HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  “Anybody seen Sloan?” I asked into the crowd.

  “In the dyno room with Toad. Has been for half hour,” Otis responded.

  “Hasn’t been half a fucking hour, Otis,” I hissed as I looked down at my watch.

  “Fuck it hasn’t. It’s ten o’ clock,” Otis responded.

  “Why the fuck ain’t you in there with Toad? And where the fuck is Pete?” I growled.

  “Toad’s alone with that bitch. He wanted first in, so he got it. That chic’s nuts, Slice. Toad told her he wanted to fuck her until she’d have to be hauled off in a wheel chair. That was his pick-up line. And what’s she say? Bring it. That was her response. Bring it. So, that crazy fucker Toad snaps his fingers like a high school cheerleader and does that deal with his head, and says, it’s been brought,” Otis said as he swerved his head from side-to-side.

  Unamused, I looked around the crowd for Avery. There were probably fifty people in the shop talking or gathered around the kegs drinking and another fifty or so in the paved parking lot outside. I scoured the crowd in the shop.

  Nothing.

  “Let’s go out in the lot, Otis. I need to see what the fuck Avery’s up to.”

  “Got it, Slice,” Otis said as he began to push his way past the people standing by the door.

  As we wandered into the parking lot, I noticed there was a small crowd gathered in the corner near the street. It appeared two men were fighting. Nothing out of the ordinary for a biker get together, but I still needed to find out who it was and what the fuck was going on. The crowd surrounding the two men was pretty quiet while one of the two was talking mad shit to the other. I didn’t recognize the voice, so I assumed it was someone from Wichita who I didn’t necessarily know.

  Our typical open gatherings were used to invite outsiders to see what the club was like, what we did, and what we stood for. The Sinners did not recruit talent. Potential prospects came to us and asked questions about becoming a member. As a result, we often invited outsiders to our parties to let them see what we were all about. If they were interested, and asked the question so what’s it take to be a member? We’d take time to explain. Some outsiders later became hang-arounds, some lost interest, and others become prospects. Having people I didn’t necessarily recognize or know at parties wasn’t anything new.

  I followed Otis toward the group. As we got closer to the two arguing men, I noticed Avery was standing on the side watching the fight intently. Otis tapped me on the shoulder and pointed toward Avery. I nodded my head in acknowledgement, walked to her side, and rested my hand on her shoulder. She spun around nervously and widened her eyes.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I asked.

  “Watching these two dip-shits,” she responded as she tilted her head toward the two men.

  I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “What fucking part of stay by my side didn’t you underfuckingstand?”

  “I’m sorry Axton, but you were talking to Corndog and the rest of the fellas, and some asshole walked up to me and started being a total dick. I tried to get away from him, and I tapped you on the shoulder like twice but you never paid attention, so I figured you were busy. I just wanted him to leave me alone, so I wandered out here to get away from him. Then he found me again. When he wouldn’t let up, the other guy told him to shut the fuck up. Now they’re in an argument.”

  “God damn it. I told you if anyone fucked with you, to find me or Otis, didn’t I?” I said.

  She nodded her head sheepishly.

  “Uhhm. That’s the one who told the other guy to shut the fuck up,” Avery whispered as she pointed toward the bigger of the two men.

  Neither of you two would bust a grape in a food fight. Stop trying to impress the ladies, fellas, no one cares.

  “Break it up, fellas,” I shouted uncaringly toward the two men.

  As soon as I spoke, the bigger man’s gaze shifted to where I stood. I didn’t recognize either of the two men. Neither of them wore a cut or colors from a club. They appeared to be two bikers from out of town somewhere who were invited by someone in the club to come enjoy the fun. The bigger of the two had shoulder length hair, and was doing all of the shit-talking to the other man.

  “This asshole was being disrespectful. Everything’s just fine. Now why don’t you get your hand off of my bitch?” the bigger man said over his shoulder.

  Are you fucking shittin’ me?

  I pushed my way through the crowd. “Your bitch?”

  “Let me explain something, motherfucker,” I said as I pushed the smaller man to the side.

