Her gaze flickered to his hair again and he pulled on it. “See? It’s attached to my fucking scalp just like yours.”
“I have a friend and her boyfriend has these twisty things. He’s growing dreads. I think that’s what they’re called. I keep thinking with your face, you’d be beautiful, if you got them, too. I’m not trying to offend you.”
He crouched down and smiled at her, her answer softening his attitude. “Twisty things?” he asked with a laugh. “Try twists.”
Relief settled into her face and she looked over her shoulder for what must’ve been the millionth time, focusing on one dude in particular, a brawny man with leathery skin that only hours in the sun caused. The others pretended to be occupied by other shit. Not this man, though, and Luke realized the word President was on his cut, too.
“Why do you keep looking toward them?”
“The Cobras are trying to…trying to…I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I was just told if you didn’t look happy, they wouldn’t be happy. I don’t like it when they aren’t happy.”
He fell back on his haunches and backed up until he felt the wall behind him, right near the door. “Are you in trouble?”
“Not yet. I haven’t made you angry.”
“If you did?”
“Then Chip would be upset.”
Luke picked up Snow’s habit and looked toward the table. Apparently, their group had some kind of hypnotic powers that kept drawing his and Snow’s attention. “Leatherhead is Chip?”
She giggled, but nodded. “That’s my old man.”
He wasn’t hearing this right. Her old man? As in… “Your boyfriend?”
“If that’s the way you understand it.”
“Is there another goddamn way?”
“Our way,” she said with a shrug. “Their way. Brotherhood. Freedom. The open road.”
The concept of her words appealed to Luke. Maybe not the open road, since he didn’t know how to ride, but brotherhood and freedom? Yeah.
“Pussy, pussy, and more pussy, if you want it,” she added and, for the first time, Luke got the impression Snow really wanted to give him pussy.
And, for the first time, since he’d started talking to her, he wanted to get pussy from her. Reason and caution reared up. He might be walking into a trap where Snow would get his dick out and in her, and one of these rough bikers would stab him or shoot him. Or, so caution told him. Reason reminded him of Char. Just because she needed to explore sex with other men didn’t mean he had to do it with other girls.
A hand fluttered to his crotch while the other balanced on his chest as Snow straddled him, rocking against his hard dick. He’d managed to ignore it the entire time she’d been near him, but with her on him, it was almost impossible.
Her mouth settled over his and he groaned, a need to fuck roaring through him. He grabbed Snow’s waist and thrust up, wishing he didn’t have the jeans on and she didn’t have her thong.
The door pushed open and Snow pulled back, looking up, drawing Luke’s gaze that way, too. A line of girls streamed in and he panted, his eyes almost bugging out of his head.
Fuck.
Pussy, pussy, pussy! Pussy for fucking days with the ten extra girls strutting in, followed by K-P, Sinner, Rack, and Big Joe.
Big Joe spotted him and drew his brows together. The entire atmosphere changed. Chip got to his feet and started over. Snow scrambled up, too. Nervous now, Luke stood and dusted his jeans off, realizing his fly was open.
“What the fuck you doing by the door, boy?”
Before Luke responded to Big Joe’s sharp question, the man turned to Chip. “Why the fuck you got my boy by the door?”
“That’s where the fuck he stayed,” Chip bit out. “I sent my bitch over to welcome him and he didn’t move.”
“Where’s my other boy?”
“Balls and tongue deep in pussy in the back.”
K-P squinted at Luke and folded his arms. “You satisfied, son?”
“I would’ve been,” he snapped. “In about ten minutes if you hadn’t fucking interrupted.”
“Wouldn’t have fucking interrupted if your ass would’ve been somewhere else,” Big Joe growled, nodding to Snow. “Take him in the back and give him the special treatment.” He crooked his finger and another girl bounced over, one of the ones who’d walked in before Big Joe and K-P. “Go help Snow fuck him, Willow,” he ordered.
Unlike Snow who’d seemed frightened at first, Willow, a pretty brown-haired girl with blue eyes, smirked at him. She dropped to her knees, shoved his hands out of the way, and freed his dick.
This time, Luke buried his hands in her hair and let her suck away.
If that’s what they wanted to do, who was he to stop them?
