Road of No Return (gay outlaw biker MC romance)

by K. A. Merikan

  Now that he wasn’t as worried about his incompetence, he could freely savor the sensations coming from the warm, masculine thighs squeezing around his head and shoulders. There was the distinctive sweet and salty flavor to the precome, which he tasted as Zak became even more excited, arching and stirring on the bed. He didn’t stop petting Stitch, and even when his hands became stiffer and more tense toward the end, Stitch never sensed any attempts at dominating him. Which was a relief ‘cause it was the last thing he was into.

  When Zak whispered that he was about to come, in a voice so soaked with desire Stitch could bathe in it, Stitch pulled away and started jerking Zak off, with his lips on the throbbing vein on the underside of the cock. It drummed against his lips as if welcoming what was to come, and very soon Zak started gasping, his chest moving faster. With a powerful pulsing, the cock spurted several white streaks all over Zak’s chest and stomach. He closed his eyes, twisting his nipples hard.

  There. Stitch was officially a cocksucker. He was breathless as he watched the personification of his deepest desires in front of him. It was as if Zak was made for him and when he was ready to walk into Stitch’s life, he came to Lake Valley to be picked like a ripe apple.

  His muscles relaxed, one leg falling off Stitch’s shoulder as he opened one eye and peeked at Stitch with a small smile. “You need a hand?”

  “Fuck yes,” Stitch groaned and couldn’t pull his pants down faster if he tried. He got off the floor and instantly slipped to the best bedding he knew—Zak.

  Zak chuckled and pulled him in for a kiss, letting his thighs fall to the sides to accommodate Stitch with more ease. “So good,” he whispered, but breath died on his lips in the same moment as a thick, sharp onslaught of noise seared right through Stitch’s brain, making him freeze. Zak’s eyes went wide, his whole body tensing under Stitch, and Zak’s hands squeezed around Stitch’s biceps like vices.

  Stitch’s mind processed the sounds so reluctantly it felt as though his thought process was in slow motion. Gun shots. A lot of them. Possibly assault rifles. Taking into account that their club didn’t own any, this wasn’t good at all. He rolled off Zak, but panic stiffened his muscles into stone when he heard someone whacking at his door.

  “Stitch, get your fucking ass out here!” he heard Captain shout, but instead of another whack that would give them a few more seconds to at least try to get decent, Captain busted the door, bursting inside like a wrecking ball.

  He opened his mouth, stepping back when his gaze wandered past Stitch to a very naked Zak, who was still lying on the bed with his pants down at his ankles. In the dead silence, broken only by female screams from the bar and Stitch’s own frantic heartbeat, it took Captain several seconds to speak again. “Nails just said ‘hello’ while you were getting your cock dipped in shit,” he growled and left the room, giving them both a look so bloodthirsty it made Stitch want to crawl under the bed.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he uttered, pulling up his pants with trembling fingers. This was bad. So bad. So bad. A thousand cockroaches crawled all over his skin, and he couldn’t shake them off. Not to mention there wasn’t even time for it. He needed to go see what the damage was. “Stay here,” he choked out.

  Zak was already frantically pulling up the tight leather pants, his chest still stained with come. “But what if someone needs help. They stopped shooting,” he uttered, but it was hard to miss that he’d gone pale as a sheet.

  Stitch took a deep breath that did nothing to calm his nerves. He needed to talk to Captain, explain. “Okay, but if anything happens, you don’t question what I tell you to do, understood?”

  Zak nodded and quickly slipped on the tank top. He reached out and grabbed onto Stitch’s belt loop, looking at him like a deer in the headlights. All Stitch wanted was to take Zak on the back of his bike and drive away to another state. Or country. In Europe preferably. The last thing he needed was the Hounds finding out he was a fag.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said to Zak and gave his arm a quick pat. He kept his cool only for Zak’s sake.

  Zak bit his lip and nodded, crossing his arms on his chest. “Let’s go?” he asked in a quiet but steady voice.

  The yelling and crying wasn’t helping to keep the situation in check, but Stitch nodded and rushed out of the room. He ran through the corridor and into the bar, hit by the stench of blood and gunpowder the moment he opened the door.

