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I sit up in bed, pushing the sheets aside with a guttural grunt. I need to get a good dose of moonshine into my system – and maybe a tight warm pussy.
Fuck my demons….
CHAPTERONE
Pocus
This is a notice of intent to take over the above property in accordance with Article 1 Section 4 and Article VI, Section 21 of the Louisiana constitution. All occupants must vacate the said stated property and are expected to vacate the premises on or before the stipulated date….
The words keep echoing in my head in my own fucking voice. My hands tighten so hard around the paper I nearly tear it.
I wish it was someone’s neck in my grip. I want to feel the satisfaction of watching the terror in their eyes as I snuff the life out of them. It’d be much more pleasurable if said person is the idiot that typed the fucking letter in my hands.
“What does this mean, Prez?” Bones asks, his voice booming with the intensity of his anger. “I can have the men ready for war in no time. We’ll fight.”
True to his position as the sergeant-at-arms of the NOLA MC chapter of the Ruthless Kings, Bones is always prepared to rip off the heads of our enemies – including the unknown ones.
“Who do you want to fight?” Graveyard asks in a wry tone. “The Department of Code Enforcement or the entire body of the Louisiana government?”
“I’ll fucking kill whoever wants to take our home from us,” Bones says in a murderous tone, baring his teeth angrily at the clubhouse doctor. Graveyard rolls his eyes at Bones but wisely keeps his mouth shut.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” Hex murmurs with a frustrated sigh. “They want us to leave before the end of the month? That’s just three fucking weeks away! This is our home…our roots! And what about the ghosts? Where will they go?”
“This is no fucking time to worry about ghosts, Hex,” Hemlock snaps. “Let’s focus on the issue at hand. What do we do, Prez?” he asks, turning to me again.
My chest closes up as I look around at my men’s faces. Their faces hold identical looks of rage, tinged with frustration and varying degrees of hope. These are men who are suddenly on the verge of losing a home they’ve built for years, the common thing that we all never had but found together. They all look to me to come up with a solution. I suddenly feel the weight of my position all over again. I place my sweaty palms over my knees in an attempt to contain my rising anxiety. I make sure my expression is fierce so that my men don’t sniff any apprehension coursing through my veins. I’m the club’s president, and it’s only natural they rely on me to keep things in order.
It’s no time to give in to the roaring voices in my head.
These men can sense fear from a thousand miles away. They are wild beasts that prey on the dregs of fellow men…they live off it. I don’t have the liberty of fear or hesitation.
I glance at my second, wondering if he saw this coming. Seer is quiet.
The slight downward turn of his mouth and the visible distress in his bright blue eyes tells me he’s blaming himself for not seeing this in a vision. I can’t blame him, though…his visions are spontaneous and beyond his control. And while his gift is a valuable addition to the group, we don’t hold him up to his ability.
“Someone is obviously pulling this shit to get a reaction out of us or me,” I say, calmly looking into my men’s faces to reassure them. “If the government fucking wants a fight, they’ll get it. But before that, we have to find the person pulling the strings. Snake?”
Snake jerks up in his seat like a soldier called to attention. “Yes, Prez.”
“I want you to find out everything you can about the latest government infrastructure projects, the companies bidding for them, and if any of them are remotely related to anyone in the clubhouse. Make sure not to miss anything.”
“Sure thing, Prez,” Snake says promptly. “I’ll get on it as soon as possible.”
I give him a curt nod and turn my attention to the other men in the room. “For now, boys, let’s keep in line. Someone is definitely out there to get us, and we must be on guard until we know who it is. Always. Church dismissed. I’ll be in my room if anyone needs me.”
With that, I stand up and leave the room. My feet grow heavy with each step I take, as if weighed down by a supernatural force. If the ghosts in the clubhouse weren’t the peaceful type, I’d say they were playing tricks. But ghosts have nothing to do with the growing trepidation in the pit of my stomach.
The moment I’m behind closed doors in the privacy of my room, I let go. I give in to the frantic rage that’s been tamping down my self-control. I let out a fearsome roar and kick at the nearest object to me – a porcelain gator vase that Gator gifted me on my last birthday. I keep kicking and breaking, allowing my rage to flow freely through me.
My room is soundproof, so no one can hear me.
My room is my sanctuary, where I can shed my cover as the cool-headed president my men know me as.
This is the real me. I’m a monster behind closed doors. My therapist calls it Intermittent Explosive Disorder, but I know it’s just a fancy name for the manifestation of the devil in me.
“Petit diable!”
I hear Aunt Celia’s shrill voice echo in my head as I stare at myself in the shattered remains of my broken mirror.
