Page 1 of Creep (Vulture Hollow MC #2)

Creep

They call me Creep, and I should probably be offended, but what do you call a man who breaks into people’s houses to sleep under their beds? If the shoe fits.

I do also have a job, if being a career criminal can be called that, so I can’t spend my days watching others from the safety of the shadows.

Sometimes, I have to even talk to people, and that’s much harder than killing or disposing of bodies.

I am loyal to the Vulture Hollow MC though, so I do what I must.

I’ve just dropped off a parcel of our homegrown psychedelics with the local butcher, who moonlights as a drug dealer, but lots of folks around here hold down two or three jobs, so I’m not surprised.

At least he didn’t expect small talk, so I finished my task for the day without issue and now I get to reward myself with a juicy burger.

I like the Gravy Fountain, because not only do their wrappers not crinkle, but I also have a favorite corner booth that gives me a view of all exits, including the one into the kitchen, and the street. I get to watch people, feel safe, and ponder what to do with the rest of my day.

I could go back to our village and continue with my book, find out whether Kargle the werewolf gets to save his lands from destruction, or use the opportunity while I’m in town to indulge a little.

I won’t lie, Kargle’s story’s been pretty uninspired, and I might just be returning that book to the library without reading it to the end.

I might seem like a menace to society to most people, but the librarian, Mrs. Willow, calls me sweetheart whenever I return books on time.

She even gave me a cookie last time. I wonder if she needs new glasses, because I’m pretty sure there’s not much endearing about my black greasy hair or the pasty skin that could give a vampire a run for his money.

I’m at peace with being the kind of guy people cross the street to avoid, but it’s still nice to know that not even the 1% patches on my cut can scare off good old Mrs. Willow.

I take my meat blue, and as juices flood my tongue, I lean back in the booth, scanning the street outside.

It’s a nice town, this one, a clear sign of its progressing gentrification.

The streets are clean. Most vehicles—pristine.

And on the other side of the road is a lineup of businesses a place as small as this simply would not have had twenty years ago.

A bakery/restaurant serving “modern food with a middle Eastern twist” .

A flower shop called Plant Mommy. A pet groomer with a figurine of a cotton candy pink poodle in the window.

And one of those esoteric shops I’ve seen popping up here and there.

I settle my gaze on the golden Buddha at the centre of the display when the door opens, and a lanky figure steps out.

My instincts wake up before my mind can, but once the stranger steps into the spring sun, I’m blinded by the golden hue of his hair.

My toes curl.

My heartbeat quickens.

I close my teeth on the side of my nail.

There’s a pulsing in my lips and temples as I watch the boy glance left and right before crossing the street.

He’s wearing lightweight harem pants, and his T-shirt is a tad too short, offering a peek of his abdomen.

I can’t look away from that thin strip of bare flesh, and by the time he enters the Gravy Fountain, I’m salivating.

I discreetly take in every golden bit of him, including the two drop earrings.

The tan, the freckles, the blond waves cut into a messy shag.

He’s so fucking cute and everything I’m not.

He orders at the counter, and when he turns to face the window, I can see his eyes are bright blue even from where I’m sitting.

I gasp at the little rainbow pin on his denim messenger bag.

I’ve never been good at telling who’s gay and who isn’t, after all, maybe they’re just artistic, or like fashion? How the fuck would scum like me know?

He doesn’t retreat to his own booth like I have.

No, this sunshine boy smiles widely at Ruby, the waitress, and sits at the counter for an easy chat that makes even her grumpy features brighten—something I’ve not managed in the two years I’ve been coming here.

He’s giving me a great view of a bit of his spine and the colorful waistband of his underwear peeking out from his pants.

I chew faster, thinking of how I could walk past him and brush my fingers over that bit of exposed skin.

I used to think I’d never have a man of my own, being a biker and all, but now that our village has welcomed its first gay couple, that certainty changed to bitterness. It was easier to swallow that I’m an unfuckable virgin at twenty-five due to homophobia rather than my own social ineptitude.

But the truth is that I’m torn even on the question whether I should seek someone out in the first place.

When my friend, Road, came out to the whole club by demanding we take his lover under our protection, it was a revelation.

