Read Guns n' Boys Book 1 Part 1 Online
Authors: K.A. Merikan
Guns n' Boys Book 1 Part 1 (40 page)
Silvio winked at Dom, as
if it were cute, and leaned over to Seth for a kiss. “You swing both ways,
Seth?”
“But…” Seth’s lips
parted.
“Seth, where are the
fucking boxes?” growled Domenico. He rushed over and pulled Seth close by the
arm.
Seth flinched at first
but then entwined their fingers in a gesture that slightly soothed Dom’s
annoyance. “I couldn’t find anything proper. Only cardboard, but that would
leak, right? I’ve got those heavy duty plastic bags. And lube?” he added in a
weak voice. The tremble in his hand resonated through Dom’s arm as well, but he
squeezed Seth’s fingers in hope of making him steady.
“No, I meant the wooden
boxes that Silvio brought with him,” said Domenico, but the moment he saw
Silvio’s hand reaching out, he pushed Seth against the wall and moved to stand
between him and Silvio. What the hell was this man thinking? That Domenico
would let him fuck Seth’s ass while in stilettos? “We’re not gonna use the lube
today.”
Silvio stared at him
with an unreadable expression in those bottomless black eyes. “Work it is then.
I am taking the shoes though.”
Seth took a deep shaky
breath and stood where Dom pushed him. “I’ll get those wooden boxes then,” he
muttered, and as he passed Dom, he gave him the sweetest, mint-flavored kiss.
It was sprinkled with gratefulness that made Dom proud as a lion having
defended his female. His gaze followed Seth briefly, with a strange warmth
buzzing in his chest.
“You can take them for
all I care, I’m don’t dress like a woman,” Dom declared with a frown. He had no
idea where Silvio was going with this. He obviously knew how to wear that shit.
Dom’s best bet was that he played dress-up for some jobs to get an easier kill.
Dom would never stoop so low.
Silvio just smirked and
went back to the cell full of dead bodies in a cat-like gait. Like he didn’t
care for Domenico’s opinion. Between Spadaro’s slacking and Seth’s all too
sensitive stomach, it looked as though Dom would have to do most of the work
himself anyway. Just fucking typical.
At least he knew he’d get
an amazing meal and a warm bed at the end of the day. Now all he needed to do
was survive Seth’s wedding and find out who the fuck was Mr. Tropico.
The bullet went straight
through Massimo’s head. His wide eyes glazed over as blood oozed out of the
hole in his forehead. He stood still for a moment, as if his body hadn’t
registered the mortal wound, then like at the snap of fingers, the body fell to
the floor, now only a sack of bones.
There was a boyish
scream, but Dino couldn’t tell which of his sons crumbled at the sight of a
dying man. The three small figures cowered in the damp shadows at the edge of
the weak lamplight. Their mothers wouldn’t approve, but Dino knew they were old
enough to witness this. He looked down at his brother’s body, dark blood
already pooling on the cold stone floor. Served him right. Massimo should have
stayed quiet like their younger brother, Frederico. That man knew what was good
for him and where his place was.
A broken sob got his
attention back to the boys. All three had uniform, short haircuts, so it took
him a moment to realize which one was crying. Domenico. Fairest skin, only half
Villani blood. Maybe that was what made him weak? He was the youngest, only
eight years old, but no son of Dino’s could miss this execution. It was high time
to grow up for all of them. Vincente, the oldest, looked at his uncle’s body
with a childish scowl. When he noticed Dino watching them, he made an abrupt
turn to nudge Domenico with his elbow. This was a boy who already understood
some of the Family rules. Seth, on the other hand, stood in the corner, frozen
like an ice sculpture.
Dino knew not to judge
boys as if they were men. Time would tell which one of them would be the
fittest, and he
would
watch them closely.
“The most important
lesson of your life,” Dino said, putting his Beretta back into the holster
under his armpit. “Family is everything. If one of you betrays us like Uncle
Massimo, it’s up to the others to put him down.”
Vincente took a shy step
toward the body. “But what did he do, Father?” The words were quite firm, but
Dino could see his hands shaking.
“He didn’t know his
place. All of us have a role to play. If you want to change your destiny, you
need the balls to back it up. Otherwise, this is how you end up.” He pointed to
the body before taking a glance at his two younger sons, who were still firmly
pressed against the wall in the corner.
