“I’ll keep an eye on him, but if he becomes a problem, he’s out. I can’t afford for him to take me down with him.”
“Surprised you made the offer to begin with,” Grease murmured, rolling his glass between his palms thoughtfully, “he’s not exactly stable, and he’s definitely not people friendly.”
I rested my hand over my pocket, over that VP patch I already knew I was fucking made for. It was like I had to keep reminding myself it was there.
“I guess we’ll see. Thanks for not showing up in your cut, by the way, Grease. I keep the club stuff out of the shop, so we don’t scare all the customers.”
Micro pouted. “He doesn’t love us when he’s at work…” he whined petulantly, but I didn’t rise to it, because this was just how he was. He was a fucking good person, despite the things he’d done before we knew each other. Hell, that night he told me everything, I felt like I fell into a fucking parallel universe.
THAT NIGHT… WHEN MICRO was so drunk, he spilled more than booze...
I was sitting by the fire pit, after everyone else had left, and after two weeks here, fuck me, Micro was making headway in clearing out the assholes, and tidying things up. It already felt like a better club than it had ever been, and that was with people still grumbling about changes, and walking out routinely when they’d had enough.
Micro sat beside me, and handed me a glass of bourbon. Not a measure of it, but a whole fucking glass, and he held one too, a pissed off look on his face.
“You okay?”
He groaned, hunching over his glass. “Nope. It’s one thing after another with these fuckers. Do they think I don’t get that it’s different from what they had? Do they think I’m some pussy just playing at being a biker? If they knew the shit… ugh… I mean, they’re little boys tossing their toys out of the playpen, I swear.”
He gulped half of his drink and groaned after, and that’s when I realised it wasn’t his first drink tonight.
“Who was it this time?” He reached for the bottle of bourbon he’d brought with him, and I grabbed it instinctively, because when a brother’s this drunk, you cut him off. At least in a decent club, you do.
“Huh?”
“Micro, look at me. You’re fucking wasted already. How are you gonna get home to that woman of yours, huh?”
He dragged a hand over his face, muttering to himself.
“This isn’t who I was meant to be. I mean, fuck me… the person I was, I’m glad he’s dead. He was such a cunt.” I didn’t know if I was meant to be hearing these words, and a quick glance around us reassured me that I was the only one around to pick up on them.
“You want me to get you a cab, Pres?”
He glared at me. “Not really your President, am I? I’m a fucking tool they’re using. This is my punishment. Don’t you get it? I probably still die after all this, and I fucking deserve it.”
Okay, now he was making zero sense. I’d seen animosity between the flagship President and VP with Micro, but it had never really made sense to me.
“Micro, as far as I’m concerned, you’re my fucking Pres, and I’ve got your back one hundred percent.”
He sighed, setting his empty glass down, and resting his chin in his hands, his elbows on his knees.
“You wouldn’t if you knew what a fucker I’d been. I was so bent out of shape, and blaming all the wrong people. I hurt people, man. I fucking attacked people.” Shit, I had no idea what the hell was happening here, or what had happened in the past, but I wasn’t sure he should be telling me this.
“Why don’t I get you home, Pres? You need to sleep this off.” I reached for his arm, and he shook free of me.
“No. You need to hear this. You wanna know who you’re backing? Wanna know what kind of asshole I am?” Not really. I just didn’t know how to stop him at this point. Was punching my new Pres against the rules? I had no idea, but I knew it wouldn’t help his head when the booze wore off.
“Pres…”
“My dad was President of a club, a fucking deadly club, and they took him out, and… and… They should have. He was a cancer… a fucking disease… I got all twisted up… b- blamed them.”
Them who? Who the fuck was his dad?
“Blamed them?”
“They killed him. They destroyed his club, and I… fuck me… I should have kept my beef to Reacher and Stitch. They’re the ones who did it, but instead I went after their old ladies, man.”
What. The. Fuck.