  It was carnage. With dust still in the air, all he could see were stiff figures wandering around like they couldn’t believe what had just happened. Others were still crouching by the walls, under the knocked-over tables. Gator stood in the middle of the bar, holding onto a limp arm as he spewed obscenities and orders to everyone around him.

  Stitch stepped into the scene of the massacre and it felt like being late to a party in hell. He looked over to Zak, but it was too late to put hands over his eyes.

  “Stitch! It was a drive-by, they’re gone, so let’s take care of this first,” Gator yelled at him over the other shouts. Someone was on the phone, someone else wouldn’t stop crying, a girl sat shaking on a table with a huge shard of glass in her arm. Stitch didn’t know where to even start helping.

  A sharp cry tore through the room, and Stitch’s eyes went to the bar, where a girl stumbled back and fell over, her gaze wide open in horror as she looked to the floor. Zak rushed over to her side, coughing as he entered the cloud of dust. Stitch followed, even though he felt Captain’s gaze on his back, as if it was already painting ‘FAG’ on Stitch’s forehead with a Sharpie. But that became so much less important when Stitch looked behind the bar at two dead bodies. But they weren’t just ‘bodies’, they were people, two dead men. Rat and Joe, their bodies still warm in a puddle of dark blood, mouths open in a silent cry for help.

  Stitch scooted down the moment he saw one of Rat’s fingers still tremble, all red from the wounds on his stomach. When the movement stilled, Stitch knew it was just false hope he’d tried to cling to just like Rat had done to his life.

  “Is he dead?” shrieked a girl, and Stitch could hear Zak trying to calm her down, but all noise clashed and mingled in Stitch’s head. His friends were dead. Their bar was ruined. There were sirens approaching fast, and at the back of his mind there was hope that they had nothing illegal on the premises.

  “Can’t you shut her up? We have enough trouble without all that whining!” growled Captain somewhere from across the room.

  “Zak, take the girls out.” Stitch saw Captain sneer at him, and it hurt like it was him getting a shard of glass slice his chest.

  Zak looked up at him, and for a horrible moment, Stitch realized his lover was looking at the dead bodies on the floor. But Zak shook off the stiffness and helped the crying woman get up. “Everybody out,” he shouted, his voice a bit flat. “Help is on the way!”

  Stitch ran his fingers through his hair and walked between the broken furniture. In the far corner, hidden under a table, he saw a man sitting with his back turned to the room. His shoulders were shaking and Stitch could swear he heard a sob, so he left the guy, unsure what he could possibly do for him. He helped the girl with the shard in her arm instead, picking her up into a careful embrace. “It’s gonna be all right, an ambulance is coming.”

  Stitch didn’t even know if it was good or bad that he didn’t feel all that much. The stench got him nauseated, seeing a seventeen-year-old boy and all his dreams dead hit Stitch in the gut, but most of all, he felt numb. As if he were sinking into a swamp, the alligators approaching him with their sharp teeth and big jaws. But he could do nothing to escape so he didn’t even fear them anymore.

  Chapter 19

  Zak dropped to a chair that was randomly standing in the parking lot by the entrance to the clubhouse. He felt boneless and burnt out. He’d never seen a dead person before, and the sight of empty eyes, blood covering hands that had earlier put a fucking vodka shot in front of him, was just too much. He rested his elbows on his knees and hid his face in his pa
lms, which still carried the smell of crushed wood and gunpowder. His car was close by, but he wouldn’t drive it tonight. The windows had been smashed, and there were two bullet holes in one of the doors. He shuddered at the thought that they could have been made with intent of injury. Three people had died. One random girl and two of Stitch’s friends, but many more were wounded after a surprise raid from what he understood was a rival gang.

  What had Stitch gotten himself into? This could not continue. He could not continue constantly worrying about Stitch getting hurt. An ambulance was still there, providing care to those lightly wounded, but Stitch was still inside with his homophobic buddy who had walked in on them like their life was some bad TV drama. How would that develop? Maybe if the guy chose to talk, Stitch would end up leaving the club and all its dirty deeds? It would probably hurt Stitch, and he’d be brooding, but Zak figured it would be good for both of them in the long run.

