Discord

by Michelle Frost

  Discord

  An Iron Heretics MC Short

  Michelle Frost

  Copyright © 2019 by Michelle Frost

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or events are purely the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events, establishments, businesses or locales is purely coincidental.

  * * *

  Cover Design by Natasha Snow Designs

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  About the Author

  Also by Michelle Frost

  her·e·tic /ˈherəˌtik/

  a person holding an opinion at odds with what is generally accepted.

  1

  Eric “Cleave” Mercer watched his old high school friend fidget at a table on the other side of the coffee shop window. Typically, a phone call from someone in his past would have set him on edge—have him looking over his shoulder while he waited for the knife in his back—but Jensen James, or JJ as Cleave had always called him, was the exception. They’d been...friends. Something that at the time was in short supply in Cleave’s life. He could only imagine what would prompt JJ to call him after all the silent years between them.

  Deciding he wanted to get off the sidewalk, Cleave took a deep breath and walked to the large glass door of the red-brick storefront. JJ didn’t look up when the bell over the door jangled, absorbed in his clasped hands on the brown table top. Cleave studied his profile as he approached. The same smooth pale skin he remembered was stretched taut over high cheekbones and a wrinkled forehead. Instead of a mousy brown, JJ’s disheveled hair was jet black with vibrant blue tips and hung long enough it curled over his collar, and he kept having to brush it out of his eyes.

  Cleave wondered what JJ would think of the changes to his own body. He’d always been a big guy, but joining the Iron Heretics MC had taken all the soft places, inside and out, and made him hard. He remembered though...the tender bits he’d hidden from the world, hidden from everyone closest to him, except for JJ. Although, there was one secret he hadn’t let JJ see.

  He took another step closer and warm brown eyes snapped up to his. Years of time spent apart stretched between them while their gazes held, as if all the differences could be discerned and cataloged with a simple sweep of the eyes. JJ stood slowly, hands still pressed to the tabletop, and licked a wet stripe across his bottom lip.

  “Eric?” It wasn't a question of identity. Cleave knew JJ realized it was him. The question was, is my friend still in there?

  Cleave found a smile pulling at his lips. “Hey, JJ. I go by Cleave now.”

  A tightness disappeared from around JJ’s eyes as a smile lit up his face as he nodded. “Cleave. It’s really good to see you.”

  “You too. Want to sit?”

  JJ nodded and lowered his lean body back into his chair, the rips in his painted on jeans stretching and giving glimpses of more pale skin. Instead of sitting across from him, Cleave pulled out the chair closest to JJ and sat down, leaning his elbows on the table.

  “Did you not want a coffee?” JJ asked, reaching to fiddle with his own cup.

  Cleave shook his head. “Maybe in a bit.” He let his eyes travel over JJ’s face and down the column of his slender neck to the v-cut of the black t-shirt he was wearing. “How have you been?”

  “Good. I’m, uh, singing...with a band.”

  “I’ve seen your name on some posters. Wasn’t sure it was you though.”

  JJ swallowed, a bit of pink tinging his cheeks. “It’s me.”

  “You any good?”

  A shocked laugh popped out of JJ’s mouth and he met Cleave’s eyes. “My fans seem to think so.”

  There was the sass he remembered. He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

  “You look like you’re doing alright for yourself.”

  Cleave smirked as JJ’s eyes raked over him from head to toe, that rosy glow spreading from his cheeks to his neck.

  “I get by.”

  JJ snorted at that and dropped his eyes. He played with the lid of his cup for a moment before clearing his throat. “I guess you’re wondering why I called.”

  Cleave knew that look. It was the one JJ always got when someone, usually a bully, was messing with him. He hadn’t liked to ask Cleave for help back in school—a trait Cleave was guessing hadn’t changed. “For starters.”

  “Still don’t say much, huh?” JJ shot him a small smile, eyes bright with nostalgia. Cleave never had been a big talker. He’d come out of his shell more in recent years, since he’d grown into skin and into himself, but the quiet stoicism that had been his benchmark for most of his life remained intact. Being this close to JJ made his insides feel warmer, softer, than they had in recent memory. He let some of that warmth fill his eyes as he looked at his old friend. JJ’s smile grew, and he took a deep breath. “I need your help. I need you to be my boyfriend.”

  JJ watched his words wash over Cleave, tracking the widening of his blue eyes and the scowl forming on his handsome face. So handsome, JJ thought, and rugged. In one glance, he’d realized that the man sitting beside him had morphed from the boy he remembered to something else entirely. Gone was the quiet, sometimes awkward defender he’d come to depend on so much in high school, and in his place was a hardened man. Perhaps he was still quiet, but JJ had no doubt that the Eric—Cleave—sitting with him now was one hundred percent sure of himself. It wasn’t even the motorcycle vest with the Iron Heretics MC patch on it that lent an air of command—of self-awareness—the fierce calculating eyes watching him and the deceptively relaxed way he carried himself. The hero of his youth had grown into a dangerous man, and for a millisecond, JJ wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake.

  “Your boyfriend,” Cleave said in a low voice. The demand in his words sent a tingle down JJ’s spine. He licked his chapped lips again as heat flooded his face.

