It Ain't Me, Babe
Page 11
Shit.
Pulling out, I snapped off the rubber and zipped up my jeans, just as a hard rap sounded at my door. Throwing on my Black Sabbath shirt, I ran a hand through my hair, checking to make sure Lois was dressing too. She was. She knew she weren’t welcome to stick around.
The door opened and Ky and Rider stood before me, my VP shaking his head. “There you are, man. I’ve been calling your name for the last few minutes.”
I looked at Rider and hid my anxiousness with my usual indifferent scowl.
News? I signed.
Rider sighed as I led the brothers into the bar. I caught Lois closing the door to my room. Throwing me a small smile, she headed in the direction of the other club whores.
Rider, Ky and I sat at my usual table, and I leaned back to hear the verdict.
“She’s sticking around for now. She’s had three pints of blood, an IV of strong antibiotics. Temperature’s come down, vitals’ stablizing. She’s strong, healthy. Early twenties I’d guess, but f**kin’ dangerously undernourished. We’ll see how the night plays out. She gets through the next twenty-four hours, she’ll probably make it.”
Probably. Not good enough, not nearly good enough, but if it’s all I got, I’d take it.
I tapped the bar, Pit slipping his short pale ass behind it.
“What you guys want? Beer?” he asked, his usual f**kin’ happy grin on his face. The brother was the happiest damn recruit we’d ever had. The kid seemed too pure to deal with what this club throws your way.
Giving a nod, I signaled for two, passed the Buds to my brothers, and tipped my chin at Rider in thanks. Slapping Ky on the back, I headed to my apartment.
Getting through the hallway and up the stairs, I immediately froze in the doorway to my room. If possible, Jane Doe looked even hotter the second time around, despite the wires poking into her flesh, but she needed cleaning up.
Beauty. I’d get Beauty.
Walking into the lounge of the clubhouse, brothers watched me as I entered, lying with their sluts for the night on the red leather sofas, some pausing in their pu**y fingering, as did those chilling, playing pool. I’d obviously caused some talk as everyone stilled when they saw me, eying me weird.
Signaling to Tank to meet me at the farthest bar, out of earshot, I sat down. Two bourbons were waiting, courtesy of Pit. First glass went straight down the hatch.
“S’up, Prez?” Tank slumped into the chair, knocking back his amber shot, all in one fluid motion.
Gotta job for Beauty, I signed. Tank was one of the brothers who’d been ’round long enough to understand my ASL. Him and his old lady, that is. Most prospects make learning sign a damn priority, a way to make sure they impressed. Made my life f**kin’ easier, that’s for sure.
“What you need?” he asked.
I slammed back a second shot. Need her to come and clean the Jane Doe at my place. No f**ker in here’s touching her. Beauty’s the only old lady I trust… and can stomach to be around.
Tank cracked a small, proud smile. “I’ll give her a call. Anything else?” He needed to smile. Brother knew he lucked out with his woman—older by a couple’a years, blond, busty, total f**kin’ sweetheart. The ex-white supremacy member done good. Still looked like he belonged in the f**kin’ KKK, but he was cool now. No beef with anyone so long as they don’t f**k over the club—his family—even went so far as to cover his Nazi ink with Hades shit.
Need clothes too. Tell her to get them from the club stash at her store. Put it on my tab. She’ll need to see her first for her size. She was wearing some weird white rag when I found her.
Tank ran his finger ’round the rim of his empty glass, eying me weird. “Why the special treatment, Prez? We’ve had injured dumped here before. They’d normally be gone by now, not sleeping in your bed. Why’s she different? You got the brothers talking.”
Only Ky knew ’bout that night years ago. Not into sharing it with the others. None of their f**kin’ business.
I rolled my head in his direction and just eyeballed the f**ker.
“Message received.” Tank flicked his phone open, and made the call to Beauty. Brother knew when to dig and when to quit. Years doing time inside, fighting rival crews for his life taught him that lesson.
I listened to him give his old lady the instruction, then hang up. “She’ll be here in ten.”
