Road of No Return (gay outlaw biker MC romance)

by K. A. Merikan

  “Don’t you dare call me that though. It’s embarrassing, especially after the movie. Being a tall blond doesn’t help either.”

  “No? You don’t want to hammer me in a Viking costume?” chuckled Zak, making a languid move with his hips. His eyes were completely taken by the handsome face in front of him.

  Stitch frowned, but Zak could feel his dick stiffening under Zak’s ass. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “No, you totally should have,” whispered Zak, rocking in his lap. “Didn’t you just put a ring on my finger?” he asked, looking deep into Stitch’s eyes. He had no idea what was going on in that Nordic head. The last thing he wanted to do was make false assumptions.

  “I did. I like it, so I put a ring on it. Dibs.” Stitch had that silly smile on his face as he paraphrased the Beyoncé song.

  Zak gave a dry laugh as he put his arms around Stitch and hugged him close. This was insane. Things were getting far too complicated, far too soon, and with a man who was a known criminal and ex-convict at that. But that didn’t change how natural it felt to be in his arms, and how easy it was for Zak to commit to monogamy after all the years of carefree sex. He was getting old. Old and corny.

  “And now that it’s legit, I am gonna hammer you,” Stitch’s grin widened and in one abrupt move, he arched his hips and threw Zak over to his back while still holding on to his legs. “All night. And then the night after… and after…” He lapped at Zak’s neck.

  Every single nerve in Zak’s body stood alert, as if waiting for Stitch’s command. Zak moaned, feeling a rush of heat to his face, and rapidly pulled on the sides of Stitch’s cut. The moment his lover’s weight collapsed on top of him, he knew there wasn’t anything he wanted more.

  Chapter 17

  It had been over five months since Zak moved to Lake Valley, two since Stitch moved in with him, and it had passed like spring break. They were oddly good together, and Zak hadn’t even thought of kissing another man since then. His new boyfriend kept him busy and satisfied, even though he still had doubts about giving head. Zak suggested it once, but Stitch approached his dick like it was a porcupine. Then again, the last thing Zak wanted was to force him into it, so he fucked Stitch’s tight ass instead. That man had such a gorgeous, muscled butt. Zak could play with it for hours.

  They were spending so much time together too. Zak was hanging out with Stitch’s friends at Valhalla, and already kind of liked most of them, even though they could be homophobic jerks at times. Since the situation with Crystal, they deleted all messages and made sure no one got their hands on their cell phones either. She at least didn’t try to hurt any of them physically, which couldn’t be guaranteed if any of the Hounds got their hands on the correspondence between Stitch and Zak. It was NC-17 to say the least.

  Stitch on the other hand helped Zak around the house a lot. They painted a new room, and Stitch made an amazing table for Zak’s studio space. He even made a carving in the counter, of one of the demons Zak had tattooed on his body.

  In a surge of goodwill, Stitch even let Zak teach him some basic cooking, which ended up with a somewhat burnt but heartwarming breakfast in bed one Sunday. Unfortunately, Stitch was a useless case when it came to cooking, and Zak ended up planning their fridge contents and preparing food a lot more.

  Despite him being such a sweet, caring guy, Zak couldn’t help but worry whenever he went out to be with his club buddies. Stitch never explicitly told Zak what they were dealing with, and Zak didn’t want to pressure him since Stitch had already declared he wanted out of the illegal business, but it was hard not to know where Stitch was late at night. Especially when Zak had jobs to do and needed to stay professional and focused.

  The worst time of all was when Stitch told Zak he’d be out for the weekend to do a job in another state, but when Zak noticed Stitch’s gun was gone and tried to call him, all he got was a dead line. He couldn’t sleep at night, sick with worry, only to find Stitch sleeping on the couch next Monday. Of course, Stitch wouldn’t tell him where he’d been and why he got Zak worried sick. Another time, he came home with an incision that Zak ended up stitching up, and even more bruising than usual. It hurt Zak to even look at his lover injured, and not knowing the cause was killing him. It provoked a few arguments, which dispersed eventually without solving the problem. Usually through Stitch’s sneaky seduction techniques.