  “Sorry, I should have explained that better.” He took a deep breath to try and quell his nerves. “There’s this man who—”

  “Did someone hurt you?” This time there was no mistaking the growl in Cleave’s voice.

  JJ held his stare and shook his head. “No, but he’s been pushy and I told him that I have a boyfriend...and now I need to show up with one. Someone who—” He swallowed, letting his eyes trail over the muscles stretching the arms of the white t-shirt Cleave had on under his vest. “—isn’t easily intimidated.”

  “Ok.” Cleave leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his massive chest, looking like the poster child for exactly the type of intimidation JJ had been talking about. “Two questions. One, it’s been ten years, what made you think of me and two, why did you think I’d be okay posing as your boyfriend?”

  Something squeezed tight around JJ’s heart. I always think of you, was on the tip of his tongue, but he held it back. With the way this conversation was going, giving away the secret he’d held in his heart for more than a decade felt like the last thing he wanted to do. Still, he had to say something, so he decided to go with most of the truth. “Because I saw you...at Spritz.” Spritz was a local nightclub that catered to gay men, in more ways than one. Upstairs was the picture perfect club scene, with thumping music and go-go dancers in the skimpiest outfits imaginable, but below ground, Madam Vivian ran the most exclusive sex club and escort service in the city.

  Cleave raised an eyebrow. “The club works security at Spritz
. I’m there at least three nights a week.”

  JJ held Cleave’s blue stare and took a slow sip of his coffee. He knew the Heretics had taken over club security after one of the escorts was attacked several months ago, but he’d never seen Cleave there in that capacity. He didn’t doubt what Cleave was saying, but the one time he’d caught sight of those broad shoulders and bearded profile, Cleave had been slipping into one of the private rooms with one of the dark-haired dancers. The moment JJ spotted them was burned into his brain as surely as jealousy had burned like acid in his belly. “I meant, um.” He cleared his throat. “Downstairs.”

  Cleave leaned back in, resting his thick arms on the table. JJ couldn’t stop staring at the dark hair covering his muscled forearms. When his eyes landed on Cleave’s hand, he reached out and brushed a finger over the raised scars on the middle knuckle of his right hand. The air around JJ got heavy when Cleave only watched him, and he blew out a slow breath.

  “No one had ever stood up for me before. When you punched Robbie that day, I didn’t even know what to do.” JJ let his finger fall away from Cleave’s skin and met his eyes again. “I always suspected, you know. But I...well, I guess I was afraid to ask and you never said anything.”

  The stiff set to Cleave’s shoulders eased a fraction. “Back then, I couldn’t say anything.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I decide.”

  “Oh.” JJ felt like an idiot. Reluctance was written all over Cleave’s face. He probably had someone—maybe he was dating that dancer—or maybe him being out would cause problems with his motorcycle club.

  “Tell me what happened with the guy.”

  Disappointment flooded JJ’s belly, but he really should have known better. He’d had to call in a favor from Vivian to even get Cleave’s phone number. He had absolutely no reason to think that Cleave had thought of him once since they’d been in school together, but he steeled himself. If Cleave couldn’t help him personally, he said he worked security with his club, maybe he’d know someone who could. “My band has been trying to get a gig at his bar for months. The last time I was there, he invited us to play at one of his exclusive parties, and he made it pretty clear that if we wanted the opening slot for the next big act coming through that I better be prepared to stay for a private after party. That’s when I told him I have a boyfriend. He was definitely disappointed, but he still wanted us to play the party while alluding that I should leave my boyfriend at home. I realize that we could just say no, but…”

  “You’re hoping you won’t have to.”

  “Yes, but honestly, it was dumb to just spring this on you out of nowhere. I’m sorry—”

  “JJ, I haven’t said no.”

  JJ searched Cleave’s face, but couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he was thinking. “But wouldn’t it be a problem for your club?”

  “Nah, Calix doesn’t care who we sleep with as long as it doesn’t interfere with club business.”

  “Wow. That seems pretty forward thinking for a motorcycle club.”

  “We’re Heretics. Giving no fucks about what anyone thinks is basically our motto.”

  JJ smiled. He couldn’t help it. Hearing Cleave talk without the constant cloud that had hovered over him throughout his teenage years was so satisfying that even if Cleave couldn’t be his fake boyfriend, he hoped that maybe they could somehow be friends again. “That sounds pretty awesome, actually.”

  Cleave pushed back from the table and stood. JJ’s heart plummeted as he looked up at him, but then the corner of Cleave’s mouth quirked. “Can I get you another?” He nodded toward JJ’s forgotten cup. “Figured I’d grab myself one. We should catch up if I’m going to be your boyfriend.”

  2

  “Hey Cleave,” Axel called as Cleave backed his Harley into his spot in front of the Heretics compound. The old warehouse building they’d converted to their clubhouse sat in a mostly vacant industrial park. His head was still full from spending the afternoon in the coffee shop with JJ. A deep hum of satisfaction coursed through his veins at the prospect of more time together—especially under the guise of being JJ’s boyfriend. He tried not to become invested in the idea, but something like hope had been growing in his chest from the moment he’d sat down beside JJ earlier.

