“Don’t,” I whispered, taking a step back and out of his reach. “We agreed.”
I could still feel his invasive gaze on me as he remained insufferably mute. At least he wasn’t spitting fire at me. I’d much prefer suffocating on the silence to the gaping wounds his razor-sharp tongue left behind.
“We didn’t agree on anything,” he finally said. His voice was a low rumble, powerful enough to quake you to the bone. “As usual, you did whatever the fuck you wanted and expected me to just roll with it.”
His words were like a slap to the face. Honestly, I wish he’d just hit me. I could handle a black eye for a couple of weeks if it meant I had a tangible reason to shut him out. But he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t give me an easy way out. Instead, he expected me to take the constant verbal lashings as my penance without complaint.
“How long?” I asked, taking another step back. I needed room to breathe.
The line between Jester’s eyebrows deepened, and his eyes narrowed at me. “The fuck you talkin’ about?”
I licked my lower lip and took a deep breath, I needed to say it, get it out there—make him understand. “How long until you let it go?” I asked, working hard to keep my voice even. I felt like spun sugar, brittle and seconds from breaking under the weight of nothing but gravity.
It was Jester’s turn to look away. I took the opportunity to study his face. I didn’t know how I missed it, but the thin lines around his eyes had become permanent over the years. His beard hid it well, but when you really looked, you could see the years of war—in the desert and at home—had etched themselves into his skin. It didn’t make him any less appealing—if anything it made the sexy lumberjack thing he had going on even hotter.
Bastard.
“It’s not like I can just forget,” he mumbled, still not looking at me.
“Right,” I breathed. My eyes stung with brimming tears, and I looked up at the clear sky willing them not to fall.
I pushed out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and felt my heart shatter as I did. That was it. The cold hard truth I’d been hoping I wouldn’t have to face.
I hadn’t expected him to forgive me. Hell, I couldn’t even forgive myself, but somewhere deep down, I’d been holding out hope. Hope that he’d forgive me, wash away my sins and finally give me permission to forgive myself—permission to heal. But I was wrong to hope.
Connor Murphy wasn’t my salvation.
There was no washing away the stains my sins left on my soul. People like me didn’t get happily ever afters.
When I didn’t feel like I was going to collapse into a puddle of tears and self-hatred, I turned on my heel and walked into the shadows, leaving the last shred of hope I had behind.
Movement to my right stopped my retreat to the clubhouse. Squinting, I made out a figure sitting alone on top of one of the picnic tables. Switching directions, I headed that way. If I couldn’t solve my own problems maybe focusing on someone else’s would do the trick. I was great at giving advice even though I couldn’t seem to follow it for shit.
I realized who it was as I approached the picnic table and a sense of unease filled my gut. “Not drinking tonight?”
Stella shook her head and offered me a sad smile. “Not tonight,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Stepping up, I planted myself next to her on top of the picnic table. “I don’t blame you,” I said on a groan as I settled back on my hands. “Last night did me in.”
Snorting, Stella leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees as she spun a pack of cigarettes between her fingers. “Something like that,” she said, looking up and out on the scene playing out in front of us. It was mostly just family left. Crow and Rigs must’ve managed to get Butter inside because there was no sign of them on the deck.
“Can I have one of those?” I asked, trying to bring her attention back to me.
“You can have the whole pack,” she said, tossing them in my direction. “I quit.”
I caught the cardboard box and eyed her as I dug my lighter out of my bra. I distinctly remember Stella smoking the night before outside the bar. She’d even bummed a cigarette off me when she forgot her purse inside.
“You’re not drinking, and you quit smoking overnight, if I didn’t know better I’d think you were pregnant,” I laughed, trying to lighten the moment. I’d started to get used to Stella’s mood swings, but I’d never seen her look so detached.
When she didn’t laugh with me, or respond at all, I stilled, unlit cigarette poised between my lips. Shifting, I leaned closer and touched her shoulder gently. She flinched but didn’t pull away. “Stella. Jesus, are you pregnant?” I breathed out the question like I was afraid of the answer.
Her head fell into her hands, and her shoulders curled inward. “I don’t know,” she said after a while.
A pang of sorrow ripped through my soul with her words. Swallowing hard, I tried my best to soothe her. “Have you taken a test?” I asked softly.
She shook her head once, running her fingers through her mess of blonde curls before sitting up straight. Taking a deep breath, she let it out in a rush and laid it out in standard Stella fashion. “I just realized I was late this morning. I don’t normally keep track of that shit. But I’m too afraid to take a test because then it makes it real.”
“Then you don’t know, do you? You’re on the pill, right?”
Stella chuckled, curls bouncing as she shook her head. “I’m crazy enough without hormones, I’ve never been able to take that shit.”
My stomach sank and it took all I had to choke out my next sentence. “But Fin gave you something after…Butcher, right?”
Stella looked down again, her hair falling forward to shield her face. “Yeah, I took Plan B. There’s a chance, but it’s not likely. That’s not what I’m worried about,” she said quietly, her voice sounding strained.
