Addictive (The Houston Defiance MC Series Book 2)

you wanna make this a gig, brother.”
I jerk my head back. “What?”
He slaps my shoulder. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”
“No.”
He chuckles. “Good because I’m not serious. I was trying to see where your head is at. You look the type who needs a place to land his feet.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” My brows crease as I stare him down.
“It means I’ve seen your kind before. A wandering soul who’s lost in the world, needing a place to lay his boots, a place to let his demons run free.”
I sit back. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re trying to sell me, but I’m not buying. Not with the way you’ve been crying into that bottle tonight.”
He shrugs. “My love life has nothing to do with the club. I don’t know anything about you, not even your name, but I know Defiance material when I see it.”
I scoff. “You think I should join an MC?”
“I think you should at least come check it out… see what we have to offer.”
I stand, grabbing my leather jacket. “You can’t offer me shit! You won’t even be able to ride home you’re that wasted.”
The biker chuckles. “Maybe… maybe not. Whatever! You obviously know where the clubhouse is located, seeing as you knew my cut when I walked in. Come by, tell Gatekeeper Zero sent you. I’ll show you around.”
I pull a twenty out of my jeans, my last one until I can find another job, and throw it on the counter. “I’ll catch ya ‘round, Zero. Maybe in another life.”
Not moving, Zero lifts the tequila bottle to his lips as I pull on my jacket and head for the door.
Joining Houston Defiance wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world, but I can’t risk joining and them not being supportive of my addiction. Why would they understand me when no else does, sometimes, even me?
My mother made me into the fucking monster I am.
The bastard who craves justice for everything that was done to me.
My need is getting out of control, and talking to Zero has made my self-loathing ignite.
As I head out of the bar, I turn left and walk down the street with my adrenaline pumping. My hands ball into fists, then I clench and unclench them, my skin prickling the way it does when the urge strikes me.
My skin coats in a fine sweat, the feeling almost euphoric as I turn down the side alley trying to combat the sensations overriding me. I lean against the bricks, taking in a deep lungful of air. I need to pull my shit together, or I’ll end up searching for some unsuspecting woman. Someone to fuck and then strangle half to death.
They don’t expect it.
They don’t enjoy it.
But I fucking do, and worse than that, I can’t control myself.
Sometimes it goes too far, so far that I’ve had to resuscitate women in the past and then bail before they wake.
Taking in another lungful of air, the sensations filling my body aren’t calming, they’re only increasing. The need to wrap my hands around someone’s throat is becoming intolerable.
“Hey! This is my alley, find your own,” a croaky voice pipes up.
My head snaps to the side to see a homeless man sitting underneath a bunch of cardboard. His eyes transfixed on me as mine flash red. Everything inside of me ignites, and I can’t control myself. I lunge forward, my knees grating on the cement as I drop to them. My hands cling tight around the old man’s throat as his arthritic fingers come up to try and stop me, but it’s to no avail. My fingers tighten, and electricity courses through my veins feeding my addiction…
The tip of a gun is pressed to my temple. “Let. The man. Go.” The words come out clear as day, precise in their enunciation, and it breaks me from my haze.
I pant frantically as I drop back onto my ass. The old man falls to the ground catching his breath as I’m yanked up by the scruff of my jacket. “C’mon, get your shit together.”
He drags me to my feet, and I glance up at Zero, the biker from the bar.
“You need to keep your cool when we go back out on the street. Think you can do that?”
My body shakes from the rush of adrenaline coursing through me. “Yeah,” I mumble, and Zero grabs me, throws a couple of bills toward the old man, and ushers me toward the exit.
“Fuck… you!” the old man pants out as we rush toward the end of the alley.
“How did you know?” I murmur under my breath.
Zero chuckles, keeping me right next to him as we exit the alley turning in the opposite direction of the bar. “I’ve seen bloodlust in a man’s eyes before, and you have it in yours. Why do you think I want you to come to the clubhouse? You’re out of control, right?”
Fuck.
“Come to the club. We’ll help you curb the urge. Help you manage it. Give you constructive ways to externalize it. We won’t make you give it up. It’s more about giving you a way to do it in a setting that won’t get you arrested and chucked in the slammer.”
I glance at him. “Why? Why would you help me?”
“We always want more brothers, and honestly, I need a distraction from my disaster of a life right now. You can be my new proj—”
“I don’t want to be anyone’s fucking pet proj—”
“Project’s not the right word, I want to help you. Being this way comes at a risk. Why risk yourself without a cause. You’re a lone wolf, right? You don’t have anyone. You have no one to live for and no one in your corner?”
Those words hit home