Page 1 of Property of Fox

FOX

The wind cutsthrough me like a knife, a frigid reminder that January in Indiana doesn’t mess around. I pull my beanie lower on my forehead, eyeing the snow-dusted gravel underfoot as I huddle against the skeletal frame of what will be a community rec center. It’s one of those bleeding-heart projects Asher can’t help but take on. While I’m all for helping out, especially when it comes to boosting our club’s image, this weather makes me wonder if we’re a little too committed.

“Fox!” The deep voice booms through the site, filled with authority and just enough warmth to melt the ice off my grimace. Azrael, my club president, strides over. He’s bundled up, and I envy how warm he looks. In his hand, he carries a steaming cup of coffee, its rich aroma cutting through the biting cold. “How's it looking?”

“Like a popsicle stand in Antarctica,” I quip. It might be cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey, but I’m no stranger to shooting the shit with Az. It’s part of what keeps me sane in this icy hellhole. “Please tell me that coffee is for me.”

Az raises an eyebrow. “You should’ve thought about bringing a heater.”

“And have the crew pick a fucking fight over who gets to stand next to it at lunch? No fucking thanks.”

He steps closer, eyes scanning the blueprints spread out on the makeshift table that had also become our lunch spot today—a couple of insulated thermoses filled with hot coffee and chili that I whipped up last night before crashing on the couch. Days like today we needed everything we could muster to keep the crew warm.

His gaze turns serious for a moment as he studies the blueprints. Az knows how much these projects mean to both of us. In different ways, obviously. I like to get paid, and he likes to keep his moody fucking twin happy.

“It’s going to be good for them,” he finally says, nodding toward where they’ll eventually build a gym and maybe even some classrooms for after-school programs. “You think we’ll get this one done ahead of schedule?”

“Hell yeah,” I declare confidently, leaning against a beam like I own the place. “As long as the weather doesn’t go tits up, we should be finished before spring. I’m just glad it was warm enough to do the foundation work before the cold set in. A good foundation makes all the difference, don’t you think?" I let out aplayful grin as I watch him. I take a sip of my coffee, letting the rich flavor roll over my tongue, warmth spreading through my chest.

I glance over at the freshly poured concrete foundation—smooth and hard as a bastard's heart. It's the kind of solid base that can support a whole lot of dreams… or hide a whole lot of sins. Particularly the pedophile the club put to rest in his concrete grave.

“Yeah, a solid foundation is everything,” Az replies, his eyes still narrowing on me. He’s got that way of reading between the lines, as if he knows my brand of humor hides something more. Something dark. But thankfully, it’s all buried now, just like our little secret.

I take a long look at the site, imagining how the rec center will transform this part of town. Kids playing basketball on the courts or laughing over homework by the benches. That’s the dream. But somewhere beneath the slab we laid down yesterday, there’s an entirely different truth. The dead body buried deep in the concrete foundation is just another reminder of how twisted life can get.

I laugh to myself, envisioning the pedophile they found stalking that playground after his third stint in prison. Really? You’d think people would learn by now. No one told him that being released doesn’t mean he got a free pass to roam where children play. So, when the club caught wind of him lurking around, let’s just say Az turned him into a permanent fixture at the bottom of our worksite’s foundation—a real fixer-upper if you ask me.

“Got to build these kids a safe space,” I mumble under my breath. Who wouldn’t want a local rec center with its own offender deterrent? Can I market that? Maybe, ‘Rec Center: Where Safety is Set in Stone.’

Az raises an eyebrow, and I quickly wipe the goofy grin off my face. I can't let him see how far my mind wanders when left alone with my thoughts. He’d have me committed if he knew just how far my mind could spiral. Just last night, I stumbled onto a social media app where men dressed in masks were going viral. Considering my lengthy dry spell lately, the women in the comment section had me going down a rabbit hole. I had a mask. I could do the whole man of mystery thing, staring into a camera with intensity. No problem at all. Well, except Van would eventually find out, and then the club after that. Yeah, it wasn’t worth swimming in pussy for that. Instead, I change the subject, gesturing toward our crew, “You think Reggie will stop drinking those energy shots before he tries to dead lift a truck one day?”

Az chuckles softly. It's always nice to crack his hard exterior and draw him out of his club leader armor for even a minute. “If someone doesn’t keep an eye on him, he might just give himself a hernia.”

“And then what?” I answer, folding my arms across my tattooed chest. I shoot Az with a sidelong glance. “More bodies for us to bury?”

“Don’t joke about things like that,” Az warns, but there’s a hint of amusement dancing in his blue-black eyes.

Okay, maybe it’s sick humor, but hey, life gets hard sometimes. You need some levity to balance out all of the darkness. “I’ll do my best not to joke about bodies until after lunch.” I watch as Az nods approvingly before turning his attention back to the site.

I can hear the distant thrum of the city, but right now, it feels like we’re in our own little universe amid the chaos. Az shoves his hands deep into his pockets, looking every bit the president he is, like a king surveying his kingdom. But then he cracks a smile, and I know it’s only a matter of time before he will dash back to Hallie.

“Better get back to the office,” he mutters reluctantly, glancing at his watch as if time's about to escape him.

“Running off to your princess again?” I joke, raising an eyebrow with all the sass I can muster. “What’s she doing? Writing another steamy chapter for her motorcycle club romance? Maybe you should take some notes, Az.”

“Notes for what exactly?”

“If you have to ask that question, your balls are already dangling like a keychain from her purse now. Maybe she needs inspiration for her next book. The description of my dick alone would make it a bestseller.”

“You’ve got some serious delusions there, man,” he answers, shaking his head at me.

“Don’t get fictional dick envy, Az. Not everyone can be me. Hallie around the clubhouse? Maybe I’ll swing by and pitch my idea to her after work. Show her what she missed out on when she picked you over me.”

“You didn’t stand a chance, dickhead.”

“I distinctly remember having one. She liked my snacks, after all. Who knows, a little alone time with me and maybe she’ll come to her senses. Don’t worry though. I’ll be sure to get you a first edition signed copy of the book I inspired.”

“Do it, and it’ll be the last thing you do,” Az grumbles back at me as he strides off toward his bike parked nearby. “By the way, Hallie said Eden’s been trying to get ahold of you. How about you return one of her calls so I don’t have to keep playing messenger boy?” I watch Az get on his bike, the rumble of the engine echoing in my chest, and take off back towards the home office.

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