by Atlas, Lilly
A loud bang followed by, “Hey, bitches, I have arrived,” in a booming voice he’d know anywhere had him jerking violently away from his lovers and scooting all the way to the opposite end of the couch.
“Guys in cuts out front told me to walk right in. What the fuck?” the big man, the No Prisoners Sergeant at Arms said in his booming, bullhorn voice.
Gumby couldn’t move. It felt like his limbs had frozen solid.
No. No. No.
The word repeated in his mind again and again until he opened his mouth, emitting a squeak that was drowned out by Jazzy’s squealed, “Jester!”
She launched herself off the couch and straight into the arms of the mountainous man.
This couldn’t be happening. The room spun and for a second, Gumby worried he’d pass out.
“Who the fuck is this?” Screw growled as he began to rise.
“SAE of my club,” Gumby managed, voice ragged as though someone had rubbed his vocal cords with sandpaper. He needed to get up. To greet his No Prisoners family, but he couldn’t fucking move. Jester had seen. He’d walked in the very moment Screw’s lips touched his.
Not once had he ever given his club any clue he was attracted to men. None of the men were openly gay or bisexual. Sure, they were cool guys, but Crystal Rock, Arizona wasn’t exactly a Mecca of homosexual activity. Actually, the tiny town was pretty much the opposite, full of more bigoted assholes than anything else.
Men like his father. Just the thought of his old man had Gumby’s insides firing up with the need to protect himself. To run. To hide.
To deny.
“Well, fuck me. The guy’s as big as LJ,” Screw said with a laugh as he rose.
“His personality is bigger,” Jazz said as Jester lifted her off her feet.
Shit. They were all there. His friend. His club. His brothers. There to witness his relationship with a woman and a man. The ache in Gumby’s left hand roared to life as memories of his father’s fists flew at him.
“Damn, girl, you’re looking fierce,” Jester said as his huge arms swallowed Jazz whole. Her feet dangled a good twelve inches off the floor.
She squealed again. “Oh, my God! Striker! Hook!”
Jester released her and she treated the other two to the same enthusiastic greeting. “I can’t believe you guys are here.” He could hear the tears thickening her voice as she reunited with his club brothers.
“Hey, man, I’m Screw.” He extended his hand to Jester who wrapped his big mitt around Screw’s hand and pumped vigorously. He cast a glance in Gumby’s direction as though assessing how he’d handle the situation. And, Christ, was that disappointment in his eyes?
Gumby watched the entire scene as though sitting through a horror film. Jester smiled at Jazz, hugging her again. Screw shook each man’s hand making them laugh as was his specialty. Only Striker kept his focus on Gumby, one eyebrow arched in question. Would he react like Gumby’s father? Would he lose his shit? Kick him out of the club? Take his cut? The urge to cover his eyes, to bury his head between the couch cushions surged in him yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the bloody scene.
And then the murderer went for the fucking kill.
“Yo, VP, you won’t believe the shit I walked in on. G, here had his lips on this Screw dude, and Jazzy was all happily sandwiched between them.” Jester waggled his eyebrows and grinned a smirk that would make the devil run and hide. “Whatcha got going on here, Gumby? One woman ain’t enough for you anymore? Gotta add a little dick to the mix?”
Even from ten feet away, he felt Screw stiffen. Jazz did the same, pulling away from Hook and stepping up next to Jester who still wore the shit-eating grin.
“Um, Jester,” she said, glancing between Gumby and Screw.
Deny. Deny. Deny.
Gumby stood. “The fuck you been smoking, Jester?” He laughed as he pulled his brother into a hug. “Think you need glasses, old man. What’s the matter? Married life getting so boring you need to invent exciting sexual scenarios?”
Christ, he’d taking the front page of Screw’s book, shitty jokes to avoid real issues. And was anyone buying it? As the words tumbled off his tongue, Gumby knew he was being a colossal asshole. He didn’t need the stony mask of Screw’s face or the way Jazz’s smile fell straight to the floor to clue him in. But he couldn’t stop it. The instinct for self-preservation had been so deeply ingrained into him, so painfully beaten in, the denial came naturally.
