Page 20 of Being Lost

Lost

It’s late when I return to the clubhouse. Parking the car, I get out and stretch, rolling my neck to unkink my muscles. I hate driving a cage, even for short distances, feeling trapped without the wind on my face. Living where I do, cars are not such a necessity, we can ride all year, with only rain to deter us. Even then, most of us are hardy enough to ignore what the elements throw at us, preferring to get wet than be caged in.

There are still a few brothers around, I find as I enter, walking in on a common enough scene that I don’t raise even an eyebrow. Scribe and Snips have Cindy sandwiched between them; the sweet butt’s legs are around Scribe’s waist and from the way his pants hang loosely around his hips, his cock is probably deep in her snatch. Snips is bucking his hips against her rear, strongly suggesting his cock is in her ass. Cindy, with her head thrown back in abandon, is clearly one hundred percent engaged and enjoying herself if her cries of encouragement andharderare any indication.

In one of the corners, I notice Bones and Blaze are half having a conversation, and half watching the live porn being played out in front of them, while Salem and Pennywise are playing pool.

A bout of coughing informs me Smoker’s in the room, his position apparent by the smoke swirling up from the end of the room. Rolling my eyes, I ask Wrangler, who’s bartending, for a beer, then walk across to the culprit.

“One,” I tell him when I get close, “smoking is going to kill you. And two, you know what was agreed—you fuckin’ go outside to smoke.”

“Jeez, Prez.” He places his hand over his heart. “Warn a brother, will ya? Didn’t hear you approach. And Tyler’s fine nowadays, and he’s not even here.”

“Okay,” I say deceptively reasonably. “When Dart’s old lady brings the baby in and gets a whiff of that smoke, I’ll point the finger at you. That will be alright, won’t it? As it doesn’t matter.”

It’s a big fucking matter to my VP as everyone knows, and everyone but Smoker goes outside to get their nicotine fix, or to smoke weed. But being an addict himself, Smoker has often said he’s unaware of any problem. He long ago lost his sense of smell and has no idea how that odour hangs around.

He growls, then stubs his cigarette out. “Fuckin’ kids. Alex should leave them at home.” He stands, picks up the box of the offending items, pockets them and his lighter, then walks off.

“You upsetting the man again?” Salem’s obviously finished his game and is now coming toward me with a smirk on his face.

“You’re the fuckin’ enforcer,” I tell him. “Isn’t it up to you to enforce the rules?”

His lips press together. “You notice how bad his cough is getting?”

Yeah. That’s part of the reason I’m coming down so hard on him. If banning smoking indoors gets him reconsidering even one less cigarette, that’s got to be better for him. “Kind of hard to ignore. You think it’s something serious? Has he seen a doc?”

“Fuck knows. But we all know he smokes too much. How he got his handle back in the day, and that must have been what, thirty years ago, probably plus?”

My eyes follow the path Smoker had taken to the door. The man’s fifty-five, only a handful of years older than me, but seriously, he looks like he’s lived through at least a decade more.

Salem’s looking in the same direction, then his eyes meet mine. “Have you seen him going up the stairs? Noticed the way he pauses halfway up to get his breath?”

Gritting my teeth, I nod. I have. The man should look after his health, but Smoker seems to be ignoring it. “Find out whether he’s been looked at,” I instruct the enforcer. “If not, we’ll have to fuckin’ make him see a doctor.”

Jeez, when I became the prez, I didn’t realise the health and wellbeing of the brothers in my supposedly grown-ass adult MC family were also my responsibility. Snips, now he’s got problems with his teeth, but will he go to the dentist? Hell no. We have to slip him something and carry him there. A year back, Blaze had busted his ankle and argued until he was blue in the face that he could still ride until I laid down the law and made him step back. Well, actually I’d gotten Salem to hide the keys to his bike. Brakes had taken over as road captain on a trip to Los Angeles while Blaze, cursing up a storm, stayed behind.

Only last week, Tyler had come running to me for a Band-Aid to cover a scratch on his knee when his mom and Dart were otherwise engaged. Taking a nap in the kid’s language, fucking in mine.

Salem gives me a quick grin and slaps my back; it seems he can read my mind. “Being prez ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, is it?” Then after that remark, he laughs, and jerking his chin toward Pennywise, returns to the pool table for another game.

I sit for a moment, drinking my beer, idly watching as Scribe and Snips pull out of Cindy. She staggers a little, then rights herself. A little bow-legged in my opinion, she walks off in the direction of the club girl’s rooms. Both men pull off condoms, knot them, and throw them in the closest garbage can. There they’ll lie forgotten until the prospects tidy up in the morning.

“Can I do anything for you, Prez?” Tits has appeared standing in front of me, thrusting out those breasts which, as she often says, cost her a fucking fortune, so she’s going to show them off at every opportunity. I prefer a more natural feel myself, but hey, I’m probably old-fashioned.

When I turn her down, she quickly moves off. To be honest, the thought that all my brothers, with only a few exceptions, have sampled the club girls and on multiple occasions means I avoid going there. When I last did, I think I was inebriated.

“Toke!” I beckon to the man when he appears. “Might have some names for you to dig into.”

“Sure, Prez.” He nods, gestures to my near empty glass, then toward the bar. When I shake my head, he goes off. As Curtis hands him a beer, Snips engages him in conversation. I’ve missed my chance to update him. But tomorrow will be soon enough.

I finish my drink, stand, flutter my hand up and down in a general good night to anyone still around, then make my way up to my own bedroom.

I’m happy to live at the club. I’ve got few needs, and the prez’s room is more than sufficient to meet them. Back in Bird’s day, the president before Snake took the top spot, two rooms had been knocked through to make one big one. I’ve an area to sit and relax with a television, and speakers through which I can play music when I want. There’s an area which is set up like a small home office, and, of course, a large king-sized bed. Not that that’s seen more action than me tossing and turning while I’m uneasily sleeping. Too often it seems, I’m haunted by dreams and end up with the sheet twisted around me.

I go to my own attached bathroom, slipping out of my t-shirt and pants as I do. By the time I’m naked and getting into the shower, there’s a trail of clothing reaching back to my door. I’ll pick it all up. Sometime.

I stand, my face turned into the water spraying down from the shower head, my thoughts returning to earlier this evening. I’m glad I hadn’t spoken about my visit to Token, preferring to digest it all myself first and consider what impact if any my rash suggestion of helping them might have on the club. I have to entertain the notion that my dick might have had too much of a say in it.

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