Perversion (Perversion Trilogy #1)(8)

“That’s what he wants you to believe,” bellowed a voice from the other side of the kitchen.

In walked a husky man wearing a denim button down shirt with the sleeves cut off and a black leather biker’s cut. His large stomach extended well over his belt. He was bald except for a silver ring of hair above his ears. The man stroked his long grey beard until he met Marci’s disapproving gaze focused on his feet. He rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall to take off his boots.

“Duncan is calculating, resourceful, smart and cunning. He might be getting on in years.” He looked to Fuzzy then back to me. “But may we all need to be a little more like old man Duncan.”

“Amen to that,” Marci said, dropping a basket of rolls onto the center of the table as Belly took the seat at the head.

“I’m Belly,” he said, motioning for me to take the seat next to him. “I’m your new pops. You can call me Belly or pops, either of which I will respond to. Whatever you’re more comfortable with. We can start with Belly and go from there.” He gave Marci a kiss on the cheek.

She patted his rounded stomach and grinned. “The name’s self-explanatory.”

“Hey now,” he said pushing her hands away from his stomach and wrapping them around his shoulders. “Missed you today.”

“Missed you, too, Papa,” Marci coos. They rubbed their noses and pressed their foreheads together.

“Get a room,” Sandy said through a series of fake coughs.

“And here I thought I owned the whole house,” Belly replied.

Sandy, Digger and Haze took their seats. Sandy sat next to me. Digger and Haze were across from us. Marci put the pot on the center of the table and served Belly first before grabbing each of our plates to scoop heaping spoonfuls of the best smelling food that had ever invaded my nostrils.

When everyone was served, Marci finally sat down, taking her place at the far end of the table.

Belly grabbed his fork. “Dig in, boys.”

“So, what do I call you?” he asked me with a mouthful of food.

I almost didn’t hear his question because the pot roast was so good. Even better than I thought it would be.

Salty and meaty.

Belly waited for my answer. I took a large gulp of my beer so I wouldn’t choke on the enormous amount of food I was struggling to swallow down.

“Tristan,” Marci answered for me.

Belly scrunched his face. “You like that name? Don’t suit,” Belly said. That makes twice today I was told the same thing about my name.

I shook my head.

“What do you wanna to be called?” Marci asked from the other side of the table.

Sandy answered for me. “I’ve always called him Grim. Cuz he’s always wearing a hood over his head, and he looks like a reaper stalking around all silent and shit.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and finished his beer, belching loudly before looking to Marci apologetically with a straight toothy grin. “Sorry.”

Belly turned his head from side to side like he was considering the name. “Grim, I like it. Fits much better. I knew a Grim once back when we still had our chapter of the MC. Good guy. Good soldier. Could whittle ponies outta wood with this tiny sharp knife that could take your eyelashes off if he waved it too close to your face.”

Belly was part of an MC, and one of the guys in it…whittled ponies?

He sighed like he was fond of whatever memory he’d been recalling. “Seen him kill quite a few men with that little blade. They never saw it coming, either.” Belly chuckled. He took the basket of rolls Digger passed him, putting three on his plate before passing it to me.

I took two warm rolls before passing the basket, slathering butter across the top like it was my fucking job.

I looked up to find Belly studying me mid-chew. I looked around the table to find the rest of them doing the same.

I used my words and attempted to take the attention off me. I pointed to my food and looked to Marci. “Thank you. It’s great...”

Marci smiled at the compliment then raised her own eyebrows when she sensed the ma’am part coming. It was going to be a hard habit to break. I may have been a delinquent, but I grew up in the South.

I was a polite delinquent.

Marci waved at her plate. “This ain’t nothing, wait until you try my meatloaf.” She then looked to Belly who was also smiling just as big, although I could sense it was for another reason entirely, because he was still staring at me.

I paused mid-chew, waiting for him to say whatever he was mulling over when he broke out into a deep laugh. “Fucking aye, boy. Well, at least we know you’re not squeamish,” Belly said with a…well, a belly laugh. “Most people would have at least hesitated at the mention of murder at the dinner table.”

I’m not most people.

“I think you’ll fit in fine, here.”

I shrugged and continued eating. When my plate was empty, Marci filled it up again and handed me another beer. She tended to us like she enjoyed it, not because it was dreaded job she had to endure. There was an authority about the way she worked. A power in the way she controlled the room by taking care of those around her.

“Got the new PlayStation yesterday, Grim. You want to help me kill a shitton of zombies after dinner?” Sandy asked.

I’d never played a video game in my entire life. PlayStation systems cost hundreds of dollars. I never had that kind of money. Shit, I’d never even known anyone with that kind of money.