  The party JJ’s band was playing for was only three days away on Saturday, and while Cleave knew he wouldn’t cause a scene without provocation—no one was fucking touching JJ.

  “Axel,” Cleave said, getting up off his bike and extending his hand to his club brother. He got along best with Axel of all the full-patched members of the club, probably because they were the most alike—big and brawny with a get-shit-done attitude. Their taste in men tended to run in the same direction as well—sweet and sassy and lean. He’d long suspected Axel was a Daddy just waiting for the right boy to come along, but he’d never directly asked his friend about it. Axel’s bald head and dark goatee with a silver stripe down the center only added to the mystique. “You heading to Spritz?”

  “Yeah, I’m on shift tonight. Calix wanted to talk to you. There’s some special event this weekend he needs guys for.” Axel narrowed his eyes as his head tilted a bit. “You alright, man? You look...different.”

  Cleave couldn’t help the little smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth. He wouldn’t dare show it to anyone else, not even JJ—not yet—but Axel would understand. “Caught up with an old friend this afternoon.”

  “Old friend, huh? I’m your friend and you’ve never made moon eyes like that about me.” Axel chuckled as he straddled his Harley.

  “I think we’ve already established that I’m not your type.” Cleave shook his head, that smile refusing to slide off his face. “It was good though. I don’t want to jinx it, but maybe the start of something.”

  Axel smiled at him and reached up to pat his shoulder. “That’s great, man. I’m happy for you.”

  “Thanks. Don’t work too hard.”

  “You either. We should grab a beer later to celebrate.”

  “Sounds good,” Cleave answered with a wave as Axel started up his bike and roared away.

  Making his way inside, Cleave headed for Calix’s office. The compound had been his home since he turned eighteen and got out from under his drunken father’s thumb. Axel had been the one to sponsor him as prospect. He’d done his time as an underling—which still had been better than anything he’d ever known outside of his friendship with JJ—until he’d been voted in as a fully-patched member. When the Road Captain position had come open, he’d jumped at the chance.

  When he reached Calix’s closed door, he rapped his knuckles against it and pushed it open when he heard Calix call out.

  “Hey, boss,” Cleave said, walking into the room and settling in one of the chairs in front of Calix’s desk. Their leader was somewhat of an enigma to Cleave. The man was as ruthless a person as Cleave had ever seen, but he was also fiercely loyal and protective of all their Heretic brothers. He was a few inches shorter than Cleave and a lot less heavily muscled, but when he lifted his black eyes to look at Cleave, his presence was a physical weight against Cleave’s chest.

  “Cleave,” Calix said, straightening up from where he’d been looking over a stack of papers. “I’ve got a job coming up this weekend. Security and last minute entertainment for an exclusive party. You in?”

  An unsettling thought filtered through Cleave’s mind. What were the odds that the same rich douchebag that was giving JJ a hard time had also reached out to procure some sport for his more bloodthirsty friends? The club had its hand in several different business ventures, some perfectly legal, and others...a little less so. The unsanctioned and usually bare-knuckle fights that the club arranged for private clients was one example. “Can Sand Lake get us someone by this weekend?”

  “It’s being handled,” Calix responded, one dark eyebrow disappearing up into the fringe of his teal hair. It was always a toss up as to what color his hair would be any given day. Cleave liked this
shade better than the purple he’d been using recently. Since Calix was obviously waiting for him to answer the original question, Cleave cleared his throat.

  “I actually have plans.” He could feel his pulse beating behind the skin of his throat. “My boyfriend has a gig, asked me if I’d show and keep some pushy asshole off his back.”

  “A musician, huh?”

  “Singer.”

  “I didn’t know you had a boy, Mercer. You gonna need a hand keeping an eye on him?” Calix’s black eyes never left Cleave’s face for a moment. He had an unnatural stillness about him sometimes—like a snake about to strike. Cleave had never feared Calix like some of the others did because he’d never had a reason to. He sat at the table and did whatever it was his president asked of him, but he struggled not to bristle at the thought that he couldn’t keep JJ safe. He hoped that Calix’s offer was genuine, but sometimes it was impossible to see the trap Calix laid until you’d already stepped in it.

  “I recently reconnected with an old friend and one thing led to another.” He held his leader’s stare. “And thank you, but I’ve got him covered.”

  Calix nodded. “Glad to hear it. Enjoy your weekend off then.”

  “Thanks, man.” Cleave stood and clasped the hand Calix offered him before walking back out of the office. He hadn’t known what he’d do for JJ, hadn’t realized how far he’d be willing to go, but he’d just lied to his leader’s face. Usually, he and Axel flipped a coin to see who’d be digging the grave of the moron that did shit like that. He was determined to make sure it wasn’t a lie for long.

  JJ was bouncing on his toes inside the door of his apartment. Cleave, and it was still so weird to call Eric that, had insisted that he drive JJ to the party. We need to show up together, he’d said over the phone the night before, and since JJ couldn’t get the thought of being pressed against Cleave on the back of his Harley from his mind, he’d agreed. The band had been cool with it, even though they usually traveled together in the guitarist’s van.