Road of No Return (gay outlaw biker MC romance)

by K. A. Merikan

  They were going at it hard and fast in no time, and he couldn’t unglue his eyes from Zak’s flushed face and glossy eyes. The guy was even pulling in Stitch’s hips to make him thrust into him harder, gasping and groaning in the rhythm of the wooden table slamming against the wall. Zak’s sweat smelled so good it could be the basis of some pheromone perfume, an aphrodisiac to lure Stitch in.

  When Stitch came, it was as if his dick was getting hugged by that tight channel. He groaned into Zak’s lips and licked the sweat off his cheek. He never stopped stroking Zak’s cock as he was making his last thrusts, imagining there was no rubber barrier between them, that he would cream him, mark him with his own come.

  Zak gave a breathless moan and came right after, his spunk spilling all over Stitch’s hand, warm and sticky. Its smell tickled something deep in Stitch, but instead of pondering on that, he leaned in and kissed the trembling mouth.

  “Ohh, fuck,” whispered Zak as his legs slowly relaxed around Stitch’s hips. With his eyes half-lidded, he seemed like someone who’d love to just cuddle into the covers and fall asleep after the most mind-blowing fuck of their life.

  Stitch grinned at him, ignoring the fact that he wasn’t sure what to do with his hand. “I’m not ‘trouble’ after all, am I?” He kissed Zak’s lips once more before straightening up.

  Zak dragged his hands down his face, his chest still working hard. “Why did I even bother putting on clothes. I knew this would happen, you pest.”

  “You didn’t, you only had briefs on. Afraid oil would spill over your junk?” Stitch chuckled and pulled off the condom, his gaze drawn to Zak’s slippery buttocks.

  “My junk’s priceless to me,” whimpered Zak, not even bothering to get decent. He had this self-satisfied smirk firmly in place.

  Stitch looked up at the puppy-shaped clock on the wall as he zipped up his pants. “I don’t have time for breakfast anymore, but it was worth it.”

  Zak nodded and started smearing the string of spunk on his stomach all over the skin. “See? You’re trouble. But Versailles will thank you for the cooked breakfast.”

  “Versay had a chunk of my calf yesterday, so he should be fine.” He couldn’t take his eyes off Zak. How the fuck was he supposed to get back to reality now?

  “I bet he’ll like you better than anyone else now that he knows how you taste.” Zak lazily slid off the table and reached for the food.

  Stitch buckled up his belt and gave Zak’s ass a pat. “Just like you.”

  “I want your number,” said Zak, nodding at the stationery drawer.

  Stitch smirked. “Not enough that I have yours?”

  “No.” Zak shrugged. “What if I’m in dire need of protein?”

  Stitch chuckled and got himself a piece of paper. “You’re so freaking shameless. Come round to our bar sometime. I bet the guys would like to meet a talented tattoo artist,” he said as he wrote down the number. It would be nice to see Zak around. Even if he wouldn’t be able to touch him.

  He didn’t know how things would develop with this guy, but he knew that by the end of this week, he would fuck him again.

  “And Stitch, I scratch your back, you scratch mine, yeah?” Zak raised his eyebrows and packed his mouth full of egg.

  Stitch blinked, unsure what to say. “Huh?” Was this Zak’s way of saying he wanted to fuck him as well? He clenched his buttocks reflexively and felt himself going pale.

  Zak frowned. “You know, I don’t know how this club thing works. Give me tips, and no fag jokes, yeah?”

  “Oh. Yeah, yeah, I’ll introduce you and stuff. But you’re not ‘out’ are you?” Stitch frowned. That wouldn’t go down well at all.

  Zak bit off some of the crispy bacon. “I’m not boasting about it.”

  “Yeah, so just… keep it quiet, and you’ll be fine.” Stitch hesitated, but leaned over to kiss Zak’s cheek and cupped the sides of his face as he smiled. “So fucking pretty.”

  Zak kept his gaze but smiled in return. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “See you around then.” Stitch finally pulled away and walked out of the kitchen. He hadn’t felt so light in years.

  Even Versay growling at him from beneath the living room table couldn’t spoil Stitch’s mood. He walked out into the sunny yard and went straight for his shiny black bike. He knew he’d think about Zak’s sleek body when he mounted his machine.

