Melancholy
2014 – Maddox
“It’s fuckin’ Howard, I know it,” I bark, pacing up and down the side of my bike.
“Don’t fuckin’ matter who it is,” Krypt snarls. “Someone else is lookin’ for that girl.”
“Why, though?” I bellow, clenching and unclenching my fists.
“Because there is no better way to fuckin’ bring you down than to destroy her . . . People have figured out she’s important to you, wouldn’t be hard to dig up shit about her past and find what they needed. It would destroy you if something happened to Santana, and therefore the club would suffer and become weak . . .”
“Fuck,” I snarl. “Fuck, fuck.”
“You gotta tell her, Maddox. This shit needs to end before her or her sister, or fuckin’ worse . . . both . . . are killed.”
“I know, and I will.”
“Fuck.” He runs his hands through his hair with a growl. “How much is it gonna take for you to see shit is bad?”
“I fuckin’ know,” I roar.
“No,” he barks, taking a step closer. “You fuckin’ don’t. You’re a selfish bastard who is thinkin’ about his cock, and not his girl.”
I swing my fist, and crack him hard in the jaw. My temper has finally weakened its restraints. He goes back a few steps before gathering himself and lunging forward. His fist hits my jaw, hard and fast. It makes a horrible fucking crunching sound as my head swings to the side. Fucker can punch.
“Enough!” Tyke yells.
Krypt and I circle each other, blinded by rage.
“You need to stop bein’ a fuckin’ selfish, motherfucker!” he spits, baring his bloody teeth.
“And you need to keep your fuckin’ nose outta my business.”
“It’s fuckin’ club business now, people’s lives are at fuckin’ risk, and you need to fuckin’ sort it.”
“What do you fuckin’ think this is?” I roar, lunging at him again.
We go down in a heap in the dust, fists flying. Tyke tries to pull us apart and ends up on his ass in the dirt, the only thing that stops us. Krypt snarls, shoving me back harshly, and helps him up. His face is covered in dirt mixed with blood, and I’ve no doubt mine is the same.
“I’ll fuckin’ do it, understand?” I growl.
He doesn’t answer me. He helps Tyke on the bike, and shoots me a truly feral glare before climbing on his. I do the same. Fuck this. Fuck it all. I’m going to lose her before I’ve even had the chance to have her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
2014 - Santana
We’re well on our way to being drunk when Maddox, Krypt and Tyke return. Mack hasn’t once emerged from his fuck-fest in the bedroom and we’re in the kitchen, giggling and laughing like children. We hear the bikes, and Ash squeals happily that her man is finally back. It’s just hit evening, and they’ve been gone all day.
Krypt comes in first, and we all stop what we’re doing.
He’s beaten up. Seriously. I blink a few times, shaking my head. His lip is split, his eye is puffy, and he’s covered in dirt. Ash rushes over, her face a mask of concern as she stops, putting her hands on his chest. “What happened?”
Krypt stares over at me for a second, before muttering, “Got into it with Maddox.”
Tyke comes in then, and aside from being dirty, he’s not hurt.
“Where is he?” I ask, watching the door, waiting for him to come in, but he doesn’t.
“Sulking in the garage.”
I shoot him a glare before putting my wine down and walking out into the garage. Maddox is on his bike, staring down at the gas tank. His big body is covered in dirt, and he’s got dried blood on what I can see of his face. He looks up when he hears me enter, and our eyes hold and meet.
“You okay?” I ask.
He shrugs. He’s not okay. Whatever happened between the two of them has upset him. I make my way over to him, stopping when my thighs hit his bike tank. I reach out, running my fingers down his dirty cheek.
“You two got into it good, eh?” I ask.
He shrugs again.
Music above begins to play, and I realize it’s the sound of Mack singing. He has somewhat of a talent with the guitar, and he writes his own music. His voice flows down into the garage.
There is nothing more defining than the moment your lips find mine . . .
I swallow and take the hem of my shirt, lifting it up and over my head. Maddox looks up. “You wanna shower with me, big guy?”
God there’s something in his eyes . . . something so truly broken. What did they do today? What hurt him? Who upset him so badly? My heart aches to see him like this. I reach over, running my fingers down his scruffy cheek. He leans into my hand, almost affectionately, tilting his head and rubbing his cheek against it.
He stands up, not asking me to take anymore clothes off, and not taking his own off, either. He reaches out, taking my hand, and pulls me against him. Then we’re dancing to the soft sound of Mack’s voice above, our bodies moving together, our eyes locked. His hand slides down my back and rests against my hip, using it to drive our swaying.
This moment, oh this moment, babe, it changes time.
I slide my hand up his arm, over his muscled bicep and up onto his shoulder. I squeeze, loving how the muscles feel flexing and pulling. He presses his forehead to mine, his expression saying so much more than his words ever could. I can feel what he’s trying to put across, and I hope he can feel how much I’m giving it back.