Wanted: An Outlaw Anthology

by Lane Hart

  Too fucking good.

  Now was time to pay the piper.

  I parked one block over instead of the usual spot out front and walked the rest of the way. I figured I had a few hours to grab a little rest before having to pack my shit and track down another place to live, maybe grab a hotel room for the night. No doubt that little nymph called the old landlord and bent her ear about what happened, playing the victim card and demanding I be put out. She was just like all the rest of them, couldn’t be trusted for shit. Fucking snakes. I was happy to get gone, didn’t matter to me. One room was just as good as the next. I snuck inside right when the sun began to rise, signaling the start of a new day and the end of roommate hell.

  A few more hours, and I’d be on my way.

  Michelle

  Rome never made it home that night and hadn’t been back for two days, two long, tortuous days. I should know. I’d watched and waited. I checked outside AGAIN to see if his car was around, not wanting to make the same mistake twice if he was indeed somewhere inside. Sadly, it wasn’t parked in its usual spot, which meant I was right about his sudden disappearance. The thought of him not coming back left me on edge for some strange reason, unsettled, as if he was my only chance at normalcy and without him I’d never achieve it. I’d counted on him to help me get back to the way things were, and now that dream was all but dashed. Maybe I was overthinking his Houdini act? Perhaps he’d decided to take pity on me and move his philandering freak show on the road, screw up someone else’s sleep for a change. Weekends were made for fun for those who knew how to have it, and Rome certainly didn’t have a problem with that. Still, I wouldn’t be satisfied until I saw his scowling, albeit sexy, face staring at me from across the living room.

  I heard a knock at the door followed by the cheerful sound of my name being called as Mrs. Lafontaine entered with her arms full of grocery bags. I glanced at the clock on the wall and realized I’d lost track of time daydreaming about my wayward housemate. She started throwing various items on the table while talking a mile a minute about everything under the sun.

  “This week, I thought we’d try something new for Sunday dinner, Michelle.” She gave me a wide smile once I joined her in the kitchen to help out.

  “We have a man in the house now and certainly can’t feed him rabbit food if we want to keep him around. I figured he found out about that vegetarian lasagna I made a few weeks ago, and that’s why he never showed for last weekend’s dinner. Who could blame the poor chap? Men need food that sticks to the ribs, according to my late husband.” She giggled.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Rome probably wouldn’t be joining us today, so instead, I played along and helped prepare the meal. No reason for both of us to have the stink face all day. Mrs. Lafontaine spent a shit ton of money on everything from golden potatoes to T-bone steaks. She even went so far as to drag an ancient charcoal grill out from the shed and fired it up to cook on. The aroma filled the house with all the savory deliciousness fit for a carnivore’s wet dream. Everything was strategically placed on the dinner table. The steam billowed from the bountiful offering while we made ourselves comfortable. Mrs. Lafontaine bounced in her seat and preened proudly as she removed imaginary lint from the table cloth. I had to tell her Rome wasn’t coming and that all her hard work was for nothing. It was the right thing to do, although I hated being the one who had to do it. I cleared my throat and tried to break it to her gently.

  “Um… everything looks wonderful, Mrs. Lafontaine,” I started cheerfully. “We should start before it gets cold.” Her face fell almost to the floor in disappointment. I was about to comfort her when I heard a noise coming from upstairs.

  “There you are.” She clapped her hands and automatically perked back up. ”I was beginning to get worried you wouldn’t make it.”

  Shocked. Bewildered. Taken aback. Fucked beyond all recognition.

  You name it, I felt it.

