Sex & Mayhem 01 Road of No Return (38 page)

Gator put out his cigarette on the windowsill. “Too late, cocksucker. I don’t really care about you. I just don’t want to see your face in the club ever again. Him,” he pointed to Stitch, “we’re gonna have to deal with. Fucking liar, rotting our club from the inside. No wonder you were such a pussy lately, Stitch. It all makes more sense now.”

Stitch’s nostrils flared with every deep breath he took. He was watching Zak with his eyes wide open and a face so red it seemed to contain most of the blood in his body. He was such a buff guy, but naked, kneeling on the floor with three men hovering over him, he looked as vulnerable as never before.

“What do you want to do?” whispered Zak. Maybe he could reason with Gator somehow, offer to give him the money the club lost on drugs. He slowly moved his way, completely focused on the bald head as if it were the Holy Grail.

“It’s none of your business. My advice? Don’t call the cops, and you’ll get him back alive. Even if as damaged goods. Let’s go,” Gator waved his hands at his men, and one of them pulled Stitch up to his feet.

Zak’s stomach tightened as if squeezed by a fist. He needed to come up with something. Instead, he was standing there like a scarecrow, unable to make a move to prevent the inevitable. He couldn’t protect Stitch in his own house. “He has a little daughter, for God’s sake. Don’t hurt him!”

“Look, he’s even got his dick tattooed,” one of the guys, Tank, pointed to Zak with a child-like grin, but Captain pushed him out the door.

“Gator said ‘go’!” The one-eyed villain pushed Tank out the door. The two men guarding Stitch followed.

Gator was the last one to linger and eyed Zak with a scowl. “Don’t interfere with club business. He’ll live. Probably.”

Zak gritted his teeth, backing away into the wall. His skin was like a minefield, ready to explode with heat or frost as he looked into the dark eyes. He wanted to threaten Gator, promise him a painful death or police arresting all the club members, but he knew very well how that would end. He did not stand a chance with the Hounds. If he actually called the police, the club could retaliate by hurting Stitch more than they intended, they could reveal that Stitch killed Cox. Stitch could die, end up seriously hurt, or go to jail.

Zak slid down the wall into a tight squat and grasped onto his own hair in a mixture of fear, rage, and helplessness. He was so useless, unable to protect the one person he needed to have by his side.

Gator left without another word, leaving Zak in the pink, flower-patterned bedroom, with bedding that still smelled of Stitch. Zak gritted his teeth and slid to his ass. His chest tightened as he listened to the thumping sounds of heavy boots on the stairs. He was in limbo, his heart trying to push him up, make him go after them, fight, but that was exactly why he only held onto his hair tighter, curling into a ball. He couldn’t go. It would only make matters worse. He needed to stay still like a little bitch and wait. It was only when the engines roared that all tension left his muscles, and he sobbed, letting the tears fall freely.

Stitch watched the fire with a numbness in his head. There was terror to come, and all he could do was brace for it. The gravel underneath his knees dug into his naked skin, but it was the least of his problems. In the face of the bonfire, the kneeling was like a punishment in kindergarten. Blood rushed through Stitch’s veins in a neverending pumping, just like the flames in front of him.

It was ironic that the old scrap metal company out of town, the place where Stitch stole his first TV with Captain, where he stepped on a path that would lead him to the Hounds of Valhalla, would be the place where he got stripped of the privilege. Or was it a burden by now? The patched cut had never felt as heavy as it did yesterday when he was sawing through Cox’s body like it was some roadkill. The vest stuck to him from all the sweat, yet he hadn’t taken it off, it still defined him. After all the years of friendships, shared crimes and secrets, the club felt as much his family as Holly and Crystal. Not something that could be just discarded.

Even after the fight with Captain, he had deluded himself that he would be able to stick around, work on developing the carpentry workshop, maybe take on an apprentice. But now? If he survived whatever was coming, there wouldn’t be a thread in his cut he could hold on to.

His and Zak’s safe haven had been defiled, a fact that left him empty inside, as if everything he trusted in was to be stomped on and crushed. At least they didn’t hurt Zak any further. He needed to keep strong and let them go through with whatever they considered necessary so he could return to his family in one piece.

