by J. M. Dabney
23 COULD THIS MAN BE STUPIDER?
The side of his face swollen and bruised, and Elijah swore he had a molar loose. He tried not to move too much since it sent pain through his ribs. They weren’t broken or at least he hoped not. His arms and legs had long since gone numb from being hogtied in an empty room at the back of some cabin. He hadn’t exactly made his stay here easier by taunting Ian.
The man was insane. Ian paced the house mumbling to himself. He occasionally heard something shatter. All he could think about were Juvie and his men. He knew he had to make it up to Juvie. He’d promised to pick her up and he had amazing news for everyone. The placement came through. Juvie would come to live with him.
The distraction of the high he’d received from learning he was going to be a dad caused his carelessness. He hadn’t watched where he was going. One second he’d bumped into someone, turned to apologize and next thing he knew he woke up in the truck of a car. Exhaust and gas fumes twisted his gut and the stench caused him to throw up. He stunk, he needed to use the bathroom and his stomach was growling loudly.
He blinked his eyes as they began to burn.
He hadn’t spent enough time with Scary and Tank, hadn’t decorated Juvie’s room, and he was already mourning the life he wouldn’t have. All the milestones he’d miss in Juvie’s life. The anniversaries and the Sunday rides, nights spent on a barstool at Brawlers as he watched his men work.
Who would’ve thought straight-laced and always responsible Elijah Vaughn would fall in love with two inked biker bar owners? Much less adopt a smart ass little girl who was more than likely going to follow in her other Daddies footsteps. He closed his eyes as tears trickled from the corners.
This wasn't the time to feel sorry for himself. What would Scary and Tank do? Beat Ian to death and hide the body. Not going to work for him. Skinned knees and bloody noses he could handle anything above that and he’d puke. He wouldn’t make it as a Brawlers’ bouncer and he’d never hear the end of this.
“What the fuck are you doing here,” Ian’s muffled voice came from the outer room.
Elijah could mistake the rage in it..
“Headed back to the west coast. Hiding ain’t your strong suit. What the fuck is ya doing playing country boy?”
He didn’t recognize the growly voice. None of Ian’s crew he’d arrived with spoke so he couldn’t determine which one owned the gravelly voice. Elijah tugged at the ropes, the roughness abraded the skin around his wrists, and caused him to hiss. He didn’t need two insane men beating the hell out of him at their leisure.
“None of your business.”
Ian apparently wasn’t excited to see his new visitor.
He struggled to a kneeling position which he found damn near impossible with the way he was tied up, but he finally made it. His finger ached from the restriction of the rope and they were clumsy as he tried again to work the knot loose.
He looked up as the door opened and banged against the wall.
“You remember what the fuck happened last time you tried that.”
“If you’re gonna kill me,” he flippantly said.
It was probably best to stop poking the psychopath, but as he said if Ian ended up killing him what was the point in playing nice.
“Mouthy bitch,” Ian brought the back of his hand across his cheek, “All I want—”
The iron tang of blood burst over his tongue. “You tried to kill him.”
“No, I didn’t, if I wanted him dead I would’ve cut his head completely off. The cut was superficial at fucking best.”
“Nothing says I love you like a—”
A kick to his already sore ribs took his breath away and he curled forward as agony went through him. He peeked through his one eye that wasn’t almost swollen shut. A man bigger than Scary stood in the doorway. It was the silent man from Brawlers. He wore a bored expression. That look that scared him more than Ian or Elijah’s impending death.
“Why are ya fucking around? Just kill him already.”
Thanks, asshole, he silently said as he rolled his eyes. Pain shot through his head. Mental note: Don’t do that again.
“Shut the fuck up, Psycho, this ain’t none of your concern.”
Psycho, the man appeared more like a sociopath with the unemotional mask he wore.
“Ya did see his men right? Kill him and get out of town before they come for ya.”
“Once this pretty piece of ass if out of the way—”
He snorted, “You think you’re going to get Tank back by killing me? Are you off your meds?”
