Page 5 of Bad Like Me

4

Crow

Even though Irode my bike hard and fast, I didn’t make it to the services on time. I blame Diablo’s slow ass. People were filing out of the church and climbing into their vehicles when I arrived, and I wasn’t a complete dick, I didn’t want to bust into the service at the conclusion. I respected Rich too much to do that. When my mom and dad were conveniently absent for the important things of a teenager’s life, Rich, Ray’s dad, was always there for Wren and me. Hell, he had been there for me while Ray was gone. He was someone I could always talk to when I didn’t have anyone else outside of the clubhouse to confide in. He may have been her father by blood, but he was important to me, too—even if Ray was oblivious to that fact.

The truth was, I had no idea how much or little she knew about me or my relationship with her parents. When Rich wasn’t there for me, Mary was. Mary wasn’t only Mom’s best friend, she took care of us when Mom wasn’t able. When Mom couldn’t afford my tux for prom, Mary paid for it with no questions asked. The only two people who were let in on that secret were involved in the conspiracy: Mary and me. Mom didn’t know where I got the money for it, and she didn’t ask, so I didn’t tell her. She would have been embarrassed to know that Mary paid for it and would’ve tried to give her the money back, money we didn’t have to give. If it hadn’t been Ray’s dream to go to prom together, I would have said fuck it to the whole thing; prom really wasn’t my scene, anyway. It didn’t matter, though, it was what Ray wanted, so it was what I had to do because I loved her.

I wanted to be here for the wake because I didn’t do well with funerals, not since Mom’s. I had only been to one since she passed and didn’t plan to attend another anytime soon. It wasn’t anything personal to Ray, more like every time I saw a body being dropped into a grave, their face morphed into Mom’s. I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t watch my mother be buried every time someone else died, so I stayed away from the event entirely. The one and only graveside service I attended after Mom was in remembrance of our Uncle Stephen, and it was then I learned I couldn’t attend another funeral again. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be present for the people I cared about, I did. It was just I wasn’t physically able to do it. Losing Mom was one of the hardest things I’d dealt with in my life, and I’d committed countless crimes without losing too much sleep. My transgressions didn’t compare to funerals.

My tires ground against the gravel of the parking lot as I turned them to the left as hard as I could and headed toward the clubhouse before anyone spotted me. There was no use hanging around here where I would be faced with uncomfortable questions I refused to answer.

Wren stopped at the bottom of the church steps, her eyes locking with mine as my Harley rolled to a halt at the stop sign, and I dropped my boots against the pavement to support the weight of my bike and me. She hatefully glared at me and then glanced at her cell phone, no doubt checking the time, and shook her head. My shoulders simply rose and fell in a nonchalant shrug, and I took off, the tire treads gaining asphalt as quickly as I could make them. The fact that she clocked my time would work to my benefit, even if I hadn’t planned for her to do so. It would give me a timeline and an alibi, not that I thought The Dogs had the balls to involve the law, but I could only speculate what they would do. They were one-percenters like the Royal Bastards. Without a shadow of a doubt, I knew none of us would be phoning the pigs because as a rule, the colder we were on their radar the better.

* * *

As soon asI was through the clubhouse door, Ghoul passed me a handle of whiskey. He was pleased with the guns, which was good because when he was unhappy, it was hard to be around him. He nodded his head in appreciation and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth before calling his shot, “Eightball, corner pocket.” He pointed the tip of his stick toward the far-left end of the table, aimed, and sunk the black ball exactly where he said he would.

“Good one, Boss,” I congratulated him and walked toward the bar. Ghoul could run the table on about anyone who walked into our clubhouse. Depending on how cocky his opponent was, set Ghoul’s level of seriousness, and he’d been known to put money on the games on occasion. It was usually his way of reminding people to be humble and would shut them the fuck up about how good they thought they were. Ghoul was a hell of a President and liked people to remember their place in the world. He and I shared the belief that we’re all people, only some of us have different titles, and some are shittier than others. It made us damn good leaders for the club and was a good reminder when either of us needed a swift kick in the ass to bring us back down to earth.

An exasperated huff left Circuit’s lips when I dropped my ass onto my usual stool right of the bar door. He was on bar duty, and he hated every minute of it, but somebody had to do it. There were many reasons a brother would be behind the bar serving everyone else. We all took turns, but it could also be a form of punishment when someone fucked up. The latter was the reason Circuit was pouring the drinks tonight, and he knew it. Hell, we all did.

