Reckless Road (Torpedo Ink 5)

The moment Maestro opened the door, Player could hear women moaning. A few of his brothers were using the rooms, and doors had been left open, something not all that uncommon during a party. The smell of sex was heavy in the confined space of the hall. As they passed an open door, a woman’s voice called out, begging for the queen’s maids to join them for sex. Her partner answered her, “What the hell are you going on about? What queen? What maids?”

Maestro kicked the door closed as they hurried past. “We never should have shown you that old Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland porn, Player,” he said, laughter in his voice. “You gotta stop thinking about that movie.”

Player could have told him it had nothing whatsoever to do with thinking and everything to do with smells, association and his fucked-up, fragmented brain playing tricks. Every open door they passed, Maestro slammed closed with his boot until they were all but sprinting down the rippling floor to the bathroom at the very end of the hallway.

This particular bathroom was considered off-limits during parties to outsiders, and the brothers kept to the rule. Lana and Alena, their sisters, both fully patched members of Torpedo Ink, used that room exclusively, although now they shared it with some of the other members’ wives. Maestro yanked open the door and practically shoved Player inside.

“I’ll be right back with a bottle of water and Tylenol,” Maestro promised and closed the door, leaving Player alone.

The scent of fresh lavender immediately washed the smell of sex away, giving Player a bit of a reprieve. He let himself take a deep breath, inhaling the lavender, taking the scent into his lungs, hoping to chase some of his terrible tension away. Perched on the sink and continuously breathing deeply, he texted Master to tell him he’d made it home safely while he waited for Maestro to return.

Maestro was fast, handing him the water and pills. He also brought him a clean pair of jeans and shirt. “You need me to wait and get you back to your room?”

“Naw, I’m good now. I can make it, no problem. I’ll lock up for the night and just sleep it off. You know I’m good once I’m down,” Player assured, pouring confidence into his voice. He detested that he’d taken Maestro from the party. Worse, it was dangerous for Maestro to spend too much time with him.

“If you’re certain.” Maestro dangled the keys to the truck from his fingers.

At once, Player’s gaze caught and held there, unable to stop, no matter how much he willed his mind to pull away. The keys morphed into the dreaded gold pocket watch, the case swiveling back and forth, nearly mesmerizing Player. The timepiece began to grow in front of his eyes again. He counted faster, forcing himself to turn his entire body away.

Player tossed back the Tylenol and chased it with water. “Absolutely. The shower will help, and then I’m sleeping as long as possible.” By some miracle, he kept from yelling at Maestro to get the fuck out. He kept his voice even and calm.

He didn’t look at Maestro, still counting in his head, hoping his brother would take the hint and get out of there fast. He didn’t trust himself. No one was safe. No one, not even those he loved. Not when he was this bad. He was fortunate in that he had deceived his brothers for so long into thinking he got vicious migraines and nothing was really wrong with him. No one really ever questioned him, and Maestro wanted to get back to the party.

The moment the door was closed, Player stripped and stepped under the hot water to wash off the road and to try to let the clean scent the women kept in the bathroom clear his fragmented mind. His head was pounding, the roaring so terrible he could barely stand it. Truthfully, he’d only experienced pain this bad once before. That was the time he’d lost total control, and his entire world had come apart when he realized what could happen. He was scared for everyone there in the clubhouse, and if necessary, he was going to bunk right there on the bathroom floor.

He took his time letting the hot water pour over him until he began to hallucinate that the shower floor was beginning to fill up like a pool. He had to blink rapidly, call the numbers aloud to himself as he dried off and dressed. There was no staying in the bathroom. He had to get to his private room, put in earplugs, turn off the lights and go to sleep. The more he slept, the faster his brain healed.

He took several deep breaths of the lavender, deliberately dragging the scent into his lungs, flung the door open, and planted his gaze on the door to his room. It seemed a very long distance away. He sprinted. He was normally fast. Very fast. He had long legs, and he could cover the distance with ease, but the floor undulated like a massive snake, threatening to throw him off balance.