Copping an Attitude

by Morticia Knight

  “Then why don’t you?”

  Zero gestured with his index finger, and Fuzzy, the big bear of a bartender that ran the joint and tended the bar for the club, ambled on over. His mammoth salt-and-pepper beard was divided in half, the two ends braided. They reached down to the middle of his cut and there were rumors that he hadn’t trimmed it in over thirty years.

  “One more, Fuzzy. Tank? You drinkin’ or tonguing dick?”

  His friend let out a loud snort. “If things go my way, both.”

  After collecting his second beer then leaning back against the long, scarred wood counter, Zero faced the main section of their hangout. He saw the piece of ass Tank had mentioned. The almost-too-pretty man stared unwaveringly at him. He had a nice lean body, toned, well-inked—pierced nipples, and of course, what Zero knew to be his most recent piece of body jewelry that was undoubtedly pressing against the zipper of his tight denim. He was the kind of guy Zero liked to stick his dick into—smaller than him, a hungry little bottom. But he was also smug and overly aware of how he had all the men’s cocks dripping when he walked in the room. Plus, Zero had already fucked him. Once was usually enough for him with anyone.

  “Well?”

  Zero slowly turned to Tank. “Well what?”

  “You gonna tear that ass up or what?”

  “He’s all yours.”

  Tank smirked. “Let me guess. You drilled him already.”

  “Through the floor.” Zero took another swig of his beer.

  Tank shrugged. “I’m not proud. I’ll offer to break in his guiche for him.”

  Zero turned to Tank, pulling his eyebrows together. “I don’t remember Pretty Boy’s taint being pierced.”

  “It isn’t. Yet.” Tank winked at him.

  Grunting, Zero broke his gaze from Tank’s prey, his attention captured by a disturbance near the entrance to the club’s hang. He absent-mindedly wondered if a couple of chicks were trying to weasel their way in. Or maybe it was some tourists who didn’t realize that Road Rage belonged to the Sidewinders, and that the club was not only exclusively for men, but for gay men.

  The bar was open to the public, but that was primarily to attract fresh playthings who were interested in some rough action. Friends of members passing through were welcomed as well. Anyone looking to start trouble was not. There had been a few incidents over the years—especially in the early days of the forty-year-old club—where decidedly uninformed gay-bashing MC rivals had tried to start more than trouble. They’d incorrectly assumed that the Sidewinders were filled with a bunch of pansy-assed pussies. Once the bigoted fuckers had been treated to a solid beat down, they’d slunk away. That usually got the message across until the next band of idiots came along.

  It had to be someone who’d taken the wrong turn off the I-10 and driven too far into the desert. The pack of rough and tumble bikers surrounding whoever it was included the one guy in the club Zero wished he wasn’t obligated to be brothers with. Grim Taylor was the type of dickhole who enjoyed smashing heads for no reason. Zero didn’t go for that. It was the hallmark of a man with no honor, no loyalty. That was the very last attribute that a fellow MC brother should have. Zero wasn’t the only one who felt that way, but no one dared go against him. He was the Prez’s nephew.

  And Zero would never go against Shock Taylor. When Zero had been a foster kid runaway, Shock had taken him in and had been like a substitute dad. He’d worked it out so that Zero had never had to go back into the system, never had to go back to the hideous abuse he’d suffered over the years. One of the many things the club was immersed in was fake IDs and new identities. They had their own laws, their own rules. If they deemed that someone was being treated unjustly and would never be given a fair chance through the common legal methods—they fixed it. Shock had fixed Zero in more ways than one.

  Not that he wasn’t still somewhat broken, probably always would be. Although Zero respected and was grateful to Shock, he pretty much kept to himself. Trust had been the weakness that had almost done him in when he’d been a kid, anxious for love and acceptance. He winced. There were scars on his body and several more permanently etched in his spirit because of trust. Ink had transformed the physical marks into something else, something of his own choosing. He still hadn’t figured out how to do the same thing for his soul.

  The ruckus around the unfortunate stranger who’d wandered in had increased. Set against the backdrop of the loud Led Zeppelin music playing over the sound system, he couldn’t even hear what the taunts were. The group was only about ten feet in front of him, but Zero still couldn’t make out who was being mercilessly razzed. He thought there was a good chance it was a chick, since whoever it was was completely hidden from view. They had to be small. After taking a quick swallow of his beer, he set the bottle down. If a woman was being threatened by Grim and his cronies, Zero would put a stop to it immediately.