Chapter Four: Going Back to Cali
2 months later
Luke didn’t want to leave Hortensia. That first, bumpy week, he learned not all words were meant as insults and not all insults were malicious. As the days went on, hostilities—from his end as well as others—lessened. They saw he was a God-fearing man, who loved his country, and had loyalty in him, while he saw what they expected of him, they expected from everyone. He’d been accepted and he’d accepted words and actions at face value. No more questions asked. No more crazy looks given. Well, not many, anyway.
Once or twice he’d run into a Lowman-type asshole, but Outlaw had Luke’s back. He wouldn’t hesitate to right any malicious insult given to him. Not only Outlaw, either. K-P and Big Joe would, too. More so than Sharper. Big Joe even promised if things worked out for Luke and he patched in, he could bring his little brother in as a probate.
Yet, tomorrow, Big Joe was making him leave. Putting him on an airplane and sending him back to Sharper and Char.
Nostrils flaring, he stretched out on the grass, just outside the shitty, dilapidated kitchen at the MC. The first time Luke had seen the room with leaky ceilings, cracking floors, and appliances that had seen better days, he’d eaten out for five days straight. Then, there’d been a party at the MC, where Big Joe expected his attendance, so he’d had no choice but to give in.
Food was pretty good, when the girls who were Dweller property cooked. When K-P cooked, Luke pretended he was at a five-star restaurant. Motherfucker knew what he was doing. Big Joe? Not so much. Rack? Not at all. Outlaw was good with the basics. Shit. After not getting ptomaine poisoning, he’d started eating at the club more often than not. He couldn’t spend every bit of money he earned running odd jobs with Outlaw.
Luke blinked up at the blanket of dark sky, not caring about the temperature drop. Summer weather there had been perfect for him, especially the low humidity. In LA, there were so many variations just within a few miles’ radius. Beach temperatures, valley temperatures, mountain temperatures. It wasn’t one or two degrees, either. Evenings were cool, almost similar to how it was here, but the skies he gazed up at were clearer, vaster. Welcoming.
Or, maybe, that was his perception because he felt so much better here, that he made everything peachy keen.
Who the fuck knew?
All he knew was he was going back to Cali.
The door creaked open then thudded shut. A moment later, the grass crunched and Luke turned his head, squinting to make out who belonged to the shape moving toward him.
“Yo’, Luke.”
Tension eased from his body and he relaxed again at Outlaw’s voice. He might’ve felt accepted, but the men inside carried weapons. They also worked on testosterone overload, ready to fight, maim, or kill in a heartbeat.
“Outlaw,” Luke responded.
No answer. Instead, Outlaw’s head pressed against the twists in his hair.
“Yo’, motherfucker, any fuckin’ reason we layin’ crown-to-crown on the fuckin’ grass?” he asked after several minutes of silence.
Luke laughed. “I was stretching out, dumb ass. Wasn’t no we in it.”
“Ain’t so, motherfucker,” Outlaw said with a snicker. “You were poutin’ out.”
“No, son, I was out here enjoying—” He made an arc of his hands— “this.”
“Come on, Luke. I gotta show you somethin’.”
Most of the time, Outlaw gave Luke a choice about doing shit. Other times, like now, the words were actually orders. Getting to his feet, Luke dusted off his clothes and started forward, bumping right into the other man.
“Ouch, fuck,” he complained, holding his head after colliding with Outlaw’s body. His shoulder, maybe?
“You shoulda brought a fuckin’ campin’ lamp out, bug fuck.”
“You don’t have one,” Luke grumbled back.
“I ain’t the stupid motherfucker who need one.”
“Whatever.” It wasn’t as if Outlaw had superhero infrared and x-ray vision.
“My line of work, you ain’t always havin’ the luxury of light. You gotta fuckin’ learn to adjust your vision and your hearin’. Most of all, you gotta trust your fuckin’ instincts.”
“What line of work?” As far as Luke knew, Outlaw was jobless. Still a Probate.
“This where I’m takin’ you to show you what the fuck I really do. Maybe, then, you ain’t bein’ so dick happy to stay.”
“My dick been very happy since it’s been here. I’m happy I fucking named it. Any motherfucker having that much fun can’t just be an it or an appendage. Or whatever. Gotta be a Roscoe.”
They halted right by the door, the only way out of this little patch of green.
“Wait ‘til I share this shit.” He howled with laughter. “You got fuckin’ issues, Luke.”
“Asshole,” he gritted as Outlaw threw open the door and held it open for him so Luke could pass.
