Rainbow by K.L. Savage
I’m grouchy since being home. Everyone thinks I need help, but I’m fine. Hell, I’m ready to go back to work.
Ryan left the hospital yesterday as if he were on fire. But, to be fair, he was on the clock and had to work. As a result, he hasn’t answered my texts. At this point I’m about to drive over to his house, so he doesn’t have a reason to ignore me.
He’s awakened something in me that I haven’t felt in ages.
Passion.
“Dude, are you hearing this?” Fox turns up the TV; a news anchor is nearly getting blown away as she tries to report the weather.
It’s fucking raining. Why does she need to stand in the middle of a storm to say it?
“Hurricane Jeffrey has taken a sudden turn,” she shouts over the rain blowing to the left from the gusts of wind. “Baton Rouge needs to try to evacuate as soon as possible. The eye is no longer hitting New Orleans. We expect landfall in the next thirty hours.”
“Fuck.” Jokester rubs his hands over his face. “Okay, we aren’t ready for a category five. We have supplies like food and water, which is great, and the clubhouse is on stilts, which is also great since the river is going to overflow, but we still need to get sandbags.”
“I’ll go. I need to bring Ryan here.”
Mime slaps a hand on my chest to stop me from getting up.
“How about one of us get him?” Teller asks. He just got back from New Orleans himself, and I’m glad he made it back safely.
“No fucking way. I’m going to get him, and I’ll get some extra supplies while I’m out. I’ll take the club’s truck. I’m not riding my bike in this.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. You just got out of the hospital—” Hound begins to say.
“Is this about me going out or is this about me going out to bring a guy home?” I’ve never had to question their loyalty to me before, but I guess there’s always a first time for everything.
“What? You know we don’t give a fuck about that.” Lye drops the pool stick and crosses his arms. “This is about you nearly burning to death. We give a fuck, but we don’t give a fuck who you fuck.”
“That’s a lot of fucks,” our Road Captain, Compass, chimes in. He’s been on a run for the last few days with Teller and Cactus in New Orleans, moving some merchandise.
Okay, so not everything we do is legal. We own a few bars, but the most money comes from deals we make throughout central Louisiana. Every few weeks we meet up with Pocus and his chapter in New Orleans to restock and trade intel.
“Just don’t get shot,” Butcher grumbles, limping toward the couch. “No ass is worth a bullet.”
“Then you haven’t taken a good look at his ass,” I say on a near groan.
It gets so quiet; I could hear a feather drop. And then a roar of laughter fills the space, which loosens the ball of anxiety in my chest.
“Rainbow has got it bad!” Stacks crows as he counts another pile of money on the coffee table while smoking a cigarette. “Does he?”
“He’s fighting me.” I grab my jacket from the hook on the wall and shrug it on.
“Ah, to be young,” our treasurer’s raspy voice sarcastically awes as he blows a cloud of smoke in the air.
“How are you going to find him?” Jokester asks as he slaps Bambi on the ass coming out of the kitchen. “Girl,” he warns lustfully as she giggles.
A woman’s giggle used to turn me on but does nothing for me anymore. I find it fake and annoying now. These whores always want the same thing—a property patch.
“I turned on his location on his phone, so I can track him.” I lift a shoulder and place my gun in the waistband of my jeans. The barrel is cold from not being used. Poor girl hasn’t been shot in a good while. You know since that body the cops found in the swamp.
I turned him into swiss cheese.
“A great way to establish trust.” Butcher curls his fingers into an ‘okay’ gesture and squeezes one eye shut.
“He’s stubborn. He would never give me his address.” I open the door and the wind whistles through the doorway, bringing in some rain. “I’ll be back.”
“Hey! Get some whiskey and beer while you’re out,” Grudge shouts after me just as I shut the door.
I make a mental note of what he wants and hurry down the steps, unlocking the truck by pressing the key fob in my pocket. The first drops of rain hit the top of my head, and my boots slip and slide in the slick mud.
“Damn it, I just polished the leather,” I gripe, keeping my head down, so the rain doesn’t get into my eyes.
Jokester will kill me for dragging mud into the new truck, but I don’t care. It’s a truck; it’s meant to get dirty.
Once I’m safe in the driver’s seat, I press the button on the dash and let the engine rumble for a few seconds. I tilt my head back and rest my eyes. I inhale and exhale to test my breathing. I’m doing pretty well that I’ll be good as new tomorrow.
The sound of the rain getting louder has me opening my eyes to see Mime getting into the passenger’s seat. He closes the door which mutes the weather outside to a low hum.
“You’re coming with?”
He nods. With one finger, he points to himself, then me, then down the road, and lastly, shakes his finger at me.
“I would have been fine going alone. You don’t have to worry so much.”
His eyes harden, and his fingers curl into the leather seats.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I know yesterday was scary. I apologize, okay? Now, let’s go before this hurricane wipes us out.” I stretch my arm over the back of the seat and turn my head over my shoulder. I haven’t ever been the type to look at the screen in the middle of the dash.