  “I told you this man was trouble,” he heard a calm and quiet voice from the side, and Officer Cox scooted next to Zak’s chair.

  Zak snorted and pulled himself up to sit properly. Like this conversation was something he wanted or needed now. “Of course he is,” he said with a shrug. “But it wasn’t him who did all this.”

  “I know, but you wouldn’t be in danger if it wasn’t for whatever you have going with him. Come on, Zak, I’m not the enemy here.” The worst thing was that Cox’s concerned expression really was as sincere as a fucking golden retriever begging for food at the table.

  Zak pinched the piercing at the bridge of his nose. “Look, I appreciate your concern, I really do, but I wasn’t in danger. I was at the back, and he never includes me in anything they do within the club. Whoever did this was plain crazy. Who does that?”

  “Criminals, Zak. I would bet my right hand this attack wasn’t unprovoked. This time, you might not have been in danger, but what about the next time? This is only going to get worse. You deserve something better.”

  Zak curled his toes in his boots and looked straight into Cox’s eyes. That was true, so very true. He was still feeling shaken with the knowledge that had they stayed by the bar, they would have been sitting between the firearms and the now-dead. And if those men got inside, they wouldn’t have treated him as a club-affiliated woman, for them he would be as much of an enemy as Stitch and his friends. But he couldn’t help his nerves spiking at Cox stating that Stitch was bad for him.

  “And what is that?”

  “A boyfriend who won’t end up in prison or dead. Someone you can build an honest life with.” Cox didn’t dare touch Zak in public, but it was clear the sparks between their bodies were there.

  Zak snorted and hardly contained a shake of his head. Was Cox really pulling the boyfriend card here? They’d only fucked a few times, and didn’t really have much to talk about. “I’ve been having honest boyfriends for the last ten years,” he said, brushing his fingers over the heavy signet on his thumb. He was sometimes getting the impression that it burned with the power of Stitch’s passion for him.

  A heavy hand slid to Zak’s shoulder. “We’re done here,” Stitch said in that tone that always made Zak want to spread his thighs. He looked back and gave him the best smile he could muster, which wasn’t all that great. The only regret he had was that he couldn’t hold him.

  Cox straightened up like a proud turkey and crossed his arms on his chest. “Really, Larsen? Haven’t you caused enough damage?”

  Stitch’s lips were a thin line, and he didn’t even bother answering. He wore a black hoodie under his cut and leather gloves. “I’m taking you home,” he said to Zak and passed him a helmet, yet Zak was sure those words were partially for Cox’s ears.

  He got to his feet, a bit lightheaded, and struggled to stop himself from grabbing Stitch’s hand. “See you around. Hope you can find those guys,” he said to Cox before walking off. Home sounded good. They would be safe at home.

  Captain watched their every step toward Stitch’s bike as he stood by the door, smoking and talking to another police officer. The gaze was so menacing it gave Zak shivers. There was a promise of something sinister in those eyes, but he wouldn’t let himself think about it too much. The ground under his feet seemed a far better place to look at. Or the patches on the broad back of his man, even if they did bring them so much trouble and arguments. Stitch got on the bike without a word, looking back at Zak with an unreadable expression.

  Zak put on the helmet and climbed into the bitch seat, grabbing its back like a good straight boy. This wasn’t how they’d ridden a few times down empty roads, with him clinging to Stitch’s back, taking a quick fuck break somewhere in the woods. All he wanted was to get going, and it looked like Stitch had the same idea.

  With a roar of the engine, they sped forward as if shot from a ballista. Well over the speed limit, but with three dead bodies and a shooting, no one would bother to stop them for speeding. Wind hit Zak’s naked arms, but soon enough they were out of sight, on an empty road, leaving all the bloodshed behind them, and Zak could slide his hands around Stitch’s waist.

  A flood of relief washed through him as soon as he could squeeze his arms around that thick torso and bury his face in the leather of the cut. His heart was racing against his ribs as the bike went, way, way past the speed limit, and he closed his eyes, digging his fingers into Stitch’s chest. There was only darkness around them, the only lights in the windows of the houses by the road.

