Rattrap

by L. M. Somerton

  Teddy affected a hurt expression. “Hey, can I help it if some guy walks into my fist every now and again?”

  “Of course you can’t,” Shelton soothed him. “We still need the fight, but I have a much better reason for starting it. Teddy, you’ve been going to the bars these guys use for a while now.”

  Teddy nodded. “Yes. They use The Oil Drum quite a bit. Their other watering hole of choice is Blackbeard’s.”

  “Both shitholes,” Hatchet said. “Even the ’roaches won’t eat in The Oil Drum’s kitchen.”

  “Their cheesy fries are good,” Teddy mumbled.

  “How are you still alive?” Orlando said as he distributed mugs of fresh coffee.

  “Hey, I’m a big guy. I get hungry.” Teddy scooped guacamole onto a nacho and shoved the whole thing into his mouth.

  “The point is,” Shelton shouted, “The Oil Drum has pool tables in the back and a weekly open tournament with a big cash prize. It’s tomorrow night.”

  “Perfect.” Rogue grinned. “A legitimate reason for us to be there and an easy way to demonstrate Teddy’s desire to leave The Wyverns. Even if the Knights of War aren’t involved in the tournament, we can create enough chaos to attract attention.”

  “That ‘we’ won’t include you,” Crow said, staring pointedly at Shelton.

  “Or you.” Rogue wrapped his arms around Orlando and squeezed.

  “Fucking macho alpha males,” Orlando complained. “Why should you have all the fun?”

  “You are not coming, even if I have to chain you to the bed,” Rogue snarled.

  “What he said,” Crow said.

  Shelton’s eyes grew huge and his mouth formed an ‘o’ shape.

  Teddy watched the exchange with interest, wondering if Shelton would capitulate or protest. Everyone around the table watched and waited. Shelton swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Crow licked his lips.

  “Seems like it’s film night for you and me then, Orlando.”

  Crow grunted his satisfaction.

  Teddy grinned and shoved another handful of nachos into his mouth.

  Chapter Three

  Adrian Hayder stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom and checked his appearance. Deciding on an outfit to wear to a biker bar was not something he did often.

  “Suitably grungy,” he said to his reflection. He usually wore his oil-smeared jeans for working on his classic Thunderbird restoration project. The Anthrax T-shirt was a legacy of his head-banging youth. It was a little snug, though Adrian had a sense of pride that it still fit even though he’d had it in the back of his closet for ten years. He kept in good shape for his job and the shirt clung tightly enough to show the outline of his muscles. He finished off the outfit with a battered leather jacket and his uniform boots.

  “Second time lucky.” The previous night had been a bust. A beer in each of the four bars he’d visited had given him a pleasant buzz, but he’d learned nothing useful. Listening in to conversations told him that he’d be better off coming back the following night. So after spending his day off catching up on some much needed sleep, visiting the gym and cleaning his house, Adrian prepared to hit the town once more. He added a bit of gel to his hair and roughed it up a little.

  “That will have to do. It’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone for Christ’s sake.” Though if Teddy Austin showed his face, things could get interesting. Adrian prayed that he didn’t come across any of The Wyverns. He needed to stay invisible.

  Hayder made the hour-long drive to The Oil Drum listening to country music. It was an act of rebellion against the rock music that would soon be assaulting his ears. He parked a couple of blocks away from the bar and walked toward the noise. Heavy metal carried on the still night air. “Thank God, I don’t live in this neighborhood,” Adrian muttered. Not that there was that much residential housing in the area. A few run-down tenements and a block of detached houses that might have been grand in their day but now stood with listing porches, peeling paint and boarded windows. Gang signs were interspersed with the graffiti, which added a splash of color to the otherwise dingy surroundings.

  The Oil Drum was situated in premises that had once housed a lube shop. The service counter now formed the bar. A band, whose signage declared them to be The Buzzards, played from a mezzanine above a small dance floor. Cut-away oil drums had been converted into chairs and tables. Waitresses wearing cut-off shorts and Oil Drum T-shirts held their drink-laden trays high to avoid knocking heads.