  As I grabbed the sides of his hair in my hands, his eyes widened. Without any notice or saying a single word, I thrust the top of my head into his nose. As I felt it shatter from the force of my head crushing down on his face, I released his hair from my grip and swung a right uppercut into his jaw.

  He collapsed onto the concrete.

  “God damn,” I heard someone holler.

  “That’s the President of the Sinners,” I heard someone else say.

  “You just need to pick him up and get him on out of here,” Otis said as he stepped through the crowd and into the area where I stood.

  I pointed down at the man who was laying silently on the concrete, “Him?” I snapped.

  “I’m just getting started,” I said.

  I swung my right foot into his stomach. “Get up, you worthless piece of shit.”

  “Slice, he’s done. That right hand knocked him the fuck out,” Otis said.

  I shook my head. “No. I’m nowhere near done with this mouthy prick.”

  “I said get up,” I growled as I kicked him in the stomach again.

  “Where’s the other motherfucker, the one who was fucking with Avery?” I asked.

  Otis shrugged his shoulders.

  I stared down at the motionless body. I reached down and pulled him to his feet by his hair and belt. The thought of anyone fucking with Avery angered me to an unhealthy level. Adding salt to the wound came from the stupid fucker claiming Avery as his bitch because he had stepped in and saved her from the mouthy prick who started the problem in the first place. Everything around me became a haze. The sound of the music, people, talking - it all felt distant.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  “Slice!”

  I spun in the direction of the voice with my hands raised, ready to fight.

  “Slice, drag him out to the street. Come on, it’s over. You beat that poor fucker half to death. Someone’s gonna call the fucking cops. You made your point. We got the other guy out of here,” Otis explained.

  I looked down at the man on the concrete. His face was almost unrecognizable. Blood covered his face, hair, and shirt. His lips looked like hamburger and both eyes were swollen partially shut. I glanced down at my hands. Both were covered in blood, and the knuckles on my right hand were beginning to swell.

  “God damn, I think I just lost it. Where’s the other guy?” I asked as I raised my hands to my face.

  “Toad got him. Wasn’t too pretty. Kinda broke up the little party,” Otis said.

  I looked around the parking lot. Roughly two-thirds of the people were gone. Somehow, I had no memory of what had happened. Although this wasn’t the first time something similar had happened, it hadn’t happened since I was a kid. When I found the quarterback fucking my girlfriend, I ended up in jail for the beating I gave him. I didn’t remember any of it. I learned in court he had a broken jaw, fractured skull, and a few broken ribs as a result. Another time, when I was in my early twenties, my father and I were in a terrible fight. It was the first time I stood up to him, and the last time we really spoke. I have no doubt he’ll remember what I did to him for the remainder of his miserable life.

  I glanced down at the heap of shit on the concrete. I shook my head and rubbed my knuckles as I shifted my gaze to Otis, “So what happened to the other dude?”

  “Can we drag this fucker to the street? You done, boss?” Otis asked.

  “Yeah,
I’m done,” I responded.

  Otis waved toward the fellas who were standing off to the side, obviously afraid to intervene. Hollywood and Pete stepped in front of me, picked the man up, carried him past the entrance gate, and laid him on the curb. Luckily, the clubhouse was in an industrial area of the city, and away from the general population, at least at night. Although he could probably use medical attention, he sure as fuck wasn’t going to get it from any of us. When he woke up, he’d realize how he fucked up. More than likely when he was back in Wichita telling stories or asking questions, someone would explain to him the benefit of keeping his mouth shut around the Sinners.

  “Well, Avery pointed the kid out. I was just going to carry him out and toss his dumb ass in the street, but fucking Toad came runnin’ out of the dyno room when he heard all the screaming. His fuckin’ belt wasn’t buckled, and his baggy fuckin’ pants were all around his thighs like Busta fuckin’ Rhymes or one a those fuckers,” Otis said, laughing as he spoke. “So this kid looks at Toad and his fuckin’ pants and he starts laughing. I didn’t hear it, but the fellas said he said some shit like, what the fuck are ‘you’ gonna do about it? Yeah, didn’t end well for him. Toad jumped up in the air and did some fucking Bruce Lee shit. Kicked the kid in the head, and when he hit the ground, his head split open like a ripe melon. Funny part was when Toad came back down from the spinning kick deal. His fuckin’ baggy pants hit the ground.”