Gator sat on an old cement block on the other side of the fire, smoking a cigarette with a thoughtful expression. Stitch kept silent, not even trying to defy all the homophobic slurs that had been thrown at him since they left Zak’s house, ignoring the slaps and kicks. It would be over sooner this way. It seemed that everyone was waiting for Captain, who had walked off several minutes ago.

“So, are you a woman, or is he?” came from Jynx, one of the younger guys on the team, who had already launched two kicks at Stitch’s kidneys when Gator wasn’t looking.

“There is no pussy in our relationship,” Stitch groaned through gritted teeth. He wished they wouldn’t have left him naked, but complaining would only make this more humiliating.

“You’re the pussy!” snapped Jynx. A powerful blow to Stitch’s side tipped him over into the gravel. Stitch barely stopped himself from hissing in pain as the little, sharp stones dug into his flesh. It felt as if his thigh just got mauled

“'Relationship'? You're getting married next?” Gator bit on the cigarette in his mouth, his face tensing into the resemblance of the animal he was named after.

Stitch didn’t react whatsoever to Jynx’s attack. It looked like Stitch was fair game to anyone. Stitch looked up at Gator and squinted. He clenched his fists with all the pent up aggression he was stuck holding in. “I am an outlaw. I do whatever the fuck I want.” He turned to Jynx and looked straight into the flat eyes that reflected the guy’s latent stupidity. “If I want to, I get fucked up the ass.”

The sudden silence lasted for a whole three seconds during which Jynx’s face went from stunned to rabid. He kicked Stitch’s ass with all he had, making him lose his breath. “Yeah? You want that? I can give you a fuckstick from that bonfire. Would you like that?”

“How old are you, you little fucktard?” Stitch looked back at him, trying to establish his position even if he was lying naked in the dirt. “You wanna touch my ass, is that it?”

Someone snorted in the background, giving Stitch a tiny glimmer of satisfaction. Stitch did hope his face wouldn’t end up in the gravel though. The opposite happened. Gravel shot up to his face as Jynx kicked the ground, sending the little stones his way. By sheer luck Stitch managed to close his eyes in time, but the dust got into his nose, and he choked up, coughing.

“Give it a rest. Captain’s coming,” said Gator, and only now Stitch heard the roar of a motorcycle engine. He turned around, and his heart sunk at the sight of his own bike. It looked alien with Captain riding it. It felt like moto-rape or some shit.

Stitch remained silent, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing his anguish, but that bike had to be here for a purpose, and that fact was already making his gut clench. He remained on his side, watching Captain get off. Their eyes only met for a moment when Captain kicked the bike hard, and it toppled over into the gravel with a scream of damaged metal. Stitch couldn’t believe they’d do something like this.

“Get the hook, Jynx.” Captain pointed to the small crane used to hoist and move bigger objects, such as cars. Or motorbikes.

Stitch couldn’t help a scowl despite the furious drumming of his heart. “Really? This is so low. Can’t you just deal with
me
?” He acted confident, but his palms were sweaty like when he was going to jail for the first time.

“Don’t you worry about that.” Gator scowled and gestured for Tank to open him a beer. He got up, and when Stitch noticed a crowbar in his hand, his blood ran cold. Was it meant for him? Did they want to break his arms and legs, and leave scars for him to remember?

As soon as the crowbar hit the mirror on his bike, Stitch bit his cheek so hard he drew blood.
There will always be the next bike,
he told himself as he watched his precious vehicle, his partner of ten years, smashed to pieces by metal pipes and crowbars. He couldn’t believe this was happening in front of his eyes. Such savagery only made him realize how much he didn’t want to be a Hound anymore. The paint chipped when the metal dented, mirrors got dislocated and lay in pieces on the ground as the whole bike died in a puddle of its own gas.