  Adrian edged toward the bar and ordered a beer. He found a spot in a dark corner where he could observe most of the main room and settled in to do a bit of people-watching. On the edge of the dance floor, a group of tables had been pulled together. Around them, twenty or so bikers were gathered. From the amount of empty bottles littering the area, they had been there a while. Adrian noted the patches and piercings, denim and leather, the obligatory tats. The Knights of War looked the part but there was something not quite right about them. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was off.

  For half an hour, Adrian sipped his beer. He gently rejected the advances of a couple of women and engaged in mundane chat with a couple of bar flies. He gestured to the bartender for another beer and waited for it to arrive. Several of the Knights of War stood and began to make their way toward the back of the room. When the bartender slid a fresh beer across to him, Adrian nodded toward the exodus.

  “What’s going down?”

  “Weekly pool tournament. It’s a ten-dollar entry fee if you fancy your chances.”

  “Thanks. Might just give it a go.” Adrian slid from his stool and was just about to follow the crowd when he froze. Five members of The Wyverns swaggered into the bar.

  “Fuck.” Adrian pressed back into his corner. Rogue headed the group, acting for all the world like he owned the place. He was flanked by Hatchet on one side and Teddy on the other. Adrian sucked in his breath. Under a leather waistcoat, Teddy wore a sleeveless denim shirt, revealing his tattooed arms in all their glory. Colorful ink twined around his biceps in vivid patterns, displaying his muscles to full effect. Adrian licked his lips. Fuck, that man is fine. Teddy had on beaten-up leather pants that hugged his ass and thighs, the thick ridge of his cock apparent even in the dim light. Adrian’s breath hitched and his dick hardened. The need to feel that hefty girth slamming into him swept over him in a wave that left him sweaty and panting. Fuck. Need to calm down or I’m gonna come in my pants. What the hell are they doing here anyway?

  “Get the beers in.” Rogue’s voice carried clearly, and Teddy moved toward the bar, scowling. The others carried on toward the back room. There were four or five bodies between Adrian and Teddy. Adrian turned away and prayed he wouldn’t be spotted. He clearly heard Teddy order then mutter his discontent, “Not his fucking servant.”

  Teddy collected his tray of beers and made his way toward the back. A path cleared for him as he moved. Adrian had to admit that Teddy was pretty fucking intimidating. His size and the thunderous expression on his face were a dangerous combination.

  What the fuck do I do now? If Adrian followed The Wyverns out to the pool tables he’d inevitably be spotted. If he stayed where he was he had no chance of learning what was going on. In the end, Adrian chose the option least likely to get him killed and stayed put. There were still several members of the Knights of War in the main bar and the pool tournament had to end sometime. He settled in to watch and wait.

  * * * *

  The pool room smelled of beer and sweat. Teddy couldn’t decide which odor was staler, but both offended his nostrils. There was resistance as he lifted his boots. Lord knows what clung to the sticky residue that coated the cheap linoleum. Fluorescent lights hung low over the three tables, the balls racked and ready. A yellow tinge shaded everything with a hint of decay. Not that the room needed any help in that regard. It no doubt hadn’t seen a coat of paint in at least thirty years.

  In the far corner, a small table housed si
gn-up sheets and a battered tin for the fees. Teddy nodded to a couple of men wearing Knights colors.

  “Keep acting friendly to that bunch of shit-riding losers and I might start to doubt your loyalty,” Rogue growled under his breath.

  Teddy clenched his teeth and his fists.

  “Go and do the sign-up. Hatch and Crow are playing.” Rogue took the tray of drinks, then turned his back leaving Teddy to register.

  Teddy made eye contact with the grizzled old biker manning the table. “Two.” Teddy tossed down a couple of bills.

  “Not playing yourself then?” He tapped the notes with nicotine-stained fingers.

  “Apparently not.” Teddy filled in the sign-up sheet then moved away. Rogue and the others had occupied a table at the side of the room and were talking in low voices. Teddy scowled. Being excluded from the group made his skin itch. He slouched against a wall and threw a few challenging stares at players waiting to start their games. He didn’t need to fake belligerence—his mood was dark enough and a fight would be a great tension reliever.

  “What the fuck are you staring at?”

