Red Hot

by K. A. Merikan

  Red Hot

  Sex & Mayhem #5

  K.A. Merikan

  Smashwords Edition

  Acerbi & Villani ltd

  Red Hot

  K.A. Merikan

  --- Live fast. Die young. Fuck hard. ---

  Red Jack. Rude. Crude. Horny ginger mess. In love with… himself.

  Loki. Deadbeat. Volatile. Stalker. Terminally ill. Fatally in love.

  When it comes to men, Red Jack has three rules. The guy has to be hot, out of town, and not up for repeats. It’s a good way to keep the gay flings far away from the eyes of his brothers in the Coffin Nails Motorcycle Club, and he will make damn sure it stays that way. When a hookup takes an ominous turn, and the sexy stranger turns up at his house, the heat is on. Loki invades his life and just won’t leave, wreaking havoc wherever he follows Jack, but getting rid of him becomes harder with every kiss.

  The world crumbles around Loki when he finds out he has cancer. As if his life wasn’t shit enough already. With only a few months left, he decides to live to the fullest and get every last wish on his bucket list fulfilled. One of those is fucking the hot bearded biker he meets the same night he got the bad news. Big, confident, and dangerous, Red Jack is all Loki ever wanted in a man. After all, he deserves one last shot at love. Who cares if Red Jack is a stubborn, closeted asshole? Loki knows what he wants, and he won’t settle for anything less. Even if it kills him.

  POSSIBLE SPOILERS:

  Themes: Outlaw motorcycle club, criminal activity, hurt/comfort, abuse, sexual orientation issues, stalking, revenge, bucket list, coping with illness, first love

  Genre: M/M dark erotic romance, suspense, drama

  Length: ~105,000 words, standalone novel (contains HEA)

  WARNING: Adult content. Explicit gay sex, strong language, graphic violence, abuse scenes, drug use. Reader discretion advised.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living, dead, or undead, events, places or names is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transferred in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the publisher. Uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without a permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.

  Text copyright © 2015 K.A. Merikan

  All Rights Reserved

  http://kamerikan.com

  Cover design by

  Natasha Snow

  http://natashasnow.com

  Table of contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other books

  The characters in this book live deeply in the morally grey zone, and we wouldn't advise anyone to follow in their footsteps ;).

  Chapter 1

  Smoke left Red Jack’s lungs in one long exhale through his nose. He was waiting for Lucy to leave the club after he decided not to watch her strip today in hope she’d find his action classy enough to finally put out. His dick was in dire need of sucking. Hadn’t he waited long enough for the bitch anyway? Almost a year since she started stripping at the clubhouse parties and wouldn’t even give him a lap dance. Fucking Ice Queen. Gave Sam a lap dance, and what did Sam have that Red Jack didn’t? Sure, the fucker had a pretty face, but he was also shorter and smaller. Maybe he was less threatening? That was a comforting thought. Being intimidating wasn’t always a bad thing. Chicks dug that. He’d rather not let his subconscious tell him that she probably didn’t like redheads, or freckles, or that something else was wrong with him.

  Red Jack worked hard at the gym to get the way he was. All bulked up, with a ripped stomach, full-sleeve tattoos up to the knuckles, and a big beard trimmed at the barber’s every week. He was no scum. He was fucking biker royalty, and that bitch Lucy had better acknowledge it.

  He put out his cigarette against the wall. “For fuck’s sake… how long can a motherfucking lap dance take?”

  The backdoor of the club opened the moment he thought that for probably the hundredth time, but Red Jack’s hopes were crushed yet again when he saw Lucy’s colleague, Anita, walk out in a short fur coat. She rushed through the parking lot at the back of the strip club, her high heels clicking on the rough asphalt.

  “Hey, babe!” Red Jack yelled. “You seen Lucy? She said she’d meet me outside.” He couldn’t focus that much on Lucy though when his gaze strayed to Anita’s ass in just a pair of hot pants.

  The woman stumbled in her high heels, spinning around to look at him. “She’s not here anymore,” she called, quickly pulling out the car keys and fumbling with the lock of her ancient Ford. She virtually jumped inside and slammed the door shut as if there were a pack of wild dogs chasing her.

  Red Jack raised his arms in annoyance. The fuck was that? Did the bitch ditch him? How fucking rude was that? She’d told him herself that she’d be leaving through the backdoor. Did she ‘forget’ about him again?

  Red Jack sneered and lit himself another cigarette. The girl acted like he was some fucking leper, when in fact it would be him doing her a favor by putting his dick in her. How cold can a bitch be? Just because she was some pole-princess, doing all those stunts, didn’t make her any better than him. She didn’t even have big tits. She was practically a pity fuck. And here Red Jack was, ready to give his dick to the charity-case pussy, and what did he get? Fucking insults!

  Anita drove by, but just as Red Jack mounted his bike, her car moved backward until she was close enough for them to clearly see each other through her open window.

  “Friendly advice? Give up. She doesn’t like you, so stop being a creep.”

