Page 6 of God of War

Rev, one of the other guys around my age who got patched in with me, told me that they use it as an incentive: stay loyal to the club, do what they ask of you, and all this warm, wet, delicious pussy could be yours.

Hey, it fucking worked on me.

So why am I here? At home, palming my hard-as-fuck dick, instead of nailing Lulu or Jody or Nadine to the fucking wall back at the compound?

My eye catches the scrap of paper by the phone and my booze-clouded brain reminds me why I decided to be an idiot and leave my own initiation party.

The kid.

I want to be home, to be awake and sober to hopefully catch her on her way somewhere in the morning. She rides her little purple bike up and down the street most Sundays, her mom poking her head out the front door to check on her every so often. It’s sweet, and I never thought I would be a guy who cared about sweet.

I fold the scrap of paper over in my fingers, then stick it in my pocket for safekeeping. It’s the number and address of Gran’s retirement home — along with Gran’s name, because I don’t think Delaney actually knows it.

When I called Gran to tell her about Delaney, she just gave this sad little sigh.

“That girl,” she mused. “A sad little thing. I feel so badly for her — stuck in that house, with that man and her poor mouse of a mother.”

Gran told me Delaney’s father was with the pigs, a deputy with his sights set on Sheriff, and was kind of an asshole. Not that it surprised me. I’d had my own share of asshole father figures in my life.

After all that, I’m standing in my kitchen, wobbling on my feet with tequila burning through my veins, because I need to be up bright and early to give a little girl my grandmother’s fucking phone number.

Maybe it’ll re-balance the scales. One good thing to make up for the shit I’ve done for my new brothers — deliver drugs and tail people and put my fist through some poor fuck’s face.

I flip off the kitchen light, shuck off my boots and pull off my shirt, dropping it in the hallway as I stumble to my bedroom.

Bed. Bed sounds good right about now.

I’m halfway there when I hear it.

Tap tap tap.

I freeze. My ears strain against the quiet, wondering if I’d just imagined it.

Tap tap tap.

My nerves suddenly on edge, I stalk to the front door and whip it open, ready to fight whatever dumb fuck thought it was a good idea to play ding-dong-ditch on a member of the Wastelanders.

Instead, Delaney screams and stumbles back so far she tips off the porch and lands on her scrawny little ass.

“What the—What the fuck, Delaney?“ I say, forcing my voice into a low hiss.

“Oww… S-sorry.”

I sigh. Shaking my head, it only takes me a couple steps before I’m towering over her. I grab her outstretched hand and pull her to her feet.

“Don’t be sorry,” I grumble, feeling bad for yelling at her. “The hell are you doing here?”

I cast a quick glance around the darkened street. The last thing I need is for somebody to look out their window and see me, a shirtless, tattooed biker, looming over a little girl in the middle of the night.

“I need to… to talk to you.”

When I look down at her, I notice that she’s not meeting my eyes. In fact, her shoulders are curled in, and her face is hidden by long, tangled brown hair. She looks fucking creepy. Hunched over in the dark, haunting me like one of those Japanese horror movie ghosts.

“It’s important,” she whispers.

I shake my head. I’m too drunk for this right now. I turn around, stomp back up the porch and grab the door. I’m about to tell her to get lost when I feel something brush by beneath my arm. Next thing I know, she’s inside my house, clutching a worn little book to her chest and looking around the front hall with big eyes.

“Fuck, Delaney,” I growl. “You need to leave.”

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