Satan's Revenge (14 page)

With a smile, she hands it to me. I hop off the sink and turn around, leaning into the mirror. I swipe the mascara across my lashes, and she hands me her lipstick. For a final touch, I bend over and shake my boobs up so they’re sitting higher in my bra cups, and tuck my t-shirt into my jeans so my waist is visible. Cherish nods.

“Better.”

I jokingly offer her my arm, and we walk back down the hallway and down to the first floor linked at the elbow. We glance around, and I see Marcus and Drifter sitting on a couch together, sweet butts surrounding them. Drifter’s eyelids are at half-mast, and the sweet butt next to him is almost sitting in his lap.

Cherish notices me watching them and pulls me to the bar.

“Come on, we’re doing shots,” she says.

She wraps her arms around Hollywood, who is leaning on the bar with his back toward us. He sticks his butt out and pins her arms to his stomach, lifting her off her feet. She squeals and he puts her down. He signals to Tammy, and she hustles over.

“Six tequila shots,” he says.

“Six! Oh lord,” I moan, knowing he wants me to down two straight off the bat. “At least get me a chaser.”

“And a rum and coke!” Hollywood yells after Tammy.

“Not a liquor chaser!” I laugh.

Tammy comes back to Hollywood right away—the brothers always get top priority at the bar. He lines up the shots.

“1, 2, 3…” he counts and we each toss back two tequila shots in a row. I gratefully grab my rum and coke—it’s better than nothing.

We all turn around, leaning our backs on the bar as we wait for the fire in our throats to die down.

“What’s the name of that sweet butt?” Cherish asks, nodding toward the couch where Drifter and Marcus are sitting.

“Lorelai,” he replies, knowing immediately she’s referring to the one that’s draping herself all over Drifter. “Just came in a couple weeks ago.”

“Maybe she needs a little refresher on the rules,” Cherish says drily.

“Looks like Liz is a step ahead of you,” Hollywood observes. We watch Liz beeline across the room toward the couch. Respect is very important to her, and she does not take kindly to sweet butts getting too close to brothers who have old ladies.

She reaches the couch and leans over, talking in Lorelai’s ear. We watch Lorelai’s smile flatten and she moves about a foot over from where she’s previously been sitting, squished up next to Drifter. With a final admonishment, Liz stands up and turns to walk away.

And then Marcus leans across Drifter and slaps her ass. Hard.

“Fuuuuck,” Hollywood murmurs. Everyone within a ten foot radius of the couch freezes, waiting to see how Liz will react. I’ve never seen one of the Sons dare to disrespect the president’s old lady like that, not to mention that we’re in the clubhouse, and Marcus isn’t even a brother.

From our position at the bar, I can see Liz’s eyes widen, then her mouth sets in a grim line. For a second it looks like she’s not going to do anything, then I see her adjust her grip on the beer bottle in her hand.

“Oh, shit,” I mutter, knowing what she’s going to do. I start walking toward the couch, knowing all hell is about to break loose.

It’s as though I’m watching in slow motion. Liz turns around and takes a step toward Marcus, and in the same motion slams her beer bottle across Marcus’s cheek. His head snaps to the side, and a burst of red immediately appears as the skin breaks over his cheekbone.

I start pushing around the people in between me and the couch. Drifter jumps up as Liz raises the bottle, surprisingly unbroken, to strike again. His movements are much slower than usual, as he blinks away his drug-induced stupor, but he manages to grab her hand and twist it, forcing her to drop the bottle. She cries out in pain—I think Drifter used more force than he meant to—and Drifter pins her arm behind her back.

I’m just five feet from the action when a blur dashes past me and I see Flint appear behind Drifter. I’m surprised by how quickly he moves as he snakes his arm across Drifter’s throat and locks it there by gripping his opposite elbow. Drifter’s eyes bulge out as Flint applies pressure to his throat, and his arms drop, releasing Liz. As I step toward them, Liz pulls away, her chest heaving. She glances toward Marcus, obviously considering hitting him again, but she sees him still sitting on the couch, hand to his bleeding cheek, and seems to decide she’s already gotten him good enough.

I stand watching Flint and Drifter. Flint’s arm is still around his neck. Drifter is struggling against him, his feet beginning to slip off the floor as he tries to stay standing. I have no doubt that a fully cognizant Drifter would have no trouble finding a way out of the hold, but he’s far from his best right now. My eyes fill with tears as I watch him. My strong man, reduced to this.

Drifter’s eyes start to close, and I step forward, laying my hand on Flint’s shoulder. It’s easy to take a chokehold too far, and I want to stop him now. He glances up at me and our eyes lock. I see them soften, and he releases his arm. Drifter slumps to the floor, gasping for breath. I pause, watching him. I know he’ll be fine, though his voice might be shot for a few days.

I don’t blame Flint for what he did. Drifter shouldn’t ever have laid his hands on Liz. Marcus touched her, and she was defending herself. She had every right.

I turn to see Flint with his arm around Liz, whispering in her ear. Her eyes are glistening slightly, though I’m not sure if it’s from surprise or fear or what. Then she smiles, and leans her cheek against his. Flint steps away, and Bean is at his side. They talk for a moment, and then Bean signals to some of the other brothers.

The music is still playing, but the party atmosphere has quieted. People are milling around, unsure. I turn to Liz.

“Your wrist OK? You want me to look at it?”

