Sex & Mayhem 01 Road of No Return (29 page)

Stitch lowered his head over the dick, which was definitely thicker than a banana. For a moment, he pondered whether he should deepthroat, but decided trying wasn’t worth the embarrassment of gagging and failing at it. He was so focused on Zak’s dick that only now he realized his own was stiffening quickly. Just looking up at Zak’s darkened face was getting him horny. Their eyes met, and Zak slowly pulled up his tank top, revealing more skin for Stitch’s viewing pleasure. His bright smile was like a balm on Stitch’s tense nerves as he explored the tip, moving his tongue around the head.

“Take it in your hand,” whispered Zak, curling his fingers around Stitch’s ear.

Stitch slipped his fingers over the base of Zak’s cock. That he knew about. It throbbed so familiarly he groaned into the hard flesh. His eyes were glued to that nicely toned torso, all inked and amazing. He slid his other palm up that firm body and to the piercing in one of Zak’s nipples.

Zak’s eyelids fluttered, and he gasped at the gentle tug on the metal hoop. “Yeah... do that.” He slowly thrust up, pushing slightly deeper into Stitch’s mouth, over his palate but not deep enough to make him choke.

Sucking on the hot flesh came naturally, Stitch just imagined what he would have liked. He gave Zak’s pubic piercing a teasing pull and breathed in deeply when he felt the cock in his mouth throb faster. He looked down at the snake tattooed all over the penis, and it made his throat pulse with lust when he imagined Zak getting it done, all spread out over the tattooing chair with his legs wide open.

He slowly relaxed, breathing in his lover’s smell, which never seemed as intense as between his thighs while tasting his cock. The muscles shifted under the inked skin, making tiny movements each time Stitch moved his lips over the head while jerking off and squeezing the lower part of the penis with his fingers.

He gave the corona a teasing lick and started bobbing his head on the shaft with vigor, just so he could see more of that lust on Zak’s face. He wanted to have Zak moaning and panting by whatever means.

“Slowly,” whispered Zak, moving his thumbs over Stitch’s cheek, his stomach shivering. He made a slight move, as if checking whether Stitch would be willing to take physical instruction. As long as it wouldn’t mean a cock down his throat, Stitch let the hands guide him to what excited Zak. He supposed that just like they had different preferences when topping or bottoming, Zak could want to be sucked in a particular way, and it turned out he did. He wanted Stitch to focus on the head, gently sucking and lapping all over it like it was the sweetest lollipop. He liked to get his balls pulled and squeezed, and with the instruction, Stitch quickly got into the rhythm.

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.

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 palms, 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.