Twisted Tales of Mayhem: 2019 MMM Special Edition Anthology

by Sapphire Knight

  In preparation, I remove the ponytail and grip it between my teeth. Shaking my hair out, I set my feet.

  You watch my whole routine with an amused look.

  But this isn’t playtime. Solemnly, I say, “Welcome to therapy. You can watch but keep a respectable distance please.”

  And I bump you with my hip.

  You bump back and then snap-off a legit army salute that makes the chains on your wallet jingle and say, “I’ll watch your six while you work out your shit.”

  “Thanks?” I say with a laugh. Neil’s got the back of the tarp open. An audience gathers and he herds them like chickens to safety. Waving his big straw hat, he says. “Behind me, children. Behind me. Look what she did to me last week.” He points to overly crossed eyes and gleeful laughter erupts but the children sit well out of range.

  Butt pressed to my shoulder, I ask. “All clear?”

  It sounds like circle time when they give a resounding yes.

  “You’ve got quite a crowd gathered,” you remark.

  Your eyes feel like added weight. Instead of nerves I’m brimming with pride. I can’t wait for you to see. Confidently, I say, “Yeah. I’m a real Angie Oakley. Enjoy the show.”

  “That first star has my brother’s name on it.” My whisper caresses the gun barrel before I pull the trigger.

  ………

  Mystified wows come from the crowd behind Neil.

  It feels like I might float away when your lips brush mine. I open my eyes and look up into yours. “The kids,” I murmur.

  “Your eyes were closed the whole time? You are amazing, you know that?” you ask.

  “No, I don’t,” I say.

  “Well, you’re about to find out.” You whisper against my lips. The first kiss feels like an appetizer. This is the one I’ll remember. Gentle lips press against mine and I feel like I’m no longer on my own. Instead of squeezing the trigger to feel safe, I grab onto you. Clutching your vest, yanking you to me, I can’t get close enough.

  This time it’s you that pulls away. Toying with a strand of my hair, it’s cute how you give me my words right back. “What about the kids, Ang?” you ask. It drives me wild when you call me that. I’m sure you know that by now.

  And there’s something else you should know. I lean close, but this time it’s for privacy.

  Hands on my hips, your arms slide around my waist like I was made for you. Expectantly. you wait.

  Why is life so unfair! Before I lose my nerve, I speak in a hurried, confessional whisper. “I’m Angelina Braga. Sister to that dick up on the hill. If the kids here knew, I don’t think they’d be cheering for me.”

  Guilt floods me when I steal a glance at the kids playing on the rails of the boardwalk. How my brother could even think of them as anything other than innocent is beyond me.

  You tug my chin until I’m facing you. Looking into my eyes you say, “Ang, everyone here knows exactly who you are. They just don’t give a fuck. Neither do I.”

  Punctuated with a kiss on the tip of my nose, you ask. “Hungry?”

  Surprised that I am, I say, “Ravenous.”

  With a chivalrous kiss to the back of my hand you say, “Grab your shit.”

  Man-speak, but that’s how you asked me to lunch.

  Before we leave, I tuck money into the frayed ribbons of the secondhand prizes and hand them to my fans. Street kids that can never get enough of the lady that shoots bull-eyes with her eyes closed. “Don’t spend it all on the games. Get something to eat.”

  Walking back to the parking lot, it’s only natural to take what is offered. Hands linked, we navigate the uneven path together.

  “What about your public relations thing?” You ask.

  “I just did it,” I say.

  Chapter 5

  Looks are shared, innuendoes given freely and by the time I climb onto the back of your bike. I claim that bitch seat as my own.

  The roar of your engine announces our arrival. People crane their necks to get a glimpse of the biker. Arms wrapped tight around you, chin resting on your shoulder, the attention makes me preen.

  You nod toward a roadside stand advertising The Best Clams and I squeeze you tight in agreement.

  It’s awkward but endearing how gently you remove the helmet. Careful not to pull my hair, you hang it on the handlebars, “Aren’t you afraid it will get stolen?” I ask.

