Road of No Return (gay outlaw biker MC romance)

by K. A. Merikan

  “Perfectly understandable.” Stitch nodded with the most serious face he could pull off and jerked the backdoor open, revealing an inside full of furniture and boxes. There was even a huge, pink teddy bear wrapped in two plastic bags for protection.

  Cox stared at it for a whole ten seconds before climbing up into the truck. Stitch was hardly keeping his grin in check when he looked at that tight ass and movements that did nothing to hide Cox’s confusion. 1:0 for the Hounds of Valhalla.

  “Right, I think you should get going if you want to deliver those on time,” said Cox eventually and jumped off the truck without looking at Stitch.

  “Thanks for checking up, officer. We wouldn’t want our customers to feel unsure about our services.” Stitch yawned and stretched.

  Cox narrowed his eyes and nodded before making his way back to the police car. That had been close.

  “Stitch, you coming? We have a transport to deliver!” shouted Captain, knocking on the front window of the truck.

  Stitch nodded and jogged over to the driver’s seat. As soon as he dropped his ass in place, he turned on the engine. “Wow. That deserves a cigarette.” He said and pulled out a pack with his one free hand. “You should see that smug face of his turning into a puddle of sorrow.”

  “With that face, he shouldn’t be a cop. How can you respect someone smooth like a baby’s bum?” sneered Captain. He tapped the steering wheel in front of Stitch.

  “Undercover underwear model?” Stitch snorted, unsure if he weren’t taking the joke too far. He got Captain to light his cigarette and opened the window, feeling fifty pounds lighter without the stolen goods in the back.

  “A fag’s always gonna be a fag, even if he fucks women,” said Captain, philosophically. He grinned at his phone and hid it in his pocket.

  A queasy feeling swirled around in Stitch’s stomach. The topic was getting him uncomfortable at best. “Suppose so,” he muttered and took a deep inhale of cigarette smoke.

  “Gator says they’ll be picking Rat up from the station. He told us to come to the bar afterwards to celebrate.” Captain shrugged. “I don’t know what’s with this little shit. It’s as if he has no brain of his own.”

  “You were saying Gator has some new plans? I hope it’s not more of this shit?” Stitch chewed on the filter of his cigarette.

  Captain chuckled. “No way, he’s planning to venture into something smaller and far more profitable.”

  Stitch glanced at Captain with a frown. “Oh, yeah? What’s that? Isn’t that just gonna bring us more heat?”

  Captain shrugged. “I’m slowly getting too old to keep carrying those heavy appliances, but I would be glad to make people feel good by getting them what they want. It’s not like Cox is going to try any harder than he is now.”

  That only confirmed what Stitch suspected. Drugs. He’d seen it coming for a while now, but had kind of hoped it wouldn’t come to this. “Too old? What kind of talk is that? You’re thirty and strong as an ox.”

  “Whatever, I’d rather spoil my old lady than worry about what we can afford.” Captain leaned back in the seat and smiled at Stitch. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet already?”

  Stitch snorted. “Idiot. We’ll see how it goes. Don’t wanna see you end up in jail.” He joked, but wasn’t in the mood for laughter. The moment they move into this new ‘venture’, heat would rise, stakes would get higher, more people would want to put hands on their money. Trouble. That’s what this idea was.

  “Me neither, don’t worry.” Captain yawned, completely relaxing in his seat. “Anyway, party tonight. You’ll have the opportunity to show off what you got to cover all traces of Crystal.”

  Stitch threw the butt of the cigarette out the window. “This Zak guy, he did a really good job. Decent guy as well.”

  “Yeah? Maybe let him know about tonight then? I might consider hiring him myself if I like the job he did on you.”

  Stitch couldn’t help a smile rise up to his face and slowed down the truck before pulling out his cell phone. It was stupid, but he did want Captain's approval. He knew he’d never get it for what he’d done with Zak, but it would be nice for Captain to like Zak.

  He chose the right number.

  It took a total of three signals before Zak picked up, and the line resonated with his deep baritone. “Hi, Stitch.”

