Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 115933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
I paused; relieved, I sat back down. “Thank you.”
“Thanks for the offer, Rider, but we need to see Styx.” Beauty moved to grab my arm, but I held it back.
“I do not want to see him yet, Beauty.”
“But—”
Holding up my hand, I asserted, “No, Beauty! You and Letti go. That is fine. I am not ready to go. I would prefer to stay here away from Styx. I cannot face him… yet.”
Beauty’s mouth dropped at my firm words, then she pointed to Rider. “You better watch out. When Prez hears you’re in here with Mae, he’ll go fuckin’ crazy.”
Rider smoldered. Only then did I see the biker shine through, the outlaw lurking beneath the surface. “We ain’t doing nothing wrong. She’s simply staying a while. Fuck, she’s been living in here for weeks anyhow. And now you choose to act shady ’bout it?”
Beauty cocked her eyebrow and laughed. “Right. You keep telling yourself that.” And walked out of the room. Letti tapped me affectionately on the shoulder as she passed and followed Beauty out into the corridor.
They left the door open and once we heard them leave the corridor for the bar, Rider stood and sat beside me on the sofa. He smelled of soap and outdoors, and I found myself leaning in closer.
“You still pissed about Styx and Dyson? That why you don’t wanna leave?”
I could not meet his eyes. “Yes and no. I know I do not know Styx well, but he hurt me being with her. I thought he was better than that. We share a… connection, but I feel he always pushes me away.”
“Styx is a biker. He makes his own rules, his own laws, and lives any way he chooses. As do I, as do all the brothers in this club. He’s not like these dicks on the sappy movies, Mae. This ain’t an easy life. You ain’t gonna get a happily ever after here. You stay for the love of the club. Prez was born to be in charge, but it ain’t easy on him either, not with…” He trailed off, clearly referring to Styx’s speech impediment.
Sighing, I said, “I know, but right now, I just cannot be near him. Plus…”
“Plus what?”
I shrugged. “I like being with you. I like spending time… with you.”
Rider’s hand landed gently on mine.
Reaching over, I ran my fingers down his long hair, catching a strand that fell over his eye. It was so soft and Rider’s bare stomach tightened in response and his breath paused.
Snatching back my hand, I said, “You look different with your hair like this.”
“Do I?” he said betraying a small smile.
“Mm-hmm. I like it free and wild. It suits you.”
I watched as Rider’s lips rubbed together, his chest erratically rising and falling. My hands began to shake as I stared at him and my nose twitched in nerves.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “How about we watch another movie?”
Sighing, thankful for the distraction, I answered, “I would like that.”
He stood and walked to the TV, allowing me to slouch back and—if only for a moment—relax.
Chapter Fourteen
Styx
Throwing open the door to my shed, I walked into the wide-open space. A large skinhead was strapped to a lone chair. I caught the fucker lift his head and spotted “SS”, “KKK” tattoos and swastikas plastered all over his skin.
Skinheads.
Motherfuckin’ Neo’s!
Ky followed behind me as Viking, AK, and Flame stood to the side, glowering at the dick. Frantically, his eyes darted around at the five of us. Shedding my shirt as I made my way to my blade cabinet, the White Power bastard decided to open his stupid fuckin’ mouth.
“I won’t talk!” He tracked my movements, his eyes widening as I picked out my starter knife. “Yo, man! Ain’t nothing you can do that’ll make me talk.”
Taking out my strop, I set to sharpening my Bowie hunting knife, the hard steel scraping on thick leather.
“Hey, you with the knife! I’m talking to you!”
Flame lost his shit and cracked the cunt ’round his face, then gripped his cheeks in his hands. “He don’t talk. Haven’t you heard the rumors over in Hicksville?”
Placing the strop down, I walked to stand in front of the steroid-pumped-up son of a bitch who took out Lois. He swallowed and a bead of sweat trickled down his face. “The Hangmen Mute…?” he whispered, as realization hit.
I simply smiled in response. Yeah, it’s the motherfuckin’ mute.
The chair began rocking as the Nazi fought to get free of his restraints. I just shook my head and tutted. He froze as I got closer and I could smell the stench of his piss pooling on the floor.
“Shit, Prez, your reputation preceeds ya!” Viking clapped his hands together, booming out a laugh along with AK.
I jerked my chin, instructing Ky to join me.
Spinning the blade in my hand, I clutched the handle. To get things moving, I pressed the tip to the fucker’s already bare chest, then I began carving out part one of my signature mark—a torso-long H. I ripped deep enough into the skin to cause nail-biting pain, but not enough to puncture any main organs. Now this shit takes skill.
Getting a damn hard-on from the Nazi’s agonized scream, I stood back admiring my handiwork. AK stepped up behind me and whistled low.
“Prez, now that’s one fine piece of fuckin’ art!”
The Nazi, now delirious with pain, squirmed in the chair. The thick, rough ropes constantly rubbed his wrists, exposing more and more raw skin.
“I ain’t talkin’,” he spat out in a thick Texan accent. “If I do, it’ll only bring me death, either by you or by my crew. Way I see it, I’m dead either way.”
The summer heat was a fuckin’ bitch in this shed and, three hours later, the KKK fucker’s resilience was starting to crack. Intel gained so far was that the guy who put up the bid for the Hangmen hit was new. He didn’t affiliate with any existing gang, mob, or MC. Some suit. Some rich suit who promised to get their Grand Wizard outta jail—the shitbag was serving twenty after slaying some Jew who’d refused to work his taxes.