  Serious, you tap the logo on the side that matches your belt buckle and say. “Everyone knows who it belongs to.”

  Leaning on your bike, I watch as you order.

  “Thought you didn’t eat meat!” you yell over your shoulder.

  “I didn’t know you! There was no way I was getting out of the car!” I yell back.

  The cashier repeats the total twice ‘cause you’re too busy checking me out.

  Food in hand, you motion me over to a table. “Looks like we’ll have to eat here. No plastic bags. Offered to pay extra but the dude said they were endangered. One just got killed this morning.”

  “Ha ha,” I say and take one of the newspaper cornucopias stuffed with fried clams.

  You brush off a seat overlooking the crashing waves for me. When I sit, your lips on my earlobe give me chills when you whisper, “Best seat in the house.”

  You run back for our drinks and my stomach rumbles. Thank God you didn’t hear it. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this hungry. Meals at my house are usually more of my brother with a side of sit by Vincent.

  I bite into a breaded clam and I’m rewarded with an explosion of flavor. Fresh clam, cilantro, sea salt, butter is that…avocado?

  You catch me mid chew. “How is it?”

  The exaggerated roll of my eyes doesn’t do the food justice.

  “Taste this.” I say and watch as you eat right out of my hand.

  Chewing, you concede. “Not half bad. Just needs a little heat.”

  “I’ve got a little heat for you,” I say and slide the bottle of Tapatío towards you.

  “Not the heat I was talking about,” you say and start eating.

  “Obviously.” I say back.

  For dessert, we share a bottle of house beer and watch the seagulls fight over our remains. In that space of time, I know everything. You love the beach but only surf during the day. Rocks make it too dangerous. Loyal, you’d die for your ‘brothers’ and I can’t find a single thing wrong with you.

  Until you ask about me.

  “Besides the fact that I’m a mob princess?” I joke.

  “More like a prisoner.” You scoff and drain the rest of the beer.

  You’re quiet so long, I start to wonder if the beer went right to your head. I’m surprised when you turn toward me with mischief in your eyes and ask. “Wanna get wet?”

  Staring at your full lips, I confess, “More than anything.”

  Walking to the bike, we share secret smiles to inside jokes that no one knows about. Eyes on the future, the looks we share last an eternity. You lift me onto the bike like you’ve been doing it your whole life. Practiced hands glide past the hem of my dress, onto my bare thigh. Your fingertips tease the back of my thigh, in search of the zipper. “Where we are going, you won’t need these,” you say.

  My pussy vibrates as you unzip my boot. A sigh filled with want tumbles from me. Which you catch with your mouth. Urgent lips dragged across mine, your voice sounds stern when you say, “No name brands allowed.”

  Embarrassed, I feel the need to explain, “They aren’t my idea of proper beachwear but my brother dictates my wardrobe.”

  “Not anymore,” you say and toss the thousand-dollar boot behind a scrub bush

  Impressed, I hold my other boot out.

  When you grip the heel, I get ready for a kiss. Instead I feel your words breathed against my cheek. “Eyes open for this Angie Oakley.”

  You pat my bottom and say, “Scoot.”

  I’m happy to slide back and make a spot between my legs for you.

  When you straddle the bike, I expec
t you to kickstart it like before. Instead, you remain standing. Looking out towards the darkest blue of the ocean, you sound so serious when you say. “Time for a little truth of my own.”

  You shuck the vest and toss it towards my boots. “If anyone sees those boots, I won’t get to see you in them later.”

  Laughing, I turn and am face to face with your naked back.

  Muscular, it’s the color of expensive leather. Timid, my hands move from the safety of your waistband unto the bare skin of your hips. Muscles ripple beneath my fingertips.

  Wanting to touch you everywhere, I fan my hands across your broad back.

  “Reaper. It’s who I am. Can’t change who I am any more than you can,” you say. I’m flabbergasted when you point out the tattoo seared across your shoulder blades. I didn’t even notice it.

  Your skin trembles beneath my lips as I place a kiss on each of the letters. Six kisses before I fall back against the sissy bar. Breathless, I ask, “This isn’t your way of trying to get me to call you Reaper is it? ‘Cause that’s not happening.”

