Rainbow by K.L. Savage

Present Day

“They’re calling it the storm of the century. Hurricane Jeffrey has idled in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. The longer it remains in the middle of the ocean, the stronger it becomes. It’s gathering the warm waters, soaking it up into this powerful circle you see spinning.”

The woman creates a circular motion with her hand around the storm’s green, red, and yellow parts. The eye of the hurricane is enormous, but so is this storm. I’ve never seen anything like it.

“We are projecting Hurricane Jeffrey will make landfall in New Orleans, Louisiana. That’s where the eye of the storm is expected to go over.”

“Goddamn it,” I mumble, running my hand over my face. I’ve learned many things living in the South, but the two that stick with me: the damn southern accent and hurricanes don’t fuck around.

“I hear it’s worse than Katrina,” Fox mutters as he takes a seat on the other side of the couch after pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“I’m afraid you might be right.” I pick up my boots and slam them on the coffee table.

“We urge everyone along the coastline from Texas to the Florida panhandle to evacuate. I wish we had more answers, but since the storm isn’t moving, we can’t give you more of a detailed answer, but please, go anywhere other than where you are if you live in these areas.”

She highlights the coast of the entire Gulf of Mexico.

“We should probably stock up on groceries, just in case,” our Prez Jokester says as he leaves his room, shrugging his cut on.

I’ve been part of the Ruthless Kings Baton Rouge chapter since I was eighteen. I had Greer to take care of, and the paycheck from the bar wasn’t cutting it after using my parents’ life insurance to move away from California. So the Kings gave me an opportunity, and now I’m the Vice President and a smokejumper with the local fire department.

I’m living the dream.

And so is Greer. He’s here too. He hasn’t talked since that day our parents died. He lost some hearing in his ears from that night, and I think that’s my fault. When I tackled him, we hit the ground hard, and I think he busted an eardrum. It never healed right, but it wasn’t like it mattered. After that, he decided not to speak again. I haven’t heard his voice in fifteen years. I don’t even think I remember what he sounds like.

The guys call him Mime. And when I prospected, I told them my brother and I were a package deal. They didn’t bat an eye. They welcomed him, and as much as I hate that we don’t have our parents, we have the club. And that’s more than I ever thought we’d have.

I had to find us a family because I wasn’t doing a great job with Greer by myself. I didn’t know how to raise my brother on my own. So I had to drop out of high school, but when I joined the club, they paid for me to get my G.E.D. and I forced Greer to finish high school.

And he did.

He went from star athlete with a future to any school he wanted to a dropout, barely passing by the skin of his teeth.

I can’t say I blame him. It was hard, but we made it through, and we still have each other.

“Mime!” I call out to him when he comes from the kitchen with two mugs in his hands. He made it clear to me he didn’t want to be called Greer anymore. Only Mime. So, I do my best to remember.

The guys call me fucking Rainbow because they saw my damn birth certificate, and now I’ll never live the name down. I don’t mind so much anymore. It makes me think of Mom since it was one of her last words.

When he sees me, he grins and rushes over to me, handing me a cup of coffee like he does every morning. Of course, he doesn’t know this, but when he does that, it makes my day.

“Take a seat, brother. We’re catching up on the news, and it isn’t looking good.” I pat the spot next to me, and he sits in the middle of the couch, between Fox and me.

A giggle coming from down the hall has us turning our heads to see one of the club whores doing the walk of shame right out of Hound’s room. His name speaks for itself. The man fucks someone different every night.

“Melanie,” Jokester sighs over his own cup of coffee as she scurries out the door. “Damn it, Hound. That girl ain’t nothing but trouble.”

“I think he likes trouble,” Fox says about his best friend.

“Well, she’s up to no damn good,” Prez states, sipping his coffee. “Too early to deal with whore drama.” He pinches his eyes shut and rubs them.

“No drama yet, Prez. I think we’re good,” I say to Prez, hoping to ease the tension he carries. Jokester worked hard to rebuild this club after his dad died. There are still a few old-timers like Puzzle and Sherlock, but they seem to keep to their own and not cause any drama.

This clubhouse is more of an industrial warehouse. It’s enormous, with so many rooms you can get lost if you aren’t careful. We live on a large property surrounded by trees and other small warehouse-style houses that we’ve built. Jokester has this idea that one of us will settle down and start a family and won’t want to be in the dick-sucking part of the clubhouse.

His words, not mine.

Another laugh comes from the hallway. This time it belongs to a man. A few of our club whores are guys. Cosmo, the pretty one of the gang, is gay, but Jokester doesn’t give a fuck. He works hard to make sure this is a safe space for everyone.

