VJ

8 - Back where I belong

VJ

Snakes Henchmen MC Clubhouse. My home away from home. The place I haven’t seen in over eighteen months.

I’m sitting outside on my motorcycle after riding the wind for three hours straight this morning. It was just what I needed to clear my head: all that open road and the wind against my face. Fuc.k, I’d missed it almost as much as I’d missed fuckin.g.

The little girl from last night was gone when I woke up this morning. Usually, I’d be all for that, but I woke up with a raging boner and wanted nothing more than to sink my coc.k into that tight little puss.y again before kicking her out. But she was gone, mores the pity.

There was something about that little girl that made me feel something. I’m VJ, Snakes Henchmen member; I don’t do feelings! I never have. Well, not the common ones every other person feels. I feel anger, possessiveness, pride, contempt, and an immense sense of self-worth. What I don’t feel is love or anything associated with it. I don’t feel compassion, adoration, etcetera. I’ve never really cried, either. Dad told me the last time I cried, I was two. Two!

Can you imagine that?

I don’t feel anything is worth crying about at all. I don’t see what could ever draw that emotion out in a person. It’s wasteful and used far too often.

My big sister was kidnapped and almost killed, and I didn’t cry. I didn’t cry when I saw her in that hospital bed; her slit throat was wrapped to protect it from infection. My whole family cried, including my big brother.

Me?

I stood looking at her, fascinated by what she’d gone through. Fascinated by how she’d survived. I think that’s the day my father finally realized something was very wrong with me. Big bad bikers like Hammer, my sister’s husband, even though he wasn’t her husband back then, my father, the Prez at the time, Jett, and Tank, my other sister’s husband, were all shedding tears over Willow.

I was smiling, lost in a world where everything was dark. It wasn’t like I found what happened to my sister funny. I fuckin.g didn’t. I was beyond angry I could have killed someone. I was twelve, and I literally wanted to kill someone.

My father dragged me out of the room and yelled at me, calling me all sorts of names. I laughed at him, and he hit me. My dad had never hit me like that before, with his open hand across my face like I was a man twice my age.

It just so happens that my mother walked out of Willow’s room to see his hand connect with my face. While Mom screamed at my dad, I stood there with a smirk on my face while I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. Yeah, he hit me that hard. The man was huge, but he had never hit any of my siblings in their lives. I was the only one.

Dad looked angry, but according to him, I looked psychotic. That’s the day he told my mom that he’d be taking me to see a head doctor, that there was something missing inside of me that he knew would never be fixed.

He was right.

The doctors agreed with him. He tried to force medication on me, but my mom refused it. Whatever. I didn’t care then, and I don’t care now. I am who I am. Ain’t my fault I was born this way.

Crazy, isn’t it?

Yeah, I was brought up with the MC, but I also had a wonderful childhood -apart from being crazy – with amazing parents. I have great siblings and an extremely close bond with my younger brother. Which apparently is “obsession” and not love. I’m incapable of that, a doctor once told me. Even I don’t believe that bullshit. I might not understand it, but I feel it for those close to me.

I think that’s what I feel, at least. I know that I’ll never let anything happen to them. I know I’d kill and die to protect them.

Do I need them?

No. I don’t need anybody but myself. The only thing I need is to be in control of things. I need to hurt people, kill them even. If I don’t, it’s like something nags at me, and it makes me physically sick.

I guess the best way to explain it is, it feels like heroin to me. If I don’t take a hit, I get withdrawals: cold sweats and stomach cramps. It’s a sick fetish, but the more pain I can inflict, the more satisfied I am. I can breathe easier.

But don’t go thinking I hurt or kill the innocent. I don’t. My father taught me from an early age that killing the innocent is not the way to go. I end only those I believe deserve it. I’m not the kind of psychopath who goes around killing randomly. I like the legwork before the kill. I like making plans and then executing them. It makes the game much more fun.

That little girl, Chloe, got a lucky escape. I wouldn’t have hurt her; she was innocent, a beautiful, sex.y, fantastic fuc.k, kind of innocent. However, I don’t keep women, even women like her, around for more than one fuc.k. Silly bitche.s get attached.

There’s no point getting attached to a man like me. They’ll never be loved. They’ll never get the whole wedding, kids, and the happy-ever-after bullshit from me. I wouldn’t even know how the hell to handle that.

But Chloe had me feeling something I had never felt before. I can’t explain it, but if she’d been there when I woke up this morning, I’m not sure I would have let her go. Even now, I’m thinking about her, obsessing over her, thinking of ways to make her mine.

Why the fuc.k would I be thinking that?

I don’t even know the girl, and I won’t ever see her again unless I find out where she lives. I could do it only too easily. I could make her mine, fuc.k her anytime I like. I wouldn’t be faithful, in any case. Couldn’t. I love puss.y too much. Girls like Chloe, like all that faithful shi.t. Nope. Might as well forget all about her right now. She wouldn’t deserve the shi.t I’d bring to her life anyway.

