Page 59 of Preacher Man

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“It’s not true you hurt the one you love. I hate myself and yet I’m the one hurting the most. - Hawk.

There was something to be said for the dirty insanity of Louisiana. After being here for nigh on three weeks Hawk could figure out why; the fucking heat. It wasn’t just dry humidity, that he could deal with, it wasn’t only the blistering sun at all hours of the day, even in the fucking shade, that was passable, it was the deep down to the bone unbearable scorching incessant insects the heat brought out in droves, that loved,absolutely lovedchewing the hell out of his skin. He was wearing so much repellent he stank, not a problem, but he also had a thick film like a new layer of skin. He was oily and the little dickheads still preferred to suck on him. He swatted a mosquito on his nape, cursed the air blue. If he could shoot them without blowing off his own head, he would.

He wanted to shoot something in the face and as things were standing he was going to be that person.

He hated the south. It was too hot, too busy, and he was thinking of swimming with an alligator just for a cooling break.

Picking up the bottle of Corona, he drank half, scanning the bar on Lafayette boulevard. A complete shit-hole, but it was the bar of choice for the prez and his men.When in Rome.Hawk didn’t fit in at all.

Hawk knew ten minutes later he didn’t like the bar, its people or the fucking state when some ass-jockey with piercings in his eyebrows and nose bumped his shoulder, deliberately knocking over Hawk’s drink.

He stared at the smirking guy challenging him.

Wrongmove. Really it was the wrong damn move. Hawk kicked his head back, his neck rolling, all the tiny bones keeping his head upright began cracking, noting the guy wore a vest from another MC from this area. He was too hot and irritated to let it slide.

So, the bar was Switzerland. They had those back at home. Different MC’s could circulate in the same joints, long as they agreed on no weapons, no fights no hassles.

He didn’t start this. He reasoned, feeling his fist clench hanging down by his sides. All his bones began to relax. Hawk always calmed when he was about to put the hurt on someone. This was his catnip and aphrodisiac.

Not his fault, when the noise between his ears cranked up like the death march.

His fucking music of life. He could salsa to this shit.

He didn’t know any more until ten minutes later, his lungs churning air, and blood not his own dripping off his hands, animalistic snarls coming out of him, he blinked and returned into the room, looking at stunned fearful faces.

Oops. Nah, not like he gave a shit how people looked at him. People’s opinions didn’t even register.

The hot copper scent of blood filled his nostrils, coated his lungs with every obscure breath.

In. out. In. out.

Air whipped from the AC cooling his temper, bringing clarity back to his brain, snatches of what he'd done coming back to him.

Bastards were lucky to still be alive, crawling away, but alive. Only just. Five had thought to attack him for no goddamn reason. They’d learned their lesson.

Knuckles cracked open, he flexed them, testing out the bones, bending unbroken.

“Goddammit, you demented fuckstick, you haven’t been here five shitting minutes and already causing hell. Get the fuck back to the clubhouse.” Hawk glared at Shark as if to sayyou ain’t my president to bark orders at me. The dark-haired man was fair enough as presidents go but Hawk had allegiant to but one, didn’t matter he was residing in a brother chapter of the Renegade Souls, he could give a shit for anyone else’s ruling, so what if he’d just caused a small bar fight in a town that didn’t belong to him. He met the boss stare with a vicious one of his own. “Fuckingnow!” Snapped Shark, two of his boys coming up to flank his sides. Hawk raised a brow.Silly little men. He sneered and grabbed his backpack.Screw this whole damn town. He was done anyway, their beer tasted like piss water and there was no pussy to be found that appealed to the sadistic tastes he had.

Because they’re nother.

Back at their compound, a smaller enclosed building than he was used to, it only housed four private flop rooms, tiny claustrophobic inducing closets really, taking a fortified breathe before he stepped inside, he tossed his bag on the bed, shrugged out of his coat and went to shower, he made it a fast one, watching the blood drain away, mesmerizing, he could poke his wounds and watch more blood fall,drip-drip-drip, he’d find nothing cathartic in it other than self-mutilation would buy into the lie he had some control over his own psychosis fixation.

He knew someone who would have a field day digging into the dirt of his dark mind trying to figure out what made him tick.Dig deep, baby,swim in my darkness.

There was no figuring out his shithole of a mind, that was the secret. He was unfixable. A functional sociopath was still a sociopath so he was accused. Fortunately for him, society housed many monsters.

He finished in the shower, taped his ripped knuckles, was finishing off when a knock on the door reared his head. Shark on the other side. Shrewd hazel eyes looking at Hawk, waiting for, what, an apology? When pigs shit out skittles, even then he’d give it a second thought. He didn’t start the bar fight, he only ended it.

“What’s it to be, slugger?”

“What?” He didn’t talk too much to the men here, preferring to keep to himself. He’d helped some in their auto-repair but other than that. His voice box felt rusty and underused. He fucking missed home.

“You in or out?” Ah that question. He didn’t have many options on his dance card, not since he killed a man in broad daylight seven months ago and that dead man was still hunted by the law, never going to find him. So, Hawk was lying low away from the only home he’d ever known. His skin tight, his head a fucking mess, he missed Armado Springs, missed his club brothers, there was no connection to these men, being away from his coping mechanisms was fucking him up more than he thought, his hair-trigger tonight proof of that. He should have, could have, walked away, but the need to make someone hurt, to hear the crunch of bones was a noise only he heard.Hurt before you're hurt.

A lot of fucked up people from his past had a hand in making who Hawk was today and he wouldn't send a gift basket to any of them, mainly because most of them were dead already.