Bull (Reapers MC Book 7) Page 2
“Stop using your women problems to justify your mood. We’re all goin’ through it right now, sweetheart. A lot of stuff is changing. People are leaving, while others are coming. It’s a fuckin’ mess . . . but regardless we’ll get through it.”
Shiloh nods, “Yeah, you’re right. I’m anxious is all.”
“There’s no need to be, Shi.” I call her by the nickname I gave her after I stopped screwing her. Shiloh is a great woman, but on my end I felt like she was more useful to me as a friend versus a piece of ass. Lots of dudes fuck their friends but I’ve never been the type. They love to say women catch feelings however in my case it’s me.
“Bull . . . I’m not happy where I am. I never thought the day would ever come but I can’t keep doing what I am with Zorro, Axel and Grim. Fuck me, but I love them all. I just can’t ever make them choose and I can’t . . . be polyamorous anymore. We’ve never had an official title in any sense, but we’ve been together. I think it’s adding to why I’m so confused and feel so down.”
I eat my last piece of bacon before Shiloh swipes it from me. She’s not talking about any light shit here. It’s pretty heavy, and no doubt all of them will end up with broken hearts. “Shi, you have to do what’s right for you. You can’t worry about other people. I know you are though, because . . . shit, you’re one of the sweetest people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. You need to be honest with them and confess how you feel. Out of curiosity, what do you want?”
Shiloh brings her hand to her face, rubs it over her mouth and shrugs her shoulders. “I want what every woman wants, Bull. For a man to love me enough to claim me. While I know they have love for me, they don’t have the type of love I deserve, so I need to step away from it.”
I nod my head, proud of my friend for demanding what she wants. So many others don’t have the courage to do so.
2
The difference between ordinary and extraordinary is that little extra
~unknown
Bull
The day passes quickly and before I know it the sun has gone down and it’s right around dinner time. The door comes flying open and Zorro shoots a glare at me the second he’s taken a step in the house. I’ve never been a confrontational type of man, but I’m not gonna swallow my tongue on this one. “Wanna tell me what’s got a bug up your ass?” I ask, not thinking about the conversation I had with Shiloh earlier. Part of me is wonderin’ if she went ahead and broke it off with them.
“Heard you and Shiloh had a chat,” He hisses, abruptly shutting the front door behind him.
I nod, standing up from the couch. “Yeah, we did. What’s it to you?”
He puts his hands together, cracking his knuckles and I sense tension thicken in the room. As I look into his eyes I see a flash of something, signaling me to move and thank God I do because his fist comes swinging in my direction. Instinctively, I put my hands up, put them on his shoulders and knock him back a few feet. “Dude, what the hell?” I snap, not understanding why he’s so pissed. If anything, I thought he’d be upset. There’s no reason for him to go throwing punches.
“I don’t think there’s any coincidence between Shiloh talkin’ to you and then tellin’ me she doesn’t want me anymore. How long have you been goin’ after my girl?”
Raising my brows, I throw my hands up in a manner which suggests I’m surrendering. “Z,” I’m hopeful calling him by his nickname will help the situation. “I might’ve had my time in Shiloh’s bed, but it’s not like that, and it hasn’t been that way for a really long time. I don’t want to kill the trust she has in me brother, otherwise I’d lay it down for you so you’d understand where she’s comin’ from.” I confess, wanting to help him. I can’t though. It wouldn’t be right for me to meddle in someone else’s private business.
Zorro takes a step back, throws his hands on his head and paces. “I don’t understand any of this. I asked her a couple months ago if she was still happy with the arrangement we had, and she told me yes. Now she’s changed her mind? Fuck, she didn’t even give me the chance to figure anything out.”
I tilt my head to the right, knowing Zorro is gonna hate what’s about to come out of my mouth. “Z, Shiloh is allowed to change her mind. Don’t shit yourself, though. You and I both know you won’t ever be the settling down type. It’ll take a certain type of woman for that and Shiloh wouldn’t have ever been it for you. I know you care about her man, but she needs to be happy. If she wasn’t happy then take it as a blessing. She can start to figure out what she wants and you’re off the leash.”
Zorro scoffs, “You don’t know shit, Bull. Shiloh could’ve been that girl for me. I guess now we’ll never know.”
I shake my head, not believing a word he’s saying. “No, if she was you would’ve made her your ol’ lady a hell of a long time ago. Don’t do this. Don’t say she’s more important than she actually is to make yourself look like the victim here.” It pisses me off more than anything else. Zorro isn’t a bad guy, and while I know he’s emotional and distressed right now it doesn’t make anything better.
He gives me a look which tells me he wants nothing more than to splatter my face up against the wall. It won’t do him any good, though. I’ll put his ass straight in the ground before the motherfucker can even touch me.
Zorro opens his mouth like he’s going to say something when the door comes open. In walks Hammer, clad in full on winter gear. You’d think this man had never been in snow all his life. Fuck, he grew up here too. If my eyes aren’t deceiving me he’s got on three different beanies, a winter coat and two pairs of pants. Lord knows how many socks he’s got on too.
“Has a snowflake ever touched your black ass?” Zorro laughs at the sight of him.