“Circuit, you’ll be off duty next week, right?” I cleared my throat after taking a few big swallows of whiskey and wiped my mouth on the back of my forearm, trying to remind him he wasn’t on a life sentence behind the bar.

“That’s the word…as long as I keep the customers happy.” He half-heartedly smirked, grabbing the ashtrays and emptying them one at a time into the trashcan underneath the bar’s surface.

“Just keep your shit together, and Ghoul will let you off. You’re just the patsy for losing the guns.”

“What about Ghoul getting off? This is a conversation I should be a part of.” Ghoul’s bass voice boomed through the clubhouse, and he plopped down onto the stool beside me. “Heh. I like getting off, so this topic is of particular interest to me. Ain’t that right, Red?” he called over his shoulder to a normal club whore as she bent over the pool table behind us to take her shot, standing as straight as an arrow when he called her name.

“Sure do, Ghoul.” She giggled, wiggling her ass and popped it out further than necessary as she pressed her tits against the green felt of the table to take her shot.

Fucking club skanks. I would be a liar if I said I had never indulged in a few of them, but I made damn sure I always wore a rubber. Who knew what any of them had—probably more than I wanted to think about, honestly. Who in their right mind would willingly be treated like shit and have no purpose other than being used as a fuck doll? I wouldn’t that was for certain. Maybe that was the reason I hated them so much—I just didn’t understand them. They obviously didn’t have any self-respect because if they did, they wouldn’t be here doing what they did. There was no lingering question in my mind that all of these bitches had daddy issues or something equally as severe, none of those things crossed my mind anytime any of my brothers or I needed to get off. It made me a hypocritical asshole, but I didn’t seem to feel much remorse when I was balls deep. Why would I? It wasn’t like anyone forced them to be here; they came through the door of their own free will, and when they were fucked, they were fucked well. Unless, of course, they were unlucky enough to end up in bed with Sac. If they did, they might have been left wet and hung up to dry. I was unfortunate enough to have the knowledge of my brother being built like a damn Tic Tac, and although I hadn’t seen the guy fuck, there was only so much maneuvering you could do with such a tiny little dick and massive balls.

“Where’s Sac?” I asked, noticing he wasn’t around as I took another mouthful from the bottle and gritted my teeth as the Seven scorched my throat.

“Setting up the deal,” Ghoul and Circuit said in unison.

“That fucker? What the hell, Ghoul? First, you send Diablo with me, and then you put Sac as the middleman.” I was overstepping and I knew it, but someone needed to question Ghoul right now. As the Vice President of our chapter, I had to keep this motherfucker in check every now and then. I was the only person in the club who he listened to…sometimes. It depended on the day and whether he wore his emotions on his sleeve or not on how the conversation would go. Again, it was what we did for each other, so I wouldn’t be backing down from this or anything else as crucial.

“What can I say?” he grunted. “Every brother needs to get their dick wet and commit their felonies somehow.” He shrugged, opening his hand as Circuit sliced a couple inches off a straw, and dropped the new tooter he made into his palm. He was right, we all had to get experience when we could, but I wish he didn’t gamble on the club’s well-being when it wasn’t necessary. I was overprotective and at times a downright asshole when it came to things associated with the club, but it had a lot to do with me having a type-A personality.

We all had our vices. Mine was whiskey and used to be nicotine, and Ghoul, well, Ghoul’s was coke. We were all trying our damnedest to forget something, and although I didn’t particularly agree with his choice of poison, I wasn’t one to judge it too much either. It didn’t matter what way we chose to drown our sins, we all fought to suffocate our demons the best we could.

“Toot toot, mother fuckers. Fucking hookers and cocaine, just trying to live my best life.” Ghoul chuckled, lifting his face off the bar and pulled the tooter from his nostril, chucking it into a nearby empty ashtray.

“Hell, yeah,” Circuit cheered pouring a shot for Ghoul and the rest of us, grabbing his and holding it high in the air. “To living our best life. Forever Bastards, and Bastards forever,” he yelled, and the rest of us brothers joined him in the chant before flipping our shot into the back of our throats.

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