Wrench swung to stare at the man who was glaring at Truman. “Shut up, Tru.”
Wrench stared, because something about the man seemed familiar. The set of his eyes, maybe? His thoughts were interrupted when Truman got loud, shouting, “No, I think pretty boy deserves to know what he’s sleeping with.”
Greg shook his head. “Lewis’ business, not yours.” He turned to look at Wrench, his expression pitying. “And not mine, even if Truman’s right. But—” Greg glared at Truman again. “—I lasted a fuck of a lot longer than six weeks.” The sinking feeling had turned into a full-on express elevator to the basement, and Wrench gripped the back of the stool tightly, masking the tremors in his hands. Greg slapped a bill on the bar, then with a nod towards Wrench made his way to the door.
Wrench followed him, ignoring Truman’s shout about payment, thinking the fucker could take it out of tips if he needed to pay for the one beer Wrench had consumed. On the sidewalk in front of Plaisirs Caches he caught up with Greg and stopped the man with a hand on his shoulder. “So you and…” He didn’t have breath to finish the sentence, but Greg handled that for him.
Looking Wrench up and down, Greg said, “I suspect you know him better as Po’Boy, but yeah, I was with him. Truman was lying about him and Po’Boy, but for all he’s an ass, Tru is right. Po’Boy doesn’t do relationships. It’s just sex to him. Never been anything but, and at least he never made any bones about the fact that’s all it is…was.”
Wrench dropped his hand, leaving Greg to turn and walk away. Sounds from his pocket snagged his attention, and he pulled his phone out, seeing the call to Ace was in the process of disconnecting. A moment later he got a text which said only, Clubhouse. Church.
Chin down, feet stuck to the sidewalk while staring at the phone he tried desperately to ignore the fear bubbling in his gut, he flipped to the other texts that had come in. One from Po’Boy, the message a selfie of him on his bike, erection in hand, grinning down at the phone with a caption, “All yours.”
Two were from Pony, and he read them in order. Need to talk to you. That had been a half an hour earlier, then five minutes ago a cryptic, Damn. You and Po’Boy? Fuck man.
The fear overwhelmed him and in an instant, he was back at a backyard fais-dodo, listening to Bagger as he said, “Ain’t for you. Gotta watch your p’s and q’s, son. Ever vigilant, that’s a motto to live by.” The old man had been talking about Penny, of course, but Wrench had turned the advice on its ear through the years, using it as a mantra to keep his head down as much as possible, working the club so it was everything he wanted or needed.
“Fuck.” I fucked up.
With quick strides, he went to his bike and climbed on, shoving the key into the ignition so viciously it was a wonder it didn’t break off. Ten minutes later he was on the bridge headed to Baton Rouge and the clubhouse to learn his fate.
***
Po’Boy
Idling into the condo parking lot, Po’Boy steered the truck towards a spot at the rear of the lot, backing in and killing the engine. After leaving Ponchatoula, he’d swung by the IMC clubhouse in Mandeville, pleased to run into Wildman. “Been too long, brother,” had been the steady greeting from members as they came and went while he drank with his former prospect. Middle of the day when he arrived, he’d finally gotten a ride to his apartment about midnight, deciding to sleep it off there.
The dreams had woken him not three hours later, and he had wrestled with those demons for longer than he should have. Finally giving up on getting any more rest, sitting on the tiny balcony and smoking half of the smallest joint he’d rolled in a long time. That had taken him into thoughtful considerations of how long it had been since he’d smoked any green, something which was normally a constant. He tracked it back to the weekend spent with Crissy, before introducing Wrench into the mix. “Fuckin’ weeks,” he muttered now, eyeing the ashtray in the truck, knowing there’d probably be a joint in there. “Be stale as shit. Fucking junk weed now.”
Leaving his cut on the seat as he swung out of the truck, he stretched, feeling the pull in his muscles from fighting the dreams earlier, tendons popping like snapped chicken bones as he pushed his joints to the limit. Not only hadn’t he been smoking, he hadn’t been working out, either. Or partying with his brothers, as had been pointed out many times tonight.
Po’Boy eyeballed Pony’s condo across the street, thumbing the key in the door to lock the truck. The man had come into the clubhouse at one point, offering a quick shoulder bump and one-armed clinch. He confused Po’Boy with a muttered, “Fucking lucky asshole. You get all the best ass, man.” But when asked what he meant, he just laughed, bending over to slap his knees before shouting to a prospect for a beer.
