Ryker
One arm hooked around my pops’ thick neck, I hop down one step at a time and use the handrail for extra stability. Gettin’ to the clubhouse basement is no joke. You gotta go through two steel doors and walk down a fair amount of stairs. If I wasn’t half crippled, I could descend without a problem.
Behind us, Kade carries my knee scooter, which has been a damn godsend. “You sure you’re up for this, brother?”
Grittin’ my teeth through the spike of pain enveloping my shoulder, I reply a curt nod. Pops helps me down yet another step as I grip the handrail ‘til my knuckles blanch. The slight jostle is enough to set my blood on fire. Fuck, I should’ve taken more painkillers before I left. A joint sounds pretty damn amazing right about now. If I still lit up, that is. This bein’ a better man shit is exhausting.
“It’s gotta be done,” Pops supplies in my stead.
“I know. But it didn’t have to be today,” Kade disputes, fuming on my behalf.
Another step down, only five more to go. If it weren’t too emasculating, I’d ask to be carried the rest of the way. Going up should be easier than this. I hope. If not, I’m sleepin’ down here tonight. Screw the party. Kade can bring me a cooler with some beer to tide me over.
“I’m not keepin’ three prisoners in my basement any longer than I have to. Not when the pigs have been sniffin’ around,” Pops grumbles. Any second and these two might be goin’ head to head. This is why Ghost should’ve come along. He can handle Pops way better than anyone else. One look from his VP and things are copacetic. Don’t ask me how it works, it just does.
Four steps left. Fuck! My teeth begin to ache from the pressure. Sweat beads on my bald head.
Kade rumbles an appalled sound in the back of his throat. “It’s not Ryker’s fault he almost died. You pushed the docs to release him before they wanted to. Now you’re forcin’ him to do this. He hasn’t even been home a week!”
Perfect, now Kade’s losin’ his cool and the only way to chill him out is with fuckin’, suckin’, a fresh kill, or his best friend. Since three of the four are out, looks like he’s gonna be gettin’ his hands dirty with me.
“Are you the prez, son?” Pops snarls.
Knowing his place, Kade keeps his trap shut and trails behind ‘til we hit the basement level. Then he skirts around us, sets my scooter down for me, and shoots me a look that says he’s got my back. Turning, Kade saunters up the dank hallway to our clubhouse cellblock. His boot heels scuff the floor with each echoed step. This place ain’t pretty. Nobody chills or lives down here. It’s a piece of shit. The cinder block walls, which used to be bright white, are now chipped and dirty. On the floor, there are tiny wet spots where water seeps through the cracked foundation. And it smells musty year round. As a kid, I was too freaked to scope this place out. They could film a horror movie down here—it’s that sinister.
Releasing Pops neck, I set my knee on the scooter and follow behind as he joins Kade.
The steel door of our first room is open when we arrive. Holy goddamn. Sonofabitch! The rancid stench of shit and piss that oozes into the hallway smacks me in the face like a two by four, making my eyes fuckin’ water. Pinching my nose to reduce exposure, I gag, swallow hard to keep from pukin’, then draw a fortifying breath through my mouth. It doesn’t help all that much. It’s so bad I can basically taste it, which is worse. Motherfucker! Has nobody been cleanin’ this man’s cage out? Isn’t that a prospect's job? Don’t we have at least one of those measly bastards?
Pops and Kade shoot me a questioning look, their faces about as green as I feel.
My stomach rolls into itself.
“Looks like someone decided to draw us a portrait with his shit.” Kade’s throat works as he talks funny, nose plugged.
“You decide what you wanna do with this one.” Pops juts his chin in the direction of the animal we’re about to put down.
Scootin’ forward, I peek inside the space. Sure enough, a naked man is lying on a cot, ankle cuffed and chained to the center of the floor. And, yes, he’s coated in fecal matter from toes to throat. How he can stand to bathe in his own excrement is beyond my comprehension. I’ve witnessed plenty of sick fucks get put to ground, but this would be a first that I’ve seen go out in such a fashion. Even the concrete floor is smeared with feces. On the wall above his bed, there’s a giant ‘fuck you’ spelled out. Underneath it, he drew a gun blowin’ someone’s head off. A six-year-old could draw better, but I think we get the gist. The spray of shit where the head exploded is enough visual for me.
