Page 37 of Dash

With the mask covering his chin, Bowie turned toward them. “I let them down,” he wheezed.

“Don—”

Clark held up a hand and shook his head, interrupting Dash.

“Fast money, easy money. I’ve blamed everyone else for too long. It was my poor decisions that brought my club down.” He coughed and turned. Thick blood trickled down his chin, catching in the white stubble of a sparse beard. The severe contrast between the color of the blood and Bowie’s flesh left a heavy feeling in Dash’s gut.

The former club leader closed his eyes before he put the mask back, keeping his hand over it. The weight of the admission hung heavy in the room while the two younger men nodded before exchanging glances at one another.

The pressures of being a club president were many, and only those who have served in the role could truly know them. Those in the club could witness the fallout, but to actually feel it was something completely different. Dash had never been the president of anything. All he knew was being acting Vice President, even for as short of a time as he’d been, had already changed the way he thought about things. He couldn’t imagine what president would do to him.

When he thought Bowie had gone back to sleep, he turned to retreat to his chair. Clark’s hand tapping his forearm drew his focus. Glancing toward the bed, he saw that Bowie had lowered the mask again, revealing his ashen face, pale lips, and the now smeared blood drip.

“Remember the long game.” Dash had never seen eyes look so dull before in someone who breathed. “The men, they’re short sighted, impulsive. They’ll push for quick money. Remind them quick and easy don’t last, and it ain’t worth the headache. I lost too many good brothers for quick and easy, and it wasn’t worth it.”

Another coughing fit interrupted his speech. The machines beeped faster as he turned, staining the stark sheets with more blood. Clark reached over to replace his mask once Bowie settled back in the bed.

“I’ll do right by your boys,” Clark assured the dying man. “All of them.”

When the tears fell from Bowie’s now closed eyes, Dash had to turn his back. This wasn’t what he’d signed up for. Resting his hands on the ledge, he looked out over the parking lot and longed for his bike. That’s what he signed up for. Rides, leather, excitement, loose women, and good times. Sure, a little danger, and possibly some money. Okay, and a little illegal shit. Yes, of course brotherhood. Okay, fuck it. He signed up for this fucking shit too. He just wasn’t equipped to deal with this kind of shit right fucking now.

The man in the bed wasn’t long for this world. He’d been on borrowed time since the day they’d arrived in Ohio. Though, from the lack of light in his eyes, it wouldn’t be much longer. Tapping his fingers on the window, he knew he was the wrong person to be in the room when that happened.

“Gonna get your woman.” He turned in such a way that he didn’t have to look at the bed, or perhaps glimpse his future. He needed to quit smoking, no matter how much he wanted one right the fuck now. To stay in the moment, and to keep his mind off the fact that he was very aware of the box in the inside left pocket of his cut, he went to hunt down Bowie’s family and get them in the room for their final moments with him. Then, when they were all fully occupied with saying their goodbyes, he could finally have that cigarette he’d been craving in peace.

Standing at the head of the table, the gavel felt weird in his hand. He’d held gavels before. This one was no different from any other gavel. It was made of wood, oak probably. It didn’t have any fancy engravings, just a standard gavel, stained to a deep brown color. What made it different was that it carried an authority, and that was something he hadn’t really had before.

Dash wielded an authority now that he held the acting VP position. With Clark at the hospital, he’d been the one who had to call church and tell the men of Odin’s Fury, Ohio, that Bowie had lost his battle to lung cancer. He’d done it after smoking not one, not two, but five cigarettes, because that was just the kind of asshole he was. Now that he’d delivered the news, and the brothers of Ohio were rightfully devastated, he wanted another one. Fuckhead.

Bringing the gavel down with a loud clack, he ended church and sent the boys out to grieve and notify the rest of their world of their loss. Clark and Jan needed to arrange services, a proper funeral, and all that went along with death. The club would be down for a while, their businesses would be slow, except for the strip club and the bar. Those things always ran. The tattoo shop would most likely reschedule their appointments. The morale though, and the general party feeling in the clubhouse, that would be down. It would be quiet. Feeling disconnected from them, and the area, it’d be a good time for him to do his own thing.

If he wasn’t obsessing about cigarettes, he couldn’t get his mind off kink. He needed to focus on his club. He needed to connect with these men so he could pick his replacement and go home. His club needed him to be without distractions, yet he couldn’t be more fucking distracted. He was too damn fixated on cigarettes. The only reason why he could think of, was because he’d been so kink-starved. Hadn’t he been contemplating alleviating that pressure before all hell broke loose? That plan got shot to shit. Even he wasn’t that insensitive of a bastard to hit up Blue for anything after this.

Scrubbing his hands over his face, he dragged them down over his beard. Staring at the profile view of Odin etched into the table, he sighed. The room had cleared out, so he was alone with his thoughts. He’d been up all night at the hospital. Truly, if he needed anything, it was sleep at this point. Church didn’t have the answers, especially since he was the only one left.

With a groan, he got out of the chair. Every muscle in his body protested, and he suddenly felt every bit of his thirty-two years. He hadn’t pulled an all-nighter in a while.

“Getting too old for this shit,” he told no one in particular as he stiffly walked out of the room and headed for his bedroom.

He hadn’t bothered getting a house in Ohio. His stay in the state was temporary. The clubhouse suited him just fine, especially if he needed to get to know the guys to pick a replacement. Can’t learn their habits if he wasn’t around them. Then again, can’t learn anything about them if his head was up his own asshole either. He needed to really focus on his club.

Tomorrow, or, well, later that day. After he slept, he would get his priorities straight. First thing on his list would be sorting out getting his itch scratched. Then, study the members, figure out how he could shift the patches around, and get someone in the VP spot. Figure out the recruitment issue. Then he and Whiskey could go the fuck home. Should be easy enough to do. With that, he fell face first, fully dressed, onto his bed and didn’t even bother to cover himself. Balls ass tired, he didn’t even care. He just wanted to sleep.

Gingersnap

* * *

The apartment was clean. The laundry was done. Grocery shopping for the week, done. She’d even showered. As far as adulting went, Liz considered herself knocking it out of the park. Sitting on the couch, paying the last of her bills online, she had the kink website open in another tab. She scrolled through some posts, liked some photos of her friends, and glanced toward PRK’s profile.

She should probably apologize for bailing on him. She’d done it in person, but they’d exchanged numbers. Biting her lip, she picked up her phone and scrolled through her numbers. Ane was her first contact. She should run it by her first. After hitting the contact, she put the phone to her ear.

Hearing the voicemail, she sighed. “Hey, thinking of texting PRK. I’m taking your silence on the matter as agreement. If you don’t agree, send a text.”

Hanging up, she opened a blank text to him and stared at the box. Now, what should she write? It was safe to assume he was interested. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have come over to her at the play party, he wouldn’t have walked her to her car when she left, and he wouldn’t have asked for her number. So, she had that going for her. All she had to do was keep him interested.

Confidence. Be confident, Liz. Not everything has to be about kinky crap. He digs you. Use that.

Gingersnap: If you had a theme song, what would it be?

---