Turning towards Wrench’s condo, Po’Boy saw Crissy’s front light was on and her door open. Standing in the doorway, her frame was backlit from within her living room, sleep pants and tank top turning sheer in the lighting. “Hey, baby,” he greeted, moving to her and putting a palm on her belly, pushing her back into the condo. “Ty in your bed tonight?” That would be unusual, even if it had just been the two of them. They always went to Ty’s place, or Lewis’ suite in New Orleans. Crissy’s place was a stopover, a place to pick her up from in order to bring her over to Ty’s, her arms around the neck of whoever came to get her. He gently kicked the door closed, bending to brush his mouth across hers, burying his hands into her hair, pinned precariously to the top of her head. “Missed you.”
“Hey, Lewis.” Her belated greeting was off, and he pulled back, staring down into her face and seeing clear signs of distress. She’d been crying recently, and a lot.
“What’s wrong?” Po’Boy scanned her apartment, seeing the things that told him she was by herself. No boots on the floor, no cut draped over a chair. A single wineglass on the cabinet next to the sink. When she was with them, she drank beer, only consuming wine when alone. “Where’s Ty?”
“He’s home.” He studied her, noting the lines of strain on her face. “Got home a while ago.”
“Why aren’t you there?” Lip between her teeth, she worried at it, chewing hard enough to make him wince. “Crissy, honey. What’s wrong?”
“He…uh. He’s…he said he’s…” Fingertips pressing against her lips, she tried to hide the quiver of her chin. “He said he’s done.” Cupping her elbow in her other hand, she looked to be holding herself together by will alone. “He said we’re done.”
“What the fuck happened?” Reaching out, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close as the first sob broke free. “Oh, honey. What the fuck happened?”
“I think I messed up today,” she whispered, words hard to make out muffled as they were against his chest. “Pony came over, and I didn’t deny I was with Ty.” She squirmed, burrowing closer, her voice softer when she said, “And I kinda said I was with you, too.”
Po’Boy let his eyes slip closed. The one thing he had been most afraid of. Right there. Even so, Pony’s admiring words and attitude didn’t ring true, not to what she had said, so he pressed, asking, “What did you say?”
“I said I told Pony I was with both of you. That we were all together.”
Jesus.
Gonna take my patch.
Why would Wrench…how would Wrench even know?
“Where’d Pony go after you told him?”
“He…uh. He got my number, put his number in my phone and texted himself, then he walked next door.” She twisted, pushing back so she could look up into his face. Eyes swollen, she looked miserable. “Not to Ty’s obviously, because he wasn’t home, that’s why Pony came over here in the first place. He went to the other next door.”
The next set of condos held three IMC members. And one CoBos. That’s how Wrench knew what Crissy had done.
“Pony got your number? Why?”
“He told me to call him if I needed anything.” Her chin trembled, bouncing up and down as she tried to regain her composure. “I’m sorry, Lewis.”
/> “Yeah, I bet he wants that call.” Fucker. Even if it were the case, Pony’s behavior still didn’t ring true. “I’ll go over, see what’s up.”
“He’s probably sleeping.” Tears welled in her eyes again, and she sniffed softly.
“Were you sleeping, honey?” She shook her head, the movement dislodging the pin holding her hair in place, causing it to cascade down around her shoulders. “Then neither is he.” He bent, pressing his lips to hers, the kiss soft, meant to be reassuring. “I’ll find out what’s going on and let you know. It’s fine, honey. I guarantee you there ain’t nothing wrong other than Ty’s havin’ himself a bad day. I’ll figure it out, and fix it.”
“Promise?” She breathed the question, sounding full of hope and he nodded.
“Promise.”
He lied.
***
Wrench
The lock made a forced grinding sound as the key was shoved in from the outside, and Wrench pushed so he was sitting a little more upright in the chair pulled around to face the door. He’d been waiting for this all night. Had expected it sooner. Surely hadn’t expected to have to wait all night to have this particular scene. It had been easy enough to shut Crissy down, because she didn’t argue. Didn’t raise any kind of fuss, the only indication he’d hurt her had been written in her eyes, sculpted by the tear tracks raining down each cheek. Leaning sideways, he put the empty beer he’d been cradling for the last two hours on the floor, the glass bottle making a hollow thump against the wood.