  Red Jack threw the cigarette at her car. “Friendly advice? Keep those cumdrinking lips shut!” Didn’t like him? Why the fuck would she not like him? Red Jack showered that ungrateful pussy with attention. He even got her some lingerie last week, and it was some expensive lace stuff as well.

  Anita drove off without a word and disappeared from sight with a squeak of tyres. The bitch was probably jealous he was ignoring her in favor of Lucy. If only Lucy paid more attention to him, she’d surely understand what was good for her. Like that man-slut Jack had met yesterday. That fucker had given his cock some proper worship. Even licked his pubes, didn’t mind the freckles. Red Jack would even say the guy was too eager, trying to grab him all over, as if the short encounter was more than a hookup. Nobody met up for a date in a public toilet.

  Red Jack was getting a boner even thinking about those dick-sucking lips, the throat taking him like a pro. He put on his helmet and drove along the beach to cool off. He had rules, and one of them was not going with a guy two times in a row. There had to be pussy in between to ground him. But he could text the guy after he’d dipped his dick in a few girls. The dude had those haunting black eyes that watched Red Jack so intensely, like he wanted to eat him alive. Maybe he was one of those biker-groupie fags who wet themselves the moment they saw a real man on a bike. Or m
aybe he had a hard time getting a guy, since there was a set of freaky scars on that pretty face. A game of tic-tac-toe, won by the circles, covered the little cocksucker’s entire left cheek, and no amount of hair could hide the protruding lines.

  Red Jack stopped at a gas station to get a frozen pizza and sped straight home. Red Jack’s house was the perfect bachelor pad, and he was sure Lucy would drop her panties the moment she saw his hi-fi system and the new TV, the biggest on the market. In fact, it was so big Red Jack needed to push back his sofa all the way to the wall to watch comfortably.

  The house was Red Jack’s kingdom - large enough to host big parties, with its own bit of beach, away from touchy fuckers who didn’t want a neighbor like him. ‘Too loud’, they said. Though getting arrested after falling asleep naked in the front yard could have had something to do with that as well. It didn’t matter now anyway. He had his own piece of heaven in his house by the beach. If he weren’t with the Coffin Nails MC, he could have never afforded all that at twenty-seven. He even had two motorcycles. One for longer runs, sturdier and more practical, and a custom chopper that was now at the garage, getting some golden wheel rims fitted. Among other things.

  But the moment Red Jack entered his house, he realized something was off. He pulled out his gun, just in case. Better safe than sorry.

  There was a faint smell of cologne in the air, and it wasn’t his own.

  “Hey,” came from the darkness in front of him, straight out of the freaking blackest corner in the whole living room.

  “Who the fuck are you? Show yourself, or I’m gonna shoot,” he hissed and tensed up. Someone dared break into his home? This was new. And why were they hiding in the dark instead of taking him on right away?

  There was a shuffling sound, and then a pair of trainers stepped into the black and white stripes of light coming through the blinds. Two steps more, and Red Jack was facing a familiar face. Too familiar for his liking. The black, haunting eyes he’d first seen less than a day ago, stared back at him.

  “You were supposed to fuck me, and you didn’t.”

  Red Jack poked the guy’s forehead with the barrel of his gun. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” He looked him up and down, and switched on the main lights. What was he thinking? Breaking into Red Jack’s house? Did the cocksucker have a death wish?

  He didn’t seem afraid of the gun. Instead of cowering like any normal person would, his large eyes looked straight into Red Jack’s. The guy had this oddly androgynous face, with a narrow nose and pouty lips, and yet despite that and the long dark hair, he was distinctly masculine in all his slim-but-toned glory. The crisscrossed picture carved on his cheek turned the formerly pretty face into one that belonged on a serial killer from the movies or a marked prison bitch. Someone that you’d do but not necessarily have a beer with. Red Jack would have considered him for another blow job in the future if the fucker hadn’t invaded his privacy.

  “What’s up with that toy? I’m not gonna hurt you,” said the guy, reaching out to Red Jack. The faint light made the black stylized snakes on the sleeve tattoos come to life. It was as if they were demons from hell, ready to tangle around Red Jack’s legs and pull him into the underworld.

  Red Jack’s jaw dropped. “You hurt me? Who’s the one with the gun, you moron, huh?” He poked the guy’s head again, to make a point. This was an outrage! How dare he just barge in like that? How had he even found Jack?

  The guy scowled and turned his face away, showing off the black stretcher in his earlobe. Red Jack didn’t really believe this scarred fag could do anything more than sulk, so he let the barrel slide down the angular cheekbone. He stilled when that luscious mouth opened, and the pink tongue slipped out to lick the cold steel.

  Red Jack’s cock responded to that all too eagerly. This guy was whacky. Red Jack pulled the gun away and put the safety on. “Get the fuck out of my house,” he hissed, more freaked out by the second.

  The guy took another step toward Red Jack, a small smile coloring his lips as he walked farther into the light. “Are you scared of me?”