  Otis shook his head and started laughing again.

  “Commando?” I chuckled as I looked up from my bloody knuckles.

  “Yep,” Otis nodded.

  I shook my head and laughed.”Can’t buy entertainment like this, can ya? Where’s the girl?”

  “In the Shop with Sloan. Think ya mighta scared her a little bit with the beatin’ you gave that poor bastard,” Otis said.

  I glanced down at my bloody hand. As I walked toward the shop I pressed my knuckles into my jeans. Avery and Sloan stood talking amongst a small group of Sinners. Without speaking, I walked to the cabinet, grabbed a rag and my lick ‘n stick, and slowly made my way to my bike. Methodically, I wiped the dust off the rear fender, positioned the seat in the center, and pressed it into place. I tied the rag around my hand and looked over my shoulder toward Avery.

  “Avery!” I hollered as I stretched my leg over the seat and rested my rag-wrapped hand on the right grip.

  Her eyes widened as she spun my direction. It seemed as if she had no idea I was even in the shop. I reached behind me and slapped the lick ‘n stick with my left hand. She smiled, nodded her head toward the fellas, gave Sloan a hug, and pulled her glasses from her purse. As she walked across the shop, rolled the hair tie off her wrist, and pulled her hair into a ponytail, I couldn’t keep myself from smiling.

  And I hate people seeing me smile.

  Silently, she swung her leg over the fender, dropped down onto the seat, and placed her hands against my waist. I glanced down as she rested her feet on the pegs. After I twisted the throttle twice and pulled the choke, I flipped the ignition and hit the start button.

  “See you fellas in the morning,” I hollered over the sound of the exhaust.

  “Ready?”

  “Always,” she responded.

  I grabbed a handful of throttle, released the clutch, and pulled out onto the street. I knew Avery had no idea where we were headed; hell, she didn’t care. As long as she was with me, she seemed to be satisfied with everything else around her. I turned and looked over my shoulder as we passed under a street light. She smiled a smile of complete satisfaction. The type of smile that washes over your face naturally and is never created for a camera; the smile you might see only a few times in a lifetime.

  As I shifted my gaze to the road and out of her line of sight, I smiled the exact same smile.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  AVERY

  There comes a time in every woman’s life where she must decide whether or not she wants to take the next step with a man; to add him to the list of other men who have gone the distance with her sexually. Very few women, if any, stay with their first love for their entire life. Especially with girls my age, the lists of men steadily grew as we’re drunk and make stupid decisions, are lied to by some smooth talking player, or fall into another trap of some married prick who gives us a false sense of security and really wants nothing more than a quick piece of ass.

  A few months prior, I may have eagerly fucked a man who seemed at the time to be a challenge, an impossible task, or someone worthy of my advances. The difficult chase had always made the success taste sweeter. The more impossible the man was to obtain, the more justified the sex was in the end. Now, sitting in Axton’s living room, I had one goal and one goal only.

  To end the chase forever.

  I would have been a fool to believe I was falling in love with Axton. To do so would have been juvenile, and completely inaccurate. I wasn’t a foolish woman, and I didn’t fall into the typical patterns of wishful girls who fall in love with every man they meet. I did know one thing about Axton if I knew nothing else; being in his presence allowed me to exhale. When we were together, I relaxed. Nothing else around me mattered when he was by my side. After spending time with Axton, for the first time in my life I felt comfortable in my own skin. It wasn’t necessarily what he said, because he was a man of few words. It was more of what he didn’t say, and his ways of speaking which weren’t necessarily vocal.

