Savage, the general troublemaker of our group, chimes in with, “What he’s trying to tell you there, cowboy, is that asses need to know how to ride asses.”
“Says the biggest ass I know,” I reply because everyone knows that comment resembles Savage. Savage, like Adam, is tall, broad, and wears his dark hair military-style. However, Savage, unlike Adam, is tatted up, with a big-ass scar down his cheek, which he probably got from being a dick to someone with less patience than me.
“If it looks like an ass,” Adam says, “and acts like an ass, he is an ass.”
I’m not sure which one of us he’s talking about or if it’s both, but Savage assumes the retort to be directed toward him. “Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles, and in true fashion to his usual stupid jokes, he adds, “Adam minus his Eve makes for a man with nothing better to do than talk about asses.”
My cellphone buzzes and I grab it from my pocket, eyeing the text that reads: Luc, man, we need to talk. Call me. Sooner than later. It’s life or death.
This is coming from a voice from my past, and when this voice speaks, you take him seriously. I’ve officially had enough horseback riding for one day. While me and my tats and unruly blond hair might not look the part, I did plenty of cowboying in my youth. Enough to last a lifetime, actually. I give Melvin, my horse, a nudge and head for the stables. By the time I’m dismounting, Adam and Savage are headed my way and closing in fast. While the Walker team has been good to me, they’re as sticky as a bottle of Gorilla glue.
I offer my reins to the awaiting ranch hand eager to claim my ride and give Melvin a short thank-you pet. He’s a fine boy. It’s not his fault this place reminds me of a long time ago, better kept in the past. Eager to make this call on my own, I start walking before I end up with company. Adam, an ex-SEAL Team Six member who’s a good guy, a better man than me, and still thinks I’m not worthy of my nickname, Lucifer, a label he believes I got for my crazy stunts flying fighter jets.
He’s wrong. So is anyone else who believes that bullshit.
But I’d rather keep them keeping on believing.
I am not the blond-haired, blue-eyed angel my mother believed she brought into this world, and some who know me from another life would say that’s never going to change.
At this point, I’m already straddling the motorcycle I rode into this place on, trying to get some space to make this call. I pass by the ranch house and head toward the main road. When I’m almost to the highway, I pull off under a thicket of trees. Once I’m off my bike and leaning on a willow tree, I pull my phone out and dial Jake, someone who really does know the meaning of hell because he visited it with me.
I punch in his number, and when it rings, I expect him to answer right away. It goes to voicemail. My brows dip, an uneasy feeling sliding over me. I try again with the same results. I text him: I’m trying to call. What’s up? I wait a few seconds, which turns into a full minute and nothing. No reply. That uneasy feeling expands. Engines roar, and I glance up to find Adam and Savage speeding my way. Son of a bitch, they really do stick like damn glue. I shoot off another text and shove my phone into my pocket. At this point, Adam and Savage have already dismounted and are up close in my personal space.
Savage grabs his inner thighs. “I feel like I’ve been violated.”
“Try moving with the horse, not against the horse, like you would your woman,” I say, straddling my bike. “Like this,” I add, revving my engine, and getting the fuck out of there.
They’re going to follow me, but I’m not stopping until the time is right. That time is about ten minutes later when I dismount in front of Whataburger. I’m already at the counter when Adam steps to my side—just Adam, which means he wants to have a serious one-on-one. I expected as much. I hand him a cup. “I ordered for you.”
“How’d you know Savage wasn’t coming?”
“Because I know you,” I say, walking to the ice machine and filling my cup. Adam does the same, but as expected, he doesn’t start asking questions just yet.
We sit down, and I say, “I love this place.”
“Yeah,” Adam says. “Me too. You going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Not until I eat this burger.”
He just looks at me, and I know he’ll just keep on staring at me if I don’t talk while I eat. He has to do me like that. “You really know how to ruin a hot burger.”