Thank the Chicken Man (Juice x Reader)
A/N. I love this beautiful bean. This one shot doesn’t mean that requests are open, or that I’m going to be churning things out regularly again (I know I suck I’m so sorry guys I’m just so swamped with school its a mess), but I have been inspired and have a few other things in the works that I’ll keep you posted on. Anyway, you guys know the drill, I don’t own anything except the plot, blah blah blah, including the above gif, as much as I wish I could own this beautiful man and some of his biker brothers.
Alright guys, enjoy!
Juice rolled down the street, enjoying the purr of his bike beneath him, the wind in his face. He heard Bobby and Tig behind him, but as he sped up they fell behind. They knew the drill anyway. The Chicken Man was nervous about strangers and wouldn’t talk to anyone but Juice. Hearing other bikes would spook him.
Juice rolled up beside the blue van, which was parked rather conspicuously in the middle of a backroad, got off his bike and walked up to the window.
“Juan Carlos.” the Chicken Man nodded, head twitching to look around the lot. “May I assume the stimulants are in your backpack bag?”
“Yes Chicken.” Juice couldn’t hold back his smile. This was his favourite part, the shady deals. There was just something exhilarating about it, and he had to admit he enjoyed when he was able to do something like this the rest of the club couldn’t. “May I assume you have the cash?”
The man looked around nervously, giving another jerky nod. “Yes. Would you mind getting in? Talking this way makes me feel very conspicuous.”
Juice couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Sure thing man.” He opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat. “You’re a lunatic, you know tha–”
He saw something move behind him, a flash of white. “Shit!”
He elbowed the Mayan (not a Mayan, he realized distantly, but a guy from that gang they were patching over), in the face, but hands, too many hands, grabbed him roughly and dragged him back between the seats.
There was shouting behind him, but he was too busy bucking and twisting to hear them properly. His arms were wrenched above his head roughly, pinned in a way he couldn’t shake off, and a gloved hand clamped down over his mouth. He shouted anyway, kicking and bucking and twisting and strongly regretting leaving Bobby and Tig behind.
The man with the hand over his mouth leaned down, and Juice recognized the president of the other MC. “You tell Clay, my bullshit MC’s got some reach eh?”
A fist slammed into his face and his head snapped back, slamming into the floor of the van. Distantly, over the sounds of fists hitting his face, his own grunts of pain, and the blood rushing in his ears, he could hear the Chicken Man.
“I’m sorry Juan Carlos, but I’ve run up a bit of a tab with these Mexican fellows.”
Juice was very tempted to tell the dick what he thought of his apology, and where he could shove it, but he was a little busy. He lost track of how many times he got hit in the face, and then when he was too dazed to fight back anymore they moved down to his ribs. He noticed distantly that one of the guys behind him was tugging at his arms, and when he bucked against them the jackass behind him dislocated his shoulder. He screamed, or at least he let out a strangled groan, and something absolutely disgusting was shoved into his mouth. He was pretty sure it was a sock. If it hadn’t been in his mouth he probably would have thrown up. As it was he was pretty sure he was going to need to wash his mouth out with soap.
He got hit in the face again, and all thoughts of being sick were knocked from his head.