  With his hand on Stitch’s chest, Zak could feel every heartbeat drumming fast. It only made Zak hug Stitch tighter. Sitting at the back of the bike wasn’t all that bad when he could trust Stitch to get him home safely. The speed gave Zak an adrenaline rush, but he felt as safe as ever. At a hundred miles an hour, no one could disturb them, it was only him and Stitch. The feeling it evoked made Zak want to never leave the bike and ride on forever.

  *

  When they arrived at Zak’s, the whole neighborhood was dead silent. No one seemed to know what had happened just a few miles away, and Zak hugged Stitch hard as soon as he was back on his own two feet. His mouth spilled what he had been thinking for the last two hours, continuously grinding it through his brain along with the horrific images of Stitch lying dead instead of Joe. “We could have been there.”

  “I know, sweetheart.” Stitch pulled him close and cupped his head with his big, leather-clad hand. Zak breathed in Stitch’s scent and followed it, his mouth finding those familiar lips by heart, and he grabbed the sides of Stitch’s cut, pulling them even tighter together. He needed to be close now, not in a few minutes, or once they reached the door. It was a desire so basic and profound that he couldn’t care less if anyone recognized them at this point.

  The hiss he got in return was full of the same need for connection, better than words. Stitch’s arms around Zak’s waist were so solid and firm that within the embrace it felt like nothing could hurt him. His lover’s hot tongue explored Zak’s lips in an eagerness only comparable to their first kisses.

  Zak pulled him toward the house without breaking the embrace. They were stumbling over uneven ground but neither wanted to part from the other’s warmth. Zak pushed the gate shut with his boot, and only blind luck saved them from falling down on the stairs to the porch. His skin was on fire, and the need in his chest could only be filled with more closeness, more of Stitch.

  They got into the house to a greeting from Versay, but Zak quickly let the dog out so they wouldn’t be interrupted. Stitch grabbed him from behind and pulled him to the living room, walking backward and kissing Zak’s neck. His grip was so tight it left Zak breathless. They could stumble over one of Versay’s toys or the coffee table, and he could then end up with a broken neck, but at this point he didn’t care, entrusting everything to Stitch. He clung to him, kissing his mouth with abandon, as if this were the last time he could ever touch him, and the mere thought of it made him tremble with fright.

  Stitch pulled Zak to the couch in the darkness that was only sparsely illuminated
by the light seeping in from outside. “Whatever happens, I won’t let you get hurt,” he whispered and pulled off Zak’s top. His eyes had an intensity to them that would make Zak believe in anything Stitch said. Zak nodded and pushed on Stitch’s cut, spreading his legs to pull him close. His throat was slowly choking up.

  “I don’t want you hurt either.”

  Stitch parted Zak’s lips with another greedy kiss, at the same time trying to pull Zak’s pants down. The tumble of hands and kisses ended in them falling to the floor from the narrow couch. At least it wasn’t far.

  “My shoes,” uttered Zak, trying to quickly push them off without parting from Stitch, but his lover grunted in protest.

  “I don’t care about your shoes." Stitch was already rubbing against Zak with his groin. Before Zak could protest, try to get naked, do things properly, even if on the floor, Stitch flipped him over to his stomach and pulled Zak’s pants down to his thighs.

  Zak’s face met with the dusty carpet, but with Stitch’s fully clothed form covering him like the sweetest, thickest blanket, he couldn’t care less. All he could hear was Stitch’s panting and the sound of his zipper being pulled down. It was as if that zipper moved all the way down his spine and into his crack, opening him up for Stitch.

  With a deep shudder, Zak curled his spine and raised his ass to brush against rough denim and a very hot, very hard cock. “Oh, God,” he uttered, clawing his fingers into the carpet. His stomach was like a firepit, and he needed something to stir the burn.

  Stitch bit on his nape instead of an answer and fumbled with something for just one second. Lube dripped between Zak’s buttocks, and Stitch’s cock was right there to follow that dribble, already aligning with Zak’s anus. The heat, Stitch’s weight, the dusty smell combined with Stitch’s cologne and the scent of leather sent Zak’s senses into overload. He tried to push his knees wider apart, but it was no use with the tight pants holding them together.