Chapter 11
Cards on the Table
The storage closet was just as Rune had left it, his bed waiting for him and all of the things he hadn’t brought to Oliver’s were still boxed up gathering dust. He lingered in there for a few minutes, missing the solitude he’d run from.
He’d been taking a lot of walks around the city, just to get some air between sessions with Oliver or the tutor. The day before, he’d seen a light blue truck stopped at an intersection that looked suspiciously like the one that had hit him, but he wasn’t able to get a view of the back to check the plates or the stickers. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since.
For some reason, in light of possibly seeing the truck again, and those dicks that had gone after him, it felt good to be in his old space. It helped him remember who he was. What he’d been through. Regressing into the waiting isolation that room provided, he let it engulf him.
Shaking off the momentary cowardice, he wandered back into the club’s main room. The crew was mostly still asleep, but a few rogues who probably hadn’t even gone to bed yet lingered at the bar and the table closest to the only window that looked out over the front parking lot. A few waved or nodded to him as he passed, but they knew better than to try to engage him in conversation.
The Bluetooth speaker rested on the counter behind the bar, probably still broadcasting an online stream of the local police scanner. It was one way they watched out for trouble, and not just for their own sakes, though Rune hadn’t been the only member engaged in illegal activities. Sometimes they listened for signs of activity from rival crews, or just random assholes stirring up shit where they shouldn’t.
Since his accident, Rune had become especially fixated on the broadcasts. For a while, he’d asked that they write down the codes for any serious activity when they could, so he could review it. Then, luckily, he found out the local police station’s scanner information was also broadcast on a Twitter feed.
He pulled his phone out, went to his Twitter app, and searched for the feed so he could review the latest posts.
A touch to his shoulder startled him, but it was only Max.
Rune pulled up his text-to-voice app and typed: Anything strange since I left?
Max scratched his beard, then shook his head. Why?
With a sigh, Rune debated whether to tell Max more. Now he was the only one who knew about Rune’s orientation, but he’d taken the news without any issue. He was the closest friend Rune had. Maybe he could act as an ally too.
With a glance around for eavesdroppers, Rune steeled himself.
It wasn’t an accident, he explained, pointing to his ear, then some of the scars on the back of his arm.
“What?!” Max bellowed. Rune didn’t hear any of it, but knew it had been loud, just from the way others stopped and looked at them. Cringing inwardly, he tried to seem unfazed as Mark and Jason got up off their stools and came over to see what the fuss was about.
Foregoing the app, Rune set the phone down and signed, I don’t want them to know about this. It’s my problem. I can take care of it. He didn’t know if Max got all of that though, and seemed driven by his own shock more than anything.
Max gave him a doubtful look. He pointed at Rune’s phone, mimed pressing buttons and Rune got the hint. He opened the voice-to-text app and held it out to record what Max explained to Mark and Jason. Rune read as they all talked, discussing the accident and what Rune had learned. Readying himself for anything, Rune waited for them to catch up to what he and Max already knew.
The conversation got more heated. They all looked pissed. They were jabbing fingers at the lot, at him. He mentally matched the gestures with the words he read, understanding Mark and Jason’s frustrations and fury.
Jason pulled out his phone, facing Rune more directly. He typed one word and held it out:
Who?
Rune knew it was up to him to say anything or not. They’d never leave him alone now, though. He didn’t know if they’d kick him out for being queer, or just treat him differently, but it wasn’t like they didn’t already. Still, it wasn’t their battle to fight.
Jason knocked Rune’s shoulder, his scowl deepening with impatience.
Resigned, Rune typed his answer, telling them:
I only got a partial plate, but I know who they are.
The three had gathered around. Seamus, Goat, and Doc wandered over as well.
They waved him on, wanting him to spill the rest, but he hesitated. The next thing he told them would be like throwing a lit match into a pile of explosives.
He typed:
This isn’t your problem. It’s not a crew problem. They didn’t go after me because I’m a member.
Jason replied:
Fuck that. Now it’s a crew problem. You almost died! Tell us who they are!
Mark asked with his own phone:
Was it a business issue? Deal turned sour? Someone after your product?
Rune shook his head.
Then what?
There were six of them making a human wall around him out of leather-clad, angry bikers. The fact that they were communicating via typed words on their phones like kids in class passing notes rather than screaming at each other didn’t lessen the potential danger of the situation for Rune. Most of them were armed with both knives and guns. He didn’t know any of the crew to be outright homophobes, but sometimes people didn’t wear that right out on their sleeves like his attackers.
He needed to lie. Make something up.
But they were all looking at him like they could see right through his reluctance to share. He could blame it on being a Jew, but something in that turned his stomach. Maybe it was better to just lay it all out and cut ties if need be. He had Oliver now. It was a safety net if Rune took another fall.
Of course, that was if they let him out of there in one piece.
He felt cold, nauseous, and like he needed to sit. His head started to pound and his scars itched like they were still healing.
Someone handed him a beer. Someone else set a chair down next to him. Others had joined the group, too many to count. So many eyes stared at him. Farther back in the room, conversations filled the air, out of his reach as the news was passed along.
He drank the beer and sat down, rubbing a hand back over his head.
He thought of texting Oliver quickly before telling them anything else, maybe just to say thanks or apologize. All of that work to learn to sign for nothing.
Letting the phone’s app read aloud what he typed, he began to tap away at the keyboard.
They’re a white supremacist group called The White Lions. Local. Their jackets read Pride and Power. They set me up. Followed me to a spot out on Route 13 where I was meeting a guy who never showed. Then they hit me with their truck as I was leaving. They went after me because I’m gay.
He couldn’t look up. His hands were trembling enough to make it hard to keep hold of the phone. He shut his eyes, chugged his beer, set it down then added:
I don’t want any trouble here. I’ll go. I’m gonna clean up my own mess.
