Chaos: Contemporary Biker Romance

by Jameson, Juliet

  When the guard finally came to his cell to feed him lunch, the fluorescent lights burned through his eyeballs.

  “Lunch big guy.”

  “That mean it's noon?” Stetson asked as he sat up, rubbing his eyes.

  “It's 3 actually. You've got a visitor.” Stetson sat up in his chair, dropping his burrito onto the dirty floor. The guard walked away and a loud buzz released the prison cell door. Stetson got up and followed the guard out onto an open picnic area, enclosed by metal wire on the perimeter of the large space. The guard shut the door behind him and Stetson could see Carter standing at the gate.

  Carter took a step closer to him and watched him without saying anything. His face was expressionless, and Stetson wanted to know more than anything what he was thinking. Carter looked down at Stetson's cuffed hands. He reached out to touch them gently, letting out a soft whimper.

  “Look what they've done to you,” Carter said. “I'm going to get you out of this man. I promise. It's all my fault. I should have killed him when I had a chance. That son of a bitch.”

  “I'll be fine. You worry about somebody else,” Stetson said.

  “Do you know where you are? If they know about us, those thugs on the inside will destroy you the first chance they get.”

  “Let's go back over behind that hill. They won't see.”

  “Are you insane? Are you not aware of the danger we're in? You're in, I mean.”

  “I'll find a way out of this mess.”

  “No you won't Stetson. They've got you trapped. The jury has been rigged. The prosecutor will deny whatever he needs to in order to beat you. And no one will take my word for it because they know I'm queer.”

  “I'll break out.”

  “I have a better idea. I recorded my brother confessing yesterday when I went to the house. The son of a bitch set you up. He wanted me killed! If that won't hold up in court, I don't know what will.”

  “Shitter,” Stetson said, as he spit onto the ground. “Let's take a walk.” He had a look in his eye that Carter intuitively understood to mean was sexual. Despite all the stress and fear of the situation, Carter absorbed Stetson's sexual heat by osmosis. The fever infected him over the course of the few minutes it took to traverse the lawn of the compound, over the hill, down into a smooth crevice, a natural marital bed for the two of them. Carter knew what they were about to do would be recorded by the cameras, but he also knew this might be the last time he got this close to the man, or even see him alive. As the big moment approached, Carter's penis grew engulfed with blood and his senses kicked into high gear. Everything about Stetson became hypersensitive--his musky aroma, the thickness of his back and ass, the strength of his thighs, and the bristle touch of the hair on his head. Carter sat down on the grassy slope and unbuttoned his pants, revealing his erect penis. Stetson's hands were cuffed, but he didn't hesitate to use his mouth, almost immediately wrapping his lips around Carter's penis like a hungry wolf, sucking with a force Carter never knew. It was intense and Carter pulled Stetson's fingers to his lips, sucking and licking the taste of all his strength and power. Carter had never fantasized about being watched but in this moment, he couldn't help himself. He needed Stetson inside of him at once. He placed his hand gently on Stetson's head, letting him know they had to make it fast. Then Carter flipped himself over, rolling his pants down. Stetson placed a giant finger on Carter's entrance and made a big spit for lubrication. The heat of the moment, coupled with the hurry of being caught, allowed Carter to relax enough so that Stetson could put his dick inside him. He could feel Stetson slide into him for a while, with Carter grabbing his hands from behind. Stetson gently kicked the nape of Carter's neck as he came. They just never had enough time.

  The Verdict

  I

  “As you can see, ladies and gentleman of the jury,” Presley Watkins said. He had assigned himself as the lead investigator as well as the lead prosecutor. “The man sitting before you is the man who without a doubt killed Jaidon Marsh. Now, the question isn't whether Jaidon was a bad guy, as the defense so clearly and repeatedly points out. The question is whether he was murdered. Look at the size of this average man, with a criminal history, probably with the intentions of a mad man that night, and ask yourself if you believe was innocent. He was not innocent. Don't kid yourself. He was, forgive me, A PIECE OF SHIT.