“But…” Jester glanced between the three of them, his brow furrowed.
Jazz stood beside him, wringing her hands, face devoid of color and lips pressed together.
“Sorry, brother. I thought…” Jester cleared his throat. “My bad. Maybe you’re right and these old peepers are going.”
“That or your mind. Hallucinating and shit.” God, why couldn’t he just shut up?
Striker stepped forward, clapping Jester on the back. “Hey, brother, why don’t we give these three a second. We can go out and let our ladies know we arrived, huh?”
Hook had already slipped out the door.
“Yeah, sure,” Jester said before casting an odd look Gumby’s way. He took the path Hook did, preceding Striker out the door.
Just before stepping outside, Striker paused with a hand on the door frame. He peered over his shoulder at the three of them who were just standing like statues staring at each other. “I can see we fucked up,” he said, regret in his voice. “I’m sorry we just popped in unannounced. We’ve just been worried about you, G.” With that, he tapped his fist on the doorframe and walked outside, pulling the door closed behind him.
“Gumby…” Jazz strode toward him, wrapping her arms around him.
He couldn’t return the embrace, feeling like a wooden statue.
“It’s nothing,” he said as she stepped back with a frown. “I’m glad they’re here. It’s getting to be time for me to head back to Arizona anyway. Don’t want them to think I’ve abandoned my club.”
“But…I…we…” Jazz looked between him and Screw.
If she expected the other man to jump in and help, she was in for disappointment. From his rigid posture to crossed arms, Screw’s body language screamed fuck off.
“What was that?” Screw asked. “Said you need to get back to get some head in Arizona?” He laughed and the bitter sound pierced Gumby straight in the heart.
God, what this must be doing to Jazz. He risked a glance at her. Her forehead had scrunched, and her eyes had narrowed. She shook her head as though needing to shake the words around here brain to get them to make sense. “No, wha—”
“Sounds good, man. It’s been fun. Need to get back in the game as well. Those Honeys ain’t gonna suck or fuck themselves, right?”
“What?” Jazz whispered as her hands fell limp at her sides. “You can’t mean that.”
Screw laughed again. The sound was so ugly, Gumby flinched. “Of course, I mean it, Jazzy. You know who I am. What I do. Don’t tell me you thought this was different? Special?” As he spoke, he indicated the three of them in a triangular motion with his finger.
Jazz’s eyes fell shut. “You need to go, now,” she said in a calm, though trembling voice that must have been a shit load of work to maintain.
Each word hit him like a bullet, tearing through his skin and wounding his organs. He’d done this. He’d caused Screw to fall back on old habits and Jazz to push him away. He’d hurt the two people who’d given him so much. The two people he wanted above all. He’d destroyed them.
“See you ’round the clubhouse, Jazzy. Have a good trip back, Gumby.” He lifted his hand in a wave as he walked out the door, swagger in high.
Jazz turned her bleak eyes on him. She swallowed as a tear slipped from the corner of her eye and tracked down her cheek. “I—” She sucked in a breath that made her whole body shudder. “I’d like you to pack your things and stay at a hotel, p-please.”
Her subdued demeanor terrified him. She was shutting down before his eyes. As she spoke,
she tugged on the sleeves of her work shirt. Did she regret sharing her secrets? Is that what she was thinking about? How she poured the most painful part of her soul out only to be denied and rejected as if he were ashamed of her? Ashamed of them?
Fuck, this was all his fault. Yet he just couldn’t summon the words to fix it all. He couldn’t run after Screw because the thought of his club disapproving of him or casting him aside scared him above all. Yet as he watched Jazz turn her back on him, he wondered if the pain in his chest might be far worse than what he’d experience if his club shunned him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
SCREW STORMED INTO the clubhouse and straight over to the bar. He dropped onto a barstool with a heavy plop. When no one showed up five seconds later, he called out, “Hey, can I get a fucking drink,” to the empty room.
Of course, the goddammed place was empty. It was fucking nine thirty in the morning and everyone was dealing with the huge haul of weapons LJ just arrived with from Jazz’s house.
