Page 5 of Loki's Luck

“Prospect, who the fuck are you texting, and why are you not pouring me a fucking shot? I want to get the hell out of here before the show starts,” I grunt at Beau, tapping my glass on the bar. He’s been smiling at his phone for longer than usual tonight.

“It’s a friend. I met her a few days ago at the convenience store on the south side,” he tells me, placing his phone back in his pocket and getting my drink.

“Oh, shit, Beau… you gonna be the next poor bastard to fall in love?” I joke with him.

I hope he finds happiness. I hope all my brothers do. Me? I’ll be alone forever, and I’m okay with that. I’m too fucked up to have a woman of my own. I haven’t met a woman yet who can handle my shit. My life has been nothing but death and destruction. It’s all I know, and now that I’ve grown and come to terms with that, I’m happy with who I am. That doesn’t mean other people are, but… fuck them.

The only type of woman I could see coming into my future is one that would chop my dick off, stab me in my sleep, and then place said dick on her shelf as a trophy. I smirk at that idea. If only dreams could come true.

“Nah, nothing like that. She’s just a friend. She’s badass as hell. She went up against some punk trying to rob her store. It was fucking hot. Unfortunately, she’s not really my type,” he says, shaking his head but giving me a weird side-eye. What the fuck is that look about?

“Not your type? That must mean she’s ugly as fuck,” I say, shrugging.

“Actually, totally the opposite. She’s hot as hell. Small but with ass and tits for days, man,” he says with a grin.

“So, what’s the problem?” I ask, not sure why I care, but I have to be here for ten more minutes until our new bar, Devils Crossroads, opens. Today is my day to make sure the open shift, meaning prospects, are doing what the fuck they are supposed to be doing. Beau oversees them and is basically managing the place. He will be the official manager and maybe even part owner as soon as he gets patched in. I don’t see it being much longer before that happens.

“The problem is she reminds me of someone I know, and it’s kind of… scary,” he says with a shiver and chuckles while looking at me. Okay, this is starting to piss me the fuck off.

“Asshole, what the fuck is so funny?” I demand. He opens his mouth to say something, but the music plays before he can.

Everyone in the place knows when that song comes on, all the prospects jump up on the bar, shirtless with chaps on, and start dancing. When I say dancing, I really mean grinding, jumping up to the metal bars mounted on the ceiling and doing pull-ups, shaking their asses, and a bunch of other disturbing things I just can’t stomach to watch.

Instead of waiting for Beau to tell me what’s up with him, I down my beer, turn, and make my way out of the bar to my bike. I throw one leg over and peel out of the parking lot, heading back toward the compound. I take the long route through town, just needing some fresh air. I don’t want to go back to my room at the compound. It’s bare and a bit too small.

I don't like feeling like I’m being closed in, so usually, I stay in the back shed behind the main building. There’s a gym with a boxing ring, lifting equipment, and areas I set up for knife and ax throwing. I’m deadly with a blade and would rather use that than a gun any day. I also started building my house near Hitter’s and Swift’s. Technically, we aren’t supposed to start until we find our Ol’ Ladies, but the club officers have a bit more leeway. It was easy to get Swift, our club president, on board, seeing as I’m the club enforcer. Plus, we all know there’s no one actually crazy enough to tie themselves to someone like me.

The house design I went with is an old farmhouse look instead of the other guys' cabin feel. I wanted something that felt nostalgic and homey. Seeing a picture of an average white house with black shutters and a picket fence called to me. It just seemed so… normal. The complete opposite of me. It should only take another two weeks to complete if the weather and builders hold up.

I make it back to the compound and climb off my bike. I see Hitter and Izzy sitting at the bar together when I open the door. She turns to look at me and squints, but I know even though she has a little of her sight back, I’m too far away for her to make out my features.

“Hey, Hitter, Izzy. What brings you out of the bedroom and into the compound today?” I ask, needing to fuck with him but also wanting to let Izzy know that it’s me who just walked in with my voice. Hitter opens his mouth to reply—probably something about cutting my balls off for mentioning his woman and a bedroom in the same sentence, but Izzy hits him in the stomach and smiles at me.

“Hey Loki, how is the bar holding up?” Izzy asks as I make my way closer. I place a soft kiss on her head, smirking over at Hitter when he growls.

I love Izzy. After hearing about her life and what she went through, we’ve gotten close, and I like to think of her as a sister. But I also enjoy fucking with Hitter, so… you know, two birds, one stone and all that shit.

“Do you like making him so growly?” Izzy chuckles.

“I like fucking with him. I also think you like it when he growls,” I say, watching a blush spread across her cheeks.

Hitter leans down and claims Izzy’s mouth; before I can stop it, they get lost in each other. I take that as my cue to get the hell out of the room before I see more of Izzy than I want to. I head back toward the gym and thank fuck, the place is empty. I make my way toward the punching bags on the far end, needing to get some of my thoughts in order.

I feel like the club is finally getting back on its feet after everything that happened with Izzy, our rival club, and Dread. Losing a brother has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever been through, and that’s saying a helluva lot, seeing as my life hasn’t been a field of daisies.

Dread may have been a nomad, but he was a brother through and through. He got into some nasty shit on the road, but we always had his back. In the end, he left us by saving the love of Hitter’s life, and no one will ever be able to thank him enough.

The funeral was four months ago, but it still hasn’t been easy on any of us. It’s hard to move on from something like that, and I’ve been taking it out on my favorite knife set. I punch the bag again as I think of Drift and Volt.

They attended the funeral but hopped on their bikes immediately after it was over and left. We haven’t seen them since. Swift gets weekly phone calls, just them telling us they are still alive and breathing, but they suffered the hardest out of all of us, and no one really knows how to fix it. I guess there’s really nothing we can do.

For some reason, Devin also took off to “find his own place in this world,” were his exact words. After everything he went through, being held prisoner for years just to come home and find your baby girl started a new life and is happy, I would want to find my happiness or any semblance of a life I could, too. I don’t blame him. But I see the sadness in Piper’s eyes sometimes. She just got him back and had to let him go again. I know he felt like he didn’t have a place here; sometimes, I wonder if I’m too fucked up for this place as well. I don’t want to bring trouble to my brothers because of the fucked up things I do and say. I also know there’s no other place on this earth I fit in more than here.

I punch the bag again, harder this time, and I see movement out of the corner of my eye.

“What?” I ask Grease, who’s leaning against the wall staring at me.

“How you doing, brother?” he asks, taking off his shirt and hopping into the ring. I smile, knowing exactly what he wants and needing it more than I realized.

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