Ryker
Two dead and another one not to go. After I passed out during my brother’s torture sesh, I woke up to a bloodbath of flesh and guts. Talk about sickening. Kade decimated that man until he died a very horrible death. Once he was finished, the guy’s abdomen looked a lot like hamburger fresh from the grinder. How Kade can stomach that level of torture is something I can never and will never comprehend.
Now that the meds I took have worn off a bit, we’re arguing in circles outside the third prisoner’s cell. Ten minutes ago I wheeled myself to the next room along with a blood-smeared Kade. What I didn’t expect to find inside the four cold walls was a scrawny, freckled-faced kid who’s naked and deathly afraid.
“I’m not killing a kid, Kade,” I rumble for the fifteenth time. There’s no way I’m takin’ a life so young. Not when I know for a fact he didn’t shoot me, nor drive the vehicle that t-boned Vanessa’s car.
My jazzed up bro has his knife out, twirling it between his fingers, ready for more blood. “He’s an accomplice. We know he was in the truck with them. We know he knew about the attack at the cabin and the clubhouse. He was in on it!”
“Did he drive any of the cars? Did he shoot at anyone?”
“Not that I know of.”
“He’s a kid.”
Kade spits on the concrete floor. “He’s old enough to know fuckin’ better. If you join a club and do bad shit, you face the consequences. I’m gonna bleed him,” he says through clenched teeth.
Fistin’ the front of Kade’s shirt I jerk him forward, bringing us nose to nose. He doesn’t put up a fight. “You ain’t touchin’ shit unless I say so.”
“The fuck I ain’t. His club almost killed you,” he hisses in my face.
“You wanna try me? ‘Cause I’ll fight you. Do you wanna hurt your brother? You wanna fight over this? ‘Cause I might not have much of a conscience, but at least I got a pea sized one. You ain’t got nothin’. We can’t kill a kid, Kade! That’s bad karma. He’s already scared out of his mind.” I shove him away, and he stumbles back three steps.
Kade massages the nape of his neck and begins to pace. “What do you wanna do with him then? Bake him a cake and kiss his boo-boos?”
“No, smartass.”
“Then what? ‘Cause Pops ain’t gonna like whatever you come up with that doesn’t put that kid six feet under. He’s gotta be put to ground. You know it.”
“We’re not killin’ a fuckin’ kid.”
Kade scoffs. “How’d you get a bleedin’ heart all of a sudden?”
“I have no such thing.”
“Is this about Kat?”
I lean my shoulder against the hall wall, so I don’t fall over. These meds are still kickin’ my ass. “How would this have anything to do with her?”
Chin to chest, he continues pacing. “’Cause she’s softened you up. She has this way about her that makes you wanna be good—a better man.”
“She makes you a better man, too. Whether you wanna believe it or not. It’s true.”
Kade was much different before Kat came back into my life, and freshly into his. Their friendship has changed him in ways I don’t think he realizes. He’s less rough around the edges. Cares about people’s feelings more than before. Not sayin’ he wasn’t always considerate of those he loves. Because he is. That’s never been his problem. But when you have to balance such darkness day in and day out with the light, it takes its toll. Kat helps ground him. My brother has never been normal, though to most people he appears that way, aside from his love affair with knives. That’s because he doesn’t let most people see the darkness that lingers in his soul. His morbid fascination with the human body and how it ticks has always made him unique. When we were kids, he was the one who used to come down to these chambers and watch club brothers kill and interrogate various men. He learned a lot from them, and the medical journals Pops use to buy him all the time.
“I know that. But Watermelon Tits ain’t gonna keep me from guttin’ a teenager,” he argues.
Guess it’s time to try a different tactic. Bloodlust has his brain firin’ on all the wrong cylinders.
“What if that was… Walker in eighteen years?” I test.
“Ain’t neither of ‘em your kids. So that don’t apply here.”