What a clusterfuck. Goddammed Gumby and his fucking inability to admit he liked cock. Screw blew out a breath. Gumby’s words had incensed him so fast and so fiercely he’d jetted without even making sure Jazz had protection and a place to stay. Of course, he’d remedied that by making sure Thunder stayed behind to help her pack and asking LJ if she could crash with him and Holly.
When they both looked at him with questions in their eyes, he’d fucking bitten their heads off with harsh words and stormed to his truck. Gumby could find his own fucking ride with his own fucking brothers who watched Screw with wary gazes as he left smoke in his wake.
“Fuck.”
Just as he was about to get up and grab a bottle, morning be damned, the click-clack of a women’s high heels reverberated behind him. Screw glanced over his hunched shoulder to find five-feet-nine inches of va-va-voom walking his way.
Giant tits, swaying hips, miles of skin on display, all topped off with some serious fuck-me heels and about a yard of platinum hair. She wore a seductive, red-lipped smile as she sauntered her way over to him. She was one of the newer Honeys, whose name failed him now. One he’d nearly slept with the fated night he watched Gumby and Jazz leave the clubhouse together, walking away from him.
The same night he’d first tasted Gumby.
Something he would not think of now.
“Well, hey there, handsome. Haven’t seen you as much around here lately.” The honey-thick voice of—what the hell is her name?—floated through the room.
Yeah, she hadn’t seen him because he’d been too busy being a stupid fucking cliché and getting his heart stomped on. Never again. A hot and easy fuck was exactly what he needed. So what if he’d need to get wasted on a Wednesday morning to make that happen?
“Well I’m here now, and trust me,” he said with a wink. “There’s a lot of me to see.”
She giggled, the sound raking across his eardrums like nails on a chalk board. He barely managed to contain a wince. Yeah, alcohol would be needed in fucking spades.
“Whiskey?” she asked as she made her way behind the bar. “Noticed it seems to be your drink of choice.” She batted her thick eyelashes his way. “I’ve noticed a lot about you, Screw, and that includes that there is a lot of you to notice.”
A generous glass of whiskey landed in front of him. He reached for it, but she didn’t release it, keeping her red tipped fingers firmly around the glass. “You gonna pay the toll?” she asked, lips which matched those nails pouting.
Kill me now.
No he fucking wasn’t paying any goddammed tolls. Especially not with a kiss. He wouldn’t be kissing for a long damn time. He’d drink this booze. Then have another. Maybe another one or two after that while flirting with this Honey. Hopefully his banter and sexy talk would get her wet and he could just take her up to his room, bend her over, fuck Jazz and Gumby out of his system then send whatever the hell her name was on her way. Then he’d drink more and pass out, hopefully to wake up forgetting the fact he’d let himself fall in love with two people.
There it was.
The two-ton elephant, not in the room, no this one was sitting squarely on his chest, crushing the fucking life out of him.
“Hey? Not much of a kisser? No problem. I’m more than happy to save these lips for your cock.” She released the glass, then straightened with a smirk as she watched him down it in two large gulps. When he set it down, it was full again in under five seconds.
What service.
And why the hell wasn’t his cock reacting to the thought of bimbo here sucking him off? He always got hard at the offer of a blowjob. Hell, he’d probably get hard if fucking Copper offered to blow him.
But not this chick, apparently.
Maybe he needed more whiskey. Two more swallows and the next glass was gone.
“Thirsty, huh?” she asked with another of those annoying giggles.
Who cared if her giggle bothered him? Soon her mouth would be too full to giggle anyway.
“So, looks like you got shot off that skinny bitch with the butch haircut, huh?” she asked as she rested her elbows on the table, giving him prime view of two ginormous tits.
Tits he’d have loved just weeks ago before Jazz and her natural, reactive, sexy as fuck body got her hooks into him. And then there was Gumby…
Wait…what the hell did she just say? His blood ran cold and a pit of ice formed in his stomach.
“I heard she was frigid as fuck,” the Honey went on with a conspiratorial whisper as she leaned even closer. “Heard she tried to take on two of you. I can take two. I looove taking two so feel free to bring your friend.”
