Sex & Mayhem 01 Road of No Return (19 page)

“Shove all your guns our way, don’t think of doing anything stupid, and you might leave here alive,” yelled a young, somewhat raspy voice.

Stitch watched Captain put his gun down like a mirror image of himself and finally, Gator did the same. All three of them sent the guns sliding down the aisle. “There, man, we don’t want any more dead!” Stitch yelled with blood pumping in his ears. The smell of blood was getting him nauseated, but he knew he had to keep his cool if he wanted to survive this.

There was a clattering noise, which Stitch guessed was someone picking up the firearms, and after a moment’s wait, the same voice told them to slowly get up, with their hands over their heads.

Gator spat to the floor but slowly pulled himself up, holding onto the seat and the table. He let go of the latter very quickly and shook the blood-stained hand, sending a piece of red mush to the floor. His scowl was so deep Stitch’s stomach twisted. The whole club was likely to be lost within those deep, bloodied folds. If they got out of this alive, Gator’s need for vengeance would have the force an alligator's jaws have on a human leg.

They slowly got up, and Stitch was surprised by how steady his knees were. Nerves of steel. That was what he needed. The handsome Italian would be proud.

He exhaled but kept his face cool when he gazed down the aisle, at the six bikers standing there like smiling statues.

The oldest, a silver haired man with a thick moustache, grinned and pulled up his shades, showing off his smiling eyes. “Little fish cruising the territory of the sharks. It’s kind of amusing, isn’t it, guys?”

His men all nodded in agreement, relaxed as if they had no single care in the world. From the corner of his eyes, Stitch could see Captain’s profile. He made no sound, standing with his arms up as they had been told.

Stitch looked around to assess the situation. They were surrounded. When one of the men turned around to reach for Smoke’s duffel bag full of coke, it all became clear. The patch on his cut said ‘Coffin Nails, Louisiana’ with a skull on a cross between the two patches. They were so deep in the shit that Stitch wanted to scream in frustration.

“And they are...?” asked the boss, who could only be the Nails’s prez, Ripper. The guy who snatched the coke replied with their MC name, and the Nails burst out laughing.

“What kind of shit is this? Petty crime not enough for you anymore?” snorted Ripper and shook his head. “Who’s your prez?”

Stitch and Captain glanced at one another, the air between them burning with tension, but Gator stepped forward. Streaks of sweat on his bald head made him look as if he had just put his skull under the shower.

Ripper poked his forehead with the gun he was holding and laughed again, like a kid being told a poo joke. “And you thought this was a good idea? Stepping into our fucking territory?”

Stitch’s hands were sweaty, and his heart raced against his will to stay calm. It was a lot easier to deal with the likes of Officer Cox. These guys weren’t fucking around. They were
the
MC in Louisiana no matter how much Gator strived to change that.

“Ripper? There’s only four packs here,” said the guy who took Smoke’s duffel bag.

Ripper poked Gator’s head with the barrel of the gun. “We all know there should be two more.”

Gator’s nostrils flared, and he opened his mouth, almost choking on the words. “Stitch, give them the fucking stuff.”

One of the men in front of them, a muscular redhead with a wild beard, stepped closer and reached out his hands with a smile. “Or shall I self-serve?”

Stitch unzipped his jacket and pulled his T-shirt out of his pants to reach the packages. He passed them over to the guy with no expression whatsoever. This was ten thousand dollars leaving his hands. He thought he’d earn five on this run, and here he was, losing ten and possibly his life.
Fuck. Fucking fuck.

He didn’t even know what hit him when Redbeard slammed his knee into his crotch. He saw stars and toppled forward, sinking to his knees with a gasp he could not stop. His vision dimmed at the edges as he looked at the red stains on the floor, and he braced himself, knowing only his cool could get him out of here alive. He had a little daughter waiting back at home for him, one whom he’d promised a bike ride once she was old enough. He couldn’t have his brain join Smoke’s all over the place. The next punch hit him straight in the face and sent him back to the floor, spread eagle. From the sound of it, Captain and Gator were getting a pounding as well.