  Rome stood in the doorway wearing nothing but a pair of white boxer shorts and a curious scowl on his face. His hair was sexily disheveled, a sign he had been sleeping soundly for some time before something woke him, namely us. He unashamedly rubbed one of his tattooed hands all over his chest and arms while he yawned and scratched himself with the other everywhere else. Mrs. Lafontaine wasn’t fazed in the least by his near naked entrance, whereas I almost suffered from heat stroke by the sudden surprise. She blathered on about special herbs from her garden and how she hoped he had a hardy appetite. Meanwhile, all I could do was stare at his perfectly chiseled body with my mouth hanging half open like a ridiculous fool. Just before he took his seat, he adjusted his, err…manhood, and dug into the food unceremoniously without washing his hands. We ignored his foul manners and gave thanks through grace before passing around the individual plates to serve our portions.

  “So, Jerome.” Mrs. Lafontaine took a small bite of her food. “Tell me how you’re liking our little town so far?”

  “JEROME?” I interrupted with a shriek. “But I thought…”

  “Jerome Red.” She waived her hand around. “What are you on about, Michelle? Have you been sampling the cooking wine?” That’s when I realized they were both looking at me like I’d just grown a second head. Apparently, I’d been calling this man the wrong name for over a week now, and no one had had the common decency to correct me on it. Not even him.

  I shook it off and stopped talking.

  “As I was saying… Have you learned your way around our fair city? I know it’s not very cosmopolitan, but we have our sights and sounds.”

  Rome or Jerome continued to stuff his mouth without saying a single word in response. His occasional grunts and burps were the only thing that could be heard between Mrs. Lafontaine’s endless row of questions. If he planned to ignore her the entire meal, he had another thing coming. The woman was relentlessly nosy, like most old ladies, but in a good way. He cleaned his plate in record time and slid it away from his personal space with a satisfied groan.

  “You see, Michelle.” Mrs. Lafontaine banged her hand on the table. ”That’s the way to a man’s heart, right through his stomach. My Peter had an appetite like a two-ton bull. Most nights, I had no idea how I was gonna feed the man, let alone keep his innards full. Oh, how he loved my cookin’, never complained once that he didn’t like something,” she remarked fondly.

  Peter had been her husband of thirty-five years, who’d died after a short battle with prostate cancer. They’d never had any children of their own, but Mrs. Lafontaine often said their lives were filled with love and happiness every day until the moment he passed.

  “He was a lucky man,” Rome responded with a pat to his flat belly to her lovely story, causing the distinguished lady to blush profusely at his praise. He really did have a way with the ladies.

  “I hope you left room for dessert, Jerome. We’re having peach cobbler.”

  My landlord stood and collected our plates even though neither one of us was done eating. She took everything into the kitchen, leaving me alone temporarily to fend for myself against the half-naked man who sat across from me. Before I could thank him for gracing us with his presence this fine Sunday afternoon, Rome broke the silence with a hushed accusation that left me reeling from its venomous intent.

  “What the fuck you playing at, baby girl?” he growled. “Think I don’t know what you’re all about? Sexy-ass dick tease prancing around, putting up a front like she’s scared of her own shadow while trying to take me for a fucking ride. I don’t like getting worked unless my cock is involved, know that.” He pointed a stern finger toward my face. His nostrils flared in anger. I had to say something to calm him down before his head exploded.

  “Look. I didn’t know your name was Jerome, okay? I wasn’t really paying attention when Mrs. Lafontaine first introduced us, so I went with my gut. Sorry, it won’t happen again.” I lowered my head in shame. Who knew something so trivial could mean so much to a man like him.

  “What the fuck?” he asked, dang
erously quiet.

  “It wasn’t on purpose—”

  “I’m talking about the other night!” he bit out harshly. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell her about it? You trying to run game, play the pity card or some shit? I never fucking touched you, woman. You’re a goddamned liar if you said otherwise.”

  Run game?

  What the hell was that?

