Page 43 of Bleed Me

CHAPTER TEN

Brat wasn’t in his room, so I headed down the hall to the Barn, but stopped when overhearing deep, familiar voices. Lynx was telling Diesel, “The kid is sharp. He’s like a sponge in the garage.” I smiled. It felt good to hear Prez, another father figure, speak of me with such pride. “He’s really learning his way around both bike and cage engines.”

“He been on the road with ya yet?” asked Diesel.

“Nah. He has enough going on before we introduce him to that world.”

I was hearing more than I should and didn’t want to betray their trust. It didn’t take a scholar to guess there was illegal activity going on, and that I would someday be a part of it, but for now, this club wasn’t making me do more than a lot of cleaning and minion work, which was more degrading than dangerous.

I was perfectly okay with that. My mind was in a spiral, and I could barely determine when that spiral was up or down.

Walking into the Barn, I saw Diesel sitting with Lynx at the bar, along with Torque, our Sergeant-in-Arms, and Vice, our Enforcer.

Torque was a very pulled-together individual. He liked things organized and running appropriately, almost military-like. His light brown hair, with a tint of brass, wasn’t quite military but was close-cut and always combed back. Even his short beard was super tight. Not a wild hair in sight. He wasn’t much of a talker—I guess men with loaded guns on their hips don’t need to be—but inquisitive eyes were constantly on the lookout. I dare say he was classically handsome, the way visiting club girls always flocked to him.

Vice? Well, he carried his title well: Enforcer. He was large enough to ‘enforce’ whatever he goddamned felt like but was a very calm and collected man, in his late thirties. His road name? I had yet to feel it, but imagined it had something to do with the paws on the man. They looked like he could crush bone with a mere squeeze.

Diesel set his cigarette in an ashtray on the bar. “Giver!” He got off his stool. “The fuck? What have they been feedin’ ya?”

It was good to see him. I hugged him. “You look older.”

“Fuck off.” Diesel bitch-slapped my short-bearded cheeks and gawked at me. “Damn. You look so different!” He yanked on my longer hair, then asked Lynx, “Seriously, what the el fuck-o do you have this kid on?”

After an upper body stretch that screamed, I’m awake far too early after a rager, while sitting on a barstool, he patted his chest. “Love and ass kickin’. Works like a charm. Wait ‘til you see Saint. Another fucking inch. I’m replacing outgrown pants like I’m runnin’ a goddamn orphanage.”

After a beast hug, Scorch set me back on my feet, saying, “Umm, how do ya explain two twenty-five-year olds getting taller?”

Lynx snarled, “Tell me ‘bout it. Hence, that rocket scientist of an identity genius being fired.” Elle, Prez’s old lady—the bartender I met my first night with the Stallions—refilled his cup of coffee, then turned to walk back into the kitchen. “You forgettin’ something?”

With sass, she lifted a brow. “No. You’ve had plenty of sugar.”

“The hell I have.” He lifted his arms in a ‘really’ gesture. “Babe.”

The tall blonde beauty’s face melted into a hungry smile as she leaned over the bar and kissed the President, who couldn’t seem to function without her.

The place was rather quiet and empty. “Where is everyone?”

“On a ride,” said Torque. “Bunnies at the store for tonight’s event.”

I didn’t know what event and didn’t ask. I was a Prospect. If I was to know, they’d tell me. “Any of you seen Brat?” I asked.

Taking a sip of coffee, Scorch thumbed over his shoulders and toward the stairs by the pool tables. “He might be gone. He was in a bit of a hurry.”

I bet he was. “Thanks, man.” I started jogging toward the stairs until I realized something crucial. In shock, I stopped, then slowly faced Diesel.

He was still standing there, in utter amazement. “H-How did you know?”

I am James Gunn Dalton. My voice was flat. “Know what?”

“That you don’t need to worry about her anymore?”

“I didn’t.”

That old coot eyed me. “El bullshit-o. You think I believe all them texts from Dagger were just him caring?”

Just then, Dagger waltzed in. “What am I caring about?”

Diesel pointed to me. “His ‘inquiries’.”