Page 19 of Hell Bent

“There was an issue and no one could locate you.”

“There wasn’t anything on the fucking schedule, Teller. I was out for the evening.” Evidently, Player and Joker hadn’t ratted him out about being blackout drunk the night before.

He’d sat in his truck most of the night, making sure Jerome didn’t hassle Sabine. It was becoming an issue for him. His demons had been trying to rear their ugly heads. When he left, he headed for the strip club to rectify the situation, but once there, he started pounding whisky. In the past, he would have taken a couple of the girls to bed. The last thing he remembered was getting into a fight with one of the customers.

“You’re never off from the damn club, Vicious.” Teller glared at the chapter’s Vice President.

“What’s your god damn damage, asshole?” Vicious saw Teller swing and ducked out of the way.It was bound to happen, Vicious thought as he raised his fist. As both men squared off, Vicious knew one of them would bleed badly.

They were equal in size and ability. Now, they would find out which could land the harder blow. Teller bobbed and weaved before he swung again. Vicious let the brother size him up, but it wouldn’t do Teller any good. Vicious didn’t play by the rules no matter who he was dealing with.

Blocking the next punch, Vicious knocked Teller’s fist away then threw a jab, connecting with his chin. Teller’s head snapped back. When he glared at Vicious, all he could do was smirk. Waving his Prez on, Vicious mimicked Teller’s footwork as they danced around the area, throwing jabs at one another. Finally having enough of the bullshit, Vicious stopped chasing the brother. “You wanna dance around, find someone else. You wanna fight, tell me a time and I’ll meet you in the dungeon or at the farm, away from prying eyes.”

The dungeon was the club’s workout area. It was equipped with wall-to-wall weight equipment, and in the middle wasa boxing ring. They all worked out. Sometimes, they used it to dole out punishments or just work out their bullshit. The farm was a whole other entity.

“We aren’t done, asshole.”

“Yeah, we are, Teller. Figure your shit out and stop using me as your fucking punching bag.” Damn if he didn’t sound like a fucking woman. Turning his back to Teller, Vicious headed for the door.

“You leave, you can stay gone.”

And there it was. All the attitude and bullshit Teller had been slinging was because he wanted Vicious gone. “Put it to a vote, Teller, and I’ll abide by the outcome. But you have to do the same.”

Slamming the door open, Vicious waved off the prospect who was standing near his bike, then he stopped. The side of Tank’s face was badly bruised and his bottom lip was split. “Were you with the hangaround who got jumped last night?”

“Yeah, one of them. Chocó’s his name.”

“Who else was jumped?”

“Toner. He’s in the hospital. Doc said he’ll make a full recovery, but he’ll be in there for a few more days.”

“You got my digits in your phone?”

“Yeah.”

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thanks, Vicious.”

Vicious clapped the kid on the shoulder then climbed on his sled. He needed some wind in his face and some distance from the club. There hadn’t been a day in the last two years he hadn’t been within a phone call away. For the club, he’d been available twenty-four-seven. Now, Teller wanted to have an issue with him? Fuck that.

Kicking the bike into gear, he rolled away from the clubhouse. For two years he’d dealt with this bullshit from Teller. Always giving in. Always feeling like a kiss-ass. He was done. Most days and nights were a series of making deals or closing deals for the club.

He’d given every ounce of himself to the Royal Bastards. He’d given his respect to the club, to his brothers, even when it wasn’t always given back. He protected even when he felt his back wasn’t watched. He’d held his head up, honoured to wear the colours. He’d been loyal to a fault. He’d lived by the code and never once, until that moment, rode away in anger.

His life was a fucking funhouse ride without the fucking clowns. Damn near the only things holding him tight were the nicotine he smoked and the whisky he drank. The roads he’d wandered all his life seemed to be heading in the same direction.South.He’d stared into the face of death more times than he cared to count, and his nine lives were running out. There was a song that said no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get out the world alive. That was a damn true statement.

For the longest time, he’d been running hard, his hand twisting the throttle, going as fast as he could. Every move was calculated. Life was a gamble for someone like him, like a game of Russian roulette. His wild side kept himliving his life one move at a time until the Royal Bastards gave him a home.

Riding down the sideroads, his heart felt as heavy as the gun holstered at his back. He wondered if everything over the past two years had been leading to this night. That one night had changed the chapter, changed the brothers. Especially those who’d been there since the beginning. Things had been done to test their loyalty. Things they each had to live with. They had been held back, picked apart, and when everything was laid out in front of them, they had to make a call. That call to Jameson was the catalyst that brought them to now.

His mind wandered over when he’d come into the Royal Bastards. Back then, he was spiralling out of control. Young and dumb, he’d done some stupid shit and was looking for a place to lay low for a while. He’d started hanging around the club, and before long, he was prospecting.

He loved being part of the club and loved having his brothers at his back. They lived by a code, and no one . . . no one broke the code. There wasn’t a time he could remember that the Bastards hadn’t had his back. Vicious wondered if things were changing again, though not for the better this time.

Tucking those memories away along with the ones of all the things he couldn’t have, he did the one thing that cleared the fog from his mind. He blasted down the highway on his Harley, letting the world fade away. Wind in his face, the roar of the motor in his ears, and the road beneath his wheels, this was where his sins melted away. Where the world blurred until it disappeared. Where nothing else existed except him and the bike.

His damn phone buzzed in his back pocket. It had been going off since he left the clubhouse. Pulling off the road, he yanked the damn thing out. “What?”

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