Domenico managed to bite
his tongue, but he was clearly attempting to hide behind Seth, who kept
watching his dead uncle with wide eyes. It was the first time they witnessed
someone being killed, but with time, moments like this would become part of
their reality.
Dino didn’t know which
one of them would take his place in the future, but he wouldn’t make an
arbitrary decision as his father had. He had already decided that each one of
them would get a fair chance at becoming the Don. It was up to them. Survival
of the fittest. He was also sure that the one to win such a battle would make
the best successor.
All would be settled
once they reached
maturity.
“Daddy, can we go now?”
Seth moaned and took a step away from Domenico, who wiped his eyes again and
followed like a lamb.
Dino sighed and put his
hand on Vincente’s shoulder to keep him away from the bits of skull and brain
he tried to sneak up to. “I think it’s time for dinner.”
The conclusion of
Guns n’ Boys
book 1 – coming in October 2014
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our newsletter for updates and details.
And in
the meanwhile, you might want to read more about Silvio Spadaro, a character
created by Aleksandr Voinov. For more information, visit his website.
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Kat&Agnes AKA K.A. Merikan
http://kamerikan.com
https://twitter.com/KA_Merikan
http://www.pinterest.com/KAMerikan/
K.A. Merikan is a joint project of Kat and Agnes
Merikan, who jokingly claim to share one mind. They finish each other’s
sentences and simultaneously come up with the same ideas. Kat and Agnes enjoy
writing various kinds of stories, from light-hearted romance to thrillers. They
love creating characters that are not easy to classify as good or evil, and
firmly believe that even some villains deserve their happy endings. It is
easiest to find them in galleries, good restaurants and historical sites,
always with a computer or notebook, because for Kat and Agnes, every day is
writing day. Future plans include lots of travel and a villa on the coast of Italy
or a flat in Paris where they could retire after yet another crazy venture,
only to write more hot homoerotic stories.
Kat and Agnes started as popular authors of online
serials written in their native language, but are now focused on reaching a
wider readership by writing in English. As K.A. Merikan, they have published a
number of books, which cross genres while always staying homoerotic.
More information about ongoing projects, works in
progress and publishing at:
Road of No Return
K. A. Merikan
— Don’t talk to strangers. —
Zak.
Tattoo artist. Independent. Doesn’t do relationships.
Stitch.
Outlaw biker. Deep in the closet. Doesn’t share his property.
On the day of Stitch’s divorce,
lust personified enters the biker bar he’s celebrating at. Tattooed all over,
pierced, confident, and hot as hellfire, Zak is the bone Stitch has waited for
life to throw him. All Stitch wants is a sniff, a taste, a lick. What follows
instead is gluttony of the most carnal sort, and nothing will ever be the same.
Forced to hide his new love affair from the whole world, Stitch juggles family,
club life, and crime, but it’s only a matter of time until it becomes too hard.
Zak moves to Lake Valley in
search of peace and quiet, but when he puts his hand into the jaws of a Hound
of Valhalla, life gets all but simple. In order to be with Stitch, Zak’s biker
wet dream, he has to crawl right back into the closet. As heated as the
relationship is, the secrets, the hiding, the violence, jealousy, and
conservative attitudes in the town rub Zak in all the wrong ways. When
pretending he doesn’t know what his man does becomes impossible, Zak needs to
decide if life with an outlaw biker is really what he wants.
As club life and the love
affair collide, all that’s left in Zak and Stitch’s life is mayhem.
POSSIBLE SPOILERS:
Themes:
Outlaw Motorcycle Club, organized crime, homophobia, family
issues, coming out, first gay relationship, tattoo, piercing
Genre:
contemporary homoerotic dark romance
Length:
~ 100,000 words
Contains adult content:
explicit language, violence, and sex
EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK
Stitch
downed his third beer of the day and slammed the glass on top of his divorce
papers.
“Another?”
asked his best friend, Captain, and Stitch squinted at him. He could never be
sure whether Captain was winking at him or just blinking. The perils of only
having one eye. It didn’t stop Captain from driving a bike like a madman or
being the VP of the club.
“Go on,
I earned it,” Stitch rasped and leaned his elbows on the greasy counter. He
could feel at home in the Hounds of Valhalla club bar. If worse came to worst,
he could always fall asleep in one of the guest rooms in the back and not have
to face going home. The Louisiana heat was getting to him today so he wore his
cut over naked skin, but in hindsight it hadn't been such a great idea, since
now the leather was sticking to his back.
