Screw

by Atlas, Lilly

  An unexplainable urge to pull Screw into his arms and tell him he got it formed in Gumby. His own childhood was just as nightmarish. Maybe even more so. Though their response to their tortured teenage years differed, Gumby knew what it was to hide as well. He’d hidden his sexuality his entire life. Fuck, he still hid as Screw did behind his gags.

  Self-preservation was a powerful motivator.

  “I get it. It makes a lot of sense, Screw. Why tell me now?”

  “Copper made me enforcer.” He ran a hand across his mouth. Gumby didn’t mention how he noticed the quiver in those fingers. Screw’s vulnerability was a gift he most likely didn’t give to anyone, so Gumby would treat that gift with respect.

  “He placed his trust in me to keep the club safe. It’s more responsibility than I’ve ever had. More than I’ve ever wanted. A side effect of never taking anything seriously is that no one ever took me seriously. I’ve coasted through life fucking anything that walks and having a blast doing it.”

  Another piece of the puzzle fit into place. A large piece. Gumby would be lying if he said what he was learning didn’t make him want Screw even more. “And now you have a very heavy weight on your shoulders.” So much made sense now. Why he hid behind jokes and tricks. Why he always appeared to be playing.

  “Yes,” he said giving a solemn nod. “And for the first time, I want it. I want to prove to my president and my brothers that I’m worthy of their trust and their brotherhood.”

  “Screw…”

  “But I’m scared as fuck.”

  Five little words was all it took for Gumby to forgive every sin the man had committed. He’d bet money on the fact the man had never admitted that to anyone, never opened himself up to another person. And Screw had chosen him.

  Why?

  They fell silent for a moment until Gumby reached out and threaded his fingers though Screw’s. It was the first time he’d willingly touched the man outside of their sexual encounters and instead of bringing fear and panic, it felt…right to comfort the aching man. “What are you scared of, Luke?”

  The anguish in Screw’s eyes had him holding his breath. “Being nothing more than what everyone thinks I am. A fuckup. A joke. Even though I made my own bed, I’m fucking terrified I’ll be lying in it for the rest of my life.”

  Now it made sense, why he was willing to risk his president’s wrath to get the inside scoop on the Chrome Disciples. The new enforcer had something to prove. Or at least he thought he did. Hopefully, Gumby could help him realize he didn’t need to save his entire club by himself to be more than valuable to his brothers.

  “I don’t think you’re a joke.”

  Screw snorted and rolled his eyes but didn’t extradite his hand.

  Gumby gave him a squeeze. “I’m serious. Last night…you were exactly what Jazz needed.” Their gazes locked. “You were exactly what I needed.”

  Electricity crackled between them as Screw’s gaze morphed from cold and aloof to heated desire. But this wasn’t the time or the place, and Gumby had already leapt so far out of his comfort zone he feared he might never find his way back again. Another physical encounter would only fuck with his head further.

  “You have good instincts, and I trust them. I wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t. You need to trust them too. But you also need to remember the title of Enforcer doesn’t make you an island. You want to be worthy of the brotherhood you need to trust in the brotherhood as much as they trust in you.”

  The only response Gumby received was a silent nod before Screw faced front again, but he didn’t sweat it. The other man clearly needed a few minutes to process. And he could have it.

  After shifting the truck into drive, Gumby pulled out onto the single lane highway. Another mile into the trip, a quiet, “Thank you,” came from Screw.

  “I meant it. So…how we gonna play this? We’ll be pulling up in under five.”

  “I filled you in on my encounter with the CDMC’s prospect, Squirt, right?”

  With a nod, Gumby navigated a particularly sharp mountain curve. “Yeah, you told him you live in Knoxville and have a cabin out here to escape the city sometimes. You’re a bike freak but never been in an MC. You don’t know shit about the Handlers beyond their reputation.”

  “Right. So we’re playing it as two weekend warriors from Knoxville. Interested in club life but not quite built for it.” He shrugged and scratched at his beard. “I thought about pushing it and seeing if I could prospect, but it’s too fucking risky. Tonight’s gonna be dicey enough. I’m just hoping to find some loose lipped idiot who’ll blab something about their weapons trafficking or their plans for my club.”

