Page 92 of Savage Outlaw

This isn’t who he is.

He couldn’t even remember why it happened. One trickle at a time until it engulfed him.

Reality came to all broken men.

To all fucked up men eventually. And he had to ask himself, if this wasn’t him, then why the fuck was he sitting on a bench outside the church before the crack of dawn, with no memory of how he got there?

He bent forward over his knees. Ignoring the tremors in his hands and the sickening rush of dizziness through his skull.

It was a normal day, but he felt anything but normal.

He needed a drink.

Heneededa drink.

His tongue was bone dry stuck to the roof of his mouth, aching for that first calming taste. The one that would smooth him out and stop the tremors from racking through his skeleton.

But for once he didn’t go looking.

Why was he outside of the church? Maybe he’d turned to Jesus.

He could no longer lie to himself and explain this shit away withit’s just one of those things.

What man in his thirties hadone of those thingsevery night of the week and was still able to call himself normal?

Arson was a fuck up.

A weak excuse of a man.

He didn’t even know how he was holding down his role and job at the club. They’d been too lenient on him for months. Rider was already pissed off with him, and after the church meeting two days ago, he wasn’t sure any of them wanted to see him again.

Angry and defensive that they got in his business, he’d avoided them since. Arson, that same night, swaying a little on his feet, found himself outside of Tag’s hospital room. Only hesitating to go inside when he noticed the brown haired Russian chick sitting by his bed reading aloud from a magazine while Tag and his bandaged eyes, had his head turned her way, listening to the soft accented voice.

He wanted nothing more than to ease his guilt, tell his buddy he was so fucking sorry he wasn’t there for him. Instead, like the prick he was, he took off, toting his guilt with him.

They could call him a shitty friend and be right.

How had he become this man?

He pushed his two shaking hands through his shoulder length hair and sighed.

He used to be responsible. And he gave a fuck about everything and everybody. He used to be a hard worker; he loved the club. Or used to. Now he wasn’t so sure why he was there or why they still wanted him around.

Then a demon climbed on his back and he hadn’t known normal since.

He felt the whisper through his skull.

Just one more, man.

One isn’t gonna hurt any is it?

It felt as though he had this thing living inside him, and he was no longer in control of his own willpower.

The allure was a fucking pull to every muscle in his body. He was about to jump up and go do what he always did and that was fuck up some more but the sound of pounding feet from behind him caused Arson to pause.

He saw an approaching figure dressed in black with a hoodie over his head jogging down the pathway.

The face was recognizable when he got closer. He watched as Pastor Danny Murphy spotted Arson with a surprised look that morphed into sympathy.

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