The twink keeps his shirt off, and his tiny blue jeans shorts on with the button unsnapped as he saunters in front of us. He shoots us a wink, and my eyes drift over to Cosmo. I shake my head at him. It’s a revolving door of ass these days.

“What? Don’t look at me like that. A man’s gotta eat.” Cosmo lifts his hands in surrender.

Fox bursts out laughing. “You mean, a man’s gotta eat ass, right?”

“Don’t knock it till you try it. Need me to show you what you’re missing, Fox?” Cosmo blows him a kiss, and Fox turns a bright shade of red.

“The Governor of Louisiana has issued a State of Emergency and is calling on all state fire departments and medical services to lend a hand,” the news anchor reports.

Mime slaps me in the chest and points at the TV, his brows bent together in worry.

“Hey, I don’t know if that means I’ll be sent off, okay? There are plenty of other departments and firefighters that can go.” I try to give him hope, but I have no doubt I’ll be called down for service. All firefighters have EMT training, and when it comes to natural disasters, they need all the help they can get.

My brother shakes his head vehemently and stomps his boot on the ground. I know what he’s saying. He doesn’t want me to go.

“I don’t want to go either, but if they need me, you know I have to,” I tell him.

He flattens his palm on his chest and pats it, staring at me with the same pleading eyes Dad had the night he died.

“I know,” I squeeze his arm. “I need you too. Nothing is going to happen to me, and we don’t even know if I’m going—” A loud gunshot rings through the clubhouse, and all of us get to our feet.

“You mother fucker!”

“Ah hell. I thought you said no whore drama, Rainbow?” Prez asks, tilting his head back in frustration.

“I didn’t know Renee was here.” Renee is the psycho bitch who won’t leave. She’s begging for a property patch, and no one will give her one. She’s too fucking crazy.

“You bitch! You shot me!” Butcher yells at her. “Again.”

“Someone call 9-1-1,” Prez sighs. “For the third time in two weeks.”

“Hell yeah, I shot you. You lyin’, cheatin’, no good bastard!” Her southern accent is thick as she yells at him.

“We aren’t together, Renee. We fuck. That’s it. Which leads me to be able to do whatever the hell I want.”

“Bambi just texted me and said you fucked her last week. Is that true?”

“Grudge, go do something about her, please.” Jokester pours a shot of whiskey in his coffee as he gives the order to our Enforcer.

He nods and stands, hulking over the rest of us, and stomps down the hall.

“Did anyone call 9-1-1?”

“Yeah, Prez. They’re dispatching someone,” Lye, our Sergeant-at-Arms replies, tucking his phone in his pocket. He runs his fingers through his long hair.

Loud footsteps echo across the cement floor, and in a flash, Grudge has a hold of Renee by her shirt and shorts, carrying her like a bale of hay.

“You better put me down! I’ll fuckin’ shoot you too!” she shouts at Grudge.

He grunts, uncaring.

“If you ever want to come back here, you won’t shoot anyone again. This is your last and final warning, Renee. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” she sneers.

“You’re letting that bitch come back?” Butcher hobbles into the living room, dripping blood onto the floor from the wound in his leg. “She shot me.”

“We know,” we all say in unison, and we all sound bored.

Grudge opens the front door and tosses Renee out on her ass. He literally tosses her. She lands on her stomach, and the wind gets knocked out of her. Then, with the same gun she used to shoot Butcher, Grudge points it at her and cocks it.

So, with Grudge… well, the name says it all. He holds grudges, and once you’re on his shitlist, that’s it. Unfortunately, you’re on it forever, and it seems Renee has made it to that list.

“One,” he counts.

“Oh no,” Fox says. “I’m not burying another body because he gets trigger-happy. Nose goes.” Fox places the tip of his finger on his nose, and the rest of us hurry to do the same. “Ha! Sucker!” He points at Hound.

“Two.”

“I’m going, Grudge.”

He shoots, and the bullet lands next to her feet. “You aren’t moving fast enough.”

She scoffs and runs to her piece-of-shit car that squeals every time she turns it on. Grudge tucks the gun in his waistband and kicks the door shut with his boot. Everyone stares at him as he cracks his neck. “What? She’s annoying. I don’t know why we don’t ban her.”

“Because she’s a good fuck,” Butcher offers, holding a cloth to his leg to ease the bleeding.

“Good enough to get shot?” I ask him, quirking my brow.

Mime snickers.

“Hell no. No whore is worth getting shot for. I don’t care how good the pussy is.” Butcher removes the rag and the hole in his leg continues to leak. “Man, the other two still haven’t healed either.”