The gears in my head were spinning, trying to make sense of what she was saying. Getting pregnant with Butcher’s kid was horrifying, what on earth could she be more upset about than that? And if she wasn’t worried about Butcher that meant…
“Who?” I asked, the pieces finally clicking together. She’d been with someone else, and I had a feeling I knew who it was.
“Doesn’t matter,” she said with a shrug. “It was a right place at the right time kind of thing. It was stupid. I wasn’t thinking. I’m always careful, but I just didn’t think…” her voice drifted off and I heard her sniff.
“Have you told him?” I asked, following her line of sight to the group of men standing by the bonfire.
“Who?” Stella said, her head snapping up to look at me.
Rolling my eyes, I looked pointedly to the big man standing stock still beside the fire. “Zero,” I said, not bothering to elaborate. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. Z’s already erratic behavior went into overdrive when Stella was in the room. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out there was something up there.
Stella bit her lip and huffed out a humorless laugh. “If I am pregnant, it’s not Z’s,” she said quietly.
I shook my head and sighed. The girl couldn’t catch a fucking break. For some reason in my head the situation would’ve been made easier if the guy was Zero—at least he cared, in his own fucked up way. “Do you mind if I give you some advice?”
“Is this the part where you’re going to tell me how much you can relate?” Stella snorted.
It was my turn to laugh without humor. Nothing about how mine and Stella’s lives had turned out was funny. “We just met a few months ago, remember? There’s a whole lifetime of stuff you don’t know about me yet, kid.”
About KA
Thank you so much for reading Leather and Lace: A Knights of Mayhem Short Story! Please consider leaving a review, I’d love to hear what you thought! Word of mouth is an indie author’s best friend so if you loved the story, make a post, share your review, tell someone!
Again, thank you for taking th
e time to read this short!
If you want more of the Knights of Mayhem, Tempt My Trouble, the first book in the series, is available now! Be sure to keep your eyes out for book two, Madness In Me, coming April 2019!
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Roar (Camelot Misfits MC Novella)
By Xavier Neal
AUTHOR NOTE:
The following is a novella that takes place during a member’s Patch Party in my MC Series, Camelot Misfits MC. This scene comes from book two, however, it has been written in such a way you can enjoy it on its own.
Colm
“Lion”
Patch Parties aren’t optional.
Not even during a time of war.
Fuck, I love being a Misfit.
Constance Chan, the long-legged woman who has skin the same golden shade as most of my features, plops the black, leather shoulder bag she entered the kitchen with on the empty island space near the sink. She unzips it in one swift motion revealing an unimpressive sight of pens, pencils, and a notepad. Before Memphis or I have the chance to comment, she slides out a key from the inside of her dark red skin-tight dress that looks more like a shortened trench coat than anything a woman should ever wear to the office.
Unless of course she’s a high-class hooker and meeting a congressman in the hotel lobby of The Frost Luxury hotel.
Then this would probably be ideal.
Wonder if that’s what she does for a living.
Why does the idea of her sucking dick for money leave a very bitter taste in my mouth and a very hard ache in my chest?
Constance removes the notepad, tosses it to the side, and shoves the key into the previously unforeseen hole. One click later, she pops out what was apparently a false panel and waves a hand at the rainbow-colored stash inside. “Your pick, gentleman. Colin is gifting you one bag, and you’re welcome to purchase the rest for a slightly smaller fee.”
Memphis rubs his large hands together, displaying his eagerness to make the good times even better. “We gotta get some Blue Monkey.”
His thick southern accent apparently makes her smile.
And me annoyed that she finds it worth grinning over.
“That shit is the shit,” my fellow Misfit member loudly proclaims. “Cookies love popping those. Makes them much more open to the idea of two for one specials.”
His reference to threesomes and club women should cause me to arrogantly chuckle, yet I find myself shifting uncomfortably instead.
Wish he wouldn’t say that type of shit in front of Constance…
I don’t know why I fucking care so much what she thinks. It ain’t like we’ve known each other since grade school and grew up in the same trailer park. We literally only met a few minutes ago when she showed up to make a delivery as a favor to the neighbor-friendly drug man, Colin Chan, who was evidently too busy handling other business to grant us face time. However, from the minute she walked into the party, I’ll admit I haven’t let her out of my sight. Or more than two feet away from me. Doubt she’s even noticed the latter, but part of me fucking hopes she does.
Constance seems unfazed by the information. “Is that all you’re looking for?” Her tongue wets her full lips that are painted a dark brown color I’d kill to see smeared on my dick. “Shit that gets people horny?”
“We don’t have to dope chicks up to fuck ‘em,” I defensively snap, hands adjusting my cut. “We’re fucking Misfits. The title is enough to make most women open their legs.”
“Spread Eagle style,” Memphis cockily chortles.
She offers us both a sarcastic smile. “Key word is most.”
Meaning not her.
