Torched (7 page)

For some reason, I trusted Snoopy too. He looked like he’d been a rough-and-tumble character in his prime, but seemed a mellow type now. It sounded like his customers would be more of a pain in the ass than him. What did I have to lose? “Are you sure?” I asked.

“Wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t. Don’t know your story, but you’ll be safe here if that’s what’s worrying you. Most of my guests are regulars. They take some getting used to, but nobody’s gonna fuck with you. They do, they answer to me.”

It was hard to picture this silver-haired older man throwing punches, but I’d already gotten
one
lesson in deceptive appearances that day. If he wasn’t worried about me bringing trouble to his front door, I would’ve been a fool to turn down his unbelievably generous offer.

“I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“Glad to hear it. Now, let’s get to work and make Livia Ash a real person. You’re gonna need some more makeup tough, that shit looks bad.”

: 5 :

That morning’s shit weather perfectly matched Torch’s pissed-off mood. Cold, overcast, and drizzly, far from ideal road conditions when riding on two wheels. The smart move would’ve been to wait until the clouds broke, but when feeling like his head was about to explode, there was only one thing that would get it right. Whenever he rode his Harley, she was the only bitch on his mind.

Good thing too, because if he spent any more time thinking about that other bitch—the one he’d left behind at the Barrel—he might just turn around, throw her over his knee and spank the shit out of that sexy, tight ass of hers. Which, considering she was already black and blue everywhere else, probably wasn’t the best idea.

Christ, she’d been beaten to hell and he still couldn’t help but admire curves like some sick fuck.

He had to ride this shit out.

He didn’t have time to dawdle anyway. Buddha, his club President, had sent him on a run to their Akron chapter to check on things there. Reports of discord among the brothers in Ohio had gotten all the way back to Linwood—mother charter of Iron Serpents MC—and it was giving him heartburn. He’d called Torch yesterday and demanded he pay a visit to get to the bottom of whatever was going on. Local shit tended to snowball and cause problems for the entire club, so Buddha wasn’t having any of that. They’d worked to hard for the past couple of years to get law enforcement off their asses, and a few knuckleheads weren’t going to dismantle that by acting stupid and bringing down fresh heat.

Torch was in Pittsburgh when the call came in, four days into a booze and pussy bender. In fact, he was balls-deep in some stripper named Evie at the very moment his phone rang. She was the third bitch he’d screwed that day, a feat that spoke more to the perks of being in an MC than his own prowess. Females flocked like hungry pigeons and dropped their panties at the sight of his leather. He could’ve been a four hundred pound greaser with shit breath and missing teeth, and still get laid without having to look for it. That was the power of a cut. Nine to five’s had health and pension benefits, the club world had pussy, booze, and brotherhood.

Which is why it irked and fascinated him when he finally met a woman who not only hadn’t fallen at his feet, but straight up told him to fuck off without an ounce of fear in her eyes. No fear of him anyway, she was obviously scared of something.

It was late when Buddha reached out, but Torch hit the road anyway, deciding to swing through the Barrel for the night. Snoop had been a friend of the club—he was a friend of a number of them, the biker equivalent of Switzerland—and Torch always made a point to come through the Barrel whenever he was in the vicinity. There weren’t many places where an owner garnered so much respect that enemy clubs could drink and rest together without killing each other.

Sure, some nights ended with drunk fists flying in the parking lot, but fights were squashed fast. Everybody liked Snoop and didn’t want to bring any trouble to his business. He provided cheap drinks and food, clean beds, eager pussy, and a place where the law wouldn’t bother anybody. He also moonlighted in fake ID’s, which came in handy surprisingly often.

What
wasn’t
there to like for a biker, drifter, or truck driver?

Mouthy broads who didn’t want anything to do with
him
apparently, but that crazy bitch would be gone by the time Torch rolled through again.

Thank fuck. Not only had Livia totally overreacted to him trying to help, but she’d worked him up into being a dick. He wasn’t about to apologize though. Torch didn’t fucking apologize, especially not to mouthy cunts. He was who he was, take it or leave it, and the only opinions that mattered to him were those of his Serpent brothers. Even then, he usually didn’t give much of a shit unless it came to club business. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to keep his head straight when it came to club business lately either, and his brothers were the reason he’d gone nomad a couple months earlier.

At twenty eight, he’d been a fully-patched member of the club for nine years, on top of the two he’d spent as a hangaround and prospect.

They were his family, the people who’d rescued him from the streets after cutting off his own at sixteen, thanks to that scumbag he called a sperm donor. But even
they
couldn’t help him deal with the pile of fuckery his life turned into over the span of just a few short weeks. His sister was killed, her death senseless and preventable if she would’ve just told him what the hell was going on. Two days after the funeral, his mother slit her own wrists. She’d always been a weak bitch, usually drunk and looking the other way when his old man went at him like a pinata as a kid. But Torch’s last words to her—after not seeing each other in over a decade—were that it was her own fault she’d lost both of her kids for good. She was already broken, but it was his biting outburst at Emily’s grave that sent her over the edge. She said so herself in the suicide letter.

His shitshow of a marriage to Penny wasn’t much of one at all, but a court-ordered DNA test after she petitioned for child support then revealed that two year old Jake wasn’t even his.

It had all happened so fast, he didn’t know which fucking mess to deal with first. So, he didn’t deal with any of them.

Torch spiraled downward, consumed by all the ways things had gone to shit. He didn’t know how to deal with grief, finding solace only in keeping his throat and dick wet. That only lasted until the rush wore off and a hangover set it. Then he drank and fucked some more.

The brothers left him alone, not wanting to make it worse and just happy that he was keeping his activities mostly contained to the clubhouse and Serpent-owned strip club, where they could keep an eye on him. They picked up his slack at the club businesses and left his ass behind with a member or two when they went on runs.