  Laughing, you start the bike. Instead of backing out, we’re heading toward the edge of the perilous cliffs.

  Chapter 6

  Vertigo threatens when I stand on the back pedals and peer over the edge.

  When I see just how steep the winding path is to get to the beach below, I clutch you in a death grip.

  “Are we jumping?” I ask casually.

  With a ref of the engine, you shrug. “More like flying. But I may toss you over if you keep talking like that. Hold on, we’re taking the shortcut,” you warn.

  But I still yelp when the bike catapults forward. One second, the front tire spins in midair, and the next we are flying without a net. With nothing between me and the ground but your driving skills and I’m not even worried.

  Because right then was the moment I fell in love with you.

  Fell? That sounds like I might’ve been pushed, and just so we’re clear, I jumped. With both feet.

  And you know what I did?

  Threw my head back and yelled, “Fuck it!”

  All too soon, the wind’s knocked out of my sails when we hit bottom.

  The bike tries to slide out from under us, but at the last second you turn the slide into a cool landing. There’s a rainbow shaped skid mark behind us but we stop, just short of the water.

  “That’s your idea of getting wet?” I tease.

  Dimples on full display, you say, “Oh, Ang. You haven’t seen nothing yet.”

  There’s a promise in your cocky grin when you ask. “You ready for the ride of your life?”

  Excitement bubbles up until giggles spill from my lips. I smack your hard ass and yell, “Giddy up!”

  Cruising on the wet sand as smooth as we did on the street, we fly down the beach. Perilously close to the incoming waves, instinct makes me raise my bare feet only to watch you drag your steel-toe through it. Feeling fearless, I dip a toe into the crest you create.

  Saltwater sprays my face, the wind whips my hair behind me, if my brother could only see how happy I am now.

  If he could see me? I glance back expecting a tail, but the only thing behind us is one long tire tread.

  Mistakenly, you think I’m checking out your bike.

  “All-terrain treads,” you yell over the waves.

  “Good to know,” I yell back.

  Slowing the bike, you hold both arms straight out, like wings. At this point, I’m hugging more than holding on. As we come to a stop facing the surf, you tuck my feet into your lap. Absently, you rub my instep.

  Waves ripple against the front tire as we watch the sunset. As the color bleeds from the sky, the chaos of the day goes with it. I’m so filled with contentment that a sigh escapes me when you cup my hand and hold it over your heart.

  We sit that way for a bit.

  Until thoughts of my brother’s idle threats pop encroach on my great day.

  Don’t make me come looking for you. If you do, I’ll drag you home by your hair.

  Begrudgingly, I get off the bike.

  But you don’t let me flee. Toying with the tips of my fingers, you pull me close.

  “What are you doing all the way over there?” you murmur.

  All I can think of is where I’d like to be, but I’m coy when I ask, “Where would you like me?”

  Lips inches from mine, you tease. “Getting warmer.”

  My hand glides down your abs, all the way down until I feel a very sizable rainbow coming from a pot of gold.

  “Bullseye,” you whisper and pick me up.

  Sitting face to face our foreheads touch, but I’ve got no clue what to do with my dangling legs. Uncomfortable, I’m not really sure what to do until you take my feet and wrap them around your waist. Holding you close, the trail of kisses you leave on my neck pushes all of my buttons.

  When your fingertips glide across my closed mouth, I kiss them as if they were your lips.

  With a groan, you bunch my tank dress in your fist and yank it above my breasts.

  Moaning, I wiggle under your searing gaze. But I’m made to wait. Only when you’ve seen all of me do your fingertips skim the underside of my globes. My body shakes beneath your touch. The softest kiss to my quivering stomach feels like a promise of what’s to come.

  But I want more. Wanton for you, my thighs grip yours. My nipples pucker painfully in anticipation, but it’s not your touch I want. “Suck, lick, bite.” I utter everything I want when I grab your head and put your mouth where I want it.