  And there were the nights when Stitch simply went out with the guys and when Zak drove by the bar, none of the motorbikes were there. He wanted to confront Stitch about it, but seeing him come back home, looking like an empty-eyed puppet, made Zak ignore his own insecurities and get down to making Stitch feel better. And on top of that was the matter of Holly. Despite their initial assumptions, after two months, Crystal still wouldn’t budge and stood firm by her decision not to let Stitch see his daughter. He was only allowed to occasionally deliver some treats and small toys for her but never play with her. The most he got was half an hour, and those days were actually worse than having him not see her. Stitch wouldn’t even want cheering up. He just drove off for a ride for a few hours. He was so obviously upset that it also made Zak push away any issues he wanted to confront Stitch over.

  And then there was Cox and a few of his cop buddies, sniffing around the Hounds of Valhalla. The worst thing was that Zak was increasingly aware that the cops actually had good reason to investigate, but any attempts to get Stitch talking ended with them not speaking for hours.

  On top of that, Zak found himself back in the closet, and while he understood that Stitch couldn’t be open about his sexuality in his circles, the secrecy and necessity to tell lies whenever someone tried to flirt with him or asked about him not having a girlfriend were slowly choking Zak. It was like a noose around his neck, always ready to tighten, and the longer it lasted, the more suspicious looks he was getting, and the more uncomfortable he became.

  He thought a weekend trip to New Orleans where he and Stitch could hold hands in public, dance in a club or even have a beer as a couple, could relieve the tension, but the idea was instantly shot down. Zak believed part of it had to be about Stitch not really being comfortable with his sexuality, not just the danger of being spotted. To Stitch’s credit, he had toned down his flirting with the girls when Zak told him how much he hated seeing him humping or kissing someone else, but that didn’t change much about Zak’s situation. He hadn’t even noticed when he’d crawled all the way behind the thickest coat in the closet, and he was ashamed of it.

  Zak’s day had been slow. He did a small tattoo on a girl’s wrist in the early afternoon, had a long walk with Versay, and spent the rest of the day making designs and drawing in front of the television. Stitch was supposed to be back late at night so Zak wasn’t rushing to do much but he smiled when he heard the doorbell ring. Sometimes, Stitch had this quirk of ringing just so Zak would greet him at the door, even though he already had his own key.

  Zak threw down his sketchbook and rushed to the door with a wide smile. He was happy to be dressed properly, with his hair down. But it wasn’t Stitch who smiled at him when he opened the door.

  Cox gave him a curt nod. “Hi Zak, is Larsen in?” he asked, but it was the sight of the other cop next to him that made Zak’s eyes go wide. The guy had a massive police dog with him. Versay was already trying to push through Zak’s legs to run out and greet the buff German shepherd, but Zak pulled the door shut behind him, leaving the furry pest in despite its whining.

  “No, why? Is something wrong, officer?” he asked as carefree as he could, even though his stomach became a tangled web of thorns. What was going on? Were they suspecting Stitch of dealing drugs?

  “We need to speak to him. He agreed to talk and then disappeared. Would you know where he is?” said the other policeman in a rich baritone.

  Zak shrugged, hoping he was good enough of an actor to give a believable performance. Not to mention that he was hoping the dog wasn’t about to smell his weed-scented fingers. “Sorry, no idea. You
could come by later.”

  “Thank you, we will. Could you give us a call when he’s in?” Cox asked in a deadpan voice. He probably knew what the answer would be.

  “Why are you looking for him?” Zak asked back, hoping they’d forget to repeat the question.

  “I’m afraid we can’t disclose that,” said the other officer, and Zak wished the guy weren’t here, because he was sure Cox would actually give him some insight into Stitch’s wrongdoings.

  He straightened up and leaned back against the door. “Well, if you can’t tell me anything then I don’t see a reason to spy on him,” he said with a straight face. “The government already has too much surveillance power over its citizens,” he said to make his stance seem more legit.

  Cox, who actually knew him well enough to recognize the bluff, raised his eyebrows. “Er… We’ll be on our way, Zak.”