“Might fuckin’ be a asshole, but I ain’t namin’ my dick and shit,” he blared the moment they stepped into the main room.
Not much was going on tonight, which meant Outlaw’s words were clearly heard.
K-P leaned on the bar, hitting his glass for Matthew—wearing a cut with the word Probate on it—to bring him another drink. Luke stiffened, feeling betrayed twice over. K-P had been teaching Luke how to serve behind the bar. Now, he’d already been replaced by the asshole who had slept with Char.
Big Joe insisted Luke beat Matt’s ass, to get the hostility out of the way. Shit like that was hard to forget, though. Lately, he’d wavered in his dislike. Since the night he’d met Snow, Char hadn’t called him or texted him. Nor had she responded to any of his calls and texts.
“You name your cock?” K-P asked with a lift of his brow.
“Fuck off,” Luke grunted, waves of shame hitting him.
A chair scraped from the other side of the room and Luke watched as Big Joe rose to his feet, always a presence wherever he went. Seeing him now pissed Luke off. He shoved his hands in the pocket of his jeans and clenched his jaw, glancing away.
“You fucked off with me, Luke?” he asked, the humor lacing his voice increasing Luke’s anger.
“More like him and Roscoe fucked off with you,” Outlaw called, remorseless. He grabbed a bottle from Matt and swigged it, before jamming his hand inside his cut and pulling out a baggie. “Come on. Still ain’t showed you what I gotta.”
“Motherfucker still hasn’t answered me,” Big Joe stressed, roaming over to where Luke stood, like some Viking poltergeist. “You mad with me?”
“You such a smart motherfucker,” Luke growled, narrowing his eyes at the man. “You fucking figure it out.”
Okay, so snarling that to a Viking poltergeist motherfucker wasn’t the smartest idea. Luke was just lucky his jaw wasn’t broken as he picked his ass up off the floor and staggered to a stool.
“That was a yes or no answer,” Big Joe explained in conversational tones. “Your fucking commentary wasn’t required. As a matter of fact, shit like that gets your fucking face broken. Now answer me.”
Everyone deferred to Big Joe, although it was odd watching how the man interacted with Outlaw, amending his orders to fit Outlaw’s sense of pride. Having dealt with Logan himself, Luke understood why Big Joe would want Outlaw to feel like a man. Every now and then, he exercised his authority and showed who the boss was.
Outlaw had special circumstances. Luke didn’t. He was just fucking tired of backing down to the man. If he really belonged, he could step out of line and get his ass beat, then have it forgotten.
But, fuck it, if that shit didn’t hurt like a motherfucker. He rubbed his jaw, grunting when Boss hit him on the other side.
“I’ll just take that as a no,” he said and stepped over Luke’s body.
Luke struggled to a sitting position, pain streaking through him. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and glared at the man’s retreating form. “Yeah, I’m fucking angry with your ass,” he called, wincing when Big Joe halted and turned.
Those narrowed blue eyes, focused solely on Luke, scared the fuck out of him. Outlaw lounged against a wall, smoking a cigarette, his face inscrutable. The closer Boss got, the more inscrutable Outlaw’s look became.
Figuring that was his ass, Luke hung his head in his hands. After seventy-six days of being there and remaining alive, he’d fucked up on the last night. Legs braced apart, Big Joe stood above him.
“Get to your feet.”
He wanted to stay the fuck on the floor and beg like a bitch. Or at least ask for a painless death, but he wasn’t a coward, so he got to his feet as ordered and kept his glare in place, trembling like fuck on the inside.
Instead of making him bleed, Big Joe put his hands on Luke’s shoulders. “I’m not throwing you away. I’m giving you options for your future.” He lowered his voice. “Can’t make up for the shit I did with Joey and Christopher. It’s done. But I’m not making those mistakes over. You came here to get your head together with every intentions of going back to LA to graduate high school. At least do that. You’re welcomed at my club anytime.” He patted his shoulders and repeated louder, more succinct, “I’m not throwing you away.”
Luke hadn’t really thought about the situation that way, but he realized that’s how he felt. Rejected and abandoned again.
“C’mon, Luke,” Outlaw called quietly, heading for the door.
Big Joe smiled, almost fatherly, and nodded, stepping back.
Without another word, Luke followed behind Outlaw, the ache in his chest easing. If his father and Char didn’t want him, at least he had a place here.
