It’s fleeting moments like this where I stop dead in my tracks and really think about my relationship. Here I am living with a man who has become so engulfed in his career and the image he has for his life, I sometimes wonder if he remembers I exist at all, until he needs me to slip on a dress and smile on his arm, that is. Something I hate with a passion.
My best friend’s words slam into me, and everything I’ve been avoiding is looking back at me grimly. How is it possible that the girl who wanted love, attention, and comfort ended up in a sterile house, with a fiancé who doesn’t pay her any attention? Today sucks.
Trust me, Kira, I’m just as disappointed as my Barbies are.
Chapter Three
RHYS
Clubhouse parties can get wild. In my twenties, I lived it up, drinking, smoking weed, fucking the occasional patch bunny who wandered onto my lap for the night. But it got old quickly.
I sink a little lower into the battered leather couch, trying not to look as out of place as I feel tonight. The whole clubhouse vibrates, the heavy bass of the music blasting from the speakers, voices and laughter as everyone mingles, the hissing as beer leaves the keg and fills a glass, the ricochet of a pool stick connecting with the ball. Every sound tonight seems like it’s amplified, aiding in the ice pick sensation hitting the back of my skull.
My brothers party like there isn’t a worry in the world, always up for a good time when the situation calls for it. Tonight is one of those nights. Above all else here, we’re a family, and tonight is one of our own’s birthday. Tonight, we celebrate.
The last year and a half, we’ve lost brothers, prospects just starting out with club life, and an old-timer who’s been around longer than I have. We know better than most how short life can be, how precious it truly is, so when there’s a reason to let loose and have a good time, we know how to get it done right.
Malice roars with laughter at something he probably said himself, the noise ripping through the room like a chainsaw. I feel that one in my eyes more than my ears, this goddamn headache is plaguing me like a relentless motherfucker.
The air is thick with cigarette smoke and the lingering bite of gasoline that clings to everyone’s cut. It’s the kind of smell that seeps into your clothes, forever a part of you. Most of the time, I don’t even notice it anymore. But tonight, everything is at such a higher potency.
Rolo sits down on the couch next to me, dropping a cold beer bottle into my hand. “Why aren’t you over there partying with the rest of ’em? I know you’d have no problem getting your dick wet,” the man of the hour asks. I take a moment and glance over at our brothers, patting each other on the back harder than necessary, joking, and enjoying the night.
“You ever miss this now that you’ve settled down?”
“Nope,” he replies, taking a swig of his beer.
“Maybe because I’ve settled down, it just doesn’t appeal to me anymore.”
“I can see it. Mr. Bun-Buns is good company. Was expecting a human, but if that’s your thing . . .”
I punch him in the arm, shooting him a glare. “You’re fucked in the head. Nah, I’m serious. Look at Wrath, he’s still young, good-looking?—”
“ —boy does he know it,” he interrupts, and we both laugh.
“He’s having the time of his life, fucking whoever he wants, whenever he wants, living it up, but still has a good head on his shoulders. I’m just not down for that anymore.”
“You haven’t been in a long time, Sin. You had to grow up way too fucking fast with your dad being the club VP, and I’m sure that contributed to how you’re feeling. Don’t beat yourself up for not being the life of the party. You’ve always been more reserved. You’ve got one hell of a ruthless streak, but you’re the marriage type.”
I scoff. “Whatever. Like I’ve got time to date and find a wife.” Even if I want one. Someone that’s mine, that I can take care of and love on, someone who I can be wholly myself with, who gets and accepts all the multifaceted sides of me. Rolo is right, I’m a ruthless killer, willing to do whatever it takes to protect my family, but I’m also empathetic and, like Malice and Chaos call me—soft.
That’s the thing about being in an MC, especially a ranked member who lives and dies by the cut. If you’re not careful, you can lose yourself. I watched it happen with Rogue when his sister was murdered, at the same time I watched it happen to Chaos when his brother, Ace, was burned alive. Any semblance of who they were as people—Reid and Camden—disintegrated. All that remained were their alter egos, giving in to the road names that were bestowed on them.
“Jesus Christ, you think he’ll ever grow out of that?” Rolo says as he nods his head in the direction of the pool tables, pulling my attention from my throbbing head and relentless spiral of thoughts.
Wrath is relaxed in one of the chairs, pants at his ankles, legs spread wide as one of the patch bunnies sucks his cock. “For real, what is this shit? Where’s Morgan? I don’t need her getting jealous of the size of cock he’s packing. He’s making us look bad!”
I bark out a laugh, slapping him on the back. “Speak for yourself! You’re such an idiot.”
“Morgan!” Rolo yells through cupped hands at his mouth, making me wince. “Get your sexy little ass over here!” Morgan leaves the bar where she’s helping out a prospect hand out drinks and walks in our direction. Her hips sway side to side, her eyes locked solely on one man and one man only.
Hell, what would it be like to be looked at like I’m a fucking god? One person’s be-all, end-all.
Morgan is Rolo’s old lady, who’s been in the club for as long as I can remember. She’s more of the mother around here, always taking care of us, cooking food, and helping Stitch—our resident doctor—with anything he needs. She’s great at looking after the patch bunnies, making sure they have access to contraceptives, reviewing their STD screenings, and making sure none of them are taking any hard drugs, even checking in with them often to make sure their mental health is stable and they still want to be here.
The biggest difference that sets Hell’s Heathens apart from other clubs is that every single one of us, from our president, right down to the patch bunnies and prospects, is here of their own free will. You can’t lead an army if they’re all forced and coerced to be here.
Rolo’s hands find her waist, guiding her ass down on his lap. Once she’s settled, he covers her eyes with both hands, tuckingher into his chest. She swats at his hands, laughing as she tries to free herself of the beast holding her hostage.
