branded (phantoms mc #2)

twenty: in which she connects the family tree

"If they wanna see evil, they haven't seen anything yet" –NYXX, Voodoo

********************************

Lincoln really was my only in to the Cursed – and he was a very weak in, to be honest – but I wondered if this was even worth it.

Because after trying to sound sexy as hell with that show me how grateful you are bullshit, the brainless little shit emptied the contents of his stomach onto my favorite leather boots. I wanted to knock him the hell out, but Calm, Cool and Collected Catalina took over at the last second and stopped me. It was Triple C Cat who had me asking him, with a voice filled to the brim with concern, if he was going to be okay. If he needed some water. If he needed to maybe take a second before we left.

"I'm good," he insisted, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "I'm good."

"You sure?" I asked, while trying to shake off at least some of his puke from my boots.

"You fucking deaf? I said, I'm good." Lincoln ran the same puke-smeared hand through his hair before crumpling onto the concrete in a pathetic mess."Shit. I'm sorry. I'm not usually like this. I'm drunk," he added, stating the obvious.

"Gee, ya think?" I muttered. I'd wanted him drunk and malleable, not drunk and volatile.

"I've just got a lot on my fucking plate, all right?" he said weakly, and for a second, he sounded sober. "My club's President... Forget it. You don't wanna hear my bullshit."

Oh, but I do. "You can tell me," I said, forcing myself to sound as sweet as someone like Eve would. I went to sit beside him. "People always tell me I'm real easy to talk to."

That wasn't a lie. They did say that, and maybe it was true, because the next words out of Lincoln's mouth were about everything on his fucking plate.

"I hate the guy," he said, with drunken honesty. "There. I said it. I fucking hate him." He shook his head. "No. I don't hate him." He seemed to think about it again. "I do. I do hate him. Fuck."

"Must be an asshole, huh," I put in.

Lincoln snorted. "You have no fucking idea, sweetheart."

I patted his arm in what I hoped was a comforting manner. "Tell me."

There was a brief pause that was broken by a young couple stumbling out of the bar, arm in arm, giggling between themselves like little kids.

"We got kicked out!" the girl shrieked, to no one in particular, before breaking off from her partner and throwing up against one side of the building.

The side Lincoln and I were currently sitting up against. I resisted the urge to curse at the girl when I felt wet droplets on my bare arm.

Lincoln did it for me. "Fuck off, you two!" he bellowed, as if he hadn't done the same thing not even ten minutes ago.

The girl jumped, then burst into another fit of giggles as her boyfriend led her away to the car park.

As if a spell was broken, Lincoln shook his head, gingerly getting to his feet. "Why the hell are we wasting time chit-chatting?"

I stood up. "Because –"

"I just want to get to the clubhouse and get fucked, okay?" He was already putting his helmet on.

"Okay," I said, putting mine on. "Okay."

***

The Cursed MC's clubhouse was on the outskirts of the town, hidden away in a forested area that had been left untouched by developers for decades. I'd never been. If the property was listed anywhere, the records were either kept closely guarded, or scraped off the earth completely. And rumor had it that when the club's first President had shot at anyone who raised their hand at the auction of the property. He'd bought the land dirt cheap.