  “Sure, it’s been nice to meet you,” said Zak with a wide smile and popped open the door, pushing in through the crack to prevent Versay from socializing with the wrong crowd. At least the beast was happy to see him. He patted the dog's side, squeezed the elongated, fluffy mohawk, and walked all the way to the kitchen. He got himself a glass of milk and returned to the sofa, where he’d left his phone. He needed to see Stitch ASAP.

  But before he could make the call, he heard the backdoor slam, and Versay ran toward the rattling in the kitchen. He dropped the phone and rushed to the noise. “Stitch, is that you?” Zak hissed, walking in with his heart in his throat.

  In the kitchen, Stitch was just about done stuffing some bag into the breadbox, and opened the cupboard under the sink to fit in a piece of machinery that made Zak think of the post-apocalyptic shooter game he once played.

  “Hey,” Stitch huffed, barely catching a breath.

  Zak raised his hands, air going through his windpipe at an agonizing speed. “What the fuck is that?”

  Stitch finally looked back at him, trying to push the concoction of shotgun and gas canister under the sink. “It’s… It’s a flamethrower,” he finished flatly after a moment of hesitation. Zak knew that voice all too well. It was Stitch trying to come up with a lie and not being able to on the spot.

  “No,” he said through gritted teeth, “I won’t have shit like this in my house. What’s in the breadbox?”

  “It’s just for the night,” Stitch assured him and shut the cupboard, ignoring the other question.

  Zak walked past him and opened the lid of the breadbox, and it seemed that all blood was draining south from his head. There was a large, mean-looking gun next to fresh sliced bread.

  “Be careful!” Stitch rushed up to him and closed the breadbox. He stood between it and Zak as if he wanted to protect the firearm. “It’s all fine.”

  Zak shook his head, clawing his fingers in the air. “No, it’s not! I just had cops asking about you. They had a giant fucking dog with them!”

  “Fuck. Are they gone?” Stitch asked as if it was all normal. It was dawning on Zak that he sure as hell was an accomplice. “They have no business with this shit, flamethrowers are legal.”

  Zak pinched the base of his nose, trying his best to contain his anger. “Get this shit out of my house. I mean it. You promised me you won’t get me involved, remember?”

  Stitch did a double-take. “I need to wrap stuff up, I can’t just ignore what’s happening. And… this is our house.”

  Zak groaned. “On paper, it’s mine, which means if they find some illegal shit in here, it’s gonna be on me, do you understand that?” He stepped closer to Stitch and poked him in the chest. “I’ve been patient enough with you disappearing and coming home fucking wounded, don’t you think?”

  “Cox got a permit to search the club. This needs to stay here till tomorrow. Day after tops.” Stitch inhaled deeply, his eyes dark.

  “No.” Zak crossed his arms on his chest. “I don’t care where it goes, but you’re not keeping it here.”

  “Baby, you need to help me out here. This stuff needs to be kept somewhere safe. No one will get a warrant to search your house.” Stitch cupped Zak’s face and looked into his eyes.

  Zak trembled with anger and pushed him away. “Don’t you ‘baby’ me. I don’t want this shit in my house, end of story. You will not get me involved in this!”

  Stitch gritted his teeth, his blond hair in a tangled mess. “So forget you ever saw it.”

  “I will, once you get it out of the house. Don’t make me repeat myself,” growled Zak, kicking the cupboard. “And why would you even need a flamethrower, huh? You want to burn down another house?”

  Stitch’s frown deepened. “What the fuck is wrong with you today? I just need a bit of leeway for us to finish business with the Nails. It’s not gonna affect you. I can’t bail on my brothers, Zak.”

  That was it. Zak pushed past him and reached for the breadbox, but Stitch grabbed his hand in an iron grip.

  “The fuck are you doing? Don’t touch it!”

  Zak saw red and pushed him away with his whole body weight. He grasped the breadbox and threw it out the open window. A dull snap outside made him freeze, subconsciously expecting pain, but nothing hurt. He was all right. “Fuck...”

  “Are you mental?” Stitch yelled at him and slapped him hard right in the forehead. He ran out the backdoor, probably to get the gun.