  Stitch had to hold back a groan. God, maybe calling Zak in public wasn’t such a good idea. He felt like a schoolboy after the first taste of pussy. “Hi…”

  “What’s up? Is something wrong with the tattoo, or are you missing me?” murmured the sweet, velvety voice, trailing through the sensitive curves of Stitch’s ear.

  He was missing Zak. Every inch of his dick was missing Zak. “Um, yeah, I mean, we’re having a party at Valhalla tonight, thought you might wanna come round?” His palm on the wheel got sweaty in a matter of seconds.

  “Yeah, why not. When?”

  Just inches to the side, Captain was messaging with his old lady, oblivious to what was going on with Stitch.

  “Tonight. There’s no set hour. Anytime in the evening and it’ll last all night.” Stitch wished he could add ‘take condoms and lube’.

  Zak laughed, and the melody of his voice was enough to make Stitch’s dick stiffen a bit. “Sure, I’ll be there.”

  He turned off the call before he could get any harder. Even talking to Zak got Stitch imagining all the filthy things they could be doing. It was as if the demons in Zak’s ink were nesting under Stitch’s skin.

  Chapter 7

  It was already late when Zak arrived at Valhalla. Judging from the sheer number of cars and bikes parked on the thinned grass around the bar, the place had to be packed. His eyes were drawn to the little lanterns of cigarettes burning in the darkness where a group of women were having a chat away from the noise. He double checked if he had a condom and a sachet of lube in his front jean pocket, and looked into the rearview mirror to make sure the ruffled hair he’d combed to one side of his head looked as good as when he left home. Ready to show himself to his new fuck buddy, he locked the car and made his way to the buzzing bar. Old school rock music was shaking the ground beneath Zak’s feet, making him smile. He hadn’t hoped there would be a place that played half-decent stuff in a place as small as Lake Valley.

  It looked like he could be doing all right here after all, and he did need some time for the dust to settle before he would even consider moving back to his hometown. He might just as well have some fun while he was here. And so, his eyes went looking for Stitch’s bulky form as soon as he entered the dark, somewhat stuffy bar.

  Some gazes instantly clung to him, but he quickly found the man he was looking for, Stitch’s blond ponytail making him stand out just as much as the perfect ass in a pair of beat-up jeans. What Stitch was doing though was another matter, and there was nothing pleasing about witnessing it. Stitch stood behind a girl playing an old school pinball machine. He looked massive next to her smaller frame as he ground into her ass every time she pulled on the levers in the machine.

  Narrowing his eyes, Zak went straight for the bar, choosing to ignore Stitch. If he wanted to fuck around with girls—fine, but why would he invite Zak over to witness that? The earlier conversation was nothing more than a plea of a man starving for gay sex.

  He climbed into the vacant stool by the bar and nodded at Joe, who waved at him from the pump of beer a few feet away. The counter was sticky beneath Zak’s elbows, but he ignored it and glanced to the sides.

  “Hey there!” Joe waved at him and came over. “What can I get you?” At one point, he had to yell over a roar of laughter at the pool table.

  “Just a bottle of beer, thanks.” Zak smiled and gestured to the crowds. “What’s the occasion? Will there be live music later?”

  “Nah, just the jukebox. I also DJ sometimes.” Joe raised his chin and got Zak a bottle from the fridge. “The cops were after the club again and arrested one of our guys for no reason. So they had to let him o
ut. You see that young guy over there? Rat.” Joe pointed to a young guy sleeping in the corner with his head against the wall and an empty glass in his hand.

  Zak smiled, wondering what the poor guy did to deserve a nickname like that. Rat still had a face covered in pimples. “Tough start. Why would he be arrested?” he asked, leaning over the counter. He took the first swig of the cold beer and smiled at the clear, slightly bitter taste.

  “Probably had some weed on him.” Joe shrugged. “Stitch said Rat’s buying everyone a drink tonight, so your first beer is on him.”

  “He’ll learn his lesson,” chuckled Zak and used the curtain of his hair to glance toward the pinball machine again. Stitch wasn’t humping the girl like an over-eager bunny anymore, but they were still talking, Stitch leaning against the wall like the alpha dog he was. Strands of hair fell on his face, making him look like a handsome rok ‘n’ roll Viking. Zak had no idea if Stitch actually swung both ways or what his deal was. It didn’t really matter anyway.

