by M. Never
“Testy, testy,” Fender mocks. “None of us would ever touch your girl.”
“She’s not my fucking girl,” I hiss. “Don’t be fucking ridiculous.”
“Oh, no? You’ve been walking into walls and daydreaming since she left. I think someone’s gotta crush.”
“The only thing I’m going to crush is your face if you don’t shut the fuck up. She dragged in bad memories as soon as she walked through the door. That’s what’s bugging me. I should've just let you guys have her.”
“That’s not your style, Prez. We all knew it. We were just having a bit of fun.” Vet shuffles the cards like a pro. These poker games are a weekly tradition. Run by my father in the past, and now by me.
“What’d she want anyway?” The cards fly from one of his hands to the other like an accordion.
I hesitate to answer. “Help.”
“And you said . . . no?” He deals.
“You know who the fuck she is. I hate him and anyone associated with him.”
The table goes silent.
“That’s doesn’t sound like you, Prez.” Fender clears his throat.
“Yeah, well, when it comes to my dad, I don’t exactly act like myself.” I take a look around. My stack of chips is significantly smaller than everyone else’s. My head isn’t in this game. Usually by now, I’d be kicking all their asses. When your father is a big-time card shark, you learn a few things. He didn’t get the nickname Gambit for nothing. The man knows how to hustle a table, and he made sure his son did, too.
At the moment, I’m not hustling shit. I’m losing my shirt to a bunch of amateurs.
I’m transparent to the six men seated around me — Hunter “Hawkeye” Stevenson, Trevor “Bone” Youse, Damon “Breaker” — as in “Heartbreaker” — Davis, Levi “Fender” Michelson, Quinn “Vet” Johnson, and Hayden “Tempest” Jones.
We’ve all been friends for far too long, and they know me all too well. They were there when my father walked away. They helped me pick up the pieces when I fell apart, took the brunt of my anger when I couldn’t handle my emotions, and rode beside me until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. They’re so much more than just friends. They’re family — the only family I have left.
“Your father aside, you know I can I track her down like this.” Hawk snaps his fingers. “Just say the word, Prez.”
“Not interested. My decision is made.”
A painful knot forms in my stomach from my response.
I hate myself for feeling this way. But fuck that girl, fuck her family, fuck her problems, and fuck my father.
Even if I wanted to help her, my pride won’t allow it. The grudge is too big, the blood is too bad. Getting involved with her is asking for all kinds of trouble. Breaking down doors that should stay locked. Ripping open old wounds that have been soldered closed.
My father was my hero. My best friend. And he abandoned me.
Broke me.
I can’t forgive him. I won’t. Even if my conscience is eating me alive.
Kira needs my help. I saw the desperation in her eyes. But she’s too close to all my pain. All my resentment.
Getting caught up with her would be like slitting my wrists open and watching all my pain ooze out.
Nope. Forget that shit.
“Full house.” Big Red slams his cards down obnoxiously. “I. Win.” He leans over and rakes up the hefty pile of red, white, and blue chips while several of the others groan. That’s his third win tonight. Cocksucker.
“I’m out.” I slap my cards down. My heart just isn’t in it. A stiff drink and some wet pussy is more up my alley. Less brain power needed.
I saunter out of the back room of the bar, all eyes on me as I walk up to Popeye, our resident bartender. I think he’s as old as the damn building. He knew my grandfather and was one of the founding members of the club.
“What’ll it be, Prez?” he croaks, sizing me up with his one good eye. The other is concealed under a patch.
“Wild Turkey straight up, old man.”
He nods and reaches for the bottle. Watching him as he pours a hefty glass of my favorite bourbon, I feel the burn already. I take a large swig once he hands me the drink, and all the shitty parts of the day wash away with a river of alcohol. In no time, I’m surrounded by my brothers and several club whores in short leather skirts and low-cut shirts. None of them as remotely pretty or enticing as my Snow.
