Page 9 of Mad Max

“Hey, Izzy, it’s me.”

My eyes shoot to my forehead as the name of a club brother’s old lady rolls off her tongue.

“Sorry to bug you,” she continues, “but I just wanted to know if Mad Max is a psycho killer who I should be worried about or not.”

She’s watching me as she chews on her lip. I can hear the shocked laughter from Lady and give the pixie fairy a smile that most would find evil. I think it’s my “ha, got you” face. Of course, the chick surprises me more as she pulls the phone away from her ear and puts it on speaker. Not sure why, but maybe she just wants to hear it as she gets her own Kool-Aid. That or she sees no reason to hide shit when I can hear Izzy easily enough without it on speaker. No secret phone call happening in front of me unless she goes into the other room. I have amazing hearing. Helps me in more ways than one.

“Um… no. He might look big and scary and just got out of prison, but the Hounds don’t really let that type of psycho into the club. They more take the psychos who fight for you and not against you, if that makes sense.”

I grunt at the way she talks about the club. Not a bad definition, but I doubt many of the brothers would like to be described that way.

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t take my Remington out of the closet and shoot him.”

I lock eyes with her. She just said one of the sexiest things I’ve ever heard, and I’m hard as hell right away. Something about her threatening me, even indirectly, is hot.

“Wait, he’s at your place?”

We both glance at the phone before looking back at each other. I’m not sure what she’s going to say. I’m not hiding that I’m here, but I didn’t tell anyone I was taking her home either.

“Yeah… he gave me a lift. Figured he was cheaper than an Uber. Besides, he got rid of a pest problem. I just wanted to make sure I could close my eyes and not worry about him wearing my skin or anything when I wake up.”

This has me chuckling as I lean back on the comfy-as-shit couch and drink my kid drink. This night is not turning out like I thought it would when the club set up the sham of a “welcome back” party for me. The fact that 90 percent of the people there had no idea who I am is beside the point. I’m not sure if Law got what he wanted tonight, but I sure as hell got more than I thought I would.

As I watch the fairy from across the small apartment, I fully take her in. She glides over the ground almost as if she has wings. She’s a funny type of girl, not like the ones I’m used to. Vamps are the only type I’ve been around in a long while, even before prison. I scare off the decent folk; they just assume I’m going to start shit. But not her. Not Cheyanne.

I realize it’s the first time I’ve said her name, even if it’s only in my mind. I taste it on my tongue as I think it twice more before forming the word on my lips, but I make no sound. It fits her. Foreign speaker, or at least that’s how a book I read on Native American names defined hers. Prison gives you tons of time to read, but the library sort of sucks on what’s available. You take what’s given to pass the time, and I must have recalled enough of it to remember that.

Not sure if she’s bilingual, but she sure does move to a different beat. Maybe that’s what it means. She can blend into all societies and not isolate herself with just one. Don’t know any other chick willing to talk to an ex-con who looks like me, even if her uncle is in prison. Though her having family on the inside probably helps her see past a few issues I usually get called out for.

“You should be okay,” Lady tells her. “I don’t know him personally, but my man trusts him, and I trust my man. But if you need anything, just call me, okay? Bulldog and I can come over.”

No she won’t. As she said, my VP trusts me. He knows I’m not about to do shit that will get me locked away again. This fairy is probably safest with me versus the other Hounds.

Well, not her virtue. I took that shit earlier, and it was good enough that I want to do it again.

“No worries. Talk to you later.” She hangs up and then comes back to sit by me. “So, you’re not going to kill me.” It’s a statement, not a question, but I follow it up with one of my own.

“Was that really on the table?”

She shrugs again, like she has several times tonight. Each time she does, her shirt rises a bit and her belly button says hi. It also has her tits bouncing in a bra I know to be flimsy and probably beautiful, not a granny look-alike at all.

I turn the TV off and throw my drink away before I move down the hall.

“Where you going?” she shouts at my back.

I turn on the bedroom light as I step in, then take a seat on her mattress while I unlace my shoes. “Going to bed.”

I smile as I hear her practically run into her room. “The couch is that way, beast man.” She tosses a thumb over her shoulder.

I love the fact that she’s not protesting about me spending the night. She must have realized I was going to stay like I said I was. Doubt she expected this initially, but she ain’t throwing me out, just out of her bedroom.

“Ain’t sleeping on a damn couch.” I rise and pull my shirt over my head.

She’s not saying anything to stop me, and when I look over at her, I smirk. Girl’s locked on my chest and not blinking, just staring. It has me wanting to see what will happen if I take off my pants.

And I do because I’m a grown-ass man and I do whatever I fucking want. She’s seen it before—probably all she saw of me earlier. My pants slide off easily, and my dick springs forward. Yeah, underwear isn’t really my thing anymore. After so many years confined in prison, I prefer nothing confining me at all, including my twig and berries.

I’m semihard already, and as she just stares at my cock, I grow. Her eyes grow, too, but that’s the only expression on her that shows she’s affected by my looks. I pull half of the made-up sheets back and slide in. Only when I’m mostly covered by them does the fairy blink and shake her head as if coming out of a trance.

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