HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  “It’s got to do…it’s got to do with both of you. And she’s…she’s scared, Otis. She’s scared you’ll uhhm…scared you’ll leave her if you find out,” she blubbered.

  My mind raced in a million different directions. Confused and sick and tired of the games, lack of information, and angry with the fact Avery wouldn’t simply tell me what I needed to know, I searched my, mind for answers while she attempted to catch her breath.

  “Because you already…” she cried.

  “Left her once for it…”

  And I knew.

  “Motherfucker!” I shouted as I turned and stomped toward the door.

  “Otis,” Axton said.

  As I rode through the yard, over the curb, and into the street, I saw Axton hop on his bike. It didn’t matter, he had no idea where I was going, and there was no way he could ever catch me to find out.

  Chapter One Hundred Ten

  OTIS

  I pulled my bike to the edge of the road and stopped, knowing it would never make it down the hill and to where I needed to go. The rest of the trip would be on foot. Although it was out of my view, I felt certain I was where I needed to be.

  I stepped over the seat of the bike, reached in my pocket, and grabbed my keys. As I stuck the key into the ignition and locked the bike, the brass keychain Ripp had given me in Austin hung from the key ring.

  His favorite saying inscribed on the brass disc, the words were something I had always felt, but hadn’t composed into the exact phrase he’d so carefully stamped into to the charm. I clenched it between my thumb and forefingers and rubbed my thumb against the center. After a quick prayer, I looked at the words, and hoped Ripp’s phrase was applicable today of all days.

  I Got This.

  Brother Ripp, I hope you’re right.

  I opened my saddle bag, pulled the bag from the inside, and placed the items in the two side pockets of my cut. After inhaling a nervous breath, I sighed, turned toward the hill, and began jogging down the path I had spent so many weekend nights walking along as a teen.

  When I reached the corner of the path that turned and led down to the river, I saw her car parked along the edge narrow dirt drive. Seeing it provided me hope and filled me with worry at the same time. I glanced toward the tree, and could see her slumped at the base.

  I inhaled a choppy breath, swallowed heavily, and exhaled. As I jumped over the edge and began running down the hill, three words continued to rattle around in my head.

  I. Got. This.

  Chapter One Hundred Eleven

  SAM

  I sat at the base of the tree with the butcher knife in my hand, praying for the strength to make the right decision. As much as I realized suicide wasn’t the most practical decision or the best for everyone with a similar circumstance, I felt it was my most logical choice. After having spent several hours attempting to develop the courage to proceed, I sat exhausted, clenching the knife.

  As time passed I became weary. Lacking sleep for several days, I knew if I could stay awake a little longer I may not develop the courage, but I would be able to proceed from lack of will to continue to fight myself.

  As I drifted off into an almost dream like state, I heard a motorcycle in the distance. Thoughts of Otis filled my mind. The sound seemed to grow closer and closer. Certain I was losing what little logic I had left, I smiled and glanced up toward the top of the hill.

  The sound stopped.

  Disappointed, I gazed at the top of the hill as I clutched the knife. After a period of time I was incapable of measuring, a figure appeared at the top of the hill. I stared, feeling as if it truly was a dream, and the figure was an angel – the answer to my problems hanging on her lips – sure to come as soon as she reached the bottom of the hill.

  I blinked.

  The figure began to come down the hill. As it grew closer, I realized it was either Otis, or I was losing my mind. As the distance narrowed, I knew it was either Otis or I had gone completely batty. Using what little strength I had left, I reached up and tossed the knife over my shoulder and into the tall weeds behind me.

  “Sam.”

  His voice was soft and soothing.

  I blinked my eyes and smiled.

  “Sam, are you alright?” he asked.

  I nodded my head and tried to stand. As I stood, my weak legs shook, almost causing me to fall. I realized as he reached out to support me I had been sitting for hours and my legs had fallen asleep.

  “Did you take something, Sam? Are you on anything?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Legs fell asleep.”

  “What’s going on, Sam? Is there something you need to tell me?” he asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders, not knowing what to say. I loved him more than anything, and losing him was more than I could bear to imagine.

  “Sam. I love you. Whatever it is, no matter what it is, you and I will be fine. You need to know that. I mean it. No matter what,” he assured me as he held my shoulders in his hands.

  “But,” I said.

  I wanted to tell him. I desperately wanted to, but I couldn’t muster the courage. After studying him for a few moments, I pulled away, bent down, and picked up my purse. Clutching it tightly and holding it to my chest, I glanced up and I nodded my head.

  “Just say it, Sam. Whatever it is that’s got you worried,” he said.

  “I’m pregnant,” the words escaped my lips before I had a chance to stop them.

  Fearful, embarrassed, and waiting for the wrath of God to come down upon me, I clutched my purse and waited.

  “You sure?” he asked.

  I held my purse to my chest and nodded my head.

