I licked my lips before launching into the explanation I had come up with on the flight. “Many doctors in training are all clamoring to get into Mass General while smaller hospitals like Smoky Vale can really use some residents. I filled out the paperwork for transfer and everything, and I was approved. I start on Monday.”
“You’re telling me that you left the opportunity of Mass General behind because you’re concerned that small hospitals don’t get their fair share of residents?”
When he said it like that, not even I believed it. I flushed and reminded myself that I didn’t even need to lie to him. As petit as I looked at five feet six inches, I was a grown-up, and at twenty-four years old, I could choose to do my residency wherever I wanted.
“Look, Dad, I—”
“Good God, are you this stupid?” he demanded, horror written all over his face. “You’re not here out of an altruistic heart. You’re here because of that outlaw biker! All the money we spent on your education, and this is the thanks I get? You running back into the arms of a man who’s the president of a gang? You promised me this nonsense would stop when you went to university.”
“But I’m no longer at university,” I pointed out. “I fulfilled my promise.”
He stood and crashed his fists into the table. I jumped, spilling coffee over my hand. His eyes were wild as he surveyed me. “I should have known! Everything you’ve done has been with the intention of coming back here to Smoky Vale. You crammed your eight-year program into only six years, shaving two years off how long you’d be away. How gullible and stupid I was. You must have had a great laugh at my expense.”
“Dad, it’s not like that. I’m not doing this to make you upset.”
“What the hell is it like, Jamie?” he cried, spittle flying from the corner of his mouth. “God, the worst damn thing I’ve ever done was to allow you to be friends with his kid, but you made it so fucking difficult, sneaking off whenever you got the chance. I thought it was better to know where you were than to have you all over town without protection.”
“It’s not like you could have stopped me from being friends with Joel.”
“But I could have kept you home. I could have protected you from ever tangling with that damn criminal! Tell me, Jamie, is the sex that good that you just can’t let it go?”
I rose to my feet, unhappy with how far he was going. “For your information, Grimm and I haven’t had sex.”
He scoffed, sweeping his eyes over me. “Like hell I believe that.”
“You don’t have to believe it.” I frowned at him. “I wish I could say it’s for lack of me trying, but we both know me, Dad, so yeah, I’ve tried a lot to get him to notice me, but he’s always turned me away. I don’t know why you think the worst of him!”
“He runs an OMC!”
“It’s not like the other outlaw motorcycle clubs,” I protested. “Even I can see that very clearly. In any event, I’m here for my residency, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to stay here for a couple of weeks until I find a place of my own.”
He wagged his index finger in front of my face. “No way. You’re going back to Boston on the next flight out.”
“Don’t be stubborn, Dad. They’ve already filled the space I left for my transfer. I need to fulfill my obligations to the Smoky Vale Hospital, and that’s exactly what I’ll be doing.”
“You’re not—” he stuttered, unable to get the rest of the words out before he gathered himself. “You listen to me, James Matthew Dehaney. This conversation is far from over, but I don’t have time to get into it with you this morning. I have to go to work. There’s no way I’m going to stand by and watch my only child lose his life because he’s infatuated with the Big Bad Gay Biker who runs half of Smoky Vale. Did you even think of what you’ll be doing to my career? You bet your sparkliest eyeshadow, Jamie, that this conversation is not over!”
Chapter Two
Grimm
The mystery of my invitation to Headquarters was solved when we arrived, and my three brothers and I entered the room jammed with testosterone thick enough to choke on. We’d been riding since dawn to get here on time. There was a strict structure when it came to the Bloodlet Motorcycle Club.
To the public, we—and I used the word “we” loosely here—might seem like a bunch of outlaws with no sense of law and order. We might not always conform to society’s expectations. We embraced the one-percenter after all, but the truth was that we had the same structure as other upstanding organizations. The only difference was that the things we did weren’t always so “upstanding.”
I expected to see the old man Range, who was the chairperson of the board and perhaps the most influential and powerful man since he commanded all the chapters in Ohio, but I was in for a big surprise. The table at the front of the room consisted of new members. At the helm of the coveted position was Crowe Lawson, the son of the ruthless motherfucker who’d stripped us of our colors, forcing us to form our own MC under my leadership.
“Grimm.” Crowe barked my name, bringing attention to me. The air shifted. Men regarded me with open disdain. I guessed nearly fifteen years wasn’t enough to have them forget how we had been humiliated the day we were forced to give up our colors and pay street tax for being gay.
In this very same clubhouse—I thought I’d never return after being banned.
“Crowe.” I returned the greeting by use of his name only. He looked older than I remembered, more mature, but then the last time I had seen him he was in his teens. He was dressed in his cut without an undershirt, leaving his chest bare to show off the tattoos he wore with pride. The patch of the Bloodlet was smack in the center of his chest. A skull wrapped around droplets of blood and dissected with two knives instead of the usual crossbones. The knives symbolized the weapon the club mostly used.
“You’re the last of the chapter to arrive,” Crowe said, gesturing to a cluster of empty chairs to the right. “Grab a seat and let’s get started. We have a shitload to discuss.”