Po’Boy entered, moving quickly to one side and pushing the door closed as he scanned the room, gaze coming to rest on Wrench. He didn’t approach, which told Wrench absolutely nothing, because if he hadn’t talked to Crissy, he might not know anything. Wrench remembered the look on Ace’s face and revised his thinking. Po’Boy might know everything that had happened.
When Po’Boy spoke, his voice was soft and quiet, sounding nearly exactly how he’d sounded the nights they’d laid in bed with Crissy. Time spent talking about inconsequential things before falling asleep, voices pitched low so as not to wake her. “Sittin’ in the dark?” Wrench ground his teeth, clenching his jaw, not responding. “Mind if I turn on a light?” Wrench maintained his silence, and Po’Boy reached out, fingers finding the switch on a nearby lamp and twisting to turn it on.
In the sudden illumination, he saw Po’Boy looked tired, exhausted. Lines of fatigue on his face, hair mussed like he’d climbed off a bike after a two-day run. As if he’d run a marathon today to get back to Slidell. Back to Crissy and me. Wrench squashed the thought, stuffing the emotions accompanying it as far down as he could. Po’Boy squatted on his haunches, feet flat on the floor, folding in half, making himself small and giving Wrench the physical advantage. From there, arms wrapped around his knees, one hand dangling from a loosely clasped wrist, he appeared to study Wrench.
He’s lost weight, Wrench thought, a year ago he wouldn’t have been able to squat like that. “You have a nightmare?” Even folded in on himself like he was, Po’Boy still flinched at the question. “Yeah, I know you have problems sleeping sometimes. You look like hell, did you sleep?”
Now it was Po’Boy’s turn to be silent as he shook his head back and forth, the movement slow and cautious. He shifted, putting a knee to the floor, rising a little at what he must have thought was a challenge. Wrench sighed, with the way they were both dancing around the inevitable, they weren’t getting any closer to what he needed, so he decided to just barge through.
“Po’Boy—” He got no farther before Po’Boy interrupted him.
“You call me Lewis.” No smile, no anger, just a flat statement of what he wanted.
“No, I don’t. Not always.” Wrench shook his head.
“You call me Lewis here.” His stare unblinking, Po’Boy waited.
“Yeah, well, not anymore.” There, Wrench thought, that should tell him where I am. Po’Boy’s head tipped to the side the slightest amount. Interrogatory without putting a single question to words. “Don’t try and do your voodoo shit on me, man. Won’t work. I’ve got nothing else to say. We all knew it was a short-term thing, just cutting the term shorter than expected.”
Po’Boy’s head tipped a tiny bit farther, and Wrench snorted. Give what I get. He stayed silent, matching Po’Boy’s posture. A minute passed by, then another before Po’Boy spoke again. “Crissy’s hurtin’. You mean for that to happen?” Clamping his lips together, Wrench shook his head. The pain had been clear on her face this evening, he knew how devastated she must be by now. “She can’t sleep.”
“She call you? She okay?” Dammit, he thought, shut the fuck up.
“Naw, man, she ain’t okay.” Po’Boy’s accent slipped back into his speech, something Wrench had noted he tried hard to curb when away from the club. “She’s sorry as fuck about what happened.”
Puzzled, Wrench asked, “What does she think she had to do with it?” Everything, every single thing had been his fault. Not hers. “What’d she say?”
“You wanna talk to her? Give her a call.” Po’Boy angled his chin to the table in front of the couch, and Wrench turned his head, looking to see his phone lying there. “Unless all you got to say is what you cut her with earlier.”
“I didn’t cut her. She didn’t do anything.” It was all me. Might as well say it as think it. “This is on me.”
“What’s on you, Ty?” Po’Boy shifted, lifting his knee so he was on his feet, still squatting, but poised for movement. “Tell me what happened, lemme help figure out how we can deal with this. It impacts more than just you. I can’t fix what I don’t know.”
“Fuck you. My goddamned president knows I’m—” He couldn’t say it. If he once uttered the words, they were out in the world, couldn’t be taken back. “Fuck you.”
