Page 24 of Gluttony

Cursing, Red sneered at the comments beneath the pictures he’d posted two days ago. The pictures were meant to be a statement, one that no one—especially his Daisy—could ignore. He couldn’t get through to her through any normal means, so he took to social media, knowing she’d see—his woman was curious as hell and wouldn’t completely stop scrolling through his feeds. At least he hoped she wouldn’t. He’d wanted her to know he thought she was beautiful, that he loved her, that she owned him, that her belief that she was ugly and unworthy of his attention was utter bullshit—to him, there was no one more gorgeous, more sensual, more worthy of his attention, hisaffection, his devotion, and he wanted her to know that. But what had begun as a way to show the woman he loved that she owned him, that he belonged to her only, that his dick was now hers and hers alone had become a murky fucking swamp of internet trolls spewing ugliness and hatred from behind their keyboards like the gutless fucks they were.

Yes, he, better than anyone, knew the depths of evil to which the internet could delve, but to see such grotesqueness aimed at an innocent woman, one who obviously meant something to him—he’d inked her name on his fucking body, for fuck’s sake—was a whole new level of bullshit.

He was tempted to post another video, this one of him calling out all the basement dwellers who’d dared to talk shit about the woman he’d inked under his skin, like a permanent part of her literally woven into his very fabric.

“What’s got your face so fucking twisted, brother?” Patriot asked as he sauntered into the office where Red worked in the clubhouse.

Grunting, Red clicked on the tab for the program he was using to perform a dark web search for information Frost had requested that morning. The club prez was on the edge; his wife was barely speaking to him, his kids were ignoring him, and the patch over with the Bone Dogz was turning to shit day by day—and the rest of the club was feeling the pressure to step up. And right now wasn’t a good time for Red to split his loyalties between the club and Val.

Though you know which one you’d choose.

Yes, he did, which was why he’d been scrolling through Insta notifications instead of focusing on finding the fucker Frost was itching to bury.

“Don’t worry about it,” Red grumbled. “If you’ve come to ask about Michaels you’ll have to wait. Ain’t found anything new yet.”

Patriot pursed his lips, his too knowing gaze drifting over Red’s features.

“You know, one day you’ll have to speak to someone who isn’t an online avatar.” Red snorted, crossing his arms, which only made Patriot, the fucker, smirk. “You’ve got real people—your brothers—willing to help you unload whatever the fuck it is that has you so torqued you’re shooting laser beams from your eyes right now.”

Red snorted again before giving into the compulsion to pick up his cell and check the screen. He cursed. There were texts and missed calls, but they weren’t from his Daisy; they were from an unknown caller, the same one who’d been calling and texting ten to fifteen times a day over the last week. He was this close to doing a search for the person so he could ride the Wild Hunt over them and ruin their lives for fucking up his day, but he found he just didn’t have the energy to deal with something that had nothing to do with finding his woman or helping the club.

“I’m just dealing with shit, Patriot, nothing to concern you,” Red replied, dropping his phone back on his desk. “I should have something on Michaels by end of day.”

Patriot nodded but didn’t leave, his gaze flicking over the monitors, then over Red, his expression unreadable. The fuck was former Special Forces who could probably hand anyone in the club their ass, even him, so he knew to never push particular buttons. However, in that moment, he was feeling verrry…pushy.

“What’re you doin’ here so early? Cilla kick you outta bed?” Red drawled, his lips curling at Patriot’s narrowing gaze.

“Fuck you, dipshit,” Patriot snapped. “I’m not letting you get me riled up so you can distract yourself from whatever the fuck is going on in that meathead of yours.”

It was Red’s turn to narrow his eyes. “Meathead? Fuck you, Captain America’s Ugly Brother. I don’t need a distraction; Ineed to get back to work.” Lies. He needed a distraction like he needed his next shot of Monster Energy, both of which were fueling his day job tasks.

As if the universe were throwing him a bone, an incoming call pinged his cell and he practically threw his shoulder out of joint reaching for it. Patriot snorted a laugh at Red’s reaction, but Red didn’t give a fuck—as long as it was his Daisy finally reaching out to him.

Unknown Caller

“Fuck,” he growled, making Patriot shift closer to him.

“What? Not who you wanted it to be?” Patriot asked, his tone curious rather than condescending.

Before he could think about it, Red was shaking his head. “Nah.” He heaved a sigh, turned back to the monitors, and tried to focus on the task at hand—find any trace of his woman, and any information on a local drug dealer, Myles Michaels, who was selling his pain pills through the failing nursing homes in the area. The asshole was using the revolving door of CNAs to peddle his shit to the elderly who were being cheated on their prescriptions by a scammy owner who was pocketing the money he took from their Social Security every month. The problem with the cheaper pills was that they were made with cheaper drugs, and sometimes they weren’t medicine at all, but rather baby powder or cornstarch pressed into molds, and then put in pill bottles.

Headed toward the door, Patriot stopped just inside and turned. “I can tell this is something you have to do for yourself, but remember you have brothers willing to help you out.” With that, he departed, leaving silence in his wake.

Fuck, silence was annoying as fuck when what he wanted to be doing was hearing Valentina’s voice. It had been toolong since he’d spoken with her that he was having auditory withdrawal.

And jacking his cock to the memories of their conversations only went so far, though that didn’t stop him from coming in the shower twice that morning and more than likely a couple of times that night.

Groaning at himself for the foray into beta male territory, he pinned his focus to the screen in front of him, scouring his brain for ideas on how to find his elusive prey. He was so engrossed in his task, he growled at the motherfucking motherfucker who knocked on the doorjamb.

“What?” he barked without bothering to turn and see who it was.

A soft, uncertain voice squeaked, “Um…Redtube?”

Startled, Red turned to peer at the woman standing just outside the door to his office.

Shit.

Sighing, he rubbed his hand down his face, ignoring the roughness of the scruff he’d already been ignoring the last three days, and offered an apologetic smile.

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