“Humor me. What if Walker was mine and we had a club war, he was prospectin’ and got caught up like this. What if both of us died. Would you want the other club to kill him, too?” I would say no in a heartbeat ‘cause I know that’s the right answer. Believe it or not, not everyone deserves to die when they make bad choices. Kade has to realize this.
“Stop talkin’, Ryker.” Kade rakes a hand through his hair—frustrated.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he clips.
“Would you want him to be killed? What if he’s got a mom back home like Kat…and sisters who love him.” Yep, I’m layin’ it on thick.
“That’s not possible. Nobody has a mom like Kat, except Rox and Scarlett.”
Damn, he’s a stubborn motherfucker when he wants to be. He’s got a smart-mouthed answer for everything, and it’s startin’ to piss me off.
“Jesus Christ, Kade, can’t you cut that bloodlust for a damn minute and think like a normal human!”
“WWKD, is that the game we’re playin’ right now? What would Kat do?”
If he doesn’t shut his smartass mouth right now, I’m gonna fuck his pretty face up. Then Kat really will kill me whenever she sees the damage. ‘Cause you and I both know damn well he’ll go cryin’ to her that I punched him. Fuckin’ baby.
I squeeze the handle on my scooter to curtail the need to lay him out. “Oh, my God, you’re an insufferable dickhead sometimes.”
“Hey, you start textin’ with your old lady, and now you wanna play nice. What do expect me to say?” He kicks the base of the chipped wall where a little puddle of water has gathered.
“I expect you to answer the question like a sane adult. Can you at least try to act that way for just a minute before you go back to my psycho brother? How Kat hasn’t realized you’re insane yet is truly a miracle.”
“She’d love me even if she knew,” he volleys back with supreme attitude.
“That might be true, but you still need to answer the question.”
Kade throws his hands up in theatrical defeat as he turns to me, makin’ eye contact through a blistering glare. “No. Okay! No. I wouldn’t want them to kill Walker in this hypothetical bullshit situation. I’d want him to live.”
“Then why can’t we sit down with this kid, talk to him, and figure out what’s goin’ on in his life? Then we can decide how we wanna proceed.” That sounds reasonable enough to me.
“We’re not Dr. Fuckin’ Phil, Ryker. I’m not gonna ask about his feelings and wipe his scrawny ass when he takes a dump.”
Aggravated, I palm my entire face and grumble behind it, “Kat is so gonna find out how much of a nut job you are. There’s no way we can keep this under wraps.”
“Shut the fuck up! We ain’t talkin’ about her. Stop bringin’ her up. She ain’t gonna find out!”
Oops, I nicked a nerve.
I slide said palm down my face, banishing a groan. “She totally is. You can’t act normal long enough to be a stable adult.”
Tuckin’ his knife inside his cut, he crosses his arms over his chest, legs wide apart—facin’ off. He taps his toe on the ground like a twitch he can’t restrain. “I know what you’re doin’. Stop usin’ her against me. It’s not fair.”
Was that a whine? I swear he was whining right there. Now I know I’ve poked a sore spot.
“What’s not fair? I’m doin’ no such thing.” I play dumb.
“You’re makin’ me wanna be a good person by talkin’ about Kat. ‘Cause all I can think about now is what she’d want me to do in this situation. You fuckin’ suck.”
Hell yeah, that’s definitely a whine.
“Is it working?” I taunt.
“I hate you,” he grinds out.
A victorious smile steals across my face. “I love you, too.”
“Fuck off.”
“Awe, you’re so sweet,” I mock to irritate him a fraction more. This is fuckin’ fun.
“Suck a fat dick.”
“That’s my woman’s job,” I quip.
Unfolding one arm, he flips me off. “Christ, dickbag, can’t you shut up?”
“Are you gonna sit back and let me talk to the kid instead of killin’ him?”
Kade makes a sour puppy dog face. It’s hilarious as hell. “I thought you already won. Yes. Yes, we’ll talk to the freckly fucker.”