  “But he was murdered. The courts exist as an impartial system. No citizen has the right to take justice into his own hands. If we all did that, we would be no better than those we hate, now would we? We could never privilege ourselves with the declaration of balanced, civilized human beings. That makes us hypocrites.

  “Whatever motivations Jaidon had that night are irrelevant to his demise. This man Stetson Carthswaite committed a crime, through and through. I trust you'll show him the same mercy Stetson himself showed Jaidon. No two wrongs equal a right. I rest my case.”

  Missing from the jury conspicuously was the Latino mechanic, Edgar Rodriguez. Presley Watkins made sure he would pose no threat to justice served. In fact, Watkins had a hand in picking new jury members, who he was positive would provide the Stetson deserved.

  Later that day, as Carter sat in the pew, imprisoned by the social decorum, he stared across the room at Stetson, quiet, stern, and stoic, sitting stone-faced in the crowded courtroom. Throughout the proceedings, several voices from the town verbally echoed the sentiment Carter could feel physically.

  _Murderer!_

  _Liar!_

  _Queer!_

  None of this Carter could fight, but he held in his hand the single talisman to keep the hateful townspeople and their scornful judgments at bay, a single piece of incriminating evidence on Jamie Simmons. Yes, Carter thought, he would toss his own brother to the wolves for what he did, if it meant Carter could make right what had gone wrong.

  “The prosecution calls to the stand, Carter S. Simmons!”

  With a big gulp, Carter stood up and walked to his moment of truth. When the defense lawyer approached Carter, his smile indicated the secret they both shared about the tape.

  “Mr. Simmons, you mentioned you have some evidence you'd like to show the jury. A confession of sorts?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who's confessing?”

  “My brother Jamie.”

  “What's he confessing?”

  “Stetson is innocent. He was just trying to save me. He admits he was working with Jaidon to get us both killed.”

  The judge looked up from his notepad. “Bring forth this evidence immediately. Let it be known it's the responsibility of the defense to formally submit evidence to the jury in advance of court proceedings.”

  Presley Watkins puffed out his chest and stood. It was his turn to give Carter the beating. The prosecution quizzed him left and right about what happened that night at the dinosaur dig. Watkins cunningly glossed over all the communication they had been in with Stetson in the hours prior to the murder.

  “Mr. Simmons, what's your relationship with Mr. Carthswaite?”

  “I'm not sure what you mean.”

  “Are you 'friends?' How did you come to know each other? And why was Mr. Carthswaite so intent on saving you upon your disappearance?”

  “We're friends. That's all.”

  “Well the funny thing about that, Mr. Simmons, is that I too have videographic evidence that you and Stetson are more than friends. The footage was provided to me by the local prison administration, where Mr. Carthswaite is being held.” He pulled out a small television and popped in a VHS of their sexual relations the day prior. Blood rushed to Carter's face and tears welled up in his eyes. The cat was out of the bag, after all, and it was as horrible as he thought it would be.

  The audience gasped in disgust and confusion. “Jury members: don't you think this is a conflict of interest?”

  “Well--” Carter opened his mouth, his forehead hot with rage. “I--I have a tape myself.”

  “Did your brother know you were recording him?”

 
; “No he didn't.”

  “Oh, I'm sorry, but unfortunately that isn't evidence admissible in court, sir.”

  “That's--bullshit. It's proof he was in on it!” Carter screamed and pointed across the room at his brother, who sat with death-like stare, yet saying nothing.

  The court adjourned early for the turn of events, where the judge decided whether he would allow the tape. Carter made the silly mistake of leaving the tape in a brown envelope on a pew outside the restroom, in an effort to see Stetson on the break, as he was taken out of the courtroom. As soon as he had left the room, he realized his mistake and came back promptly, to find the envelope sitting where he remembered it. The judge decided he would allow the jury to hear the tape. Presley Watkins took it upon himself to approach the bench and take the tape from the judge's hands. Then he walked over deliberately to the tape player, hitting PLAY.

