Page 55 of Red's Peril: Part 1

“Take care, Red.”

“Shiny side up, Wraith. Shiny side up.”

I end the call, glance around the room with a look of disgust, then make my way back down to the clubroom. I’m an object of interest to the club girls and end up taking the voluptuous Angel back to my room. I don’t disappoint her, and I get my own rocks off, then dismiss her.

After one more visit to the hated heads, having to exchange pleasantries with Cobra who’s pissing into the urinal next to me, I take myself off to bed.

What have I done?I ask myself, as I toss and turn on the unfamiliar mattress.Looks like I’ve made a fuckin’ big mistake.

Morning comes, not with the gentle birdsong or the chirping of cicadas outside my window, but with the clumping of heavy boots out in the hallway, and the loud clanging as said boots stomp down the staircase.

When I open my door, it’s to greet Hammer wearing only his boxers and carrying a towel over his arm as he heads for the showers. I, too, was going that way, but was proceeding there fully dressed. I step back into my room, not wanting to get into a queue. After a few minutes, I try again, this time only clad in my jeans.

Someone whistles. “Nice ink!” Turning, I see Keys heading my way. He nods at my tats then eyes my towel. “There’s a shower free if you hurry.”

Raising my chin, I take his advice.

I’ve been naked in front of Wraith more times than I can count, and with others when we’ve shared the club girls. But I’m still self-conscious having my dick swinging free as men come in and out to use the urinals and the cubicles. Needs must be attended to, however, and unless I want my personal hygiene to go to shit, I’ve got to suck it up and get showered.

I survive the first indignity of the day, then descend the staircase. At least a welcome and recognisable aroma meets my nostrils, the smell of cooking bacon. Following my nose, I enter a kitchen area behind the bar. Rosa’s at the stove and she seems to be cooking for everybody.

She grins widely when she sees me and points to a seat. Then she fills a plate and brings it to me. Angel, with a wink to remind me of last night, brings me a cup of coffee.

Titch is watching me, his brow creased. “Eh, Rosa. What we got to do to get personal service around here?”

She points her spatula at the old biker. “He’s new. I’m trying to impress him and show some of us have got manners.”

I raise my eyebrow and shrug. Digging in, I find the breakfast is more than edible and there’s plenty of it. At least I won’t starve.

Rainman comes in and gives me a chin lift. “Church this morning.”

“Is that your normal meeting?” It seems an odd time.

“Nah, it’s normally Friday evenings, but Brick thought it useful to get you properly introduced.”

Makes sense, I suppose. Members wander in and out as I finish the food, then drink a second cup of coffee while exchanging pleasantries with Keys and Cobra.

Needing a moment to myself, I leave the kitchen and exit the clubhouse, going outside and taking in my surroundings properly for the first time. Lighting a smoke, I walk around the building, noticing there’s a large enough yard of sorts out back, and a children’s playset on which the twins are currently having a good old time. Smoking himself, and watching them, is Brick.

“Prez.” I greet him politely, while wishing I was addressing Drummer.

Turning, he gives me a chin lift. “Red. Sleep well?”

I nod. I had. When I’d eventually dropped off.

He eyes me carefully. “The clubhouse isn’t Tucson, but I hope you’ll be comfortable here for all of that.”

I shrug, not bothering to deny the obvious.

He glances at his watch, then yells, “Come on, boys. Daddy’s got to work.”

There are the predictable protests, but when Brick growls, the boys realise he’s serious, and reluctantly leave their play and come running across. Taking hold of one twin—hell, I can’t tell them apart—he launches him into the air and then catches him.

“You be good for your mom, today, promise?”

Two sincere nods make me hide my smile. Sure, I reckon these little hooligans will run Rosa ragged. It’s strange being around youngsters, there were none in the Tucson club.

The one Brick isn’t holding is standing in front of me, hands on his hips, and pouting. When I stare down, not knowing what I’m supposed to do, he huffs, “Up.”

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