  Maybe what I was feeling was the onset of love. I didn’t know for sure, and would have no way of knowing; as I had no experience with being in love. Quite possibly it was Axton’s alpha male presence combined with his don’t fuck with me walk and handsome looks. It could very well be the fact that I knew in his presence I would never be harmed by another man. This certainly wouldn’t prevent him from harming me, but I had a gut feeling as tough as he was, he would never be violent toward me.

  Nervously sitting on the couch, I waited for him to get out of the bathroom. I looked around the house, surprised by the cleanliness. Everything was perfectly placed and the entire home appeared spotless. As I surveyed the contents of the living room, I realized everything in the home was symmetrical. The pictures hanging on the walls were all placed in a pattern. The lampshades were all perfectly positioned, none were out of place or titled. Two couches, a loveseat, and two chairs were in the living room. A coffee table in the center was decorated with two stone bookends and a dozen or so hardbound books that appeared to be no less than a century old. I stood from the couch and quietly walked toward the bedrooms. One room had a bed, nightstand, dresser, and weight lifting equipment. Again, everything was perfectly placed. I glanced in the other bedroom. One entire wall was a bookcase. After counting the spines of a few books and performing some simple math, it appeared there were over a thousand books in the case. A bed, nightstand, a sewing machine, and digital clock were the only other objects in the room. The bed, although made with a simple comforter and two pillows, was crease and wrinkle free. As I turned to walk from the room, I noticed a small cardboard box on the floor neatly placed by the door. I looked inside.

  My cap, gown, diploma, and the gift box sat inside.

  You sneaky fucker.

  I tiptoed back into the living room and walked toward the coffee table and bent down. I carefully traced my index finger along the spine of the books, A Bridge Too Far, Making of the President, The Blue and Gray, The Caine Mutiny, Midnight, Robin Hood, Closing the Ring, Cast the First Stone, Mark Twain’s Works, The Days of McKinley, The Birth of Britain.

  As I heard Axton turn the faucet in the bathroom off, I fell backward onto the couch and rested my cheek in the palm of my hand. A few seconds later, he emerged from the bathroom.

  “Your hands steady?” he asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Your hands, do you shake?”

  “No, I mean not really. Why”

  “Here,” he said as he reached toward me.

  I took a small plastic tube from his hand. As I looked at i
t curiously, he explained.

  “Superglue. I need you to glue this back together,” he said as he sat down beside me.

  He pulled a dry washcloth from his front pocket and dabbed at the large cut across the knuckle of his middle finger.

  He raised the washcloth slightly and fixed his eyes on mine. “I’ll dry it up with this, and you squirt a little glue inside and pinch it together. Don’t smash it together, or it’ll look like shit when it heals. You only get one fucking chance with that shit, you know.”

  I scrunched my brow. “Superglue?”

  “Best shit ever,” he nodded.

  I glanced down at his hand. A cut which would probably require at least four or five stitches was across his middle knuckle and onto the back of his hand. As he dabbed the blood from it, I could see into the wound until it quickly filled with blood again. It appeared to be open clear to the bone of his knuckle.

  “Uhhm. That looks like it may need…” I began.

  “It needs Superglued. Give me that shit,” he snapped as he reached for the glue.

  I pulled my hand back sharply. “I’ll do it. Jesus, Mr. stubborn. Press down on it for a minute.”

  “Does this stuff hurt?” I asked.

  He raised both eyebrows and stared as he pressed the corner of the cloth onto the top of the wound. “Look at me. Do I really look like the type of guy that would complain if it did? And no, it doesn’t hurt. Nothing hurts. It’s only uncomfortable for a second. Ready?”

  I pulled the cap from the glue and squeezed the tube until a small drop began to rise on the tip. “Go!”

  As soon as he pulled the cloth from his skin, I lowered the tip of the tube to the wound and attempted to make a perfect line of glue along the cut. As I was finishing my masterpiece, the blood began to boil from the cut. I opened my mouth and lightly bit the tube, holding it in my teeth. Half frantic, I pulled the washcloth from his hand as I pinched the cut together. Almost magically, the wound closed and stopped bleeding. After a few seconds of blowing on it, I wiped the excess blood.