  “Tell her about what?” I swallowed embarrassingly. “That I went to your room uninvited in the middle of the night and scared away your guest without cause, so you asked me to leave? No way, Jose. I love this place. I’d never be able to afford another one like it if she kicked me out, so please don’t say anything. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

  He was watching me speculatively from across the table, his upper lip curled in disdain. Rome was daring me to change my much abbreviated version of what happened and to answer his question accordingly. I wanted to be that outgoing person I once had been, to snap my fingers and challenge him right back with my own set of questions. Did he have any regrets about what he had done to me in his bedroom? Did he plan on doing it again, only next time, would he touch me or better yet allow me to touch him? What did he mean when he said that I felt good right before he reached orgasm? My entire body shook with trepidation the more I tried to hold his heated glare and prepare myself for another round of accusations. I prayed he would let this go for both our sakes. I wasn’t ready, and if he decided to leave, I’d never get another chance like this one to gain my life back. My entire plan depended on him.

  “That’s how you want to play this, huh?” He said it like a threat. “Okay, then, we’ll play.” Geez, what was with this guy and his suspicious attitude? Couldn’t he tell I was being genuine when I said it would never happen again? Talk about cynicism. Rome had it in spades.

  Mrs. Lafontaine returned from the kitchen carrying the dessert in one hand and a huge bucket of ice cream in the other. If she felt the tension in the air, she never made mention of it, thank God. She resumed her incessant babbling from where she left off while serving up huge portions of peach cobbler on three individual plates. I’d long since lost my appetite, somewhere between white boxer shorts and memories of Rome stroking himself in my personal space a few nights earlier. He never took his eyes off me the entire time he shoveled spoonful after spoonful of the savory pie into his sensual mouth. The syrupy juices coted his lips in a light glaze. One look had me squeezing my knees together to ward off an unexpected throb straight to my clit. I nearly shouted “Cowabunga!” when he finally finished his last bite. I couldn’t take another minute of that delicious torture.

  “Well, I’d say the meal was a hit, wouldn’t you, Michelle? Nothing like a nice slab of red meat cooked over an open flame to bring out your inner caveman. ” I replied to my landlord with a small smile and a quick shake of my head.

  “Shit was good as a motherfucker. Been a long time since I’ve eaten like that. You sure can burn, old girl.” Well… that was nice, aside from the crass language and the subsequent ball sack rub.

  “Oh, Jerome, my husband used to say the same exact thing after a nice steak dinner, at least while he still had all of his teeth.” Geez, Mrs. Lafontaine sniggered worse than a twelve-year-old girl with her first crush while she fluttered around and fussed over Rome like an old mother hen. Once she left with the dessert dishes, he lost all his casual charm and pinned me in place with a heated stare.

  “Only thing I need right now is a blowjob and a hot shower.” He smirked. “I’d even settle for a blowjob IN the shower, know what I mean?”

  “Does your filter work at all?” I whispered, shocked at my sudden boldness.

  “Works just fine, baby girl.” He puffed out his chest. “My cock does, too.”

  “Err… Jerome.”

  “No!” he barked while he rose from his seat. That little slit in front of his boxer shorts barely contained him. Any minute, his dick was gonna spill out all over the table linens like an Arabian carpet. He leaned closer to my face and whispered salaciously.

  “You call me Rome.” He licked his abundant lips and narrowed his eyes. “One night, I’ll make you scream that shit while you’re taking my cock up your tight little ass.”

  He straightened from his hunch, gave me one last pointed look, then turned and walked away toward the staircase. I watched in wonderment as the globes of his bitable ass and muscled tattooed back disappeared around the corner before I released the breath I’d been holding. Mrs. Lafontaine returned moments later, disappointed that Rome was no longer around and blind to the fact that I was a complete mess. She looked to me to provide an explanation, to which I shrugged my shoulders as if I had no clue what just happened.

  In all honesty, I really didn’t.

  Rome might’ve had his own agenda with his over-the-top sexual innuendoes and game running, but I had mine, too. No matter what happens, stick to the plan, I told myself. And that’s exactly what I intended to do.

  Dread

  “Look, look, look. I’m telling you motherfuckers that’s what happened. Dread, back me up, man. Tell these fools to cash me outside, son.”

  “Nah… you got that shit, bro.”

  “Ahhh, come on, man, you ain’t shit.”

