Footsteps crunched on the seashell and gravel mix of Twisted’s drive, moving away. Po’Boy eased up to one hip, peering over the edge of the truck bed, trying to see who the men were. Didn’t mean he could do anything about it right now, but knowing who was riding the discontented train would take him a long way to derailing that motherfucker when it came time. Identical patches gleamed in the moonlight, and Po’Boy sucked in a breath. That’s a fuckin’ dead club, at least up here. What in fuck is someone doin’ wearin’ Vicar’s patches at this party? He watched as they stripped off their vests and bundled them into a bag, shoving it into the backseat of a nearby car before turning to walk to where the bonfire was now blazing brightly.
Po’Boy tried to push to his knees, but a wave of nausea hit him. Too much booze and sweet drinks on an empty stomach. He lay back down, telling himself it was for a moment only. Closing his eyes and sighing, he let what he’d overheard tumble around in his head. Vicar’s Wrath here. A nonexistent club because all local chapters been disbanded, most of their members rolled into the Incoherent. Those men here, not invited by him or Penny, meant they’d been brought in by someone else. Who would have— His reverie was interrupted by a shuffling footstep at the tailgate of the truck and Po’Boy opened his eyes a slit to see a figure looming over him in the darkness. The flaring light from the bonfire was barely enough to let him recognize an ally, Wrench. A CoBo member who had known Penny her entire life. One who had a thing for her once, giving way when Twisted staked his claim. Wrench was looking down at Po’Boy, and he was about to sit up and greet him when the expression on the man’s face caught his attention.
It was avid. Hungry.
Wrench’s gaze was trailing along Po’Boy’s form, pausing at his chest, then moving down to his crotch. His nostrils flared, and the muscles in his jaw tensed, jumping as he ground his teeth together.
Aroused.
Po’Boy’s cock twitched, and the movement must have been visible because he watched as Wrench’s tongue came out in a languorous swipe across his bottom lip. What the fuck?
A sound from by the bonfire pulled Wrench’s gaze away, and he took a step backwards, then two, before turning and stalking into the darkness.
What. The. Fuck?
***
Standing near one of the upended fifty-gallon barrels being used for impromptu tables, Po’Boy used deflection techniques to watch Wrench. He knew him, of course. You couldn’t be around Penny and not know Wrench. The man held unofficial titles for the CoBos like Po’Boy did IMC. They were the men who fixed problems, who weren’t afraid to do the wet and dirty work needed to find the information that’d keep their brothers safe. A nomad, always on the move, Wrench seemed to have settled down since Penny shacked up with Twisted. Still, his skill set was legend. Never, and Po’Boy was fucking attuned to the idea of gay behavior in the clubs, but never had he heard anything at all muttered or whispered about the man. Straight as they come, at least where people could see. A lot like me.
Shaking off the thought, he continued his observation of the group around the bonfire. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the men’s faces who had worn the Vicar’s patches, so he still had those people to find. Plus, trying to figure out exactly what he’d seen on Wrench’s face because he didn’t trust his memory at this point. The possibility of knowing someone else like him was intoxicating. Not that I’ll do fuck all about it, but Jesus. Just the idea had his dick perking up to take notice. Just to have someone he didn’t have to guard everything that came out of his mouth would be nice for a change.
Voices behind him caught his attention, and he strained to hear. After a few innocuous words, he was certain he recognized the men he’d seen earlier. Twisting at the waist, he made a show of stretching while looking around for the faces matching the voices. Distracted, he was taken off guard when he heard Wrench from beside him.
“Kink in your back?”
Po’Boy whipped around, bringing his raised arms down so fast beer flung out of the mouth of his bottle, splashing on Wrench’s chest, bare underneath his cut, just like Po’Boy. He’d slipped his cut in place after leaving the truck bed, but tucked his folded shirt into the waistband of his jeans instead of putting it on. A droplet of the liquid trailed its way down Wrench’s torso, dampening the material at his waist. Po’Boy realized he’d been staring and without meaning to, his mouth led the way as he said, “Yeah, I copped some shuteye in the back of a truck a bit ago. Woke up stiff.” Total truth, but what had been stiff had been his dick.
