Page 72 of Prince Charming

“Fuck. Eh. Can’t remember.”

Shit. Tag put a call through to Slider and got the tired guy out of bed. “Yeah, Boss?”

“Need a pickup asap.” He gave the location.

“Got it, Boss. Let me throw some clothes on and kick this chick out of my bed, won’t be long.”

The silence was deafening.

Until now, Tag tap danced around this shit, not wanting to embarrass his buddy. But there came a time—and that time was fucking now, that something had to be said and it had to be said without being coated in sugar.

“Brother, you have to stop doing this before you fucking drown, you get me? You’re in way over your head and I don’t want to have to bury you. I don’t want to be the one to tell your mom you’re no longer here.”

A gust of air exited Arson’s chest, but he didn’t speak, not at first. He let both arms hang limply on his knees as he leaned forward.

“You remember that night—fuck when was it, five, maybe six years ago? Anyway, it was a party in Jamie Steele’s territory. You’d just won against that crazy Texan, and a pile of chicks were all over us.”

Tag half-smiled. “Yeah, buddy, I remember. It was a good weekend.”

“It really was. Shit felt … different back then, didn’t it?”

“Different how?” They were in a club war back then, fighting with Hades’ Raging Rebels. It was also the start of Tag’s cage fighting jaunt.

Things were different then, but better? Not so much.

“I don’t know. Everything is hard now. I don’t fit in.” This time when Arson sighed, he leaned back, putting his hands on the sidewalk, casting his head sideways to look at Tag.

“You mean with the club?”

“No. Yeah. I don’t know. I’m fucking up, Tag. I’ve been fucking up for a long time. Why the fuck would anyone want me there? My patch is only decoration. I contribute nothing. Don’t blow smoke up my ass, we both know it’s true.”

“I wasn’t gonna. You have been fucking up, you’re hardly around, we’ve picked up your slack. But you know what? We want you around. No one wants you to destroy yourself.”

“No one wants to self-destruct, brother. It just happens.”

That statement chilled him to the bone.

“What the fuck is going on, Arson? Talk to me, tell me how I can help.”

Right on cue, his friend cracked a smile that covered up a multitude of sins and truths. He ran a hand through his long hair and replied, “I’m gonna be alright, bro. You don’t gotta worry about me. Concentrate on your Russian girl. I want you to get that slice of good, you deserve it.”

They heard the trundling engine of one of theSoulsSUV trucks.

“The fuck does that even mean? You’re not alright, Arson. You haven’t been alright in a long time. Talk to me.”

Arson rose to his feet.

Tag followed suit and grabbed his friend’s leather jacket. The pair were almost nose to nose in a standoff when Tag spoke through his clenched teeth. “Don’t be a fucking idiot, Jase. Tell me what you need so we can help you. We’re not gonna lose you to a bottle, not happening, brother.”

It was a shared look of understanding between the men, and for a moment, Tag thought he might have gotten through to him. And then Arson’s mask locked in place as he smiled and walked backward toward the idling truck. “You’re good people, Luke, make sure the chick knows it.”

He didn’t like this shit one bit.

Bikers were notorious for hitting the self-destruct button.

No man who joined the ranks of any MC would tell you he had all his shit together. There were always demons in his past somewhere.

Arson’s demons were winning, and Tag could feel his buddy slipping away.

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