  Pushing his glasses up his nose, Gumby said, “We sticking together or splitting up?”

  “Might have better luck if we’re not joined at the hip but try to remain within line of sight in case shit hits the fan.”

  “Don’t fucking laugh, but we might want some kinda code word. You know, in case we’re near each other and you hear something that makes us need to haul ass outta there. Can’t just grab me and scream run. Little too obvious.”

  With a chuckle that had a nervous quiver to it, Screw rubbed his beard again. “Not used to this thing yet. It’s itchy as fuck sometimes. All right, that sounds all Hollywood spy thriller, but not a bad thought. Any ideas?”

  Well, besides a love of motorcycles and apparently each other’s dicks, what the hell did they have in common?

  “Jazz?” They both said at the same time.

  With a snicker, Screw said, “Jazz it is.”

  After instructing them to make a left, the GPS announced they’d reached their destination. Gumby followed the vehicle in front of him, steering Screw’s truck through an open gate in a high chain-link fence which surrounded the property. Coiled at the top, what he guessed to be razor-sharp, barbed wire ran the length of the fence. Aside from that, security appeared pretty lax.

  No guard at the gate.

  Minimal outdoor lighting.

  Zippo as far as cameras, at least along the fencing.

  Good for them, fucking sucked for women attending these parties. It was a fucking predator’s dream.

  “They got shit for security,” Screw said, craning his neck as they drove through the gate. Another car followed directly behind them.

  “Just thinking the same thing.” Gumby turned right, then backed into a spot with easy access to the exit.

  “Looks like a small warehouse, maybe what? Twenty years old?” Screw’s gaze raked over the building that had become the CDMC’s clubhouse.

  “Yeah. Sounds about right. Look, there’s one guy at the door there. Fucking behemoth.”

  Screw followed Gumby’s gaze. “Shit yeah, he might even have LJ beat. Big motherfucker. But I don’t see anyone else and who knows if he’ll stay there all night. Bet he gets bored and comes in to party.”

  “You’re probably right. They seem unconcerned with security.” He pushed his glasses up his nose, catching Screw’s grin from the corner of his eye. “What?”

  “Nothing.” Screw shrugged “The glasses are hot. Anyway, not sure if they’re arrogant assholes, just haven’t gotten to it yet, or if they’re convinced my club won’t come after them.”

  Gumby blinked at the offhand compliment before glancing out his window. “Probably a bit of all three. That can’t be the only door. Priority one is to locate all the exits when we get in.”

  “Agreed. You ready?” Screw asked as he tied his loose hair in a knot at the base of his skull.

  Gumby looked at the man sitting beside him. The brave man who cared so deeply about his club yet had no idea how to handle that, or most of his emotions. The urge to kiss him rose so quick and sharp in Gumby, he almost couldn’t deny it, but the last thing they needed was to be seen making out in the parking lot. Not all clubs were as accepting of anything beyond heterosexuality as Screw’s.

  “Let’s do it.” Prior to leaving for this party, they’d hung at the Handlers’ clubhouse until it
was time to make their way here. Then, they’d begged off claiming hunger. Right now, Screw’s entire club believed they were out grabbing a pizza. Not a soul knew they were walking into enemy territory, unarmed and unprotected. Yes, they had a few weapons in the truck, but if shit went south, they’d have to make it to the vehicle to have any chance of fighting their way out.

  A few others made their way toward the warehouse turned clubhouse as well. Mostly women, teetering on stilts with skirts barely covering their asses and tit-revealing tops. They must be cold as fuck. Ahead of them, a guy wearing a CDMC cut was waved through the door with an obvious pistol resting at the small of this back. Right behind him, the women were patted down with heavy groping hands.

  They giggled and shimmied under the touch, seeming unaffected by the ‘accidental’ grabs of their tits and asses.

  “So that’s how it’s gonna be,” Screw muttered under his breath as they waited for their turn to be frisked. “Bet every goddamned patched member in the place is armed.”

  “Pretty safe bet.”

  “The fuck are you?” The giant at the door asked, stepping in front of them so they had no chance of darting past him. Not that they wanted to start the night off on the wrong foot.