“Did ya have fun playin’ in your butt mud?” I torment, tryin’ extra hard not to gag. He doesn’t get to see me weak. Usin’ this scooter is weakness enough.
“Fuck off!” The fat guy booms, shaking a piece of dark hair outta his toffee-colored eye with the twitch of his head.
“Didn’t wanna rub it in your beard?” How’d he manage not to get it on his face when there’s no runnin’ water to wash? These rooms aren’t anything more than a large box with an old cot, a drain in the floor, shackles, and a metal bucket. When we imprison someone down here, a prospect delivers bread and water twice a day to keep ‘em alive. There are no frills. This ain’t the fuckin’ Ritz.
“Eat shit and die!” he howls in response.
Oh, the irony.
“Don’t think I’ll be the one eatin’ shit, asswipe. You’re the one who wanted to make a mud pie.” Why I’m conversing with the dumbass, I ain’t gotta clue. Strangely enough, he’s not a threat. It doesn’t look like he’s about to try anything, not that he could get anywhere if he did. The chain doesn’t reach the door, and there’s nothin’ to throw besides the bucket he has tipped upside down next to the cot he’s restin’ on.
Side-eyeing Pops, I gesture to the putrid mess with a jerk of my elbow. I ain’t no fool, I’m not unpluggin’ my nose ‘til we close that door. “How did you not know about this?”
Glaring at the mess through tiny eye slits, Pops shakes his head in revulsion. “Fuck all was said to me. I don’t come down here. Ghost runs the crew who’s been deliverin’ supplies to the prisoners. This is the first I’ve seen any of ‘em since they were brought in bruised and bloody. Ghost hosed ‘em down with cold water and stripped ‘em of their clothes. That’s all I’ve heard.”
“Well, someone’s fucked up on their duty. ‘Cause no one shits this much in one day,” Kade throws in.
“No shit,” I deadpan, lookin’ at my brother who busts the fuck up at my lame attempt at a joke. Pops doesn’t find it quite as funny, but he grins wide enough you can see it through his beard.
“So, I ain’t touchin’ him, or I’ll be cleanin’ shit off my scooter for days. You think he knew nobody would want to torture a man covered in his own shit, and that’s why he did it? ‘Cause there ain’t no fuckin’ way I’d do that for any reason unless I was insane.”
“He was the one drivin’, so he had to know this was comin’,” Pops remarks.
“Then what do y’all wanna do? Kade, you wanna have fun with him?” I ask, hoping he says yes so I don’t have to.
“Do I wanna wade through man shit to kill the sick fuck?” Kade’s cheeks puff out, and he swallows hard on the verge of puking. Doubling over, holdin’ his stomach, gagging, he gets himself in check. A minute passes before Kade pushes off his knee with a hand to stand upright. His red-rimmed, watery eyes lock with mine. “I can’t do it. Unless we get a prospect down here to spray this clean, I’m not touchin’ anythin’ in that room.”
“Me neither,” Pops agrees, leanin’ against the hall wall.
Knowing time’s a-wastin', I roll forward until I’m fillin’ the doorway. Lifting the back of my cut, I extract my 9 mm Glock, aim with one arm, and squeeze the trigger once, twice, three times in succession. A bullet pierces the man’s thigh from the side. Another goes in his bicep and the third close to his hip. It’s enough damage to make him hurt, but not die fast, unless I nicked a major blood vessel. The wounds seep bright red as it takes a moment for the bastard to realize he’s been shot. Five seconds later and awareness finally washes over his face. Howling in agony, he knifes up in bed. Covering the wound on his hip and thigh, he tries to staunch the bleeding. By doin’ so he contaminates his injuries with shit. In a day, two at most, he’ll be dead by fecal bacteria entering his bloodstream. It’s a shitty way to die, but none of us are gonna enter that nasty room to get the job done. A prospect can deal with his lifeless body and clean up the mess once he croaks. Then to the burn pile he goes.