No…I get the feeling she’s one of those women who wants a man that puts on a power tie and pretends not to fuck his hot blonde secretary, though, I have no fucking idea why any man would ever consider cheating on a woman this sexy. She’s built like a fucking porn star. Her perky tits, which are nothing more than a handful, are still enough to make my mouth water. Her long neck is screaming for my hands to give it a good squeeze while I slam into her. And then there’s her long, black hair that’s dangling down her back like it’s waiting to be fisted. Once you add in her light brown eyes and fit figure, she looks like the fucking wet dream you had to hide your bed sheets over as a teen.
Based on Constance’s appearance, there’s nothing about her that would make a man think for a minute he could do better.
I damn sure have never seen better.
Doubt I ever will.
The hard on I’ve been battling since I first laid eyes on her seems to solidify that theory.
“Hercules provides longer, better stamina,” Constance casually states as she points to a set of yellow pills. “The Dark Goddess,” her gesture moves to dark red tablets, “has similar effects to Blue Monkey, but mixes better with booze.” Next, she motions to a set of round green pills, “Green Gremlins will give you a hallucinogenic, yet still very sexual vibe, while Gizmo provides a more mellow, laugh-filled high.” Her hand lands on another set of pills and scoots them to the side. “These you wanna avoid. They’re downers. Won’t give you or the women you’re trying to screw the buzz you’re looking for.”
“Only wanna see frowns if they’re upside down.” Memphis wiggles his brown eyebrows. “Sixty-nine is one my favorite positions. Second only to reverse cowgirl.”
Her eyes rolls, and it takes every ounce of control I have not to put my fist in his fucking face.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I’ve never wanted to hurt a fellow member.
Never even had the idea cross my mind before.
Am I too drunk?
Did someone spike my shit?
Constance cuts him an unimpressed glance and diverts her bright brown gaze to me. “Pick wisely. They’re pricey.”
“How pricey?” Memphis asks.
“Pricey enough that you’re still gonna feel it even with a discount.”
“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, “let me go get more cash.”
“Make it quick,” she commands.
Memphis’s brow furrows, but I motion my head for him to obey.
Not like I’m his boss or anything. Neither of us sit at The Table, however, we’re both substitutes, meaning worst case scenario, if we end up at The Table, it’s because our predecessors were murdered. And with the way this war is raging on, I hate to admit the increasing likeliness of that possibility.
Constance thrums her fingers on top of the stash she’s protecting.
A million questions roll through my mind, yet I can’t seem to find the balls to ask any of them. It’s as if my tongue is swollen, and I should be grateful I’m not fucking choking to death on it.
Her eyes wander around the kitchen, observing the abundance of food and liquor occupying the entire room. People stumble in and out, mostly Cookies who have been sent by a member to grab him whatever he has requested. Before she appeared like a delicious, drug smuggling, demon that I would gladly sell my soul to have suck my dick, I was one of those members Cookies were tripping over themselves to appease. Now? Now I’m trying not to fuck up what is probably my only shot with this woman.
I push my large shoulders back so that my 6’3 frame is better displayed, slightly flex to allow my muscles to appear defined, and flick the loose blonde strand that didn’t make it into my bun away from my face. “You do this shit often?”
She lifts her eyebrows in question.
“Deliver shit for Chan.”
“No.”
“You’re not one of his regulars?”
“No.”
Her continued curtness causes me slight frustration. “Then um…why are you delivering it now?”
“I owed a debt, and I always pay back what I owe.”
The response tempts me into investigating for more information. Unfortunately, Memphis reappears, running interference.
/> “Three G,” he announces proudly. “What can we get?”
“Three bags of anything mentioned.”
Memphis asks for clarification. “You mean three of each?”
“I mean three total.”
“Fuckin’ hell,” he grouses between sips of a beer he grabbed during his errand run. “That’s discounted?”
“Cheap shit buys cheap shit.” Her statement is proceeded with a smirk. “Is there anything about Colin that says cheap?”
Colin Chan is one of the biggest drug dealers in Camelot. His roster is particularly filled with pills like the ones we’re purchasing and potent coke, which was brought in by a guest as an offering to Vin, the newly patched member. While our job in Camelot is to maintain the peace, the balance, and the order, it doesn’t mean we can’t or don’t occasionally use the benefits of such connections to our advantage.
Memphis nudges me in the side. “What should we get?”
“Whatever, man.” I shrug and let my stare drift back to Constance whose patience seems to be fleeting. “Just pick some shit.”
“You pick.”
“Why me?”
“’Cause I don’t want it to be my fault if people hate the candy.”
“Fuck that, you pick.”
“Why me?”
“You’ve got the cash. You’ve got the power.”
“Fuck that, I don’t wanna pick.”
“Oh, for fucks sake,” Constance grunts in irritation. “I’ll fucking pick for you. You’re getting one bag of blue from Colin. Take one bag of Herc and two bags of Green.” She begins to collect her decision at the same time she demands, “Cash.”
Memphis pulls the wad out of his pocket and places it near her.
“In the case. I don’t touch the money.”
“Germaphobe?” I casually inquire.
“No. Just can’t be held accountable for something that never touched my hands.” Her villainous smirk has me even more anxious to know more than basically just her name.
Twisted Tales of Mayhem: 2019 MMM Special Edition Anthology Page 70