I took that as an opportunity to come out as well, and for a few days felt a strong desire to go out there and meet someone.

But I’ve since deleted Grindr, where I haven’t dared message a single person, I’ve stopped perusing personals on Craigslist, and every pretty boy remains a piece of candy I can only lick through the wrapper.

Why put myself out there, only to be rejected? The men I like are way out of my league, so why would they settle on someone who’s nothing like the charismatic heroes populating books and movies?

They always smell of something fancy, like cedarwood or smoke, where I’m just soap and my own musk. They speak with confidence, I sometimes lose my voice. So maybe I am relatively tall and toned. I have broad shoulders and large, veiny hands, but I know I’m way too angular to be anyone’s dream man.

And as I watch my newest target laugh with Ruby as he slurps a milkshake, I have to face the elephant in the room.

I’m also plain fucking weird, and I know it.

I wouldn’t go as far as saying I’m at peace with that, but I’ve found my comforts, and I want one of them to come true tonight.

I won’t be attempting to talk to this cutie.

I won’t be casually putting my hand on the small of his back. And I won’t be asking for his number.

I’ll follow him home, and if I’m lucky, he’ll have a bed with space under it where I can crawl in and listen to his breathing, sense him turning on the mattress above.

I’ll get to see where he lives, smell his room, enjoy his company, maybe steal his underwear, ‘cause I’m a pervert like that, and be on my way before he wakes

Him getting up is my cue.

My hand trembles a little when I reach for my wallet, but I leave the cash next to my unfinished meal and rise.

My sunshine pulls a longline sweater out of his bag and puts it on, covering the lovely bit of skin I’ve been eyeing. But it’s fine. I will enjoy this boy all night long.

I take long strides, planning to reach my bike before he leaves the Gravy Fountain, but Ruby blocks my way, the wide smile she had for him fading at the sight of me. “You’re leaving already? Wait a second, I have something for my sister. Could you please pass it to her?”

My gaze follows the boy out the door and to his old blue Ford as I try to find the words that will get me out of the conversation the fastest. “Ah… yeah. Give it to me.” Her sister lives at Vulture Hollow, and I can easily leave the parcel on her doorstep with no need to even talk to her.

Ruby pauses as if I’ve said something wrong but then hands me a palm-sized box with a deep sigh. “I didn’t want to send it by post. You know how things can get with that when Vulture Hollow is so remote.”

I stare at her as I tuck the box inside my vest. “Hmm… yeah,” I say, because I don’t know what else she could want. This time, I don’t wait around for an answer, because I need to smell that boy, and the sun is already setting.

I turn around and rush out, heading toward my black Harley. I’m in luck. The boy is taking his time, adjusting his shaggy hair with the help of the rearview mirror. By the time he pulls out of the parking spot, my engine is hot and ready to go.

I’ve had my vehicle adjusted by a mechanic to make less noise, which is the opposite of what most of my biker brothers want, but where they’re peacocks, I’m a raven, closing in on my prey in the dark.

I keep my distance, sometimes allowing other vehicles to come between me and my target. As we leave town, illuminated by the setting sun, the drive among trees is pure pleasure. Nature’s my natural habitat, and if the house the boy’s going to is more secluded, it’ll be easier to enter unseen.

When I see him pull into a driveway, I pass as if I haven’t followed him. There’s no close neighbors, so after a minute or two, I drive onto a narrow forest track to leave my bike there.

My skin is already buzzing with excitement. I wonder if he lives alone, or if he has a boyfriend. A husband? He’s a bit young for that. Early twenties at best. Unreasonable jealousy flares up in me at the idea of someone sharing his bed when I’m supposed to hide under it.

On the other hand… if someone fucked him in it, right above me, and I could hear his moans of pleasure, skin slapping against skin… I could imagine it was me.

My mouth is dry by the time I reach his house under the cover of darkness. The air smells of lavender he must be growing in his garden, and a soft guitar tune echoes from beyond the walls as I approach, peeking through the nearest window.

The first thing I see is the faint light in the hallway, but then my gaze drifts to a large bed with a colorful tapestry hung over it. Sweat beads on my back, because I only have one chance to do this right, but while I can’t know when the pretty cherub’s going to enter, I have to go with my gut.