Patriot

by Trent Jordan

  I worked on him from there, using a combination of my mouth and my hand to push him further and further along. Just as he had with me, I made it a point to not rush the process. I wanted Michael to feel every movement of my tongue, every stroke of my hand, until the moment of release. I typically wasn’t much of a swallower, but for Michael, I wanted all of it. I wanted him to feel the best kind of pleasure and not have to worry mid-orgasm about cleaning himself up.

  And sure enough, although Michael didn’t exactly blow his load within thirty seconds of starting, it didn’t take nearly as long to get him to where he was stiffening and hardening in my mouth as it had for me to reach climax.

  “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” he said, his words barely comprehensible.

  His words were all a delight, really, even if I couldn’t understand it. Rather than go faster, though, I slowed down, the better to extend the period just before he’d climax.

  But ironically, it seemed to have the opposite effect. Instead, he finished in me faster than I anticipated, but as I had promised myself, I made sure to swallow all of him, taking him entirely into me. I held firm, even as his hips shook.

  I swallowed it all, licked my lips, and sat back on my legs, satisfied with the work I had done. Michael just laid on the couch, groaning and still unable to speak. I’d sit there and look at that man all night if I could. It wasn’t a question of hot or attractive.

  It was both.

  “Fuck... you know, you want to know something honest?”

  Those words might have scared me in a bunch of other contexts, but with Michael, somehow, it felt like I was about to hear something good.

  “Sure.”

  Michael smiled.

  “I wanted to kiss you, but I didn’t want to have sex with you yet,” he said. “I want this to go deeper than that. I don’t... I don’t know what to call it, other than me liking you, but I think we could have something real.”

  It was sweet to hear, and it was something that I one hundred percent agreed with. I wasn’t naive enough to think this was going to develop into something special just because we’d done this once, but I did know that this was unlike anything I had experienced in a long, long time—and I wasn’t referring to orgasm.

  I closed my eyes and eventually fell asleep on him. I didn’t know when exactly. But I just knew that as I drifted off, I felt as comfortable next to a man as I had in long, long time.

  Patriot

  I had a lot of mixed feelings when I woke up the next day far earlier than I normally did.

  Whenever I thought about her arm resting across my body, why I had no pants on, or the gentle breathing of Kaitlyn by my side, I felt incredibly happy. I hadn’t articulated this exact thought the night before, knowing that it would just scare her off, but no one had made me feel so comfortable and at ease since Jennifer. There was just something about her that made me feel at ease.

  But unfortunately, as soon as the circle of thought extended beyond the couch and to other people, it became a haphazard mess.

  The thought about not being able to trust Lane had, unfortunately, wormed its way deep into my mind, and I was not able to shake it. It was stupid, of course. Lane was my best friend, perhaps the only person worthy of the title “friend” in the Black Reapers... but if it was that stupid, why had it stuck around?

  And if I could not trust Lane, then who the hell could I trust in the club? In my life? If I couldn’t trust my best friend, why would I suddenly be able to trust older members that I didn’t know at all?

  As I thought about it, I realized how ridiculous it sounded. Lane had undergone such a radical transformation in the last few weeks, becoming more involved, willing to put his life on the line. It would have been much easier for him to just fake it and eventually sell everyone out for murder and some blood money later.

  And yet...

  I need to talk to Lane. I need to make sure things are fine. If nothing else...

  Fucking hell. I can’t believe I’m having these thoughts. But I am. I absolutely am.

  I stood up, put my boxers and jeans on, and started to make some coffee and breakfast. I was dead tired and craved going back to the couch, but the power of doubt had won out over the power of dreams.

  About five minutes into making my meal, I heard Kaitlyn stirring on the couch, gently moaning as she awoke. I stole a glimpse of her, looking so beautiful on the couch. Call it selfish or just silly, but I wanted her to come to me, in a half-awake state, and just hold me. I wanted to feel valued. I wanted to feel her arms around me.

  Seconds later, I got my wish. Her arms went around my shoulders, and she planted a gentle, tender kiss on my cheek.

  “How are you?” I said as I flipped some bacon.

  “Mmm.”

  It was all she could muster before she kissed me again on the cheek.

  “If you want some coffee, there’s some about to be ready right over there.”

  Kaitlyn scratched my arm in response, too sleepy to say anything in full English. I understood the feeling.

  She poured herself a cup and took a few sips. It was like watching the curtain on a theatrical stage slowly start to rise—her eyes became more alert, looked up more, and her lips curved up along with that imaginary curtain.

  “I haven’t slept like that in a long, long time,” she said. “What are you going to do today? I have off, you know.”

  I had my suspicions that this was an invitation to stay in all day and fool around. I certainly wouldn’t have said no to that under a lot of circumstances, even if last night the release from her mouth was enough to prevent me from going straight to sex too quickly.

  But though Kaitlyn’s presence made me happy, it was not giving me the peace I needed with the club. Only I could get that for myself. As wonderful as Kaitlyn was, she was not a goddess. She may have looked like one and acted like one, but alas, I was not about to idolize or deify her. No one in this life deserved such status.