“Sure it has, the night I came back from fuckin’ your Latina mamacita.” Hammer shoots back at him. Everyone here knows Zorro is bi-racial. His mother was an immigrant from Mexico and his father lives in Canada now if memory serves me correctly.
Both of them break out into laughter. “I’m not even gonna reply to that shit. You seen Fist around? Better yet, has he showered?” What’s hysterical right now is Hammer asked if he’s seen Fist. There was a time when you could smell his rank ass from a mile away. He hasn’t gotten much better, but there have been small improvements in his mood over the last couple weeks. Slowly he’s coming out of his room a bit more and last night he even sat and ate with a few of us. He didn’t say shit, but he showed up.
I think we’re all at the point where we hope Fist will be like his old self. Only, that will never happen. He’s experienced indescribable losses within a short amount of time. It would fuck with any man’s head. Since Zane has stepped up to be our interim Prez I can’t help but wonder if Fist will take the gavel back before he hands it over to his eldest son. Personally, I think Fist is the best leader I’ve ever had throughout my entire life, but he isn’t when he’s like this. When he’s stuck in this deep rut of depression.
“Why do you need to see Fist, shouldn’t you be seeing Zane?” I question.
Hammer nods, “Yeah. Zane told me since things are settling down and are turning into a new normal for us all that we’ll have an official ceremony for me bein’ a prospect. He said with everything that was going on it slipped past his mind. I know Zane is our Prez, but I wanna know what the old man thinks. If right now isn’t a good time, we don’t have to do it.”
I take a couple steps toward Hammer and slap my hand on his shoulder, “Brother, we’re going to do this for you. I respect how you want to go to Fist, but Zane is our Prez. If you go above his head to his dad, he won’t take it kindly. It’ll look like disrespect, not to mention it’ll fuck with the confidence he has being new in this position.”
“Are you guys certain? I mean, so much has happened lately.”
“Bull is right. We need something to celebrate right now.” Zorro adds.
“Well, we’ve got a couple things to celebrate. Blackjack’s been running around telling everyone how he and Ashley are
expecting another baby.”
Well, it’s about damn time we get some good news around here.
3
I was not made to give up
~The Soul & Book Club
Alexa/Lola
I wake to the unbearable scent of my own urine in the room I’ve been stuck in over the past few months. You’d think I’d be able to build up a tolerance to it, but I haven’t been so lucky.
My days are annoyingly repetitive. Although, I’d consider myself lucky being held here versus in the shed. There are two tiny windows in the cold, damp basement I’m stuck in. Sometimes if it’s super sunny outside it comes through the window and provides a bit of warmth on my skin. I long for those days, craving them more than someone stuck in the desert craves a drink of water. It’s freezing down here.
When their location was being raided a few months back I couldn’t figure out what was happening. All I saw were men who looked very similar fighting the other side. Being brought here, thrown down the stairwell and locked in this jail so to speak has given me an advantage. I know things about the people who have held me.
They’re what’s left of the Bears MC, which stands for motorcycle club. Essentially, they’re some of the lowest of the low. Their shitty floorboards creak above as they walk across them, having various conversations. One thing I’ve noticed is how they never discuss anything stupid when I hear them. Every single time it has some importance. I’ve wondered if above me they have some sort of meeting chamber, but I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance to figure it out.
There have been a few men who visit me, but out of them all Rascal is the one with this . . . sickening infatuation. He stares at me like he’s a twisted psychopath and believe me, I know the type. Damn, two raised me. After sixteen years of being with my parents before I realized they weren’t quite normal, I see the signs. I loathed them so much that I tipped off the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
They were truly a godsend. I went into witness protection because of the associates my parents had, changed my name and was fostered until I turned eighteen and was out of the system. At the time, the FBI had a cash reward for any information resulting in the arrest of Melissa or Fynn Müller. The two people who gave me life took away far too much of it. They’re even more famous than Bonnie and Clyde. The only difference is Bonnie and Clyde didn’t murder people for sport. They wanted something out of it. Hell, they got money. My parents on the other hand . . . they’re just sadistic individuals.
I saw too much as a kid in my childhood home. We lived back in the sticks in a small log cabin. There were two bedrooms, a basement, a tiny kitchen with a living room off to the side and then there was the door. It wasn’t much, but we didn’t need much. I was thankful because my bedroom was across the house, next to the only bathroom we had. The only downside I found was hearing the screams of whomever my father brought home from the bar.
They had a system going. He’d take his wedding ring off and go to this shitty little bar a few towns over. It was right on the edge of the highway so there was easy access. Now, my dad would target people who were passing through town, or those who didn’t have any family. Of course, he’d be able to get that much out of them as he filled them with liquor and chatted them up in the bar.
I’d hide in my room, locking the door and put my wooden chair against the handle so it couldn’t move. The amount of fear that struck through me as a child was horrendous. Every time he brought someone home, I’d cry. I cried because I knew what was going to happen. I’d physically start to shake knowing within a couple of hours I’d hear their screams from below my bedroom. Every prayer and pleading moment would be forever burned in my mind.