  There was silence for several moments, and Carter's heartbeat sped up. Something was wrong. The audience heard crackling on the tape and then static and then:

  “They say we're young and we don't know.”

  Tears welled up in Carter's eyes.

  “We won't find out until we grow,” the tape continued. Carter looked over at his brother, who smiled and shot evil looks over at him.

  “Well I don't know if all that's true

  'Cause you got me, and baby I got you--

  Babe

  I got you babe

  I got you babe--”

  The judge frowned and looked at Carter like he was kid who just interrupted something terribly important with inane shenanigans. “Mr. Simmons, I want to thank you for wasting our time. Congratulations that I'm in a good mood today, because otherwise you'd be held in contempt of court. Now get off my bench. You've wasted our time.” Carter tried to say something but he couldn't summon the energy, so he just slid off the bench and re-entered the audience.

  Carter looked across the room at his brother, who smiled the way he always did when he played Carter for a fool. The court dismissed the tape as evidence and dismissed Carter as a fool in love with a cowboy. Carter was crestfallen in the hours leading up to the verdict.

  The jury filed into the courtroom, the entire room quiet with a death-like stillness. A black lady, whose face was permanently fixed in an angry expression, opened a type letter next to a microphone.

  “We the jury find the defendant Stetson Carthswaite guilty of first degree murder. We sentence him to death by electric chair.” The guards took Stetson in cuffs back to prison. The courtroom cheered so loudly that the walls shook, and as intense as the cheering was, Carter sat motionless in the chair by himself, staring out through the wall of the court, into the beyond, where all his hope drained away.

  The Sentencing

  I

  Stetson was on lock down from the moment the jury had sentenced him to death, and he supposed shock prevented him from losing his cool in those hours after the jury announced the verdict. But days blurred together in his cell, as he kept his mind in an alternate reality, continually focused on the present. He sat in the cafeteria, eating slop, by himself, his hunting instincts picking up on the violent vibrations sent his way from the other prisoners. He figured what Carter said was true--the Nash Gibson gang was alive and well. Those particular prisoners had access to television so they without a doubt knew what the court had convicted Stetson with. They knew Stetson killed their hero Jaidon Marsh; it was clear too they planned to avenge him, and it was more than likely Stetson's imposing physique, which had kept the boys at bay as long as it had.

  Stetson kept his gaze focused on the table, careful not to look anyone in the eye. A man sat his tray down next to him. The man was Native American, nearly as large and imposing as Stetson.

  “Those boys over there, behind you are planning on stabbing you in the ribs after lunch today,” he told Stetson.

  “Yup. I figured.”

  “What you plan on doing about that?”

  “I plan on using that metal tray to bash them in the head lots. Then I'm going to take the sharp end and stab them.”

  “They'll fry you for that.”

  “I'm already going to fry. Don't you know what I did?”

  “I know you didn't do it the way they say.”

  “How come?”

  “I know things. And people.” The Indian wrapped his long black hair around into a ponytail, revealing a gnarled scar on his cheek. Stetson refused to stare, but there was something mysterious about this man and Stetson's own instincts hinted at the mysticism to come.

  “Let me give you a hint,” he said. “Don't kill them.” Just then, the Indian looked up to see a tall, lanky, violent man rearing back to bash Stetson's brains in. Stetson could feel him coming and dodged the blow, turning around to punch the guy in the nose. The tall man fell back, stunned, but not before three more men tackled Stetson, one of whom stabbed him in the ribs. The pain was sharp and keen, but he had to survive. He picked the guy up and threw him across the room like a rag doll.

  II

  “You have to do something. The execution has been expedited to a week from now.”

  “There's nothing I can do,” Michael Ingram said.

  “How do I get any help around here!? What do you people want? He's innocent. The jury was rigged!” Carter screamed at the top of his lungs.

