When I'm With You (Little Hollow Series, #2)(28)

He looks down at them. “Can’t have them get infected now, can we?”

He doesn’t give me a second to brace myself as he pours the vodka straight into the open wounds and I hiss. He keeps holding my hands and I school my features into a neutral look, trying to keep the disgust off my face.

“You look just like your mom, you know that?” I’m not sure what he wants me to say, so I nod briefly. “So tell me, what would your little boyfriend think if he knew you were the daughter of a whore?”

I grit my teeth to stop myself from saying anything, I guess he’s talking about Lewis and I don’t correct him that he isn’t my boyfriend, it’s best he thinks people will look for me. That people care. Then something occurs to me, if he knows who Lewis is then that means he’s been watching me. I shiver at that thought.

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Keeley. I’m sure he would’ve figured that out sooner or later,” he sneers.

I stay silent, watching his face turn from a humored expression to twisted and angry.

“You will speak when you’re spoken to! Do you understand me?” He spits out, throwing my hands into my lap.

“You’re an angry little man, you know that?” I quip, and immediately wish I hadn’t.



I watch as Merl ‘Taz’ Michaels stumbles behind the bar and pulls out a small bottle of vodka. There’s no way in hell that weasel’s getting voted in as VP again, he’s the sketchiest motherfucker I’ve ever seen.

My fists ball up thinking about the fact he probably will get it again on account of being the Pres’s brother. This whole vote is a waste of time, Pres made a decision on something that should’ve been the club’s vote three years ago, he’s on probation. So every year we vote our members of office in, and every year, it always ends up with the same results. It’s a fucking fix.

But as I look at Taz, I know it’s time for change. Something’s not right with him, I can smell it as much as the cheap perfume on this broad who won’t take no for an answer. She’s been gagging for it since the moment I walked in here, she’s a stage five clinger and I’ve decided I’ve had enough of these broads hanging around the clubhouse all the time.

I look around the common area, it’s only eleven in the morning and half of my brothers are already drunk out of their minds. We have church in two hours and these assholes can’t even stay sober for one fucking day. The whole club is going to shit.

There’s a time for partying and a time for club business. Partying should always come after club business but these fuckers have no morals, it doesn’t even feel like a brotherhood anymore, more like a group of men getting drunk off their asses and fucking anything in sight. I feel a hand moving up my thigh and a head drop onto my shoulder, I’m so not in the mood right now so I shrug off her ratty head.

“Are we gonna do this or what?” She asks, pouting at me, which really isn’t a good look on her.

“Or what,” I quip, kicking back her stool.

“You don’t have to be such an asshole all the time, Bear, but I’m starting to understand why they call you that!” She huffs.

I give her a warning look and turn away toward the bar, she wisely chooses not to say anything else and turns around to jump off her stool. I watch out the corner of my eye as she saunters across the room and slides right into JT’s lap, like she hadn’t just been offering to take me back to my room.

That’s another thing getting out of hand, the broads are starting to think that they have a say here, when they don’t. They’re here for one thing and one thing only.

The Crows Rebels are known for being one percenters. Booze, brotherhood, bikes and broads. Only, I think everyone has forgotten the most important two.

Most of us are in this club because we have a love for bike’s, there’s nothing better than flying low out on the open road, the vibrating engine between your thighs and your brother’s by your side, except I can’t remember the last time we all did that just because.

I throw back the rest of my beer and shoot a lazy wave to JT and Slider. “I’m out.”

Slider takes one look at cheap perfume sucking face with JT and jumps up to join me. “I ain’t staying here with those two dry humping each other, wanna ride?”

I grin wide at him. “Think you can keep up, bro?” I say with a wink.

He punches my shoulder.

“Pfft, who do you think you are lately? Old man,” he counters back and I narrow my eyes, humor lacing them.

I’m not even twenty-eight yet, only three years older than him so I know he’s joking.

We spend the next hour with nothing but our bikes between our legs and the landscape whizzing by us. This is what the club should be about, not fucking club broads and getting so drunk you can’t even ride home every damn day.

Pulling back up to the clubhouse, I see the lot is starting to fill up for church and it’s a beautiful sight, Harley’s everywhere, all lined up, the chrome glinting as the sunlight hits it.

“Yo, Bear! Wait up!”

I watch my oldest friend walk toward me with that confident swagger he’s always had.

“Smokey, not seen you at the club in a while,” I say, clapping him on the back.

Samson ‘Smokey’ Waters is a hard-ass. He’s road captain for the club and got his nickname because he’s one of our best riders.