Stitch couldn’t believe they’d rather kill it than take it from him for their own use. Was this how much of a leper he’d become to them? There was nothing to salvage. Stitch didn’t want to see his mount this way, but knowing his former friends were looking out for any weakness, he stared straight at it. Looked at each dent, each kick, and when his bike was pulled up with the crane only to be dropped to a pile of scrap metal, he never looked away, even though it was the ultimate crush to his dream of the free life with the Hounds.

“No one wants to ride a fag bike,” growled Captain, his voice thick with satisfaction. He slowly approached Stitch, boots grinding over the gravel as he pulled out his hunting knife. It reflected the sunlight, stabbing Stitch right in the eyes. It was the same weapon that was used to kill the Nail.

The blade got Stitch to pay attention, and as much as he didn’t want it, his breath hitched. What would this motherfucker do? His thoughts turned into a bright white whirlwind when Jynx and Tank suddenly grabbed Stitch’s arms and pushed him down. The pain of having his genitals rub against stones made Stitch bite his lips.

He turned his head to the side just in time not to have his nose flattened on the gravel, but the dust got into his windpipe nevertheless. Stitch coughed, not even trying to get away when he was so badly outnumbered. Each one of Captain’s steps was like the thumping of an executioner’s boots on the scaffold, and Stitch found it hard to breathe as soon as he understood that.

“No one wants a fag to carry our club tattoo either,” growled Captain over him, the thick-soled boot digging into the dirt in front of Stitch’s nose.

Stitch tried to deny the cold sweat on his back. Pretending he wasn’t afraid was all he had left. There would be pain, and arguing or fighting back wouldn’t help anymore. He bit into the inside of his lip and tried to take deep, slow breaths. He needed to find something to hold on to, but his scattered thoughts were hard to catch. One thing he was certain of—he wouldn’t beg.

Captain kneeled by him, and the next moment, cold steel moved along Stitch’s shoulder, startling him as if it was already digging into his skin. “You’re gonna have some more stitches to match your name.”

“Just get on with it,” Stitch groaned, but could barely move his jaw, waiting for the incision. He’d been in many fights and knew what pain was, but it didn’t mean he wanted to feel it. Not to mention lying there with gravel digging into his skin and looking like some bitch.

“So who’d you like to suck off in the club?” muttered Captain as he slowly moved the blade over the surface of Stitch’s skin in a parody of a caress.

Stitch’s face tensed so hard at the humiliation that he didn’t even know anymore if he was scowling, or if his face was just a mask made out of wrinkles. He had never looked at his brothers this way, and it pissed Stitch off that Captain would suggest it. Sure, he could assess whether someone was his type or not, but mostly they weren’t, and it would feel like incest to think of them that way.

“I’d have you suck mine, motherfucker. That what you want?” he spat, even though the goose bumps on his skin were giving away his fear. But when the blade dug into his skin, Stitch froze with his mouth wide open, desperately trying not to utter a sound at the barbaric, unforgiving cut that just wouldn’t end. Captain was savoring it, taking his time as if the view of the splitting flesh, the cool blood Stitch could feel welling up, gave him pleasure. It was unbearably awful. Not at all like the pain of combat when adrenaline and anger were muffling the blow. This was long, painful, and calculated.

Stitch focused on not making a sound so bad that he lost contact with what anyone was saying. He heard Gator’s voice, Jynx’s laughter, other men making comments, but it blurred with the pain into an indistinguishable mass. Keeping silent cost him biting his lips bloody. He rubbed his sweaty forehead against the gravel as blood trickled down his sides. Captain was making long, parallel incisions, and methodically trailing the knife from one side of his back to the other.

The torture started all over again, when Captain decided he wasn't done yet and dug his knife in the other way, beginning to create a checkerboard made of gore on Stitch’s back. Stitch tried to distract himself, go deeper into his own mind, all not to think that the man who had been his best friend since childhood would do this to him with so much pleasure. It was like when Captain once tortured a puppy, just to see how long it would take for it to die. But that wasn’t what Stitch wanted to remember. He focused his mind on his daughter and that biker pony she wanted. She’d love it if Stitch could pull it off. And there was Zak, whose warm smile never failed to make Stitch all gooey inside, who was so sure of who he was and what he wanted to achieve in life that Stitch simply couldn’t fail him.