Page 29 of Pink Poison (The Butchers MC #1)

Chapter nineteen

Mack

The late afternoon sun beats against my sweat-soaked shirt as I wrench apart the steel frame that was brought in for repairs. “How fast do you think you can have that pulled apart?” Jameson asks as he walks back into the garage.

“Why?” I counter.

He shrugs. “I figure we can celebrate tonight. We’ve got a few leads to run with, and that’s the best news we’ve had in months.”

Looking up, I notice he looks lighter than he has in months, years even.

A pebble of guilt sinks in my gut knowing that I’ve been a factor of his stress.

I don’t mean to cause him so many problems, and I know my drinking habit doesn’t help him any.

I wish I could say that I will stop, but we’d both know it's a lie. I’m stuck in this toxic cycle with myself and everyone in my life.

Push. Pull. Push. Pull .

Until the rope frays and snaps, separating me from the people I care about. I did it with my mother, father, Marissa, and Stephanie . Realistically, I know they aren't to blame for all of my problems. But, accepting that I'm the problem comes with a flight of baggage I'm not willing to unpack.

Honestly, it's a fucking miracle that I haven’t lost Jameson.

There's no doubt in my mind that I would have if he wasn’t such a stubborn bastard.

A stubborn bastard who has kept my head above water ever since I ran into him in high school.

Stone and Kash came in well after the fact, but they’ve had a hand in keeping me on my feet.

Despite having my brothers, the ones I consider my real family, there’s still a piece of me missing.

The piece I separated myself from that haunts me every time I close my fucking eyes.

One that I’ve had a taste of and only crave more.

I’m so fucked.

“Mack,” Jameson snaps.

“Huh?”

“Celebrating, you in?” he asks, bringing me back to the present.

Quirking my lip, I give him a nod. “Yeah, man. It’s been a while since we’ve had a reason to celebrate.”

“Too fucking right, brother.” He sighs tiredly. “I’ll call the guys in. Let them loosen up a bit before church since I’ve been dogging them all month.”

“Longer than a month,” I snort.

His glare is immediate before he flips me the finger like the asshole he is. “I don’t recall asking.”

“You know I’m fuckin’ with you.” I laugh. “We could all use a little rest and relaxation— you included.”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead,” he deadpans.

I pin him with a bored stare. “You wouldn’t even rest then.”

He laughs. “Ain’t no rest for the wicked. ”

Shaking my head, I pull my attention back to dismantling the frame in front of me with a renewed attitude.

Things are finally looking up.

“Bout time you finished up out there,” Jameson teases from behind the bar.

“Shut up,” I grunt. “I didn’t see you out there helping me out.”

He barks a laugh that takes me back to the years before the club went down. Before he took on everyone’s baggage. That pebble of guilt from early grows to a stone in my gut. Has my best friend changed so much that I’ve forgotten how he sounds when he’s happy?

“What good is your education if I don’t put it to use once in a while?” he jokes.

Jesus. Who is this guy and what has he done to Jameson?

“Okay, smartass,” I huff. “It’s my turn to put you to good use.”

“That sounds kinky,” he snorts, slapping the bar rag on the counter. “What can I get you?”

“The usual.”

He grabs me a beer from the cooler and pops the cap before sliding it over the counter.

I take a generous sip before finding a table to sit at while the other members and prospects filter in.

April, our long-time bartender, flits around the tables, taking orders and making her rounds.

A smile creeps up my face as she brings me another beer without question.

I appreciate that she knows me well enough to not bother me, unlike the others.

Though, if I had to guess, I’d say they like her attention.

They’ll learn eventually that she isn’t interested in them.

My sense of time diminishes with each drink as I ride the line between buzzed and wasted. It’s a happy medium that I intend to keep until Jameson cuts me off.

Speaking of the asshole, where is he?

Vibration from the table catches my attention, distracting me from the whereabouts of my best friend.

With the liquor coursing through my veins, the screen appears blurry.

My finger swipes across the screen with zero hesitation as I pull up my text messages.

I can hardly make out the numbers and words, but I’m aware enough to see that there’s an audio message attached.

A rustling sound comes from the speaker, resembling the sound of a pocket dial before a familiar snarky feminine voice speaks over it.

Stephanie.

“ I think our versions of foreplay are very different ,” my little nightmare snorts. I can’t stop my smile from widening at her sass. If she thought what happened between us at Memento was foreplay, she has another thing coming.

“ I would say you’re right ,” a smooth, masculine voice replies to her, wiping the smile from my face completely.

The sound of blood rushing echoes through my ears, blocking the rest of what he says.

Who the hell does she think she is, sending me a recording of her with another man?

I clench my jaw tightly as the man’s teasing words filter through the speaker again. “ Now, tell me what you want .”

“ M-Max .” She dares to stammer my name. Not Jameson. Not Stone. And sure as fuck not Kash. Mine. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make my dick hard knowing that she wants me, despite recording this with some random John, like the whore she is .

Shaking my head, the effects of the alcohol and the rush of desire encourage me to fast forward the recording until the end.

Skin slaps against skin, hard— punishingly.

It's brutal, and somewhere in my consciousness I know that there's something wrong because Stephanie is quiet.

Too quiet . But the unpacked baggage sitting in my head refuses to accept the red flag.

Because this is her. This is the fake haired, fake tempered, blonde seductress.

She fucked my best friend. She fucked our brother, and has the other wrapped around her neatly painted pinky nail.

This is her poison, her venom in full effect.

And it's fucking paralyzing.

The audio continues, and with it the uncomfortable sound of this man railing into Stephanie. I move to stop it, but her cries of ecstasy freeze me. “Max! Max! Max!”

I lose count of how many times she yells my name.

I mean, how am I supposed to focus when my dick is reacting despite the level of disgust I feel for her?

Just when I consider doing something I will inevitably regret, a deep, carnal , masculine groan deflates every inch of me, reminding me of every reason I fucking hate my stepsister as he claims her release with one word.

“Angel.”