A reaction flashed over Wrench’s face so fast Po’Boy couldn’t register the emotion, then the man smiled. “Lotta bitches here would love to work that cramp out for you.”
Lotta bitches aren’t you. Strange how his mind knew exactly what he couldn’t say first, and then came up with the correct comeback second. “I bet there are.” He lifted his beer, taking a drink to keep his mouth closed for a moment, then swallowed and said, “Enjoying the party Penny planned for her ole man?” He knew as soon as he said it the dig was deeper than he intended, because a naked pain danced on Wrench’s face for a moment, smoothed away a second later. He noted Wrench’s empty hands and offered the man an out, giving him a chance to ignore the previous statement. “You need a beer, man?”
“Yeah.” A single gruff word, then Wrench turned to stare at the bonfire. “Naw, you know what? Never mind. I better get in the wind.”
“Where you off to? Party is just starting to get good.” Po’Boy paused, then surprised himself by leaning in slightly to say, “Walk with me. There’re a couple of assholes here I want your take on.” What the fuck am I doing? “If you wanna talk business, that is. You need to leave, you can go on. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“I’ll walk with you.” Wrench inched closer when he muttered the words, and Po’Boy caught a whiff of him. A scent which went straight to his dick, it was filled with wood smoke and expensive cigarettes, a spicy musk underneath it all. Fucking shit.
Nothing for it now but to accept his fate. I’m in hell. Without looking to see if Wrench followed, he strode across the trampled field towards Twisted’s house. Inside, he avoided the groups of people in the kitchen and living room, opening the door and heading into the darkened den instead. Sweeping the room with a glance, he ensured they were alone, then pushed the door shut as soon as Wrench was inside. He opened his mouth, then closed it when he realized he wasn’t sure how to begin without revealing he was awake when Wrench had found him in the back of the truck. Po’Boy knew how he’d react if someone knew his secrets, and wanted to avoid having Wrench trying to pound his head into the floor if at all possible.
“At least two men flashin’ Vicar’s patches are here.” Wrench didn’t say anything, didn’t move, just stared at him. “They were talkin’ shit about Penny.” Still no reaction, which puzzled him. “I ain’t wantin’ to start shit tonight, but I want to know who they are and better yet, who invited their fuckin’ asses.”
“Ragman folded VWMC into IMC.” Wrench’s tone was flat, unsurprised. “Ain’t no VWMC no more.”
“Fuck, man, you and I both heard rumors they’ve reformed, down on the Mississippi coast, where Leswayne had family.” He snorted, admitting Wrench’s network was likely just as good as his. “I know you have, because I have.” Leswayne had been the previous president of Vicar’s Wrath, killed by Penny’s blade a year ago. His son, Ragman, had only one reaction to his father’s death, regret it hadn’t been at his hands. “Ragman can’t control all the shit his old man stirred through the years. You met Leswayne, knew him as well as the rest of us did. Motherfucker left a world of hurt, and there’re those who want to keep that hurt going.”
“Heard you ran into one such the other night.” They hadn’t turned on any lights when they came inside, and the weak moonlight coming through the windows served more to disguise than illuminate Wrench’s face. “Heard he had a problem, and you helped him with it.”
“A problem? What the fuck are you goin’ on about
?” Wrench was with the CoBos, and the relationship between the clubs was friendly and supportive, but he and Wrench were not brothers. The idea he could have heard about Jones and the shit that had led Po’Boy the man’s way was concerning.
“Heard he had a problem with his circulation, and you fixed it right up.” He lifted one hand, palm first. “Not sayin’ I wouldn’t have provided the same assistance. Just sayin’ I know VWMC reborn ain’t the old VWMC.”
Po’Boy stood still for a moment, then deliberately shoved both hands into the front pockets of his jeans. Rendering himself at a disadvantage was the right move, because the tension which had crept into Wrench’s muscles eased, his shoulders lowered as he relaxed. “Deuces is a fucktard.” Deuces was the man who had revived the old MC patch, and likely who was behind the pressure IMC had been experiencing, even if Jones hadn’t been willing to speak the name. “But Deuces ain’t here. These are two munts I ain’t never seen before.” Wrench lifted an eyebrow in question, and Po’Boy winced because maybe he was laying it on a bit thick. He played up being the hick with a lot of people because when he paired that kind of language with his thick Louisiana accent, they immediately deducted a dozen points from any IQ they assumed he had. “Munt. Male cunt.”
