Man of the House(142)

“Okay,” I said, nodding. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

“Head home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Night.”

“Night.”

I walked out of his office, curious. He usually told me what was going on with the club, if at least just to have someone to talk to about it. He knew where my loyalties were, and he knew I would never tell the other boys anything he said to me.

But that was the first time it felt like whatever he had to say had something to do with me directly. It was strange, and I couldn’t shake it.

I left the clubhouse and found my car. I drove a little Mustang Shelby GT, a beautiful old car that Larkin gave to me when I turned twenty. I fired up the engine and headed home.

I lived alone in a little apartment just outside downtown Austin. It was a fun area, full of young people, although I didn’t feel like I belonged. They were all college kids, and I never went to college. I graduated high school, but mostly because Larkin forced me to.

Otherwise, I took care of myself. I didn’t need school and didn’t much care about it. I had a job and I had the club. So far, that had been enough for me.

I was just like everyone else involved with the Demons. The club was my life, and my life was the club.

I tossed my keys onto my kitchen table as I walked into my little apartment and smiled at its familiar smallness.

“Club before everything else,” I whispered to myself and headed to bed.





4





Clutch





A phone rang early, too damn early.

I woke up, my head foggy, and grunted.

The phone just kept ringing.

“Shut that thing off,” I said to the girl in my bed.

She shook her head. “It’s yours, baby.”

“Oh shit,” I said, realizing she was right. I quickly grabbed my phone and flipped it open. “Yeah?”

“Clutch.” I recognized the voice instantly: our club president, Larkin. “I need you to come in early.”

“Okay, prez,” I said. “How early?”

“Now.”

“Okay,” I said, getting up. “Be there in ten.” I hung up the phone.

The girl looked up at me. I couldn’t remember her name, and I really didn’t give a shit. In the cold light of morning I realized how empty the night before had been, picking her up at the fucking bar, bringing her back to my little apartment, and fucking her brains out. She smiled at me.

“Got time for another round, baby?” she asked. “I’m still sore from last night, but in a good way.”

“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m leaving. Don’t be here when I get back.”

She made a face. “No need to be an asshole.”

I got dressed and ignored her. I tossed on some jeans, a T-shirt, and my vest with the Demons patch. I strapped on my gun, assuming I was going to need it. The girl just watched me from the bed, her eyes dripping sex.

I paused at the door before I left. “If you steal anything, I’ll kill you. Got it?”

“Fuck you,” she said.

I grinned at her. “You’d like that.” I turned and left.

I didn’t need to be an asshole to her, but it didn’t matter. Women liked me, always had. I didn’t have trouble finding one woman after the next to bring home and fuck. I was good at it and always left them wanting more, but I never gave it to them.

That just wasn’t my style. I lived a fast, hard life and didn’t have the time or space to let anyone inside it. They were a warm body for a night, a hard, intense fuck, and then they were gone.

I couldn’t be nice the next morning. I’d let too many dumb girls think I was going to call them again by doing that. No, it was better for both of us if I was a dick. It just hammered home the truth that I was never going to bring her home again, if we ever even saw each other.

I got outside my beat-up place and found my bike. I hopped on and took a second to look around. I lived in a shit neighborhood in a shit apartment building, and it suited me just fine. I was barely there anyway. I mostly just used it to sleep and shower. Otherwise, my life was at the club.

I fired up my bike and rode out, the wind whipping through my hair.

I got to the clubhouse in ten minutes. I parked the bike and hopped off. There weren’t many bikes parked out there; I recognized Larkin’s and a few other council members’, but that was it.

Probably too early for most of the boys to show up, let alone wake up. We were a hard drinking bunch, and as such we tended not to be a morning crowd.

I pushed in through the front door and immediately spotted Larkin sitting at the bar. He had a plate of food in front of him and was sipping a big mug of coffee.

Larkin was a scary man: intense, powerful, and a great leader. He’d singlehandedly taken the Demons from a minor gang to one of the biggest in the country. It was because of him that we had so much power.