Page 25 of Pink Poison (The Butchers MC #1)

“We all have our outlets.” I sigh. “He's just not ready to give his up. Sounds kinda familiar, doesn’t it?”

An exaggerated snort sounds from him as he lifts his hand to flip me off for the second time this morning, “Whatever, man.”

“Wanna tell me why you were having booze for breakfast?” I prod, hoping that he won’t take it as a sign that I’m looking for a fight.

“Not really,” he groans, laying his head on top of his arms, “but I also don’t want to duke it out with you today.”

Blowing out a short breath, I let go of all the crap that I’ve been carrying around today. “Hit me with it, Max. Brother to brother.”

“I jerked off to that picture of Stephanie,” he rushes out. If I didn’t already know about it, I’d have asked him to repeat that sentence for me.

“I know,” I snort. “Stone told me. Apparently, he wasn’t too happy about having to clean your cock snot off his phone. ”

“He deserved it.”

I raise my brow. “Because he fucked Stevie?”

A choked laugh works its way from my friend before he gives me a thumbs up. “Yeah, because he fucked Stephanie. ”

The way he emphasizes her actual name gives me pause. Is he bothered by the nickname? I tuck that piece of information away, choosing to address his comment instead. “Hate it all you want, but I don’t think you get a say on that front.”

Stevie is a grown ass woman. I'm not going to pretend like she was a virgin when I met her, and I sincerely doubt she picked up a habit and veil while she was gone, either. “Don’t act like it didn’t piss you off, too,” he snubs.

“This isn’t about me, it’s about you,” I remind him. “So, what does all of this have to do with you drinkin’ at daybreak?”

He lifts his head enough to shoot me a frustrated glare that I’ll make him spell it out for me if it’s the last thing I do.

I know he doesn’t see it now, but one day he’ll be happy that I made him talk his shit out.

It’s better than drinking himself into an early grave, at least. “I hate her,” he grits out, as if it's not glaringly obvious. “I hate her, and yet my dick doesn't seem to get the fucking memo. Worse, I can’t stop thinking about her like… that. Not even a week back in this city, and she’s found a way to infect me.”

I nod in solidarity, tucking away that he slipped up and said that she infected him. Not that it takes a rocket scientist to see just how much Stevie affects him, but this is a whole new level. “So, you’re what—drinking her out of your system?”

“Something like that,” he huffs.

“You’ll end up killing yourself if you try doin’ that,” I lecture. “Find a new outlet, a healthier one while you’re at it.”

“Listen, I know I have parental issues.” He laughs. “But that’s not a kink I’m looking to explore with you, brother. ”

Smiling, I roll my eyes at his deflection. Although, he’s not wrong—that’s not something I want to explore with him either. “Likewise, asshole.”

A steady vibration from my inner vest pocket pulls my attention away from Mack.

Reaching for my phone, I pull it out in time to see a flow of messages from an unknown number.

My finger swipes across the screen harshly in my hurry to see who is blowing up my phone.

Clicking the most recent message defaults to the encrypted software that our contact insists on using.

Scrolling to the top of today’s messages, I take notice that each one is filled with potential hits, some of which we've dug into on our own.

“We got some information,” I breathe in relief.

“Anything useful?” Mack asks, perking himself up on his stool.

“A few names, something about local gangs; the Priests and Bishops—” My words are cut off by the next message that drops in.

Graves. Not much stands out on my end for what you’re looking for, but you might catch something. I’ll be logged in for the rest of the day if you need me.

I quickly type out my thanks and tell him to stay close to the keyboard. Something tells me that today is going to be one of those days.

“Earth to Graves,” Mack says, dragging me back to our conversation.

“Right.” I clear my throat. “I want to look into the names Remy and Aiden.”

“What about the gangs?”

I slide from the stool, ready to walk across the lot to the chop shop and open it for the day. “We’ll have to ask around. Lennon probably knows a thing or two about ‘em.”

Mack sighs as he follows my lead towards the front door. “I don’t like the idea of cashing in with Lennon.”

“I don’t like it either,” I admit. “But I owe this club answers, and if he has them, I’ll pay the price for it. ”

Our conversation stalls momentarily as we step outside.

The late morning humidity clings to the air, wrapping itself around my skin.

Beads of sweat dot my forehead while Mack clicks his lighter behind me.

“We’ll table the idea of reaching out to Lennon,” he asserts.

“That's something the club should vote on.”

I nod in agreement. He’s right; this should be something the MC votes on as a whole. I’m not in the business of running a one-man show, and I won’t start now. “We’ll bring it to the table.”

“Works for me.” He exhales, blowing the bitter scent of a burning cigarette away from me.

“Hurry up with that. These bikes won’t dismantle themselves.”