“Where the fuck have you been? I had to turn away the only fuckin’ customer we had this morning, because I can’t change the fuckin’ tire alone and you weren’t fuckin’ here.”
Keyes strolled past his old man who sat perched on his bench, spewing his normal bullshit negativity, not paying him one bit of attention.
The ride from McKinney to South Dallas took at least ninety minutes in all that snarled traffic. Since he was already late, he took the time to swing by the post office and hire a couple of day-workers to help clean the place up. As if they heard his thoughts, he looked over his shoulder to see the men pulling up together in an old beater truck. He had trolled the group of men, eyeing each one, asking questions. With any luck, the two he’d chosen could help change a tire, and maybe he could hire both at the end of the day.
Keyes surveyed the warehouse, deciding on the best place to start. Nothing had changed since he’d left last night. His old man wasn’t quite the invalid he pretended to be. He absolutely could have picked up a fucking broom since he’d been there alone all morning.
Why did his father even bother showing up?
“You smell like a fuckin’ flower.”
He looked back at his father who stood in the open doors of the warehouse, oxygen tank in hand.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
The high he’d been coasting on since leaving Alec’s place slipped a notch. “Those guys are to help put this place back together,” Keyes said, ignoring the question. “You don’t have to stick around today. I got—”
“You finally get some pussy?” his father asked, his face scrunching in hopeful speculation as he looked Keyes up and down.
Key scrubbed a hand down his face and let out a disgusted groan. Not this again. His old man needed to build a fucking bridge and walk his tired ass over it. He’d beaten this one into the ground. “Go home.”
“There ain’t no man that smells like that on purpose,” his father said.
“You don’t even know what you’re fuckin’ sayin’,” Keyes countered and turned away.
“You need to be fuckin’ pussy. You’re a damn embarrassment.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Keyes saw a Lexus pull into the parking lot. He rolled his shoulders as his father’s constant bullshit grated on his nerves like metal on metal. Where that man was concerned, Keyes had been on the edge for a while now. Visions of balling up his fist and driving it straight through that god-awful mouth gave Keyes a split second of happiness.
Keyes had to get hold of this resentment. He didn’t like being that kind of man. He’d gone to great measures to learn to control himself. Using his normal defense mechanisms, he chanted the words, what would my uncle do, as he walked straight past his father toward the parking lot.
The day laborers were standing close to their vehicle, and Keyes used hand gestures to guide them inside. “We got panelin’ inside. Start putting it back on the walls—no gaps. Pop, show ’em where the tools are,” Keyes called out, walking to the newly arrived car’s driver-side window as it rolled down. “Can I help you?”
“Are you open?” Dumb question by a poser in a black car, black interior, black suit, black hair slicked back in one of those fancy styles. He’d guess this guy liked himself a lot.
“Looks like it,” Keyes answered, tucking his fingers in his front jeans pocket.
“I have a slow leak. I got the tire from you about six months ago. You said you’d fix it if anything happened,” the guy said with a lot of bad attitude, not making a move to leave the car. Keyes had no way to check the truth of the story since the feds still had him locked out of all his records.
“Okay. Which one?” he asked.
“The back passenger side.”
Keyes gave a nod and went for the jack and an impact wrench. When he came back to the car, he tapped on the car’s passenger window and motioned for him to roll the window down. “Best if you shut the engine off and get out.”
The window that had only cracked to open rolled back up in his face. Oh man, first his father, now this dude. The fucking universe seemed to have it out for him today.
The driver took his time, and Keyes didn’t start to lift the car until he heard the door shut. While taking the tire off, the guy came up right behind him. “I don’t like being here.”
Keyes said nothing, letting the impact wrench block out any additional words. Honestly, Keyes couldn’t argue with him. He didn’t like the douchebag being there either.
“I don’t need any shit coming down on me for coming to you. But by God, I hate being taken advantage of.”
Key removed the tire, before cocking his head back at the guy. Yep, he was fancy. That was the best way to describe him—fancy suit, polished shoes, fancy sunglasses. He could use a tan, but that didn’t take away from the look he was going for. A quick mental image of Key busting the guy’s nose came to mind.
So far this morning, he’d mentally knocked out his pop and this creep, and it wasn’t even noon. Keyes smiled as he rolled the wheel inside, again ignoring the statement. He didn’t understand the taken advantage of remark but didn’t care enough to ask questions. It seemed best to leave him standing there.
Inside the shop, Keyes began his process, looking for the hole as his old man came from the back, both the laborers following behind him. “Pop, let ’em work. I told ’em what they needed to do.”
“Take that fuckin’ bun out of your goddamn hair. It’s embarrassin’. It gays you up. Everybody already knows my son’s a goddamn queer.”
The fancy guy laughed from the parking lot. His father’s voice was just so goddamn loud.
