“Getting smacked in the face is a necessity?”
“No.” I half smiled. “But this isn’t about male bravado, Miss…” I glanced down at her badge. “Garside. This is about survival. Not all of us have a metal cage around us to keep us safe. For some, pain is the only way.”
“Did you really sleep with his wife?”
“Probably. At some point.” I shrugged. “I get around.”
I didn’t miss the heaving of her chest and the way her mouth parted in wonder as she stared back up at me, completely clueless as to what to say. Dropping my feet back onto the floor, I let go of the ledge, slapping both hands down on it once before bouncing back and pointing to the side.
“I’ll be over there, waiting for my things.” I grinned.
“I…”
“Will be five minutes? Good work.”
I took off slowly, not particularly eager to make my way to a chair or bench or anything that required me to sit down and wait patiently. My moment of being virtuous was over before it ever really began.
The game was beginning all over again and the thought of winning was providing me with so much adrenaline, I already felt like I was flying higher than I had done in years.
Drew Tucker was back.
Huntsville Prison of the great state of Texas already felt a million miles away as the heavy soles of my boots crunched along the gravel pathway that led me out between two cross-wired fences. At the end of the small walkway, I knew who and what would be waiting for me. I could already see the elbow of one of the fat fuckers as it stuck out from the metal pole, and I swear I could practically smell The Hut on him from where I was. It was my favorite scent of all time—the only home I'd ever really known.
Slinging my black hoodie over my shoulder, one finger keeping a hook on it as it slid down my back, I dropped my chin to my chest and shook my head. The swollen smile was there, but I didn't want them to see me walking out and showing emotion. They'd all have changed since I left them—all grown older, experienced more shit, drank more and gained more scars—but I'd changed, too. That was an inevitability of prison life for you.
Scuffing my boots across the surface beneath me, I rounded the corner and took one look at the first of my brothers.
Harry Rogers. The Hound of Babylon’s road captain and all round living legend.
Fat, bald and shorter than a fucking field mouse, Harry had tattoos that crept up all the tires and creases of his neck before they spread out into the shape of a claw up the back of his head. His eyes were like piss holes in the snow and he had the facial hair of a teenage boy.
But man was he loyal as hell.
And that's all that mattered to me. To him, it didn't matter that he was twelve years my senior or that I was just a twenty-nine year old kid with ideals in his heart and plans in his mind. To him, my badge was enough.
“Well, I guess I know who's been eating all my food portions since I've been gone.” I grinned, my eyes lifting up to meet his, watching as he kept his cool, hiding behind his heavy, black shades.
Pushing himself off the wall, Harry stepped forward and did a quick assessment of my body from head to foot and back again. “Yeah, and I can tell someone's been skipping leg day in the prison gym for far too long.”
“Still lifting over twice my body weight,” I answered roughly, watching him as he reached out to pinch my bicep between two of his fingers.
“And what's that? Fifty pounds, tops?”
“Fuck you.” I laughed out loud, the hand that wasn't securing my hoodie over my shoulder reaching out to jab him.
“Damn, it's good to see you, brother.” He launched at me, both his arms flying around my back as much as they could, considering his build up against mine. I was six-foot dead, stocky by nature rather than much effort and, according to some of the women I’d been with, pretty fucking ripped.
My smile grew wider as I returned his back pats and briefly dropped my cheek to rest on his head. Affection wasn’t something we, as a group, showed to the other people around us. We were to look a certain way and walk a certain way while always remaining polite enough to the residents of Babylon. But with each other, we celebrated our bond and we clung onto it as much as we could. There was no shamein showing unity and love. Without it, there was no way we would be able to make it through the darkest moments that inevitably ran through the seconds, minutes, and hours of club life. The words didn’t need to be said.
Pulling back, I raised both brows and inhaled sharply, looking all around me as I did.
“Where are the others?” I croaked, seeing no one else here but Harry. “And where the fuck is my bike?”
He pointed behind me, forcing my head to swivel around until I was looking over my shoulder. “It’s just the van today, Tucker.”
“You gotta be kidding me?”
“Nope.” He laughed roughly, digging in his pocket for the keys.