  “As much as I would like to, I’ve got to go to the club and take care of some business. And I have to do it alone.”

  Kaitlyn’s smile dropped a bit, albeit more at mentioning I had to go to the club, not that I had to go alone. I didn’t think she even wanted to be a part of the club, anyways, no matter how much I showed my affection for her.

  “I understand,” she said. “I don’t suppose you’ll want to talk about it.”

  I chuckled. No, I did not. And that was doubly true after Lane had admitted he’d revealed club secrets to Angela. I extra cautious to make sure that I didn’t do anything as stupid as that.

  “Not right now,” I said. “But maybe after the end of the day, we can hang out.”

  Be careful. You may not deify or idolize her, but if you’re not careful, if you cause a lot of chaos with your words at the club, man. You might just be heading for a spot where you have to pick between her and them.

  And if it comes to that, you had better truly make the right choice.

  I left after eating breakfast with Kaitlyn. She didn’t fight my departure too much, as she could easily pick up on the fact that I was feeling anxious about getting back to the club, but she certainly did not hide her desire for me or her interest in me coming to her later. I couldn’t even think that far ahead right now. I just wanted to get to the club, talk to Lane, and see if I could broach the question without destroying my friendship.

  When I pulled up, Lane was already waiting outside for me, arms folded, a scowl on his face. Maybe shit was going to blow up faster than I had anticipated.

  “What’s going on?” I said, suddenly wondering if I was the one being accused today.

  “Come to church, Patriot,” he said. “I have some things that I’m bringing to a head today.”

  Shit. Am I really about to get accused here? Was this all some sort of grand plan where I’m the one revealed to be a spy? It didn’t make any sense, but Lane was taking on a type of tone that I’d never seen him have before—rigid focus and determination with me. He might
have had it with club business, but with me...

  I followed him, ignoring the looks that came our way. Lane did not say hello to anyone or touch anyone as we moved forward. We might as well have been two men alone in a repair shop.

  Lane opened the door to church, and I stepped inside. There was only one other person inside.

  Axle.

  Oh, fuck.

  I turned to Lane, but he was already headed to his seat. I realized now what was happening—Lane was about to bring the accusation forward. He was going to make his stand against Axle here. It may have been the three of us, but this was, for all intents and purposes, a public accusation.

  I could not even begin to express how much I hated this idea. The time and place to accuse Axle was not in the heat of the aftermath of battle. It was not when either of us was hot or out of control emotionally. It was when we were so coldly objective, so rational, that a robot would have told us to lighten up.

  “Good morning, Axle,” Lane said, but there was nothing polite in his voice. Axle, to his credit, kept the same serene, stoic look on his face, which was a damn good thing considering how much of a panicked expression I must have had. “Patriot and I have been having some conversations recently that we feel you need to be let in on. Patriot?”

  I gulped as Axle looked my way. I shot a glance at Lane, wanting to fucking smack him for making me be the guy that suddenly had to be the one to levy the accusation. Was this just some sort of backhanded, bullshit political play so that his hands would be clean if Axle was exonerated?

  My suspicions about Lane were becoming, unfortunately, more pronounced by the second.

  “What is it, Patriot?” Axle said.

  He sounded like he had an idea of what was coming, but he didn’t want to force himself to commit to any given outcome until he had to. Lane kept tilting his head as if waiting for me to deliver the bad news.

  I took a deep breath.

  “Well,” I began.

  I knew my duty. I knew Lane’s expectations. I understood the President could not be the one to dirty his hands.

  But...

  I couldn’t pull the trigger.

  We did not have any type of evidence, only suspicion. We had just gotten off an ugly retaliation for which I was admittedly not present, but I had not seen anything to suggest Axle was guilty beforehand. At best, pulling the trigger would spark so much chaos that the real spy would be revealed. At worst...

  The best-case scenario was not justifiable enough.

  “Truth be told, Axle,” I said, thinking as quickly on my feet as I could. “Lane and I have been in conversation to make me a second VP to try and diversify options. As the Fallen Saints are increasing their pressure, we need to make sure we can handle any type of danger accordingly. And so... that’s what we wanted to see. With you as current VP, if you want to have any input on it.”

  I knew Axle knew I was completely full of shit. I could see by the look in Lane’s eyes that he was about to beat the shit out of me. Both men knew that what I’d said was nonsense for different reasons.

  But was I going to change? Was I going to sacrifice long-term stability for some short-term peace?

  No.

  “I see,” Axle said. “And what would you do as a new VP?”

  I bullshitted for a little bit longer, but I could see Lane seething more and more with every spoken word. Axle seemed to have picked up on the need to play the theatrical part because he kept asking questions, but there was only so long we had before Lane would—

  “Alright, thank you, Axle,” Lane said, barely able to contain his anger. “Please leave so I can discuss this matter further with Patriot. Thank you for your time.”