“And?” I prompt. He knows what I need to hear.
“You want me to say it?” More childish pouting.
“Yes. I want you to say it.”
“I won’t kill him. There. Is that better?”
“Yup.”
Kade yanks open the cell door, and like a sarcastic SOB, he sweeps his hand and bows midway, signaling for me to enter first.
“I seriously hate your guts,” Kade whispers menacingly behind my back as I scooter forth.
The corner of my lip hooks a partial smirk.
No, he doesn’t.
“I think I’ll survive.”
“I dunno what Kat sees in you,” another harsh whisper.
“On that, we both agree. Now be a good boy and get your brother the chair from the other room.” Brooking no further argument, I lean against the wall furthest from the cot and thumb to the open doorway. Surprisingly enough, Kade does as he’s told and retrieves the chair. He’s even respectful enough to unfold it and set it down beside me.
“Thanks,” I mutter in appreciation before I take a seat and stretch out. Rubbin’ my eyes to rid them of crud, I keenly observe the kid who’s curled into a ball on the corner of his cot. His waif-like arms are wrapped around his shins. The bottom half of his face is hidden behind knobby knees. He has messy, reddish blond hair, and snow white skin speckled with light brown freckles across the entirety of his body. At least from what I can see. His bony shoulders are as heavily spotted as his forehead. However, the tops of his long, skinny feet lack the brownish dots.
Standing alongside me, Kade parks himself against the wall, arms and ankles both crossed in a faux lax position. If he expects me to believe he’s not jonesing to bleed this kid by restin’ that way, he doesn’t know me at all. The tightness around his fiery blue eyes and the set of his jaw is enough to know he’s doing his best to restrain his internal demons. Kade is and always has been like a shark. One taste of blood and he wants more. A good thing about my brother is that he doesn’t kill frivolously. It’s not random, or accidental. It’s done with a purpose. If you’ve ever watched the show Dexter, you’d consider Kade a watered down version of the famous blood splatter analyst.
Wanting to appear somewhat intimidating, but not overly so, I slouch in the chair lettin’ my legs spread wide, one arm tucked across my chest. “What’s your name, kid?” My tone’s firm, yet friendly.
The kid in question starts to tremble. Any minute now and he’s gonna piss himself. This is worse than I anticipated.
“Name, kid. My brother asked you a fuckin’ question,” Kade barks, effectively screwin’ this up. I wanna hiss at him to shut his trap, but I know that if I do, we won’t come off as a united front. That’s not what I want.
I’m not interested in playing good cop, bad cop.
“You gotta name?” I adjust my voice to a soft almost whisper. “All we want is a name.” Once you get someone talkin’ and to trust you aren’t’ gonna murder them, their tongues loosen. That’s the goal here. As much as I say I don’t feel shit, my hearts poundin’ a hundred miles an hour watchin’ this scared kid about to stroke out at our mere presence. This ain’t the reaction of a true outlaw biker. Most of ‘em laugh in the face of death or tell you where you can shove it. Not this boy. He’s like a scared puppy who’s been beaten into submission and afraid to make a peep. Which tells me he’s either meek or been abused. Possibly both.
A waterfall of tears silently stream down his gaunt face as his swollen eyes stare back at us—weary. The assholes should’ve fed him more. There’s no way he was this skinny when they brought him in. And by the bruise on his bicep, I’m willin’ to bet somebody took it upon themselves to beat on him a little. Bruises don’t stay that dark unless they’re fresh. If I got any say in the matter, whoever’s been pickin’ on him will also pay. Brother or not, you don’t hurt a prisoner without your president’s order to do so. Even Kade follows that rule.
“Kid, come on, give me somethin’ here,” I try again.
“Y-y-you ca-can ki-kill me now. I-I won’t p-p-put up a fight. J-just let me close m-m-my eyes first,” he stutters out, then squeezes his eyes shut as tears continue to leak. A silent sob wracks his lean body as he sucks in a snotty breath through his nose. Christ, I’m dyin’ over here. This is awful to watch.
