Page 6 of Darling Psycho

Turns out, he’d enjoyed her letters.

He liked the chicken salad too, and he tossed the empty bowl in the dishwasher before he climbed into bed.

Still wired from the trip, he grabbed the TV remote and flipped on a news channel.

The world had gone to shit, but what was new?

Lawless was born into shit, but he’d been a survivor.

He was capable of things most men would cry to their therapists about.

And he did those things without difficulty or a second guess.

Some might call him soulless.

This wasn’t true.

If he had no soul, the world would quake with fear for what he could do.

Christ, as untouched as he was by normal scale emotions, Lawless felt like a damn drama queen with his head buzzing like yapping bees. The TV didn’t hold his attention, but he still switched to an infomercial station, tossed the remote down the end of the bed, and left it on low for background noise.

There was a lot of shit to do.

But Lawless would get none of it done if he was exhausted, and not catching enough sleep put him in a weird headspace.

Not long before he got himself put behind bars, he would have ridden to his favorite spot in Denver. An undisclosed club where the deviants and the debauched liked their sex on the darker side.

Lawless would have tied up some begging meat with their tear-stained eyes, imploring him for their punishment, all too happy to provide.

It wasn’t his only flavor.

He liked to think he was sexually diverse, screwing all sexes and levels of kinkiness when the need arose. But as he lay in a too soft bed with soft sheets against his naked skin, Lawless put a hand behind his head and knew without a doubt, playing his kinky, depraved games right now wouldn’t solve his appetites or the swarming of angry vengeance low in his gut.

Jay Benz had been a constant in Lawless’ life for a few reasons, even when he’d left Benz’s crew and found the MC. He’d always known Benz monitored him and vice versa. Though Lawless suspected their reasons were polar apart.

Time was always going to bring them back together again.

They’d only needed a catalyst to make that happen.

There was a lot to do.

All of it was underhanded.

So, he flipped to his stomach and let the din of the TV sounds send him to sleep.

When Lawless woke, it was to the noise of thumping on the door at 8 a.m.

Fucking Hell, he’d spent too long being told when to wake, piss and eat, that he’d forgotten how bad the overslept fogginess felt in his head.

If it was an assassin, he figured the guy was about to get the drop on Lawless because he staggered out of bed, pulled on a pair of black sweatpants from the closet, and he strode down the hallway, calling out, “quit the fucking racket,” to the door thumper.

Rider was dressed in jeans, his regulation biker boots, and a dark brown sheepskin coat filling the doorway holding a white paper sack.

“Prez,” Lawless half-smirked.

“Good to see you out of prison gray, brother. Gonna invite me in or waiting for a kiss?”

“You don’t wanna kiss me yet. I haven’t brushed my teeth.”