Over his dead body. No way in hell would this alley cat get her claws anywhere near his man. And this shit about trash-talking Jazz ended now. As she began to straighten, he shot his hand out and grabbed her wrist. The bimbo misunderstood his intentions and moaned as though the none-too-gentle touch got her all fired up. “Who the fuck is running their trap about Jazz that way?” he asked giving her arm a shake.
“What? Ow, Screw, that’s too hard.”
He slackened his grip but didn’t release her. If these bitches were gossiping behind Jazz’s back he’d have each and every one of them banned from the clubhouse, permanently. “Tell me who?”
“Uh, no one,” she said, all flouncy bravado gone. “It’s just silly girl talk.”
He raised an eyebrow and stared her down. She seemed to wilt before his eyes.
“I-I mean, look at her. She’s skinny and barely has tits. Her hair is short and she’s always wearing those long-sleeved shirts like a nun or something.” She shrugged a bare shoulder. “I guess we just can’t understand why you’re playing with that lately when you could have all this.” She indicated her own scantily clad body. “Hell, you could have a few of us.” Some of her confidence returned as she no doubt thought he’d never be able to resist her.
Christ, how had he gone for this type of woman for so many years? She reminded him of all the skanks he grew up with in his life. Friends of his mother who gave it away like candy on Halloween and didn’t give a shit whose dick they rode. He’d admittedly been that way too, until he met two people who changed his whole fucking outlook on life. Now, thoughts of anyone but Jazz and Gumby paled in comparison to what he’d been getting. Amazing sex along with closeness and connection. He’d fought it for so long, but now that he’d had it, he wasn’t sure he could live without it.
“Fuck that,” he said as he stood and snatched the bottle. He yanked her forward until their faces were inches apart. Her eyes widened. “I hear the name Jazz from your lips or any of the Honeys’ lips, you’ll be out on your fake ass before you have the chance to reapply your lipstick. Jazz is more woman than the lot of you combined will ever be.”
He released her and stomped away from the bar to an enraged shout of, “Fuck you, Screw!”
Yeah, fuck him. He was pretty sure no one but his right hand would be doing that for a long time because, who the fuck was he kidding?
The thought of getting it on with anyone beside Jazz or Gumby held no fucking interest anymore.
They’d gone and ruined his cock.
And his fucking heart.
BAM BAM BAM.
At the pounding on his motel room door, Gumby dragged himself away from the very riveting activity of staring at the ceiling and mentally kicking his own ass. Striker stood on the other side, hands in his pockets and a cigarette dangling between his lips.
“Pretty sure Lila would kick your ass until you were bloody if she saw that,” Gumby said as he moved out of the way to allow his VP into the room with its lumpy bed, sad, snot green curtains, and barebones carpet.
“We’ve got a deal. When I’m out of town I’m allowed to smoke as much as I want. Gives me my occasional fix and keeps her from riding my ass.”
Gumby snorted. “You’d probably like it if she rode your ass.”
Striker strode into the bathroom and put the cigarette out in the sink. “You may be right. I’d let that woman do just about any damn thing to me she wanted. Now sit the fuck down and start talking. I know we surprised you by showing up uninvited, but fuck, brother, we had no idea we’d be walking into such a shitstorm. What the fuck is going on?”
With a heavy sigh, Gumby sat on the edge of the bed while Striker took the lone chair in the dimly lit room. He filled his vice president in on everything that had gone down between the Handlers and the CDMC.
As was his custom, Striker listened with full attention, but once Gumby finished, he sat back and propped one ankle on this thigh. After fishing another cigarette out of his pocket, he stuck the thing between his lips but didn’t light it.
“Look, Gumby, this is all shit I need to know and should have been told already, but it’s not what I was asking and I’m pretty sure you know it. Jester is pretty damn sure he saw you kiss that guy, what was his name, Screw?”
Gumby stared at his VP waiting for the rush of panic he’d experienced earlier when Jester busted in on them. It never came. His insides were too heavy to allow the jitters of anxiety. He’d fucked up in a way he’d never done before and as he’d packed his bags and left Jazz’s house and as he’d stared at the peeling paint on the motel ceiling, he’d come to the stark realization that he didn’t want to hide any more.
