Page 42 of Creep (Vulture Hollow MC #2)

Angel

The rally is like a beast with several bonfire hearts.

Each club seems to have their own, but bikers, their families and friends are like a bloodstream in constant movement.

Smoke curls toward the bright star-covered sky above, carrying the scents of barbecued food and sweaty bodies.

At the mouth of this loud monster, the funfair is spat out like the consequences of a nightlong bender.

It pulses with lights, and the screams coming from the tallest ride make me wonder if the people on it have a death wish, because that thing probably hasn’t passed inspection in years.

The grass under our feet is dry and crushed from the endless stream of boots and tires.

Some people smell like they’ve been here for a week already, but their body odor disperses in the aroma coming from several food trucks parked between the rally and the funfair to feed the masses.

I keep my head down, eyes darting in all directions so I can spot Domino in the crowd, but I’m starting to hope this event’s size can keep me hidden in plain sight.

I’d worried my outfit might draw too much attention, but most bikers are more interested in women walking around topless or in wet T-shirts than a guy in a crop top.

Given how dark and crowded the rally is, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them assume I’m a tomboyish girl with a flat chest and move on without assessing me.

Which is a relief, because plenty of them look like they’ve killed someone, or at least really wanted to .

The crowd is all leather, denim, and hand-rolled cigarettes.

Creep blends in like a bloodstain on asphalt.

Maybe I should be worried, because the ever-rising noise, and shadows of men clowning about in an attempt to upstage one another are an immediate callback to a childhood filled with uncertain nights.

When my parents had friends over, what started as a regular party sometimes ended in shouting matches, vomit on the floor, or someone trying to get inside my room.

But Creep’s fingers are woven through mine, and I trust him to make sure I’m safe.

For the first time in my life, rowdy masses of drunk people don’t make me anxious, and as I watch the crowd mingling, dancing, laughing, and admiring the motorbikes, I kinda love the chaos of it.

When we arrived on our roaring vehicles, I felt invincible.

Something clicked in my mind, and I understood why the club means so much to Creep and what it’s like to be part of a fist adorned with knuckledusters.

Anyone who dares mess with a Vulture, answers to all of them. The pack will protect its own.

Our arrival was an event . Friendly clubs greeted the Vultures with howls and raised bottles, and guests came to our camp within minutes. Creep might be the quietest of all members of his MC, and no one outright approaches him, but I can’t miss all the curious glances directed at him.

And our joined hands.

No one with a little bit of sense lets their eyes linger on us for too long though.

I might have worked on giving his exterior more polish, but while his handsome face might now be visible, his eyes keep scanning our surroundings for threats.

A prospect from another club drops his gaze as we pass, and I swear the poor bastard crossed himself.

I probably shouldn’t enjoy that people fear him, but I can’t help myself when it makes me feel so very safe. He’s mine. My protector. And anyone who gives me shit will have to go through him first. Which they won’t, because Creep is a goddamn machine with no qualms about dispensing violence.

If I wasn’t afraid to attract the attention of a very particular man, I’d throw myself into a dance, climb one of the cars and join the howling into the stars, but I keep my head down, chin angled so my face catches enough shadow.

If Domino’s here, I can’t risk him spotting me.

As confident as I am with Creep as my guard dog, I’d rather rely on his aura alone, because the last thing I want is to get him in real trouble.

A part of me worried he might misinterpret my attempts to remain unseen, but when we reach the back of Prophet’s pickup and I look up, he’s beaming as if it’s prom night and he’s the underdog who’s come to the party with the school’s queen bee.

With a final squeeze of my hand, he joins his brothers in unloading the kegs of beer, liquor bottles, and food, and I step back to avoid being in the way.

The girl Rooster brought as his plus-one offers me a beer, but I take a bottle of soda instead and lean back against someone’s car, feasting my eyes on the efficient way my man moves even with heavy boxes.

I pinch myself, because for a moment I worry this is all the hopeless dream of a boy who always believed in people too much, and who settled on men who ended up chewing and spitting him out.

