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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

V elina…

I’d gotten through my work week and hadn’t gotten to see Saint since our little tryst the week before. He had to work, and our schedules were at odds. It was what it was.

Carver had picked me up bright and early, as promised… well, early for him, I imagine, as the hour was still in the single digits – if barely when he’d shown up.

“So, who all is supposed to be there!” I called out at one of the final stop lights before we hit the open freeway out to wherever it was that we were going.

“Everybody!” Carver called back as the light changed, and he twisted down on the throttle to take the on-ramp. I held on, the wind hot but still cooler than the stagnancy of being still.

I smiled in spite of myself. While I definitely preferred riding with Saint, I found myself loving riding more and more just for the sake of riding. It was a thrill, the wind and the environment whipping past and underneath us. I think it may very well be one of the closest things that you could get to flying.

I held on to Carver with my knees, flung my arms out and my head back, and just soared over the open road, knowing that this was very likely going to be the highlight of my day.

Lord knows Saint had left me deliciously sore between my legs, sore enough and satisfied enough that I wouldn’t be interested in sex for a while. I felt fine now, but for the first couple days back to work, I had to think of him with every step I took.

I was hoping to avoid having to do Carver, hoping it was still early enough yet that he wouldn’t press it, which I just didn’t know. Depending on how things went today, Carver may expect it.

I would have to think fast if it came up.

He’d already greeted me with an enthusiastic hug that was more about feeling me up and a kiss that crammed his tongue practically to my tonsils. Yeah, it was par for the course, but after spending the time with Saint that I had? Talk about a major turn-off.

I let the wind carry all that bullshit off me and left it behind in the city. Peeling out of my life as Velina to leave Louie shiny and new at my surface. Slipping skins and changing personalities and headspaces as thoroughly as I could before we reached our destination.

I had no idea where we were going. Just out in the swamp along some lake or bayou somewhere. To some property owned by Rebel, the chapter president.

I’d asked about that the day before with Saint, trying to make sense of the rank and file. He said he didn’t understand what I was saying when I said that Rebel was apparently just the chapter president and that there was a bigger dog or club president above him. He said the only way he’d traditionally heard of that happening was if there were multiple chapters to a club. That some of the bigger clubs had chapter presidents, but that the original chapter’s president sort of acted as a de facto club president to the whole lot – but that was only with big charters.

Charters like the Sacred Hearts.

Small outfits of one-chapter clubs like the Voodoo Bastards or the Bayou Brethren only had a chapter president who was also the club’s president.

It was news to him that there was some other big cheese in the picture and it seemed to rankle him. It certainly ruffled his feathers enough to send off a text to LaCroix and to Hex.

When Carver and I pulled up at the spot that was supposed to be the big meet or whatever, I was low-key shocked at how many bikes were parked in the grass leading down to the lake.

“I thought it was club only,” I said, and Carver grinned at me as he reached out to help me with the D-ring buckle holding his helmet onto my head. It wasn’t easy, like a trident clip, to get on and off.

“We’re bigger ‘n you think,” he said.

“Clearly,” I agreed, mollified.

“Getting bigger every day,” he said. “Just stick with me or with Singer and Midnight. It’s all good, baby.”

I was relieved to hear at least two familiar names of the feminine persuasion.

Of course, Sativa was there and loud as ever. There were a lot more unfamiliar faces than there were familiar, and it wasn’t long before Carver was pulled away, leaving me with Singer and Midnight and a bevy of other girls.

“Wow, this is quite a crowd!” I cried, hugging Singer to me. She seemed really happy to see me.

“Come grab a beer, honey! Sit with us,” Midnight urged. “Ignore them other bitches. They’re just club sluts ‘n hanger ons.”

A redhead gave a dirty look over her shoulder, and Midnight snapped at her, “Don’t look at me in that tone of voice!”

The redhead tossed her hair down her back and turned back around quickly, and Midnight shook her head.

“You better watch your man,” she said to me. “These bitches are hungry, thirsty, and everything in between.”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” I said, laughing. “I don’t know that things are that serious,” I murmured, and Singer put a hand on my arm, looking worried.

“Don’t let anyone hear you say that too loud,” she said. “They’ll think you’re fair game, and trust me. You don’t want that.”

I blinked and glanced from her to Midnight, who nodded.

“She’s right, honey. Any brother asks, you belong to Carver.”

“Okay…” I drawled and took the beer that Midnight held out, taking a drink of the foam that tried to escape the neck of the bottle and shaking some off the back of my hand that’d managed its jailbreak successfully.

“So, who is everyone?” I asked Singer, and she smiled.

“Well, that one there is my man, Basilisk,” she said, pointing and I smiled.

“Oh yeah?” He had been at the bar the night we’d met; I just hadn’t talked to him.

“Yeah.” She smiled fondly, but it held an edge of something. It was… brittle… and it sent up a red warning flare to my mind.

Trouble in paradise, I thought, and it wasn’t a question.