“He needs someone like him, not some suit.”
“He’s got Scary for that,” He said with a smirk, but didn’t know how well it came across.
Ian’s face went red, the veins in his neck and at his temples stood out. He stormed from the room leaving a huge hole in the wall from a single punch.
“You’re crazy ya know that, right,” Psycho asked, he lazily leaned his bodybuilder sized shoulder against the door frame.
“Actually I’m highly well-adjusted,” He quipped. “Wanna help me out here?”
“Not really.”
“You’re a sweetheart.”
“I’m a fucking catch.”
It was inappropriate to laugh, but he couldn’t help himself.
“I normally like my men tied up and helpless.”
“That doesn’t sound creepy at all.”
Psycho’s lips twitched for a microsecond before it completely disappeared.
“Oh, he smiles.”
“Have you been like this since he grabbed ya, if so I’m not surprised he’s pissed.”
“He tried to kill my Tank. I couldn’t care less about his feelings.”
“But what about your continued breathing?”
“Tank will have Scary, and if they figure out what happened Ian won’t make it to the next sunrise.”
“You’re vicious for a suit.”
“My men are horrible influences.”
“I can tell. Juvie’s good by the way.”
“Did he—If so I’ll kill him myself.”
“She’s fine, last I saw she was asleep with Tank.”
He let out a relieved sigh, “She’s probably mad at me. I promised to pick her up. We were gonna have dinner and I was going to surprise her with furniture shopping for her new room.” His tears threatened again.
“The Brawlers were about a mile out. They’re waiting on confirmation.”
“So what the hell are you waiting for?”
“I want a job.”
He suppressed the urge to shake his head as he stared at the apparently crazy man, “Really, you’re aiding and abetting a kidnapping for a job interview?”
“Yea, why not, captive audience and all that.”
“Should I ask you if you’re off your meds?”
“Don’t take that shit, makes me feel outside myself. My rage keeps me alive.”
“Are you angry now?”
“Always.”
“Wow, if this is rage I wonder if you break a sweat when you’re homicidal.”
“You want to be saved or what?”
The crazy bastard held up his phone and lifted a thick brow.
“Fine, I’ve never interviewed hired muscle though.”
“Just say I’ve got the job and we’ll move on.”
“You’ve got the job.”
As soon as the last word was out of his mouth Psycho lifted the phone to his ear. “Your boy is on site.” Without waiting for a response Psycho slid his phone back into his pocket.
“I don’t particularly like you.”
“No one does, I’m used to it.”
Psycho said it so nonchalantly as if the man spoke about the weather. He remembered the guy off sitting by himself with his back to the wall. Did Psycho prefer it that way or was their more hidden behind his coldness? He didn’t have long to think about it before Ian pushed passed Psycho’s much larger body. Psycho growled at the contact.
The
glint of sunlight off steel brought on the first real fear. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t scared before, but death existed as a concept, but seeing the gun it became real. The cold metal pushed to his temple.
“How the fuck—”
“That was me,” Psycho piped up.
“What the fuck, maybe I should—” Ian swung the gun around as Psycho stepped up until the barrel pressed to the center of his mile-wide chest.
“Go for it, fucker, but make it goddamn count. Cause I’ll break your fucking neck before I hit the ground.”
He noticed the flinch, a brief moment of fear in the flare of Ian’s nostrils and the drain of blood from his face leaving it ashen.
“What ya waiting for, do it,” Psycho’s voice was cold and lethal.
No doubt Psycho meant it. Ian better kill him or Psycho would make sure Ian was before Psycho took his final breath.
He felt helpless. Everything he thought of to help out would likely end with Psycho shot. That wouldn’t assist anyone in a good way.
“You think I won’t,” Ian asked with a quavering voice.
“I know you won’t. You can bluff your way through the game, but you damn sure ain’t got the balls to back it up.”
And Psycho said Elijah was crazy. Psycho had a gun to his chest by his own actions and calmly taunted the man.
