Page 90 of Enemy
“You got a fucking problem with me?” he yells, already reaching for the same gun he shot Puck with last night. Like clockwork, his former brothers-in-arms pull out theirs.
Shit.
I don’t have the energy to deal with this, but I still step in front of Clyde and grab his gun hand, to keep it low. “Hey, Grizz, you let your men talk like that about your own blood?”
Grizzly spits on the ground between us. “He’s no blood of mine.”
Fucking grim. I know Clyde well enough to spot the tremor in his jaw. He’s barely holding it together.
Prophet steps in, holding up his hands. “This is neutral ground!”
One of the Butchers revs his engine as if to suggest that we will be fair game as soon as we leave. I know my brothers will try to delay them so the car can carry me to safety, but I don’t want any of them hurt over this. I flinch, noticing Creep’s eyes sliding over Clyde and me. His pale face expresses nothing, yet I can’t help the unease of being regarded like this. I’ve always trusted Creep, but he can be unpredictable, and that was before he found out I’ve been seeing Clyde in secret.
“This would be way easier for everyone if you really died, you damn snake,” one of the Butchers shouts, and the hum that follows means they all share that sentiment. I don’t see the expression passing over Clyde’s face, but his grief is pulling at me almost physically, and I open the car, trying to maneuver him inside.
He hides his gun, and it’s painful to see a man as confident as him so lost. I know what he’s feeling. Whatever issues he’s had with his club, it was an anchor in his life—he’s told me that much himself—and now he’s adrift.
I worry he might want to lash out at them with bullets after all, but then not one butthreepolice cars arrive and park next to us. I look around, but my guys don’t seem surprised, while the Butchers hide their guns. The cops roll out of their vehicles and I spot two who are Prophet’s buddies.
As soon as they start to ask the Butchers questions about their bike licenses and registrations, Prophet ushers me to the car. With Rooster behind the wheel, me and Clyde in the back, we’re the first ones out of the parking lot.
“Good save,” I say to Prophet.
Rooster stares at Clyde in the rearview mirror. “Is he a hostage?”
“No,” I say right away, leaning back in the seat, my hand curled around Clyde’s fingers, because he’s so tense and distant I fear he might disappear if I let go. I hate cars, especially using them as a passenger, but with the weakness sitting in my muscles like poison, I’m grateful for not having to think about the road ahead.
“They don’t want him,” Prophet says tersely, staring ahead, as if the bungalows on the side of the road personally offend him.
But I do. I want him with every cell in my body. From his ice-blue eyes, his long, dirty blond hair, pursed lips, the scar on his face, and the deep scratch on his cheek he must have gotten yesterday. He’s all mine, and I will take care of what’s mine.
Chapter 36
Road
Silencefeelslikeagray cloud, choking us all as the car speeds down the country road, cutting through a field before entering the woods. Soon enough, we will be on Vulture property, but I remain nervous, wondering if the Butchers didn’t send the members of the other chapter to attack us on the way.
“Road?” Rooster asks, shaking me out of my own thoughts, which revolve around Clyde and the reason for his silence.
“What?” I mutter, trying to tickle my man’s palm in hope of receiving the tiniest sliver of attention. I know his life is falling apart, but now that he’s ignoring me, it feels like I’m to blame, when all I wanted was to talk.
“How can you be gay?” Rooster continues.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Prophet growls, rubbing his face.
“What do you mean,how?” I ask, scowling and I lean on Clyde, resting my head on his shoulder. “For the same reason you think asking such a stupid question makes sense. I was born like that. I always knew.”
Rooster’s frown suggests his brain is working overtime on this. “I’m just confused, that’s all. Didn’t you sleep with Samantha last year? Wouldn’t that mean you’re bi? Or pan, or something?”
I don’t fucking know whatpanmeans, but maybe it’s something kids like him think is a real word. A soft sigh escapes my throat, and I try capturing Prophet’s gaze in the mirror,but he’s looking away. “You can fuck anyone, if the hole feels good, and your mind is in the right place. It’s not like I lied to her. It was just sex.”
The flush erupting on Rooster’s cheeks is as red as his mohawk, and I dread to think where I’ve sent his mind.
He opens his mouth, but Prophet shushes him because, thank fuck, we’ve arrived at the clubhouse. “Enough. You can ask him for sex tips later.”
Rooster rolls his eyes as he parks in the yard. Clyde shifts a little closer and shows me his phone filled with a stream of threatening messages and missed calls from a few hours ago.
[The fuck you think you’re doing? You’re a dead man walking.] is just one of many. The others are so vile I wish I could wipe them from his phone and make him forget, but ensuring his safety is the best I can do right now.