The tires spin against the mud; it splatters against the sides before the truck finds traction and finally starts to reverse. I press on the brake, turn the windshield wipers on, and stare out the window at the thunderous sky. This moment reminds me too much of the night we lost our parents. Mime’s hand touches my shoulder to bring me out of my daze.
I curl my hands over the steering wheel and muster up a slight grin as I glance at him. “Let’s see if I can lure Ryan into the truck without him kicking and screaming.”
Mime reaches behind his seat and pulls out a neon green rope.
“We are not going to hogtie him, Mime. Clever, though. A solid Plan C if A and B don’t work. Here,” I give him my phone and turn on the GPS. “Tell me when I need to turn.”
He gives me a thumbs up and presses the knob to turn on the radio. Jazz music flows through the speaker and both of us groan in horror.
“Turn it off! Turn it off!”
Mime panics and presses three different buttons and turns the opposite knob to the right to find another station. It lands on country, and we exhale a sigh of relief. Both of us agree that’s better than what was on. “Either someone really listens to that shit, or someone is fucking with us.”
He grunts in agreement and dabs his finger in his ear.
“Drama queen. Your ears aren’t bleeding.”
Mime snickers at his own joke.
When he laughs, it’s the only time I get to hear how his voice might sound. I imagine it’s deep and hoarse, cracking like our grandpas did. But Mime’s voice cracks from not being used. I’d give anything to hear him say one word, but I stopped trying for that a long time ago. Pushing him wasn’t helping. I just had to adjust to the new reality that my brother had lost his voice rather than force him to do something he didn’t, and doesn’t, want to do.
I think he’ll speak one day again. It will take something or someone life-altering for that to happen, though, so I’m not going to hold my breath.
But I hope.
“Rain isn’t too bad,” I notice, dipping my head over the wheel so I can see out the windshield. It’s windy, but that’s it. The rain isn’t coming down hard, which makes this the perfect time for accidents to happen. I bet the station is busy.
No, I can’t go down that road. Because if I do, I’ll think about Taylor, and I’ll get in my head and start blaming myself.
Mime points to the left, and I turn on my blinker as I roll to the stop sign. Since there’s hardly any traffic, I’m able to turn without having to wait, passing a bunch of tall trees on one side and open fields on the other. During spring, that field has so many dandelions that people could make a hundred wishes a day, and there would be a million more flowers to grow in its place.
Mime makes another disgruntled noise and points to the right, to the motels that are a bit run down but aren’t horrible, so I won’t bring them up to Ryan.
Yet.
The truck dips as we drive down the dirt road. There’s a large puddle in the middle up ahead, and Mime and I share a glance before I floor it. Murky orange water sprays along the truck’s sides and covers the windshield before I flip the wipers on. The mud drips off the side mirror in thick globs, and for some reason, that makes me feel way more manly than it should.
“Imagine Prez’s face when we bring the truck back filthy.”
My baby brother holds out his fist, and I pound it with my knuckles.
I stop in front of a simple motel and stare at it through the sprinkle of rain. The outside isn’t new, but it’s taken care of the best way it can be without having someone renovate it. There are trimmed bushes along the front and water-logged pink flowers. The window trim is painted a dark brown while the siding is tan with a few dirty spots, but nothing the rain won’t eventually wash away.
There’s only one car parked here, and it’s a piece of crap Nissan with duct tape on the gas cap.
Oh, fuck no.
“Stay here. I’ll hopefully be back in a minute.”
Mime gives me a curt nod and presses his finger against the automatic button on the side of his seat so he can lean back and relax.
“Just a regular fucking day for you, huh?” I tease. He gives me the bird without turning his head to look at me, which makes me laugh. I slam the door and run under the awning to get out from under the rain. I tug the lapels of my jacket a few times to get the water off the leather, then stomp my boots on the walkway to get most of the mud off.
I take a deep breath and cough, then a rumble of irritation knots in my chest. I hate being weakened when I know how strong I am and how strong I can be.
What was his room number again? 1B? I don’t even have to go up the steps, which is a problem because this is a flooding hazard. I know he’s only here for a little bit, but did he do any research on this place? It’s only making my argument for him to come back with me stronger.
He’ll listen.
I’ll be crushed if I can’t get him to spend any time with me. How much I like him… I haven’t liked anyone like this in a while. I need him to like me back. This might be new to me, but my soul has recognized his as old, something that’s stood the test of time.
Maybe I knew him in another life if that’s the case.
If it is, it means his soul is my home.
And who am I question the universe?
I walk deeper into the corridor and come to the brown-painted door with a silver number and letter plate that says 1B. There’s a brown, coarse mat under my filthy boots that says, ‘Welcome Rainbows,’ and I can’t help but smile.
If that’s not a sign, what is?
I lift my fist and knock on the door, then take a step back so he can see me through the peephole.
Shit, maybe this wasn’t the best idea. What if he has to go to work? It makes sense; we’re all on call for the storm.
The chain slides, rattles, and the knob clicks, then turn. I have the goofiest smile on my face because I’m excited to see the guy that’s made me this new person in a matter of three days. And it slips off as soon as I see his face as the door widens enough.