Side-eyeing Kade, I notice he’s almost as affected by this as me. The fury in his eyes has completely vanished. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say sympathy has taken its place.
Swallowing down the lump growing in my throat, I scrub the back of my bald head and adjust myself on the chair. This kinda meltdown would be handled better by someone like Kat, who has extensive mom experience with this stuff. She’d know what to say and how to calm a cryin’ kid who truly thinks he’s about to die. And what’s worse, is willin’ to go without a fight. The other two dicks we killed were deserving. Even so, they each got a few words in edgewise and they sure as hell fought to stay alive.
“Oh, come on, kid, we’re not gonna kill ya,” Kade finally breaks the emotionally charged silence.
Most people would be relieved and brighten at the news of stayin’ alive. Not this kid. He opens one eye and uses it to scan us like a lie detector. Then the second opens and he scrutinizes every inch of us—cautiously. He’s smart to be guarded, I’ll give him that. Not many people learn that lesson until later in life after they’ve been burned one too many times. Which, once again, makes me wonder how much he’s been forced to deal with at such a young age.
Changing tactics, I come at him from a different angle. “My name’s Ryker, and this here is my brother, Kade.” I jerk my head in said bro’s direction.
“M-my name’s S-Stuart, but everyone c-calls me Mouse.”
Kade snickers. “Mouse? As in Stuart Little?”
The kid blinks rapidly, cheeks pinkin’ up, staring at my brother who’s, in essence, teasing him. “Y-yes.”
“How the hell did ya get that name?” For someone who wanted this boy dead, Kade’s mighty talkative.
The kid supplies a tiny shrug. “I’m s-small, my name is Stuart, and I c-can get in and out of places quick without bein’ seen.”
“You a thief?” Kade asks.
Mouse’s head ducks completely behind his knees before he whispers a faint, “Yes.”
“That’s really fuckin’ cool,” Kade praises without a hint of mockery. What in the hell has gotten into him?
Before my brother can ask the kid twenty questions about his skill set, I interrupt their little… whatever this is. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen.” This comes out clearer than anything he’s said yet. Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.
“Why did you join that piece of shit motorcycle club?” I shoot off next, not givin’ him much time to deliberate.
A half shrug. “I didn’t have much choice.”
“Why’s that?”
“M-my mom left me with m-my eighteen-year-old brother when I was t-twelve. He was a pr-prospect at the t-time. Less than a year after she left, I had to s-start stealin’ food and money to get by. It didn’t take long to realize I was good at it. B-by the time I was fifteen my br-brother had me stealin’ small time stuff for the club on the side.”
That was way more than I expected him to say. As a club, we’d never have some kid workin’ for us. That’s a disaster in the making.
“Did you wanna do it?”
Mouse shakes his head. “No.”
“Then why did you?” I test.
“I dunno.”
“Yeah ya do.”
“W-why do you care?”
“Consider me curious.” Which ain’t a lie.
“Well, there’s not much to tell. Jonny was k-keepin’ a roof over my head, and I got to s-stay in school. I felt like I owed him.”
“And you decided to join the club when you were eighteen for the same reason?”
Another half shrug. “Pr-pretty much.”
“Did your club brothers care that you’re gay?” Kade asks outta fuckin’ nowhere, shocking the shit out of me. I swing my eyes to him, wonderin’ where that came from. I’m… What the… Has he lost his damn mind? Nobody’s talkin’ about gayness.
“I-I’m I’m I’m n-not a fag,” the kid squawks, face beet red, eyes bulging. His hold around his shins tightens as he locks his fingers, knuckles blanching.
Knowing this is plain horseshit, I address Kade with venom tinging my voice. “That was fuckin’ uncalled for.”
Kade shakes his head with two stiff jerks. “No, it ain’t.” He points to Mouse. “He’s queer. If he can’t be honest with us about that, how can we expect him to be honest about anythin’ else? Maybe he’s playin’ us. You ever thought about that?”