Keeping his eyes shut, he waited for it. Maybe they’d drag him off the chair, or hit him across the head with something. He tensed up, breathing hard, holding his phone hard enough the edges dug into his palm.
Someone gripped his wrist.
After a long moment, Rune opened his eyes.
Max was crouched in front of him, looking as steady and unruffled as ever. Sure, he’d seen Rune at Manse, knew he was living with Oliver, but they’d never discussed whether he was gay. Could he save Rune from the other crew if things got ugly? Would he?
Searching his face, Rune didn’t trust his peripheral vision showing the crew arrayed around them, unmoving. Max tightened his grip, as if to lend Rune some of his steadiness.
One of the guys passed Max his phone, who gave it a glance before holding it out for Rune.
It said:
What do you need us to do?
He passed them his mug for a refill, scanning the room for signs of threat, but they weren’t riled or looked like they wanted to fight. Were they really okay with it? He couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it.
Max held the phone right in front of Rune’s face, demanding an answer.
So Rune gave it to them.
I need names. I need to know where to find them. I need to make sure they’re not going after other people.
Revenge? Jason asked, a glimmer in his dark eyes, craving permission to attack.
Rune didn’t say yes or no, but he gave Jason a level stare and the men around him pumped their fists, jostling each other, talking more rapidly. A few of them came and clapped him on the back.
Mark asked:
What’s the partial?
Rune typed it out, had the phone read it aloud.
We’ll find them, Max signed. We’ll stop them.
Not without me, Rune replied.
A weird shift took place that day. For so long, the clubhouse had been the biggest tangible thing making Rune feel isolated. He hadn’t been able to confide in the guys. Hadn’t fit in anymore. Hadn’t been able to contribute or participate. They hadn’t known who he really was, or what was really the matter. Sure, they knew about his injuries, but the rest had been held deliberately back.
Now word was out that he was gay, and they knew what his true motive was. A lot changed for him, right away.
He didn’t feel like he had to hide away in his makeshift room. The guys were talking with him via cell or with Max’s help in translating. They were interested in learning more, asking questions, sharing things they thought might help him track down the cowards who had done this to him.
The guys were motivated, engaged, and riled up. It was something to rally around. It was a noble cause.
Rune’s inability to connect with his friends had been the final straw that had sent him to David, in search of someone like Oliver.
He had found Oliver.
They were official. The papers were signed.
Rune didn’t give a shit about the papers though. What weighed on him were all of Oliver’s efforts to connect, as well as what had happened the night before.
Truthfully, he’d gone into it looking to get laid. To prove he still could get laid, and his deafness wasn’t a permanent cock block.
But whatever was going on between him and Oliver had little to do with fucking. If all Oliver wanted from him was regular access to his ass or mouth, they didn’t really need to talk much for that. Oliver could have learned the basics of sign language in one day.
No, Oliver didn’t just want Rune’s body. He wanted him. His mind, his emotions, his total submission and absolute vulnerability. Physical exertion—pain, pleasure, everything in between—was no big deal for Rune. It was the rest of it that sucked.
He’d never had anyone try so hard to get inside his head. To make him so weak, then suspend him in that state until he truly knew his powerlessness. But he sensed no malice in it. He kind of wished he did. It would have made it easier.
So, things with Oliver were complicated. Not only was there all of Oliver to consider, there was Jackson, too. A fucking actual doctor, who seemed just as kinky and sexually aggressive as Oliver. The perfect pair.
It was beyond tempting, but it was also a lot to deal with. Rune hadn’t signed up for all of that. He’d gotten sex. He’d gotten a fancier place to crash than a dusty closet. But he’d gotten a lot more than that too—a guy who actually cared about where he was and why; who probably missed him, and expected his return; who no doubt was plotting things to do or say when Rune returned. Maybe there would be expectations of promises made. Maybe Oliver and Jackson would just want to make Rune as weak as they possibly could again, listening to him break in his endless silence, taking him apart piece by piece to better claim him as their own.
So, Rune hung out at the club all day.
Oliver texted a couple of times, asking when to expect him back.
Rune didn’t know what to say. He told Oliver he’d let him know soon.
It wasn’t that Rune regretted contacting David, he just hadn’t known what he was getting himself into.
Trying to resolve the accident and prevent those bigoted douchebags from hurting others was forefront in his mind, bigger than any personal concerns—Oliver included. But he also didn’t want to let Oliver down entirely, not only because the guy scared him a little. Rune just didn’t know how to handle all of that at the same time.
Jason held up his phone for Rune to read.
Borrow my spare bike. It’s in the side lot, next to the oak.
Rune raised an eyebrow at him, then typed his reply.
You sure?
Jason nodded.
Rune glanced over at Max. He was far enough away, so deep in conversation with Mark and Goat that he hadn’t noticed the exchange. Good.
Max didn’t want him riding. Neither would Oliver.
Rune didn’t give a fuck.
Thanks, man. I owe you. I’ll take good care of it.
Jason’s hand clapped into his and they shook. Jason slipped him the keys, which Rune pocketed quickly.
A few hours later, some information surfaced.
Mark got the location of The White Lions’ clubhouse.
No one goes over there until we’ve got a solid plan, Mark said and typed.
Rune held up his hand, thumb and index finger making a circle, the other fingers extended.
Max gave him a doubtful squinty-eyed, suspicious look, so Rune smiled over at him, trying his best to look blameless.
A Yankees game came on shortly after. Everyone gathered around. Food was ordered. Beers were lined up.
Rune went to hit the john, then slipped out the back door. He texted Max:
Got a ride back to Oliver. Talk soon.
He jumped on the bike and headed straight for The White Lions’ clubhouse.