  “Good,” he said. “That’s what I was hoping.”

  I glanced up, and as hard as I tried, couldn’t fight back the tears.

  “You’re not…mad?” I sobbed.

  He shook his head as he reached into the side pockets of his cut. “Mad? No Sam, I’m not mad. I love you.”

  I sighed and continued to clutch my purse.

  As he dug in his pockets, he continued. “I’m not proud of it, but as a Sinner, I’ve played a part – a first-hand part – in seeing many lives leave this earth. Death has become a part of who I am, Sam. To think I could share something as special as bringing a life into this earth, and doing it with you?”

  He pulled two pieces of cloth from his cut. As he straightened the fabric and let it hang from his fingers, it was clear what they were. Standing in front of me, holding two rompers – one blue and one pink – he began to softly cry.

  “I didn’t know what color to get, so I got one of each,” he said.

  I released my grasp from my purse, reached inside, and pulled the pregnancy test out. As I held it up for him to see, he smiled.

  “This just says I’m pregnant, it doesn’t give a sex,” I said as I began to cry again.

  “Either way, as long as you two are both healthy, I’ll be happy as fuck,” he said as he turned his head and wiped his tears on his shoulder.

  “How’d you know?” I blubbered.

  “I didn’t. I just hoped,” he responded.

  “So you want this?” I asked, wanting as much confirmation as possible.

  “More than anything,” he nodded.

  “How’d you know where I was?”

  “Really Sam? You lost your virginity at this tree. Damned thing’s been here as the biggest tree in the state for over a hundred years. We used to spend a lot of time here. This was our sacred tree. Meet me at the big tree. How many times did you hear that?” he asked.

  “Not near enough,” I sobbed as I put the pregnancy test back into my purse.

  He dropped the rompers beside where he stood and opened his arms. And, as the happiest woman in the world, I dropped my purse, embraced him in a hug, and held him in my arms. As we stood under our sacred tree and held each other, my heart filled with gratitude for Otis and for everything we shared as a couple.

  I guess the Sinners are right.

&
nbsp; The devil looks after his own.

  Epilogue

  The small room, fitted with two chairs, one medical examination bed, and an Aplio 500 ultrasound machine had three occupants. A pregnant woman, lying on the examination bed, had her gown lifted to the bottom of her swollen breasts. The man, seated beside her and holding her hand in his, stared anxiously at the display screen.

  The Physician’s Assistant moved the wand carefully along the woman’s stomach as she gazed at the screen.

  “There’s the head,” she said as she touched a button on the keyboard, taking a still photo of the image.

  “And the legs. Hold on a minute and we’ll see if…” she said as she moved the wand up and down slightly.

  “This will be cold,” she said as she squirted lubricant onto the woman’s stomach.

  After repositioning the wand, pressing it into the bottom of the woman’s stomach, she gazed at the screen.

  “If you don’t want to know the sex, don’t look,” she said.

  “We do, Mrs. Buckly,” the woman responded as she glanced at the man as he nodded his head eagerly.

  “Call me Debi,” she said.

  “We do Debi,” they said in unison.

  “Well, see this?” she said as she motioned to the screen with her free hand.

  The man and woman nodded their heads.

  “Hips,” Debi said.

  “And this,” she said. “His penis.”

  “Boy?” the man said as he shifted his eyes from the screen to his wife.

  “He’s definitely a boy. No two ways about it.” Debi chuckled as she pressed the button to take another still image of the screen.

  “Sam?” the man said as he wiped tears from his eyes.

  “We’re having a little boy,” He said. “I can’t wait to tell my parents.”

  His wife nodded her head as she gazed at the three dimensional depictions of her son on the screen.

  Down the hallway, on the other side of the entrance to the small clinic, four men stood anxiously talking. Dressed in jeans, boots, and leather vests adorned with the patch of the motorcycle club they represented, they stood out in clear contrast amongst the women in the lobby. After a few moments the large man with a beard turned, grasped the door handle, and opened the door slightly.

  “Can we come in?” he asked the receptionist seated a fifteen feet away at the admissions desk.

  After a moment with no response from the receptionist, he cleared his throat and repeated the question.

  “Hey you. Behind the desk. Can we come in?” he asked.

  She shook her head and forced a smile. “I’m sorry. The ultrasound area is reserved for the husband, wife, and the immediate family.”

  He turned toward the other three men. “Family only.”

  The tall muscular man with olive colored skin shrugged his shoulders. “Well open the fucking door, Biscuit. We’re her brothers.”

  The bearded man opened the door enough to fit his head between the door and the frame.

  “We’re her brothers,” he whispered.

  The receptionist peered through the opening and shook her head in disbelief. The three men, other than sharing the same taste in clothes, appeared to be from four different regions of the world. As she studied the men, the bearded man opened the door a little more, giving her an unobstructed view of the men standing behind him.

