camera, and I’d made a promise to McKelle.
But I hadn’t actually fucked up, yet. Sex in general didn’t really mean anything to me. I didn’t have an emotional connection with someone just because my dick was involved. I recognized I wasn’t wired right. But it mattered to McKelle. I wasn’t going to hurt her again by fucking around on her.
“Fuck.”
“You good?” Romeo asked.
“Nah.” I was pretty sure I fucked this one up. I fired off a text to Bullet.
Cruz: I have an issue with tonight.
