by Tahlia Gold
I dig my fingernails into his chest. The moist skin ripples over his muscle. I moan. Riding his cock—cowgirl style—has become my favorite position. My thighs twitch as the familiar orgasm becomes closer and closer.
His thick hands grip my waist, guiding me; pushing then pulling. His face is calm, relaxed. A smile brushes over his lips.
I lean down to kiss him, our tongues mingle just as our nether-regions do. My moaning becomes louder, more constant. I don’t care what the neighbors will think. These walls are thin enough that by now they know exactly what’s been going on all week.
“Fuck,” I say, “Oh fuck.” And my body explodes. My mind follows closely. The heat rips through me, driving convulsions of pleasure and warmth.
He comes when I do. He always knows when I’m about to come. I watch his face wrench, eyes squeezed tight, mouth wide open, gasping. I love that he closes his eyes when he comes so I can study his face. I love seeing the moment his entire body is enveloped in pure bliss. I live for this moment.
And finally, when he’s done, I collapse down onto him. My warm breath against his neck. I watch the vein in his neck—his jugular—bulge and contract with each beat of his heart. I would have no problem starting a central line in that vein. What the heck am I thinking? If that ever happens it means things have gone seriously sideways. I throw that thought out.
“I could do this every day,” I say.
He laughs. “We already do this every day.”
It’s true.
Dylan gets up to go to the bathroom, get rid of the condom. I wonder if I should start buying them in bulk the way we go through them. It would probably be cheaper.
I lay down on my back and relax into the cool sheets, staring at the ceiling. Since he got back from Vegas a week ago, he’s spent the night here every night I haven’t been working. And the sex has been off-the-charts amazing every single time. You would think it would start to cool, to become common, but it’s always fresh and new. I guess the normality comes later. What later though? Where is this going? For now, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is whenever I hear his voice I’m instantly wet. Dripping, soaking, change-your-panties, wet.
I could get used to this though. He’s funny. He’s sweet in his own way. He’s definitely unselfish in bed. I’m setting some kind of personal record for orgasms in a week. But as of now this relationship, or whatever you want to call it—fuck buddies?—has been entirely physical. We don’t talk about anything other than the superficial. He definitely doesn’t tell me about his club or his work. I don’t even really know what he does still. From the very little he has told me, I’ve gathered that he’s some kind of part-time manager of a strip club, and he does security work on the side.
And he always carries a gun.
That’s something I still haven’t gotten used to. Being from a family that has suffered a loss to gun violence, and seeing it nearly daily in the ER, I don’t know if it’s something I can ever get used to.
When Dylan comes back from the bathroom, naked as usual, he asks if I’m hungry.
“Yes,” I say. “Should we order something?”
He shakes his head. “Why don’t we go out? You like Chinese? There’s a place I like across the bay in Chinatown. A hole in the wall but the food is amazing.”
“That sounds like a date to me,” I say, teasing. So far we’ve avoided talking about anything that could be even remotely identified as relationship talk. It has to come up at some point though. We can’t just keep sleeping together and pretend neither of us might be developing feelings. Or can we? I guess we could try.
“I’m no expert on dating,” Dylan says, “but don’t you usually have sex after dates, not before?”
I throw a pillow with bad intentions aimed right at his face but he has quick reflexes and he catches it without hardly moving. “That’s true,” I say, “but does it mean you’re not going to fuck me again after?”
He laughs. “I would never deny a lady something she wants.”
“Now you think I’m a lady?”
He jumps on the bed, pounces on me, and starts poking my ribs. I squirm away in a fit of giggles. “Let’s go then,” I say. “I’m starving.”
At the restaurant, we’re sitting in a booth in the back, both of us on the same side, right next to each other. I love being near him. He feels like a rock. And I don’t mean his body—although that’s solid too—I mean he just feels… steady. And it relaxes me.
