Page 24 of Creep (Vulture Hollow MC #2)

Creep

I would die for my club, no questions asked.

The Vulture Hollow MC took me in when I had nothing and no one, not even a name worth saying out loud.

But the kind of acceptance I feel when Angel holds my hand transcends even my attachment to the Vultures.

I hope nothing ever pits those two loyalties against each other, because fuck , I might crumble under the weight of such a decision.

I now know why Road put everything on the line for Clyde.

Not doing so would have been like cutting off all your limbs and then being expected to go on as you bleed out all over the asphalt.

Angel saw my rotting and ugly insides last night, and still invited me into his bed with a wink and a smile.

My creepy kink, my messed-up past, the scars all over my back, he didn’t even flinch, showing me only understanding and affection.

And just like when I licked his fingers the first time, I tasted his kind soul, and now know I’ve been starving for him all along.

I even remember not to slouch when I’m at his side, desperate to be the man he sees in me.

Last year, being openly gay in Vulture Hollow seemed impossible, even if there was someone willing to give me the time of day.

But after Road’s explosive coming out, walking hand in hand with a man is no longer something to worry about.

Instead, I’m wrapped up in the need to make Angel want to stay.

And if that requires grooming sessions and washing my hair in a shower, then so be it. Why would I refuse when he touches me so tenderly, his gaze telling me he can’t wait for the lights to go out, so I can crawl from under the bed and put my hands on him?

Nobody has wanted me to touch them before, so no wonder everyone’s staring at us.

I’m borderline sorry for Angel, who’ll surely need to answer awkward questions.

But while I wish I could hiss and growl at each person settling their gaze on us for a bit too long, Angel likes to be friendly, so I keep my awkward rage in check.

His hand is soft and smooth, and it feels so good in mine I wish I could bathe it with my tongue.

I usually use small paths, to stay out of people’s way, skirting behind bushes, or leaping between rooftops, but today I’m in full view as I walk a pretty boy along the path cutting through the village.

The lake shimmers from behind the trees as we make our way between the various cabins.

Some have been repurposed from the original camp housing, others are new, built to fit the needs of particular families.

I wonder if Angel’s current home is enough for him, but I don’t know how to ask him such a question without it feeling like I’m jumping the gun.

My actions have already uprooted him enough, and I don’t want to upset the fragile balance between us.

I’m glad to see that his second rainbow shoelace is back in its rightful place.

Now that I have the necklace, there is no need for me to keep it, and he seems to appreciate my gesture.

Even smiled when he found it back on his sneaker.

“Do you want to eat at the canteen?” I ask, trying to ignore the fact that the two people we just walked past are now whispering.

Angel blinks, and his thumb rubs the inside of my palm, triggering a flame deep inside me. “Do you… not want to?”

His face is the definition of sweetness, with smooth skin that’s almost as golden as his hair, eyes like two oceans, and so many freckles I’m unable to count them even though I’ve tried. Whatever he desires, I’ll give it to him.

“I don’t have very strong feelings about it, I just usually don’t.” But today the need to show him off is much stronger than any of my inhibitions. This beautiful, precious creature is holding my hand, and I want everyone to know.

“Why not?” he asks, and as we pass the playground, he steps onto the low brick wall surrounding it. He uses his hold on me for balance and grins, ignoring the two moms watching us from a bench on the other side, where they’re minding their kids.

I’m pretty sure everyone will know about this development between me and Angel before we even get to the canteen. News travels fast in Vulture Hollow.

I like Angel’s straightforward questions, even if they’re difficult sometimes and force me to face a topic I don’t like. So I take a deep breath and admit the truth.

“I’m awkward. ‘Socially awkward’ in fact. You said it yourself. I kill the vibe. I don’t want that for my friends when they’re just trying to eat their breakfast.”

“Whoa!” He stops and frowns. I need to stall too, so he doesn’t fall off the fence. He’s a bit taller than me now. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way! Did they… tell you they don’t want you around?”

I frown right back at him but hold his hand ever firmer. He’s not falling on my watch. “There’s no good way to be socially awkward. They didn’t say it, but… they probably think that.”