“Ace knows what? Who talked to him? Did Pony come into your CH and cause shit? Motherfucker.” In an instant, Po’Boy pushed to his feet, pacing in a short arc across the room and back, wound tight as if he’d been fighting for hours. He turned to glare at Wrench. “I’ll fuckin’ kill him. I will. I’ll kill him, Ty. He ain’t gonna cause you any shit. No shit at all. Ain’t happenin’. And you don’t have to give up Crissy. I know you like her. More than. I can be gone city as far as you’re concerned, but don’t cut her loose. She…fuck, man, I think she loves you.” Po’Boy snapped his fingers, then pointed to Wrench’s phone. “Call her. Right now, give her a call. I’ll head out. You get her over here and sort your shit with her. She ain’t sleepin’, cain’t sleep, man. Her talking to Pony is eatin’ her up. She didn’t really say shit though, that’s the kicker. I ain’t sure what tipped Ace off the deep end because Pony’d only be thinkin’ we were sharing her, like I done before.” Wrench stared at him, not understanding half of what he said. “Pony gonna pay for anything he did, brother. I’ll deal with IMC, no worries on that side of the pipe. Fuck him up, man. Don’t give a shit we’re patched, I’ll fuck him up.” Po’Boy shook his head. “Why are you fuckin’ sitting there, man? Call Crissy, set that right at least. I’ll clean up the rest and get you clear of anything.”
Wrench flattened his palms on the arms of the chair, using them to lever himself to his feet. He took a step towards his phone, then turned and asked, “What’s Pony got to do with anything?”
“He came over and talked to Crissy, looking for your ass. She offered up some info she didn’t mean to. Don’t hold it against her, man. Pony’s an asshole when he wants to be. Probably shook her up.” Muscles in Po’Boy’s arm bulged as his hand clenched into a tight fist. “I’ll fuck him up man, you tell her she don’t have to worry about him again.”
“Pony talked to Crissy? So? He wasn’t at the CoBos’ house tonight.” Wrench squinted, trying to make sense of what Po’Boy was saying. “That don’t matter.”
Po’Boy stilled, footsteps coming to a halt and he stared at Wrench. “Then what the fuck do you think Ace knows?”
“He heard me talking. Had to have.” Wrench pulled his foot back and
kicked the table, sending the traitorous phone flying. “Fucking Truman got under my skin. My fault. Everything, it’s all my fault.”
“Slow down,” Po’Boy got closer, putting a hand on Wrench’s arm. He shook off the hold, but turned to face Po’Boy, putting himself right into Po’Boy’s face. So close he felt the breaths of air it took for the man to say, “Tell me, Ty. Tell me what Truman has to do with anything. Did you cross the bridge and go to Orleans? Were you at the suite today? At the bar?” Wrench nodded. “And Truman, who you know is an asshole, said something and got you worked up?” Grimacing, because when stated like that it sounded like school yard shenanigans, he nodded again. “Ty,” now Po’Boy’s voice was cajoling, pulling the story out of him against his will. “What’d Truman say?”
“Said you had a max limit with someone. Said six weeks was pretty much the top end for you.” Lewis’ head jerked backwards and he blinked, shaking his head, clearly confused. “I already know you fucked him.” That caused Lewis’ eyes to narrow, anger flashing dangerously in their depths. Ty didn’t care; he pushed closer, arching his back so they were chest-to-chest. “We’ve been with Crissy for more than six weeks. I figured maybe it’s per person. Maybe that’s how it’s gone longer. But then Greg spoke up—”
Lewis interrupted him, his tone deadly. “Greg? Fucking Greg got in on the show? Jesus, Ty, did you think about asking me anything? Fuck, man. Truman and Greg have been together since I dumped Greg. And yeah, I dumped his ass because he was so fucking one dimensional it wasn’t funny. He didn’t see me, didn’t know me. Wasn’t someone I could sit around and have a beer with, just to shoot the shit. He was someone I fucked. Period. He started pussyin’ up, tryin’ for something he couldn’t ever be. All I ever wanted was someone I could be me with. Fuck.” Lewis shoved closer, the tip of his nose brushing Ty’s. “You’re cutting me off, cutting Crissy to the bone because of something you didn’t even give me a chance to respond to? Jesus.” He tilted his head, studying Ty’s face. “I thought I’d found…doesn’t matter what I thought, does it? You already decided for all of us. And what in fuck does Ace have to do with anything.”
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