“Have fun dyin’, bitch,” I hiss, roll back a ways, and slam the door shut before he can get a word in edgewise.
Returning my gun to its place, we all breathe a sigh of relief as the stench in the hallway recedes significantly.
Pops jerks a thumb in the direction we just came. “I’m out. You two take care of business. I gotta check in with Ghost and see how Kat’s doin’.”
“What about Kat?” If they needed an update, they could’ve asked me.
“After Kade picked you up, Ghost dropped by with some pies. Didn’t want her feelin’ lonely since you were gone and Rosie ain’t there.”
Fuck. Okay. I wonder if he told her about the party. If he did, I’m as good as dickless. Kade was right, I probably should’ve given her a heads up.
Idiot.
I shake my head, pissed at myself.
Pullin’ my new cell phone outta my back pocket, I focus on what’s most important while my brother and father chat among themselves before Pops takes his leave.
I’ve gotta talk to my woman. At least touch base. I hadn’t planned on doin’ that ‘til the party, but now’s as good a time as any. It’s not like I don’t miss her. I always do. When she’s not around, it’s like I’m missin’ a limb. But I don’t wanna get clingy, which I could easily do. That’s not the kinda man she needs. Or the kinda man I wanna be. I’m pussy whipped enough as is.
Me: Hey baby, how are things? Was dinner good?
Thirty seconds pass, and she doesn’t text back.
Dammit.
I’m in the doghouse—again.
Shovin’ my phone back in my pocket with a belated groan, I glance up to see that I’m alone. Twenty feet away the second cell door stands wide open. I can hear Kade whistlin’ to himself inside.
Resigning myself to the fact that I’m gonna grovel later, I get the show on the road. These guys ain’t gonna kill themselves.
Scooting into the open doorway, I pause a moment to appreciate the scene my sadistic brother has graciously bestowed upon me. In the middle of the room above the drain is a giant, potbellied man hoisted on his tippy toes by his wrists, ankle still cuffed to the floor. This room is our primary torture chamber, or the fun room, as Kade likes to call it. Because it has a lever system that can be unlocked from the ceiling and used to restrain prisoners. There’s also a steel-doored closet that contains Kade’s toy chest and cleaning supplies. We don’t usually keep people in here for more than a few hours. Not unless it’s necessary. In this case, it was. So they brought in a cot and bathroom bucket for the guy. Luckily, this fucker was smart enough to use it and disposed of his own bodily fluids down the drain like any sane person would.
Two-finger pointing to our unconscious prisoner, I cock a humored brow. “Was he not very helpful? Is that why he’s sleepin’?” I tease.
Kade shrugs, apathetic. “I entered. He wanted to fight. I clocked him in the jaw. He went down like a rhino. The end.”
“And you got him up there all by yourself?” I’m impressed, the guy has to weigh well over three hundred pounds.
My brother caresses the winch attached to the wall. “This gets close enough to the floor. All I had to do was drag him over, sit his fat ass up and crank. Wasn’t too hard.”
Still, in my condition, I couldn’t accomplish half of that. Clockin’ someone in the face hard enough to knock ‘em out ain’t no cake walk, it hurts both of you. My muscles aren’t what they once were. Gunshot wounds will do that to ya.
Strollin’ over to the closet, Kade extracts his toy chest that has cartoon stickers kissing every inch of the old red paint. Fuck knows why he put those on there. To make it less intimidating? ‘Cause it’s hilarious? Maybe My Little Pony, Scooby Doo, and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles give him extra motivation? Hell, I don’t fucking know. And it don’t matter anyhow.
He sets the box on the cot, goes back to the closet, grabs a folding chair that we use for interrogation, and unfolds it against the wall closest to me. Tappin’ the metal seat twice, he juts his chin at the scuffed top. “Take a seat. Rest. I’m gonna wake him up, get him talkin’, then let you do your thing.”
