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“Oh, like fuck buddies, you mean? Why didn’t you just say that from the start?” She looks up at me like I’m an idiot. Wire and Rider can’t keep their sniggering to themselves, so I give them each a kick under the table. I rub my hand across my face. Jesus, this is taking all the patience I have to explain what this is, which is a fucking nightmare because I’m not overly sure what this is either. All I know is that no matter how much time I spend with her, it’s never enough. And I’m sick of having to use Rosey and the Palmer sisters every morning and night in the shower to get off.
“Ok, Chewy, stick with me. Yes, I would like to fuck you and all that good stuff, but I also want to take you on a date. Would that be ok with you?” Suddenly, she looks very vulnerable.
“I’ve never been asked on a date before,” she whispers out. I see her look down at her fingers. She’s tapping again, which I know she does when she’s thinking. I continue to hold my breath and I’m sure Rider and Wire are, too, as they seem to be as invested in this as I am. Gossipy fuckers. She looks up at me and smiles wide.
“Ok. I’m not sure I won’t be awkward or anything, but I would like to go on a date with you, Rhodie. Will we fuck after that, or do you want to wait?” She looks up at me with a very serious look on her face and out of the corner of my eye I see Rider and Wire wearing matching shit-eating grins, leaning forward to hear my answer.
“Chewy, we’ll just take it slow and see what happens, ok?” She bobs her head in agreement.
“Okidokes. Sounds good. Thanks, Rhodie” She gives me a shy smile then turns back to my ex-best friends and gets straight back into her original conversation. I scrub my hand down my face. It’s been a long night. I’m stuck having feelings I’ve never had before and I’m certain this woman is going to be the death of me.
Chapter 9
Pops
As much as I don’t want to like Shitstain, I mean Rhodie, I can’t help but notice how he looks at my baby girl. I saw her light up when he asked her out. This will be her first date, so I’ll have to give him a little bit of a scare so he knows to treat her like the princess she is. Might have to break out the knives to threaten him with. He’s a big bastard and can clearly take me, but I’m a wily old sonofabitch, so I’ll find a way around that. I take a quick look around the bar room here at the MC and I have to admit that I kind of like it here. There’s a camaraderie that I probably would have liked to have when I came back from ‘Nam. Ah well, I had my wife and my boy and life was good. Until it wasn’t.
I down the last of my drink, and using the big ass knife I found on the bar, I scratch behind my ear. I know Tuesday also heard the accent that little fuckwit in the shed had. By the looks of it, no one seems to be in a rush to find out, and I’m not getting any younger, so I may as well go have a little looksy at our guest and see what comes up. I take a quick look around and no one is paying attention to an old man like me, so I get up off my stool and head on out the back.
I open the door and see fuck knuckle still hanging where we left him. I take a look at Rhodie’s table and scoff. Of course, everything is oversized. Compensating much? I pick up the smallest knife he has and the blowtorch. The kid hasn’t woken up yet, but nothing like a stab and burn to get things moving. I get started cutting off his clothes first because as a man there is nothing worse than having to defend yourself stark naked.
This is something I learned when I was a fresh-faced corn-fed All-American boy shipped off to fight for my country. I sometimes think that Vietnam is what broke me, but I think I was always a little this way. There’s no reason a young man like me could make it back from the atrocities I saw and slip back into everyday life without a nightmare or flashback. But then I look at my Tuesday and realize that she is built the same. The things we do together, when we are looking for people to pay the piper as it were, those things should cause us discomfort at the very least. And yet, we find nothing but peace.
So as I look up at the young man hanging naked from the hook in the ceiling, his body beaten and bruised, I feel nothing but the need to find out who he is and why he’s fucking with my family and their friends. I have a good look at the kid and figure I’d start by slicing the webbing between his fingers. Using the small knife, I gently and very slowly make my first incision. He comes around with a start and a grunt. Before he can move his hand, I have the blowtorch on him, cauterizing the cut. The kid lets out a whimper, but I don’t care for his discomfort one bit.
“Right kid, you made a hell of a mistake when you came around here on the word of Kraykowsi. But you’re not just some punk wanting turf, are ya? What’s your name, kid?”
I tilt my head a little to hear him, as his voice is so low. The kid is sweating, good. I need him in this state.
“Bartosz” he whimpers,
“Imma call you Bart. So Bart, what’s your surname? I’m guessing with that accent, you’re Polish?” When he doesn’t say a word, I take the knife and slowly reopen the cut I made. I watch the blood run a little before I seal it up with the blow torch again.
“Listen, Bart, I can do this all night. You got 10 fingers and toes. How long do you think you can last before I’ll have you singing like a wee little birdy? May as well tweet now, kid, before I get bored and start using you as entertainment.” And just like that, Bart sings like Aretha Franklin.
Rhodie
Chewy is still sitting there with a blush on her face and I like how my chest feels knowing that I put it there. I think I might be turning into a pussy.
“Hey, where’d Pops go? He mentioned he had an idea for booby traps and I wanted to shoot the shit with him,” Rider says, looking around the room. As Sergeant at arms, Rider is big into security. Hell, as Enforcer, I am too. It’s unusual for a club to have both. However, given both Rider and I have a military background and protective streaks at least a mile wide, Pres said it seemed fitting. I’m not sure I’m down with any type of crazy ass booby traps Pops would want to set, but it could be fun to see what the old coot comes up with.
Chewy looks toward the bar where Pops was last seen before turning to look at her brothers, who are already standing and making their way to the back door.
“For fuck’s sake” Marx slams down his drink and marches past the Tombs brothers, the rest of us hot on his heels on our way to the back shed. Marx swings the door open and without turning around, clear as day we all hear,
“Ah shit, they busted me!” Pops spins around with a big grin on his face before beckoning Chewy to look at something.
“Explain!” Marx barks out, but as per usual, the Tombs family seems to not notice his tone. Chewy and Pops are peering at something on our guest’s hands, whispering back and forth.
“You get one more chance before I throw you out, old man. What the fuck were you doing out here?!” Marx is doing a good job at not completely losing his shit. It’s close though. I can see the vein in his temple throbbing to an EDM-like beat.
“Shit, keep your hair on, kid! I’m showing Dayzy Chain this new technique I’ve discovered. Anyway, you fuck knuckles were taking too long to interrogate this guy and I’m not getting any younger. I could die before you lot got any answers.” I pull my lips in between my teeth and I see August and Jules roll their eyes at each other while Tav just shakes his head slowly with a smirk. My long-suffering brother heaves a sigh before waving his arm toward the guy currently still hanging.
“And did you find anything out with this new technique you’re so excited about?”
A big grin splits Pop’s face before he gestures in a game show host-like fashion.
“DRMC, meet Bart, Kraykowski’s soon-to-be late nephew.” There is an audible intake of breath. Marx catches my eye and I nod at him, flicking my eyes toward Pops. I know he’s asking me if I want to continue with the interrogation, but seeing how this is the happiest I’ve ever seen Pops, and I’m intrigued how he and Chewy work together, I decide to cede control here.
