Clear (Storm's Soldiers MC Book 3) Read Online Free Page A

font screamed: Who will stand for white culture? Will you?
    A giant white hand pointed out at the screen, with a date advertised. To be honest, the whole thing was more tacky than offensive. Was that really supposed to convince anyone?
    I looked at the cross again and remembered with a dip in my stomach where I’d seen it: on Vaughn’s thick round shoulders.
    “What’s that?” Aubrey asked, quickly reading. “The hell? Stand for white culture? What student group is that?”
    “It’s not a student group,” I said. “It’s supremacists.”
    Just supremacists, I reminded myself. Not necessarily Vaughn or his people. There must be other groups. But how many of these rallies were there around? I’d barely heard of any.
    I checked the date again. It was this saturday in Centennial Park.
    “Come on,” Faith said, tugging at my shirt. “What, you gonna go to that thing?”
    “I might.”
    “Uhh…don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think it’s for you.”
    “The park is public space. There’s gonna be a lot of black folk around whether they want them there or not.”
    Faith looked at Aubrey. “Well, I don’t think either of us would feel comfortable around some racist rally.”
    I shrugged. “I didn’t ask you to come.”
    This was a personal thing anyway. I wanted to see what grievances drove them to be who they were. Vaughn might not believe in the stuff, but I wanted to see what his family thought. Or at least people who were like his family.
    We split up at the parking lot, and I went back home. I tried to get some stuff done before I had to head off to the night shift at the bar, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about the rally. I did some searches on white nationalism to see what wikipedia had to say. It turned out there was no unifying philosophy, just a grabbag of whatever petty nonsense a group held against the world.
    I shared my findings with Marissa during my shift at the Volcano, but she wasn’t too interested. “People have to find problems always,” she said. “Or they get bored.”
    “Why not just get drunk then?” I asked, looking out at our clientele.
    “Cause they’re pendejos. Why are you looking this stuff up anyway? You have some self-hatred thing that I don’t know about.”
    “No, no, just kinda curious what a 21st century racist looks like.”
    “Old, fat and ugly, I think.”
    Actually I was well aware what such a man might look like. And sound like and taste and smell like. Also, feel like. Vaughn’s club buddies would look like him, right? It’s just their ideas that would be different.
    Hopefully.
    I finished my shift and headed back home. I had a porchfront visitor waiting.
    “Hey there, stranger,” he said, rising like a hulking white ghost from the shadows.
    I’d seen his profile and heard his voice, but I still couldn’t help from jumping as he moved. “Jesus, Vaughn. Why you being all theatrical?”
    “I just love to make you move,” he said, pinning me to the door with a kiss. All the sharp edges the day had left in my brain melted off, leaving only smooth longing.
    We snuck in. Tara would be asleep by now. Vaughn ticked his head at the stairs and whispered, “Ready to make the floorboards sing?”
    “No,” I hissed, even as my undergarments went wet at the memory of our reunion sex. “We’ve gotta be quiet. She’s got a big performance review tomorrow.”
    His mouth curled up in a wicked smile. “Well I’ve got one for you coming up tonight.”
    He led my hand to his crotch where a long thick measuring stick had sprung against the fabric. I half laughed at his cheesy line, half gasped. I stroked him in that moonlit foyer a bit, loving the way his lean face cast shadows as my little hand made its way up and down.
    His face bowed over mine, our foreheads nudged against each other. His jagged breaths washed down over me, drowning me under his rich scent. It was like the oil and leather had seeped into his very sweat. The smell got me