  “Calm down, kid! Come into my office, and maybe I can help you,” Ingram said. In the office, Ingram took out his pistol and placed it on the table, removing his jacket and tie. Carter could anticipate what was coming. “Listen kid. I know your guy is innocent.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I can just tell. He's an honest man. So are you. Just tryna do what's right. I get it. But you have to understand where you are.” Ingram ran his hand through his thick black hair. His chest was so large it bulged through the crisp white dress shirt he wore under his suit. Carter looked up and down his body, taking in the thickness of his thighs and obvious bulge between his legs. Ingram could see Carter's gaze on his crotch and got up from the table, walking around the chair that Carter sat in, leaning against the edge of the desk.

  Carter looked up at the man pleadingly. He could see in Michael Ingram's neon blue eyes a kindness and compassion missing from his more ambitious partner, Presley Watkins. Carter was desperate, as his only hope of helping the second person he loved was ripped from his grasp, just like it seemed every good thing to happen to Carter was taken from him. Though he never stopped to articulate it to himself, Carter figured he refrained from fighting because he had an implicit understanding of his own goodness, and he knew fighting would work to destroy that. But Carter could not wait any longer to do something to get Stetson out of jail and away from the drooling executioners. He had to do something, no matter what, no matter how, to save Stetson. After all it was Stetson who outed himself in order to save him. It was Stetson who hunted down Jaidon and killed him to save him. It was Stetson who rescued him from the maw of death over and over again. It was time that Carter returned the favor.

  Carter took a deep breath. “You could help me. I know the jury was rigged. I just know it. Do you have information that could help me, maybe about the prosecutor?” Carter asked, placing his shaking hand on Ingram's knee.

  Mike Ingram did in fact know something major about Presley Watkins. Despite what Ingram to his partner, he felt a nagging violation in own conscience about helping Watkins rig the jury, and he knew divulging that information to the world, through a newspaper perhaps, would be more than enough to demand a retrial in Stetson's appeal. But revealing Watkins for the persecutor he was would put Ingram himself in danger, not just for his job but also for his life and the woman he was married to. And yet there was something so pitiful about Carter, how the entire society of Baggs, Wyoming treated him, how they shunned him, vilified him, trivialized his suffering and loneliness.

  Ingram turned to the window of his office and closed the blinds, then locked the door.

  “What are you doing?” Cart
er said, his voice cracking.

  Ingram pulled up the chair beside Carter and leaned into his face. “What if I told you that I did know something that would help you? What if, I told you that helping you would basically destroy my life and everything I've worked to build? What would you say to that?”

  Carter looked away, silent. If there was anything he had more experience in than most people did, he was sure it was suffering. No one suffered more than Carter did.

  “I would say,” Carter said, “that I would do anything to help my friend get out of jail.” Carter reached up and touched Ingram on his face, hesitating to do more. Ingram put his hand on Carter and closed his eyes, then grabbed Carter's head and moved closer to put his lips softly on his. Carter was weak and submissive, and Ingram could sense reluctance on his part.

  “I want to know you, Carter.” Ingram began kissing Carter along the side of his neck, his dick getting hard in the process, excited because he was finally close to the guy and getting closer. Carter could feel the warmth of someone who loved him for just one instant, even though the feelings were not returned. The experience was electrifying yet somber, as Carter's glands and heart overjoyed in received affection, while his mind shamed him for breaking Stetson's trust. But, as he said, Carter would do anything to save Stetson, even if it meant he would lose him. Carter put Stetson into this mess, and it was only fair that Carter got him out.

  Carter placed his hands on Ingram's white shirt, using his fingers to feel along the front to unbutton him. Beneath the shirt was a white tank top, through which Ingram's massive chest and tanned skin showed through. As he ran his hand along the hardness of his body, the shallower, baser side of his personality rejoicing in the adventure of getting this close to straight, professional policeman. He could tell Ingram didn't do this often, but was overcome with passion and longing.