Page 10 of Love Thy Brother
Sipping my sugary tea, I studied the Road King I’d taken apart yesterday afternoon. It was in a million pieces, booked in for a custom engine rebuild, my favourite kind of job. But as I stared at the metal and chrome, I felt zero enthusiasm for the work I loved, and the lonely, dragging sensation in my stomach returned.
Eat something.Fuck’s sake. Why did my subconscious always say stuff like that in Rubi’s voice?
Because you love his voice.Always had, ever since it had deepened and swelled into this mellow, resonant thing that consumed me every time he opened his damn mouth.
I hate him.
I loved him.
Mother of fuck, I needed to get busy or take a nap. Anything to get him out of my head.
I downed my tea, letting the scalding liquid burn a path through my body, clearing the cobwebs of a riotous night I couldn’t entirely remember. The only thing I was certain of was that I hadn’t hooked up. Fuck, no. Sometime I wondered if I’d forgotten how.
Bet he hasn’t.
As the thought took root in my treacherous brain, my phone rang, buzzing with the obnoxious ringtone I’d reserved for calls I wanted to ignore. Cam. Rubi. Sometimes Nash.Block them. If my sister wouldn’t hound me to death, I’d do it in a heartbeat. The sole Rebel King I was prepared to take a call from was Saint Malone, and that was only because someone I loved would have to be dying before he picked up the phone.
Also, I trusted him. Saint was the only brother who’d never lied to me.
The call rang out. A brief silence reigned, then it rang again and again and again before a message flashed on the screen. It wasn’t Cam’s style to put his demands into a six-word text. He’d get angry halfway through and call me again anyway.
Rubi would, though. He was good with words however he chose to use them.
Don’t even look. Delete it.
I was a stubborn git like my dad. But I had my ma’s willpower. Or lack of it. I rescued my cup from the engine carnage and took a trip to the sink that swung me past where I’d dumped my phone, bracing myself for Rubi’s warm eloquence.
It wasn’t Rubi.
Unknown number:This is Alexei. Please attend the compound at your earliest convenience. I do not wish to travel to Porth Luck to find you.
Jesus Christ. I didn’t know much about Cam’s second fella, save that he loved my brother and Saint enough to die/kill for them. And that he was somewhat of a fucking expert at the killing part.That’s why no one ever talks about him. Cos he’s fucking nuts.
Not that I did much listening when it came to the club. I had no clue what was going on. I hadn’t swung by in months. A year, nearly. Hadn’t spoken to anyone except Orla and Cam when they forced themselves on me.
What if it’s Rubi? What if something happened to him?
I scrolled through the dozen missed calls. Four were from Rubi’s phone and I relaxed a bit, but unwelcome curiosity churned me up and Ihatedit.
Hated that I cared enough that fury welled up in me, bursting free in a firestorm of rage.
“Fuck’ssake.” I hurled my mug at the wall, still rooted in place.
Fighting it.
Losing, like I always did.
4
RIVER
My family left Kilkenny before I was born. So my dad could escape a family feud with his brother and found the Rebel Kings MC in bumfuck Devon.
I landed earthside on the Whitness compound six months later. Grew up tearing around the yard, oil and dirt smeared on my face, the scent of diesel and smoke thick in my lungs.
It still smelled the same. Now, the only difference was I recognised the stench for everything it had brought me: tragedy with a capitalT.
I parked my bike, booted the kickstand, and yanked my helmet off.