  Zak stepped back, blinking at the thudding in his skull, and looked up, shocked that Stitch would actually hit him. He'd done it once, when he discovered him in bed with Cox, but that had been different. “You piece of shit...” he muttered, staring at the open door.

  “What?” Stitch hissed at him like a snarling dog and picked up the breadbox with care.

  “You fucking hit me! The hell!” Zak ducked for the flamethrower but stopped with his hand over it when a vision of his kitchen going up in flames flashed through his mind like a bullet train.

  Stitch rushed back into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him and gently put the gun on the counter. “You threw my fucking gun out!”

  “Because you wouldn’t listen. Take this out. I fucking mean it, Stitch.” Zak swallowed and shook his head. “I can’t believe you hit me.”

  “I can’t believe you’re being such a cunt about this shit when I need some help.” Stitch watched Zak’s every move, all tense and ready to bite.

  Zak narrowed his eyes even as his fists curled by his sides. “I am a cunt?”

  “At the moment? Yes.” Stitch looked out the window, but then right back to Zak.

  “Fuck you.” Zak bit the inner side of his cheek, doing his best not to lash out.

  “Are you done?” Stitch asked with that voice that meant business.

  Zak could hardly believe the bastard wasn’t budging. “I’m telling you, you can’t keep this here. This is the last time I’m telling you this,” he said after counting to ten in his mind. This was getting ridiculous.

  “Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do?” Stitch spread his arms. “Throw it out when I’m sleeping?” A smirk so mean-spirited curled up his lips that Zak actually took a step back. This was weird. Zak swallowed hard, unsure what to do.

  “I could ask Cox to check my fucking kitchen sink because I know shit about plumbing,” he uttered in the end, challenging Stitch with a deep frown. It didn’t sound as loud and threatening as he’d like to. And he would never actually do that, but he wanted to give the fucker a taste of his own medicine.

  It must have put the message across, because Stitch grabbed the gun off the counter with a stern face, put the safety on, and pushed it into the inner side of his hoodie. “Why don’t you fuck him while you’re at it, huh?”

  Zak sighed, squeezing and opening his fists. “You know I’m not gonna sleep with him again. All I want is for you to honor our agreement about not bringing this kind of shit home. It’s still the same deal as two months ago.”

  “And I usually don’t! I told you there’s a shitload of heat on us today. But you have to throw a hissy fit about it like a little bitch. You cal
l fucking Cox if you want, I’m out of here.” Stitch walked over to the sink and pulled out the scary-looking flamethrower.

  “You ungrateful son of a bitch,” muttered Zak through a deep breath he was taking. He was so deflated that all he wanted was to take a nap with Versay.

  “You have no idea what I have to deal with, and you won’t even support me with a little thing like this!” Stitch covered the flamethrower with a large black bag.

  Zak shook his head. “You don’t have to do anything. You just won’t stop.”

  “This shit doesn’t just stop overnight. I’ve made a commitment.” Stitch put the bag over his back and poked Zak’s temple like he wanted to perforate the skin and give Zak an impromptu lobotomy. “Have a think about that. Commitment. You help out your man when he needs it.”

  Zak pushed Stitch’s hand away with more force than he had intended. He didn’t want to deal with this anymore. He felt... used and hurt by Stitch’s demanding behavior, by the pressure he was trying to apply to him, by the manipulative sweet-talking. He just wanted Stitch to leave him alone. “Come back when you want to apologize.”

  Stitch just gave him the most brooding look and walked out the backdoor without a goodbye. He didn’t even turn around.

  Zak stared at the floor in front of him, unable to put into words what he was feeling. Slowly, he walked back to the door and locked it both with the key and sliding bolt.

  “Versay, you want a treat?” he asked the empty kitchen, resting his hands on the counter, but the dog ignored him, so he slid to the chair like dead weight. He couldn’t believe what had just happened.

  A flamethrower? In his house? He couldn’t believe how vicious Stitch had been when he didn’t get what he wanted. Even remembering those angry eyes was making Zak’s stomach throb. What had he got himself into?

  The empty, quiet house gave no answer whatsoever.