I wanted to ask him why the hell I was invited to the monthly “church” session at the Headquarters since we were not a part of the chapters. For years, ever since our colors had been taken away, the other clubs had ignored us. If we fought, my brothers and I had to fight alone, but that also meant we were able to enjoy our victories alone as well.
“Faggots.”
I’d know that voice anywhere. Gunner Parchment was the definition of everything evil. My sworn enemy, and the only man I hated more than Range.
Just a step ahead of me, Booker, my Road Captain and Enforcer, stiffened, but I placed a hand on his shoulder, directing him toward our seats. It would do us no good to get into a fight with the likes of him at the Headquarters. I’d long since accepted that Gunner, the leader of the Bloodlet chapter in Smoky Vale, would always try to rile us up on any given occasion. They were our rivals. We shared the same turf, and Gunner didn’t think Smoky Vale was big enough for the both of us.
He wasn’t wrong. The tension between our clubs was thick, and one day we’d both have to enter a pissing contest I had no intention of losing. Heads would roll that day, and I knew enough that it would be one of ours—either mine or his.
Normally, we wouldn’t be caught dead together walking on the same side of the street, much less be sitting so close to each other in a packed room. The Headquarters was sacred ground for all the clubs, however. Led by the Bloodlet, the Headquarters kept monthly check-ins with chapters and smaller clubs that aligned themselves with the Bloodlet for protection. In addition to their own club patch, they wore an affiliated Bloodlet patch.
When we were forced to divide ourselves from the Bloodlet club, it had been my intention to remain as an ally, but Crowe’s father had denied our request because only men were allowed to join the Bloodlets. It didn’t matter that this was the only life I’d known. Once they’d learned I also slept with men, that had been the end of me remaining president of the chapter Gunner now had in his control. It might have marked t
he end, but it had also opened the beginning of my own club, the Grimm Reapers, although some of the guys jokingly referred to us as the Grimmlins.
Even knowing every member inside the clubhouse had taken an oath to regard the Headquarters as neutral turf, I wasn’t going to let my guard down. Eyes were staring daggers at us as the meeting commenced. I listened, remaining silent, taking in everything that was happening around us and trying to catch up to speed with what had changed since we were banished.
The board of directors was not made up of Bloodlet presidents now, as was the tradition. Although the position of power still resided with the Bloodlet through Crowe, it seemed a more level playing field. The board consisted of the presidents of the alliance clubs—Hell’s Saints, Angels of Fury, Devil’s Advocate, and Monsters of Mayhem.
The meeting was standard and boring, really. People probably thought we got together to plot how to get rid of someone and how to destroy their perfect worlds, but that was rare. These meetings were held to discuss memberships, resolve disputes between members, settle damages, organize events, and pay taxes. Always with the damn taxes that each club had to contribute as their dues for the protection of being a Bloodlet or an alliance, the latter of which shelled out more cash.
The meeting was stretched out for hours because of hearing the case between the Monsters and the Advocates, who had a dispute over territory. Both groups ran an effective drug trafficking business of meth and claimed the other was operating on their turf. The board of directors settled the differences by determining their borders and ordering the Monsters to pay for damages for the loss of revenue. The Advocates weren’t happy about it, but the word from the board was final, and they let it slide.
There was no appeal. The board was judge, jury, and executioner. They were like the Supreme Court, and no one could override that decision.
Eventually, the meeting ended, and we were dismissed. The names of Prospects were submitted to the board for them to check out the individuals. They got the final say to determine who could join the different chapters. They were thorough with their checks, having people in interesting positions on their payroll to dig into even the government’s mainframes.
All chapters stomped to the lounge, and I groaned silently when Crowe announced that my men should go, but I should remain behind. I was not too fond of being left on my own. Neither was Booker, but I gave him the go-ahead to join the other members who were already making a ruckus in the rec room.
The squeal of MC hangarounds who stuck around like fillies in heat, legs always open to take whatever came their way, filtered through the walls. Before being banned from the club, I had joined in my fair share of orgies. For a long time, I’d found it hot to fuck a woman who had already been through a dozen men that night, but that had gotten old pretty fast.
Having Joel come into my life had changed a lot of things about me. Having Joel and Jamie in my life had made it damn near impossible to act the irresponsible carefree drunk that rode from town to town, getting into trouble and fucking whoever was offering. But there was no getting out of the MC life when it bled through your veins. It was a part of me, and the only thing I could have done was to change things to fit into my new frame of mind.
That was when all the fuckery started. Loyalties were tested with only a few brothers remaining behind when I had been betrayed and outed by my best friend.
“Grimm, it’s been years,” Crowe announced, staring at me. He had a scar running from the right side of his eye down to his chin. It made his face very interesting and also recognizable. He’d be picked out of a lineup with ease if he was not careful how he operated the club.
“It’s been a while,” I concurred. “Fucking surprised when I got the invitation. Couldn’t decide whether someone was pulling on my nuts or what.”
“Figured it was time.”
I sat back in my chair, aware that the other members of the board were there just watching us.
“I wondered why the old man would suddenly have a change of heart. I know he was determined to make a pussy out of me simply because.” I didn’t need to explain further.
