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Banshee
“I swearto God my ass is numb,” Scythe grumbles as we make our way into the hotel room we got about halfway to Cedar Creek. “And we’ve got another day like this tomorrow? Shoot me now.”
“Turning into a pussy, huh?” Kracken teases, using the key card to open the door. We’ve got two connecting rooms, so I step past the two knuckleheads to go into my own room.
“Give me twenty and we’ll order something from one of those apps,” I order, my door halfway open. “Need a fucking shower to get the bugs off.”
“Same. Wait, you motherfucker, you didn’t call dibs!” Scythe roars out as Kracken shoulders past him, presumably to head into the bathroom for a quick shower.
I chuckle while closing and locking my own door. Dropping my saddlebags, I stretch to try and work out the kinks, then pull my cut off and drape it over the chair by the desk before I start stripping off my clothes once my boots are off. Striding into the bathroom naked, with my hygiene bag in hand, I turn the water all the way to hot then take a piss while I wait for it to warm up. I’m so fucking tired already that I don’t even want to eat, but we literally only stopped for gas and quick piss breaks and tomorrow will be more of the same.
Doesn’t matter, though. We may be in a different chapter of the Royal Bastards, but when one of our brothers makes that call, whoever’s available is gonna ride. We’re brothers, and from what Brick shared, the fuckers who are attempting some sort of world domination bullshit by building their own perfect race need to be buried beyond six feet deep.
I’ll never understand those who have proclivities that include hurting women and children. The love I witnessed between my parents, as well as some of the old-timers who have either passed on or retired and moved away was enough to teach me that women are to be cherished, respected, protected, and most importantly, adored.
Because being a biker’s ol’ lady isn’t for the faint of heart. We’re mostly legit, but as a one percent club, there’s always someone out there who wants to take what we have away and that simply won’t happen. Ryleigh’s abduction is the perfect example of the potential dangers, although with time and experience, our property is so well-fortified, someone would have to be invisible and drive through the fence with a tank in order to get past our defenses.
Stepping into the shower, I bite back a groan when the steaming hot water sluices across my tense shoulders. Some of the roads Gypsy sent us down allowed us to go faster, but they were a bit bumpy and even though my girl has a great suspension, the bouncing around was still rough. Plus, we may ride a lot, but we typically don’t ride for nearly ten hours at a clip.
Once I feel a little more human, I quickly wash up, grateful I remembered to grab my body wash and a rag on my way into the bathroom. I hate using the soap a hotel provides; it leaves me feeling like I have a filmy residue on my skin, which creeps me the fuck out. Stepping out of the shower, I towel dry then tie it around my waist while I brush my teeth and restyle my hair.
“Gonna need a shave when we arrive,” I murmur to my reflection. “But right now, it’ll protect my face.”
Since we’re staying in for the rest of the night, I slip on a pair of cut-off sweats, grab my wallet so I can pay for our food, and with my phone in hand, pound on the adjoining door until Scythe opens it, smirking, with a beer in hand.
“What the hell?” I grouse. “How did you get one of those so fast?”
“While asshole was hogging the shower, I ran down to the convenience store and picked up two twelve-packs. Figured it’d be enough for us without tanking us too much so we can ride out bright and early in the morning,” he replies, tossing one to me.
Popping the top, I take a long swallow, grimacing slightly at the taste since I just brushed my teeth.
“Brushed your teeth, didn’t ya?” he knowingly asks while snickering.
“Yeah, didn’t want to eat any more bugs than I had to.” I have a full-face helmet complete with visor, but despite that protection, some of those crafty bastards still manage to get inside. “Did you order the pizzas yet?”
Because suddenly, I’m famished. I feel as though I could enter one of those seventy-two-ounce steak contests, and eat two of them. Not sure if it’s the adrenaline from the pending situation or what, but I can’t remember ever being this hungry in my entire life.
“Yeah, should be here in twenty or so minutes. It’s about time, you fucker,” Scythe bellows at Kracken who emerges from their bathroom, a towel around his waist, and steam billowing behind him.
“Hey now, I had to exfoliate,” Kracken retorts, causing me to chuckle.
He’s always been quirky, ever since we were kids, but he deals with eczema so has a bizarre skincare routine. Whatever works, I guess. I toss him a beer as Scythe stomps toward the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
“Hopefully you remembered to take a piss,” I jest, sinking into one of the room’s chairs as Kracken dresses. Although in actuality, he did the same as me; dried off and tossed on a pair of cut-off sweats.
“Yeah, that was first on the agenda,” he mutters, grabbing the cream he religiously uses.
“Has that actually helped?” I ask, my curiosity now roused. I remember when we were kids, he always had dry, scaly patches, and his mother would holler at him to ‘stop scratching’, so now that we’re adults and he’s on his own, I’m interested in finding out if he finally found something that would work.
“Truthfully? It has,” he replies, smirking at me. “No more dragon patches for me.”
I chuckle because it’s how he got his nickname as a kid, which stuck and is now his road name. He tries to tell the prospects it’s because he’s an absolute beast to our enemies, and the women he’s one in bed, but the reality is far simpler.
“Good to hear, Brother.” Hearing a knock on the door, I reach for my gun only to realize I left it in my room.
Fucking rookie move, and another indicator of just how messed up my head is these days. When I hear a click, I glance over my shoulder to see both Scythe and Kracken have theirs at the ready and aren’t in eyesight as I approach the door, cash in hand to tip the delivery driver. Peering through the peephole, I see a gawky teenager standing there with a big, insulated carrier, and wave my hand to let my brothers know it’s just the pizza.
Opening the door, I bite back a grin when I see the kid take a deep breath and start to shake. “H-h-hey, man, got two large pizzas for you,” he stammers out.
