Page 2 of Runt's Haunted Ride
I ran a wet hand through my hair and looked at myself. This was all I had. A nickname that was an insult, a club that treatedme like equipment, and a future that looked exactly like my past. So, basically nothing.
I dried myself and threw my t-shirt on, then headed back to face whatever the President had come up with now, the reflection in the mirror already forgotten.
I leaned against the wall, waiting for the announcement. Tank had a blonde in his lap, her hands already roaming places that should be private. Diesel was doing shots with a bob-cut goth girl who looked young enough to be his daughter. Everywhere I looked, my brothers were living it up, celebrating another night of being exactly who they were.
And I stood alone, feeling like a stranger in my own clubhouse. Which was exactly what I was. I always had been.
"SHUT THAT SHIT OFF! LISTEN UP!" The President's voice boomed over the music, which cut off abruptly. The party chatter died down as every member turned toward the front of the room. Even the women quieted, sensing the shift in energy.
President Silver stood behind his desk, Fang and Mountain flanking him like bodyguards. The Silverback leadership, ready to deliver news that would probably involve me getting the shit end of the stick.
"Boys, we just landed a sweet-ass gig," the President announced, his voice carrying easily through the now-silent room. "Halloween carnival rolled into town today. They need security for the full run—that's the next seven nights, including Halloween itself."
A murmur of interest rippled through the crowd. Security jobs meant steady money, and steady money meant more beer, more women, and more toys for their bikes.
"Here's the beautiful part," the President continued, his predatory smile widening. "They're paying premium rates. Hazard pay, they called it. Something about the carnivalattracting... unusual types. Like we care. Hell, wearethe unusual types."
Everyone laughed at his joke. I forced myself to smile. But my enhanced hearing caught the slight emphasis on "unusual." In our world, that could mean anything from other supernatural beings to federal agents looking to cause trouble.
"Now, this isn't a one-man job," the President said, his gaze sweeping the room. "We're getting paid for the whole club. Every patched member, every prospect. We're gonna show this carnival what real security looks like."
The room erupted in cheers and catcalls. More money made everyone happy.
My stomach sank. A group assignment meant I'd be surrounded by my brothers nonstop. Seven nights. Woop-fucking-ie.
"Fang's got the details," the President continued. "Assignments start tomorrow. Don't fuck this up, boys. Word is there might be some valuable merchandise floating around that carnival. Keep your eyes open. And stay clear of the ringmaster—he's an odd fuck. I'll handle him."
Valuable merchandise. My gorilla instincts stirred. The President never mentioned potential side scores unless he was fishing for something specific. This job was about more than just security—it was a hunting expedition.
"That's it for business," the President declared. "Now let's party like the degenerates we are!"
The music kicked back in, twice as loud as before. Someone cracked open a fresh case of beer, and the women resumed their tactical positions on various laps. The celebration was back in full swing within seconds.
I pushed off from the wall, intending to slip out before anyone noticed. But as I headed toward the door, a hand fell on my shoulder.
"Leaving so soon, Runt?" Fang's voice carried a mocking edge. "Party's just getting started. Thought you might want to celebrate your victory."
I turned, meeting the VP's filed-tooth grin with a neutral expression. "Just tired. Long day."
"Tired?" Fang's laugh was sharp as broken glass. "You're not seventy. Live a little. There's plenty of willing pussy here, and after that show you put on, you might actually get lucky."
The casual cruelty in Fang's voice hit me like a slap. Even when offering me something that might be considered a reward, the VP made sure to remind me how little I was worth.
"I'm good," I said, my voice carefully controlled. "See you tomorrow."
I turned and walked away before Fang could respond, pushing through the crowd toward the exit. A few members nodded as I passed. Tank raised his beer in a lazy salute. Diesel gave me a thumbs up. But their attention was already shifting back to the party.
I stepped outside into the cool October air, the sounds of celebration muffled by the closing door. The parking lot was full of motorcycles gleaming under the security lights, chrome and steel reflecting my fractured image back at me.
Seven nights at a Halloween carnival. It sounded boring, but it sure beat hanging around here. Seven nights surrounded by my brothers while they did what they did best—took what they wanted and left destruction in their wake. And somewhere in all that chaos, the President expected us to find something valuable.
I climbed onto my Harley, the familiar weight and rumble of the machine beneath me providing the only comfort I'd felt all night. As I pulled out of the lot, the party still raged behind me. Laughter and music and the sounds of people who belonged somewhere.
Someday maybe I'd find a place where I fit. Where I was more than just the Runt who won fights and followed orders. Then again, I doubted it. Whatever. Tonight, all I had was the road ahead, and that was enough for me.
Chapter 2
The next evening, I found myself standing in the Silverback clubhouse parking lot, watching my brothers gear up for our first night working at the Halloween carnival. The temperature carried an October bite that promised winter wasn't far behind. Drifting on the breeze, my hearing picked up the faint sounds of carnival music. It had an almost cheerful feeling about it. The music made my male form feel upbeat and ready for adventure. However, it put my gorilla on edge, watchful and on alert.