  Patch on his chest read, Moose. Big as a house, the guy had a smooth head covered in tats, ear gauges, and a gold fucking tooth like some kind of B-movie mobster.

  “Name’s Luke,” Screw said. “This is Will.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Gumby. “Met one of your prospects, Squirt, earlier this week.” He shrugged as though he didn’t give a fuck whether Moose let them in or not. “He told me to check this party out.”

  “Any weapons?”

  “Nope. Feel free to check.” Screw extended his arms and Gumby couldn’t help but notice the way his sleeves clung to his thick arms. In the back, his shirt rode up an inch, giving Gumby a prime view of two dimples at the base of his spine. Fuck, he wanted to dip his tongue right in there.

  What the fuck was happening to him? He’d been with men, but never had the overwhelming desire to run his tongue all over their bodies, and with Screw, it was almost a vital need. They’d have to fuck. He had to get the man out of his system. It was the only way he’d be able to move on and get control over himself once again.

  “Hey! You fucking sleeping there or what?”

  Shit.

  “Sorry.” Gumby stepped forward and extended his arms for the rough pat down.

  Screw cocked his head and raised an eyebrow as if to say, “You cool?”

  With a subtle nod, Gumby dropped his arms as Moose stepped back.

  “Stay in the bar area. You wanna fuck, you leave, find a dark corner, or go at it right there. If you ain’t patched in, you ain’t allowed upstairs or behind any closed doors. Get it?” Moose’s voice was surprisingly high-pitched for such a beast of a man.

  “Got it.” Screw said, all smiles as though totally pumped to be at the party. “Thanks, man.” He held his fist out and Moose bumped it.

  Gumby did the same, then followed Screw into the loud as fuck clubhouse. They’d clearly done a fair amount of work turning the warehouse into a livable space. The place maintained its industrial feel with exposed beams on the ceiling, and brick interior walls. A huge steel bar dominated the wide-open space they’d walked into. Off to the left, an open staircase led to the second floor which he assumed housed bedrooms. Aside from that, the place was plain. A few tables had been scattered throughout the room, but most of the space was jam-packed with bodies writhing to the music.

  “Jesus,” Gumby muttered as he walked past a man who had to be at least fifty with greasy gray hair, a beer belly protruding through the lapel of his cut, and a beard that touched said gut. The guy had his hand buried under some girl’s skirt as she moaned and pumped her hips. A red cup full of God knew what nearly overflowed as she squeezed it. “She could be his daughter.”

  Screw laughed. “Fuckin’ prude. This is my kinda playground.” He shot Gumby a wink.

  The words had something dark, ugly, and unfamiliar twisting inside of him. They made him speak without thinking. “You gonna fuck while we’re here tonight?”

  Christ, could he sound like more of a jealous boyfriend? What the hell was wrong with him. Screw could fuck whoever he wanted all day long if it made him happy.

  “I woulda, even three weeks ago,” Screw said, stopping dead in his tracks. “Then I got a taste of this woman I’ve been after, and haven’t looked at another since.”

  “But—”

  “But this woman’s got a friend. Just as sexy as she is.” He glanced around to make sure no eyes were on them before stepping close and whispering lower than the music. “He’s got me just as fucking wrecked as she does. All I can think about is the two of them, lying in my big bed. He’s hard and she’s wet as fuck while they wait for me to make them both come.”

  “Christ.” His dick responded just as the fucker must have planned.

  “So no, Will, I’m not gonna find someone here to fuck because I can’t get these other two outta my head.”

  Damn, that man was gonna be the death of him. “I need a fucking drink.”

  Screw smirked as his gaze drifted to Gumby’s erection. “Gonna take more than one to deflate that bad boy.”

  A loud roar had them glancing to the right where a man was heading their way. “You fucking made it!”

  “That’s Squirt,” Screw muttered.

  Gumby didn’t react beyond forcing himself to stay relaxed and chill.

  “Hey, man,” Squirt said, holding his fist out to Screw. “Who’s your friend?”

  “This is Will. He works for me.”

  Gumby nodded to Will.