“Out of everyone, you keep Flatline the busiest. Too bad he isn’t here, or he could doctor you up,” Prez says before he takes a gulp of his spiked coffee. “Stupid doctor’s retreat. Now because of Butcher’s dumb ass, we have hospital bills.”

“Hey, I take offense to that.”

“You should. You’re an idiot,” Prez quips. “How much longer until Flatline is back? He’s been gone two weeks.”

“They’re traveling all over the world, apparently. He’ll be back, I think, in another week or two,” Cosmo says as he shrugs on his shirt and comes out of his room. He has a hickey on his neck.

When was the last time I felt that much pleasure that I couldn’t contain the urge to mark my lover? I can’t even remember.

“You have a little something.” Fox points to Cosmo’s neck, and the man smirks.

Cosmo tosses his hair up in a messy bun and lifts his arms to stretch. “Oh, I know.”

The sirens sing through the distant air, coming closer, and Mime tenses up like he does every time he hears them. I never understood why. I don’t remember sirens being a part of the rescue when we were teens. Still, trauma is different for everyone, and my brother has not been able to heal.

I don’t know if he ever will.

The sirens finally shut off and a few seconds later, a new paramedic walks in, alone, carrying a first-aid kit. He isn’t Rogers or York. He’s new.

“You aren’t who I pay to be here when we need a medic.” Prez crosses his arms. I can’t help but lean forward and place my elbows on my knees while this new guy looks around. He doesn’t seem afraid.

He cocks his head and presses his lips together as he rolls his eyes. “Obviously. I’m new, but you aren’t the first clubhouse I have been to, and I doubt you’ll be the last,” he says, his tone sassy and fierce.

Prez blocks the medic’s path, stopping him from treating Butcher. “Who are you?”

“Ryan Hathaway. I’m from Vegas. Don’t you worry, big guy.” Ryan sarcastically pats Prez’s shoulder. “I won’t be here forever. This is where my boss sent me before I head to New Orleans to help with the hurricane. Now, the patient? Or are we going to let him bleed to death?”

I find myself eyeing him up and down, appreciating his strength in such a feminine body. Not that women aren’t strong—they are, but they have a delicateness about them I always loved. Slender and soft. And for some reason, Ryan is grabbing my attention.

More than my attention.

My entire body is taking notice.

Ryan feels my gaze and his piercing green eyes lock onto mine, making me hold my breath. Jesus Christ, he’s gorgeous. Brown hair that’s cut short and styled to the left with the perfect part. Not a hair is out of place. His lips are full and pink and an image of him on his knees…

What the fuck?

I yank my eyes away only for them to fall on his plump ass.

My cock begins to plump at the thought of grabbing those thick globes, parting them, and sliding into his tight hole.

I clear my throat and drop my hands over my dick so no one can see my reaction. As far as I know, I’m straight. I’ve always been straight.

But one look at Ryan, I’m starting to wonder if maybe I’m leaning to the other side a bit.

“What’s your name?” Ryan asks Butcher as he snaps on a blue glove.

“Butcher.”

“Butcher, the bullet is lodged in the bone. This is going to hurt,” Ryan warns, placing his hand on Butcher’s thigh.

I curl my fingers against the couch and grind my teeth, jealous that Butcher gets to experience his touch. I bet it’s soft and gentle.

And why do I care? Why am I thinking about this? Maybe I need to get laid. It’s been a while. Or maybe I am gay? I look around at the other guys and see if I have the same reaction. I focus on Cosmo. He is tall and lean, not as slender as Ryan, and his ass is definitely not as big.

No reaction.

None.

Not at all.

“Mother fucker!” Butcher shouts. “You could try not to saw my leg off!”

Ryan rolls his eyes again, something that makes me smile because it takes a bold man to roll his eyes at a biker. “You’re a big bad biker. You can handle it.” He plucks the bullet out with his tweezers and grabs Butcher’s hand, plopping it in his palm. “A souvenir for being such a brave boy.”

The guys roar in laughter and Butcher curls his lip at Ryan. “I don’t think I like you.”

“I don’t think I care,” Ryan grumbles. “I’ve had enough of you people to last a lifetime.”

“You say you’re from Vegas?” I ask him, my voice huskier than usual. “You must know the mother chapter? Do you know Reaper?”

Ryan doesn’t pause what he’s doing, but his shoulders rise, and a huff escapes him. “Yep. I know him.”

He doesn’t offer any more details, and I don’t pry, but I want to know.

And if the loud beat of my heart and libido have any say, I want to know anything about Ryan Hathaway.

Everything, if he lets me.