Page 14 of Enemy
Why would I risk the truce? And for what? A chance to get my dick sucked by a guy? I’ve had opportunities before. Flirted, messaged guys on anonymous chatrooms, but each and every time, without fault, I chickened out at the last moment.
How pathetic is that? I might be ready for date night, but if my previous experience is anything to go by, I’ll end up staying in and jerking off to memories of my call with Clyde rather than fucking him.
“I messed up.”
Prophet sighs and pushes back his long hair. He sports two braids today, and I’m left wondering which of the women fighting for his attention pleated them earlier. The gesture only reminds me of the blond locks I want to grab tonight. He seems to know where he’s going, even if his pace is leisurely, so I follow.
“I hope it’s not about that girl? If we end up at war with them again, it really can’t be over pussy, Road.”
Girl? What girl?
“No,” I say as we stride between the large communal buildings and pass the vegetable gardens.
Prophet smirks. “So, how’d it go? You were strangely serious about me proofreading a dumb pickup line.”
Oh. Thatgirl.
I am not the greatest speller, and since the last thing I wanted was for Clyde to see mistakes in the name of the contact I left on his burner, I asked Prophet for help, as if it was something I planned to DM a woman.
“We’re... talking. We’ll see what happens when she’s back from her trip to the East Coast.” The lie rolls from my tongue so easily, and while Prophet will never know the truth, the fact that I’m hiding this from him burns in my chest.
Maybe I should give up now and spend the evening with my best friend rather than chase sex with a guy who is literally one of our enemies. Am I that blinded by a hot body that I’m ready to risk it all? Or maybe it’s the forbidden nature ofwhohe is that’s turning me on? I may hate him, but I know him. He’s not some anonymous dick. Hearing him moan on the phone was more exciting than any porn, because I knew it wasClyde Turner.
Prophet smirks. “Okay, okay. Keep me posted. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you interested in anyone.”
Am I though? Am I interested? Or am I horny as fuck and looking for an easy lay? Hard to say, but Clyde is most definitely noteasyanything. Drunk blowjobs from hangarounds are easy. They have their fun with a hot dick, I fantasize about guys while it happens, but since I’m technically doing it with a woman, no one suspects a thing. Dating one? That I can’t do.
Living as a gay man would have been so much easier in some big city, where I could reestablish myself without prejudice, but that would mean leaving a community that took me in when I needed it most. Here, I also get the paid work I’m skilled at. The Vulture Hollow MC will always have to come first.
It’s only when Prophet makes a turn right, toward a cabin at the very edge of the lake that I slow down. “Why are we going to her house?”
Prophet spreads his arms. “Because I don’t know what the Butchers are planning, and you’re the one who inflamed the situation, so you need to be at the reading. It’s our last resort.”
I swallow down a groan, because Prophet treats this stuff way too seriously for me to mock him after yesterday’s fuck-up. “You know the tarot cards mess with my head. The last time you made me do this, she said someone’s out to get me. So I was vigilant for days until that damn cat managed to sneak into the house, hide, and then scratch me in my sleep.”
I only accepted that rationalization so Prophet would stop asking if I discovered who was after me. I don’t believe all this woo-woo stuff, but it still creeps me out.
It doesn’t help that Brigid’s thatch-roofed cabin looks like a witch’s hut. She’s not Prophet’s real mother, but she took him in when he was a teen stray, and he treats her with reverence, so we all do as well. After all, it’s her land, and she graciously allows us to live here rent-free. What’s a prophecy or two in the grand scheme of things?
I hope she can’treallyread my mind, because no one can know I have the hots for Clyde, nor that I might still meet him tonight. I’ve killed for Brigid, but she would not let such a betrayal slide regardless.
Prophet shakes his head and I feel like a cat being taken to the vet’s. “It has to be done, but I don’t think she has cards in mind tonight.”
We step onto the porch decorated with weird symbols made of thin branches and reeds, then go straight through the open door, where the smell of strong tea twists my lips. The interior is marginally less weird than the hut appears on the outside. Bunches of herbshang from the ceiling, and log walls are hidden from view by cupboards full of jars, boxes, books, and the occasional artwork. Brigid doesn’t believe in electricity, so candles occupy many of the horizontal spaces. She does watch TV at times, but only in communal spaces. Thankfully for her daughter, Luna, the cabin does have access to running water.
Prophet senses my hesitation and puts his hand between my shoulder blades, forcing me to step deeper into the room, where Brigid is seated in a rocking chair, wrapped in a celestial-themed blanket. A tea set with just one cup is standing on the small table in front of her.
I groan. No. Not the tea. I hate that fucking tea.
Luna is a shy, blonde, toothpick of a girl. She does say hi when we enter but gets up and makes a beeline for her room. No surprise there, since she knows we’ll need privacy. But maybe she also just wants to avoidthe tea.
“Hey Brigid,” I say, resigned to my fate. “Makes sense there’s only one cup, since Prophet is the prez and all that.” I try to reinforce the idea that there is no need to make one for me. It’s Prophet who believes this stuff anyway.
As Brigid leans forward to pour the tea, her black-gray curls cascade down her shoulders. There’s something eerie about her, a feminine sensuality I don’t resonate with, and which always leaves me with a sense of unease. She’s attractive, and looks younger than she supposedly is. But it’s the confidence with which she commands respect in everyone around her that’s so admirable. She makes a living from fortune-telling, casting spells for people, and producing potions, yet no one questions her position. Oh, and she’s also our resident tattoo artist. Quite a lot for one woman to handle.
Me? I’ve been unnerved by her since she first treated me to the goddamn tea, on the day after my arrival here. She served it to me burning hot, and since I hate tea, I chugged it all in one go. One of the worst fucking things ever.
She’s been serving it to me much colder since.
