“You wanna go a few rounds?” Sometimes, Griff would take him on in the ring. It didn’t usually go all that well for him, but he’d do it.
Griffin closed up the big med kit and cocked a sarcastic eyebrow at him. “No, I don’t want to take a beating tonight, but thanks for asking. Anyway, I gotta roll. I got a delivery to make still tonight.”
He had a little personal business dealing low-key drugs—mainly weed, acid, and MDMA—to partiers. Most of his clientele was college kids and ravers. The club got a small cut, nothing more than a risk fee, but otherwise, Delaney let him have his moonlight gig all to himself.
Gunner was interested. A delivery this late on a Saturday probably meant a big party. “Where you goin’? What’re you sellin’?”
“Nah, bro. I know what you’re gonna ask, and not tonight. I’m not partying, just dropping off an order.”
“Where to? You need backup?”
Griff laughed. “It’s a barn rave. Kids on X don’t fight, and I think I can handle it if any cows get uppity.”
A barn rave sounded fucking awesome. MDMA—Molly, X, Ecstasy, E, any name you wanted to call it—sounded fucking awesome. Exactly what he needed: earsplitting music, a crush of people, wild lights, good drugs. Perfect. “C’mon, Griff. I need to burn my shit off before I get myself in trouble.”
Knowing what he meant, Griff glanced over at the girls. “Why don’t you take a couple Oxy and go upstairs? Just jack off and crash.”
Because he didn’t want to be numb. He wanted to feel. He needed to move.
Griff rolled his eyes. “Fine. But if you start something out there, we’re all fucked. So be cool, okay?”
“Like a cucumber, my brother.”
~oOo~
The rave was in a barn about ten miles from Gunner’s family’s place just outside the little town of Grant—which was a little close for his comfort. With every turn that brought him nearer his old stomping grounds, he’d felt that much more guarded. But it wasn’t like he was going to run into his old man at a rave. Or his sister, for that matter. If he saw anybody from high school, he doubted they’d recognize him. He was hardly the church-going, crew-cut jock he’d been ten years ago.
Plus, he highly doubted the people who lived around here would show up at a rave in any event. This was strictly college and city kids having themselves an adventure out in the sticks.
The barn itself was on a working farm, but this particular structure hadn’t been in normal use for a good long time. The roof sagged, and the walls leaned a little. In daylight, it probably looked like any one of thousands of forlorn old barns whose owners just hadn’t gotten around to pulling them down yet. There was one on Gunner’s family’s property, too. Looked just like this one. His father had put up a shiny new steel model a few years back.
Right now, though, in the middle of a late-spring night, swirling colored lights flashed through the spaces between the board walls, My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult blasted into the air, and a massive crush of kids bounced around inside. The barn shook with the beat.
Outside, a couple dozen kids milled around, drinking, smoking, and making out—or outright fucking. Molly made you want to fuck, wherever you were. A lot.
The field off to the side was packed with cars and trucks, and a few bikes. Hundreds of them. The organizers must have been making a killing. And the farmer would get a cut, too.
As he dismounted his bike, Gunner thought about suggesting to his dad that he rent out their old barn for a rave. He could use the money. They both could.
Seeing Griffin shrugging out of his kutte, Gunner was reminded to do the same. It was bad form to wear colors to a place like this, especially with Griff running his side business. He rolled his leather neatly up and stuffed it in a saddlebag.
Before they could head toward the doors, a feminine voice called out, “Wait up, baby!” and they stopped. Deciding they’d party, Griffin had called his girlfriend from the clubhouse and asked her to meet them.
Patrice trotted up from the parking area and into her man’s arms. When Griffin kissed her deeply, Gunner looked around, making sure there was no one to worry about. Patrice was black—well, half black, but he guessed that was the same thing—with long, wild dreads, and Oklahoma wasn’t exactly progressive about interracial relationships. Or anything else, for that matter.
Nobody was paying them any mind, and Gunner relaxed, ignoring the little twitch of disappointment that flicked at his head. He wouldn’t have minded bashing in a racist head or two, but he guessed a place like this was pretty safe. Ravers were a ‘live and let live’ crowd, for the most part.
When the lovebirds finally came up for air, Patrice smiled and came over to Gunner. She rose up on her toes, and he bent his head and offered his not-hurt cheek for her kiss. “Hey, Gun.”
“Hey, Patrice. You look good.” She did; she was hot, and she’d come dressed to party, in a body-skimming black leather strapless top that was practically lingerie, tiny cutoff shorts, and a pair of tall Docs.
She grinned and grabbed Griffin’s hand, and they three walked toward the barn. Gunner felt a little lonely and sorry for himself, walking alone behind the couple, watching Patrice’s ass sway under her man’s possessive hand. He hadn’t had a girl of his own since high school.
At the door, after Griff had talked to the bouncer and gotten cleared for them to go in and find his customer, he turned and held out a tiny baggie with a few little colorful pills. Gunner grinned and took it.
“Thanks, man.”
“Stay cool, Gun. And don’t go riding off without me, yeah?”