  Cracking his knuckles, he cast his gaze around the room looking for Tank. His piercer was on the extremely short list of people Zero made somewhat of an attempt to trust. More than that, he knew they had each other’s backs. In his mind, allegiance wasn’t the same as trust. Allegiance didn’t require emotions—it simply defined a worthy man from a shit heap. Zero didn’t consider Grim a worthy man.

  However, Tank was busy feeling up Pretty Boy—whose name was a complete blank to Zero—so his buddy was oblivious to the commotion near the front of the bar.

  Oh well. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to handle shit on my own. Won’t be the last.

  Right as he was about to push himself away from the bar, a young man with a slight build landed at his feet, splayed face first down on the floor in front of him. He had to halt his forward momentum to keep from stomping on the kid with his thick soled boots. Raucous laughter sounded from Grim and his minions. The shaggy-haired man pushed himself up and Zero reluctantly reached down to help him. The would-be bar patron was obviously either very confused or incredibly stupid.

  Zero easily yanked him to his feet, noting with amusement that the T-shirt he wore had a Batman symbol on it. Once the stranger was upright, Zero let go of his thin arm and it flashed through his mind that what stood before him might be a runaway kid. It was hard to tell in the dim lighting, but he wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that the youth standing awkwardly was still a teen. In addition to his lithe frame, he was perhaps only five foot six or seven. Zero stood six two, so it only reinforced his impression that the person now angrily brushing dirt off his clothes actually was a kid.

  Grim stepped forward and shoved the young man. He would have gone sailing again, except that Zero easily caught him. In almost one fluid movement, Zero grasped his upper arms, lifted him off the ground and re-deposited him on the bar. As he turned his head just enough to properly place him on the surface, he was treated to the kid’s wide-eyed expression, his bow-shaped mouth hanging open.

  Cute little fucker.

  Grim’s fist connected with Zero’s jaw and in a split second he was reminded why getting distracted by his dick was dangerous. He had at least a couple of inches in height on Grim and plenty more muscle mass, so he rebounded easily. One punch, a second punch, then Grim stumbled backwards. Zero kept advancing on him, ready to keep his fists flying if he didn’t stand down.

  Two of Grim’s oafish sidekicks lurched toward him, seemingly unsure of themselves. Zero had confronted them all before. They knew what to expect if Zero went berserker on their asses. There had been some backlash the last time they’d all fought. Shock didn’t take too kindly to them fighting amongst themselves. They were all supposed to be on the same team. It was overlooked if someone got out of line and a brother or two had to rein that club member back in. That stance was great except for the part where it never seemed to apply to Grim.

  They were all still squared off, Grim rubbing his jaw and glaring daggers at Zero. Tank pushed his way through the crowd of bar patrons then sidled up to Zero, smacking one fist in his palm repeatedly in a threatening
gesture.

  “’Bout time,” Zero grumbled.

  Tank muttered low, “I had my hand between his ass cheeks when all hell broke loose. Got over here as soon as I got free. He has on some tight as fuck pants.”

  The men stood in a haphazard semi-circle around one another, caught in an amended Mexican stand-off, fists cocked and ready. Grim launched himself at Zero, but he’d been prepared. One of the oafs jumped in the fray, punching Zero in the ribs while he struggled to get Grim off him. Tank’s loud growls and the piercing yell of what must’ve been Grim’s other oaf was heard over the rest of the racket in the bar.

  Grim’s fellow brawler managed to kick one of Zero’s feet out from under him and he lost his balance. He went down with a thud, the back of his head banging on the cement floor. He was rendered dizzy enough that he didn’t stop the first two blows that Grim landed on his right cheek. On the third, he caught Grim’s fist and squeezed it hard before twisting it. Grim howled as his wrist strained under the pressure, Zero ready to snap it if Grim didn’t get the fuck off him.

  The oaf that had tripped him squealed and Zero looked up to see the kid with his teeth sunk in the meaty lug’s hand. It appeared that the kid had stopped Grim’s crony from smashing a bar stool over Zero—it fell onto the floor with a clang. Other club members advanced on the young man. No one messed with one of their own, regardless of who was right or wrong.