“Shut the fuck up, old man, or so help me…” Keyes broke. His pissed off levels maxing out, he stalked forward. Every single gay wisecrack he’d put up with fueled his rage. All the bullshit he’d endured until right this moment tightened his fist, making him take a swing at his old man, driving his fist with such a force that when he purposefully struck the stack of tires behind his father’s head, they went tumbling. His father was so close he had to feel the air rush past his face as Keyes’s fist hit its mark.
Right then, everything changed between them.
All the obligation he’d had that drove him back into his father’s life vanished. Keyes saw a moment of true fear in his father’s eyes. The old man had clamped his mouth closed, finally shutting the fuck up, and swung the oxygen tank at him in retaliation. He hit Keyes in the arm. He didn’t have the force to budge Key from his stance.
The residual Alec-high plummeted, violently dropping him back into the reality of his fucked-up life. There had to be skid marks burned into his flesh with how fast his good mood had tanked. This was bullshit. His life was bullshit. Keyes was trash that came from the sorriest piece of trash on this goddamn planet. His old man must have found his voice with the way that abusive mouth moved, but Keyes didn’t register one single word. The blood was rushing too loudly through his veins.
Instead of staying there, risking the chance that his fist might actually connect to his father’s sorry ass face, Keyes pivoted, kicking one tire with enough force to send it across the concrete floor as he stalked out of the building. Mr. Fancy scurried out of his way, which was the right fucking thing to do. Keyes wanted to ram his fist down the guy’s throat for nothing more than being a far more appropriate choice for Alec to fuck than slumming it with the likes of Key.
About as pissed off as he could be, Keyes jumped on his bike and headed out. The fifteen-minute ride took ten. At almost full throttle, he pulled into the club’s compound. On one side sat the clubhouse and on the other was Fox’s custom bike sales and ink parlor. A place Fox and Devilman owned together. He pushed through the front doors, finding little comfort in the fact they weren’t busy at all. Fox’s old lady met him at the door.
“Hey, Key.” Her smile faded as she got a good look at him. “You okay?”
“Fox around?” he managed, without jumping down her throat for something that didn’t involve her. The ride hadn’t helped his attitude one bit. His head was crazy, his thoughts all over the place, and he’d met his threshold of bullshit. He was done. He couldn’t take another minute of his life.
“Yeah, let me get him.”
He felt caged and took off for the front parking lot, then rounded toward the side of the building for some privacy. He’d spent as much time in this shop as he had his own.
“What’s up?” Fox said from behind him. He hadn’t even heard Fox arrive, and Fox wasn’t a quiet man. That spoke volumes to how fucked in the head he had become.
“I need to move into the clubhouse,” he said. Not the first thing he’d planned to say, but it still needed to happen.
“Okay. Problems?” Fox asked, looking as concerned as his old lady had.
“Same shit. I need somebody there with my old man. He keeps tryin’ to light up and smoke around that fuckin’ tank. He’s gonna blow himself up,” Keyes said, ticking off the points of why he was there in the first place.
“We can take care of that. Get some prospects over there. You’re really agitated,” Fox said, his hands going to his waist, but he kept his distance. Good fucking call on his part.
“He’s just being more of an ass than usual. Can you keep him occupied during the day? Give me some time? I can’t listen to that mouth another goddamn minute,” he added, ending the list that had driven him all the way over there.
“That’s not a problem. You know you can’t take anything he says to heart. Smoke says that shit because he’s so dependent on you. He’d’ve never survived—”
“I owe you,” Keyes said, cutting the club’s president off. Yeah, this was what made his biker brothers his family. He wouldn’t have survived his life without Fox and his family always looking out for him. He didn’t need to be told what his father couldn’t seem to figure out. He got it, but he was still totally done.
“Speakin’ of that. What are you doin’ tonight?” Fox asked as Keyes headed for his bike.
“What’d you need?” he asked, partially turning to look the other man in the eye, still in a very foul mood, but he owed his president his undivided attention.
“I got a run,” Fox said, code for a secret, as in only a limited number of his brothers knew anything about, drug deal. “I need you, Mack, and Dev there. It’s a big one. We need the cash to fight all this shit.”
He gave a single nod of acceptance. “What time?”
“I’ll text you.”
Keyes nodded again in confirmation, continuing toward his bike.
“I’ll call your old man over now, keep him here for a while. Let the dust settle.”
Keyes didn’t even lift a hand in acknowledgement. He took long strides for his motorcycle. The anger still drove him, but now there seemed a dread building right underneath. His life was such shit, and he couldn’t see it ever settling down. He just couldn’t figure out why he felt so dirty and more alone than ever before. His heart gave an ache as he started to lift his leg to straddle his bike.
“Why do you smell different?” He looked over to see Fox standing between him and the building. Keyes only lifted his shirt sleeve and sniffed. He liked the smell. It was in his hair too. What kind of fucked up life did he live that the smell of clean made everybody question him?