“See that fucker on the seat? That’s what we do with people who don’t honor agreements with us,” growled Ripper.

To Stitch, his voice sounded like an echo, resonating through his skull.

“I think it’s only fair you pups hand over the cash and tell your friends never to step foot on our turf.”

Stitch got a kick in the ribs, but his balls were still his main concern as he curled up on the floor.

His head shot up when Ripper commanded his men to hold Gator in place, and he paled at the sound of a zipper opening. The sound of spraying liquid and Gator’s growl made it all too clear what was happening, and Stitch put his forehead back on the floor, pretending he didn’t see their president getting pissed on. But he was close enough for the stench of urine to get to him. His body was one big aching mess, and every single bruise he’d hopefully wake up with next morning was like a fucking message from God.

He stole a glance at Captain whose lips were a bloody mess, not to mention the teeth he was baring like a rabid dog. Stitch clenched his sweaty fists, wishing he could send his brass knuckles into each grinning face.

The zip went up again, and Stitch felt the thick, ridged sole of a boot press on the back of his head. “This is the one time we let you off, so be good pups and fuck off out of the business that’s too big for your paws, huh?”

Gator gasped but didn’t try to put up a fight with all six guns pointed straight at them. They would have no chance. Stitch groaned, but only gave a short nod. Even if they were to plan retaliation, this wasn’t the time for it. Fortunately, Captain did the same.

“Just so your buddies don’t think you gave in easily, we’ll make it easier for you.” The red bearded guy laughed and grabbed a bottle of ketchup off the counter and pressed a steady stream over Stitch’s head and face. “See, you gave such a fight, you’re covered in blood all over.” Two guys grabbed Stitch’s arms and forced him to turn around. He didn’t feel it through the leather, but by the sound of it, the ketchup drizzled all over his cut.

Once they were done with him, a sudden kick to his ass pushed him right back on the floor. He didn’t dare get to his feet. They all stayed silent, listening to the heavy footsteps farther and farther away, and just as Stitch got his hopes up, with the creak of the entrance door, another series of bullets from a machine gun forced his body to almost melt into the floor.

He covered his head with his hands, but then the noise was gone and seconds later they heard the roar of bikes cutting through the mind-numbing silence. Stitch had always thought of himself as a tough guy and a hothead, but this? The Nails had fucking ambushed them like children.

Gator got up with the speed of an alligator attacking its prey and kicked something with a loud scream. “Fuck!”

Neither Stitch nor Captain said a thing. They both stood up slowly, and all Stitch wanted was to hop on his bike and head home. The staff would have called the police. They could hear the waitress crying behind the counter. Stitch didn’t even want to see her face, so he kicked the counter with a growl. “I bet you know the drill, bitch. You didn’t see any faces.”

“Y-yes,” she uttered with another sob.

Stitch gave Smoke’s body one more glance before walking away. He was both relieved and disappointed to see that the Coffin Nails hadn’t even bothered to topple their bikes. Apparently, they weren’t enough of a challenge to humiliate them any further. None of them said a thing, and within two minutes, they were on their way back, racing toward Lake Valley with just their headlights as guides.

It was the MC equivalent of the walk of shame. Stitch didn’t even put on his helmet, disgusted with the thought of cleaning out the ketchup afterward. They’d lost ten grand each, as well as their dignity. They were criminal cock-ups, like from a fucking Disney movie. Like villains from
Home Alone
.

They stopped at an empty car park at the outskirts of Lake Valley, to discuss what to tell the rest of the guys and what the course of action would be, but it was a short chat. None of them wanted to go into detail, too humiliated by the night’s events. Stitch’s ribs hurt, and he didn’t even want to start thinking about how he would fork ten grand for the club. The debt would surely push him even deeper into shit because he had been responsible for that fucking parcel.