Ya don’t have to tell me twice. I’m already in need of a nap or two. This almost dyin’ shit ain’t no joke. Leaving my scooter be, I hop on one foot to the chair and drop my heavy ass on it. It welcomes me with a high pitched squeak.
“You know torture ain’t really my scene,” I note, adjusting my casted leg in front of me as Kade rifles through his toy box.
“It is today.” He slams the lid shut, snaps open a smelling salt and shoves it right under the man’s nostrils.
The guy’s head snaps up abruptly, eyes watering. “What the?”
Kade slaps the bastard’s cheek twice. “Mornin’ sunshine,” he sing-songs.
“Fuck off.”
“Awe, you wound me.” My brother thumps his breastbone, mock-hurt.
I chuckle to myself.
Sarcastic ass.
The big guy yanks on his restraints, checking their strength, the chain jingles. Extending his bulky, heavily tatted arms as high as they can go, straining on his tippy toes, he wraps his fist around the chain twice and pulls his knees up, so he’s hanging by his arms. If the dumbass thinks his weight is gonna break the winch, he’s delusional. It’s never gonna happen. The device is meant to tow heavy trucks. Kade and I sit back and watch—amused.
Givin’ up, the guy places the tips of his toes back on the floor and unwinds the chain from his fists. His shriveled dick is a pathetic sight, as is the muddy jailhouse ink he’s got covering the majority of his body. Judging by the lines around his eyes, the big gut, and chubby, toneless thighs, I’d say he’s in his early fifties. Although, his calves are in decent shape. Probably from ridin’ a Harley for most his life.
“If you don’t lemme go, you’re dead men,” he snarls, upper lip curling back, exposing a chipped front tooth. Wonder if he had that before or if it’s recent.
“Now, now, Piggy. We don’t take kindly to threats, empty or not,” Kade scolds, his back to the dickweed. Retracting the top of his toy box and removing some of its contents, he lines a variety of instruments on the cot.
“You’re fucked, little boy. I’m gonna gut you.” The man spits in Kade’s direction to cement his savage, albeit funny as fuck threat.
Kade’s shoulders shake in silent laughter. “No. I don’t think you are.” He snorts. “We’re gonna do the guttin’ ‘round here. If you have any last words, might as well say ‘em now or forever hold your peace.”
“My prez will find you and—”
“Your prez, along with the rest of your club has taken their final ride on the highway to Hell,” I interject, enjoying the pathetic show more than I should.
His dark eyes snap to mine. “That can’t be true.”
“It is.”
“No way.”
“You fucked with the Sacred Sinners, tried to kill my old lady and me, what’d you think was gonna happen? Big Dick don’t take kindly to people fuckin’ with his family, and neither do I.”
“I did kill your bitch. Shot her good. Ain’t no way she’s still breathin’.”
Oh, hell no. That motherfucker didn’t go there.
Not giving a shit about my leg, I shoot up, hop twice, and slam my fist into that piece of shit’s face. The satisfying crunch and feel of cartilage caving under impact gives me a chubby. Howling in pain, his head snaps back, blood gushes from his nose down the front of his chest and stomach. Unsatisfied by the damage, I unleash another blow to his jaw, his chest, stomach, and side. On and on I release my rage—fist to flesh. Sweat drips into my eyes, and fatigue turns my arms to jelly. Yet, I push through, landing punch after punch. Like a boxer fightin’ a life-size dummy, I do my thing ‘til my breath grows harsh and heart batters my ribs. The sound of meat being pounded into submission is music to my ears.
That’s right, fucker! Who’s the bitch now?
Disgusted by the scum hangin’ before me, I spit on his face and curse him to Hell. Red begins to tinge the edge of my vision. A fresh wave of adrenaline surges through my system, erasing any trace of pain or exhaustion.
Suddenly rejuvenated, I pummel his solar plexus with a swift one-two.
