Page 5 of Patchover Fright Night
I didn’t deserve this fucking woman, did I? I rested my forehead against hers, pulling her closer to me, even though already I was being careful of her stomach, like a fucking hug could somehow hurt the baby within.
“I couldn’t have done any of it without you, Soph. I was as good as dead when we met, and everything that went right for us after that… fuck, it was all you. You’re the one thing I never deserved in life, but I can’t live without. Whatever happens today, I want you to know that you’re the fucking reason I exist. You and our little one.” The happiness, the joy, in her eyes, was soothing my soul, and calming the anger that had been buildingagain, ever since the original chapter turned up. My old club. The ones I betrayed, but somehow was given this last chance by.
“This is all going to work out,” Sophie told me firmly, kissing me gently, so imagine how pissed off I was, to be called away from her mid fucking kiss. Because, of course, disaster had already struck.
Chapter Three
It was a shitterof a thing. The kegs of beer were outside on racks, because there was so much of it, but the bourbon, the really pricy stuff that many of us favoured? That shit had been stored indoors, and should have been secure, but a shelf had apparently given out under the weight, and the entire fucking stash was destroyed.
“How the fuck did this happen?” Micro, our Pres, was clutching at his hair in horror, as he backed away from the growing puddle of alcohol soaking our storeroom floor.
“Oh no,” his old lady gasped, trying to follow him into the room, but he stopped her, hissing at her that there was broken glass everywhere.
“What’s the holdup, Reacher wants to get things… what thefuck…” Stitch leaned on the doorframe and gaped at the mess. “Who the fuck did that? Do you have any idea how much that shit costs?”
Micro huffed a big pissed off sigh. “Of course I know how much it fucking costs. I’m the one who fucking arranged all this.”
“Well, this isn’t exactly what we had in mind,interimpresident. Maybe you should have stored it with more care.” Hell, they were never letting up on him, and he’d done so well with the club. Only I knew the full story of his time with Phoenix MC, because we got drunk one night, and he talked my ear off. I knew they’d given him a chance here, but they had to actuallygivehim a fucking chance if they wanted him to succeed. The thing was, I was pretty sure most of them were counting on him failing instead. I just wasn’t prepared to let that happen, because I actually liked the fucker. And this club was my home.
“This is on me, VP, I unloaded these with some of the others, and I made the decision on where it was stored. It’s my fuckup.” Micro shot me a grateful look, and turned to Stitch, just as he opened his mouth to chew me a new one.
“Everything happens with my approval, so it’s on me. Appreciate Harley having my back though, you know, like club brothers are supposed to.”
Stitch fixed his eyes on the mess, instead of responding to that dig from Micro, which in my opinion was pretty fucking justified.
“So we’re out? There’s no backup stash anywhere? No extra bottles tucked away?”
We both stared him down. Did he think we were ripping off our own fucking club?
“We just have the kegs now, and that new stuff that just arrived from Don Rossi.”
Stitch frowned. “I didn’t know he was sending anything. Get with Grease, and check it’s legit.”
“Wow, no shit, really? Why didn’t I think of that,” Micro grumbled, heading out of the room, while I stared at Stitch for a moment.
“Why will Grease know that?”
He rolled his eyes at me. “Because that fucker knows everything that happens around here, or anywhere, you know, like Ice does, for us.” He glanced at the mess again. “Guess you need to get your prospects on this. I take it the beer hasn’t taken a nose dive too?”
I knew it hadn’t, but I kinda wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, since he was being such an insufferable prick.
“He does a good job,” I said instead, realising it was completely off the subject. Stitch groaned, running a hand through his hair.
“Look, there’s a whole story to what happened with him, and despite the way we are with him, I know he’s done us proud.” He sighed, clearly not aware I was in the loop on all that shit. “I just… I struggle to tell him that, or not be a prick, because I can’t forgive the shit he did. It’s my problem, I know that, I’m just…fuck. I’ll try and rein it in, but no promises.”
I nodded, grabbing a broom and starting to sweep the glass into one section of the floor, grimacing as the pool of bourbon moved like a fucking mini tidal wave.
“For the record, he told me everything, and I get it. It’d be hard to trust a guy after that, but if you don’t think he’s put every fucking ounce of himself into this club, into a new Phoenix chapter, and into proving himself to you, then you’ve had your fucking eyes closed for too long.”
Stitch was silent for a moment, so I took my eyes off the mess I really didn’t need to be clearing up, because that’s what prospects were for, after all. Finally he chuckled to himself.
“Yeah, maybe it’s time I opened them. I swear, I’m not the prick I’m coming across as. You’re a good man, Harley. You’d make a good VP. Ever considered it?”
Huh. I honestly never expected him to say that, now or ever. Had I thought about it? Maybe idly, as a ‘what if’ kinda thing, but not with any real serious belief it’d happen.
“I know I’d put a hundred percent of myself into backing my Pres, yeah, but when do we find out if that’s gonna be Micro or not? You gonna ever take that ‘interim’ off his fucking cut?”
Stitch smirked. “Well… stranger things have happened, my man, even at Phoenix.”