“Elijah,” Scary yelled as he stormed into the room with Tank and the rest of the Brawlers behind him.
He’d never seen a more beautiful sight than his men even with expressions that faltered between concern and rage at equal intervals until anger won out.
“Psycho, back up,” Scary ordered.
Elijah started slowly inching his way backward until his toes touched the baseboard.
“Naw, this bastard thinks he’s gonna shoot me.”
“Kinda noticed that, man.”
Tank moved the right to slide along the wall and eased his way towards him. At least Psycho had Ian distracted. He suddenly realized that was the point. The man put himself on the line—for him. No one except Scary or Tank ever tried to be protective of him before.
“Can’t exactly start work if you’re dead,” he whispered.
There was the microsecond smile again.
“Yes, boss.”
“Boss, really?”
“Yea, you hired me. I’ve noticed shit and you’re the one in charge. Why ya think I had ya interview me?”
He rolled his eyes, “That was an interview?”
“Shut up,” Ian yelled as he tried to re-aim the gun at him.
He froze as he looked into the barrel and lowered his head letting his body fall to the side. A very unmanly yell had him looking up to find Psycho staring down Ian.
Psycho’s massive paw clenched around the gun hand and a scream broke through the tension as he swore he heard bones crack. There was a symphony of groans from the guys crowding the door. Scary moved up to Psycho’s side. It was weird to find a man who made Scary look almost slender. He’d never say that aloud though.
“Now, now, fucker, don’t mess with the man in charge.” Psycho squeezed harder until Ian started to fall to his knees. “I feel all warm and fuzzy towards him.”
“Oh, you’re so not my type.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”
His laughter earned him warning rumbles from Scary and Tank.
“Ya know what I said about tied up men.”
“What the fuck is going on here,” Scary barked the question.
“Nothing,” he said as he felt the ropes loosen and he groaned with relief. He was swept up into Tank’s arms and he tried to lift his own to embrace Tank, but they refused to work. Instead of hugging Tank he buried his face into the curve of Tank’s shoulder.
“We’ll discuss this later.” That statement was a clear warning he and Psycho were in trouble.
He heard a large body hit the floor with a thud and Ian’s whimpers.
“We calling the cops,” Bull asked.
“I think we can handle this in house. Tank get Elijah out of here. Boys, get moving.”
“Don’t go to jail, I sure as hell don’t have bail enough for the both of you.”
Tank stopped beside Scary and Scary grabbed his face in his hands. He gently kissed his swollen eye and bruises.
“I get bailed out first. I can watch that pretty ass better—”
“You don’t wanna finish that,” Scary warned.
“Can’t deny the truth. Shit, I might just poach that ass.”
He grabbed Scary’s wrists and stared into his eyes. He shook his head and Scary’s eyes narrowed. He’d answer for this later, but he needed to get his thoughts together before he tried to explain. Psycho hid something. Now he was safe and sound with his men he’d figure it out.
Scary kissed him one last time and then Tank carried him through the house. He looked behind Tank to find the Brawlers behind him along with Zerk and Trouble. It finally hit him he was safe as Tank settled him on the front seat of Trouble’s truck. Everything he had hurt and the minor things intensified, like being hungry and having to find a bathroom, but he wanted away from that cabin. He just wanted to go home.
“I know you want to go home probably but you need to see a doctor first. You look like you’ve gone quite a few rounds with a heavyweight,” Trouble’s voice was low and concerned from the driver’s seat.
“How’s Juvie?”
“Her, Kam and Megan are at Twirled House, but you need to get cleaned up first. She’s feeling very lost. Scary and Tank tried to make her feel better, but she just keeps asking for you,” Zerk answered from over Tank’s shoulder.
Tank didn’t try to sign, she saw the guilt which quickly replaced the anger of minutes before. “This isn’t your fault, he’s crazy and we knew that.”
Tank nodded but he knew he wasn’t getting through to the big man.
“I love you,” He leaned forward and tenderly pressed his sore lips to the thin, tight line of Tank’s mouth.