When I was sixteen, I said enough was enough. I got on the bus to go to school, looked up the local FBI field office and called them. I told them everything, even how my mother held a knife to my throat and threatened my life. I remember exactly what she said, how every family had secrets and if I didn’t keep them, they could have another child who would.
My childhood gave me the courage to do what I’d been doing until a few months ago. I’d been a criminal profiler for over ten years and told the bureau I needed a sabbatical. The honest to God truth is the amount of horror I’d see in my work every day was impacting my life in a negative way. Seeing that much evil starts to screw with your head after a point.
I hear the creaking of steps from above, signaling me that Rascal must be talking with his boss, Grizzly. He calls him Prez and what I can tell is Grizzly is the main man in charge whereas Rascal is his second in command.
Most of the time they’re upstairs bitching about how they’re losing men. Just the other day Grizzly screamed at Rascal for losing Diablo. For a second I thought they were talking about the video game until Rascal shot back it was Grizzly’s fault for scaring him off.
“Has she told you anything useful?” It takes me a moment to figure out who’s talking but I realize it’s Grizzly based on the roughness in his voice. The man constantly sounds like he’s swallowed a bucket of razorblades.
“She doesn’t fuckin’ speak, ever. I’d think she’s a damn mute if she didn’t scream when we jumped her on the street.Ah, yes. They came into my apartment when I was sleeping. I thought it was a typical home invasion where the thugs would just want some money. Pfft. Again, I’m never the woman with any sort of luck.
“What’s the use in havin’ her locked up in the damn basement if she isn’t giving us information on her old man? I won’t keep having this conversation with you. We need Fynn and she’s the only way we’ll get to him.”
I suck in a deep breath as my heartbeat quickens. Grizzly just said my dad’s name. Throughout my time here I’ve contemplated if they knew who my parents were . . . but not one person ever said a thing to me. I thought I was safe in a sense. Now it turns out I’m in more danger than I ever thought possible. “She’ll lead us to that slimy motherfucker father of hers,” Rascal states.
I don’t know how the hell they expect me to lead them to a man I haven’t seen in twenty years. This must mean they don’t have their information straight. “You’d better pray she does. I don’t keep dead weight around. You should fuckin’ know that!” Grizzly raises his voice, hissing out to Rascal before I hear the stomping of his feet on the floor and the slamming of the door upstairs.
Well, it always gets worse before it gets better.
4
I’m not rude. I just have the balls to say what everyone else is thinking
~unknown
Bull
“You ready to party later?” Roxy asks as she descends the stairs of the Monroe house. For an older lady, she’s pretty bangin. She’s got this chestnut brown hair that falls to the middle of her back, a few additional pounds on her hips and this overall cockiness when she walks. Fuck, she’s one of those ol’ ladies you hear about when the old guys talk about their women. She’s a fuckin’ wet dream walkin’. Add in the fact three men claimed her and she’s basically any man’s wet dream. I’m not judgin’ though. People need to do what makes them happy.
Roxy is Fist’s younger sister and comes over every couple of days to check up on the man. “I think I was born ready to party. Hell, it’s been a while since we have for this crew. We all need it.”
“That’s for damn sure. I hired a babysitter to watch the girls so the guys and I can come out.”
Furrowing my brows, “Ashley isn’t going to watch them?”
Roxy giggles, “No, I didn’t ask her. She has enough to worry about with Noelle. She doesn’t need the extra work of watching her cousins too.”
“Eh, I would just send the girls over to Ashley’s. They love Noelle more than anything else. You could save your money that way too.” I suggest.
Roxy shrugs her shoulders, “I’ll think about it. I’m not trying to add more to Ashley’s plate right now. She’s pretty stressed with everything going on.”
Nodding, I understand. “How’s her dad doing?”
Roxy sh
ifts her expression from an unreadable one, to something which tells me we should be worried. “I thought after he showered the other week, he’d slowly get his shit together. It’s even slower than I thought it would be. He’s taking one step forward and two steps back every single day. I just . . . don’t know what to do for him.”
“Isn’t that how depression works?” In no way am I trying to be a smartass. I genuinely don’t know.
“I’m not sure. George had his own issues with depression, but he didn’t speak to me about it. Said it was nothing for his baby sister to worry about,” Roxy looks down to the ground and I see tears welling in her eyes. “If he were here, I know he’d have the right thing to say. Somehow, he’d make Lloyd feel better.”
George was Cracker’s legal name and Roxy isn’t wrong. Cracker always had the right thing to say no matter the circumstance. I take a good hard look at Roxy and see she looks a little thinner in the face. She’s never been a bigger girl to begin with. Hell, she’d probably be swimming in a lady’s medium shirt. It’s enough to make me ask, though. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m doing alright. There’s no easy way to get over your brother being murdered. Add in the fact Lloyd is a shell of the man he used to be and I . . . feel like I’m barely keeping my family together.” Shit, it must feel like the weight of the world is on her shoulders.
“All you need to do is keep being here for him. You can’t fix everything, Roxy. But you do help the situation by showing him you’re still here. Don’t ever let that fuck with you. Okay?”
Roxy laughs, wiping away the tears which have slipped from the corner of her eyes. “Has anyone ever said you’d make an excellent therapist?”