  “Exactly. It’s no big deal, but it’s nice to get a chance to show the cops the finger.”

  Zak grinned at him. He never had any bad experiences with the police, but when in Rome, do as the Romans do. Or just shut up altogether. “What do people around here do on their days off? Other than coming over here.”

  “Many of the guys own the company next door and work there. You know, the house removals. And then some of them use the workshop for all sorts of carpentry.” Joe had a big wide smile as he spoke, pouring people’s drinks in the meantime. “It’s all locally owned, you know, we don’t work for anyone else.”

  Zak sighed. So there was nothing to do other than hang out here and work. Maybe it was for the better. He would have a chance to recharge his batteries in peace.

  “Are they selling the... wooden handiwork anywhere? Is there a store?” Maybe he could order something for his new studio.

  “It’s mostly commissioned work, but you can always come round to see the stuff that hasn't been picked up yet. Like, last month, they were making these custom-made BDSM benches. There was so much fun with those. And Stitch made a set of miniature table and chairs for his daughter’s birthday.”

  Zak’s face, which had relaxed into a smile at the mention of dungeon furniture, suddenly went slack. A daughter? That was the last thing he expected. He looked back at Stitch, squeezing and opening his fists. The guy looked like he didn’t have a care in the world, pretending he was putting a glass of beer on a girl’s rack. “I didn’t know he had a kid.”

  “Oh, yeah. Four months after marriage if you know what I mean.”

  Zak sighed. “And now it’s over. At least he has a kid out of it. How old is she?”

  “Five or something like that. Cute kid, actually. It’s a shame he got divorced, he and Crystal were a great couple. It’s stupid, but I always kinda imagined, when I was younger, that they were this perfect couple. That I wanted something like they used to have.” Joe looked like a stranded puppy when his gaze traveled to Stitch.

  Zak blinked, surprised by the sentiment. “Happens. Anyone special in your life?” he asked, wanting to change the subject.

  “Not yet, you? Came to get lucky tonight?” Joe grinned and looked over Zak’s shoulder. Before Zak even turned around to follow Joe’s gaze, he heard two female voices cutting through the noise.

  “Hey there, Mr. Ink.”

  The smile tensed on his face but by the moment he turned around, he knew he had to look perfectly natural. “Hey there, ladies,” he said, for a moment wondering if they might be twins. No, their facial features were different, but both had long, bright red hair, heavy makeup, and wore skimpy black dresses with some ink peeking out. They could be twin sisters of half the alternative scene.

  “Are you up for fun, Mr. Ink?” One of them asked and ran her fingers down Zak’s arm.

  “Let me guess, you two are housemates,” he said, grinning his way through the bizarre moment when he should have told them he wasn’t interested but somehow couldn’t make that push. His stomach twisted at the thought what the implications could be. In a place such as this, especially as a newcomer, he couldn’t just ignore what anyone thought. It brought a whole new level of discomfort.

  “I’m Vanessa.” One of the girls held out her hand with a smile as the other gave a cat-like squint. “I love your ink. I heard you’re a tattoo artist? It’s your poster on the wall, isn’t it?”

  “Yes I am.” He squeezed her hand, not for too long, to stay professional. “What do you want to know?”

  Vanessa’s full lips spread into a smile. “I want to know where you live.” She took a swig of beer from the bottle in her hand. Her friend, obviously more shy, hid her mouth behind the bottle and gave Zak a little wink. He responded with a smile.

  “If you guys want a consultation, you can see my portfolio online, and contact me so that we can arrange for a meeting. Is there any particular design you’re interested in?”

  “It’s not the time for portfolios today,” he heard the well-known raspy voice from the side. It tugged on Zak’s nape, gripping the skin and sending a shiver down his spine. “I need a consultation on my new ink.”

  Vanessa moaned. “Go away, Stitch!”

  Zak gave his savior a wide grin. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, eager to dismiss the fake twins. He held out his hand and grabbed Stitch around the forearm, shaking his hand. He noticed that twin number two turned halfway to the bar, apparently more sensitive to body language than her friend.

  “Oh yeah?” Stitch held his hand for a bit too long, but backed off. “You seem to be having fun though.”