I choke a little bit on the bourbon from the erroneous thought. My Snow? What the fuck? This bitch needs to get out of my head. Now.
One head nod at the redhead rubbing up against me, and she knows exactly what I want. I drain the last of my drink and head toward the back room of the bar. It’s empty now, and even if it wasn’t, I’d kick everyone the fuck out. My bar, my rules.
I push the redhead to her knees and lean against the door. This is what I need. My fucking mind blown.
She unbuttons my jeans and sets my cock free. It’s a little limp, but it’s nothing a little tongue action can’t fix.
She goes to town, jerking me off while sucking my rapidly growing erection.
Perfect.
I drop my head back and let her have me, thrusting into her hot mouth as she works me over.
“That’s it, baby, swallow me. Swallow me fucking whole.” I grip her hair and close my eyes, but as soon as I do, an angelic face and pleading eyes shine in the darkness. I shiver, snapping out of my lust-filled haze. The redhead stops.
“You okay, baby?” She bats her big green eyes at me.
I inhale sharply, collecting myself. “Yeah.” Callously, I thrust my pelvis back in her face. “Don’t stop. Not for anything. Not until I come.”
“Yes, sir.” She grabs me again.
A command from the President is immediately obeyed. By anyone and everyone.
The redhead goes back to work, sucking and licking and jerking and swallowing, but I just can’t get into it. No matter how hard I try, my hormones are rearing, but my head is somewhere else. With someone else. I hate myself for that. For being attracted to her, for wondering about her, for wanting her.
Fuck.
“Harder, faster.” I pull on the redhead’s hair. Not that I really care to know it, but I didn’t even ask for her fucking name. I just want her to erase the images in my mind. To be a fucking distraction.
She does as I command, taking me in as deep as she can. I’m not gentle. I punch my cock into her mouth all while holding her hair firmly in my hands. She whines and gags, but my temperamental orgasm is just slightly out of reach. I feel it; it’s right there, teasing me, so damn close. Just not fucking close enough. I start to sweat, ordering my body to succumb, but it won’t. It wants someone else. It’s demanding someone else. A deity among men. An angel walking the earth. A woman as pure as the freshly fallen snow.
Cocksucking motherfucker.
I reluctantly close my eyes again and picture her. And the moment I do, the hindrance is lifted. I pretend it’s her mouth around my cock, worshiping my erection, coaxing me to come. I see her pink cheeks and swollen lips wrapped around my girth, her blonde hair trapped between my fingers. Something snaps inside me. A feeling I’ve never encountered before. My heart is beating with the force of Thor’s hammer, and my arousal is meeting each thump with equal vigor. I don’t know what’s happening to me. My body is taking over my mind and telling me it wants her and only fucking her.
I come like a stick of dynamite upon the realization, a fast crack and explosive aftermath.
The redhead gags as I hold her head in place and unleash like a broken fire hydrant right down her throat.
We both slump once I release her, the girl sucking in air like she was just suffocating. I know I was.
Thoughts of her steal my breath.
I’m in trouble. So much fucking trouble.
My mind says stay away, but my body wants to hunt, and my desire wants to feed.
I’m ravenous. Not at all sated from this little interlude. If anyt
hing, I need more.
A hunger that’s completely brand new has been born inside me. A hunger I don’t understand but can’t ignore. It’s burning through me like a California wildfire.
Every organ, every cell, every molecule is on fire, and there’s only one person who can extinguish the flames.
Her.
Only fucking her.
3
Kira
NIGHT CLASSES ARE THE WORST.
I didn’t used to mind them so much, but lately they’re terrifying. Walking across campus, alone, in the dark. Racing to my car, alone, in a nearly deserted parking lot. Pulling up to my house, alone, fearful someone is inside.
See the pattern?
I’ve never been such a scaredy-cat before, but ever since I’ve had this sinking feeling someone is watching me, following me, I’ve been jumping out of my own skin over the smallest things.