It was
a busy Friday night, and the bar was full. Most of the patrons were local so
Stitch knew them one way or another, with a few outsiders sprinkled all over
the large room. During public parties like this one, Valhalla catered to
everyone, from old friends, gathered in comfortable booths, to the crowd that
spent their time at the counter, to the drunken dancers by the pool table. It
was more crass than class, but to Stitch it felt like home, from the beat-up
counter to the small room in the back where Stitch had fucked a girl for the
first time. Good times.
Captain
poured Stitch some whiskey and grinned, rubbing down his black beard into a
more sensible shape. “One down, brother. You’ll find yourself a better woman.”
“Of
course I will. Not a cheating slut like Crystal.” Stitch sipped his liquor with
a frown.
“You
fancy any of the pussy by the pool table?” Captain gestured toward the
ever-present crowd of hangarounds in sparse clothing. The pool table was off
limits on Fridays, unless you were a member of the Hounds of Valhalla. Or a hot
bitch.
Stitch
followed his friend's nod (to keep up appearances), but he looked right past
the girls. He was not dipping his dick in that lot again. Not to mention that
none of the girls were even his type. Most of the ones who were in today were
cute blondes, like they got the wrong bar or something. That was what had drawn
him to Crystal in the first place, she was all tats and rock ‘n’ roll.
“Nah,
I’ll pass.” Stitch downed his whiskey and tried to pretend he didn’t see any of
the direct looks from the pool table. The sudden spike in interest could only
mean one thing: they all knew he was back on the market. “Where’s the rum,
Captain?” he said, but his mouth remained open when someone new walked into the
bar and stopped at the door, looking around as if he had lost his way. The
dimmed blue light made all the tattoos on the stranger’s arms pop out
immediately, and while Stitch couldn’t see what the patterns were, the ink was
dense, mostly black and white.
The man
was tall enough to stand out in the crowd, slim but toned. He walked through
the bar with a self-assured sway, looking like a character from a futuristic
movie. Stitch didn’t know where that comparison came from because the guy wore
a simple outfit consisting of narrow pants stuck into knee-length combat boots,
and a tank top, but he did look like an outsider in the old-school biker bar.
His hair was pitch-black, with shaved sides and the long strands at the top of
his head gathered into a ponytail. There was a sly smile tugging at the corners
of his lips as he approached Stitch of all people.
A silly
grin surfaced onto Stitch’s face like a dead body floating in the bayou. That
would be his choice of ‘pussy’ if he could have his way. He knew it wasn’t
gonna happen, yet he still straightened up on the bar stool far too small to
properly hold his bulky body and turned to the stranger. The man was first to
speak, but he looked past Stitch as if he were made of glass.
“Hi,
how are you doing?” he asked in a rich, velvety voice, reaching out to shake
the hand of Joe, one of the Hounds of Valhalla’s prospects, currently serving
at the bar. He had short, blond hair and a small gap between his front teeth.
Stitch always saw him as a younger brother he never had.
Joe
smiled at the tattooed man and shook his hand. “What can I get you?”
Stitch
never took his eyes off the stranger, now even more set on getting his
attention. The newcomer had large, expressive eyes the color of a cloudless
summer sky and a heavy brow line over a firm, straight nose and pale, wide
lips. It was a handsome face, yet it somehow made Stitch think of a malevolent
spirit, which could be due to the piercings on his face. There were two balls
on either side of his nose between the eyes, a small ring with a purple ball in
his septum, and then a piercing in his left brow, and a round metal hoop
circling the mid-point of his bottom lip. In contrast to the moderate size of those
were thick spirals plugged into the flesh of the man’s earlobes, stretching
them over their normal capacity.
“A beer
would be nice,” said the stranger with a grin. “Listen, I’m new in town. Do you
think it needs its own tattoo studio?”
A drop
of sweat trailed down Stitch’s spine and into the back of his pants like an
invisible hand.
“Get
the man a beer, Prospect.” Stitch waved a hand at Joe, never taking his eyes
off the hot, tattooed flesh. There were so many designs on the stranger’s skin
that Stitch wasn’t sure which ones to focus on. “You should ask someone who’s
actually inked, not baby boy Joe.”