“Of course I have,” I snarl, glaring at the dipshit. Where is all of this comin’ from? Nobody said anything about Mouse bein’ a gay kid. He might be pretty, if he put on twenty pounds. But that don’t mean jack. I’ve seen plenty of pretty men bang bitches.
“Then ask him why he can’t admit he’s gay.” Kade’s dead serious. There’s no humor in the blue eyes that battle against mine.
“I ain’t no fag!” Mouse screeches, thick with emotion.
Kade arches a questioning brow at me, head dipped in a way that says, ‘Really? You’re buyin’ that?’ “He is, Ryker. He’s got bottom boy written all over him.”
“I… I… I… I don’t like boys. I… I like girls. Tits. P-pussies. All… all of it.” Mouse ain’t lettin’ this go without a weak fight. It’s the first time I’ve seen him get riled up, albeit with watery eyes and a shaky voice. He doesn’t fight when he thinks we’re gonna kill him. But he’s upset when Kade declares he’s homosexual? None of these puzzle pieces fit in the right slots. The picture ain’t clear. Kade must know somethin’ I don’t. If he’d been forthcoming before we came in here, I wouldn’t have to question who’s right and who’s not. I hate mind fucks.
Before I get a chance to question my brother about his accusation, he’s tappin’ on his cell phone. Then he stows it away and stands smugly against the wall keepin’ his lips sealed.
Who did he message?
Less than a minute later my question’s answered when Pops and Ghost’s voices and heavy footfalls carry down the hall.
“Why are they here?” I whisper hiss.
Kade juts his chin, expression unreadable. “He seems to have a problem. So, we’re gonna clear that problem up.”
What. The. Fuck?
My eyebrows furrow, an impossible headache forming in my frontal lobe.
Is Mouse gay? Or is Kade testin’ to see how he feels about gay men by accusing him of preferring the D? None of this makes a lick of sense, and that’s not the meds talkin’. This is legit confusing.
Pops and Ghost silently enter the room and stand shoulder to shoulder beside Kade, forming an impenetrable wall. Their air of dominance sucks most of the oxygen from the room. Apparently, Pops has an ax to grind. Reading his emotions is easy. The age lines crinkling on his face and the hardness of his wide-legged stance is a distinct tell. Ghost’s not farin’ much better. Except his emotions are marginally harder to decipher. If I hadn’t known him this long, I wouldn’t know what to look for, but the tick in the side of his cheek is all I need to see.
“Are you a fag?” My prez booms.
The kid shrinks further into himself like a frightened turtle. What in the fuck is goin’ on?
When Pops doesn’t get a response in a timely manner, his brusque dominance escalates. “I’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you, boy.”
“You better answer them, Mouse,” I cut in. The last thing I want is Pops orderin’ Kade to finish the job he wanted to finish in the first place.
Face hidden behind his knees, shoulders trembling through quiet sobs, he shakes his head the tiniest bit.
“Do you like dick?” Ghost is next to speak.
Hasn’t Mouse already said no plenty of times?
Is this one of those try to break him into agreeing with you to see if he has guts or not? If he doesn’t relent, you can trust him? Fuck. I don’t get it.
The kid sniffles.
I wanna ask what kind of game we’re playing here, but don’t wanna get chewed out.
“If you ain’t gay, then why in the fuck did we find PrEP in your wallet when we brought you in?” This comes from Kade.
What’s PrEP? I open my mouth to ask, but Pops beats me to it. “It’s a pill people take to keep from contracting HIV durin’ sex. It’s used mostly by gays. Especially those who prefer to bottom.”
Like you, I wanna comment, yet think better of it. I prefer to keep my balls right where they are, between my legs.
