Cocky Roomie: A Bad Boy Romance Novel (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 1) (16 page)

This guy we’re visiting? That’s a whole different story. I wouldn’t want to be him right now.

The rumble of five hogs announces our arrival and I see the piece of shit through the house window, peeking out it to see what the hell all that racket is.

“He sees us,” Tonk mutters as we dismount.

“Honey Badger, you know what to do.”

He growls under his breath, “Yep. I got the back,”

Tonk looks at me. “What should
I
do, master?”

“Suck my cock until I glaze your beard.”

“You wish.”

Everyone laughs low and deviously, and Tonk heads off for the side door. Honey Badger takes off running and, despite his rotund structure, leaps the fence like a prize-winning racehorse. Scratch, Fuse and I go knock on the front door, both of them looking behind us to see if we have witnesses. We don’t.

“What do you want?!!” comes the petrified voice from inside.

“At least he’s not pretending he ain’t home,” Scratch says, impressed.

Fuse adds, under his breath, “He’s got balls,” with his fists ready.

I shout back, “Open the fuckin’ door, Dwight.”

Dwight Forrester shouts back, “But what do you want?!” voice shaking.

“He’s got a heat on,” Scratch mutters to me.

“No shit. Alright. Step back. I’m kickin’ it in.”

A loud bang sounds from inside. Then a scuffle. I suck on the inside of my teeth as I wait. The door opens and there is Honey Badger. “Beat ya.”

We walk in and see Dwight groaning on the floor. I turn to our brother. “Where’s Tonk?”

“I didn’t let him in yet.”

Scratch and Fuse start laughin.’ Not loud and gleeful-like, just low and privately.

That’s how we do it. Always.

“I’ll get him,” I smirk, walking by Dwight. As I do, I kick him. “Hold tight, friend.”

“FUCK!” he groans, turning on his side to the fetal position.

The side door has a nice window where I can see Tonk glowering at me. I tap on it and call through, “What? Ya didn’t want to hurt your new manicure?”

“Just open the fucking door.”

“You do it,” I tell him, heading back to the living room. “Pick him up. Put him on the couch.”

Honey Badger sneers at Dwight as Scratch and Fuse grab him and throw him onto a couch littered with one pizza box, loads of rank, used napkins, and fast-food burger wrappers. There isn’t an empty spot on the coffee table, either. It’s covered with booze bottles — empty, all but one.

A loud crash sounds in the kitchen and Tonk grumbles into the room. He’s our newest member. Also the youngest and the largest. He has a lot to learn. He knows this, which is why even though he’s shooting bullets at me through his eye-sockets, he keeps his trap shut.

“What do you want?”

“We want you to clean up,” Scratch says. He’s our club V.P. so I don’t mind that he’s speakin’ up. Even if this mission was given to me. Surprising as it was.

Dwight looks around. “Okay! I’ll clean all this up by today! But how did you know…”

“Not the mess, you lost fuckin’ soul,” I sneer. “You. You need to clean up. Get sober. This whole grief thing you’ve got goin’ on. It’s over. It’s time to be a man now.”

Dwight stares at me. “Who are you?”

“Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

He shakes his head a lot. “How do you know about my son?”

“I know all about you. Friends of yours are worried. They need you. It’s time to clean up and get back to livin.’”

His eyes go red and he starts to cry.

“Oh fuck,” Honey Badger groans. “Stop being a pussy.”

“My son died! He was only twenty and his future was ripped from him! I taught him how to talk! How to do everything! And I’ll never see him again! Do you know how that feels?”

The room is quiet. Scratch has a boy. So does Fuse. We all want children of our own at some point. Being in the brotherhood has a way of cementing loyalty and family in your blood so much that you know nothing else matters as much as that.

But still.

“Listen here, Dwight. That sucks that your kid ain’t here. It really fuckin’ sucks. Nothin’ is every gonna make that right, but there is no way he’d want you livin’ your days like this. You gave up drinkin’ for him when he was a boy, right?”

“How did you know that?”

“Do you think he’d want his father eatin’ fuckin’ crap like this and pollutin’ his body until he’s a bloated piece of shit that ain’t got nothin’ left to offer? You were running that plant. You inspired the men who worked under you. Who the fuck are you inspirin’ now because I’m here to tell you that life ain’t worth shit unless you’re offerin’ somethin’ to it.”