But after one too many weeks of that, Buddha decided enough was enough. As their Sergeant at Arms, Torch was failing in his duties. Grief and depression or not, the club needed its leadership. Buddha sat him down and cut straight to the chase. Three months of pussy-footing around him was all they could afford. He asked Torch to step down temporarily until he could get his shit together. Torch understood and accepted it. Buddha had practically adopted him as a kid and he owed it to him to give the club all he had.

He may have been a fucked-up mess, but the club was his life and he didn’t want his own shit to rub off on the people he loved. The only people who’d be there when he got back to doing what he did best. Which he would, because there was no other option. And because he owed it to the brotherhood he would kill and die for.

With that in mind, on the night Buddha announced that Grimm would be stepping in for him, Torch asked for another vote. He wanted to go nomad.

Nomads were members of the Serpents who weren’t tied to a specific chapter. He could’ve just given up his seat at the table and stayed, or asked for a transfer to a different chapter, but he knew that the place he needed to be was on the road itself. It was the only time he still felt marginally alive and that was what he needed to get right again.

He figured the road would help him release his demons. She would be the companion he needed to steer him in the right direction, never judging, and always there in the morning no matter how deprave his activities the night before. It was the only way to get all of this bullshit out of his system, bullshit that needed to get gone.

Just as Torch understood the brothers’ need for him to step down, they understood his need for space. Everybody voted to let him go, on the condition that he’s come back as soon as they needed him. They’d also demanded that he spend his time as nomad still working club business to earn his wages. He would be given assigned runs as needed.

The runs were nothing but busy work. Nobody said it, but Torch knew the club was just trying to keep him connected. They wanted him to know that no matter where he was, he had a home to return to when he was good and ready. He knew all that because that was how his family operated. No matter what one was dealing with, he had the club at his back, all of them willing to go to hell and back for one of their own.

And that’s how—after weeks of aimlessly meandering between states—he’d ended up taking the assignment in Akron. And along the way, meeting a crazy and beautiful bitch who breathed some fire back in him. Even if it was an annoyed-as-fuck fire, it was a start.

: : : :

Timing seemed to be on Torch’s side as he pulled into the Akron clubhouse. It was still morning, but the place was bustling in preparation for that night’s wedding and blowout party, which meant everybody would be too busy to pry into his shit. Word tended to move through the MC like wildfire, and by this point, most of the Akron crew had to have heard what he’d been dealing with.

Buddha wanted to use the event as an opportunity to get eyes and ears inside while people were letting loose. Torch would be able to get some scoop without arousing suspicion that his visit was actually all business.

Well, maybe some pleasure too. Definitely some pleasure if those hot little numbers he’d spied from across the courtyard were club bunnies up for grabs. Unashamedly flirting with every brother in passing, they sure as shit didn’t look like old ladies.

Fantastic. Fresh meat.

“Torch, brother, good to see you!” Slack, Akron VP and groom, came up from behind and greeted him with a man hug.

Torch slapped him on the back. “Hey, man. Congrats. Looks like it’s gonna be one hell of a party.”

Slack grinned. “You know it. Nothing but the biggest and best for my woman.”

“Must be a fucking pot of gold at the end of that pussy. Never thought I’d see the day your ass got locked down.”

“What can I say? Meg’s an evil genius, man,” he laughed, before punching Torch in the arm. “But you talk about my woman’s pussy again, I’ll knock you the fuck out.”

Torch laughed and threw up his arms. “Relax, brother. Looks like there’s plenty of pussy to go around.”

It was the second time that day Torch had let himself laugh with abandon. The only two times since everything had gone down back home. It felt good, really good, and for a minute he missed the camaraderie he’d left behind. Maybe it was a sign he was getting back on track.

Or maybe Liv had something to do with it.

He really had to stop thinking about that bitch. She was trouble and he’d promised Snoop to let it go.

So why couldn’t he?

“You just let me know who piques your interest. Out of town guests get first dibs,” Slack offered.

He grinned. “In that case, I might take more than one.”

Slack chuckled, but suddenly got serious. “You doing alright? Heard about your shit back in Colorado.”

“I’m good. Just taking some time to clock a few miles and regroup.”

“I get that. Buddha called and said you might roll through to represent, since you were in the neighborhood. I told the boys not to bring it up. Figured you don’t need that bullshit. But you let me know if there’s anything I can do, yeah?”

“Yeah. Appreciate it.”

“Glad you came, brother. Nomad can be lonely as fuck sometimes.” With that, he walked away, presumably to go look for his pot of gold again. Because, fuck superstition about not seeing the bride and all that shit. Knowing Slack’s sex drive, he’d have Meg on her back at least one more time before the actual ceremony.

Torch headed inside for a drink. He spotted several more members at the bar, already looking three-sheets-to-the-wind and enjoying the attention of a bevy of club crawlers while they still could. The girls would all be kicked out in a few hours when the old ladies showed up, otherwise the wedding would turn into a goddamn massacre.

There was a well-defined pecking order among the club’s women, crawlers were at the very bottom. Old ladies ruled the roost with iron fists.

Sure, some— alright, most—of the men had side pieces and didn’t bother keeping it a secret. But there was an unwritten rule that if you fucked around, you didn’t let it touch your home life, because drama tended to spill over between the two. Which was why there was never a shortage of rubbers littering clubhouses and the girls were kept away from family events.

Other clubs did things different, but he thought the Serpents treated their women pretty damn well. They couldn’t be members, but if you claimed one, she became part of the family. She was a sister. Loyalty and respect for the club were the most important requirements, because an old lady was her man’s responsibility. If she fucked up, you fucked up, and that meant
you
were going to take the brunt of the punishment.