“Fury, how’s it going?”
I peer up as Sin strides over to me and leans his back against the wall next to me, careful to keep some distance between us.
Like most of the brothers in the room, he’s wearing his kutte, a leather vest that is worn over his clothes. Across the back, the Untamed Sons insignia of a skeletal head with wings and a crown sits and he has the vice president patch on the front, while I have sergeant-at-arms. He’s a large guy, around my height at six-foot-three, with a mop of dark hair that he seems to spend his life pushing out of his eyes. I want to take a fucking knife to it, but he’s brother by blood to our current sitting president, Ravage.
He’s also a cunt.
There’s something about the little fucker that grates on my nerves, makes my demons snap their jaws, but I can’t put my finger on what it is. I know I’m fucked up, but looking into his eyes, I can see his darkness smiling back at mine. His is different, though. It makes my skin crawl like a thousand fire ants are attacking me. He’s just better at hiding it.
I don’t usually talk to the fucker. I only hold my tongue because he’s Rav’s brother, but the thought I might need to use my knives, quench that blood thirst that drives me, has me answering him with a, “What do you need?”
Sin rakes a hand through his dark hair, his gaze going over his shoulder to look at the debauchery taking place. “Nothing, brother. Just making small talk. You should try it some time.”
He walks off, laughing and shaking his head. My fingers stroke over the handle of my knife attached to my belt. I’m forever walking on a knife’s edge, even around my brothers. It’s something I’ve learnt to control over the years, keeping my demons caged, but the urge to kill is always a heartbeat away. My fingers twitch at the thought as I lick my lips, sniffing the air as if I can smell the metallic taste of blood that seems to seep from my very pores. There’s only one person who can soothe that beast inside of me, bring peace to the chaos in my mind.
I shouldn’t go there. I shouldn’t feed my infatuation, but that niggle inside that wants me to can’t be silenced. Obsession wars through common sense, and the former wins.
I push a booted foot off the wall and move through the crowd. I’m careful not to touch anyone. Most people know me and my quirks, so move aside, parting like the Red fucking Sea. Tonight is an open house, so there’s hangarounds and out-of-towners sitting down and enjoying the hospitality of the club, but Fury the freak is well-known by everyone. I’m the man who brings fear even to his brothers, who guts men like pigs and basks in their moans and pleas. I’m the man who gets rock fucking hard hearing them beg.
I hate strangers being in our space, but most of our prospects start off as hangarounds, so it’s a ritual Ravage indulges in. I put up with it because I have to, but if I had a choice none of these fuckers would be here.
My mind is oddly empty as I make my way to the main entrance. It’s been eight months since I was ordered to watch over her. It’s been seven since I was ordered to step down. I didn’t. I don’t know if Ravage knows I’m still visiting her. I don’t care. It’s none of his fucking business, but she’s a compulsion I can’t remove. She’s embedded under my skin like the thorns from a rose bush.
As soon as I step outside, I’m hit by the chill in the air. I step over to my bike and throw my leg over the back of it, the dull moan of the music from inside grating on my nerves. I’m tired of this shit, tired of bitches and parties and whatever the fuck else. It’s part of this life, but it’s one I’ve never got used to. I’d rather see her than these fake as fuck women who beg for my brothers’ cocks.
I tug my helmet on and turn the key, the engine roaring to life, then I kick up the stand and begin my ride across town on autopilot. The busy sprawl of the city is calmer this late in the evening, but there’s still buses and taxis moving on the roads. I should be more alert. I know all it takes is for one cage driver to take his eyes off what’s behind him for me to end up roadkill, a possibility that increases with only the streetlights to guide the way. My mind remains unfocused as I weave between the light traffic, taking the same route I always do.
Businesses give way to housing estates and high-rises, upmarket apartment blocks nestled between the bay-windowed terraces. There are few people milling around, walking home after a night out maybe. Living normal pedestrian lives like I’ve never had. Even as a child my life was a fucked-up mess.
As the address comes into view, I slow the bike and stop at the kerbside before I idle the engine. I let my eyes gravitate towards the building. It’s an old red brick Victorian terrace. There’s a hanging basket on the front, overflowing with blooms and a few flowerpots in the tiny front yard. I ignore that, my eyes sliding up to the ground floor front window. The lights are on, despite the late hour. My heart starts to pound and tingles race
