Page 3 of The Cult

“Getting tired, old man?” Archer taunted.

“Shut up!” Thirty-four wasn’t old. I might have looked older, but it was the product of the life I lived. “I like you better when you’re a man-of-few-words asshole.” I didn’t, but oh well.

“Almost there.” Heath, once again, dashed ahead while Archer trailed behind. He whispered something in his ear when he reached him, causing Heath to chuckle before wrapping his hand around Archer’s neck, pulling him closer then kissing the top of his blond hair.

One great advantage of being secluded for weeks was witnessing how their relationship had grown. They were in love. Everyone could feel the growing connection from the way they studied each other; the subtle ways they touched each other tenderly when they thought no one was looking.

It seemed it really was true that love came when you least expected it. I chuckled when Archer snaked his left hand into Heath’s faded jeans to cup his ass.

“Ah, not out here.” I reminded the fucking lovebirds that they weren’t alone and I didn’t need to see them fondling each other. Not that I had any problem with their public displays.

“Our bad.” Archer glanced back at me, a grin plastered on his face.

“Your bad,” Heath corrected, pulling Archer’s hand out of his pants. “I got nothing to do with this.” He pushed Archer away in protest, but the similar grin he sported told a different story.

“It’s all good,” I said. “Just get it all out of your system before we head out.” I had no doubt The Reaper and The Priest were well aware of what was looming on the other side of our sanctuary, but what was I supposed to say? Fucking stop because I was reminded of what I couldn’t have? That what I wanted was never going to happen.

Slivers of lights came into focus when we cornered a turn. “Never mind,” I grumbled, running between them and bumping their shoulders.

Unaffected, their boisterous laugh reverberated. “Tobias,” Heath called from behind me. “Here.” He tossed a key in my direction, and I caught it mid-air. “That’s for the gate.”

Not wasting a second, I stuck the key into the padlock connecting two metal chains keeping the bar gate shut.

I stepped out of the darkness and reveled in the fresh forest air. We were surrounded by birch, aspen, and maple trees. The beaming summer sun warmed my skin. My shoulders relaxed, momentarily forgetting what we were up against. After a couple of minutes of basking, I looked back at Archer perusing our perimeter, gun in hand. The mischief in his face of moments ago was replaced with serious vigilance. I admired his ability to compartmentalize.

“We’re clear,” he said, placing his gun back in its holster before closing the distance between him and his Harley. “Hello, my friend.” He ran his fingers along the seat of his bike, the same way he caressed Heath’s skin.

“Wanna take the Mustang?” Heath asked.

I raised a brow. “What Mustang?”

He fished the key out of his pocket and dropped it in my hand. “All yours.” He pulled back a camouflage tarp with a flourish, revealing a vintage convertible Ford Mustang in my favorite color: red.

“No fucking way!” I exclaimed, admiring my ride’s pristine condition and the shiny paint with bright chrome trim. The black leather seats were original. Even the wheels were original. It’d been ages since I laid eyes on one of these. “Are you for real?” I carefully opened the door and slid onto the soft supple bucket seat, the leather cool against my back and thighs. “Sweet!”

Heath nodded. His lips moved but the roaring sound of the engine when I turned the ignition on drowned out his voice. Nothing beat a classic American-made muscle car. Its tremor woke my senses, energizing every fiber in my body.

“What?” I asked, leaning closer so I could hear better.

“Nothing,” he mouthed before heading over to where Archer was waiting. Of course they were riding together. I should’ve known.

A series of mini vibrations coming from my pocket took me by surprise. Who the hell is calling me? It’d been a while since I received a call from anyone, as everyone who knew my other number was bunked in the house. Besides, Archer was the only one who actually called me. I turned off the ignition, which stopped Archer and Heath from pulling their helmets over their heads.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and a name I hadn’t seen in a long while flashed on the lit screen. Oliver Marshall, my best friend. “Oliver?” I answered.

All I could hear was heavy breathing rasping into my ear seconds before the sound of shattering glass.

“Oliver!” My heart pounded in my chest, and the gushing sound of my blood was exaggerated as I pressed my cell tighter to my ear.

“Fuck! Fuck!” Oliver’s muffled voice carried through the receiver before gunshots punctuated the call.

“Oliver, what the fuck is wrong?” Louder gunshots from the other end pierced my ears.

“Get ’em outta there, Tobias,” Oliver said frantically. “Get ’em outta there. Please?” His voice was breathy and weak.

“Where are you?” I yelled.

Archer dashed to the car with a raised eyebrow then yanked the car door open to let me out.

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