  But just as he was looking to the window to check if his Pollyanna was there, gazing back, his cell phone rang, and it wasn’t Crystal.

  “What’s up?” he asked Gator, their club president.

  All he got was, “Get your ass to the clubhouse right now, we have a problem.”

  Chapter 6

  The clubhouse was busier than a swarming ant colony. All the guys rushed around in pairs, carrying large appliances they had obtained from a major company’s warehouse a week ago. Obtained for free. Stitch and Captain were dragging a large side-by-side fridge up into the moving truck belonging to the club, which was normally used for their legal business. It had been hard to load those fresh, new babies when Hounds of Valhalla took them under their wings, but knowing there could be police officers knocking at their door any minute now made the process even more frantic.

  “How the fuck did the police get a sniff of this?” Stitch grunted as they carried the fridge to the beat-up truck and passed it to Joe, who pushed the equipment to the back so that they had space for the other items being carried their way like cars taken by the flood. Televisions, game consoles, phones, all boxed up and fresh. Stuff that needed to be moved ASAP.

  Gator passed them with a stack of boxes, sweat glistening on his bald, tattooed head. “Toby Flaren called me from the station. Rat left fingerprints. We need to move this shit in case Cox shows up, so you know who to thank for all this.”

  “What a fucking idiot,” muttered Captain as they put the fridge on the floor inside the truck. He brushed the dust off his hands and jumped right off the trailer not to block the way for two more pairs of men carrying the remaining stock.

  “Hey, Stitch, you drive!” Gator snapped his fingers in the air and stood on top of a few boxes, which made him look like a slave monger, men moving under his gaze as if they were carrying blocks to build a pyramid. Gator looked like no pharaoh though, all muscular and red on his pasty face. In moments like this Stitch really did believe the guy had wrestled an alligator once and broken its neck.

  Stitch nodded but ran his fingers through his hair, watching more boxes pile up in the truck. “Where are we taking this shit? Where the fuck are we supposed to unload all of this?”

  “I’ll arrange a space in Bayou Cane, I know some guys down there, but you need to be on the road.”

  “Go!” Captain slapped his thigh and ran around the truck to get into the passenger seat.

  “Are you sure we have everything?” Stitch slammed shut the back of the truck as soon as Gator jumped off. Neverending fucking problems. He’d rather be in the workshop, polishing a table.

  “If one thing got overlooked, we’ll deal with it. Now go!” growled Gator and Stitch wasn’t about to argue with the club president. Gator gave the back of the truck a slap, as if it were a girl’s ass.

  Stitch opened the driver’s door and hopped inside, where Captain was already going through a map. In the wing mirror, he could see the other guys rushing around like a swarm of bees preparing their nest for an attack of giant hornets. He bit his lip and started the truck, squeezing his hands on the steering wheel. Gator ran up to the gate and as he pressed the button, the white door started slowly rising. Inch by inch, it made its way up, all too slow for Stitch’s liking.

  “Go northwest first,” said Captain, slipping a pair of shades on his nose.

  The moment burning sunshine hit Stitch’s eyes, he knew it was time to put on sunglasses as well. It only took a few minutes to get out of town. Stitch made sure to choose a neighborhood where half of the houses stood empty so that as few people as possible would see them.
He’d much prefer to be on his bike, not locked in a giant can that couldn’t go any faster, or even get off the road like a bike could.

  “I’m gonna kill Rat when they let him out,” Stitch growled, completely focused on the asphalt road.

  Captain shook his head. “With Gator’s new plans, the kid needs to get his shit straight or he’ll be out,” he said, patting his eye patch. “Go right.”

  Stitch turned without question. “What new plans?” he hissed, but the issue became irrelevant the moment he saw Cox’s police car in the wing mirror. “Fuck! Call Gator. We need to lose this motherfucker.”

  Captain dropped the map and looked into the other wing mirror, his chest expanding. “Sonofabitch!” He patted his thick fingers against the window, and glanced to Stitch, pulling out his cell phone. “Forget what I said, go left, pass by my house, yeah?”