There were at least seventeen fully patched brothers, with a few more yet to attend. Beyond that, the club had something like six prospects. Six. Which according to Saint and his rundown of how things were supposed to work the day before, was a wildly unprecedented number to have.

One to three was usually the norm.

Then there were the guys wandering around in hang-around gear, and there were a lot more than just a few of those, too. Probably something like twenty more.

Add all of the scantily clad women – some of whom definitely looked like fucking crackwhores and more than a few women with wild and feral children running underfoot, shooting at everyone with super soakers, and the gathering was barely controlled chaos and mayhem.

“Which one is Lazarus?” I asked, craning my neck and looking around. “Isn’t he supposed to be here?”

“Oh, he’s here. He’s in the house with Rebel talkin’ club business. Don’t you worry. The king will be out before long.” I was low-key surprised at the contempt in Midnight’s tone.

“You don’t like him?” I asked.

“Doesn’t matter what I do and do not like, darlin’ – just matters that I lie back and spread my legs when Rebel wants it.”

Okay, once again, trouble in paradise, I mused silently.

“You need to vent, I’m here to listen,” I offered, and Midnight sniffed, her eyes watering, and waved me and Singer both off.

“Reb’s just being a special kind of asshole, lately,” she complained.

“I’m sorry,” I said lamely, for lack of anything better to say.

“It’s all good,” she said. “He ain’t gonna listen to nobody but Laz, and I can’t help but worry. They’re fixin’ to find out.”

“Let’s hope not,” Singer said, and I smiled at her.

She was in a pink bikini top that was barely a set of strings and two triangles that barely covered her nipples. You could see the strings of a matching pair of g-string bottoms poking out over the low-cut rise of her acid-washed short cutoff shorts, with the rhinestone embellishments in the shape of the fleur-de-lis on the back pockets.

The whole outfit was topped off, or would that be bottomed out, by a pair of gladiator sparkly white stripper platform heels.

“What you talking about, Stripper Barbie?” Sativa demanded, flouncing into the conversation like she was somehow above Midnight, which just made Midnight grit her teeth and look away from the fat actual stripper.

Singer laughed and said, “I’m a stripper just like you, but I ain’t got the tits to be Barbie.”

“Girl, what ‘choo talkin’ about you a stripper just like me? ” Sativa demanded, putting a shitty whiny pedantic accent on the “just like me” part, implying Singer was some kind of whiny cunt – which, whoa , talk about out of bounds! Singer was as sweet as could be and didn’t start shit with nobody.

“There ain’t nobody like me!” I perked up in my seat by Midnight as Sativa advanced on Singer. I was about to open my mouth when Midnight held out a hand in front of me and gave me a stern and silent look to keep my mouth shut.

“I didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” Singer quailed, and her face just dropped. It made me angrier on her behalf.

“You got somethin’ to say?” I did perk up then, dragging my eyes from Singer back to Sativa, who had rounded on me.

“Plenty,” I said, and I left it at that.

“Whatever, Consuela ,” she sneered. Good to know she was a racist piece of shit on top of being just, well, a general piece of shit. “You think you better than us even though you scrub toilets for a living?” She rolled her eyes, which were green today from the contact lenses she wore, and she tossed her fake-ass purple braids over her shoulder. I rolled mine right back.

I swear to God, someone needed to take her down a notch, and if she wanted that person to be me – so be it.

“Feelin’ froggy, just fuckin’ jump already,” I said, staring her down and standing my ground.

Midnight cackled beside me and clapped.

“And that ’s what makes her ol’ lady material while you’re just another fuckin’ slut of a club girl. Get you fuckin’ gone, tramp !”

Sativa stared at Midnight aghast.

“Prospect!” Midnight crowed, and one came jogging up.

“Get her outta my sight,” she demanded, and the nameless prospect took Sativa by the arm and hauled her away. One of the brothers stopped him and asked something while Sativa dissolved into tears, and the prospect pointed back our way.

“Say somethin’!” Midnight called. “I dare yah!”

The brother made a face, took Sativa under his wing, and led her further away.

“Thanks, y’all,” Singer said, dropping into a camp chair on the other side of me from Midnight.

“Pfft! Don’t take her shit,” Midnight declared. “You could learn a thing or two from ol’ Louie here.”

“I ain’t never had someone stand up for me like that before,” she said, and the look on her face as she looked at me? It broke my heart.

“You don’t need anyone to stand up for you, girl. Y’ need to stand up for yourself,” Midnight declared and took a drink of her beer.

“I hate to say it, but there’s definitely something to what Midnight is saying,” I said. “There are times no one will be there to stand up for you, and the only person you have to stand up for you is yourself.”

“Spoken like a bitch who’s lived it,” Midnight said.

“I grew up with three siblings, a drunk for a dad, and a pushover of a mom,” I said with a shrug. “It was me against the world.”

I took a drink off my own beer, and Carver wandered over a little while later. “Boy, I’m impressed,” he said. “Not many can make Sativa cry.” He grinned at me, and I shrugged.

