by Aiden Bates
And whenever I could, I snuck away to find Logan. I met him at Ballast every morning, and we walked side-by-side to Elkhead Coffee. We’d only had a few mornings together, but already I was addicted to these moments.
I wasn’t used to spending time with someone I was attracted to in the light of day. Most of my relationships hadn’t lasted more than a night—I’d meet someone in a club, take them home, and then forget about them the next day. Sex was just that: sex, nothing more.
Now, walking with Logan again, I stared at the way the mid-morning sunlight glinted off his hair.
“What?” he said. “Something on my face?” He ran a hand through his hair and the light gleamed in his bright green eyes.
He dropped his hand and our fingers brushed. He didn’t pull away. I had the sudden, strange urge to sling my arm around his shoulder and tug his small body close to mine. Since that was impossible, I just left my hand where it was, so our fingers continually brushed together the barest amount as we walked.
Logan was a citizen, and he was headed out of town—nothing could happen between us, really. Still, I liked watching him slowly open up. I liked the asymmetrical tilt of his smile. When he’d first showed up, he’d seemed so downtrodden and helpless, but he’d quickly revealed how resourceful, competent, and coolheaded he was. I’d never really imagined myself with an Old Man. I was married to the club. But I wondered, now, if maybe there was someone out there for me.
“I called Maverick last night,” Logan said, after we ordered and slid into the booth we’d become accustomed to.
My gut clenched. There was only so many days that Maverick could effectively stall the repairs. I wanted more time with Logan, though—time to continue cracking his tough exterior and find out what he was running from. Even if he wasn’t sticking around, there might be some way the club’s resources could help him. It was the least I could do, after what he’d done for us. “Oh, yeah?” I asked. “Any news?”
“Car’s still not ready. For a motorcycle club, your repair shop is slow as shit,” he said with a laugh.
“Well, as you said, it’s a motorcycle club. Maybe if you drove a car that wasn’t older than I am…”
“Excuse me, the Sundance is older than me, but certainly not you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Logan shrugged, then reached across the table and stole a bite of my blueberry muffin.
“Oh, it’s like that?” I snagged his latte and stole a sip.
“Hey!” Logan said around a mouthful of muffin. “I paid good money for that.”
I laughed. Of course, I’d bought breakfast, as I had every morning thus far. Then Logan started laughing, too, a bright, unselfconscious sound.
Just imagining his absence created an ache in my chest like a bruise.
“What’s on the schedule for today?” I asked. I could probably fit all my duties in the afternoon. Right now, spending time with Logan seemed like a more appealing option than reviewing more of Raven’s confusing IT plans.
“Guess I have another day to kill,” Logan said. “Not sure yet.”
“Have you been up to the lake yet?”
Logan looked at me like I was a fool. “Yeah,” he said sarcastically. “I went there on foot.”
I laughed again. “Hey, I don’t keep tabs on you. Maybe you did.” That was mostly true. I’d been keeping an eye on him the past few days, through my own observations as well as through my enforcers. He didn’t stray far from Ballast. Occasionally he dipped into town to get a meal or pick through the used bookstore, but mostly he stayed in the club’s businesses, reading and then, eventually, chatting with members. He could be a bit standoffish, but he wasn’t unkind. The members seemed to like having him around, especially after word got around about the whole warehouse event. “Want to check it out?”
Logan raised his eyebrows.
“We can take a truck,” I said. “I know you don’t want to take my bike.”
“Oh,” Logan said softly. “You remembered?”
“Well, yeah,” I said. “It was gravely offensive. Come on, let’s go.”
We rode in one of the club’s pickup trucks—an older model, with a long bed and beat-up bench seating. I’d lived in Elkin Lake for nearly two decades now, and I rarely visited the lake itself. As the lake appeared in the windshield, Logan leaned forward in the seat, craning his neck towards it.
“Wow. I see why you get tourists.”
“Pretty impressive, huh?”
“Yeah.” Logan’s voice was soft and slightly awed. “It is.”
We spent the morning by the lake. Logan still seemed tired, drained of energy, and spent a long time wandering the edge of the lake searching for flat stones to skip across the lake’s surface.
“Hey, Blade?” Logan sent a pebble skittering across the lake. “In the warehouse, Tex mentioned about drugs?”
I didn’t answer. As much as I was grateful for Logan’s help, I couldn’t involve him in the details of club business. Not until I had answers about what was happening—and not until I knew a little more about Logan. “It’s under control.”
He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Yeah?”
I nodded.
“That something you deal with a lot?”
“Logan.”
He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Sorry. I just—I like to know what I’m getting involved with.”
“As do I.”
“Right.”
Tense silence edged between us.
“Sorry.” I stepped closer to the edge of the lake. “It’s… it’s an ongoing situation. I don’t want to get you involved any more than you already have been. I’m just trying to keep everyone safe.”
Logan nodded. He pressed a flat stone into the palm of my hand. “I get it,” he said. “You said it’s under control?”
“It is. You can trust me on that.” I skipped the stone and watched it leave a trail of rings on the lake’s surface. “Do you?”
Logan paused for a long moment. “Yeah. I do.”