  Frenzied hands settle on my ass. Gripping a cheek in each hand, you ram my wet panties against your massive cock.

  “Yes.” I moan as I reach behind me for traction. Arms braced on the handlebars, I’m able to lift my hips just enough for you to slide your jeans down. The sea breeze feels like a naughty kiss to my heated core.

  With a blind reach, I take hold of your hair and yank your lips to mine. Our teeth gnash, our tongues tangle. Your wet kiss promises everything, brutality, honesty and reality.

  “You know what this means, Ang?” You whisper the question against my bruised lips.

  With a tug to my hair, you still my grinding hips. I look up and the promise is there, itching to get out.

  I know what you’re asking before the words are out of your mouth. I nod and say,

  “I love when you call me Ang.”

  “Then you’re really love this. You’re mine now, Ang.” You say. When you tug my wet panties to the side, your thumb skims my delicate folds. No vibrator invented ever made me feel like this.

  Full of lust, I’m begging. “Please!”

  Like an exclamation at the end of a sentence you give me all of you and leave no doubt in my mind who it is I belong too.

  Chapter 7

  Staring at the crashing waves that pound the beach, when you drop your vest onto my shoulders, I feel like the head cheerleader wearing the quarterback’s letterman jacket. Brimming with pride, I say, “I love it.”

  Wearing a smile like you like what you see, you step back and agree. “My bike looks good on you.”

  “I was talking about the jacket.” I say with a laugh.

  “Oh, I didn’t even notice the jacket. Let me see. From all sides.”

  Serious, you walk a slow wide circle around me. The waves break behind you as you crouch. With a hand place studiously on your chin, you study me like a famous painting.

  The breeze that ruffles your hair touches every part of my body. My hair stands as you creep out of the darkness towards me. The look in your eyes makes me sit up. I’ve heard of wearing your heart on your sleeve, but you’re sporting your very soul in your eyes.

  With reverence, you take my face between your cupped hands and say. “I want you draped across the back of my bike always. We’ll get you a jacket of your own, with a little patch right here.”

  I look down at the patch you’re pointing at. Reaper.

  “Only yours will say Property of Reaper.” You say.

&
nbsp; “That will be the most precious piece of clothing I own.” I say.

  Deadly serious, you seal your promise with a kiss.

  I bet my brother’s going to have a few choice words to say about this. Feeling like I’m being watched, I look back up at the house on the cliff. Men with guns, guarded by gates, that’s where my forced fiancé waits.

  There’s no rhyme or reason to Anthony’s hatred. Nothing I say will ever change him. I look up into your solemn eyes and hope you’re serious.

  “I can’t go home. My brother wants me to marry someone, and it’s not a request,” I confess.

  Understanding dawns on your face. With a gentle smile, you offer. “You don’t have too. Stay with me and the guys.”

  Ruffled, I sit up. “That sounds…weird,” I say.

  You think for a minute and agree. “Or we’ve got a safe house in Long Beach. It’s not much, just a one bedroom on the second floor, but it’s yours if you want it.”

  “Do the doors lock?” I ask.

  You nod.

  “I hope it doesn’t hurt your feelings, but I’ve got to choose…or…” I say softly.

  Smiling you say, “Let’s go get your shit.”

  “Let’s not,” I say.

  Peering into my eyes, I expect you to scoff in the face of danger. Instead you take me by surprise and ask, “Hey Ang. I was thinking. What if we just said, ‘fuck it’ and went to Vegas?”

  My blood throbs in my cheeks I can barely ask, “Are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

  “To be my old lady? Yeah, let’s go make it official,” you say.

  Crying, I blindly reach for you.

  “Is that a yes?” you ask.

  “Yes!” I scream and fall into your strong embrace. Your hug feels like forever and I don’t give another thought to brothers and their stupid word is their bond bullshit.

  I’m filled with thanks for this man that answered every one of my prayers, before I even uttered them. No longer forced to hide from a drunken promise, by this time tomorrow I won’t be anyone’s to give away. Except yours. If I had to choose, I’d say this was the best day of my life, hands down.