Blade

by Aiden Bates

“Miniature cinnamon rolls. You can help me ice them.”

  “Love it when you boss me around.” I kissed his neck. His hands stilled under the warm dishwater, and he tilted his head to the side slightly. My mouth traveled to the soft skin behind his ear. He smelled clean and fresh, like my soap and detergent. My cock stirred in my jeans.

  “You love it when I feed you,” Logan said. He turned around to face me, then coiled a hand in my hair to draw me close to him and pushed his nose into the crook of my neck. He inhaled deeply.

  I gripped him by the hips and pulled him close.

  “Love the way you smell after you ride,” he murmured.

  “Tell me what it’s like.”

  Logan slid his arms around my waist and into my back pockets. “Leather, and sweat. A little bit of oil. And that outside smell. Fresh, piney. Always a little bit… animal.”

  “You like me a little bit animal, huh?” I knocked my nose against his temple. “What’s that about?”

  Logan hummed. I ran my fingers through his hair and then used the gentle grip to pull his head back so I could meet his eyes. His face was slightly flushed red, his mouth open.

  “Shy?” I asked.

  Logan’s cock pressed hard into my hip. “You get… Possessive.” His flush deepened. “I like feeling like I’m yours.”

  “Good boy,” I said, and kissed him intensely, dragging my teeth over his plush lips. I slipped my free hand under his shirt and slid it over his smooth, warm skin, tracing the shape of the exit wound gently.

  Logan shuddered beneath me. “The cinnamon rolls will be done in a minute.”

  I chuckled. “That more important than this?” He pinched my ass through my jeans, and I squawked, surprised. “Hey!”

  He gave me a brief, searing kiss, and then slipped out of my arms to peer into the oven. I leaned my hip against the counter and crossed my arms over my chest.

  When he pulled the cinnamon rolls out of the oven, I understood, though. They looked perfect, golden-brown and deliciously risen with the cinnamon-sugar mix spilling decadent from the swirls. “They’ll be ruined if they overbake,” he said simply.

  “You’re being a tease.”

  “Definitely not.” He set the pan down on the stove, then turned and ran his hands up my chest and around my shoulders, looping his arms loosely around my neck. “It’s been two months. I don’t want to be in a hurry.”

  “We could do one in a hurry now and then a longer one later.”

  “No way.”

  “You just like watching me suffer.”

  “Yes. I love it, in fact.”

  “I love you.”

  His green eyes sparkled with laughter. “And I love you, too.”

  In the two months we’d been banned from having sex, for fear of affecting the gunshot’s healing process, I’d told Logan I loved him countless times. Because it was true, and because every time I did, his face transformed. His eyes shone and he had to bite back a giddy smile like a kid. I was addicted to seeing it, addicted to touching him and letting the words spill out of my mouth over and over. I love you, I love you, I love you.

  And God, I wanted him. Touching him wasn’t enough. I’d spent nights next to him tracing the shape of his body with my hands, kissing him head to toe, tracing the line of his spine with my mouth, gently biting the hard muscle of his ass. But never much more than that. No matter how much I jerked off, it wasn’t enough. My body longed for his.

  “Fine,” I said. “You convinced me.”

  “I’ll make it worth your while.” He kissed me sweetly. “We need to be there in less than an hour. Go shower.”

  “You should join me.”

  “Nice try. I’ll cool these while you’re getting ready.”

  Alone upstairs, I pulled a box from the top shelf of the closet, and laid the contents out flat on our shared bed.

  I smoothed out the soft, supple black leather. I hadn’t chosen the classic patch that new members received on their jackets. It still had the standard club patch on the left sleeve: gray background with the anchor logo and the words HELL’S ANKHOR: FORGED IN FIRE across it. Were he a standard member getting patched in, the back would be a larger version of the same.

  But instead I’d chosen to have the back embroidered. The black thread was matte against the slight shine of the leather. Visible, but subtle. The anchor logo covered the entire back of the jacket, the arms of the anchor embroidered to the shoulders, the top of the ankh terminating at the collar. The bottom of the anchor ran along the lowest hem of the jacket. Silver thread suggested the outline of flames licking the base. In the same silver thread, embroidered in the horizontal arms, read the words PROPERTY OF BLADE.

  Elegant and understated. It would suit him.

  In the shower, I jerked off quick and rough to thoughts of pulling the jacket off Logan’s muscled body later tonight, but it didn’t do much to mitigate the nerves and arousal still burning under my skin.

  I dressed quickly in a plain black shirt and jeans. As I walked downstairs, Logan was just finishing up drizzling a glaze on the cinnamon rolls.

  “Didn’t want my help?”

  He smiled at me over his shoulder, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I knew you’d be a distraction.”

  “Everything all right?”

  “’Course it is.” Logan stretched aluminum foil over the pan.

