Hellbent (Four Horsemen MC Book 5) (28 page)

His face heated.  "Yes, wings. It says, 'Rise Above.'"

"Why?" Lexi asked, unabashedly staring.

"Because my actual motto of 'you can go fuck yourself' would have cost a lot more," he answered cheekily. "And before you ask, the numbers below it are a date."

"What's the date?"

"The thirtieth of none of your business," he replied.

"Hey, that was like … two days ago?" Lexi shifted closer, her fingers running under the inked numbers.

"Don't pet the new members, luv," Voo chided, pulling her hand back. "They're not tame yet."

"So, what's it mean?" Lexi persisted.

Shep cleared his throat, apparently picking this moment to contribute to the conversation. "It's the day his father died."

"The day after actually," he corrected softly.

The conversation died.

"Hey, speaking of awkward," Crash said, sitting up and turning to the rest of the table. "Let's move this along, there's still one more tattoo."

"And how do you know that?" Dani questioned. "Exactly what did they make you prospects do?"

"We'll never tell." Crash grinned. "But if you'd get your brain out of the gutter for two seconds, you'd realize it's on his wrist."

"That's too bad." Dani winked at Pretty Boy. "You know I'm just messing with you, right man? I got nothing but love for you, brother."

He held up his fist at her. "Right back at you, babe."

"So … the tattoo?" Dash prompted.

Pretty Boy reluctantly held his arm out to the group. The fire-ringed horseshoes spotlighted in the middle of the table.

"Holy shit!" Lexi exclaimed. Inexplicably, she exchanged a long look with Coyote. She looked up at Pretty Boy. "How'd you get that?"

Pretty Boy smiled tightly.  "One question per turn."

"Spoilsport," she muttered under her breath.

"I'll go," Shep said, clutching his beer like a life line. "Jagger, this one's yours."

"Oh, goody," Jagger said wryly.

"The song is
Carry On My Wayward Son
and if you take it, you and Blue have to do a duet." Shep grinned.

"Are you kidding me with this shit?" Jagger cursed. He turned to Blue. "You up for it, sweetheart?"

"I got stamina like you wouldn't believe, mister." She smirked. "Or you know, you could just tell the truth and
not
suck."

Jagger gave her an eyeful of
oh so hot
with an extra side of
and so mean
. "Fine. You're on, VP."

Shep refilled his glass from one of the half-empty pitchers on the table. "The hottie you've been sweating so hard, what's her last name?"

Jagger swore. "You bastard."

"Just love to hear you sing, brother." Shep toasted him with his glass.

Jagger stared down at Blue's smug smile. "You think this is about you, pretty?"

"If it's not, we need to have a little talk about standards." She widened her eyes. "Getting both the first
and
last name before you fuck her shouldn't be a challenge."

He grinned. "Am I to understand you are implying that after I have acquired said names, fucking is the next logical step?"

"Doesn't matter. It's never going to happen." She wet her lips.

Jagger caught Blue's hand and tugged her to her feet. "Let's do this."

They slowed the tempo of the song, and belted out a remorseful rendition that had more than a few of the bikers swallowing and blinking as they looked away. Blue painted the song with melancholic strokes of her violin strings as the only accompaniment.  Jagger stood center stage, spread his arms and sang to the heavens ignoring the mic.

Chills raced down Pretty Boy's spine. He couldn't help seeking out Shep's gaze. He wet his lips. What was Shep thinking about right now?

Why didn't you choose me?

Pretty Boy grabbed another drink.

"So, Fetch!" Dani called. "The song is Y.M.C.A. and the question is—top or bottom?"

Fetch blushed to the roots of his hair. "You mean—"

"Yeah, when you're fucking. Do you want to be on top or bottom?" Dani spoke slowly as if Fetch simply hadn't heard her.

Fetch looked around for help.

"I got your back, buddy! I'll take this one," Pretty Boy called, trying to shake off his obsessing. He couldn't help sneaking a glance at Shep. "While my brothers here—" he paused to elbow Crash. "—disagree. I insist I'm the top."

"What?" Coyote straightened, but he was staring at his phone. His thumbs flew over the screen. Apparently he was in deep text with someone.

Shep's head had snapped up, his eyes boring into Pretty Boy's face now. It gave him a warm feeling inside, knowing that he was getting to him. Like maybe he wasn't invisible. Like he mattered.