  Teddy took a step away from the wall and displayed his full height. He smiled at his challenger, taking note of the greasy hair, wispy attempt at a beard and the badly drawn snake tattoo winding around the man’s forearm in black-etched coils. Teddy made a show of cracking his knuckles and flexing his biceps. His challenger paled.

  “Teddy! Sit the fuck down.” Rogue’s voice dispersed the red haze building across Teddy’s vision. He formed the shape of a gun with his fingers then mimed taking a shot before obeying his leader. He turned a chair around and straddled it, facing out into the room. He didn’t like having his back to this crowd.

  “Settle down, or you can wait out on the street,” Rogue said.

  Hatchet smirked as he stood to select a cue from a rack on the wall.

  “That’s right, Teddy Bear, be a good little boy and do as you’re told.”

  Teddy gripped the back of the chair until his knuckles bleached. “Fuck you, Hatchet.”

  Crow pushed past Teddy’s chair, knocking his elbow so that a few drops of beer splattered his pants.

  “Watch where you’re going, you pansy-assed Injun.” Teddy tensed as he spoke, knowing that Crow wouldn’t be able to let that comment go.

  Crow’s pool cue missed Teddy’s head by millimeters, giving his hair a new parting. Teddy cursed and shoved his chair aside. He grabbed the back rungs as it toppled and swung it at Crow, aiming for his knees. Crow jumped back. He grinned, the expression feral. Teddy raised an eyebrow, relaxed his knees then dropped into a crouch. “Come and get it, motherfucker.”

  Crow whirled his pool cue like a baton then struck. Teddy blocked the blow with his forearm. It stung like a bastard. The pain faded to a burning line. Teddy shoved forward, propelling Crow backward into the two men standing behind him. Crow whirled on his heel and threw a vicious punch at one of them. Blood sprayed in a scarlet arc as his target’s nose gave way. Someone turned the volume up on the background music and suddenly a full-blown fistfight involving every man in the room was underway.

  Teddy waded right in. He made sure that he took a few punches but landed a hell of a lot more. Bodies crashed into furniture. Chairs splintered and the pieces immediately became weapons. The sound of shattering glass alerted Teddy to the presence of broken bottles. He kept his arms up. No way he wanted to get jagged glass in his face or neck. He checked around for the rest of The Wyverns. Rogue was behind one of the Knights of War, throttling him with a cue. Hatchet seemed to be wrestling on top of one of the green baize-covered tables. Crow was happily trading punches with two men, neither of whom was managing to get anywhere near him with his own fists. Bull used pool balls as missiles, shouting “Strike!” every time he made contact successfully.

  Teddy chuckled. The Wyverns liked nothing more than a good fight. He wondered if anyone had called the cops yet. Another night in Adrian Hayder’s company would make the bruises worthwhile, though the man was tediously attached to procedure. Teddy had tried every trick he knew to get the gorgeous sheriff to share his cell, but to no avail. Teddy was nothing if not persistent. He could be just as stubborn as his obstinate lawman. The Knights of War were not much of a challenge when it came to a fight. Teddy landed a couple of good hooks that bruised his knuckles. He picked one man up by his belt loops and tossed him across a pool table. The landing came with a satisfying crash. Soon there would be no furniture left to break in the room. Teddy glanced at Rogue and raised a questioning eyebrow. Rogue gave the slightest of nods but it was enough to tell Teddy what he needed to do.

  “Fuck you, Rogue, and fuck The Wyverns. We’re done!” Teddy yelled above the racket.

  Rogue shoved the man he was fighting to the ground and planted a boot in his ribs.

  “We were done a long time ago.” Rogue threw a punch, and Teddy dodged a couple of seconds too late. Rogue’s fist made contact with Teddy’s lip, splitting it open. Teddy spat blood onto the floor, the crimson splash merging with a rainbow of other stains. The glitter of a blade appeared in Rogue’s hand.

  “Fuck you,” Teddy swore. He turned on his heel and marched from the room out through the bar to the street. Sirens wailed in the distance. Unhurried, Teddy crossed the street to his bike and swung his leg across the saddle. He started the engine and listened to the deep rumbling growl for a few seconds. Men spilled from The Oil Drum in a tumble of limbs and leather, denim and dust.