Send her straight in to my place. Backdoor. No one else disturbs me until then. Right?
“Right, Styx. I’ll let the brothers know.”
A couple’a minutes later, I entered my room, slipping off my leather cut, hanging it on the hook on the back of my door. The bitch lay motionless in the middle of my bed. Taking advantage of the alone time, I checked Rider hadn’t yet returned, then moved to the bed.
No change.
Walking into my bathroom, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My dark hair was sticking up all over the place, cheeks unshaven and hazel eyes tired. I glanced to the inked sleeves on both arms. The right depicting Hades on his throne with Cerberus, the three-headed guard dog. The left, a map of Underworld: Tartarus, the Elysian Fields, the Three Judges, the Five Rivers, and above them all, Persephone, the pure goddess wife of Hades, proud to be at her man’s side. My version of Persephone had long black hair and crystal-blue eyes.
Go f**kin’ figure.
I chuffed at my reflection. Styx, man, you’re losing your f**kin’ mind!
Slipping off my black shirt, I stared at my bare chest, free of ink, with my Hangmen patch tattoo covering my entire back. I worked out hard to relieve stress and for intimidation purposes—boxing mainly, bare-knuckle since eight years old. My old man pushed me to fight. Knew my damn signing would cause me shit in the MC world, so he decided to give me another way to communicate. Keeps me feared. Being Prez of a club like the Hangmen comes with some serious shit. I keep built to ensure respect. The fact that I’m six foot four and two thirty pounds helps too.
Jane Doe shifted in her sleep as I scanned her frame through the reflection in the mirror. I wondered what the f**k she’d think of me. Big, scarred, mute, and inked with Death himself. She’d be petrified, no doubt.
Switching on the shower, I undressed and stood under the stream, Jane Doe’s red blood pooling in the drain.
Chapter Four
Styx
“Styx?”
When I cracked open my eye, Beauty stood before me, clutching two bags with Ride, the name of her biker store, written on the front. Tank leaned against the doorframe, quietly watching, taking in the scene before him.
Pulling out, I snapped off the rubber and zipped up my jeans, just as a hard rap sounded at my door. Throwing on my Black Sabbath shirt, I ran a hand through my hair, checking to make sure Lois was dressing too. She was. She knew she weren’t welcome to stick around.
The door opened and Ky and Rider stood before me, my VP shaking his head. “There you are, man. I’ve been calling your name for the last few minutes.”
I looked at Rider and hid my anxiousness with my usual indifferent scowl.
News? I signed.
Rider sighed as I led the brothers into the bar. I caught Lois closing the door to my room. Throwing me a small smile, she headed in the direction of the other club whores.
Rider, Ky and I sat at my usual table, and I leaned back to hear the verdict.
“She’s sticking around for now. She’s had three pints of blood, an IV of strong antibiotics. Temperature’s come down, vitals’ stablizing. She’s strong, healthy. Early twenties I’d guess, but f**kin’ dangerously undernourished. We’ll see how the night plays out. She gets through the next twenty-four hours, she’ll probably make it.”
Probably. Not good enough, not nearly good enough, but if it’s all I got, I’d take it.
I tapped the bar, Pit slipping his short pale ass behind it.
“What you guys want? Beer?” he asked, his usual f**kin’ happy grin on his face. The brother was the happiest damn recruit we’d ever had. The kid seemed too pure to deal with what this club throws your way.
Giving a nod, I signaled for two, passed the Buds to my brothers, and tipped my chin at Rider in thanks. Slapping Ky on the back, I headed to my apartment.
Getting through the hallway and up the stairs, I immediately froze in the doorway to my room. If possible, Jane Doe looked even hotter the second time around, despite the wires poking into her flesh, but she needed cleaning up.
Beauty. I’d get Beauty.
Walking into the lounge of the clubhouse, brothers watched me as I entered, lying with their sluts for the night on the red leather sofas, some pausing in their pu**y fingering, as did those chilling, playing pool. I’d obviously caused some talk as everyone stilled when they saw me, eying me weird.