“Bitch deserved it,” I said.

“Ain’t nobody can stand her ass,” Midnight agreed.

“Told you, you’d fit right in,” Carver said with a wink and I grinned.

The food was good, and the music, when it got going, was amazing. A live band made up of locals playing zydeco late into the night. Rebel never did appear, nor did the mysterious Lazarus, and I was frustrated by that.

I knew that Saint was curious about the Bayou Brethren’s structure, and by default, that made me curious. I wanted to know what made this Lazarus guy so special.

Carver was getting friendlier and friendlier as the day and then eventual night wore on, and the liquor flowed. He wasn’t quite drunk , but he had certainly imbibed too much to be good to ride for the next good bit.

We danced under the bare bulbs strung between trees as the band played on a raised dais of plywood over pallets. The dance floor was likewise – plywood duct-taped together and just laid on the dry and brittle grass and silty fine dirt – and a cloud kicked up and poofed out from around the dance floor edges as the plywood flexed.

I spun under Carver’s arm, and he pulled me in, a hand to my ass. I knew, heart sinking, that the jig was up and that he would be expecting some tonight.

I would try to dodge with the excuse that I was on my period and that I didn’t fuck while I was on the rag – which was true. I didn’t. Loathed it, in fact. Just never could get down with the mess or the smell like old iron and pennies left to rot in an old tin can.

Bleh .

“How about you and I find someplace just to ourselves?” he whispered in my ear.

I chuckled and said back, “I wish.” I didn’t. I really didn’t. “But I’m on the rag, and I just can’t while I am.”

“I don’t mind,” he said with a wolfish grin. I smiled back and tried to look apologetic.

“ I do,” I said. He dropped it, and there it was…

“You got a mouth. How about you take care of your man. I’ll get you later, baby. I promise.”

Fuck .

Did I want to? No. Did I want to blow my cover? Hell no. If there was a lesser of two evils when it came to blowing, I would blow him – but fuck.

Talk about taking one for the fucking team, I thought to myself. Though I wanted to grind my teeth, I didn’t want to risk giving my true feelings away. Instead, I plastered on an uncomfortable grin and said, “Sure.”

He chuckled low in my ear, kissed my temple, and said, “You really are a dream come true, you know?”

“I’m the best, alright,” I said, rolling my eyes. He laughed and practically hauled me off the dance floor double-time.

Shit.

We kissed, stopping and starting in our beeline across the lawn to “work each other up” although I’m telling you – I was straight faking it until I made it here.

I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do this, repeating over and over in my head as the kissing got hotter, the petting got heavier, and at the same time… at the same time, I had to know. I had this morbid need to know, a fascination, a need to…

I swiped my hand over the front of Carver’s jeans and felt him hard and ready through them, and yep, nope, he was thick, maybe, but he was nowhere near Saint’s length.

Why am I not surprised? I thought to myself.

“Where should we go?” I whispered the question against his mouth.

“Porch, there’s a couch in the shadows, that end.” He jerked his head, and I nodded and we went that way.

The couch was right up by the front door, and technically, only half of it was in shadow, the end of the couch furthest from the door – but it was blessedly unoccupied. Carver dropped down onto it, and hey, at least he was nice enough to throw one of the cushions onto the ground between his feet for me to kneel on.

Fuck me, I thought. Fuck me. Suck it up. My hands went automatically to his belt, fingers stiff and numb with how much I didn’t want to do this, but there was no going back now.

I was painted into a corner, and I knew it.

“What if someone sees?” I tried, and he grinned at me, teeth white in the dark. Almost like the Cheshire cat – just a toothy grin, nothing else.

“Let ‘em,” he said, and he brought himself out of his pants.

He wasn’t long, but he was uncomfortably thick.

Suck it up, Louise, I thought and intrepidly, I went down on him.

Loathing crept up my throat from the pit of my stomach with the bitter tang of bile, and I told myself repeatedly, You will not throw up. You will not throw up. You will not throw up.

I did it. I did what needed doing, even though I felt sick about it. I gagged more than a few times, but I got the job done. I would be damned if I would swallow. Instead, I pulled myself to the railing, spit, and quietly tried my damnedest to keep from retching.

It was as I turned back, Carver tucking himself away with satisfaction into his pants, that the front door opened, and Rebel stepped out, and then another man behind him. I felt myself pale as the light caught the side of a familiar face, albeit one I’d only ever seen in photographs.

His face was scarred and pitted on one side, the eye he’d been blind in gone for good, and the majority of the scarring hidden by a leather patch.

“Well, well, well,” Baby Ruthless said. “What do we have here? Y’all having yourselves a little fun?”

I stared up, aghast, and Carver laughed. “Just finished, actually.”

“Well, ain’t that nice?” Ruth said, and he turned to follow Rebel down the front porch steps, lighting up a cigar clenched between his teeth. In the glow of his lighter, I read his name flash on the front of his leather cut. LAZARUS picked out against the dirty white background in hunter-green thread.

Son of a bitch…