He knew exactly what Shep was picturing right now. Every minute in that truck, their bodies sliding against each other. How it felt when Pretty Boy slid all the way home inside him, again and again.

Holding his gaze, Pretty Boy drawled, voice soft and promising, all want and submission, "Who the fuck am I kidding? I'm totally the bottom."

Shep dropped his drink. The glass broke, liquor sliding across the table, people throwing cocktail napkins like confetti over the mess. And Shep just kept staring at Pretty Boy.

Lexi jostled him as she gathered the soaked napkins into a soggy mess more or less in the center of the table. "Sacrifice to the party gods!"

"What are they teaching you at that school?" Voo asked, raising an eyebrow.

She grinned. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Her phone buzzed next to Pretty Boy's elbow on the table and he glanced at the screen. "Are you in a group chat right now? Why do you owe Yo twenty bucks?"

Voo braced his arms on either side of Lexi's chair, leaning down into her face. "Told you not to bet against me, ma petit."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I could've seen it either way."

Pretty Boy frowned. It almost sounded like they were talking about him and Shep. Or he was fuckin’ paranoid. “What are you—”

"Don't worry about it. Coyote, you're up. The song is—"

"Just to be clear, if it's not from Dr. Horrible, I'm not singing it." Coyote held up a hand.

"Danger Zone."

"I might sing it. What's the question?" He turned and gave her an arch look. "And it better not be about Val Kilmer, because I'm still traumatized from our last movie night."

Blue and Jagger had finished their song, making their way back to the table with fresh pitchers of Long Islands.

She snickered. "Nope, it's easy. What's your OTP?"

"What the fuck is an OTP?"  Blue pulled up a chair.

"One true pairing," Pretty Boy explained. "Can we smoke in here? Since its our patch party?"

"Technically, it's the Old Lady Tea Party, and I say you can." Lexi waved her hand at him like she was weaving a magic spell.

"Are we talking Real Person Fic or—"

"Hang on, does that mean real person, like not-a-demon or not-an-angel or not-a-time-travelling-alien?" Fetch lurched forward in his chair. "Or like, the actors and crap?"

"Let's stick to fiction," Elizabeth advised, casting a wary eye at Shep.

"I'll say it," Coyote declared. "But no judging. And I'm not explaining it."

"Deal," said Lexi.

"Destiel." He stuck his tongue out at Lexi, obviously inebriated enough to be showing off his childish side. "Forever."

"What the fuck is a desty-what-now?" Blue looked at Jagger bewildered.

"Don't ask. Don't encourage." He shook his head. "Just nod and smile. Nod and smile."

Crash snickered.

"Don't know what it is? That's why they invented google, kids. You're welcome." Coyote smirked, eyes targeting in on Crash's laughter at his expense. "My turn. But first, Crash, I want you to know that nothing—
nothing—
that has ever flashed across your computer screen is hidden from me. Think about the questions I could ask."

"That sounds ominous." Crash widened his eyes in mock fear.

"The song is
Its Raining Men
and the question is, have you ever kissed a man?" Coyote folded his arms over his chest with smug certainty.

Crash's smirk curved just slightly and Pretty Boy barely had time to register the sign of trouble before it happened. Crash grabbed Pretty Boy by the front of his cut and pressed their lips together. He smelled like whiskey and Pretty Boy could feel the barely suppressed laughter bubbling in Crash's chest. His mouth stayed firmly shut for the most part, except for a little gasp of air to try to contain his amusement.

But the best part? The absolutely best fucking part of the night so far? Was the look on Shep's face as he watched them with laser focus.

Ignore me now.

Just for the hell of it, Pretty Boy nipped at Crash's lower lip as he pushed him away. "Tease."

Shep's eyes almost came out of his head. Crash winked at Coyote as he sat back in his seat and had another drink. No shame in that one. "Definitely have now."

Voo leaned over Shep to smack Dash on the arm. "Has someone else's bromance ever made you uncomfortable?"

"All the damn time." Dash shook his head sadly.

"Hey, you didn't even name a song," Dani protested.

"I was just asking. That wasn't my turn," said Voo.

"How about something a little more romantic?" Elizabeth asked. "Shep, the song is
My Heart Will Go On."

He shook off his resting bitchface and looked at her. "No fucking way."

"The question is, have you ever been in love?" She looked down quickly, almost as if she feared his reaction.

Shep swallowed. "Yes. Next question."