The room stills for a good ten seconds before the oddest thing happens. A tear stained Mouse climbs off the cot, shakes his scrawny limbs out like a newborn colt, and approaches us as if he’s walkin’ the damn plank. Louder sobs break from his lips with each shuffle of his pale feet. For some reason I expect my brother to pull out a knife, on high alert, but he doesn’t. All four of us watch in quiet fascination until the kid gets less than a yard from my pops and kneels on the floor at his feet, chin on chest, hands clasped behind his back in a submissive pose.
“I-I’m r-ready,” Mouse stammers.
Ready for what?
I glance at Kade to get a read. He appears about as confused as me.
Is he waitin’ to die? Is that what he means?
“For what?” my brother asks, takin’ the words right outta my mouth.
“T-to die.”
Ummm… Yeah… Do people really kneel to die? ‘Cause I sure as fuck ain’t gonna kneel at nobody’s feet to meet my maker.
Pops and Ghost exchange a look that says a million things and nothing all at the same time. It’s their own special language that irritates some, but I’ve always found it cool. Maybe one day, Kat and I will have a similar language.
Inching forward, Ghost touches the boy’s trembling shoulder. Mouse emits a terrified squeak, going rigid, yet doesn’t pull away. “Your club didn’t tell you much about us, did they?” he tests.
“N-no, sir. They br-brought me along to show me h-how it’s done.”
“How what’s done?” Ghost queries all Zen-like.
What the shit?
Did these motherfuckers just do a 180 with their attitudes and I didn’t notice? They must’ve.
“I d-don’t know. To kill? All I was told was t-to sit back, shut up, and learn.”
“You didn’t have a gun on you when they brought you in,” Kade remarks as Ghost begins to massage the kid’s shoulder.
A string of snot runs out of the boy’s nose, close to touchin’ the floor. He doesn’t move to wipe it away. “I’m a t-terrible shot.”
“You got any family back home?” This comes from Pops, who’s strokin’ his beard, deep in thought.
“I have no home.”
Another look swaps between VP and Prez.
Could this mean good things? ‘Cause I’m starting to hope it might.
“No family?” Kade asks.
The timid shake of Mouse’s bed head says everything. “Only my brother. An-and I know he’s d-dead. They already told me.”
“Were you abused?” I can’t stop the words from leavin’ my mouth. None of this is addin’ together. Not a damn bit. Something ain’t right.
Mouse says nada, which might as well be a bright neon sign flashing yes.
Ghost releases the kid, now that he’s quit shakin’ and stands beside Pops. Gathering up a little courage, Mouse lifts his head. When he does a proud smile, I’ve never seen before steals across Kade’s stoic face. This is the goddamn Twilight Zone.
“This here is my pops and our club prez, Bear,” Kade introduces with a simple flick of his hand. “The other guy is our VP, Ghost. What you might find fascinating is that they’re together.”
The bomb has been dropped.
The kid glances between them and back again still not processing.
To speed this reveal along, Ghost hooks Pops around his thick neck and yanks him down for a disgustingly passionate kiss that has them both moaning in milliseconds. Droppin’ my eyes to my lap to give them a modicum of privacy, not that they give a rats ass, I wait for the sloppy makeout sesh to end. Once they get started, it’s oftentimes hard for them to stop. I’ve seen it way too many times to count. At least they have mild restraint whenever we’re with the club brothers. Sons don’t count.
Kade roughly clears his throat and hisses, “You’re given the kid a boner. Stop.”
His words don’t penetrate their sex crazed bubble.
There’s a distinct clang of belt buckles. Kade curses. I sneak a peek to see if what I think is about to happen is. Sonofabitch. I’m right on the money. We’ve gotta move. Fast! These horny bastards are gonna fuck. Ghost has Pops pinned to the wall with his hand down the front of his jeans, strokin’ somethin’ I’d rather not think about.
A shiver of ick rolls down my spine.
Trust me, you don’t wanna watch your pops get plowed in the back door by his partner. It’s not a pretty sight. Hairy asses aren’t a turn on, even if it wasn’t attached to my father.