Tonight is no different. I pull up to a dark mansion, when I swear I left every light in the house on. It’s things like this that’ve been messing with my head. Small, almost unnoticeable nuances, popping up everywhere. Like they’re stalking me. The cops can’t help because there is no solid evidence, only my word. I don’t want to bother my mother and Gerard while they’re away for the global launch of Glam’s new makeup line, especially if it’s just my paranoia getting the best of me. Although, deep down, I don’t believe it is. I just can’t prove otherwise.
Ky seemed to be my best, last option. And that idea flew right out the window. He seriously hates my family, although I’m not entirely sure why. Gerard never really shares many details about Ky, just that he's a war vet and extremely proud of him. He didn’t come to their wedding. He’s never spent a holiday with us, and I just kind of thought we weren’t his scene. After our encounter today, I get the blaring feeling there is more to the story than Gerard let’s on. The only thing I’m left to do now is ride out the rest of the semester and then hop on a plane directly after my last final. Maybe then I will finally feel some kind of security. Being away from California, safe and sound with the people I love the most. My mom and Gerard.
They bought this mammoth of a mansion shortly after they got married. My mother and I lived comfortably in a beach condo for years in Malibu, just the two of us. Then she met Gerard. It was a whirlwind of a romance. They were dating, then in love, then bam! Married. I couldn’t fault her for the quickness of it all. My mom deserves love. My father treated her like crap for as long as I can remember, and then when they divorced, he became downright malicious, hitting her below the belt every chance he got. He even tried to sue for full custody of me, claiming my mother was unfit, a workaholic, and a high-functioning drug user. All false. Well, maybe all but the workaholic part. But she was building a business from the ground up. I watched her commitment, her diligence, all her sacrifice, and he tried to take everything.
He would play both sides of the coin while they were married, pushing her to work all while putting down her small cosmetics company every chance he got, and then when it became a global sensation, he tried to take all the credit and consume all the profits. Luckily, my mother was smarter than him. She documented everything. Secretly recorded him verbally abusing her. Took photographs of her bruises when he was physical. Could prove his promiscuity. My dad didn’t have a leg to stand on, but that didn’t stop him from trying to make our lives a living hell. It was pretty rough for a long time, but once we were out from under his thumb, the freedom was phenomenal.
Freedom. That’s what I need. Freedom from the fucking crazy that has plagued my life.
I turn the shower on and rip my clothes off as the bathroom fills with steam.
I’m washing off the whole bad experience with Ky Parish and then hibernating under my covers for the rest of my life. Okay, that’s a bit dramatic. Maybe just for the rest of the night.
4
Ky
I PULL up to the obnoxiously pretentious mansion settled on a hillside in the Malibu Hills. We’re so close to the ocean I can hear the waves crashing in the dark.
I can’t fucking believe I’m here. I can’t fucking believe I’m actually doing this. Just looking at the front door makes me drip with disdain. I can’t believe my father actually lives in a place like this. It’s a far cry from the modest, one-bedroom condo he left behind. Or the dated, drafty bar I inherited when he walked away. The Lion’s Den may be two studs short of a shithole, but it will always be my home away from home. It will always be the place I feel most myself. Most at ease. Surrounded by the people I trust the most. The name is appropriate. It is a den — a den of solace and of protection. I still can’t believe Kira strolled right in. The girl has got some balls, I’ll give her that, even if my guys nearly scared the holy living shit out of her. She left with her pride shaken but intact. It’s more than I can say for others who dared to enter the den.
I collect my bearings, banish all the rage into the pit of my stomach, and dismount my bike. Here goes all the shit.
I ring the doorbell and wait, blowing hostile air out of my mouth. I ring the bell again, still waiting, punching my fist against my hand. Come fucking on. I bang on the door this time, straight up annoyed. I know you’re here, Snow. Your little red Matchbox is parked in the drive.
To hell with all fucks. I try the door handle. To my surprise, it’s unlocked. I see myself in.