  Stitch gritted his teeth, but he had to trust that Captain had a plan. He hated being out of the loop, and his forehead was already so hot he could fry an egg on it. Not that he was good at frying eggs, as proven by the last fiasco. He nodded and took the first turn to the left and off the highway, just as Captain pushed his hand into Stitch’s front pocket, fishing out his phone as well. He wouldn’t assume Stitch had anything to hide from him.

  “Melissa? Take the car now, we’ll be there in three minutes,” Captain told his old lady, watching Cox in the mirror, all tense. “Don’t ask stupid questions, just do it, you need to do something for me, baby.”

  “I can see his whites! I can see his whites, he’s too fucking close!” Stitch was bristling up like a cornered bear. He stepped on the gas. “What are you doing with my phone?” He took a glance at Captain’s thick fingers fiddling with his smartphone. It was pretty pathetic. Captain’s phone was one of those old-people’s phones, with big numbers, but he did manage to open a new message and was now typing something addressed to Gator. Stitch needed to get a new phone for communicating with Zak, in case Zak decided to send him some dirty texts.

  “Just drive and don’t keep him too far away from us when you turn into my street, yeah?” growled Captain just before returning to the conversation he was having with his woman.

  Stitch stopped listening in and just pressed on the gas pedal, eager to expand the space between them and Cox while making sure not to break any traffic regulations. They could not give the fucker any excuses to stop them with a ton of stolen goods in the back of the truck.

  This wasn’t what the plan was. They were supposed to acquire the electronics and get rid of them quickly. Bam! Profit. Instead, Stitch was sweating like a pig in this can of a vehicle. “What’s the fucking plan?” he urged Captain as they approached his house.

  “Keep him on your tail and speed up as soon as you pass my yard,” growled Captain. He opened his mouth to say more but instead picked up the phone as soon as it buzzed. “Gator, we’re at mine, how much time do you need at the gas station?” He was bumping his fist into the dashboard like a living metronome.

  Stitch could smell the tension in the air, mixed with the scent of a bonfire at a trailer park they’d passed. He wished he was roasting some fucking marshmallows instead of risking his freedom for a bunch of TVs and freezers. The bills weren’t gonna pay themselves though. He only wished Cox wouldn’t get some stupid ideas like trying to pass them or something. As soon as they reached Captain’s house, he stepped on the gas.

  “Just don’t pass the limit,” Captain reminded him, practically glued to the window, and the sudden cackle he gave was the sign Stitch needed to take a glimpse of the wing mirror. His mouth curved into a smile when he saw Melissa’s car parked across the street, blocking Cox, who hit the horn before getting out of his car only to be joined by Melissa, who raised her hands in a gesture of helplessness. That was all he could see before they turned right.

  “That’s my woman!” grinned Captain and hit Stitch’s shoulder with a fist. “It’s a shame she only has brothers.”

  Stitch let out a deep breath and banged his hand on Captain’s thigh. Right now, Stitch would do any of Melissa’s brothers. “Fucking close! I need to buy that woman a drink! Or… a new TV?” He started laughing like a madman.

  “Don’t tempt her, I’ll treat her to something because she sure deserves it. What do you think? Should I go down on her tonight?” Captain grinned and put his boots on the dashboard.

  Stitch chuckled, still glancing into the mirror every now and then, but with a heart much lighter. “Go for it.” He wanted to add something more, but nothing came to his mind when the image of himself sucking Zak flooded his brain. He wasn’t ready for that change of dynamic, but it still got him to take a deeper breath. He could trace that serpent tat with his tongue and flick the piercing over it.

  “She’d agree with you.” Captain stretched his body, clearly relaxed. “Take the shortest way to Ted’s gas station.”

  “What then? What did Gator say?” Stitch put both hands on the large steering wheel, trying to clear his mind of thoughts of cocksucking. It wasn’t like him. “I need to get some pussy after this,” he said even though he wasn’t sure if that was what he actually wanted.

  “We’re gonna party after this so be sure to grab some nice piece of ass,” said Captain, typing on his ancient phone. “They’re gonna wait there with another truck, and you’re gonna jump into the other one. Cox will face some shit we’re moving tonight.”