Kade and I exchange a knowing look. Then I quickly get to my feet and grab my scooter. We’re in the hall with a naked boy in tow within seconds.
“Do they always gotta do that?” I grumble, trying to scoot as fast as I can so I don’t hear their filthy foreplay banter.
“They’re dudes,” Kade states as if that explains everything. It kinda does.
We pause at the bottom of the staircase that I’m gonna have to tackle. Droppin’ my ass on a step to gather strength, I take a load off. Kade leans against the hall wall in front of me as the kid stands awkwardly between us with his hands clasped over an obvious boner.
“You so like dick, kid,” I chuckle heartily. Today’s been one helluva wild ride. Jealousy, pussy-lickin', shit stain, tortured fat man, and gay boy, what an odd combination. Next, a party. From the sound of the muffled bass vibrations, it’s in full swing.
“I-Is that okay?” Mouse sways back and forth, shoulders curled forward like he’s protecting himself. His eyes are glued to the cracks in the floor, teeth sawin’ away at his bottom lip.
“Did you not see our pops about to fuck back there?” Kade asks incredulously.
A small nod. “I-I did.”
“Then you should know most of our club don’t give a fuck about gay or straight. We care about character. Some of the brothers are pricks about it, but they’ve learned to keep their mouths closed, or they’ll get fucked up. You can’t go through life scared of likin’ dick. Especially if you’re gonna roll with bikers. We’re a bunch of barbaric assholes sometimes, but ownin’ who you are ain’t a crime. So when I asked you if you’re gay… you’d better say, fuck yeah I am, you gotta problem with that? You don’t fuckin’ lie. You don’t back down. You don’t cower like a bitch. You can’t change that you like dick any more than I can change that I like pussy… Guess the question I should be askin’ ya is… Do you wanna lead a different life? One where I can teach ya to stand up for yourself. This is a club, it ain’t no cake walk. We demand respect, loyalty, and hard work. But you ain’t got nobody, and I’m feelin’ mighty charitable today. So the decision’s yours. Go back to your shit life in the cold as fuck north, or build a new one here. I’ll sponsor ya so you can prospect with the club. If that’s what ya want. But you’re gonna have to be the one to grow a damn backbone, and put in the work. Ain’t nobody gonna coddle your skinny ass.”
Just when I think Kade can’t surprise me more, he does. This is huge, even for him. He’s not a typical do-gooder. He doesn’t give chances to people he doesn’t think truly deserve them. I’m kinda in awe of him right now. Kat’s gonna be proud.
Watching the kid’s reaction, I sigh.
He’s cryin’ again. Fat droplets are fallin’ from his eyes, landing in small splashes on the floor. He’s bloodied his bottom lip from bitin’ it too much. “W-why would… are you doing th-this for me?” he hiccups.
Kade’s right about the backbone thing. He needs to toughin’ up. It’s hard enough clashing with club brothers when you’re straight. Bein’ gay adds a whole new layer of watery crap you gotta wade through. Just ask Pops and Ghost; they’ve been livin’ the small-mindedness for years. It ain’t easy to handle. Not when you’re weak. Kade’s got his work cut out for him. Glad it’s not me. I’ve got enough shit to juggle.
Kade extracts a small pocket knife and picks his nails with the tip. “’Cause people deserve second chances. ‘Cause I see a scared kid who’s been dealt a shitty hand, who deserves to stand on his own two feet. And I’ve got a best friend who’d put my dick in a meat grinder if I didn’t.”
This is true. Kat totally would.
Ready to get this day over with so I can get back to my old lady in the mornin’, I wrap my fist around the railing and use it to get to my feet. Shovin’ my scooter at Mouse to carry, I wave Kade over so he can help me hop up this flight of stairs. It’s gonna be a bitch. But the sooner we’re up there, the sooner I can drink, and Kade can get some clothes on this naked kid. I’m sick of seein’ other dudes floppy cocks and pale asses tonight.