Dwight stares at me like he didn’t expect profound truths to come out of a nasty mouth like mine, but that’s the fun of surprising people. They always underestimate bikers. Always.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do,” Scratch says, pulling focus. Dwight stares at him like a sponge thirsty for water. “You’re going cold fuckin’ turkey. We’re not leavin’ here until you’re dry. You’re goin’ to AA meetings. We’re takin’ ya. Then, when you’re good and ready, you’re goin’ back to work so that your son can look down and be proud of his fuckin’ father. As long as it takes.”

“I got goosebumps,” Fuse mutters.

Honey Badger grumbles, “Shut up, Fuse.”

I turn to Tonk. “Since you have an intimate knowledge of the kitchen, bring us the biggest garbage bags you can find.”

He heads off without argument. I expected a sneer at my dig, but he didn’t do that.

That night when we’re standing vigil over a grey-skinned, shivering, clammy-ass Dwight, Scratch motions for me to step outside. He heads over to his bike and opens up the leather saddlebag to pull out his chew. Wadding up a quarter-size, he tucks it into his gums and looks up at the half-moon. “Ya see Tonk’s reaction?”

I nod. “Don’t know what it meant.”

“His dad’s a drinker. To this day.”

“Didn’t know.”

“I did. Carter, the guy who brought Tonk to us, he told me all about it. Guy’s a real fuckin’ piece of shit.”

“Seems to be the trend with us.”

He narrows his eyes on me and spits. “Except for you.”

I bristle. “Ya don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, Scratch.”

He sizes up my stance and shrugs. “I think I do. But you be as stubborn as you wanna.”

“Whatever.” I walk to my bike and climb on, rising up to pull keys from my back pocket. “You got this covered?”

“Yeah, we’re on it. Weirdest job we ever had to do.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

JAKE

I 
can’t fucking fall asleep. This is driving me nuts. I’ve been here sixteen days and have hated every second of it. When I’m not working, I’m bored. Got beers with some of the guys at the plant a couple times now, but it’s driving me nuts that Drew hasn’t returned any of my calls or messages. Jason said he was going to talk to her, but I told him not to do that.

Now I’m wishing I did.

What are I gonna do, call him and tell him the woman’s got me wrapped around her finger, all because she doesn’t want anything to do with me?

I’ve texted every single morning, sometimes just saying that I hope she has a good one. No response. Nothing. It’s driving me bat-shit.

What the hell is someone doing knocking on my door at this hour?

I trudge over in sweats and no shirt, and look through the peephole. “Holy shit!”

“Yep! It’s me, brother!”

Swinging open the door, Jett and I crash into each other, slapping each other’s backs hard. I step back to let him in, checking out his patches as he strolls by and looks around.

“This is a dump.”

I laugh, “The furniture is temporary because I’m hoping I don’t have to live here long.”

“Not happy?”

“Fuck no. But what the hell, Jett! What are you doin’ here? How’d you even know where I was?”

“Certainly not from you,” he smirks, straddling the arm of my boring-ass couch.

“Don’t pull that bullshit, Jett. I called you. You never return calls.” Like someone else I know. “You want a beer?”

“Do birds shit in the air?”

I grab us two and pop the tops as I walk back to him, letting them rattle on the floor. I’ll get them later. He notices this. “You really aren’t doin’ well, are ya?”

“What do you mean?” I look down at my naked chest. “I look gaunt or somethin’?”

“Nah. You just littered.” Jett’s arms go wide. “King Tidy just let two bottle caps sully the floor of his castle. I know you. Something is rotten in Denmark.”

“Talkin’ about castles and now quoting Shakespeare. Impressive from a Cipher.”

“Fuck you,” my older brother laughs. I haven’t seen him in well over a year. His steel-grey eyes are a welcome sight, especially tonight.

“Ah, well, I’m not like you, Jett. I don’t have the urge to roam like you do. I’m a homebody, so…”

“Not sittin’ well with you, being away from our family, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I’ve got good news for ya. Might not be here much longer.”

This is odd, so I cock my head. He knows zilch about Uncle Don’s business. Not only that, but he’s not close with the family, not really. When he’s around, it’s as though he never left, sure. He’s blood, and I love him. Wish he was around more. But he’s got a wanderin’ soul and doesn’t like anything that could possibly pin him down or have any kind of authority to him. Family is both of those.

Being responsible to those you love when they’re not tearing up shit and stealing things? Not Jett’s style. So he stays away for the most part.

I take a swig of beer and say with more than a hint of suspicion, “You look pretty sure of yourself. How do you know how long I’m stuck here for?”

