The Rebels grumbled but slowly filed out the door. I watched with astonishment as the men slowly left, Larkin holding his shotgun steady, a mad look in his eyes.
Once the Rebels were gone, Larkin turned to the Demons. Clutch was bleeding and the others looked beaten up, but nobody was down or seriously injured.
“Clutch,” Larkin said, “take Janine home and fucking deal with that wound. As for the rest of you, clean up this fucking mess and prepare to eat some goddamn shit, because I am fucking unhappy about this.” He turned and left.
I ran over to the bar, grabbed a clean rag, and then ran over to Clutch. I pressed it to his head, mopping up the blood. “Clutch,” I said, “are you okay?”
“Fine,” he grunted. “Just fucking fine. Better than those Rebel twats.”
“Come on,” I said, leading him toward the door. “Let’s go.”
“Hey, Clutch,” Noble called out as we were leaving. “Good shit man.”
Clutch grinned and gave him a thumbs up. Ford laughed.
“Whipped those pussy asses,” Ford said.
“Fuck yeah,” TomTom said, holding his club against his shoulder.
The boys all laughed triumphantly, and I couldn’t help but smile.
I followed Clutch back out. He held the rag against his head as he climbed onto the bike and kicked it to life.
He just nodded his head and I got on the back.
“Good job back there,” I said into his ear.
He turned back and grinned at me before pulling out into traffic.
28
Clutch
My head hurt like a fucking bitch.
That piece of shit Rebel nailed me with that bottle out of nowhere. Nothing I could have done about it. But that fight, that had been brewing for a while. We all felt it coming, knew we couldn’t avoid it. I was sure Larkin had let it go for a bit before breaking it up. He wanted us to work that shit out, beat each other senseless and get it out of our systems, but he didn’t want us to fucking murder each other.
Though at the time, I wanted to murder someone. I wanted to smash their skulls into tiny pieces and wipe my feet in their blood. Probably for the best that I didn’t actually kill anyone.
I kicked my feet up on the couch, leaning back. Janine came back from the kitchen with a cold compress and a fresh bandage.
“Look at you,” I said, smirking, “nursing me to health.”
“That’s a nasty cut. You might need stitches.”
“It’s fine.” I cringed as she pulled the bandage off and replaced it with the clean one.
“Here,” she said. I took the compress and placed it against the wound. “How’s that?”
“Fine,” I said. “Nice of you to worry.”
“Can’t have you dying on my couch.”
“I’m sure you’re more worried about the couch than you are about me.”
“Maybe,” she said, stroking the cushion. “It’s a nice couch.”
“Can’t blame you,” I said. “I’ve slept on this couch a lot. We’ve grown close.”
“Good. So don’t bleed on it.”
“Doing my best. Can’t control my blood.”
“Maybe you could have, you know, not picked a fight?”
I laughed at her. “That’s not in my nature.”
“Yeah. I know all about your nature.”
“And what’s that then?”
“You’re crude,” she said, standing. “You’re a biker. All you want to do is fight and fuck.”
“You don’t seem to mind the fucking much.”
She blushed and looked away. “Still, you didn’t need to do that.”
“I did,” I said. “I can’t have those people thinking I killed that Lavoy shithead. Plus, that fight had been a long time coming. It needed to happen.”
She shook her head. “That’s such a classic male thing to say. You needed to fight each other?”
“Sure.”
“Typical. Can’t think with your brains or your dicks, so you just beat the crap out of each other.”
“Pretty much.” I grinned at her. “Don’t pretend like your panties weren’t soaked watching me take down those cocksuckers.”
“Not even a little.”
“Please, you’re probably on your way to your bedroom right now to rub that little clit until you come. You’ll be thinking all about how strong I am.”
“Yeah, you look real strong,” she said, smiling, “lying there with a bandage on your head.”
“Still could throw you around like you’re nothing. Want to see?”
“Maybe another time.” She sat down on a chair and sighed, stretching. “What a weird day.”