“I wasn’t born yesterday, son,” Mac says, shooting the filthiest look at Jones.

Shit. I can’t let Jones take the heat. It’s not his fucking fault I had a bender last night.

“It wasn’t the traffic, Mac Daddy, it was me. Sorry, I slept through my alarm.”

Mac shakes his head and lets out a heavy sigh. He takes my elbow and pulls me aside.

“Don’t let it happen again, De Luca. I’m not paying you good money to put up with this shit. The boys and I need you to be on your game. We’re depending on you,” he says, his voice low.

Fuck. When he puts it like that, don’t I feel like a low-life piece of shit? It’s my job to keep the riders motivated. Most of the time I’m the last one they speak to before the gate drops. Right now, all they probably see is that I don’t give a shit. I can’t even turn up on time. I’m twenty-nine years’ old, and I’m far from having my life together.

When I try to block out all the shit with V and my parents, I forget there are other people around me who actually give a fuck. People who respect my work. People who have given me a chance after I’ve fucked up every other one.

“I’m fucking sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“I’d like to believe you, son. You know I would, but I’m not here to babysit you. You’re a professional and you’re good at your job, but over the last few months I don’t know what has gotten into you.”

My brother getting caught muling a kilo of coke is what happened.

My brother getting locked up for muling said kilo of coke and taking the heat for his fucked-up motorcycle club is what happened.

I could explain, but I won’t tell him about V. I can’t. I don’t want the pity. I don’t want people to know how much of a battle every single day is.

I nearly told Jones the other day. Sometimes I just wanna talk to someone. I trust him, but I don’t want the pity.

I stare into the eyes of the greying man in front of me. He deserves some kind of explanation, but I’m too fucking proud to say. I know that I’m responsible for myself, and I’m doing a shitty job of it. Explaining why I have no stop button when it comes to booze isn’t gonna help me. It’d just be another mark against my name.

“There’s been some shit goin’ on, but I’ll get my head back into it,” I offer as some kind of explanation.

“Show me that I made the right decision to hire you. You could be a senior team mechanic if you wanted. You’ve been here nearly two years, and you could be there; you deserve to be, but you’re not. You’re just coasting along, doing what you need to, not thinking ahead. You’re not trying to do better, and I know you have the potential. You’re a smart kid. You have a gift. Don’t waste it, because truthfully, there are mechanics I’d take on in a heartbeat. If you tell anyone I’ll deny it until I’m blue in the face, but I’ve got a soft spot for ya. Just don’t make me look like a fool.”

The muscles in my jaw clench as I grind my teeth. That’s the last thing I wanna do to Mac, after all he’s done.

“I’ll get my shit together. I will.”

As soon as V is out of jail, my world will be looking a hell of a lot brighter. I’ll have to be responsible then, because I’ll need to get him back on track. He’s the only shred of family I have left. Someone needs to be a father figure for that kid. He needs out of the MC, and I’ll do whatever I can to make that happen. Even if I have to pay the rotten bastards off. If Mac sees potential in me, it’s only a fraction of what I see in V. I’d love to get him back into motocross.

“I look forward to the day, son. So, did you get those parts sorted?”

“The freight company said they’d be here before eleven this morning, and then I’ll get moving on Stone’s bike.”

“Good. Let’s get this team meeting underway, huh?”

With a firm yet encouraging slap on my back, Mac and I head over to the guys.

Billy Boy, Jones and Stone are busy talking amongst themselves as they unpack a few boxes with some new team gear.

Brett, the senior mechanic, who started with the team before me is standing with his arms folded, his feet firmly planted shoulder-width apart. He narrows his blue eyes at me as I approach. He’s wearing a stupid, smarmy grin, and I instantly wanna punch him in the face. Stupid redheaded fuck. We’ve never gotten along. He always tries to show me up, and he’s probably just come in his pants watching Mac have a go at me. He’d better stay clear of my path today.

“Right boys. Gather ’round,” Mac announces.

Everyone pulls up a plastic chair, and step-by-step Mac goes through the schedule for the day—the rebuilds and the sponsorship stuff, as well as the training and travel schedules. I get the feeling that the emphasis on the dates is for my benefit more than anyone else’s. Rightly so.

All day, I have to push through the pain. Acid gurgles in my stomach, and I keep breaking into cold sweats. Holding down the dirty hamburger with the lot I have mid-morning is a mother of a challenge. I have the shakes something chronic, which makes it fucking hard to use some of the tools. I push on, because I made a promise to Mac. I will try. I’m on my game today, and tonight will be my sweet reward. I need to get rid of the shakes, and I need a good, hard fuck to clear my head.

Tomorrow I can spend the day doing sweet fuck all. Hopefully, that involves getting my dick sucked.

****

I shout another round of beers, eyeing off the uncracked bottle of tequila on the top shelf as I do. You’re next, sweetheart.

“You did good today, Rocco,” Jones says, as I hand him a cold schooner.

I swallow down a few large gulps. I wanna scull the whole beer, but I need to ease my way into it. The second beer took the edge off, but I’m greedy. I just wanna drink myself into oblivion.

“Didn’t have much choice. Mac chewed my arse this morning.”

“Any particular occasion for the piss-up last night?” Jones asks, and then takes a long pull of his drink.

“Nope.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for someone having a piss-up but, mate, Mac’s a pretty patient man, and it’s starting to wear thin.”

I finish off my beer, and wave at Jack behind the bar for another round. Jones has barely made a dent in his drink, but I’ll buy him one just the same. He tried to cover for me this morning. Unfortunately it’s not the first time in so many months. Buying him another beer, or however many he plans on drinking tonight, is the only way I know to show him that I appreciate him. I’m not sure how to put it into words. My old man was never one to display emotion, and as a kid he’d used to rip me apart for not being tough enough. Some role model.

“I know, and I get that. Just some shit went down, and I’m trying to get my head around it.” It’s the closest I’ve come to saying anything to him.

“Anything I can do?” he asks, and I know he’s sincere as shit. It’s why I’m proud to be his best man. I’d do anything for this guy, and I know he’d do the same for me. I just can’t talk about it.

“Nope, but thanks.”

A series of giggles come from the corner of the pub. I swing my head around to check out a glamour group of six girls crowded around a small table. I recognise a few faces from the usual chicks who follow us from round to round. My dick twitches at the sound of their playful banter, and the sight of their open body language. Settle down, boy. Soon enough. Cleavage is in abundance thanks to their tight, slutty tops. They don’t hide the fact that they’re watching us, and I don’t hide the fact that I’m watching them, of course, with a subtle flick of my tongue stud for good measure. Chicks love the stud.

I look over to Jones, who is sipping his beer, blissfully unaware of the beauties in the corner. He seems to have grown a pair of blinders since hooking up with April. It’s as if he doesn’t see them at all. Such a waste.