Page 5

Chapter 4

Louis

Ravi stares at me with a raised brow. “Dude, seriously? Did he just suck your dick?”

“What? No.”

He makes a kissy face. “Now I know why you brought him home. No wonder. He’s pretty cute, isn’t he? Totally worth abandoning your shift for.”

“Shut up and get in,” I grumble.

Ravi saunters past me into the apartment, a toothpick in his mouth, as seems to be the case in the lack of a cigarette or a joint.

“So,” he says, turning to me with a suggestive smile. “What happened yesterday?”

I roll my eyes and run a hand through my scraggly hair. I need a fucking shower. “Nothing.”

“Didn’t look like nothing,” Ravi says. I send him a murderous look, and he shrugs and throws me the key to my motorbike. “Anyway, thanks for the loan.”

I throw him the key to his car in return. “I hope you didn’t scratch her up.”

“I hope the same for you,” he counters.

“How was the rest of the night?”

“Oh, I don’t know, nothing much happened. It’s a little blurry, to be fair.”

“Don’t tell me you got drunk,” I growl. “You were supposed to fucking take over my shift.”

Ravi throws his hands up. “Louis, you know me. Can’t resist a good party when I’m feeling the vibe. Mike had a bong, and after that, it was lights-out for me. He had to drive me home.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Relax, relax. He’s a good driver when he’s high.”

“What about your shift?” My shift, more like.

Ravi shrugs. “No worries. Party went on for quite a while, though, from what I hear. A miracle the neighbors didn’t complain.”

“Maurice pays them off,” I say with a wave of my hand.

Ravi stares at me. “He does? For a party like that? Why?”

“Says he likes to keep an eye on the younger population in town. To vet prospects, you know.” Say what you will about the parties at Joshua’s house, but their connection to the Black Claws MC is covert enough to attract folks who wouldn’t otherwise be into the lifestyle. And if Maurice is more interested in the young girls and boys who frequent the place, well…

“Yeah, I figured it was something like that.” Ravi fishes a joint from his sleeve and holds it up. “You mind?”

“Yes, I fucking mind. Go outside if you have to smoke.”

“But I want company,” Ravi says with the joint dangling between his lips.

I roll my eyes. We end up on the patio at the back of my apartment, seated on my rickety lawn chairs.

“You’re seriously not going to tell me what was up with that guy?” Ravi asks as he lights his joint. “I know that face of yours when you opened the door. Your postorgasm face.”

I stare at him. “I don’t even want to know.”

“Well?” He blows a cloud of smoke in my face, and I don’t know if I’m getting a contact high or what; I wouldn’t usually be inclined to tell him shit. Or maybe it’s just that the morning has rattled me enough to catch me off guard.

Sipping a cold cup of coffee, I stare glumly into the distance. “His name is Sparrow.”

“And what did you and Sparrow get up to?”

“You already figured it out, didn’t you, genius?”

“Knew it!” Ravi laughs and slaps my thigh. “A little young for you, though, isn’t he?”

Yeah. Way too young. I shouldn’t even have brought him home in the first place, let alone let him suck me off, but it’s simple, really: I like to give horny little twinks what they want. Like that green-eyed, black-haired vixen who strutted into Moe’s Den like he owned the place. He sucked me in right away—confident, arrogant, and with the obvious, burning desire to get on his knees. Turns out he had another guy to get on his knees for. My fists clench at the thought.

Sparrow isn’t like that guy at all. For one, he’s younger, and he sure acts like it. Two, he’s painfully unsure and uncertain, even though he tries hard to hide it. But he’s eager, I’ll give him that. And who was I to refuse him when he begged me so sweetly to suck my cock? As a favor .

I snort. Fucking kid. It’s fine either way; I’m unlikely to ever see him again, and if he shows up at Joshua’s next week, I’ll gently turn him away. It’s no place for someone like him. He’s too easily manipulated—too easily taken advantage of by assholes like Eric Fletcher.

And assholes like me.

I sigh and stretch out on the patio chair. Yesterday’s chest workout and subsequent late night are reminding me of my age. Getting older isn’t all bad, but there are more negatives than positives for sure. I would prefer if my ability to control my temper improved with the years, but instead, the opposite has shown itself to be true. Makes no fucking sense. Not a lot in my life makes sense, anyway. Everything seems to have gotten worse lately too.

