Man of the House(200)

My head was still buzzing with the post-orgasm glow as we rode back through Austin, heading toward the clubhouse. We pulled up outside, and I was surprised again at how many unfamiliar bikes were parked outside.

“Rebels are here again,” Clutch warned.

“I know.”

“Still want to stay?”

“It’s our clubhouse,” I said. “I’m not turning back.”

He grinned at me. “That’s what I like about you.” He walked inside the door and I followed him.

As expected, there were a bunch of Rebels sitting around. Some of them were drinking, though it was pretty early still. Noble and Ford were sitting at a table, so we headed over there to join them.

But we barely made it ten steps before one of the Rebels stood up. He was a pretty big man with a nasty scar across his neck. He looked at Clutch and wordlessly spit on the ground.

The men around him laughed. Clutch stopped walking and stared at the man.

“Got something to say?” Clutch called out.

“Clutch,” I said softly, “leave it.”

He shrugged me off, pushing me gently toward Ford and Noble. I walked over toward them, worried.

“I ain’t got nothin’ to say you ain’t already heard,” the big Rebel said.

“That’s what I thought.” Clutch turned.

“Fuckin’ murderer, that’s right, turn your back to me.”

Clutch whirled around. “Come on over here. You seem so fucking safe surrounded by your boys, you fucking pussy.”

The man growled and charged at Clutch.

“Shit,” I said, backing off. Noble and Ford were on their feet.

The Rebel slammed into Clutch, knocking him back but not over. Clutch brought a knee up and hammered the man in the face, then dropped an elbow into the back of his head, slamming them both down to the ground. Clutch landed on top of the man, who was laying facedown, and kneed him again in the head.

The guy didn’t move as Clutch climbed to his feet.

The Rebels were all standing, and there was a terrifying moment of stillness. It felt utterly calm in that moment, with Clutch staring at the Rebels, grinning hugely, the Rebels staring back. I could feel the Demons men inching toward Clutch, ready to get his back.

The Rebels outnumbered the Demons, but I wasn’t sure they cared. No words were spoken, and I didn’t think any had to be. I felt Ford gently pull my hand and push me out of the way toward the back wall.

And then all fucking hell broke loose.

Someone threw a bottle. That started the whole thing. The bottle flew out at Clutch, smacking him in the head. Clutch stumbled back, blood running down his face.

And then the Demons, Ford and Noble included, went at the Rebels.

It was an all-out brawl. I couldn’t see what was happening in the chaos, but men were bashing at men with their fists, screaming in rage, insults flying. I caught sight of Clutch, blood pouring from a wound on his head, bashing a Rebel’s face against a wall.

Meanwhile, Ford was fighting three Rebels. He knocked down one with a heavy punch and had to wrestle another off him before smashing his fist into the third’s face. They kept coming at him, and even the Demons pledges got involved. I watched TomTom grab a club from behind the bar and dive into the fray, smashing Rebel skulls and hollering like a madman.

Noble held his own, too. I watched Noble grab a chair and smash it across the back of a man fighting with Ford. He turned as two more Rebels came at him and grabbed a leg from that chair to use as a club. Noble fought the guys back, bashing at them with the chair leg.

It was complete chaos, screams and shouts, fighting and blood. I watch Clutch toss a man through the air, sending him crashing into the bar, bottles flying everywhere. Two men jumped on Clutch, but with a roar of anger, he sent the men spinning, kicking skulls and smashing their faces.

I was both terrified and absolutely elated. The Demons were holding their own, despite being outnumbered. I knew I could get out of there, knew that I was in a lot of danger, but I couldn’t move.

And then an explosion ripped through the clubhouse.

At least I thought it was an explosion. The sound was powerful and incredibly loud. I cringed down, putting my hands over my ears as I looked around for the source.

It was my dad. Larkin was standing on a table with a shotgun. He fired it again, and every man in the room stopped fighting, staring up at him.

Larkin leveled the gun at the crowd.

“Having fucking fun?” he yelled.

Nobody answered.

“While you cunts are busy beating each other to fucking death, you’re ruining my fucking bar. That pisses me the fuck off, so here’s what we’re doing.”

He hopped off the table, gun still pointed.

“Rebels, get the fuck out. If you hesitate, I will murder you.” He cocked the shotgun. “Move.”