I smiled at him, and he tentatively returned it. Knowing I had his trust, even in this small way, sparked pride in me. It wasn’t a presidential pride, either. I wanted to prove to him he could trust me, not just as Hell’s Ankhor president, but as a man. Maybe as a friend. Maybe something more than that.
We spent the rest of the morning in a relaxed, companionable silence, broken by the patter of stones skipping into the lake, or Logan drawing my attention to birds he’d seen with his sharp eyes. We shared a pair of sandwiches, side-by-side at the lake’s edge, before I reluctantly led us back to the truck. For as much as I wanted to spend all day with Logan, I could only delay my duties for so long.
“Hey, did you see that?” Logan craned his neck, looking out the truck’s rear window as we headed back toward town.
“See what?” I glanced in the rearview mirror. I pumped the brakes on the truck, rolling smooth and easy down the mountain’s steep decline as we drove back toward town. The curve of Logan’s neck caught my attention for a long moment before I wrenched it back to the road.
“Up there,” he said.
“What am I looking for?”
“Pull over,” Logan insisted.
I pulled the truck onto the shoulder and we both climbed out. Logan jogged up the steep hill.
“Where are you going?” I asked, laughing, and jogged after him.
“There.” He pointed into the road. In the lane leading up the mountain, a small box turtle inched its way across the pavement.
“How did you see that?” I asked incredulously. The turtle was barely the size of my hand—easy to mistake for a rock, or a pothole. No cars were coming, so I jogged into the road and scooped the turtle up. It immediately pulled its head and feet into its shell.
Logan shrugged. “I have a knack for seeing things like that.”
“What, innocent turtles in need?” I lifted the turtle to eye level and peered into the shell. “The lake’s a few miles bac
k. Think we should take him there?”
“You’d do that?” Logan said. His green eyes burned into me.
“Well, sure. He’s cute. Come look.”
Logan stepped close to me, and we stood face-to-face on the shoulder with the turtle between us. Logan ran one long forefinger over the turtle’s shell. Then his hand brushed over mine, his fingers running across the sensitive skin of my inner wrist. Our eyes met. A flush rose in Logan’s cheeks. “You’re very concerned about this turtle’s needs,” Logan said.
“You’re the one who saw him,” I said. “This turtle is our responsibility now.”
“Ours? You’re the one holding it.” His lips slowly curled into a teasing smile.
“Oh, it’s my responsibility, then,” I said. “You hear this, turtle? Logan says he’s not responsible for you. He’d let you get smushed.”
Logan laughed, and his hands folded over mine where I held the turtle. “That’s not what I said. I’d never do such a thing.”
My heart twisted. Logan was drawn to anyone in need—magnetized to it. Even animals. If he saw a situation he could improve, he was there, no questions asked. And yet he was so unwilling to accept even the smallest amount of help. How could someone so skilled and resourceful become so closed-off? It seemed like he needed a family—people to show him he didn’t have to walk through the world alone.
“I guess it’s up to me,” I said. “So, turtle, what do I do? Do I take you up to the lake, or leave you here?”
“I don’t think all turtles are lake-dwellers,” Logan said. “You might make him more lost.”
“This is between me and the turtle,” I said. “I’m the one holding it, as you said.” After a moment, the turtle peeked its head out of its shell and looked confusedly at the distance between it and the ground. “See? Just have to be patient. Let the turtle decide what it needs. Where it needs to go. And then it’ll open up eventually.”
Logan let go of my hands. “Subtle.” He didn’t step away, but I missed the physical contact immediately.
“I’m just talking about the turtle,” I said. I’d given him an out, and he’d taken it. I pursed my lips, trying to hide my disappointment.
“The bond between man and turtle is not to be taken lightly,” I joked. I crossed the road and placed the turtle in the dirt, where it immediately scurried into the underbrush, moving much faster than it had been as it trudged across the hot asphalt. “Make your own life decisions, turtle. Go, be free.”
“Blade.”
With the narrow highway between us, Logan scuffed his toe against the asphalt and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. “Not everyone is so patient with turtles,” he said.
“Yeah?” Anticipation rose in me. His internal battle was visible in his darting eyes and the way he pulled his lower lip into his teeth. There was something he wanted to say—but part of him didn’t feel like he could.
After a long moment, Logan sighed and walked towards the truck. “Let’s get back.”
What had he almost revealed?
We slid into the truck and began to rumble back down the mountain. I drove with one hand on the wheel and one resting on the bench seating between us. Logan scooted towards me and folded his hand over mine, his soft palm on the back of my hand, his strong fingers gently squeezing my hand.
“Turtles, you know,” he said quietly. “Not a lot of people are willing to go through the trouble of stopping… Not a lot of people are patient enough to let them go at their own pace.”
Logan was staring hard out the windshield, determined not to meet my eyes, but his hand didn’t leave mine. His cheeks were pink.
I turned my hand over so we were palm-to-palm and laced our fingers together. Logan’s breath hitched slightly. “What can I say?” I said. “I think turtles are highly underrated. I think they might be capable of a lot more than they let on.”
Logan exhaled hard. “Thanks for showing me the lake,” he said.