  Fucker had some nerve. Scared? Red Jack wasn’t scared of anything. He spat danger in the face and drove off at 200mph! He pushed the guy away, toward the patio door.

  “Why would I be scared of some little faggot, just because he can pick locks?”

  The pale face twisted. “What’s your problem? It was you who got in touch with me!”

  Red Jack’s chest constricted, making it hard to breathe. He’d always gone out of town for a hookup with a man. And it wasn’t like he did it all that often either. Only when he was out of lips to suck him.

  “I never told you to come to my house!” Red Jack pushed him farther.

  The guy pulled back his hair and leaned his back against the patio door. “Don’t be like that. I came here for you.”

  Red Jack didn’t like the look this stranger was giving him. As if he was about to do the fucking. What right did he have to act like that in a house he’d broken into? He was not welcome. Even with that nice hair that Red Jack had wrapped all around his hand when he fucked the guy’s throat.

  Yet all the stranger made Red Jack feel right now was uncomfortable. “Should have fuckin’ texted. I’d tell you to fuck off, and you wouldn’t have to go to all the trouble of coming here.” Red Jack opened the patio door.

  The guy sighed, narrowing his eyes, but when those slim fingers skirted over Red Jack’s stomach, it was too much. Jack pushed his unwanted guest so hard the guy fell over into the sand.

  “And stay out.” Red Jack snarled and shut the door, with his heart pounding as if this were a big deal. Invisible ants still crawled over his stomach where the uninvited touch had been. He never should have sent the guy a dick pic.

  Chapter 2

  One day before...

  Two years ago, Loki had cheated death, so he hadn’t expected the Reaper to rear his ugly head so soon.

  The tears in Loki’s eyes made everything blurry, but as he drove his old green Dodge down the empty road, he couldn’t find an excuse to stop. Not being sure of what was ahead didn’t seem enough of a reason. He shouted the lyrics along with the angry vocals screaming out of his player and put another item on the hastily written bucket list.

  Have a birthday party.

  That one he probably couldn’t make with three months left tops. He looked up from above the notebook propped on his knee and turned the wheel left, just in time to avoid driving off the asphalt again. It didn’t help that it was rapidly going dark.

  Loki took a deep breath and blinked, but looking at the piece of paper in front of him only reminded him that he’d wasted all twenty-two years of his life, and now it was too late. He’d never get that time back. He’d die bitter, losing it as the tumor in his head grew large enough to give him seizures and eventually killed him.

  Not treatable. That was what the results said. There was no way for Loki to survive. He knew there were options to maybe give him a bit more time. Chemotherapy. Radiation. But who’d pay for that? And why would he want to spend his last days in a hospital or lying in bed, too weak to do anything? He’d rather go out with a bang. Die on the dancefloor. Die while being tag-teamed. Kill himself in a way so crazy people would remember him forever. He’d be famous, even if after death. Most of all though, Loki didn’t want to die alone.

  He did technically still have a boyfriend, but Loki didn’t love Richard, and he was pretty sure Richard didn’t love him either. It had been an arrangement that allowed him to live in peace, without worrying whether he’d have something to eat the next day, or whether he’d wake up at all. But Richard was the kind of guy who gave you the obligatory Valentine’s gift and expected to get his dick sucked after, as if a box of chocolates was a big deal to someone with his kind of money. It was him who brought Loki the news. And as Loki slowly died inside, Richard offered him tea and a stiff hug. For Richard, telling his boyfriend that he was dying had been an uncomfortable chore.

  Loki wa
s so done with this douchebag. He’d rather die in a back-alley than with Richard sitting by his deathbed out of obligation, with his eyes constantly darting to his phone in search for a reason to excuse himself.

  Packing everything Loki owned had been a sad affair. It all fit into two sports bags, which were now in the trunk of his car. There had been neither good-byes nor goodbye fucks, and Loki suspected Richard would be secretly grateful for being spared the awkwardness of nursing Loki while his health deteriorated. It had already been clear that he was tired with Loki’s bouts of nausea and headaches. When Richard had taken Loki in, he probably hadn’t expected him to be so high maintenance.

  Loki wiped his eyes with his wrists and looked at the bucket list again.

  Be famous

  Go on a perfect date

  Fall in love

  Talk to Peter of The Rotting Apple

  Try candied scorpions

  Go back to bareback

  Get love tattoos

  Have a birthday party

  He swallowed hard and wrote down another entry, Fuck a ginger.

  The moment he put those words on paper, his phone beeped with an incoming message.

  He sniffed and pulled it out of his pants. He didn’t really want to hear from Richard, but at least it would mean the bastard missed him on some level.

  But it wasn’t Richard. It was a message on the hookup app Loki sometimes used when he was bored with his life. There were no words in the message, just a picture. A photo of a pretty stunning cock surrounded with dark ginger pubes.

  The car shook as it slid off the asphalt yet again, and Loki returned the right front wheel where it belonged before breathlessly staring at that thick meat. A ginger. A ginger wanted a fuck from him. This was destiny. He could almost hear the fluttering of angel wings in the car.