Take that, you sick fuck. Bet you wish you didn’t try to kill me now.
Thrusting my chest heavenward, hands fisted, head tipped back, I roar like a lion gettin’ a taste of his first kill of the morning. Then I sneer at the battered man and punch him in the throat with all my strength. His teary eyes widen in shock. Teeth and lips smeared with blood, part with a hoarse, choking gasp. The chains rattle overhead as he struggles to pull in air.
“How do you like me now, you soon to be dead sack of shit!” I growl, ready to unleash more damage.
Two strong bands of tattoos wrap around me from behind. “Enough,” Kade whispers beside my ear.
Fine.
Keepin’ me steady, somehow knowing I need to connect once more, my brother grants me a final strike before draggin’ me backward where he drops me on the chair. Wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, I slump down as a fiery inferno crafted by the devil himself blazes through every muscle in my body, the adrenaline wearing off. Fuck.
Swallowing thickly, I grit my teeth.
A bottle of pills bounces off my chest, landin’ on my lap. Snatchin’ up whatever gift Kade’s given me, I open the container, pour two tablets into my palm, and toss them back dry.
“That should take the edge off,” he comments, checkin’ the pulse on the side of our prisoner’s neck.
Damn. I did a number on him. His body’s already startin’ to bruise, and that face is jacked up. One eye is swollen. Lip busted. Nose flattened. Cheek inflamed. The only place I didn’t bother was below the belt. I’m not that sick and twisted.
Flexing the fingers on my right hand, I examine the damage I inflicted on myself. The skin’s split across each knuckle. It hurts so damn bad that I can feel my pulse throb through every digit. It’s gonna be at least a week before it gets any better.
Kade slaps the man’s less damaged cheek. “Wakey, wakey, princess.”
In response, air wheezes out of the guy’s mouth, his good eye glaring at my bro. There’s no way his nostrils function any longer.
Kickin’ his dickishness up a notch, Kade clasps the dude on the shoulder. “My brother fucked you up, didn’t he? Man, that’s gotta hurt. You gonna be okay?” He cackles, loving this way too much.
A mixture of tears and blood leak down the prisoner’s face. Listen, I know this ain’t nice. If I had any morals or gave a fuck, even I’d feel sorry for him… How’s that saying go? If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen? Yeah, that’s the one. If you can’t endure the repercussions, you don’t shoot people. This is why the Sacred Sinners don’t pick on other clubs. That’s not our MO. We don’t start unnecessary turf wars. We don’t eradicate other clubs for shits and giggles. Our national prez has his head on straight. We’re a family of bikers first and criminals dead last. If the fucker’s lucky, Kade will take pity on him and let him die quick. Though, that doesn’t look promising. The scalpel in my brother’s latex-gloved hand and the eager gleam in his eye says otherwise.
Rollin’ his shoulders to loosen ‘em up, Kade approaches the guy. Then stops, turns his head, and asks with an arched brow, “You got your licks in, is it cool I get mine?”
Feelin’ the effects of whatever kickass drug he gave me, my eyelids droop, and I wave him forth. “Have at him.”
The bright, maniacal smile Kade blasts at me is enough to draw a small one from my lips. Resuming his whistling, my brother begins to carve his masterpiece made of flesh. First, he cuts the man’s club tat from his bicep with medical precision. The man yells loud enough to make my eardrums ring. Still, Kade carries on carving the tattoo out ‘til it’s one large piece. Which he drops to the floor with a wet slap of fat, skin, and blood.
“Nice,” he mutters to himself, pleased.