Signaling to Tank to meet me at the farthest bar, out of earshot, I sat down. Two bourbons were waiting, courtesy of Pit. First glass went straight down the hatch.
“S’up, Prez?” Tank slumped into the chair, knocking back his amber shot, all in one fluid motion.
Gotta job for Beauty, I signed. Tank was one of the brothers who’d been ’round long enough to understand my ASL. Him and his old lady, that is. Most prospects make learning sign a damn priority, a way to make sure they impressed. Made my life f**kin’ easier, that’s for sure.
“What you need?” he asked.
I slammed back a second shot. Need her to come and clean the Jane Doe at my place. No f**ker in here’s touching her. Beauty’s the only old lady I trust… and can stomach to be around.
Tank cracked a small, proud smile. “I’ll give her a call. Anything else?” He needed to smile. Brother knew he lucked out with his woman—older by a couple’a years, blond, busty, total f**kin’ sweetheart. The ex-white supremacy member done good. Still looked like he belonged in the f**kin’ KKK, but he was cool now. No beef with anyone so long as they don’t f**k over the club—his family—even went so far as to cover his Nazi ink with Hades shit.
Need clothes too. Tell her to get them from the club stash at her store. Put it on my tab. She’ll need to see her first for her size. She was wearing some weird white rag when I found her.
Tank ran his finger ’round the rim of his empty glass, eying me weird. “Why the special treatment, Prez? We’ve had injured dumped here before. They’d normally be gone by now, not sleeping in your bed. Why’s she different? You got the brothers talking.”
Only Ky knew ’bout that night years ago. Not into sharing it with the others. None of their f**kin’ business.
I rolled my head in his direction and just eyeballed the f**ker.
“Message received.” Tank flicked his phone open, and made the call to Beauty. Brother knew when to dig and when to quit. Years doing time inside, fighting rival crews for his life taught him that lesson.
I listened to him give his old lady the instruction, then hang up. “She’ll be here in ten.”
Send her straight in to my place. Backdoor. No one else disturbs me until then. Right?
“Right, Styx. I’ll let the brothers know.”
A couple’a minutes later, I entered my room, slipping off my leather cut, hanging it on the hook on the back of my door. The bitch lay motionless in the middle of my bed. Taking advantage of the alone time, I checked Rider hadn’t yet returned, then moved to the bed.
No change.
Walking into my bathroom, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My dark hair was sticking up all over the place, cheeks unshaven and hazel eyes tired. I glanced to the inked sleeves on both arms. The right depicting Hades on his throne with Cerberus, the three-headed guard dog. The left, a map of Underworld: Tartarus, the Elysian Fields, the Three Judges, the Five Rivers, and above them all, Persephone, the pure goddess wife of Hades, proud to be at her man’s side. My version of Persephone had long black hair and crystal-blue eyes.
Go f**kin’ figure.
I chuffed at my reflection. Styx, man, you’re losing your f**kin’ mind!
Slipping off my black shirt, I stared at my bare chest, free of ink, with my Hangmen patch tattoo covering my entire back. I worked out hard to relieve stress and for intimidation purposes—boxing mainly, bare-knuckle since eight years old. My old man pushed me to fight. Knew my damn signing would cause me shit in the MC world, so he decided to give me another way to communicate. Keeps me feared. Being Prez of a club like the Hangmen comes with some serious shit. I keep built to ensure respect. The fact that I’m six foot four and two thirty pounds helps too.
Jane Doe shifted in her sleep as I scanned her frame through the reflection in the mirror. I wondered what the f**k she’d think of me. Big, scarred, mute, and inked with Death himself. She’d be petrified, no doubt.
Switching on the shower, I undressed and stood under the stream, Jane Doe’s red blood pooling in the drain.
Chapter Four
Styx
“Styx?”
When I cracked open my eye, Beauty stood before me, clutching two bags with Ride, the name of her biker store, written on the front. Tank leaned against the doorframe, quietly watching, taking in the scene before him.