He has a black eye and a busted lip, tears running down his face, and he doesn’t even question why I’m here. Instead, Ryan launches himself at me, wrapping his arms around my neck and his legs around my waist. He sobs into my shoulder, and I bury the rage down to only focus on Ryan. I need to know who hurt my boy. I won’t fucking stand for it.
He’s a small guy, maybe 5’4 and 140 pounds soaking wet to my 6’3, 220 pounds. Whoever did this took advantage of his size when it should be cherished and treasured. I rub his back as I kick his door in, then push it shut.
I don’t lock it.
If the asshole that hurt him comes back, I’ll be ready.
A bullet will stop a guy. Dead. In. His. Tracks.
I plop down on the ratty blue sofa that has seen better days and the springs creak from my weight. “I got you, baby. I have you. You’re safe. You’re okay,” I croon at him. I squeeze him tight and close my eyes. But, God, the thought of something happening to him… when I just got him, and I don’t even really have him yet, makes me sick.
I’m not in love with him, but I know I could be, and I’m obsessed with that.
With him.
I don’t force him to talk. Not yet. I let him get his emotions out. His fingers curl into my jacket and grip. The leather squeaks from the raindrops lingering, and the puffs of his hot breath on the side of my neck has me wrestling with the lust coiling inside me.
His soft lips brush against my throat, and he whimpers, sniffling as he hiccups. I continue gliding my palms up and down his back, loving how perfect he feels in my arms. Nothing has ever felt so right. He kisses the spot under my ear and moans, rocking his hips against my hard cock. He feels so fucking good.
And I’m going to regret this later.
I squeeze his hips just as his lips kiss down my jaw, and right when his lips are about to touch mine, I cup his jaws gently to stop him. “Not like this, Sassafras. I won’t kiss you or feel your body for the first time when you’re in this condition. Okay?”
Don’t get me wrong, I want nothing more than to rip off his shirt and kiss along his flat chest. Are his nipples pink or a dusty brown? Are they sensitive? Yeah, I want to learn everything that turns him on, so I know how to pleasure him.
He nods but his chin wobbles, and he starts crying again. “I’m sorry. I thought… it’s all I’m used to. I always felt guilty when I was upset and… and…” He tries to slow his breathing, but he’s too worked up.
“You weren’t with the right guys then, if they ever made you feel guilty instead of being there for you.” I press his head against my shoulder and kiss his temple. “Don’t think this means I don’t want answers. I do. I want details, but right now, this is about you. Get it all out, baby.” I run my fingers through his hair and study his room while he clings to me, his sobs getting quieter by the second.
The shattered remnants of a red vase are in a heap in front of the busted TV, and the lamp at the far end of the couch is utterly destroyed. If I had been here, this wouldn’t have happened. He would have been safe in my arms, and I’d be taking the intruder’s body to the fucking swamp for the gators.
I won’t forgive myself.
Never again will he be alone.
That’s not a fucking vow. It’s an oath.
Puffs of even, warm breath ghost against my neck, and this time, he isn’t trying to mask the situation with sex. Instead, he’s cried himself to sleep.
“My poor Sassafras,” I whisper, brushing a piece of hair out of his face. “Who would do this to you?” I press my lips against his forehead before I stand, then march around the couch to the bed.
When I walk in, I bite my tongue when I see how destroyed everything is. Not that there was much to destroy. This place is a fucking hovel.
To open the closet that’s awkwardly placed behind the door, I situate one arm around him to turn the knob. I flip the light on, snag the few shirts I see on the hangers, then look around for a bag.
There are a couple of reusable grocery bags and an old gym bag that’s battered to hell. It’ll work.
I dig through his dresser, and the air in my lungs catches when I see several pairs of lace panties. “Fuck me,” I groan deeply, imagining the thin, elegant material cupping his bubbled butt. I grab two handfuls of those afternoon delights because that is exactly what they’ll cause and stuff them in the bag.
A toothbrush and phone charger later, I’m heading out the door with my injured sleeping boy against my shoulder, and his one bag stuffed full of his belongings in the other hand. I keep his face shielded from the rain and open the back door of the truck to lay him down, but when I do, I let him go, and that wakes him up.
He holds onto me in a death grip and shakes his head. “Don’t leave me. Stay,” he begs, those beautiful green eyes filling with water again.
“Mime? Drive to Lowe’s and get bags of sand and whatever else. I’m going to stay back here with Ryan.”
Mime turns his chin to his shoulder. His eyes widen when he sees the damage done to Ryan’s face. The expression he has is murderous.
“I know,” is all I say while sliding along the black leather seats.
Ryan climbs onto my lap and wraps himself around me again. I sure as hell don’t mind him using me as a safety blanket. It’s the biggest compliment a man can ever receive. What’s better than someone trusting you enough to protect them while they’re at their most vulnerable?
I cross my arms over his back and hold him to me. “I got you.”
I’ll always have him. And when this storm passes, the man who hurt him will wish he died in the hurricane.
His death won’t be swift.
Like fire, like this hurricane, I’m going to take my time while I destroy him.