“I don’t need a fuckin’ babysitter, bro.” He was twenty-fucking-eight years old—older than Griffin, in fact. He was a vet who’d seen action in Desert Storm. He was a responsible, employed citizen who paid his bills mostly on time. So maybe he occasionally lost his shit. Who didn’t?
“Stay cool, Gun,” Griffin repeated.
Irritated, he grinned and popped a dose into his mouth. After he chewed and swallowed, he said, “Like you said, Griff. Kids on Molly don’t fight. I’m cool like the other side of the pillow.”
~oOo~
When he was straight, Gunner didn’t dance. It was impossible for a guy to look normal when he was flailing around a dance floor. He either looked like a dork or an asshole, and either way, Gunner didn’t do it.
But Ecstasy warped the world in wild ways, and as he roamed the edges of the throbbing crowd, on his own while Griff and Patrice took care of business, the drug effervesced through his blood and into his muscles, and he had to move.
That was the way he thought of the feeling of MDMA: effervescing. Like his blood had become carbonated. Everything just felt more, and all the dark and bad shit was wiped right out, drowned in mind bubbles and flashing lights. It wasn’t like LSD, which made the world look like another place completely—sometimes a very bad place. Ecstasy made everything bigger and brighter and better.
The DJ, set up in the back, was running a decent show. Gunner had pretty eclectic taste in music but wasn’t all that into techno; most of it was more rhythm than actual music. But it was right for right now, and as the colored lights swirled and pulsed and his heart beat in time to the light and sound, he pushed into the crowd and started to move with it.
As he moved inward, his body taking up the rhythm around him, he felt hands all over him. Nobody was really partnered up; people were just moving, like a single vibrant organism. Everybody wanted to be close with other people, wanted to touch and smell and hear and taste and see everything. Even for the people who were twined together, the connection seemed incidental, as if they’d been conveniently close to each other when the need had overtaken them.
By the time Gunner made it to the middle of the barn, his brain had stopped thinking about where he was, or whom he was with, or anything but what he was feeling. He closed his eyes and opened his head and flew.
Hands went around his waist, under his t-shirt, and he felt the sweep of skin on skin
like comets of sensation, their firework tails wrapping around his throbbing cock and making it swell. He opened his eyes and found a blonde head, full of sparkles and glow. A glittering little fairy was hugging him, her hands petting his back under his shirt, her face buried in his chest. He put a hand on her head, and the glow of her wrapped around him.
Wanting more of all of it, Gunner caught her waist in his hands and lifted her up, dragging her body along his until they were face to face, and then he kissed her. He hadn’t even really looked at her, had only seen her blonde hair and all her sparkling glow, but it didn’t matter. Her lips were slick and tasted like bubblegum, and he ran his tongue over them until the taste of her filled his mouth and his nose, and then he plunged his tongue deep, seeking more. She moaned or groaned or spoke or something, and he felt the tremor of the sounds in her tongue.
Her hands were tangled up in his t-shirt now, and her legs had wrapped around his waist. Her legs were bare; he could feel them against his sides, and his cock strained against his jeans, trying to get to her. Shifting his grip on her, he shoved his hand between them and opened his fly. The damp silk of her panties brushed his knuckles as he pulled his cock free, and he dragged the scrap of fabric to the side and pushed into her.
He lost her mouth as her head reared back, and he let his head fall to her shoulder, overwhelmed by the fiery spike of brilliant lust that had shoved its way into his brainpan. Something on her poked all over his forehead. Maybe she was made of diamonds. His hips began to rock, seeking all the fire and glow he could find. The little fairy’s arms tightened, and she let him move her any way he liked. He grabbed hold of her ass and took all he could get of her.
In the way of these things, the people around them picked up on their lust, took it into themselves, and closed in, wanting more of it. Soon, Gunner and his sparkle fairy were surrounded by people touching them, kissing them, and touching and kissing each other.
Under the pulsing lights, with the throb of electronic music rolling over them, Gunner stood at the center of an amorphous lust frenzy and fucked his heart out.
Which was exactly what he’d needed.
CHAPTER TWO
Leah wiggled her way out of her mini-dress and tried to fold it neatly, without crushing the beads and sequins, while she was slumped in the passenger seat of Ashley’s Dodge Omni 024 and had only the glow of the dashboard lights to show her what she was doing.
Dawn was just beginning to lighten the horizon, a faint line along the eastern edge. She was in that weird in-between place, still buzzing from the E but feeling the crash coming on. As she worked her legs into her jeans, she tried to focus on the question of whether she should try to sleep for a couple of hours or just power through.
It all depended on the state she’d find her father in when she got back home.
As she heaved up her hips and yanked her jeans over her ass, she winced and some kind of noise came out of her mouth. Fuck, she was sore. Really sore. Some of the stuff she’d done tonight, she hadn’t really wanted to do. But, as usual, in the moment, with all the feelings everywhere like a kaleidoscope on her skin, she hadn’t known the word for no.
And it had felt pretty good then. Not now, but then.