  Axle nodded to Lane. He turned to me, gave what amounted to a barely perceptible smile—does he suspect we suspect him? Or am I imagining things?—and walked out. The door had barely shut before Lane grabbed his gavel and threw it against the table with such force, it was a minor miracle that the damn thing didn’t break.

  “What in the actual fuck was that, Patriot?” Lane said, his voice just a half-level below a full scream. “You know what I brought you in here for. And you pull that shit?”

  “Do you want me to answer you, or do you just want to scream at me?”

  Lane laughed and held out his hand, sarcastically encouraging me to continue.

  “No, please, I would love to know why I’ve confided in you all of this, and the minute that it comes time for us to push forward, you back off like a pussy.”

  “Do you even hear yourself?” I said, brushing off his words. “Do you even hear how you sound? You’re raging with blind anger right now. You’re not in any condition to make an accusation like that. Hell, you’re not in any condition to process if such an accusation can be made. None of us are. We got attacked—”

  “Because we keep fucking sitting on our asses, Patriot,” Lane said, treating my word like a curse. “We know that someone in this club is trying to get us all killed. The only time we have managed to avoid any serious drama is when we bring everyone along and make it impossible for someone to pull something under our noses. And your advice is to sit tight and let possible rats just walk out with some fucking nonsense about second VPs?”

  Lane shook his head in disgust before kicking over a chair.

  “Whose fucking side are you on, anyway?” Lane said.

  And there it is.

  “The fuck does that mean, man?” I said.

  I could handle a lot of accusations thrown my way. I could handle being called soft. I could handle being called a pretty boy. I could handle people saying I wasn’t cut out to be a biker.

  But to be called a traitor? To be accused of doing the very thing that ruined my life, ruined my marriage, and took away my two best friends?

  That was unforgivable.

  “I mean that you want the violence against us to stop, right? You want us to win the war against the fucking Fallen Saints? Then you must surely recognize the need to get the traitor.”

  Lane’s words should have calmed me down enough that I didn’t have enough anger to say something stupid. He spoke with a fury that made it difficult to parse the meaning from the emotion, but they weren’t further fuel for the fire.

  Unfortunately, because he had gotten me so enraged, it was also impossible for me to make that distinction. And so, I fired back with the worst.

  “I do,” I said. “Maybe I’m looking at him right now.”

  There were a million ways to introduce that possibility. I picked the worst one. And the result was exactly what one would have expected.

  Lane started by grabbing the gavel and throwing it at me. I turtled up and avoided the worst of it, deflecting it with my shoulder.

  But then came Lane slamming me against the wall.

  And then my military instincts kicked in.

  Had this been a normal fight, one in which I didn’t have my loyalty questioned, I would have fought just enough to incapacitate Lane to the point of unconsciousness. I wouldn’t have fought to kill. But because Lane had triggered that, I turned into an animal. I turned into a ravaged, uncontrolled monster staring at not my friend, but my enemy.

  My sworn enemy now.

  I drove my knee into Lane’s groin. I grabbed his head and slammed him into the wall, knocking some paintings down. I swept his legs out from under him, drove him to the ground with my hand on his neck, and punched him right in the face. I mounted him.

  And when I did, I saw what I had always wanted.

  I didn’t see Lane’s face anymore. Instead, I saw the face of my old commanding officer, the man responsible for the deaths of my friends and the destruction of my life. I’d never gotten the chance to kill him, but now, it was as if life was giving me that chance. Life was allowing me to destroy that which had destroyed so much in my life. I drove one fist into the face.

  It laughed at me.

  I drove another first down hard.

  The face again laughed at me.

  I r
aised my fist for what would have been possibly a fatal blow.

  But will it do any good?

  Is it going to bring your friends back?

  Is it going to undo the betrayal?

  No.

  It wasn’t.

  Whatever I did to Lane here, whether I knocked him out, whether I killed him, whether I stood up, it wouldn’t change what had happened that day in Iraq. I had kept looking for a solution from the outside, but there was no solution. Some problems could not be solved, only understood.

  I had to change my perspective on it, but that was impossible. I had not spoken up in the briefings leading to the mission. I had not gone into the building first. There was no way to change how my mind interpreted those events because it wasn’t like changing my mind about the quality of something. I couldn’t change my mind on a fact.

  “Fuck, Lane...” I said as he held his hands weakly to his bloody face, trying to prevent me from caving in his skull.

  Slowly, terrified of what I had almost let transpire, I stood up and backed a step away. I gulped, held out my hand, and waited to see how Lane would react. Frankly, I expected him to beat me up in return.

  Maybe a part of me almost welcomed it.

  But instead, he took it, remaining back a bit, but still using it as I helped him up.

  “You’re not the problem,” I said. “I am.”

  “What... do you mean?” Lane said as he spat blood on the ground.

  I shook my head.

  “I’m no spy,” I said. “I know the pain that that causes far too much to ever do something like that. But that doesn’t mean that I can be trusted with anything. I’m too fucked in the head right now to be trusted. Because I failed to speak up, I got my two friends killed. Now, because I speak of false truth, I might have just killed a friendship. Lane, I’m not going to hurt the club with betrayal. But right now...”