“Going over the bridge was so cool,” I say. “Being on a bike makes a drive to a restaurant into a real experience.”
“Careful,” he says, “you’re starting to sound like an old lady.”
We’re drinking wine while we wait for our food. The mood is light, and I feel happy. I don’t know why I do it, but the thing that comes out of my mouth next has been simmering inside me for some time and I don’t know if there will ever be a good time to bring it up so I just go for it.
“Can I ask you something?” I say.
He nods, sipping his wine. His eyes keep scanning the restaurant, darting over to the door in the front. I wonder if he’s already figured out what he would do if something bad went down in here. He seems like he always has a plan.
He may not have a plan for this though. It’s been the elephant in the room ever since we reconnected. Hell, more than an elephant, it’s like the Ringling Bros and Barnum & Bailey circus left the gate open one night and a whole family of elephants waltzed out then squeezed into my tiny apartment and took up residence. But I feel like I need to talk about it.
“When my brother died, why did you leave without saying goodbye?”
He looks at me, his blue eyes narrow.
I expected as much, but I keep going, “He was my brother, your best friend. I was just so confused why you would leave without at least saying something.”
“Why are you bringing this up?” His tone conveys more than his words. He doesn’t want to talk about it.
“I guess I’m curious how you felt. I’m just trying to understand.”
“How I felt? He was murdered. My only friend was murdered. How do you think I felt? I felt fucking horrible.”
I try to keep my voice even, soothing, but inside I want to start bawling. “I understand that. He was my brother too. I know I wasn’t as close to him as you were but I also felt horrible. We all did. And I’m not trying to blame you or criticize you for leaving, I just want you to know that at the time I wished you hadn’t left. I really wanted to talk to you. I had no idea if you were okay, or what was going on.” Some tears are trying to well up, but I manage to keep them away.
Dylan takes a deep breath. He puts his hand over mine before he responds. “I understand. It was a dick move. I didn’t know how to deal with everything. The truth is I didn’t want to face you. It was my fault. It was my fault that you didn’t have a brother anymore, that your mom and dad didn’t have a son anymore.”
“What? It wasn’t your fault. How could it be your fault?” This I didn’t expect.
“I should have been there. He was off doing something stupid. Some small-time pot deal with the wrong people and I should have been there. I should have been there with him.”
“Dylan, look at me. You didn’t know what was going to happen.”
He looks at me for a moment. I can see the pain, the despair all over his beautiful face. It doesn’t suit him. I wish I could make him realize it wasn’t his fault. It was nobody’s fault except the person who murdered my brother in cold blood.
The waiter comes with our food. Dylan takes out his chop sticks and tastes his dish. “Wow, this is so good.” Completely normal now, like we weren’t just talking about his best friend getting shot.
I decide it’s better to drop the subject for the time being.
20
Dylan
I knock on the half-open door to Prez’s office and stick my head in. “You wanted to see me Prez?”
He’s sitting at his desk reading the paper and looks a
t me over the top of it. “Dylan. Yeah, come in. I almost didn’t recognize you anymore.” He smiles.
It’s not the first comment I’ve gotten about being around less. There are two reasons I haven’t been here: One, I’m addicted to fucking Jess and there’s not a lot to be done there. And two, I’m avoiding the whole situation with Road Dawg. I don’t even like to look at him. I haven’t told anyone about his fledgling gun business and really I guess I’ve just been hoping it’s going to all blow over.
Prez puts the paper down, takes off his reading glasses then leans back in his chair. “Close the door,” he says, “Take a seat. Let’s catch up.”
When I sit down, I remember the first time I was in here: I was a prospect; I’d been hanging around for a while, just eating everything up. Anything at all remotely related to bikes or the club was all I could think about. And if the club was like a heaven to me, then Prez was God. I was raw but he sat me down here and straightened me out a bit. He’s a patient man. I remember he told me the club isn’t perfect, and the guys in the club aren’t to be worshiped. It’s more like a family: there will be disagreements, fights, but in the end we look out for each other. That was the day he told me I was being put up for my patch. One of the happiest days of my life.