  “Well,” the prospect said, lifting his hands. “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s…fucking crazy.”

  Squirt, whose pupils were pinpoints and who had a dusting of white power under one nostril laughed like Screw had told the funniest joke. “Who doesn’t love fucking crazy?” He tipped back his head and let out a loud whoop. “Let’s get you boys a fucking drink.”

  Screw met Gumby’s gaze and a silent, “Game on,” passed between them before he turned and started weaving his way to the bar behind Squirt.

  Gumby’s eyes fell to the plump, round ass guiding him. Screw had mentioned bottoming in passing at one point. Fuck how he’d like to get up in there. And, Christ, he wanted Jazz to be present and an active participant. Maybe getting fucked by Screw while Screw was getting fucked by Gumby.

  Yeah, he was pretty sure there wasn’t anything he wanted more.

  “Lemme introduce you boys to my enforcer. He’s one righteous motherfucker. His name’s Crank.”

  Except maybe surviving this party.

  Jackpot. Bring on the motherfucker.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  WHY HADN’T SHE canceled girl’s night?

  After the doorbell chimed for the second time, Jazz put down the bottle of wine she’d been about to break into and trudged toward the offending sound. It’d been foolish to think her friend wouldn’t press that round button until the damn thing shorted out.

  Ding-dong.

  “Keep your apron on,” she muttered as she reached the door.

  Before she even had the door all the way open, a squealing Holly jumped into her arms.

  “Hi, Jazzy!” Holly said as she squeezed the life out of Jazz. The high-pitched greeting had her wincing as the words scraped across her overworked brain.

  Why didn’t I cancel girl’s night?

  “Babe, girl’s night is gonna suck if you have to drive Jazz to the hospital to have her ribs X-rayed.” LJ stood in the doorway, a giant Tupperware in his hand, filling the whole damn space with his enormous form. Since he was such a sweet guy and amazing boyfriend to her best friend, Jazz sometimes forgot he could pulverize her, and most people, with one swipe of his pinkie.

  “Oh, please,” Holly said with a wave of her hand and a roll of her eyes. “Jazz knows I’d never sm
ush her. I love her too much.” She drew back and studied Jazz for a moment with shrewd eyes.

  No doubt she noticed the bags under Jazz’s eyes that two pounds of concealer did little to cover. A bottle of chemicals only went so far in disguising a night of shitty sleep followed by a day of extreme obsessing.

  “I thought I needed to let loose tonight, but you look like you need it even more. Hmm.” Without losing the bubbly smile, Holly spun to her man, grabbed his cheeks, planted a wet one on him, then whirled back to Jazz. “Get going, babe. Girl’s night has officially started. Oh!” She turned again—Jazz was getting dizzy at this point—and grabbed the Tupperware with an air kiss. “Thanks!”

  The snort LJ let out had both women snickering. “Love you too, sugar.” After a quick slap to Holly’s ass, he strode out of the house, chuckling.

  “Reese’s peanut butter cup brownies,” Holly said, lifting the tub of sugary goodness. Her laughter faded once they were alone. “Something’s up with you.” She pointed an unpolished finger and narrowed her eyes.

  Ugh, Jazz wasn’t even close to prepared to divulge her inner turmoil right then. But she couldn’t lie to her friend either. “I’ve just got some personal stuff going on.” That sounded bitchy. She might as well have told Holly to mind her own damn business. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  Holly held up a hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Jazz shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “Okay, then. You know I’m here whenever you are ready, so we won’t harp on it.” Holly linked her arm through Jazz’s and tugged her toward her own kitchen. “Instead we’ll get drunk and gorge on these sugar-free, fat-free, five calorie brownies.”

  And that’s why she hadn’t canceled girl’s night. Not for the booze, though it was a definite bonus, but for the sisterhood. Her girlfriends rocked and could pull her out of her head like no other.

  “Thanks, Hol.”

  Holly squeezed her arm. “So, what are we drinking tonight?” she asked as they reached the small kitchen.

  The two bathrooms in her little rental house had probably been updated within the last five to ten years, but the kitchen, the kitchen hadn’t seen so much as a coat of paint since the late eighties.