  “Those girls here are interested in getting inked,” he said as if he hadn’t noticed the flirting. “You three know each other?” he asked, keeping up Stitch’s gaze, intense in the dark room.

  “Sure we do. Go on, Vanessa, stalk my new friend another time.” Stitch smiled and patted her ass. She pouted, but eventually waved at Zak with just her fingers and left along with her friend.

  Zak leaned in to whisper, “Thanks.” He breathed in the already familiar scent of Stitch’s cologne, complemented with a note of liquor.

  “You think I did it for you?” Stitch gave him a crooked smile and pulled on his arm to lead Zak away from the bar. “I just need my ink tended to.”

  “Do you? You seemed to be tending to it very well by the pinball machine,” said Zak, slipping off the stool and following Stitch anyway.

  “It was just a bit of fun.” Stitch shrugged and led him through a backdoor, behind which the music was instantly dulled down. The corridor was dim and dusty, with only a few old band posters on the walls.

  Zak bit his lip, his skin burning up where Stitch’s big hand was touching him. “Is this still the bar?”

  “Nope. It’s the clubhouse. We have a few guest rooms and a place to lounge around.” Stitch took his hand away, but not before he stroked Zak with his thumb. “Guys from the club can stay around here sometimes if they need to.”

  Zak exhaled, looking down into Stitch's hazel eyes. “So, we’re not alone here,” he guessed, looking at the posters of bikes and naked women, which had been clearly torn out of some magazine in the 90s.

  Stitch pushed on a door and all of a sudden grabbed the front of Zak’s top. With a force that had Zak stumbling forward, Stitch pulled him into the dark room. The door closed, and the same moment Zak heard a click of the lock, he was against the wall, with Stitch’s lips on his and Stitch’s firm, broad body squishing him flat. “Now we are.”

  There was a somewhat stale scent to the room, but Zak held onto Stitch’s arms anyway and opened up for him, sucking on his wild, restless tongue as it fucked his mouth with an urgency unmatched by any of Zak’s previous partners. He groaned and slid his hands down Stitch’s back, massaging the tight muscle.

  “All I could think of all day was how much I wanna be inside you,” Stitch rasped into Zak’s lips between one kiss and another, his breath as hot as rum-infused. Zak barely
had time to think before Stitch grabbed his thighs and pulled them up. He lost ground and had to grab onto Stitch’s neck when the guy held him up against the wall, grinding his hips into Zak.

  “Ohh, fuck,” whispered Zak, shuddering against Stitch as this big, butch guy simply raised him off his feet like a puppet. Stitch’s words stung right into the center of Zak’s chest, knocking air out of him and pulling invisible strings that made him open his thighs wider, relax his ass in preparation for that thick, juicy cock. In an ideal world, Zak would have Stitch tear the back of his jeans and fuck him into the floor, crushing him with his weight in a way that was completely primal. The mere thought of it made Zak’s stomach shudder in anticipation.

  “What do you want? You want my dick inside, don’t you?” Stitch whispered in the darkness, his cock already hard in his jeans. “Pumping my come deep into your hot ass.” Stitch groaned and thrust with his hips. He licked the side of Zak’s face in a languid move, all the way from the jaw to the ear.

  Stitch was raw, and rough as a sex-starved caveman. His declarations made Zak’s toes curl as he squeezed his thighs around those powerful hips. Zak sucked on the rum-flavored lips, already getting drunk on their taste. His head spun, light as an empty eggshell, with all the blood in Zak’s body migrating south. He’d love to be fucked bare by a hunk like that, in an ideal world without STDs. But he could still fantasize about it. “Uh-huh, I want you to push my legs up and stick that dick in me,” he whispered, suddenly biting into the tender flesh of Stitch’s lip.

  “You’re my choice of poison.” Stitch held him tightly as he turned away from the wall, carrying Zak somewhere in the dark room. A tiny bit of light from a dusty window made the edges of furniture blur, but it was no surprise when the world became horizontal, and Zak’s back met a mattress. He didn’t have to see Stitch to know he was unbuckling his belt, the metallic clang went straight to Zak's cock. “Gonna kill me, but I can’t stop,” muttered Stitch.