“You haven’t been around much lately,” he says.
“I’ve been around.”
He laughs. “Okay, if you say so. But I know for a fact you haven’t slept here in a couple weeks.”
I start to protest but he puts his hand up. “It’s fine,” he says. “It’s that girl, isn’t it? She’s a doctor right?”
I nod. “Yeah. Her name is Jess.”
“Good, good. There’s nothing wrong with that, man. You should bring her around here more often. If you don’t think we’ll scare her off that is.”
“She doesn’t scare that easily,” I say.
He nods and looks off towards the wall, smiling. “I remember when I fell in love with Brenda. Man, I was head-over-heels. Everything I did, I was thinking about how it might affect things with her.”
I say, “I’m not putting her above the club if that’s what you mean. And I’m definitely not in love.” I don’t even know what the fuck ‘in love’ is.
“Relax.” He leans over his desk, and rests on his old, cracked elbows. “It’s good to have a little love in your life. I know some of the guys around here might think I’m soft for saying something like that—and don’t get me wrong, I would put my life on the line for any damn one of them—but frankly, they don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about when it comes to this stuff.
“A woman,” he says, “can round off the edges in you a little. And they can be a great fucking ally. They’re smart as hell and more ruthless than we are when they need to be. I guarantee you that. You just don’t see it much because they don’t have to use it very often. I’ve been married for… shit, twenty-one years now. Did you know that? And I’ll tell you one thing, I wouldn’t trade it for all the pussy in the whole fucking world. She’s my rock.”
I nod along but I would rather not be talking about all this. “It’s just a fling,” I say when he finishes. But I know damn well that’s a lie. I’ve been telling myself that lately but it doesn’t mean a thing. It’s more than a fling but the question is what am I going to do about it.
I have no fucking clue.
“Well,” Prez says, “whatever it is, that’s not why I asked you in here.”
“Okay. What’s up?”
“Where do you see yourself long-term with the Rebel Storm?”
“What do you mean? I’m in this for life. This is everything to me.”
“I know. That’s not what I’m asking. I mean what role do you see yourself playing?”
“I’m a soldier. I follow orders. I wreck shop when I’m told and I hang back when that’s what’s needed.”
He frowns, doesn’t seem to like that answer. “You see, I knew you were going to say something like that.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“There’s nothing wrong with it. An MC needs good soldiers to survive. The soldiers are like the legs, the arms, the fists. But all that doesn’t matter if there isn’t a good head on top. The soldiers need a general.”
“That’s your job,” I say.
“That’s my job right now. But everything comes to an end, and it’s not going to be my job forever. I’m sixty-two years old. I’ll ride my bike until the day I die and you can take that to the bank. But there comes a time when the younger generation needs to step up and take over.”
“Yeah, well, then Road Dawg is next in line. He’s the VP. Everybody knows that.”
Prez raises his eyebrows. “He is the VP but that doesn’t mean he’s next in line. Maybe he becomes President and maybe he doesn’t. It’s up to the Club, really. But he damn sure isn’t the anointed one despite what he might try to make people think.”
“Are you saying he wouldn’t make a good president?” I’m fishing here. I want to just tell him everything about Vegas right now. Let him sort it out. But ratting on a brother is almost as bad as talking to the police in this world.
“Road Dawg is a good VP. I can’t argue with that. He brings… let’s say he brings a different perspective to things. It’s no secret that we don’t agree on a lot and I think that’s healthy. A family fights. You don’t want to surround yourself with a bunch of guys that just nod their heads like idiots and say yes. We got to be smart. Like I said, he’s a good VP but he doesn’t have the long-range thinking to the run the whole show in my opinion.”
I don’t know where this is all going.
Prez narrows his eyes, looks at me. “You know who has it?”
I shake my head.