  “What the fuck!” Teddy swore as he spotted a familiar face amongst the fleeing crowd. He did a double take. Adrian Hayder out of uniform was unfamiliar but it was definitely him. “He’s gonna get himself fucking killed.” Teddy turned the bike and pulled up alongside the opposite sidewalk. Hayder spotted him and froze.

  Teddy thrust his helmet toward the sheriff. “Put this on and get on the fucking bike.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Hayder pulled the helmet on and straddled the bike behind Teddy, pressing his warm body against Teddy’s back. It wasn’t the time for questions or conversation. Teddy revved his engine and pulled away.

  * * * *

  “What. The. Fuck.”

  If words were knives Teddy would have three deep, bloody stab wounds. A smile flickered around his lips. Adrian stood on the lane outside his house, hands on hips, a picture of gorgeous, indignant fury. Teddy lounged in his saddle, holding the helmet that had recently been shoved into his gut.

  “How do you know where I live?” Adrian spat.

  Teddy dismounted, placed the helmet on the vacated seat and considered his answer.

  “Followed you home a couple of times.” He rolled his shoulders and took a couple of paces toward the pretty sheriff, invading his space. “You have a nice place.”

  “You… You…”

  Teddy silenced the stuttering with a fierce kiss. He grasped the nape of Adrian’s neck and held him firmly in place, then forced his tongue into Adrian’s mouth and hummed his pleasure at the malty taste. Adrian fought him, but not hard enough that Teddy believed he really wanted to get away. Teddy pulled back with a good deal of reluctance but kept his hand in place.

  “Invite me in.” It was a demand, not a suggestion.

  “Why the fuck should I?” Adrian glared.

  Fuck, he’s gorgeous when he’s mad. Teddy cocked his head to one side. “Because I’m gonna fuck you into next week and I’d rather not do it out here in the street.”

  Teddy grabbed a handful of hair and pulled Adrian close for another scorching kiss. He walked him backward at the same time, pushing inexorably toward the house. Gasping for air, Adrian shoved him away.

  “You are not coming in.” Adrian blocked the door.

  “I am.” Teddy shoved his thigh between Adrian’s legs. “You’re hard. You can’t deny you want this.” He shoved Adrian against his door and ground against him, demonstrating his own state of arousal.

  “No!” Adrian humped Teddy’s thigh even as he protested. “Can’t do this.”


  Teddy swung him around and covered him, making contact from chest to knee. He sank his teeth into Adrian’s neck, biting hard enough to leave a good bruise.

  “You fucker! Get off me!”

  Teddy shoved his hand into Adrian’s jacket pocket and grasped his keys. He leaned around the struggling sheriff and opened the door. Momentum carried them both inside. Teddy kicked the door shut with a growl. He tossed the keys to the floor then tore at Adrian’s jacket until he could dump that, too.

  “Get the fuck out of my house!”

  Adrian grabbed the neck of Teddy’s denim shirt and ripped. It parted down the center, buttons scattering, exposing his chest. Teddy shrugged off his waistcoat and the ruined shirt went with it. He wrestled Adrian toward the stairs. The sheriff fought hard and even though Teddy had several inches on him, Adrian was strong and determined. They knocked into a side table and a hideous brown vase full of dried flowers crashed to the tiled floor, shattering into fragments. A picture tilted precariously as Teddy’s shoulder hit the wall next to it.

  Teddy laughed out loud. He hadn’t had so much fun in an age. He grabbed Adrian around the waist and pushed him forward onto the stairs. As the sheriff scrabbled for purchase, Teddy reached around him and managed to undo his belt buckle. He pulled the strip of leather from its loops, wound an end around his hand then gave Adrian’s ass a couple of hard whacks.

  “Take me to your bed if you don’t want a few more of those,” he said, half hoping that Adrian would resist a bit more.

  “You did not just do that!” Adrian cursed up a storm and kicked out like an angry mule. Teddy grabbed his ankle and yanked him back down. He took a hold of Adrian’s waistband and pulled. Without the belt, his black jeans slipped down his thighs, exposing the straps of a pure white jock and two blushing ass cheeks.