Page 30 of Rigid

He shook his head. “P-Nut’s inconsistent, and he’s nuttier than a fuckin’ fruitcake.”

He was right about the Nut, but the last thing I wanted to do was mentor a war-torn Marine who was seeking a place to expel his aggression. “God damn it, Crip. I’d rather not. Kid’s probably got PTSD. If he flips out on me, I’ll put hands on his ass.”

“I’m sure he does have PTSD. Get to know him.” He shrugged. “Part of being a mentor. Talk to him. Find out who he is. Show him the ropes.”

“I’ve got plenty of other shit to--”

He nodded toward my bike. “Have him put cams in your bike. Have him help you with tile work. Use him up.”

I was an asshole, there was no denying it. I’d been one my entire adult life, and for good reason. If people’s perception of me was that I was a complete prick, they didn’t attach themselves to me emotionally. And, if we left feelings at the door, I didn’t have to worry about being hurt by another rotten cold-hearted bitch.

Truth be known, deep down inside, I wasn’t a prick. It was a façade. A mask. Something I wore to protect me from the throngs of people I was sure were destined to cause me harm.

I looked at my bike, and then at Crip. Ultimately, I wanted what was best for the club. I was sure there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that this kid was going to do anything to hurt me. He might be a pain in the ass for eight months, but I could stand anything for eight months.

“Fine, I’ll mentor the little prick.”

Crip slapped his hand against my bicep and then made a fist. “Appreciate ya, Smoke.”

I pounded my fist into his. “Just want what’s best for the club.”

The next eight months were going to be hell for at least one of us, that was for sure.

NINE

Sandy

I sat up, looked around the bedroom, and then glanced at the clock. I normally didn’t wake up at 6:30 in the morning, especially after closing at the club. My growling stomach gave a hint as to why I woke up early, and although I considered going back to sleep, the continued protest from my digestive system won the argument.

I rolled out of bed, walked to the kitchen, and made some toast. I tried to remember the last time I’d eaten, and realized the Thai food I’d eaten thirty-six hours earlier was my last meal. I devoured the first piece, making a cup of espresso as I ate. After drinking half the coffee, I bit into the second piece of toast and paused.

Oh shit.

I ran to the bathroom and slid to a stop with my arms wrapped around the toilet. Five minutes later, my toast and the morning’s caffeine were in the toilet, and I was back at square one.

What in the Thai-co fuck?

I washed my face, looked in the mirror, and wondered just what happened when I took the Mex-Asian buffet adventure. Certain I was battling a bad case of food poisoning, I walked to the bedroom, got my phone, and asked my all-knowing friend, Google.

I typed in my question, how long does food poisoning last, pressed the search button and waited for the page to load. In a few seconds, I was astounded at the results. I could expect to be sick for between 2 and 10 days.

Jesus.

Aggravated at Google’s response, and hoping it might be something else, I typed in, what causes nausea after eating breakfast, and pressed search.

I opened the first page, and then read the potential causes in order.

Food allergies.

I knew I wasn’t allergic to toast or coffee, so I scrolled to the next one.

Food poisoning

I already knew the possibilities of food poisoning, the symptoms, and the recovery time, so I scrolled past it and to the next.

Stomach virus

I decided it was quite possible that I had the flu, but the symptoms were more erratic, and inconsistent than any flu I’d previously experienced. Certain it wasn’t the flu, I thumbed the page up.