He points at me. “You do.”
“What?”
“Yeah. I knew it from the very beginning. You have loyalty, and brains, and balls. Those are the most important things for a President. Road Dawg has only one of those three on his best day and I’ll let you decide which one.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want the job. I’m happy doing what I’m doing. Cracking heads. It’s what I’m good at it. Besides, nobody would back me.”
“You’d be surprised. And I’m not saying I’m going to retire tomorrow, but I want to start looping you in on things. Let you get your feet wet. I know you’re happy where you are, but life isn’t always about what makes you happy. You also have to think about the people around you, the people you love. You have to think about what you can do for them too.
“Times are hard for MCs,” he says. “Clubs that I thought would be around forever have folded. Between the Feds on one side, and the gangbangers moving in on our business interests on the other side, it’s hard out there for us one-percenters. And nobody has any fucking loyalty any more. Guys rat, stab each other in the back. It’s a disgrace.”
I just sit there. I have no idea what to do with this.
“Anyway,” he says. “Think about it. Okay? That’s all I’m asking.”
When I come out of Prez’s office, Road Dawg is sitting at the bar by himself. He sees me and calls me over.
“Have a drink with me,” he says. There’s a half-empty bottle of Jack in front of him. He slides a glass over to me and pours it full.
“How’s it going?” I ask. The whiskey burns as I sip it.
“How’s it going? You would know if you bothered to show your face around here. Where the hell have you been?”
“I’ve been around,” I say.
“Bullshit. You’ve been banging that nurse chick haven’t you?”
“She’s a doctor.”
“Oh la-di-da. Excuse me.”
I put the glass down, swirl it on the bar top so the brown liquid makes a mini-hurricane. “How’s your Vegas thing going?” I ask.
He looks at me hard, then looks around the empty clubhouse. “That’s personal business,” he says. “I’m doing a favor for a friend. And if I find out you’re spreading around my personal business, I
will personally beat your fucking ass.”
I hold up my hands. “I was just asking,” I say. “I think it’s genius, going to Nevada to get guns. We’re going to need all the guns we can get our hands on.”
“You’re damn right,” he says, before slamming his whiskey back and refilling his glass. “Listen, you need to keep your head in the fucking game. Shit is heating up around here and if I get my way, there’s going to be some changes. You want to make sure you’re on the right side of those changes. You understand what I’m saying?”
I nod.
“You,” he says, “are a fucking soldier. Ride or die, mother fucker. Sure, go get your dick wet. I’m not going to fault a man for that. But don’t start playing house. That girl ain’t like you man. She ain’t like us. No woman is worth your balls. Pussy is a dime a dozen. Besides, what if some shit went down and you weren’t around because you’re off getting a piece of ass? You got me?”
I look him in the eye. “I got you.” I finish the rest of the whiskey. “Good talk,” I say. Then I go to my room and lay down.
I look at the clock in my car for the thousandth time. It says 4pm so I start the engine. Jess and I have this system where she leaves the house at a certain time, usually saying she’s going for a walk, or to the store or whatever, and I pick her up on a street outside our neighborhood.
Maybe all the sneaking around isn’t necessary, but neither of us wants her brother or her parents finding out about us. Whatever us is. I honestly have no idea right now. But me living with them definitely complicates things. And I’m a year older than her. I’m eighteen, she’s seventeen. I think it’s technically illegal for us to be together, not that something like that would stop me. Let’s just say there’s a lot of reasons to keep it a secret.
I creep along down the street until I see her walking on the side of the road, and I pull up next to her. She looks around to make sure there’s no cars around before she jumps in.
“Anybody see you leave the house?” I ask.
“Nobody was home, so I left a note,” she says. Her hand reaches out to take mine and we rest them on my thigh while we drive. Lately we’ve been going to a big park about twenty minutes from our house where there’s lots of space and we can just park the car in one of the back parking lots and there’s usually nobody around.