Grey eyes sparkle as he leans forward. “Maybe your replacement is comin’ soon. I’m just sayin.’” He leans back, still locked on me as he smiles and takes a big swig.

“Ain’t gonna happen, Jett. Uncle Don wants to give Dwight a second – no, a
fourth
chance – so I’m here until he gets his shit together and comes back.”

Jett’s dirty-blonde eyebrows rise up, smile vanishing. “You don’t think that’s happening soon?”

“Nope. I visited him a couple times. Guy’s a mess. A drunk driver killed his son and now the guy’s a drunk himself. Can’t really blame him, I guess. But it’s not lookin’ good for me.”

Jett’s nodding like he understands now. “I see.”

“Yeah.” I exhale and take a drink, looking at the floor. “Fucking sucks ass, man.”

“Yeah, you’d think someone should do somethin’ about somethin’ like that,” Jett grumbles.

“What can be done?”

He breathes in through his teeth, making a hissing sound as he weighs the problem. Rising up, he paces a bit.

“You want to take your jacket off?”

Jett looks at me over his shoulder. “Huh? Oh yeah. Sorry. Was in my head trying to think of how to help you.” He peels off the leather and tosses it onto the couch. His muscles are so big he’s got veins pulsing out of them.

“Shit, Jett, you’re ripped.”

“Same as you.”

“You’re bigger than I am.”

“Comes with the territory.”

“Still have the one tat though, huh? Aren’t you guys supposed to get one for the club?”

Jett looks at the matching tat all of us brothers got when we each hit eighteen. Jaxson and Jett thought it up, and Jeremy designed it even though he was the youngest. He’s got a way with a pen.

Jax and Jett got inked at the same time, together, since Jaxson was twenty and Jett was eighteen at the time. We joined as soon as we hit legal age where Dad couldn’t argue. I think he secretly wished he could get one, too. And I know he’s proud of how we feel about each other no matter how different we are.

Jett holds my eyes a second and the gravity of our connection is felt. “The Ciphers want me to get one. I’m stalling. I have our code written above my cock, though.” He runs a hand over the crotch of his weathered jeans. “I’ll get the tat of our patch when I feel like it.”

“Sure. Makes sense.”

We’re silent for a moment. He’s a loyal man, our Jett. But that loyalty is theirs now. I’m proud he’s still holding onto a piece of his for his own. It hits me deep. It’s been hard watching him fade away from us since he joined the motorcycle club, but still, he’ll always be my brother first. This symbolizes that for me.

He’s back to thinking of a solution. “What to do about Dwight…what to do about Dwight. Hmmm…”

“Jett, it’s useless. Let’s just drink some beers and you can tell me about the shit you’ve been doing.”

He waves me away, pacing in those big boots of his. Finally he stops. “Well, I wish Jaxson had called and told me to drive down from Montana where I was nailing this farm girl with big tits so I could come here and fix Dwight up good so
you
could come home. I wish he’d have called and asked me to do that.” Jett looks at me with meaning.

I nearly drop my beer. “Are you fucking kidding me!”

“Nah.”

“That’s why you’re here?!”

He grins the smile of a man who’s done bad things. “Oh, yes. Dwight is in a hell of his own making right now.”

“What the fuck have you done?!” I’m laughing, but I’m also a little worried about Uncle Don’s friend.

He fills me in on what the Ciphers are doing, and what they’re going to do. I’m listening with my mouth open most of the time, and when he gives me the approximate amount of time he thinks it’ll take, I shake my head and hold up a hand for him to stop.

“First of all, what the fuck, Jett, thank you. You really think I can go home in a month?”

“If I’m good at scaring him sober, three weeks maybe.” He sets down his empty bottle and slouches onto the couch. “We’ll stick around while he starts up at the job again. That’ll give him a reason to stay clean. And he’ll have a purpose.”

I mutter, “We all need one,” under my breath, stunned he’s done this for me.

“Fuck yeah, we do.” Jett says, checking out his dirty boot.

“I’ll get you another beer.”

“I’m good.”

Sitting on the coffee table, I set my bottle by his. “Jaxson did this?”

Jett’s smirk fades away. “It was dad, Jake. Dad wanted you home.”

It feels as if all the air leaves the room. Jett’s looking at me and we both know why Dad would do this. He hates having any of us gone. He hates Jett for leaving. He hates that Jeremy left, too, but loves him for joining the Military so that’s a whole different thing. It’s honorable what Jeremy’s done, in a congressman’s eyes.