  My concentration was shot when I walked into Masonry Ink, and at this rate wasn’t likely to get any better if Kaden had anything to say about it. He was on a roll with one of his bullshit fuck stories, and the whole entire place was in stitches. Out of all the things that had happened over the past few weeks, him worming his way into my good graces was the hardest to explain. People usually made a conscious effort to stay far the fuck away from me, but that guy? I couldn’t get rid of him. He started out by telling me a dick joke, worked his way to discussing the latest trends in tattooing, then finally, one night, he brought in a six-pack of Budweiser and just hung out while I worked late at the shop. We talked about a whole lot of nothing, bullshitting, telling lies, roasting each other. By the time the beer was gone, I’d gained a new sidekick thanks to his trashy sense of humor and in-your-face personality. The guy was so far up his own ass his, he had shit on his forehead. Crazy or not, I liked him.

  The other artists soon followed Kaden’s lead, seeing their way past more than just a chin lift when I entered Masonry Ink. All with the exception of one. That cocksucker Lurch, or whatever the fuck his name was. He still had his ass on his back ‘cause I’d approached his girl, the barmaid, a fact he made clear every time he saw me coming around the corner. We’d squared off more than once, spat insults, almost going to blows before Fox stepped in and shut it down. Chest to chest, arms raised, it was just a matter of time before we danced to the devil’s beat, but it wouldn’t be over no woman. Baby girl and I got along just fine, which was another first for me considering my stance on women and personal relationships. Conversation came easy once l no longer saw her as just another cock-sock. She was a co-worker, nothing more, just part of the crew. The artists sought me out to collaborate on design ideas, what worked for the clients and what was shit. My opinion was valued instead of overlooked as conjecture. I felt at ease amongst these men, yet fears from the past prevented me from fully committing to their ideals of community. Side by side, I worked hard to make money for the shop while representing Fox and Masonry Ink, but my thoughts were somewhere else. Stuck behind prison walls wearing an orange jumpsuit and sneakers with no laces.

  “Dread, Dread, Dread. Look, look, look.” Kaden always repeated himself when he was fixin’ to lie about something.

  “I’m telling you, that chick had some kind of trap door or escape hatch in her pussy. Shit had me clamped down so tight I couldn’t pull out, had to haul her ass around with me for three days before she finally let go. I bought one of those baby carriers that strapped across your chest like they sell at Walmart to keep from throwing my back out.” He demonstrated with his arms and hands. “Look. Look. Look. I had to stick my titty in her mouth to stop her from crying. Worst three days of my life,” he ended with a ch
eeky grin. Completely fucking serious.

  Jesus fuck.

  Where did he come up with this crap?

  I needed to refocus if I was going to get any work done today. The client had rejected my first two attempts at designing the original piece he’d requested; one more, and he was gonna look elsewhere and take the cash with him. So, while everyone else was busy laughing, I had to come up with a better sketch, or my shit was fucked.

  “Customers out now!” Fox entered the work area in a state.

  “Everybody else in my office, double time. Dread, you too.” He pointed toward me. “Bring your asses.”

  “Can I come too, Mace?” asked the hopeful barmaid with a sassy smile.

  “Fuck no. You know better.” He shot her down with a snarl. “Don’t fuck with me today, Angelica. Find something to do with yourself and stay the hell outa my way.”

  “Party pooper,” she replied with a pout and went about her way.

  Fox was heated about something. The way his nostrils flared and his muscles tensed behind his black T-shirt, I’d say somebody was about to get their foreskin ripped off. The patrons took off shouting their intentions to reschedule or come back another time while the rest of us made our way into the back office. Fox was pacing back and forth mumbling incoherently to himself, trying hard to hold it together. The last man finally arrived, closing the door behind him. The air cracked with the tension pouring off the walls. Not everyone was excited to see me there. Lurch seemed particularly put out by my invitation and moved to stand as far away from me as he could. To that I just smiled. He really was a new type of pussy.