That earned him a nod, and then an answer. “Royal and Keister.” Wrench said the names with a straight face, but Po’Boy needed clarification.
“Keister? Like…he’s called…he calls himself an ass?” He couldn’t help it, and a laugh broke free. “Fuck, that’s bullshit. Keister.”
“Gets better.” Wrench smiled, and in his clean-shaven cheek, Po’Boy saw the shallow dip of a dimple. Fuck me. “He thinks it means German.”
“Kaiser? He…” Shaking his head, Po’boy laughed again and caught Wrench looking at his neck as he did so. Testing the theory, he swallowed and watched as Wrench’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “He thinks his road name is the same as Kaiser? A German emperor? What a maroon. Definite munt.”
“Yeah, he’s a piece of work. Royal, he’s the smarter of the two. Wish he’d prospected for us, but VWMC offered fucking fast track. Insane. He went from prospect to member in a couple of weeks, then officer in a handful more.” Wrench leaned his shoulders against the wall and shoved his own hands into his jeans pockets, but then Po’Boy caught him discreetly adjusting his half-hard cock. Once his attention was snagged by the bulge, he couldn’t pull his eyes away, watching as the wrinkles in Wrench’s crotch fell away, fabric pulled taut by his dick. “Uh,” Wrench grunted and coughed, bending away for a moment.
Po’Boy tore his gaze free, suddenly aware his own cock had woken up. Fuck. Turning to the side, he took a couple of steps towards the windows, trying to give Wrench a minute to recover, desperately hoping to do the same thing. “So them being here means what, exactly?” He knew his voice was hoarser than normal but hoped Wrench didn’t know him well enough to catch the change. “Keister—fuck me, what a fuckin’ name—if he’s the stupid one, he was talkin’ more smack than the other. But Royal shut him down pretty fast and hard. What bugs the hell outta me is they felt comfortable enough to just show up here.” Shuffling his feet, he used every movement to telegraph his intention as he turned around to face Wrench. The extra distance helped because he couldn’t sniff the air trying to catch a whiff of Wrench’s scent. “Got any thoughts on that?”
Wrench’s voice was quiet, and his tone serious when he said, “I think we should start our investigation at the source.”
“You think they’re still hangin’ out ‘round the fire?” Po’Boy stared at Wrench, feeling a twist in his gut when the man grinned again. “Do they know you can recognize ‘em?”
“Only one way to find out.” Wrench gestured to the door, and said, “Let’s go see.”
***
“Twisted’s party.” Po’Boy angled his head towards Wrench as they stood side by side, watching the two men in a group clustered around one of the coolers filled with beer. “Man, you don’t know the shit I went through for this. Penny’s gonna have our asses if we fuck it up.”
Once outside, it hadn’t taken long to find the VWMC members they were looking for. When Po’Boy indicated them with a tip of his chin, Wrench had nodded. The two of them had made their way through the crowd to a position near the men, but out of their line of sight.
“Penny’s harmless.” With a shake of his head, Wrench dismissed Po’Boy’s statement. “But we would be better off if we had less in the way of observers.”
“Fewer witnesses, check.” Po’Boy pulled his phone out and tapped a message, then shoved the device deep in his pocket. A vibration a minute later made him grin. “Handled,” was all he said.
“Handled?” Now Wrench’s snort of disbelief was aimed at him, and Po’Boy looked at him, one eyebrow lifted.
“You doubt me?” Wrench shook his head. Po’Boy stood, waiting for things to start happening. The tension between them felt like it was pulling him sideways towards Wrench; he needed to break the silence. “Penny’s harmless?” When he repeated the words from Wrench’s previous statement, the man grinned yet a-fucking-gain and then tipped his chin down to hide the expression. “We both know that’s a flat-out lie.”
“Sometimes she’s harmless.” Wrench spoke to the toes of their boots, and Po’Boy looked down, too, not seeing anything fascinating enough to hold his attention like it was Wrench’s. “When she’s sleeping.”