  Stitch nodded. Captain shouldn't have said ‘ass’. All Stitch wanted was a very particular piece of tattooed ass. Maybe he could actually fuck Zak again tonight. And tomorrow. And the day after. Twice a day preferably. “Yeah, good. So we’ll hide this one at the station, right? I think there’s a road into the forest this truck can turn into.”

  “Just do your thing as long as Cox doesn’t catch up on us before we get to the station,” said Captain as they got back into the highway. They were close to their goal, and Stitch could already taste money on his palate.

  They drove into the beat-up station, and stopped right next to one of the identical trucks their moving company owned. One of the guys was at the back of it, already holding the registration plate and making a run for the other one as soon as Stitch parked.

  Captain slid out of the car and ran to the other truck. “Get this baby into the bath, guys!” he yelled as he reached the replacement and kissed its white door.

  Stitch nodded at them and went straight for the gas station, where a single attendant watched them with his jaw open. This guy would need a talking to. Behind his back, the new driver was parking their valuable cargo in the car wash, but Stitch was already running over to close the attendant’s mouth.

  “What are you...” uttered the gangly boy, who couldn’t be even twenty.

  “Hey boy, how would you feel about a new Playstation?” Stitch asked, as soon as he covered the guy with his own shade. They would talk differently if he didn’t comply quick.

  “A what? Why?” The guy crossed his thin arms on his chest and frowned.

  Stitch took a step closer and put an arm over his shoulders. “You see that truck?” He pointed to the one disappearing in the car wash. “Well, you didn’t. Are we clear? You play your part, and you get a brand-new Playstation. You don’t, and you get into a lot of trouble. Clear enough?”

  The guy let out a sharp breath. His eyes shone with greed of someone who could not possibly afford a brand-new console. “For real?”

  Stitch inhaled deeply, happy that he wouldn’t have to descend into violence. “For real. The new one, in the box, with all the shit that comes with it.” The guys finished fixing the new registration plate just in time for officer Cox to appear on the horizon. “Deal?”

  The attendant gave him a nod. “There was no truck. I must have seen a reflection in the window, sir.”

  Stitch grinned and strolled over to the truck full of furniture with his hands in his pockets. Captain smiled at him from the passenger seat the moment the police car drove into the station.

  Cox stopped his car wi
th a slight squeak of tires and rushed out, his eyes searching for Stitch. His handsome, smooth face tensed when their eyes met. “Were you the driver of this truck, or was it your friend?”

  “Afternoon, officer,” shouted Captain through the passenger’s window, but Cox only waved at him.

  “I’m the driver, Officer Cox.” Stitch made sure for it to sound like ‘cocks’, just like he did when they were in high school. “What can I do for you today? We’re in a bit of a hurry you see.” He ran his fingers through his hair and pushed it back. Damn hairband disappeared somewhere, as usual. Cox’s black uniform made him look as if he’d stepped out of a cop porno, all tight-fitting and showing off his figure. No donuts for officer Cox. Not that Stitch watched cop porn anyway.

  “And why are you so eager to drive all around town without much purpose?” asked Cox, blinding Stitch with the reflection of sunlight off his badge. Stitch wondered whether it was done on purpose, or was Cox really that much of a freak to polish this thing during lunch break.

  “Just some furniture for this family in Houma. They’re missing their toasters and shit.” Stitch grinned at him, watching the firm, square jaw tense up. Go on, motherfucker, ask if you can see it.

  “May I see if you haven’t broken anything? I would have done that sooner, but some young lady had car trouble a few miles from here,” he said through his teeth. Stitch wouldn’t want his cock between those lips, the guy had jaws like a gator.

  “Of course, officer. Is that a thing now? Police providing escort for citizens’ furniture?” he asked as they approached the back of the truck. He wouldn’t dare try to steal a glance at Cox’s ass, but he had done a few times in the past, and it looked nice and firm in those black trousers of the uniform. Sometimes, Stitch imagined Cox moaning under him when he was jerking off. The fantasy was quite elaborate as well. It included Cox in handcuffs and groaning stuff like: ‘Oh fuck, I shouldn’t be doing this’.

  “Might be, we’re intent on making their property even safer,” said Cox, stopping in front of the truck. He gave Stitch an expectant look.