“Oh
yeah?” The stranger’s blue eyes were on him immediately, but they soon trailed
lower, and Stitch felt heat rise in his chest under the skull and fire tattoos
the guy was looking at. “And I suppose that would be you?”
“Yeah,
I know a lot of guys who’d like to visit a good ink pusher. And I suppose that
would be you?” Stitch smirked and couldn’t help but flex his stomach muscles.
The guy
gave him a crooked smile, still looking down at Stitch’s chest, but then raised
his gaze and offered his hand. “I’m Zak.”
“Stitch.”
He shook Zak’s hand with a smile, making sure not to hold it too long. Joe put
a beer on the counter, and Captain passed Stitch a glass of rum that smelled
like catnip for pirates.
“Oh, I
know a tattoo Stitch needs to cover up!” Captain chuckled. Stitch frowned,
knowing exactly what his friend meant and imagining ways in which he could
scalp Captain’s black, furry head for mentioning the unmentionable.
Zak
raised his brows and gathered the bottle in his hand, tapping it with a whole
array of heavy signets. “Confess.”
Stitch
had some rum and poked Captain’s ribs so hard the guy yelped. “Okay, okay.
Prospect, out,” he ordered Joe, and the guy walked to the other side of the bar
to bother other customers. Stitch got up from the stool and stole a second of
breaking into Zak’s personal space before circling the bar and gesturing for
Zak to follow. It was good to have free access, it made him almost feel as if
he were the sole owner of the whole place. “I got divorced today, you see. So I
need to get rid of a love crime.”
“Sounds
interesting.” Zak marched behind him, and Stitch noticed that the handsome
newcomer was even a bit taller than him. As soon as they disappeared behind the
counter, the man leaned in, flooding Stitch with the smell of a musky, fresh
cologne. “Is it on your dick?”
Stitch
snorted and winked at Captain. “Nah, almost.” Stitch opened the big skull
buckle on his belt and went on to unzip his jeans. He was trying not to get too
excited and not being alone with the guy was helping him keep his cool. This
was probably as close as his dick would come to Zak anyway.
“So,
what do you want to get?” asked Zak, loud enough for Stitch to hear his voice
through the noise.
“I
haven’t thought it through yet.” Stitch pulled his pants down low enough to
expose the ink on the inner side of his hip, next to his pubes. He took out his
cell phone and turned the screen on to illuminate the tat for Zak, who
unceremoniously scooted down. It brought him face to face with Stitch’s crotch,
and made Stitch’s heart stop, even if for a brief moment.
“Yeah,
that shouldn’t be a problem.”
Captain
started laughing so hard that Stitch reached over the counter to smack the side
of his head. “Shut it!”
“Sorry,
man. It just looked like--”
“I know
what it looked like,” Stitch growled and looked down to Zak. “Good. I’ll make
an appointment then,” he tried to talk without slurring and pulled up his
pants.
Zak got
to his feet, unfazed by the mocking and produced a card, which he passed to
Stitch. “Have a look at my portfolio first.”
“I
will. But anything will be better than that fucking name on there. I’d rather
have Captain’s face inked.” Stitch pointed at his friend with a scowl. A
massive one eyed bastard with an eye patch, black beard, and a mess of hair.
Yep, he’d still prefer that broken-nosed mug to Crystal’s name. Stitch buckled
up his belt and walked out from behind the counter.
“A
picture of devotion,” chuckled Zak, following him. “Are you somehow associated
with this bar?”
“Pop
quiz. What’s this place called?” Stitch plopped his ass back on the stool and
took the glass of rum in hand.
Zak
blinked. “Valhalla.”
Stitch
turned around in the seat, to present the back of his cut. He was always proud
to show it off. It had their patch with ‘Hounds of Valhalla’ over a dog's head
sticking out of the triangular Valknut symbol. A hound with more teeth than any
animal should have in their jaw. “You could say we’re all… shareholders.” He
took another sip of rum and clinked with Captain’s glass.
Zak
crooked his head. “In that case, I guess my fate is in both of your hands,
gentlemen,” he said with a widening grin. “Could I leave my leaflets, and a
poster? I run the studio in my home.”
“Sure.”
Stitch patted the counter. “Do I get a divorce discount?”
Zak
chuckled and bit his lip, watching him with small wrinkles of humor appearing
in the corners of his eyes. “If you promise to be my poster boy, I can do you
for free.”