Grabbing a container of salt from the cot, Kade flips open the metal tab and pours a steady stream of white crystals onto the prisoner’s exposed wound. I wince at the sight knowing that’s gotta hurt like hell. Consumed by pain, the man thrashes in his chains, screamin’ bloody murder until his throat goes raw. Spittle flies from his cracked lips. Urine streams down the inside of his thigh, pooling beneath his toes. To shut him up, Kade fastens a ball gag around his head and forces the rubber between his lips. As if that’s not humiliating enough, he steps away to snap a few pictures of his masterpiece all the while whistling the opening song to The Andy Griffith Show. This is the sick fuck most people don’t see. The part that Kat will never witness because none of us will allow it. This is the part of Kade that craves Rosie—a kindred spirit who gets off on this shit, too. Maybe not exactly like him, ‘cause he’s got the biggest fuckin’ boner right now tenting his jeans.
The phone in my back pocket vibrates. I breathe a sigh of relief knowin’ it has to be her.
Kat: Dad brought over two pecan pies, so dinner was great.
Forgoing idle chitchat, I pull out the big guns.
Me: I miss you.
So fucking much. I wish I was there right now, lyin’ next to her, talking, maybe kissing a little, and a whole lot of touchin’. Swept away by the mere thought of her, I sample my bottom lip where the memory of her taste lingers like a hot brand. I’ll never forget today for the rest of my life. Or the subtle tang of her pussy as she comes all over my face. Her moans of pleasure. The sweet scent of her cunt. It’s all there locked inside the giant box labeled Soulmate in my brain.
My cock thickens.
Kat: Are you trying to suck up because Dad said you’re going to a club party?
I knew he’d tell her. Of course, he would. We might get along for the time being, but he’s not my biggest fan.
Me: I’m not sucking up. I’m being honest.
Kat: Are you going to drink?
Me: A little.
Kat: It’s not good to mix your medicine with alcohol.
I smirk, my heartwarming. She always feels the need to take care of me, even if I don’t deserve it. I couldn’t have found a better woman.
Glancing up from my phone, I check Kade’s progress. There are tiny slits now covering the guy’s body that he’s taken upon himself to douse with salt. The floor’s a mess of bodily fluids. Whoever cleans up Kade’s torture party is gonna be in for a treat.
Me: I know, babe. Thank you for trying to take care of me.
Kat: Don’t do anything stupid. You have a habit of doing stupid things.
Me: I know. And I promise not to.
Kat: No more babies.
Me: Agreed. No more babies. Is Walker giving you hell?
He must be. Unless she’s worried I’m gonna step out on her and knock someone else up. Which would never happen.
Kat: No. Your daughter is. She’s practicing for the Olympic gymnastics team. Roxie and Scarlett have been tormenting the poor thing. So she’s trying to beat them up for messing up her routine. Walker’s not helping matters. He wants to be constantly held. Any time I put him down he fusses, which isn’t like him.
I chuckle at her description, wishing I’d stayed home instead of followin’ Pops’ orders. Then I could’ve watched my girls touchin’ their mom’s big, sexy belly. Fuck. Just thinkin’ of Kat’s beautiful belly, swollen with my kid gets me rock hard every time. She puts the S in sexy. Add in all that sass, luscious tits, brilliant mind, and my dick’s ready to pound railroad spikes.
Me: I love you so goddamn much.
Kat: So you say. Sometimes you have a shitty way of showing it.
Me: I know. You’re welcome to kick me in the balls anytime I fuck up.
Kat: Like today when you didn’t tell me what you were really doing at the clubhouse?
Tippin’ my head back, I groan in absolute defeat, as the coolness of the wall chills my scalp. I knew this was coming.
Scratching my scruffy chin with one hand, I type out a text with the other.
Me: Yes. That was an error on my part. I didn’t want you to know, because I was worried you thought I might sleep with someone else. And I didn’t want you to worry.
In hindsight, that was foolish. Either way, she’s gonna worry about other women. After the Vanessa fiasco that blew through my life, I wouldn’t be surprised if my little Tiger ever fully trusts me at a club party. Not that I cheated on her. Nor would I. But I did possibly impregnate another woman—if the DNA test shows that Walker’s mine. So her concern is reasonable. At least to me, it is.
“You better be textin’ Kat,” Kade interjects.
