Tirone (The Night Skulls MC #2)(11)

I ran both hands through my hair as he leaned in to kiss her. Fuck this shit. “I’d been riding for twenty hours. Where’s my room?”

He tucked her in, and I wanted to burn this whole house down with him in it. That’s my fucking job, you motherfucking prick. Then he strode toward me and shut the door. “Your room is here, right next to mine.”

“No fucking way.” There was no way in hell I could keep it together while I listened to her being fucked by someone else.

“It’s the only free room we have.”

“I don’t give a fuck. Get one of your brothers to move in it and give me his. I won’t listen to you fucking my teacher all night.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “What if I was fucking someone else? You’d still have a problem?”

“The fuck that’s supposed to mean?”

He squinted at me. “Do you have a problem listening to me fucking pussy or fucking her pussy?”

My pussy you stole you son of a fuck. Should I tell him and squeeze his heart bloody, and then slice it with a blunt knife, piece by piece until he bled out? I was dying to, but that would totally ruin my new plan and wouldn’t give me Jo. “Again, the fuck that’s supposed to mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Then you’re a sick fucking bastard.” So was I. Because of him. “And that’s your problem, not mine. The room? I’m tired.”

He kept his gaze in what looked like a lame staring contest. I won. Easy.

“Doc!” he yelled.

Uncle Waylon’s face appeared down the stairs. He climbed up a couple of steps and looked at us. He was ex-military, about Furore’s age, but his hair was salt and pepper. His skin was sun-kissed and wrinkly around the eyes. A few faded scars decorated his face. He’d once told me he was proud of each one. “Yes, Prez?”

“Get your stuff in the room next to mine and give Rex yours.”

Laughter and jeers roared from downstairs. “Pay up, bitches!”

“Shit. Can’t Marshall do it?” Doc complained.

I chuckled at him. “Is that whom you bet on?” They had to know no one would want take a room next to his father for obvious reasons—not the real one. Who would want to listen to his dad fuck or be heard with a bitch by his dad?

“Fuck yeah. I mean I love y’all coming home and shit, but now you cost me my room and a twenty.”

“Sorry, Uncle Waylon.”

His face softened at me and gestured a no problem with his hand. “Nah. For you, it’s cool.” He switched his eyes to Furore. “I’ll get on it.”

“Check on Jo, too. She doesn’t look so hot.” Furore squeezed my shoulder. “We’re not done here. We’ll talk after Church.”

Was that supposed to scare me? If anyone ought to be scared, it’s you, Furore.

He walked to the stairs as Doc came up. I stared at Furore’s back for a second, at the skulls and roses that adorned his cut. My legacy I’d managed to stay away from all those years, and I’d have for many more…if it hadn’t been for her.

“I want in,” I said.

Furore glanced at me over his shoulder, holding the banister. “In what?”

“Church. I want to sit with you in that meeting.”

“It’s full patch only, Rex,” Doc pointed out the obvious, as if to save me the embarrassment.

“You heard your Uncle Waylon.” Furore climbed down the stairs. “Go shower and rest in your new room until I finish. I’ll tell someone to get you something to eat.”

I went after him. “You always wanted me to patch in. I will.”

Fort was lazily getting off the couch as Molar met us at the foot of the stairs. “You think you can just waltz in and get your colors, boy? A patch has to be earned.”

“What, you want me to prospect first, VP?” I mocked.

“Pfft. You ain’t earned that yet. You’re a Hang Around at best.”

“My father is literally your fucking president.”

“Oh, Furore is your daddy now, not that monkey-ass, chickenshit, wife beater you put over him for years? Great to finally hear it.”

“Fuck you, Molar. I don’t know what shit you have with me, and I don’t give a fuck. I ain’t here so you can give me a piece of your mind or hear you talk shit about the man who raised me.” Jaw clenched, I darted a glare at Furore. “You’re gonna say something to your VP?”

“He ain’t wrong about the patch. Everybody gotta earn it. Blood may get you out of prospecting, but that’s all.”

Of course, my father the douchebag has to be his shitty self. “Fine. This meeting you’re about to have is about Miss Meneceo, right?”

“Meeting,” Molar snorted. “Stop talking like a pussy noob. It’s called Church.”

I fought the urge to tell him to go fuck himself because I was talking to his boss, not him, but knowing Furore, he’d take his bestie’s side and tell me to respect the VP if I wanted to earn a patch. So I just gave my back to Molar—his real name is fucking Travis, by the way—and directed my speech to Furore. “You need me there. I have info that can help.”

“Info? About Jo?” Furore asked warily.