Page 52 of Being Lost

Instead Salem had raised his hand. “Seconded.”

I’d looked around, expecting someone to object, to say how ridiculous it was to put me in a position of authority. But no one did. That night I’d sewn a new patch on my cut, half full of pride and half worried to death that I wasn’t up to the job.

Had Snake used me? Yeah, hindsight is a wonderful thing. While I’d been oblivious at the time, I know now that he had. Then, I’d thought we’d come to a good division of labour, playing to both our strengths. He’d abdicated the day to day running of the club and our businesses to me and I was happy to take it on. He became focused on seeking out new opportunities and ventures. What I hadn’t had was an inkling of just what kind of shit he’d been exploring. How deep his desire was to take the club forward in a whole different direction, or should that be back? Drugs and taking out the president of the mother chapter had been his pet projects.

All this was planned under my nose and without my being any the wiser. Sighing deeply, I still don’t understand how he’d managed to keep me in the dark. I was his perfect fall guy, running the club, keeping everything above board, while secret meetings took place and arrangements made. Yeah, some VP I was. Didn’t smell anything rotten at all.

When Snake and Poke had been dealt with, I expected to be sent out bad myself. My crime? Allowing the wool to be pulled over my eyes, being completely oblivious.

I shake my head. I’d been prepared to lose my patch over being so blind and stupid. Christ, it’s strange how things turn out.

The San Diego chapter needed leadership, needed people at the helm to steer them the right way and sail them into less-troubled water. I was determined to do as good a job as I could, or, until they came to their senses and realised they’d made a mistake.

What started that train of thought? Oh, yeah. Dart. Nah. I couldn’t think of a better right-hand man. We make a good team. He’s someone I depend on. I would never keep secrets from him, nor him from me.

We trust each other.

I’d never truly trusted Snake, but I owed him for saving my life, even though I’d always known it hadn’t mattered a damn to him. If I’d proceeded to walk to my death that day, he’d have just watched on with curiosity.

Instead, he’d given me my club.

So, I’ll do my best as prez to pay not him, but the Satan’s Devils back.

Chapter Seventeen

Patsy

When we’d returned to the compound yesterday, I’d clumsily got off Lost’s bike. I certainly didn’t feel I could take the liberty of steadying myself on his shoulder, and he didn’t offer his hand to help. Almost before I’d straightened, still sitting astride, he’d walked back his bike into its parking slot, then strode past without giving me another look.

Bemused, I just stood staring after him for a moment.

Well, damn the man. If he thinks Phil was redeemable, he’s completely wrong. Guess it’s best I found out who Lost actually was before I had done something stupid and jumped into his bed. One thing’s for certain, he’s lost his chance. If he comes sniffing around me again, I’ll tell him to get lost.

Uncertain of my position now I’ve apparently angered the prez, I’d taken the same direction as he had and entered the clubhouse. Lost had been by the bar demanding a bottle of whisky. Again, he ignored me as he walked smartly to the stairs and disappeared up them.

My head was spinning having seen two sides to the man. I’d gone out with a man I called a friend but returned home with a stranger. The change had been so swift, I was unable to predict what was going to happen now. I was half expecting, half waiting for him to return and ask me to leave. I had a speech prepared, begging him to give sanctuary to Dan. Earlier, Lost had almost persuaded me with him fighting by my side there was a chance I could regain my family. Clearly, there’s no chance of that now.

But though I waited, Lost hadn’t come back down. Neither did anyone else appear to give me my marching instructions.

A reprieve? As the hours passed, I gathered it must be. For tonight, anyway.

A woman had appeared by my side, introducing herself as Eva. I was surprised when she unashamedly admitted she was a sweet butt. In the Pueblo club, the club girls had kept themselves to themselves, or to the men. But Eva had approached me in a friendly,do you want companyway.

She was easy to talk to. I recalled Alex had mentioned her before, and that she was a nurse. It didn’t take long for her to start telling me about her nine-year-old son. She and her ex share custody, and it appears, quite amicably. Whenever she hasn’t got her son with her, she lives at the club. She’s quite open about having sex with the bikers. It’s clearly something she enjoys and feels no shame making herself available to them. The contrast between me, who’s only ever been with one man in my life, and her with her vast experience couldn’t be starker.

Despite my concerns about Lost and his strange reaction earlier, and Eva’s and my diverse outlook on the opposite sex, talking to her made me feel more at home. As I started to relax, I found myself giggling as she pointed out the men, then leaned in to give me some inside knowledge on what they do best. It made me look at them in a different light for certain. It was when she was conveying some secrets about Kink, airily waving her hand at him, that the man himself caught my eye. He shook his head in amusement and gave me a wink. I glowed red, realising he was all too well aware of the sort of details Eva must have been sharing.

I tried to rid myself of the image came into my head of Lost tying me up with rope.That boat has sailed now, whether or not that was ever in the cards.

Unlike in Colorado where the club girls, or sweet butts as the men call them, tend to make themselves scarce, here Tits, Cindy and Pearl walk around like they own the place. Last night I’d seen them strutting half naked as though advertising their wares. Nothing was hidden, and I couldn’t see how I’d ever thought I could compare. Why would Lost go for a middle-aged frump when he could have the choice of these girls?

I’d had a front-row seat where it was difficult to avoid seeing one of the men getting a blow job out in the open. Pizza had just been delivered, and I’d found it quite distracting trying to eat while he was giving a running commentary on how he was about to come and instructing her to swallow every fucking drop.

Eva had explained to me it was different when Alex was there—everyone was inclined to be more discreet when the only old lady was present, especially when she had their children with her. It had apparently not taken long for the VP to get them to behave. She’d giggled, remembering. Eva referred to Alex’s son Tyler as the junior prospect which I thought was delightful, and my questioning about his title led her to tell me the young boy’s story, and his fight with sickle cell disease. She’d confided his original cut, given to him when he’d been six, had long been consigned to the back of the wardrobe as it had to be replaced once a year at least. Tyler is now a normal healthy growing boy, and like kids his age, is shooting up fast. I ended up looking forward to meeting him and seeing him in his famous cut. Then my face had fallen as I realised, I probably wouldn’t get a chance.

Dan had returned with Salem who he’d been helping out while I’d been absent today. He seemed to be getting on like a house on fire with many of the men, even seemed to be making friends. He’d spent a bit of time around Ink and his brothers in the Colorado chapter, so knew what to expect. Although bikers were not regarded as particularly upright citizens, I knew enough about Beth’s man’s club to know they were about family and respect, and in comparison with the man who sired him, were far better men. I’ve seen nothing to suggest the San Diego club was any different. If I end up leaving Dan here, I won’t have any worries in that respect.

When Eva left me, I wondered whether I should just go upstairs, but Dan beckoned me over, and by his side, I met a few more of the men. The hardest part was remembering all their names. Pennywise and Salem handles were easy. Apparently when they’d prospected, the prez at the time had had a thing about Stephen King. Scribe was so named as he had for years been supposedly writing a book, but no one had seen anything of it. He was their secretary as he could at least spell.

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