Sicko

Even when he flips off a few of the brothers for whistling at us and I see a smidge of the old Royce, that same pain throbs.

Even when I take a seat on his lap at the table and he hands me a plate filled with fatty meats and crispy fried potatoes, that pain intensifies. When I look down at him from above and see the way his eyes light up on me, his arm relaxed around my waist as it should have always been, that. Pain. Fucking. Throbs. As I hunt around the table and watch everyone in their movements with their loved ones, and how they all shuffle in their seat, talking and laughing among one another, the pain throbs. This isn’t just a motorcycle club, it’s a family. No wonder Royce never wanted to come home after he found them, I wouldn’t want to either. I’ve never felt so safe, or so right, than I do while I’m here, on this infuriatingly crazy man, sitting at this over-the-top long table and eating this deliciously cooked food. Sadness washes over me when I realize this is all a dream. Soon, I’ll have to wake and the nightmare that’s my reality will be waiting for me on the other side.

“You good?” Royce asks, biting the side of my neck.

I sink my teeth into the fatty meat, sucking the juices off my thumb and looking down at him. The way he takes me in is strong enough to cripple me. He cripples me. Every single emotion that I felt as a kid has returned tenfold. “So good.”

Slowly, the corner of his mouth kicks up in a sexy smirk. “So good, huh?” He leans over and wraps his lips around the thumb I just sucked, but instead of sucking on it, he bites it. Hard.

I yelp, but no one hears because everyone is talking and laughing loudly. “Ouch, Royce!”

He chuckles, his soft lips crashing onto mine briefly. “Yeah,” he says, licking his lips. “I’m never letting you out of my sight ever again.” My heart explodes in my chest, the shards of the aftermath ricocheting through my flesh. As soon as it exploded, the logicality of my situation makes my head spin and stomach sink. I twist around to block my face from crumbling. Tears well at the back of my eyes as I internally count down from twenty. Breathing in and breathing out. Every second I spend with him only lathers my pain with guilt. So much guilt.

How the hell am I going to get through lockdown?

I left Jade out the back with the girls while Lion called church after the feast. We touched base, he told everyone that he hadn’t heard back from the cartel, and now everyone is leaving, retreating to their bedrooms or to their tents out back. Lockdowns are always inconvenient for routines, but they’re necessary. They’re what keep us safe.

“Remember the day we met?” Lion asks, sucking on his cigar.

I chuckle. “Yes, I fucking do…”

Four Years Earlier

I pulled my car up to the parking lot of Patches, the rumble of my V8 growling angrily beneath my ass. “It’s a shit hole, for one,” I murmured to myself. Bitch probably set me up.

Picking up my phone, I sent off a message to Orson and Storm, pausing over their names briefly. What we had gone through yesterday was enough to drive a wedge through any friendship, but our friendship wasn’t any friendship. One day, we would turn what we went through into something good. That I fuckin’ know.

If I die, Patches is the bar I’m at.

I pushed my phone back into my jeans pocket and threw my hoodie over my head, climbing out of the car. It had an old-style house vibe to it, with a worn porch and aged wood lining the entry. The words Patches is inscribed over the chipping paint job, the log door swinging open with the wind. Taking the steps needed to the entrance, I pushed open the door with a squeak and it slammed shut behind me.

The temperature in the room is noticeably cooler than outside, and that’s not from the weather. The room is split between two groups.

On one side was a pack of bikers, wearing thick, heavy cuts and all of various shapes and sizes, and on the other side, standing somewhat calm and chill, was a group of older men dressed in suits and dripping with gold. I feel like I just strolled into an episode of The Sopranos crossed with Sons of Anarchy.

“Ah…” I said, but it was too late, gunshots rang out. I instantly ducked behind a table to take cover. “Fuck!” I was probably about to die, all because I listened to some random ass lady that told me to go to a fucking bar in the ass crack of nowhere. Bullets sprayed everywhere, smashing glasses and bottles. When everything died out, I tipped my head around the corner to see the older man from the MC side on his knees, his hands up behind the back of his head and the mafia boss and his side all pinned on the MC.