From behind the wheel, Ashley said, “You okay?”
“Yeah. A little sore. No big. Too much dancing, I guess.”
“Dancing. Right.” Her friend made a disgusted face.
“Don’t be a jerk, Ash.”
“I’m not being a jerk. I’m being a friend. You are going to catch something bad, the way you act.”
She pulled a sweatshirt on and zipped up her backpack with her dress and shoes and makeup inside. The pair of panties she’d been wearing, she shoved into her pocket. There was some blood in them; she’d need to burn them in the trash barrel. “I act the way you’re supposed to act. Free. Anyway, you know I’m on the Pill.”
She got herself arranged on the seat and slipped into her Vans.
“I’m not talking about catching pregnant. I’m talking about AIDS or herpes or stuff like that.”
“Gross. I get tested.”
“Come on, you’re not stupid. Tested tells you whether you’ve got something. It doesn’t stop you from getting it.” She pulled the Omni up to the curb, right before the entrance to Leah’s long driveway. “Leah, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be your accomplice and your babysitter. I used to like to party, but now all I do is look after you.”
“Nobody asked you to be my nanny. It’d be more fun if you were in it with me. And anyway, you’re the one who told me about E and all this.”
They’d been friends for about three years, ever since Ashley had come to live with her aunt and uncle down the road while she went to college. She was a couple of years older than Leah but had been decades more experienced. Leah had caught up fast, though. She’d discovered a whole wide, bright world in the dark.
“I know, and I’m sorry I did. It’s not just the partying, Leah. Everything you do is a secret, and it all goes like a million miles an hour. When is it going to stop? What is it you need? Being your friend is exhausting.”
With that, the buzz of the drugs was gone, and the crash landed hard on her chest. “Wow. Okay.” She opened the door. “Well, thanks for the ride.”
“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that.” Ashley grabbed at her sleeve.
Leah jerked her arm clear. “No, it’s good. I’m glad I know. You can go on not worry about me anymore.” She got out of the car.
“Leah, don’t—”
Slamming the door shut on the rest of that statement, Leah sent a farewell middle finger to her ex-friend. As she turned and headed toward her driveway, Ashley honked.
“Take your backpack! I’m not your stash house anymore!” Leah turned. Ashley ground the transmission into reverse, backed up, made a U-turn, and burned rubber as she jammed it back down the road.
She’d left Leah’s backpack on the pavement.
Leah was left in the near-pitch dark. Clouds had come along and covered up the moon.
~oOo~
As quietly as she could, in case her father had passed out in his study, Leah climbed up the magnolia tree and onto the porch of her second-story bedroom. She eased the door open, lifting it just right so that the bottom hinge wouldn’t squeak, and got inside. After she closed the door, she stood still for a few seconds, listening for signs that her father was awake. The house was silent. Good.
The clock on her nightstand glowed the time at her in green: 5:41. Bad. There was no point in even trying to sleep.
She went into her closet and stowed the backpack in the far corner, behind the file box full of her old diaries. Then she went into the bathroom and flipped on the light—and flipped it right off when the glare nearly singed her eyeballs out of her head. The headache was coming on fast and hard, riding the back of the black mood that always showed up when Ecstasy wore off. This one was going to really suck. She shouldn’t have sneaked out on a Saturday night. Friday nights were much safer; she could sleep in on Saturdays.
With her eyes squeezed shut, she turned the light back on, then worked her lids open until she could deal with the light without dying. Then she peeked in the mirror.
Ugh.
Mascara and eyeliner streaked under her eyes, even onto her cheeks. The gold body glitter that had looked so sexy when she’d gotten dressed was now clumped and patchy. Sweat had mixed with mousse and turned her hair into an old mop. Her flavored lip gloss had smeared over her cheeks, which were bright red, like she’d taken fine-grain sandpaper to them. Her mouth was swollen, too. Like really a lot.
What the hell?
The guy with the beard. Oh fuck, he’d been so hot. Just standing in the middle of everything, his eyes closed, like he’d beamed up to the mother ship and left his body behind. His beautiful body, covered in ink. She’d had to touch. And then he’d picked her up and kissed her, and they were fucking before she’d even realized it.
It was hardly the first time sh
e’d fucked a stranger at a rave. E made her super horny and super free, so it happened. But this guy had been different in some way. She hadn’t been able to let go of him. Even when people had joined in and they’d been the epicenter of a whole orgy, all she’d wanted was him. Even when some guy had come up behind her and—
She shuddered and slammed her eyes shut on that weird recollection, but closing her eyes didn’t make it go away. The comedown depression wanted her to remember it, all of it, and to think hard about it now that she was straight.
It hadn’t felt bad, exactly. Nothing felt bad when she was on E. Maybe it had even felt a little good. But she hadn’t even seen the guy who’d done it. She’d been focused on the guy with the beard, on the smell and taste and feel of him, on the way he’d held her like the holding was the part he really wanted, the way he’d ignored all the other hands on him and just was with her.
Twist (The Brazen Bulls MC Book 2) Page 2