“Give you that one.” He lifted his head when Penny yelled across the field, angling his head closer to Wrench as he said, “Told you, handled. She fuckin’ made a cake out of cupcakes. Long as she don’t tell these fuckers that tidbit, they’ll all be fallin’ on the cake in about a minute. Fuck, they’ll eat it even if she told ‘em it was stuffed with crawdads.”
“She ain’t gonna make ‘em sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ is she?” Wrench laughed outright, and Po’Boy turned to grin at him, surprised when Wrench’s smile faded away. “Looks like Royal is allergic to larger gatherings. Prolly someone here he knows.”
“No doubt. You and me both know it’s a small world here along the coast. Mean’s it’s time, then. Which do you want?” It went without saying they expected both men would put up a struggle. Po’Boy cracked his knuckles, shaking out his arms. It also went without saying he would be enjoying the next few minutes as long as they did try and struggle.
“You take the short guy. I wanna see you kick Keister.” Po’Boy snorted and nodded as Wrench continued, “On three?” Po’Boy nodded again, tensing and getting ready to move. “One—”
He jumped, hearing Wrench’s soft cursing from behind him. “Shoulda told you I cain’t count,” he called over his shoulder as he barreled into his target, knocking the air out of the man as they landed on the gravel together, Po’Boy’s knee firmly in Keister’s gut. The meaty sound of a fist meeting flesh came from behind him, and then the solid thud of a heavy object hitting the ground. Po’Boy twisted to look back and saw Wrench standing over a motionless body in the dirt, having taken down his target. “Let’s get ‘em outta the light.” He took a moment and pulled back, driving a short, hard punch to the side of his guy’s head, rattling him even more than the sudden airless state had. Po’Boy stood and gripped the man’s wrists, yanking his arms over his head and tugging him back towards the line of cars and trucks in the driveway.
Once out of sight from the rest of the party, he and Wrench made quick work of hauling their targets behind a truck. The sight of the blanket pallet in the back made him laugh, and he opened the door, pulling the lever to unlock the seatback. Digging in the space exposed, he came up with a handful of bungee cords and lifted them, waggling his eyebrows at Wrench who laughed quietly and asked, “Whose truck is this?” Wrench moved to the other side of the truck and shifted trash around, then stepped back when a noise came from the back of the truck. Po’Boy pulled in a heavy sigh of relief knowing the man’s hand had been about to encounter something it would have been hard to explain. Lunging across the space, Po
’Boy grabbed the silk boxers, wadding them up and shoving them deep under the seat.
“My truck,” he called, slamming the seat back into place and closing the door with a bump of his hip. “Help me get them ready to transport.” They worked efficiently, lifting the men to the bed of the truck and then quickly securing wrists to ankles. Po’Boy held up one finger and walked to the car he’d seen them shove their cuts in, opening the door and pulling out the bag to toss it into the bed of the truck. It landed with a loud clunk that sounded heavy and metallic. “You can check that out while we hit the Mandeville clubhouse.”
Without a word, Wrench climbed over the now-closed tailgate, resting his back against the cab of the truck. He reached out a long arm and grabbed the bag, dragging it closer to him. Royal was awake now, his eyes flickering madly between Po’Boy and Wrench. Then when he recognized the bag Wrench was digging through, he struggled in earnest.
“You sure you’re okay back here with them?” Po’Boy asked before he could stop his mouth, glad when Wrench didn’t even look up, just grunted. Climbing into the truck’s cab, Po’Boy glanced across at the crowd gathered near Twisted’s house. With a silent apology to Penny for ditching the rest of the party, he jammed the key into the ignition and turned. In a short time, they were off the country roads and onto the highway, and Po’Boy made good time, pulling into the deserted clubhouse and wheeling the truck in a tight circle, backing up to the building in front of a sliding metal dock door. “Gimme a second,” he yelled and grabbed his keys. There was a thud followed by a groan, and from where he stood next to the door, he flicked a glance over his shoulder. Wrench stood, staring down, bag in one hand, a gun in his other. “They give you shit on the way over here?” Wrench shook his head as Po’Boy slid the key home into the lock. Unlocking the door, he slid it wide and turned around. “What’s the pissy look for then, man?”
Neither This Nor That Box Set 1 Page 32