“Kira?” I voice, but the house is so quiet that her name echoes. Walking slowly through the extreme beach house outfitted in all white, I absorb my surroundings. The place is absurdly rich, and pristine, and so unlike my father’s taste. This has to be the makings of her, his new wife, and her decorous daughter.
I continue through the house, making my way to the stairs. I creep up the staircase, on the lookout for any sign of life. Jesus, it feels like I’m climbing forever before I make it to the second floor. That’s when I hear it, the running water carrying faintly down the hallway. I should probably stop right here and wait for her to come out, but where’s the fun in that?
My interest, and ahem, my excitement piques, as the thought of a quick glimpse of Kira’s naked body proves a high probability.
I follow the sound, passing several rooms until I find the one that’s hers. I walk in, not a creak under my boot alerting my presence, and poke around her room. It’s as white and pristine as the rest of the house, with a huge, ornate, king-sized bed situated right between two gigantic sets of French doors that lead out to a sweeping terrace overlooking the pool and the vast Pacific.
Fucking hell. These people don’t need for nothin’. A spark of anger ignites inside me. All this shit. All the overindulgence, the lavishness, the flagrancy. No wonder Kira just waltzed into my bar without a second thought. She’s probably never been denied a thing in her life.
I’m curious if she cried on the way home after I kicked her out on her ass. It shouldn’t, but the thought scratches at a depraved part of my soul. The idea of her suffering tickles me on an all-too-dark level.
I shake off the wicked feelings, not wanting to fall back down that black, disturbing rabbit hole. The place I found myself after my father abandoned me and everything he’s ever known.
I crack my knuckles and my neck, the stress tightening my tendons. That’s when I notice the silence. The shower has been turned off. Like the creeper I have suddenly been reduced to, I stalk across her dark room and peek through the crack in the door to her bathroom. I’m consumed by what I see. A dripping wet Kira, skin perfect and tan, hair long and thick and sun-washed blonde, and body like a goddess blessed straight from the heavens. I grab my crotch in pain. If I thought I wanted her before, I more than fucking want her now. More than fucking yearn or desire or crave. I fucking ache for this woman. The lust brought forth by just the sight of her. It’s inhuman, ungodly, a demonic possession. I’ve met her all of once, and she has a hold on me like none other before her. Salivating as she rubs herself dry, I squeeze my cock to alleviate the pulse that is struggling to take hold of my entire body. When Kira slid
es the towel down her torso to pat between her legs, all hell breaks loose in my pants.
“Fuck,” I murmur, fighting back the flare of arousal. That’s when she notices me. Her eyes fly to the door as she wraps the towel around her naked form. There is visible fear on her face. If I doubted her act at all this afternoon, I definitely don’t now. I know fear. I understand it. It has breathed down my neck, danced in my eyes, and taken hold of my heart.
“Who’s there?” She freezes on the spot. I say nothing. I know I should make my presence known, but being caught a creeper? Not my MO. I’ve never had to creep on a woman a day in my life. It’s not a trait I want to adopt now.
Kira suddenly moves, grabbing something off the vanity, and rushes the door. Her little body doesn’t have enough force to barricade through me and the door, so she ends up propelled back on her ass. I open the door and stalk in, finding my very alluring Snow in a very compromising position.
“Were you going to attack me with a hair brush?” I laugh. The idea is utterly preposterous and utterly adorable.
“It’s solid steel.” She works quickly to cover up her half-naked body.
“You don’t have to on my account.” I stare down at her like the starving wolf I am.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Ky? How did you even get in?” Kira stands, clutching the cream-colored towel to her chest.
“Door was open.” I thumb behind me.
“What door?”
“Um, the front door.”
“No.” Kira shakes her head feverishly. “That’s impossible.” She pushes past me like a cute little raging bull. “I locked the door,” she insists as I follow her down the hallway. “I put on the alarm.” She continues down the stairs in a flurry to the entryway. “I’m not crazy.” She punches a few buttons furiously on the keypad.
“You sort of sound a little crazy,” I feel compelled to comment.