My anger. My ability to keep up appearances. My self-control in not letting boys half my age suck my cock and hump my leg like their life depended on it.

“Stop with the grumpy act,” Ravi says. “You look like a dude that hasn’t just gotten his dick sucked.”

“Shut up,” I say, but a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth—something only Ravi has the ability to conjure. “It was a one-off with that kid. He’s far too young.”

“Oh, you don’t need to tell me,” Ravi says with a grin. “Is he even eighteen?”

“He told me he turns twenty-one in the spring.”

“Yeah.” Ravi snorts. “So what happened?”

I lean my elbows onto my knees and stare darkly into space. “Eric Fletcher happened.”

“Ugh, not that dude again,” Ravi groans. “Did you know Anthony said he fucked his girlfriend when he was out of town, and she was drunk and high out of her mind?”

I give a muffled groan in reply. “We need to get that guy fucking banned.”

“Wouldn’t count on it; he’s Joshua’s high school buddy.”

I grimace. Yeah, that explains it.

My phone rings, and I shove my hand into my pocket with a scowl. “What?” I bark into the phone.

“Are you sure that’s how you want to open this up?” the president of the Black Claws MC, Maurice, grumbles at the other end of the line.

“I’m busy.”

“Too busy to take care of your job?” I hear him light a cigarette at the other end of the line and take a sip of something, likely something strong. “A girl died last night.”

The familiar smell of urine, old socks, and oak furniture hits my nose as I make my way into Moe’s Den with Ravi in tow. Maurice sits in the back, off by the pool tables. He’s got a whiskey in hand, and judging by the amount of cigarette butts in the ashtray, he’s already smoked enough for two days. With a few hours yet until opening time, he’s stinking up the place something fierce.

Joshua sits next to him, a backward ball cap on his shaved head and a sullen expression on his usually smug face.

“How the fuck could this happen?” I growl.

“You tell me,” says Maurice, eyes dark under his gray eyebrows and the MC club vest showing off his bulging biceps. I’d count myself lucky if I had that amount of muscle at his age. Who the hell is this ripped at sixty-two? Next to Joshua’s skinny frame, he looks almost comical.

“Who was the girl?” I ask, sending Ravi a glare. No worries , huh? Because of him, because of me , a girl is dead. Well, it’s not strictly either of our faults, but if we were there, we could’ve prevented it, I’m sure.

“Doesn’t matter,” Joshua says with a shrug.

“Who told you to open your mouth?” I growl. Joshua bears his own brand of guilt, and it’s easier to convert my remorse into anger at him than let it burn in my chest.

Maurice frowns at me. “Manners, Louis.”

“What the hell do manners matter in a situation like this?”

Joshua stands up. He’s obviously trying to put on a nonchalant appearance, but I notice the tightness of his jaw and the clench of his fists.

“Wasn’t much of a surprise if you ask me. She was one of Eric’s.”

I show my teeth in a grimace. “Well? How did it happen?”

“You should know; you were the one at the job.”

“How about you? You’re the fucking host.”

“Now, now. We shouldn’t push the blame on other people for our own negligence, should we, Louis?” Joshua grins, and if I didn’t want to smack his smug little face before, I sure do now. He yawns and stretches his arms over his head. “You know I always pass out by one o’clock. That’s what we have the guards for. Isn’t that right?” He gives me and Ravi a pointed look.

“That’s correct,” Maurice says. “And they’re supposed to be present for the entirety of the party, however long it goes on. Not leave at their whim and fancy,” he adds, glaring at me.

I look away, clenching my fists at their sides. “I had to take care of some things.”

I had to take care of a wing-clipped bird that couldn’t take care of itself. It wasn’t easy, but it was right, and for someone who rarely does the right thing, I had fucking hoped this time would be different. That I’d done good for once. But no, turns out I should have left Sparrow to stumble back to wherever he lives and be subject to a robbery or worse so I could’ve prevented a girl from fucking dying.

“Tell me, what’s more important than taking care of your job?” Maurice asks.

“Getting laid,” Ravi coughs.

