Page 35 of Taming the Demon

Fitz slept good and woke with the sunrise. There were no signs of SOFRAW anywhere as he looked around the trees. He quickly unzipped his jeans and took his cock out to have a morning piss. Luckily everything looked good down there. He seemed to have dodged a bullet with the two whores and their sloppy blow job.

Fitz craved a damn cup of coffee. And a hot breakfast. He walked to a small neighborhood and hot-wired a piece of shit car and decided to bolt out of Cielo for a bit. Maybe it was time to leave for good.

The club would forever look for him. Maybe it was time to make a change. Fitz pictured himself living somewhere icy and cold, at the northern tip of Alaska. He wondered if Cyrus would send a charter to find him there.

Once on the road, Fitz felt a small sense of freedom. That lasted all of a mile before a police car pulled out of nowhere and rode right up on his ass. Fitz knew how to play it cool. Then again, he was in a stolen car.

Not even a mile later, another police car appeared, this one coming from the opposite direction. As soon as the car passed by Fitz and the first police car, it made a turn. Now Fitz had two police cars on his ass.

He began to press the accelerator, picking up speed. Five, ten, fifteen… twenty miles over the speed limit. Once he made it to thirty over the speed limit, he cut the wheel to the left. The tires screeched as the car turned. For a split second he thought he was going to lose it and crash and roll the car.

The car straightened out and Fitz pulled off the road, parked the car, and climbed across the front seat, then bolted out of the passenger side door. In a matter of minutes, he found himself right back where he had started. Back in the woods again. Still in Cielo. Still craving coffee and something to eat.

“Fuck,” Fitz said out loud.

He wasn’t sure if the two police cars were actually after him or not. Being on the run provided an intense sense of paranoia.

Fitz found a house that was unoccupied. Whoever lived there must have been at work. He made coffee, took a hot shower, found some Xanax in the bathroom medicine cabinet. He popped two of those babies and left the house, caffeinated, showered, and stoned.

Fitz needed protection. Fitz needed to start a war with SOFRAW. Let those fucking outlaws burn in hell…

… so he could rise from their ashes.

Chapter Fifteen

The FIGHT

Over coffee and a few flirty glances, they agreed not to sleep together again. They agreed this entire thing was messy enough. Darrow and Mara knew they weren’t just fucking around withsome people. They were fucking around withSOFRAWand Cyrus, who acted on a daily basis as though Priest were already dead and the world would burn for it. It was logical. For now, at least.

There were obvious ways—lies—that could and would stop the initial lie Mara had blurted out. To her, it all felt like bad karma. To Darrow, he felt karma could go fuck itself.

The following night, they had sex in the shower. Mara came twice and then dropped to her knees and sucked Darrow’s cock, swallowing every last drop of his warm, salty cum.

Outlaws and outlaw’s wives were known to break rules, right?

Darrow needed to go to the clubhouse. Days passed like years and he felt like a stranger to the guys he considered to bebrothers. All he wanted was for them to find Fitz, cut that rat into little pieces, wake Priest up from his fucking coma, and then end everything. End the lies.

Darrow lived on edge, refusing to accept anxiety, preferring to transfer it over to anger. He could release anger. That was easy. How easy?

Watch this, Darrow thought to himself.

As he pulled into the lot, Bram moved a split second slower than Drix. Darrow parked his motorcycle and jumped off as though it were on fire. He ran toward Bram and Drix as though they were on fire too.

“Hey, Darrow,” Drix said.

Darrow pointed at Drix. “You shut the fuck up,prospect.”

Drix quickly showed his hands and stepped back. He knew something wasn’t good with Darrow. Bram, on the other hand… he was a moron. Darrow swung his hand and grabbed the prospect by the back of his neck and slammed his face off the now closed gate.

“You trying to kill someone, asshole?” Darrow growled. “Too weak to open the fucking gate quick enough?”

“No!” Bram spoke in a muffled voice. He felt like his jaw and his face were going to just shatter from the amount of pressure Darrow applied. “No! I didn’t do nothing!”

Darrow pulled Bram back. “Are you calling me a fucking liar, prospect?”

“No! Sir! No! I…”

Darrow slammed Bram’s face off the gate once more. Then applied more pressure, growling in his throat. Poor Bram had done nothing wrong. Prospects were easy targets. They had to endure. Or sometimes they just got the shit beat out of them for no reason. Truthfully, the guys already knew which prospects would make the cut and which would not. At that point, they only kept the others around for this reason right here.

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