Pretty Boy stared at him, his mind flitting through memories of every person he'd ever seen Shep with. He knew Shep hadn’t really been in love with Amy, despite their engagement. It was one more brick of guilt the VP carried on his back. So who had he been in love with? He hated himself for the flutter in his chest, the desperate hope it was him. He almost missed Voo also carefully watching Shep and then nodding to himself.

Voo faced Pretty Boy. "So, let's get back to the real story here."

"What do you mean?" Pretty Boy's stomach dropped.

"The tatt on your wrist. What's the story?" The innocence in Voo's voice didn't match his eyes.

Pretty Boy swallowed hard, darting a glance at Shep. He knew Shep didn't want the story to get around. And as pissed as he was, could he do that to Shep?  "Voo, you already know the answer to that."

"I do, yes." He nodded. "But I want to hear you tell it."

"What's the song?"

Voo grinned.
"Son of a Preacher Man."

Pretty Boy cursed and turned on Crash and Dash. "This is your fault, you assholes."

They shrugged and looked around like they didn't know who he was talking about.

"What's it going to be?" Voo prodded.

"I'm singing. And these losers are backing me up." He pointed to the two jokesters. "Come on."

Dash slung an arm around his shoulder as they approached the stage. He said in his ear, "We got to make this good."

"Yeah," Crash shouted, leaning his head close to theirs. "You know that whole 'never let 'em forget' rule—why don't you show our VP what he's missing out on?"

Pretty Boy stumbled.

"Yeah, we figured out your deep, dark secret. Get over it." Dash laughed, elbowing him in the ribs as they climbed up on stage.

"And you don't … care?"

"Fuck no!" Crash looked at him like he might have hit his head. "Sorry, just never saw the gay-hating lifestyle as a choice I could make. You understand, right?"

"Fuck you." Pretty Boy laughed. So apparently, trying to pass as straight hadn’t been the brilliant plan he’d assumed it to be. "And I'm bi."

"Whatever, man. Fuck." Crash shoved him front and center. "Make him sorry."

Pretty Boy bounced lightly on his fight, as if amping up for a fight. The motion was greeted with a chorus of whistles. He smirked. Yeah, he could totally do this. He walked forward, enjoying the shouts of feminine appreciation at his half-dressed state as he did a spin to show off his dirt-spattered new cut.

Forget
this,
Shep.

Shep watched the guys climb up on the stage they'd built in Perdition, feeling like he'd found himself on a roller coaster with no memory of how he'd gotten here. Crash coaxed the Crossroad Crows to play the song for them, and Jagger threw in a little electric guitar instead of pulling out his banjo.

Pretty Boy grabbed a chair from the back and pulled it to center stage. He flipped it around and straddled it as the band tuned up, pulling out his phone. Shep knew he was staring but he couldn't seem to help himself. The distinct
I don't give a fuck right now
written in Pretty Boy's movements as his fingers flew over the screen didn't bode well.

His pocket buzzed. He glanced at the text and swallowed hard.

Ever wish u were a chair?

Pretty Boy opened his mouth, the high resonance of his brilliant tenor a pleasant surprise for the eager audience, but Shep had heard him sing before. It never failed to shake him to the soul. Charisma rolled off him in waves. He had a way of hypnotizing a crowd. Didn't seem to matter if it was fighting, singing or … whatever fuckery this was. They ate it up.

His singing voice held a warm rasp, making the most innocent of lyrics sound sinful. He caressed the back of the chair with his long fingers as he moved around it. He cast soulful eyes at the crowd as he put new emphasis on repeated words. When he reached the chorus, he pivoted and walked to Dash, doing his best backup singer routine stage left. Dash flexed, turning to display his Pestilence patch and raising a fist towards Goat in the back of the bar. A loud whoop of approval followed.

Pretty Boy played to the crowd, resting his hand on Dash's arm while he leaned down and sang to the hellions till hollering at him. Then, he back stepped towards Crash. They leaned against each other, back to back as they sang. A particularly loud whistle came from a blond hellion eyeing Crash like she wanted to take him home tonight.

Shep cleared his throat, trying to pretend he didn't give a shit. He looked around, but everyone was paying attention to the show the boys were putting on, singing for all they were worth, inebriated as they were. Pretty Boy strutted back to the chair, swiveling his hips in moves that would have been pornographic if he'd been naked. Just seeing him walk could get to Shep—like seeing a bowlegged brick wall coming at you. But this?