His heart broke realizing Tank didn’t believe it wasn’t his fault. After a trip to the hospital and getting Juvie calmed down he’d take care of Tank. He wasn’t going to lose one of his men over this—he refused.
24 SAFE AND SOUND
A month passed and Elijah’s cuts and bruises faded, but Tank couldn’t let go the fact he’d let Ian hurt Elijah. The man thought he could get him back. He started keeping his distance. Scary and him went a few rounds, but surprisingly Psycho was instigating fights left and right. That fucker truly lived up to his name, yet no one got near Elijah. He didn’t like the man’s interest at all. What made it worse was Elijah had a soft spot for the man.
Psycho seemed to garner a perverse amusement from his and Scary’s jealousy. They’d watched the man stand with a gun to his chest without a trace of fear. Psycho had a death wish.
He took a Saturday night to himself and planned to hide away in his cabin. In the last few weeks he spent more time here than at work. He knew it was hurting Elijah, but it also damaged his friendship and new relationship with Scary. Shying away from the affection Scary and Elijah readily tried to give him. The only one he hadn’t shut out was Juvie.
She was living with Elijah, enrolled at her new school and settling into her new life. He picked her up as often as he could. Unfortunately the longer he stayed away from his men the more insecure Juvie became. He had to try to fix it but couldn’t get over the belief what happened to Elijah was his fault.
Psycho and Scary didn’t go into many details of what they’d done to Ian. They’d dealt with Ian with all the brutality they possessed. A body hadn’t turned up so Ian was still alive. He regretted that. Ian should have paid more for what he’d done to Elijah. In the days following Elijah’s rescue he’d cataloged every cut and bruise, committed them to memory.
He had nightmares of what would’ve happened if Psycho hadn’t come to find them—if they hadn’t found him in time.
He lifted his fourth beer to his mouth and started to chug the res
t of it.
“Done sulking,” Scary’s voice came from behind him. “Because I’m fucking tired of kicking your ass.”
He flipped Scary off.
“If you’re offering,” Scary stepped in front of him and jerked him out of the chair.
Scary slammed his mouth down onto his. The kiss was brutal and he faintly heard the clunk of his bottle hitting the planks of his deck. His body was forced backward into the dim interior of the kitchen. His body heated as a month of holding back and shunning touch slammed into him. Fuck, he’d missed this. He didn’t want to be in charge.
Silently he’d broken down and no one noticed except Elijah and Scary. They sensed when he needed extra anything. Elijah gave him tenderness and compassion, Scary just told him to pull his head out of his ass.
Scary and he hadn’t gotten passed kissing, but right now he needed him to—
“I’m not going to punish you, yes, I know what you’re thinking. It’s not happening,” Scary stopped them beside the bed, “Elijah would be pissed at me. Lift your arms, baby.”
He quickly obeyed and Scary pushed his hands beneath Tank’s t-shirt. Scary quickly removed the cotton. Then Scary jerked his belt undone. It made a soft sound as the leather slid through the belt loops. Scary made quick work of shoving the denim down until Tank could kick them aside.
He plucked at the fabric covering Scary’s stomach.
“Nope, this is my show,” Scary wrapped his hand around Tank’s dick, “And this is fucking mine.”
His eyes widened as Scary dropped to his knees. Scary quickly swallowed him to the root. His fat cock pushed at the back of Scary’s throat. He dropped his head back onto his shoulders at the pleasure that made his thighs shake and he had to lock his knees.
Scary’s fingertips brutally sunk into the backs his legs. Scary bobbed along his shaft sucking with almost painful pressure until Tank couldn’t resist moving. He fucked Scary’s mouth, the man’s long goatee tickled his aching balls. The calloused palms and fingertips of Scary’s hands stroked up the back of his thighs to grip his ass. Scary dug into his crease, his middle fingers massaging Tank’s hole. He clenched at the ecstasy. No one had fucked his ass in years. He hadn’t trusted them, not like he did Scary or Elijah.