Spreadin’ my legs out, gettin’ more comfortable, my head lists to the side, high as a damn kite. “Yes. I’m textin’ with her. What in the hell was in those pills you gave me?” My lips are almost numb.
“Oxy.”
“F-uck.”
“You feel better, don’t ya?”
“I’m high.”
Kade smirks, eyebrows bouncin’ animatedly as he nods. “That’s the objective. Yeah?”
“You better not let anyone rape me tonight at the party.” I sound like a bitch.
“You sound like a bitch.” Kade snorts.
My sentiments exactly.
“I don’t need to give Ghost any more reasons to hate me. Or for him or anyone else to feed Kat lies.”
“You’re not gonna cheat on her.”
“I know that, and you know that. But if I pass out all it takes is one picture.” It wouldn’t be the first time people snap a photo to cause shit.
Kade thumps his blood speckled chest. “I got you, bro. That just means more pussy for me.” His smirk grows into a full on smile, smug as fuck.
“Precisely. Now carry on.” I wave him forth with a lazy hand. The sooner this guy dies, the quicker we’ll be done.
“You better not pass out on me. We’ve got another asshole to kill.”
That’s not gonna happen. This shit’s strong— makin’ my head float. This is the reason I don’t take heavy narcotics if I can prevent it.
“I took two oxy.”
Kade rolls his eyes. “Dumbass.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll wake you if ya snooze.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Kade gets back to his thing, and I get back to mine before my brain powers down.
Kat: Honesty is always the best policy with me.
Me: I know. And you’ll get it. Which is why I’m gonna tell you that I took two oxy that Kade gave me. So I’m gonna be out here soon. If you don’t hear back from me for a while, know that I ain’t up to no good. I’m just sleeping.
Kat: OMG. Are you okay?!
Me: Babe, don’t freak out. You wanted honesty, and I’m given it to ya.
Kat: Shit. I know. I’m sorry. Are you okay? Is that better? That makes me sound calm. I’m calm.
Me: No you’re not. And I’m fine. Overdid it a bit. That’s all.
Kat: This is why you shouldn’t have left!
Me: I know. I wish I woulda fought Pops about staying home.
Kat: He is the one who made you go?
Me: Yes. He wanted some shit handled that only I could handle.
Kat: I’m gonna kill him!
Besotted beyond rationalization, I grin at the intensity of her text. I’m one lucky bastard to have such a fiercely loyal old lady. And I’m gonna show her just how fuckin’ lucky I am in two days, when Valentine’s rolls around.
Me: Sweetheart, stop. There’s no use in getting upset on my account. You gotta remember he’s not only my pops, but he’s also my prez. There are some orders I gotta follow even if I don’t want to.
Kat: Well he’s my father-in-law, not my prez, so I can kill him if I want.
My heart jackknifes. I can’t believe she called him her father-in-law. That means she’s in this. That this is fuckin’ real! Goddamn, I’m so happy I could weep like a bitch. But I won’t. Instead, I smile ‘til my cheeks hurt.
Me: I love you so fuckin much, Tiger, you don’t even know.
Kat: I love you, too.
Me: You better.
Kat: I do. Sometimes I wonder if I should be committed to an asylum for feeling that way.
Me: If you were committed anywhere I’d break in, kill everyone, and rescue you.
Kat: Well aren’t you a regular knight in shining armor.
Me: Smartass.
Kat: Always.
Me: Hey, Tiger?
Kat: Yes, Ryker?
Me: I’m getting really sleepy, but I don’t want to stop talking to you.
Kat: Get some rest. You can text me when you wake up. Dickcheese told me he’d keep you safe.
Me: He did? When?
Kat: When he picked you up today.
That’s my brother, always lookin’ out for me as I would him.
Me: Alright, pretty lady, I’ll text you later. Tell the girls I love them… I’m gonna dream sweet dreams of your sweet, sweet pussy.
Kat: I will, you perv.
Me: Love you forever.
Stowin’ my cell in my pocket, unable to keep my eyes open a moment longer, I tilt my head back and succumb to the euphoric opiate high.