He shrugs. “It’s just a description, I’m sorry it hurt your feelings. And your friends must like you, surely.”

I wonder about it for a little while as we walk on. “I know I’m useful to the club. I deal with shit no one else wants to, and I’ve got their respect. When we ride out as one, no words are needed.”

My beautiful, beautiful boy cocks his head, staring at me, as if I’ve said something in a foreign language, but before I can explain it again, he places his free hand on my shoulder and smiles.

With the sun shining through the tree crowns to create a halo around him, he’s like a celestial being who’d stepped out of the heavens to grace me with his presence.

“I’m sure they don’t just keep you around because of that.”

A loud whistle, the kind people do to appreciate someone’s looks in old movies, dances through the air, and as I whip my head back, I see a red mohawk sticking out from above the wooden train at the back of the playground.

Rooster stands up with his one-year-old nephew in his arms. “Creep? What the hell? Did Angel do some witchcraft on you last night?”

I frown, squeezing Angel’s hand. Because he’s mine . “How so?”

Rooster approaches with a grin, and I hope he doesn’t wink at Angel. For his own good. “I just… I didn’t know you were hot.” He laughs and nudges my ribs with his elbow in a way that makes me worry for the baby, but fortunately his hold on the small body remains solid.

Angel rolls his eyes. “He was always hot. I just gave him a haircut.”

It’s as if he’s removing all the cobwebs off my body and replacing them with cotton candy. Is it too early to plan our life together? My mind knows it is, I’m not stupid, but my heart is already too far ahead in this race and won’t listen to reason, no matter how loud I yell.

Rooster eyes me with a smirk and joins us. It’s probably obvious that we’re headed for the canteen. “Okay, okay. Can I get a haircut that makes me a ten?”

Angel smirks and squeezes my hand as he leaps off the fence. “No. We already have a ten in this group. I can make you a nine tops.”

What is he saying? That he finds me this handsome?

My heart feels light as it flutters in my chest. Surely, he’s just trying to be nice.

But that doesn’t make me any less proud.

Rooster sighs. “And when Creep leaves to eat on the roof, or wherever he likes to hide, will you then give me a ten-worthy haircut?”

I squint at him. He’s lucky he’s holding a child. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Angel grins. “Exactly. He needs to keep me company,” he says, pulling me toward the open doors.

A guitar tune flows from the speakers as we enter the large hall that hasn’t changed that much since its days as the canteen at Camp Happy Bird.

We still eat at long tables, one always reserved for patches, and choose our meals at the counter.

I doubt the angry graffiti warning everyone to Eat your vegetables or DIE WEAK would have been acceptable at the kids’ camp, though.

It always smells of bacon here, no matter the time of day, ashtrays decorate the table closest to the wide double doors, and the busted old jukebox only plays Elvis or Black Sabbath, with no in-between.

The posters aimed at kids have been replaced by photos from community events.

They hang under a stuffed vulture Prophet dubbed Beaky .

We used to have a taxidermist in the village, and she made this ungodly creation that’s meant to represent our club logo.

The bird’s permanently frozen in a scream and surrounded by a collection of knives attached to it with wires.

Brigid puts a Santa hat on it each December.

I hate it.

My gaze strays to the photos hung beneath the feathery abomination. I like to check if any new pictures have joined the ones I’m already familiar with.

Prophet jumping over a bonfire during solstice.

Road arm-wrestling his handsome husband.

They’re like two flames of a different color—both strong and ready for action, but while Road is rough around the edges, Clyde looks like he belongs on a romance novel cover with his long blond hair and chiseled jawline.

I would have stared at the photo a bit longer, but with the way they’re watching each other, it seems they’re engaged in foreplay, so I end up moving on to the next frame.

Someone’s kid wearing a helmet too big for his head.

Harvey posing with his massive family.

Rooster blackout drunk in a haystack, hugging Cabbage the chicken.

There’s many more and I don’t feature in a single one.

For years, I’ve despised being seen. I was happy in the shadows. But I can’t hide when the bright rays of Angel’s sunshine illuminate my face. Maybe I’m ready to even join the photo wall if I can have him for company.