Gator’s fury was also as clear as the piss that had hit his skull. All he had to say was talk of revenge, getting more men, more guns, and a plan to take down every last piece of shit that fucked with them. Stitch only nodded in silence. There was only one place where he wanted to drown his sorrow tonight, and it wasn’t in a bottle. He needed to climb into Zak’s warm bed and hug him close so he could forget all of this, even if just for a few hours.

Stitch felt as if he were twenty again, climbing into Crystal’s bedroom in the middle of the night. Only this time, all he wanted was to slip into bed without too much fuss and fall asleep next to his lover. Last week they’d straightened up their relationship and had made a promising new start, so he hoped Zak wouldn’t feel spied on with Stitch showing up in the middle of the night. He left the cell phone he used for him at home so he wouldn’t be able to call anyway. He just needed to feel close to something real.

Zak probably wasn’t sleeping yet. There was a small light on in his bedroom, with loud rock ‘n’ roll music thumping through the glass. The climb up the drainpipe was slow, with all the aches in Stitch’s body screaming when he pushed himself farther, but he didn’t want to wait at the door. All he wanted was to just be greeted at the small balcony, taken to bed, maybe take a warm bath together.

He groaned as he forced himself to pull himself up all the way and exhaled, holding on to the railing. Two more moves were enough to put him on the balcony itself, and he leaned against the wall, looking at the thick curtain. It wasn’t drawn over the whole length of the window, and Stitch slowly limped to the ray of light coming out into the night like an invitation. He knew he’d promised not to spy on Zak again, but all he wanted was to look at Zak, all immersed in a book, with Versay at his side. He was surprised there wasn't any barking yet, but then again Versay was useless as a guard dog.

With caution, Stitch gently leaned forward so that just a part of his face would push out from behind the curtain. His heart stopped, only to rush to its full speed when Stitch took in what was going on inside. Taken aback, he stumbled, watching Zak’s long, patterned body stretch over one that was smooth, much meatier. On the bed he and Stitch had fucked so many times, Zak was twisting the other man’s arm back, grinding his hips into his bare ass.

Stitch lost it. That promise not to break any more windows? Fuck that promise if Zak couldn’t keep his. Stitch slammed his elbow into the glass and easily smashed the old window into pieces. He pushed his hand through and opened the balcony door for himself. The anger and hurt flooding him was only spiked by all the rage he hadn't been able to unleash earlier tonight. When the door wouldn’t budge, he pushed on the door frame and cracked the old wood with a howl that came deep from his hurt pride.

He emerged from the folds of the curtain only to see Zak’s wide eyes looking straight at him. Rushing off the bed and to a neat pile of clothes was Officer Cox, naked as the day he was born.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” Stitch’s own voice sounded to him as if it came from someone else’s throat, raspy and higher pitched than normal. “You motherfucker, you fucking slut!” He leaped at Zak like a doberman let off the leash in front of the butcher’s and slapped his face before grabbing his neck. It fit in his hand like it was made to be crushed in it. Zak gasped for air, grabbing Stitch’s forearm with both hands. He opened his mouth, but Cox was already in the background, holding up a gun.

“Larsen, let him go, now!” he said in this raw, commanding tone Stitch hated.

Stitch tightened his grip on that cheating, cocksucking throat. “I only wish I got to you first,” he hissed at Cox, not at all happy with seeing him naked. He wanted to squeeze every last one of Cox’s muscles through a meat grinder and make a burger.

The unmistakable click of the safety was a bit of a cold shower, even with Zak’s wide, reddened eyes looking straight at him, as if he wanted to pull out his soul.

“Let him go, Larsen. I am arresting you for forced entry and assault,” growled Cox, but Zak pulled away one of his hands off Stitch’s wrist and raised it, as if gesturing for Cox to stop.

“You stay here one more second, and you’re gonna have to arrest me for murder,” Stitch lowered his voice, looking between Zak and Cox, but pulled his hand away, panting as if air just weren’t coming to his lungs. What kind of pathetic chump was he to be cheated on by Crystal and now by Zak? And with Cox of all people? Zak knew very well Stitch hated Cox. The bastard had arrested Stitch just last week for fuck’s sake, and Zak had called him a jerk back then.