But maybe Creep and I aren’t that dissimilar…

despite our very obvious differences? At the end of the day, we both long for connection, and once we found it in one another, our lives slotted together like cogs that might just drive both our lives from now on?

How else would this very new thing between us feel so right?

The cool lime drink fizzes on my tongue as I take several gulps, almost emptying the small bottle by the time sharp nails dance down my arm. “I knew it was you!”

The voice is high-pitched and can only belong to a young woman, but the fact that she spotted me in the crowd means so could Domino, and my muscles freeze despite the friendly smile directed at me.

It’s Emi, a long-time client who I convinced to experiment with the hime cut, which has since become her trademark.

She’s rocking it now, and while the dark green dye on her sidelocks and bangs has faded, it’s still a beautiful contrast with her thick black hair.

She’s wearing an AC/DC T-shirt, which she’s tied on one side to reveal the roses tattooed on her stomach, and the tiniest shorts, which surely appeal to whoever she came here with.

She’s petite, but her tastefully enlarged lips and chest provide a focus for male attention, and I feel the echo of heated glances cast at her even now.

“That guy you’re here with,” she starts, leaning her elbow on the hood of the car behind us, “he’s hot.”

Ohh, there’s a but at the back of her tongue, I can feel it. I could just ask what she wants to say but choose not to and finish my drink meeting her eyes.

She exhales, clearly out of patience. “Is he a new daddy in your roster?”

Has it really been only two weeks since he took me away from that small, miserable home that always got too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer? Feels like I’ve known him for so much longer...

“No, I’m… done with that. We’re together.”

Her perfect lips open. “Oh my god! You’re like… together -together?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah.”

I expected the surprise, but worry? I don’t like seeing it on her face one bit.

Emi leans closer, and we both watch Creep haul a massive barbeque grill alongside Yeti.

“The Vulture Hollow MC might not be a super violent gang, but they’re still one-percenters.

I know it’s exciting to date a guy who doesn’t respect the rules society imposed on us blah-blah—” She rolls her eyes.

“But are you sure you thought this through? It would be awfully easy to disappear people in that secret compound in the woods.”

My ears grow hot as rage builds deep inside me. Creep might be my guard dog, but I itch to protect him too, and meet her gaze, struggling to keep my voice in check. “Why would you say that when you’re literally here too?”

Emi blinks. Clearly, that wasn’t the reaction she expected. “I’m just here as a performer. Might fuck someone after and call it a day. It’s not the same as dating one of them.”

“I don’t think you know that much about them,” I say, more snappy than I’d have liked, and she looks back at me with her brows high.

“Are you saying he’s different ?” she finally asks, with the shadow of a smirk on her lips.

Yeah. Actually, yes. Creep is different. He’s good. No, he’s better than good, and I can’t stand listening to anyone demeaning him, even if Emi’s point is against outlaw bikers as a whole rather than him in particular. “I’m not reckless—”

“You are, actually,” she says in a soft voice, and I shut my mouth.

“I know but… we met when he saved me from harassment, okay? And he’s sweet under all that denim and leather. I feel that… he’s right for me,” I mumble and meet her dark eyes.

Emi’s sipping her beer as she chews on my words, but then her phone buzzes, because it’s time for her to perform with two other strippers.

“Just make sure he treats you right. I have no need for a hairdresser with broken fingers,” she says, winking as if it’s only a joke, not something she’s telling me out of worry.

I’ve experienced men flipping from gentleman to bastard, so I should know better, but Creep eases all my worries.

He’s so strange and awkward I feel he wouldn’t be able to hide his true self no matter how stealthy he is.

And I like him just like that. I like grooming him, saving him in social situations, and I love how raw his need for me is.

I can see myself settling down in Vulture Hollow instead of leaving for some big city.

I could be with a man so enamoured with me it makes my teeth rot from the sweetness.

I could work in hairdressing and grooming without much stress.

I’d feel needed by the community, and I’d be a part of something bigger, cocooned by the motorcycle club.

Maybe Brigid would take me on as an apprentice?