“Nah, I’m fine,” she replies, turning her wrist to demonstrate. She looks around. “I thought this was a fucking party!” she yells.

A big laugh greets her, and people return to their drinking. Marcus and Drifter are pulled to standing and escorted toward the back of the house, followed by Flint.

I swallow, wondering what’s going to happen next. As the door closes behind them, I walk back over to Hollywood and Cherish, who are looking at me worriedly.

“Shots?” I ask.

Chapter Fourteen

Drifter

Present Day

I’m pulled into Flint’s office. I glance behind me just in time to see Tag throw a towel at Marcus, which he raises to his bleeding face. Bean pauses behind me as Flint crosses to sit behind his desk. Flint nods at him and Bean leaves, shutting the door behind him.

“Sit,” Flint says. I stare back at him, feeling the pain in my throat from where he almost crushed my larynx. “Sit!” he barks.

I slide down into a chair opposite him. Feeling his anger directed at me is new. I shift in the seat, staring at a random spot on his desk.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he growls at me. “Your behavior would be disgraceful for any brother in this club, but for someone that I’ve made clear is going to be taking over a leadership position…that’s a fucking embarrassment. For me, for you, for the whole goddamn club. Well?”

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I ask, repeating his question with a snort. My voice comes out as a hoarse rasp. How am I supposed to answer that?

He leans back in his chair, considering me.

“You’re acting more like a teenager now than when you were an actual teenager,” he muses. “I know he’s your blood, but Marcus is a piece of shit, you know that, right?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I hiss. Fury rises quickly inside of me, as it always does when someone talks badly about my brother.

“You watch how you talk to me, Scott,” Flint warns, his voice dangerously quiet. I haven’t heard him call me by that name in years. “I don’t care how fucking pissed you are. You’re driving everyone around you away, and you’ve got your head so far up your ass you can’t even see it. Me, your brothers, Violet…”

I laugh harshly. “Violet!? Christ, I don’t even know how to talk to her anymore. She’s gone off the deep end…she stalks my brother, she thought she saw Ace the other week…” A pain rises in my throat that I know has nothing to do with Flint’s chokehold. I’m making light of whatever’s happening between Violet and me, but the truth is I feel like I’m spinning out of control without her.

“She saw Ace?” Flint asks, more sharply than I expected.

“Yeah, but apparently he’s a
skinhead
now,” I add. “She’s been having these panic attacks ever since that night Rooster died.”

“Yeah, Liz told me,” Flint murmurs.

“I mean, she thought Marcus was after her the first time she met him and attacked
him
.”

“Well, she probably had a good idea there,” Flint says wryly. My eyes snap up to his and he glares back, daring me to say anything. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you laid a hand on my old lady when you’re so dismissive of yours.”

He reaches down and opens his desk drawer and pulls something out, tossing a pair of mangled handcuffs on the table.

“What are those?”

“Those are the handcuffs that Violet used to handcuff Ace on the night that the Army attacked us.”

The last of the fuzziness in my head from the cocktail of drugs and alcohol I’ve been ingesting begins to clear, replaced by a deep sense of foreboding.

“As you can see, they’re broken. These aren’t professional grade, they’re just meant to hold up during rough sex. From what I hear, Ace is a pretty big guy.”

“…Is?”

Flint sighs and leans back in his chair. “He busted these open and escaped that night. We kept an eye out for him, but no one’s heard word of him since. I wasn’t that worried—his entire club was taken out, he had no resources.”

“Why wasn’t I told?”

“Because I’m the fucking president and I make the decisions, in case you forgot,” he snaps back at me. He takes a deep breath. “Liz told me that Violet was having a rough time. Only me, Tag, and Bean know. I didn’t tell you, because the fewer secrets you have with your old lady, the better.”

He’s certainly right there. Keeping Marcus a secret certainly blew up in my face. I rub my eyes. Shit. I told Violet she was crazy. I’ve got a lot to make up to her.

“You know anything about where Ace is now?”

“Nothing. I can’t believe he’d be stupid enough to stick around here, though, unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless he had a really specific reason.”

Chapter Fifteen

Violet

Present Day

I yawn as I change the bed sheets in Exam Room 2. The woman who had been in it came in with a sprained ankle that she was convinced was broken, and it took Dr. Green a half hour to convince her it wasn’t, no matter what WebMD had told her.

At least it was slow today. I hadn’t intended to get so drunk at the party last night, but seeing Drifter like that made we want to forget about my life for a few hours. Now, of course, my splitting headache is a constant reminder of how much tequila I drank.

I glance up at the clock. Only a quarter of an hour ‘til the end of my shift. This day feels like it has gone on forever. Fifteen minutes. I watch the second hand move so slowly that it looks like it’s trapped in molasses. I hear a swish of fabric behind me and realize I’m spacing out. I resume pulling the fitted sheet tightly around the thin mattress as Dr. Green moves into view at the foot of the bed.

“Need any help?” he asks.

“That’s OK. I’ve got it,” I assure him. He’s tried to help me before, which only proved to me that he’d never made a bed in his life.

I finish tucking in the corners and turn to grab the sheet, which is lying folded up on the empty bed behind me.

When I turn back, he’s sitting on the foot of the bed, making it impossible for me to continue with my work. I pause, the sheet in my hands, and look at him questioningly.

“You seem a little down today,” he says gently. My headache spikes behind my eyes.