I felt like a teenager again—the simple contact of our hands together had set my heart racing. I was far too invested in breaking through Logan’s barriers. I was already creating swaths of time to spend with him—time I should be spending on finding the Vipers who attacked Heath, and the dealers bringing drugs into my territory. I’d catch up with everything this afternoon. I’d get back on track. Whatever I had going on with Logan would not affect my performance as president—that much I knew.
But the feeling of his hand in mine was like a shot of whiskey. Burning all the way down and leaving me wanting more.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. I was distracted, half-hard imagining a different outcome to our morning together. After I dropped Logan off at Ballast, I returned to the clubhouse and locked myself in my office under the pretense of working.
If I wasn’t the president—and if Logan wasn’t so withdrawn—I would’ve made my move before we climbed back into the truck. I would’ve laid a blanket out in the bed of the truck and stretched Logan out across it. Then I would’ve stripped his clothes off slowly, so I could finally see his injuries, kiss them, and feel his skin warm under the midday sun.
I leaned against the door to my office and palmed myself through my jeans. The relief of the pressure was so great, I knocked my head back against the door and bit back a groan.
Something about him tugged at my protective instincts, but he wasn’t helpless. A steel thread of strength ran through him. Would that strength appear once I had him naked and gasping beneath me? ripped my jeans open and pulled my hard cock out. Sweat gathered on my forehead and temples as I imagined us together in the back of the truck. Logan would suddenly rear up to change our positions. He’d straddle my hips and push me flat on my back with his small hands on my chest. The sun would be a halo behind his head.
He’d lean down and kiss me hard, then pull away just enough to whisper my name.
Not my club name. My real name.
It only took a few more strokes, and then I came so hard my knees quivered.
That afternoon, I didn’t get much work done. Once the sun went down, I gave up and headed to Ballast.
“Hey, boss.” Gunnar clapped me on the shoulder when I sat down, then signaled to Siren, who was working the bar. She always dressed a little softer than usual when she was bartending, wearing a thin, loose t-shirt instead of her usual leather jacket, and her dark pixie cut hair was slightly mussed with product. She slid me a beer with a nod, her heavily lined eyes warm with concern. “Tough day?”
I grunted in acknowledgement and scanned the bar.
“Your boy’s not here yet,” Gunnar said with an eyeroll. “Cool your jets. Apparently Raven took him to dinner.”
I took a sip of my beer. I wanted to see Logan, but I was glad Raven had taken a liking to him, and decided to show him around when I was wrapped up in club business. They were similar in a lot of ways, and Raven could use a friend, especially in the aftermath of his dad’s death.
“You know he’s skipping town as soon as Mav’s done with the car,” Gunnar said. “You’re getting too attached.”
“Fuck off,” I said mildly. I played it cool, but I feared he was onto something. And it pissed me off. Logan clearly fit in around here—he was connecting with Raven, Priest had taken a shine to him, and even Maverick had commented on his nursing aptitude. There was a space for him here. A space I could tell he needed. What I wanted didn’t even matter. Why would he skip town when the resources he needed to escape whatever he was fleeing from were right in front of him?
“I’m not fucking around,” Gunnar said. “You don’t know anything about this guy. Just try to keep your dick in your pants, okay?”
“How about you quit worrying about my personal life and do your job, huh?” Gunnar was one to talk, anyway. Recently he’d gone nearly predatory at night, bringing new people, men and women, home each night. “What’s the update on the drugs in town?”
“Nothing since we started sniffing around,” Gunnar admitted. “Waiting for a new batch to
show up.”
The bar was fairly quiet tonight, dotted with club members and citizens speaking in low voices over the classic rock on the jukebox. Jed, a senior member of the club, staggered to his feet and leaned heavily against the bar at the far end. His loud, slurred voice carried easily over the other conversations. “’Nother round, sweetie!”
Siren crossed her arms and gave Jed a stern look. “Try again.”
“Don’t be a bitch.”
I moved to stand up and Gunnar pushed me back into my seat. “She’ll kill you if you butt in,” he said.
Jed was broad, built like a football player, and his flat face was bright red from drinking. Over the past year, Jed’s drinking had increased along with his aggression. He’d been a member of the club longer than I had, and acted as road captain on trips when neither Priest, Gunnar, nor I was available. All the members had coped with Ankh’s death differently. Jed had leaned heavily on the bottle. For as long as I’d known him, his drinking had always been a little bit suspect—a little too much and a little too often. But since Ankh’s death, and my promotion to president, he’d really begun to spiral. Now when he drank, he drank to excess every time, and he was cruel to citizens and club members alike. Privately, I thought no member who spoke to Siren like that should be a senior member of Hell’s Ankhor. But he had been riding with us for so long, and I was still so new in the role of president, that I’d wanted to give him a chance to turn it around before I kicked him out. But he wasn’t improving.
Across the bar, Siren winked at me. She fixed him a cola and bitters with lime, then slid it across the bar. “Jack and Coke for ya, Jed.”
Jed, appeased, stumbled back to his booth.
“You think he’s getting worse?” I asked Gunnar.
Gunnar grimaced. “Yeah. Might be intervention time.”
“He’ll love that. Especially coming from me.”