  She tapped her pencil against the desk as she studied the four men. “Brothers?”

  “And the name of your sister?” she asked.

  The bearded man turned around and consulted with his friends for a moment. After a short discussion, he turned toward the receptionist.

  “Steve and Sam Milner,” he responded.

  The receptionist shook her head. “I don’t know. We’re forced to adhere to the policy. Family only.”

  “Otis!” the bearded man screamed into the vacant corridor.

  After a few seconds he screamed again. “Otis!”

  The man, still seated beside his wife, turned his head away from the monitor.

  “Did you hear someone scream my name?” he asked.

  His wife nodded and tilted her head toward the door.

  The man stood and opened the door slightly, peering through the crack and down the hallway as he did so.

  “What are we havin’?” the bearded man screamed.

  “Boy,” the man whispered in response.

  “What?” the bearded man shouted again.

  “Boy!” the man shouted.

  “A fucking boy? Did you say we’re havin’ a boy?” the bearded man hollered excitedly.

  “Yes,” the man whispered in response through the opening.

  The bearded man turned to face the other three men.

  “Pay up motherfuckers. We’ve got us a boy,” he said.

  As the bearded man turned toward the door once again, he opened it entirely and stood in the opening. The three men behind him each reached for their wallets.

  “We all wanna see him. Gal here won’t let us come down there. Tell her it’s okay,” he shouted.

  The man extended his raised index finger and turned to face the exam room.

  “Fellas are down there. They want to come in and see our baby boy,” he said.

  Debi turned to face the man as she furrowed her brow slightly.

  “I’m sorry, we can only allow family,” she said.

  The woman glanced up from the exam table and gazed at her leather vest hanging on the hook beside the door. On the back, a Selected Sinners patch with two ribbons, clearly stating her designation with the club.

  Property of Otis.

  “They’re my brothers,” the woman stated.

  “How many?” Debi asked.

  “Here? Four,” the woman grinned in response.

  Debi nodded her head. “Have them come down. I’ll call the desk.”

  The man peered through the door and waved his arm toward the bearded man. “Come on down.”

  The bearded man swung the door open and waved toward the men standing anxiously behind him. “Come on fellas, uncle Biscuit’s having him a baby boy.”

  As the men stormed down the hallway, Debi gazed over her shoulder toward the pregnant woman.

  “So you have four brothers?” Debi asked.

  The pregnant woman glanced up at her leather vest and shook her head.

  “No,” she responded.

  “I have thirty-three.”

  Dedication

  To all cancer survivors, the less fortunate who gave everything only to find out sometimes everything isn’t enough, and to the families thereof.

  My Grandmother Billie Jean Hildreth, my aunt Gina Silor, and to Biker Becky.

  This one is for you.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, are coincidental.

  HUNG 1st Edition Copyright © 2015 by Scott Hildreth

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at designconceptswichita@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Covert art by Jessica: www.JessicaHildrethDesigns.com

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  Chapter One Hundred Twelve

  BISCUIT

  Standing in the courtroom with a Sheriff’s officer on each side - my hands handcuffed, feet shackled, and the two tied together by an interconnecting chain - caused me to feel more like a serial kill
er than a common criminal. As I waited for the judge to enter the room, I alternated glances over each shoulder and studied the two officers.

  I raised my hands slightly, pulling the chain connecting my hands to my feet taught. Growing increasingly frustrated at the entire series of events leading up to my arrest, additional jailhouse punishment, and being shackled and chained, I began yanking against it repeatedly, causing it to rattle through the ring in the chain wrapped around my waist.

  “Any chance of gettin’ one of you fellas to take these fuckers off?” I asked as I gazed down at my shackles.

  “Not a chance,” bad cop responded. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’d quit fucking around with your restraints.”

  I stopped yanking on the chain and tilted my head to the left as I waited to see what good cop had to offer.

  The officer on my left shook his head and lightly chuckled. “After the shit you pulled this weekend, I don’t think so.”

  I lowered my forearms and shook my head. “I didn’t pull a god damned thing. The cock sucker tried to steal my fuckin’ cookie. Put yourself in my shoes, fellas. I look like Hannibal fuckin’ Lector here…”

  As I began to explain myself, the door in the rear of the courtroom opened and the judge walked onto the elevated platform. An average looking gentleman roughly fifty years old with salt and pepper hair, he appeared to be a reasonable enough man. Hopefully he would see through the mile of shit the cops were certain to have placed out in front of him and have a little compassion for me. After quietly finding his seat and glancing down at the desk, he lifted his head and gazed in my direction.

  “This is a combination of an arraignment and the bond hearing for…” He paused and peered over the top of his glasses at the paper he held in his hands.

  “Dalton Biskette. Mr. Biskette, you have been charged with speeding, reckless endangerment, resisting arrest, and since your incarceration of Friday evening, two counts of jailhouse battery. Do you understand the charges?” he asked.