“You’re serious?” Maurice throws his head back in a menacing laugh.

“Eric had a busy night,” I grumble. “He fed vodka to some kid who ended up puking his guts out.”

“If someone starts throwing up, you throw them out,” Maurice says. “Not take them home and fuck them!”

“I didn’t fuck him,” I growl.

Ravi waves a hand. “Guys, how about we just—”

“Shut up, Ravi!” Maurice and I yell in unison.

Ravi’s mouth falls closed.

Maurice rubs his temples, shaking his head at him. “You’re lucky you’re Tara’s brother. And you,” he says, pointing his cigarette at me. “You’re lucky I don’t throw you back to where you came from.”

My gut turns over. Maurice has been plenty fair with me so far—allowed many infractions he otherwise wouldn’t have. Members of different chapters of the Black Claws are rarely taken in like I was, but since my former president and Maurice had a past, I had a head start, so to speak. When I first came to town, Maurice and Ravi accepted me right away. Since then, my track record of befriending people has been sparse, to say the least.

“How about the girl’s parents?” I ask.

“Far as I know, she had none,” Maurice replies.

“The cops, then?”

“They know.” He lights another cigarette and blows out a cloud of smoke. “Not much more to do now than to fatten the wallet of Chief Hastings. And of course, to punish the one ultimately responsible for this mess. I hope you two understand you won’t be getting paid for last night. But you might get paid for this.”

Yeah, I was waiting for him to come to that part—the real reason for calling us over here.

“Where is he?” I ask.

Joshua squirms uncomfortably, and Maurice exhales a cloud of smoke and throws a thumb toward the back room. That’s it. No instructions, but we know damn well what to do.

I can already feel it—the smash of my fist into Eric Fletcher’s jaw…The satisfying grunt of pain as his blood sprays across my cheek…My guts wrench and my palms sweat as if I’m about to take a hit of some drug. The anticipation tingles all the way out to my fingertips.

While Ravi swings by the bar and takes a shot of whiskey, I head straight for the door. Unlike Ravi, I prefer to be stone-cold sober for this type of business. Makes the sensations more vivid. More memorable.

I unlock the door and step inside to find Eric Fletcher on the couch in a wide-legged sprawl, as if he has no care in the world.

“Hey, about time. I was about to fall back asleep in here, you know.”

“Sit back down,” I order.

“Hey, but you’re letting me out, right?”

Ravi closes the door behind me, and I crack my knuckles, mostly for show. It has the desired effect though; Eric cowers, backing up against the wall.

“Hey—no-no-no, wait! How could I have known the little bitch was gonna OD? How the fuck could I have— aaargh !”

My knuckles crackle with pain at the first hit—they always do, but I find myself liking the pain. My father used to say I had nothing good in me but violence, and with the passing of time, his words have etched deeper into my bones than I ever thought possible. At this point in my life, I’m inclined to believe them. Embrace them, even. Except for the occasional bartender and bouncer gigs, my responsibilities are as few and straightforward as I like.

Pull my fist back.

Crunch it into a jaw.

Smash it into a nose.

Bury my knee in the gut of a victim who’s unable to fight back.

Nothing more, nothing less. It’s all I want, and it’s all I can do to rid myself of this terrible anger within me. This festering sickness.

“You fucking animal,” Eric croaks, a bloody glob of spit dangling from his mouth, the whites of his eyes exposed as he stares up at me.

He’s right. In these moments, I feel more animal than man, and if I might be indulging in the dark gratification of hurting him a little more than strictly necessary, so what? The fucker had it coming, and if I hadn’t intervened, Sparrow might have eventually met the same fate as that poor girl.

“I’ll remember this,” Eric hisses after another blow to his gut.

“So will I.”

When I get home, I collapse in bed and stare at the ceiling, chest heaving and aching with something I can’t make sense of. I’ve lived like this on and off for close to twenty years; I should be used to it by now.

Heavy was the road that brought me here, and the road laid ahead of me is heavier still.

My knuckles tingle as I flex my sore hands, and when I close my eyes, I see a face in front of me: a young and trusting face, with the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.

Sparrow. My name is Sparrow.

And I hope, for my sake as well as his, that our paths never cross again.