The smell hit Luke first and everything he’d eaten today twisted in his gut.
Outlaw didn’t move, just stared at him steadily and held the door open to one of the newer outbuildings. It looked in better condition than the MC as a matter of fact. Behind Outlaw, a dim light cast an eerie backdrop to the man, swallowing him up in shadows. As he blocked Luke’s view inside, he looked like death, pieces of his black hair falling against the silhouette of his forehead.
“You ain’t got to come in. This shit not pretty.”
The smell wasn’t pretty. It was sweet and rancid and dead. Suddenly, he knew what Outlaw protected him from. A body.
Bile rose to Luke’s throat and he staggered back, trying to convince his feet to spin around, run away, and never return. Outlaw was giving him that option, too. Somehow, stepping into this outbuilding would be an irrevocable turning point. The sentiment went unspoken and, yet, it just weighted the air.
He was three months away from his eighteenth birthday and he’d grown up in the days he’d been here more than he had in the past five years. He’d had more sex, drank more alcohol, attended more parties, and involved himself in a few nefarious activities, than he’d ever had. The MC was about brotherhood, but it was about freedom and personal choice, too. All the shit he’d done hadn’t been forced upon him. He’d made the choice to do it.
Luke wasn’t such a dumb ass that he didn’t know if he patched in, there wouldn’t be a hierarchy and a protocol he’d need to follow. But, fuck, the same thing went for regular society, people the club called civilians. And, “civilians” could be cruel fucks, crueler than the men peg
ged with the term.
“Why do you want me to see what’s in there?”
“Cuz, motherfucker. You ain’t wantin’ to leave. You need to know what the fuck you mournin’ when you walk away.”
A frown creased Luke’s brow and he pressed his lips together. It hit him that he hadn’t thrown up and he’d also gotten used to the smell. He swallowed, suddenly afraid of what that meant. Of whom that made him.
“Show me,” he pushed out.
Outlaw backed out of the doorway and allowed Luke to brush past him. The sight made him dizzy and his legs weakened beneath him. He plopped on his ass and stared in horrified fascination. It wasn’t a body.
It was fucking body parts. And blood. And…Jesus Christ.
His brain made his gut rebel and he leaned over, losing the contents of his stomach.
“You seen enough? Or you wanna sit and get a drink with me?”
“In here?” he got out, although vomit chunks and juice stuck in his throat and made him hoarse.
“Yeah, Luke. In here. Otherwise, lemme take you somewhere so you can get in some pussy for your last night. You can fuckin’ leave and don’t ever look fuckin’ back.”
Wiping his mouth, Luke got to his feet. “Why the fuck you doin’ this? Tryin’ to push me away? I thought you and me were friends.”
Outlaw dug in his cut and pulled out a flask, drinking from it before answering. He gave him a half-smile. “You think we ain’t? What kinda friend would I be if I letcha get the fuck on a plane, thinkin’ we just about roughin’ motherfuckers up, gettin’ pussy, and havin’ each other backs?” He nodded to the pieces. “This the other side. You be a stupid motherfucker and fuck over the club, this how you fuckin’ end up. If you part of us, then it might be your job to do this bullshit. Ain’t nothin’ like bein’ locked in this motherfucker with a fuckin’ dead man, Luke. Nothin’ like that shit at all. Worse, you fuckin’ locked in here and can’t fuckin’ leave ‘til a body becomes what you seein’ in here.” He drank again and bowed his head. “Nothin’ like that shit,” he repeated.
“Big Joe locked you—”
“Boss ain’t fuckin’ ‘round to protect me all the time. Just like I ain’t gonna be ‘round to watch over you all the time. They got some sadistic motherfuckers ‘round this motherfucker. Assfucks majored in Logan Fucking 101.” Outlaw’s eyes glittered and he finished the bottle off. “Well, fuck ‘em. I got Outlaw Fucking 501. Advanced shit that make ‘em know if they fuck with me, they fuckin’ with their lives. I ain’t gonna lie and say I didn’t cry that night. Fuckin’ sixteen and locked in here with a body thanks to Rack and fuckin’ Joey. I ain’t ever forgettin’ that shit. If I could stomp their fuckin’ hearts out I would. That shit did somethin’ to me. But Boss was gonna be gone a fuckin’ week. If I wanted to eat, I had to do what the fuck I had to do.”
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 179
