Page 114 of Enemy
I don’t have to fake my laugh. “He should be called Raccoon, not Roadkill.”
Yeti’s lips twist into analmost-smile. “So… you and him. How long has it been going on?”
We’re entering thin ice territory, so I tread carefully. “Two months or so? Feels like longer.”
Yeti hums, his unibrow becoming even starker when he frowns at the hot dogs in front of us. “I guess you being gay and all means I never really knew you, so maybe we can start a clean slate.”
Weight drops off my chest. I wasn’t expecting that much, but maybe the Vultures are more open-minded than the Butchers. Does the communal living do that to you? Make you more willing to compromise?
“Hello, boys,” a woman says, approaching us with a huge mug topped with dense foam. I don’t have to smell it to know it’s beer. “Won’t you introduce me?” she asks Yeti and flashes me a wide smile, which, I note, is like a miniature version of Yeti’s. They have the same wide teeth and mouths.
The biker clears his throat and waves a thick hand in the space between us. “My lil’ sister, Luce. And I’m sure you know exactly who Clyde is,” he adds, frowning at her.
Unbothered by his annoyance, she pushes the beer at me. “You’re new here, so you’ve got to taste my brother’s brew. It’s a rite of passage!”
I raise my eyebrows at him and grab the drink. “You brew your own?”
It’s borderline cute how this big guy gets flustered. “It’s not a big deal. Just good beer.”
But I’ve got no doubt he’s waiting for me to drink some, so I don’t waste time and take a big gulp. I won’t even have to lie. “Itisgood beer!” I have another gulp. “You’re gonna have to show me how the production is set up.”
I swear a smile is hiding somewhere in that bushy beard. “If you’re still here next week.” He might be saying it that way to sound more threatening, but it’s not an outrightrejection. “Listen, man the grill for a bit. I need to go wash these.” He waves with the tongs which had earlier dropped to the ground.
His sister reaches out. “I can do it.”
“You never do itright. I will not be risking cross contamination.”
I have to bite my tongue to not comment on that. “Sure, I can watch over the food.”
He ends up giving me a long fork. “It’s not as good for the purpose, but it will do. I trust you this time, so don’t fuck up,” he adds and walks off with his sister.
I stare at the utensil, overwhelmed by the amount of trust placed in me. Yeti either genuinely wants to give me a chance or is planning to see me fail and shame me in front of everyone. Well, if it’s the latter, I’m not going to give him a chance.
I get to work, watching over each piece of meat as if they were the eggs of a golden goose. While I keep seeking out Road in the crowd, worried what may happen if someone seizes the opportunity to catch me on my own, nobody approaches to make sausage-swallowing jokes. It feeds my hope that maybe, just maybe, I can have a future here, living openly with a man who cares for me as much as I care for him.
A teen girl even approaches for a burger, and I swear her whole group of friends is watching from afar, as if she’s the only one brave enough to enter the lion’s den. What are they expecting I’ll do? Smear her with ketchup?
I make some small talk, compliment her sturdy boots, and send her off with four burgers.
I turn around at the sound of footsteps, ready to serve the next customer, only to still when I see Prophet watching me from up close. Now that the lenses of hate are off, I can see him for what he is—a cornerstone of this community, a strong leader who has the power to direct my fate, and a handsome man. Some would even say more charismatic thanmyman. Though if I were to choose between Prophet’s occult Viking look and Road’s rough biker charm, I would always pick the latter.
I’m not blind. I know the Vulture president is the kind of guy one could find on a magazine cover, but there is this spark in Road that I was always drawn to. A dangerous edge, and a mischievous glint in those warm hooded eyes. My chest aches, and I wish to make sure he’s within sight, but I can’t focus on that with Prophet standing right in front of me, so I make myself stay with him.
“Glad you’re wearing the amulet,” he says, pushing forward his chin, and I glance down at the necklace given to me earlier. I can’t say I believe it would do anything, but havingit around my neck won’t hurt either, so I guess it’s best if the most important man in Vulture Hollow thinks I’m getting on with his program.
“The ones you have,” I say, gesturing at the collection of pendants resting on his chest. “Do they stand for anything specific?”
Hell’s Butchers would frequently mock Prophet for being into spiritual shit, and the whole club for using occult imagery, but if I’m to become a part of this community, I should know more.
I hit the jackpot, because Prophet perks up and grabs one of the pendants. It’s a crude ivory crow hanging from a long chain with some brown beads in it. “So many things, but this one is my destiny. Brigid foresaw it. I will find a bloodstained white crow and it will be my lucky charm. My key to a good fortune I cannot even imagine.”
Does hereallybelieve this is the question, but if my instincts aren’t fooling me, he does. He wouldn’t have tattooed his body with magical symbols if he didn’t. “So wouldn’t that make… Brigid ‘prophet’?”
He raises his finger with a smile. “No. She just recalled what she heard me say in a trance.”
“I could use some drugs like that today.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder, which has to be the first time he’s ever touched me that wasn’t a kick or punch. It’s weird. But maybe… good? Something about its warm weight feels reassuring. “I’m sorry about your home. I don’t love how things developed with you and Road behind my back, but if you are ready to start anew, you are welcome here.”