  Oh shit.

  Tired of all the bullshit, he was prepared to break Grim’s wrist and end things before they got any worse when an ear-splitting air horn sounded, the bar music cutting off almost simultaneously.

  “Enough!” Fuzzy’s gruff voice carried across the room. “I have Shock on the phone right now. One more tiny scratch on anyone and he’ll propose a bad standing on whoever’s responsible. Church in the morning, assholes, ten sharp.”

  Zero locked eyes with an enraged Grim. They stared each other down for a few seconds before Zero released his grip on Grim’s fist.

  “Just ’cause my uncle called a stop to this don’t mean it’s over, dickhole.”

  Zero smirked. “I’m already trembling. Now get your smelly, filthy ass offa me.”

  Grim made a show of shoving off Zero as if he’d been the one to get the last blow in. The entire time they maintained eye contact. Grim’s expression one of rage, Zero schooling his as if he didn’t give two shits—which essentially he didn’t. The hint of a threat still hung in the air, and Zero realized that much of it was due to the little cutie still perched on the bar. He needed to escort the kid out and strongly suggest that he disappear for a while. But first, he intended to make sure he wasn’t a runaway—one of the few things that the club had empathy for.

  Zero locked eyes with Tank, noting redness and swelling already forming around his eye as well as his ripped tee. The rest of him appeared reasonably intact. He acknowledged Tank with a quick nod, Tank answering in return by dipping his chin. His brother turned then swaggered back to his prey, the scuffle likely insuring that he’d get laid by Pretty Boy.

  It was time to deal with the unwitting instigator who’d started it all. Zero faced him right as the guy was about to jump down from the bar, so Zero helped him along by grabbing his upper arm.

  He’s a skinny thing all right. Has to be a runaway.

  “Hey, are you okay? That guy was an asshole! It seemed like you know each other. Ow, you’re squeezing too hard. Where are we going?”

  “Shut. The fuck. Up,” Zero growled out as he continued to drag along someone who he now viewed as being more of a troublemaker than anything.

  Once they’d reached the front of the establishment, Zero shoved the door open and yanked cutie outside with him into the warm September night air. It was close to midnight and Zero had already decided he’d had enough of Road Rage for one evening.

  As soon as they were well away from the bar at the far end of the gravel parking lot, Zero spun the kid around, determined to find out what the hell was going on before he told him to get lost.

  “Who the fuck are you? Why are you here? Are you in trouble or something?” he practically spat the words out, his infamous temper overcoming him after all that had transpired that evening.

  “Wow, you’re even better at asking questions than me. Although, I’ve found that if you ask things nicely, you have a better chance at getting answers out of people.”

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  About the Author

  I love all things book. I have a passion for creating stories—the more fantastic the better—and used to spend hours as a little girl drawing pages of pictures and then putting captions to them. I love reading and writing several different genres, but I recently put my more mainstream paranormal romances aside for naughtier tales.

  I also enjoy music from Imogen Heap and Nine Inch Nails to Mozart, and love horror and sci-fi films from cheesy to terrifying. I must also confess that I am a huge LOTR (Lord of the Rings) geek.

  I currently reside on the northern coast of Oregon, where the constant rain and fog reminds me of my visits to family in England and Scotland when I was a child.

  Email: morticiaknight@gmail.com

  Morticia loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totallybound.com.

  Also by Morticia Knight

  A Spirit of Love

  Uniform Encounters: Set Ablaze

  Uniform Encounters: Arresting Behavior

  Uniform Encounters: Lust Emergency

  Uniform Encounters: Guarded Desires

  Uniform Encounters: Secret Fire

  Uniform Encounters: Dangerous Wish

  Gin and Jazz: Hollywood Bound

  Gin and Jazz: Razzle Dazzle

  Gin and Jazz: Tarnished Glitter

  Gin and Jazz: Starring Role

  Gin and Jazz: Studio Orders

  Gin and Jazz: Casting Call

  Gin and Jazz: Play Acting

  Sin City Uniform: All Fired Up

  The Hamptons Road Club: Hesitant Heart

  Clandestine Classics: The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

  Clandestine Classics: The Fall of the House of Usher

  All Together Now: The Perfect Third

  Hard Riders: Biking Bad

  What’s his Passion? Rockin’ the Alternative

  Totally Bound Publishing