Crowe laughed. “Crazy old bastard. You’ve done your time of exile, which I openly admit I wasn’t fond of in the first place. You’re a Legacy, and that should count for something. Your grandfather was one of the veteran founders of this club.”
He was not telling me anything I didn’t already know. That was the reason I had been so fucking pissed when they took my cut. They no longer saw me as a man, but I lost respect for every one of them, willing to put out and betray one of their own because of their sexuality. Not that I’d expected it to have gone any other way.
My father and grandfather would have likely sided with them had they been living. These MCs were all about the big-dick contest and proving one’s self. The violence was only one way to show who had the biggest dick. Fucking women was the other, and since I went both ways, my cock was tainted in their eyes.
“What’s the point to all this, Crowe? I’m sure you didn’t bring me here for us to talk about the past like two old hookers reliving their glory days.”
“We’re giving you back your cut,” he replied. “My father is no longer the king of this castle, and his ideals and mine are different.”
I shook my head before he’d even finished. “I already have a cut. Why would I need another?”
Instead of answering my question, Crowe rose to his feet. “Walk with me.”
His father had been a huge man who seemed to topple sideways with each step he took. Surprisingly, Crowe had come out to be slenderer. He still had the muscles packed on, but I easily outweighed him.
I followed him from the meeting hall, and we had to pass the rec room built into the clubhouse so the members could “entertain.” In other words, get shitfaced drunk and knee-deep in pussy.
The booze ran freely, and some guys were trying to play pool while a redhead wearing nothing but high heels danced for them on the table. Her jugs were huge, but what caught my attention were the many dick tattoos in different colors and sizes on her body. Grunts of sex filled the air. Two bikers wearing different cuts had their jeans around their ankles while they both fucked a young woman in her twenties who seemed strung out on drugs. She barely even made a sound as she was dp’ed.
I shook my head at the irony. Having a dick up a woman’s ass was quite fine. I put mine in another guy, and the whole MC universe came crashing down. I glanced away from the trio, and my eyes met the icy blue stare of Gunner’s. He was leaning back against the bar counter, legs spread, jeans down to his ankles, with a chick on her knees servicing him.
“She’s yours when I’m done, Grimm!” he shouted at me. “If you’re able to get it up. But with so many naked men’s asses around, you should be pretty good faking it, shouldn’t you?”
I clenched my hands into fists, wanting to knock his teeth down his throat. I didn’t get to act, though. Crowe was already on the move. He crossed the room and yanked the chick off Gunner’s cock. The woman yelped as she tumbled to the floor on her naked ass. She scrambled away on her knees, sensing trouble.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Gunner?” Crowe yelled in his face. The chatter stopped, and cues slammed on the pool table. Men and women watched with unease. “You looking to start shit on neutral grounds?” He snatched the glass on the counter beside Gunner and held it to his face. “I don’t give a fuck what your opinions are of Grimm, but keep that shit out of this clubhouse, or I’ll make you eat this fucking glass.”
Without waiting for a response, Crowe dropped the glass on the floor. It shattered at Gunner’s feet. “Now clean that shit up.”
I grudgingly found a new respect for Crowe as he marched by me, his anger this billowing cloud that everyone in the clubhouse seemed to be afraid of. I would be too. With his position, Crowe was the fucking it of our MC world. Everyone wanted to be in his good graces. He could make things rather difficult for you—meaning you could end up facedown
in a ditch somewhere choking on your own blood and vomit.
I followed him across the parking lot, where our Harleys were mounted. To pledge as a prospect, the first rule of the club was owning a Harley-Davidson. There was no exception to that rule.
Crowe pulled up at an outside wall full of bloody handprints where members who visited the Mother clubhouse for the first time cut their palm and left their mark on the building. Knowing my handprint was there gutted me because I was not even a Bloodlet. I’d bled for nothing.
He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered me one. I accepted it without a word and allowed him to light me up. We stood there for a few minutes in silence punctuated by the inhale and release of smoke that billowed around us. Since I didn’t allow myself to drink a lot, I smoked to keep myself steady—mostly cigarettes.
“You’ve done quite well for yourself with the Reapers,” he stated, breaking the silence. “I’m impressed at the way you’ve been able to rebuild everything.”
I grunted. “Yeah, but we’re at the bottom of the respect chain when it comes to the clubs.”
“Fucking idiots.” He dropped the butt of his cigarette to the concrete and ground it with the heel of his black leather boots with far more ferocity than required. “What the fuck does it matter who you sleep with? Does the man have integrity, loyalty, and the guts to do what needs to be done? That’s what matters.”
I didn’t respond. I had no idea where he was going with this, but the first thing that came to mind was to ask him if he was gay. People thought they could tell who a man slept with by looking at him, but that was bullshit. It only worked for some people. If Gunner hadn’t divulged my secret, no one would have suspected I liked dicks even more than pussy.
“I like the direction your club is going, Grimm,” he continued when it was clear I was waiting on him to say his piece. “You’re not fools. Your men don’t run headlong into the first stupid shit they can get themselves into, yet your reputation has spread far. You don’t take shit from anyone either.”
Biker Daddy (The Grimm Tales of Smoky Vale Book 1) Page 3