Climbing off my bike, I drop my cigarette to the floor and stomp it out with my boot. I yank on my cut, ensuring it’s sitting proudly against my chest — it’s time to go in and make my presence known.

“Should have told us you were getting out yesterday, Brother.”

A slow smirk spreads across my face as I turn to face the man behind me. It’s been a good while since I saw him. “Bones,” I acknowledge.

Bones got his name for his love of breaking them. He’s my age, tall as a giant and twice as wide. Son-of-a-bitc.h went to school with me, and he watched me cause havoc in that place. He soon joined in with me and then joined me in the MC.

“Got your old man in a right spin. I went to collect you this mornin’ only to find out you were already out.”

Yeah, I may have fucke.d up there. I should feel a little guilty, but I don’t.

“He’ll get over it.” I shrug.

Bones laughs and comes toward me with his arms open. “Motherfucke.r!” He hugs me; I hate being hugged! I do not like to be touched unless I initiate it. The asshole knows this. I won’t hug him back; it’s not my style. I only embrace my mother and sisters one-handed for fuck.s sake. Apart from Max, I have hugged him properly once or twice. “It’s good to have you back, man.”

“It’s good to be back, Brother,” I clasp his shoulder. He’s a good guy. “Time I went inside.”

“Just so you know, because I know you hate surprises, your whole family is in there with the Brothers, Old Ladies, and kids. Your mom organized a Welcome Home party for you. ‘Course, it was all set up for yesterday, but as you didn’t make it home, today it is.”

“Great.” Just what I don’t need right now. At least it’ll get it out of the way, I suppose.

Bone wasn’t wrong; the place is packed. A fuckin.g massive Welcome Home banner over the bar, balloons everywhere, and food on almost every table, all that bullshit people set out for a huge party. Everyone is cheering the second I walk in the door, rushing me, fuckin.g touching me!

“My little boy!” Christ, my mother!

“Nice to see you too, Mom.” Gently, I push her away from me.

Then, I’m attacked by my three sisters, my nieces, nephews, and friends.

For fuck.s sake!

My older brother, the new President of the club, Jett, grabs me and hugs me. I tap his back one-handed. I’m getting hot; I can’t stand all this touchy-feely crap!

As soon as everyone’s done with the “Welcome back” bullshit, my father steps forward. He’s aged some since I’ve been gone. Almost sixty-eight years old and still looks much younger to most. However, I can see his age creeping up on him — all the fuckin.g worry over me, no doubt.

I hold my hand out to him, “Dad.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me into him. “It’s good to see you, my boy.”

“You too, Dad.” I pull away from him. “Where’s Max?” He isn’t here. If he were, he’d have been the first one rushing me when I walked through the door.

We have a good relationship, Max and me. The man keeps me in check as much as he can. He’s stopped me from doing some really crazy things over the years. It wasn’t until he was attacked and left for dead that I felt anything of dread. I honestly thought Max would die.

It didn’t take me long to find the fucker.s who did that to Max, and I made them fuckin.g pay. The trouble was, the second I got my hands on the leader and beat the ever-living fuc.k out of him, the fuckin.g cops caught me before I could land the killer blow. Figures.

I’ve spent eighteen months obsessing over my brother and wondering if he’s really okay. The only time I allowed anyone to visit me in prison was with Draven Vidal. It was my doing that he was there. I called him and asked him to come. He did because, for all intents and purposes, we’re friends. However, I wanted him for one thing and one thing only, to make sure he looked out for Max while I was away.

My brother isn’t like the rest of us. He isn’t a biker because he never wanted to be one. He’s a race car driver, a damn good one. He isn’t weak either, physically, at least. However, he’s not the kind of man to fight anyone for the hell of it.

All I needed was the Don to ensure my brother was well-protected while I was gone. Yeah, he had the whole MC taking care of him after what happened, but I wanted more. I needed Max trailed by someone reliable, powerful, a fuckin.g assassin who would kill anyone who so much as looked at Max the wrong way.

I told Vidal I wouldn’t be in contact with anyone from the outside after that day until my release. All I needed was his word that Max would be safe. He gave it to me and left. I spent the next eighteen months knowing my brother was safe. Once Vidal gives you his word, he keeps it.

You’re wondering why Vidal didn’t use his influence to get me out of trouble?

I didn’t want him to. I’m not a damn child. I got caught red-handed, and though Draven could easily have gotten me out of it, I didn’t want him to. I own my mistakes; I don’t need rescuing. However, Draven went behind my back and pulled a few strings to ensure I didn’t get years. I didn’t thank him for it because I didn’t ask him to interfere!

“Max will be along soon. Now, let’s get this party started! My boy is home!”

I roll my eyes as they all cheer. It makes a man smile to himself to know he’s appreciated. My first drink inside my club in eighteen months, five fingers of Scotch, no ice.

What the fuc.k is the point of ice in Scotch?

Moreover, what’s the point of five fingers?

Fuc.k that. I grab the bottle and chug it.

This is what it’s all about!