  “We don’t have to go if you’re not feeling up to it. Everyone would understand. You’re still recovering.” And I’d find another time to offer him the jacket. A time when he was feeling fully himself. The last thing Logan needed was pressure.

  “It’s just…” Logan swiped his hand across his mouth. “It doesn’t make you nervous at all?”

  “What, the party?”

  “No, no. The Vipers. They just disappeared. Stopped. It doesn’t seem too easy?” Logan’s eyes darted bashfully around the kitchen.

  I leaned against the counter. “How long have you been worrying about them?”

  A snort. “Since I was born.”

  “You didn’t say anything before now.”

  “I know you have it under control,” he said. “I just—I can’t help it. Thinking about what will happen when they come back.”

  My heart stuttered in my chest. It was club business. He didn’t want to step over the boundaries of my leadership. I fought down the urge to pull out the jacket right that second to put an end to that. But until then, honesty was the best I could do.

  “You’re not wrong to worry,” I said. “The Vipers are just licking their wounds. Restructuring their leadership, probably, and doing some recruiting. We did some serious damage to their ranks.”

  “Well-deserved,” Logan grumbled.

  “But,” I continued, “The bad drugs are gone. The citizens are safe again—or, as safe as they’re going to be, partying like it’s the end of the world in those clubs.”

  The Vipers had a score to settle now. This breath of peace was just that: a breath. Once they reorganized, they’d be back, and itching to take my club down. And I’d be ready for them. Logan stepped into me and kissed me, almost tentative. His mouth tasted of the sweet orange glaze he’d made for the cinnamon rolls.

  “That all that’s on your mind?” I hooked my thumbs into his belt loops to keep him close.

  “I almost wish they’d get in contact,” he said. “Put me out of my misery. And…”

  “And?”

  “When the Vipers were holding me hostage, my brother was there.” Logan pulled my hands away to tangle our fingers together. “I think he was assigned to guard me. As a test. He wouldn’t talk to me. Didn’t say a single word the entire time. But I remember he gave me water. And when it was just us, he untied me and checked my wrists.”

  “Do you remember what happened after you got shot?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Bits and pieces. I remember you being there. And I remember Luke talking to me. First time he’d spoken to me in years.”

  “He was trying to keep yo
u conscious. We both were.”

  “Staying behind to wait with me, after the other Vipers left… That’s suicide for him. What if Dad found out? What if he made an example of him?”

  “Do you want my opinion?” I asked.

  “Not as my boyfriend,” Logan said. “As a club president.”

  “Well, first of all, I’m a better president than Crave,” I said.

  Logan huffed a short, surprised laugh. “Okay, duly noted.”

  “But from a president’s standpoint, the last thing you want when you’ve just had your ass kicked is visible displays of disloyalty. Makes members doubt you and consider cutting their losses. If he was worried about Reb—Luke, I’d bet money that he handled it with a stern talking-to in private. Last thing he needs is his golden boy looking either publicly untrustworthy or worse: injured.”

  “You think?”

  Rebel had also seemed cunning, quick, and calculating, leaps beyond his father. I had a sense that he had his own plans. Crave might end up a pawn in Rebel’s game, instead of the other way around. I hadn’t heard anything from Rebel since that night in the warehouse, and even though Logan missed him, I’d be fine if I never heard from Rebel again. Crave was on my list. I was willing to let Rebel slide off it.

  Logan pulled away. He turned the faucet on and began to scrub the dishes half-heartedly. “I just wish I’d had a chance to thank him.”

  “He knows.”

  Logan packed the cinnamon rolls and I grabbed the boxed-up jacket. We ambled side-by-side along the well-trodden path towards the clubhouse.

  “What’s that?” Logan nodded towards the box under my arm. He was carrying the cinnamon rolls carefully in both hands, with the sleeves of his snug white long-sleeve shirt pushed up to his elbows.

  “Just something for Raven,” I said. “Must’ve ordered it and had it shipped to us on accident.”

  “Oh, really? You sure?”

  I winked. Logan flushed up to his ears.

  The party was in full swing when we walked in. Choruses of greetings rang from every corner, carrying over the rock music blasting on the stereo. Maverick, Tex, and Heath were playing a drinking game in the kitchen, while Siren and Raven were locked in an intense game of pool. Coop had turned the coffee table into an impromptu bar, and was pouring Priest a complicated-looking layered shot. Around the clubhouse, other patched members and prospects filled chairs and corners with their drinks and laughter. Gunnar had a young prospect in a corner, eyeing her up and down as they spoke in low voices.

  “The Four Horsemen cometh,” Coop said dramatically as he slid the shot across the table. The serious effect was ruined by the fact that Coop was seated cross-legged on the floor.

  From his seat on the couch, Priest examined it. “I think this might be a better fit for Blade,” he said.

  “You’re turning into a wuss in your old age,” I said. Priest held up the shot and I took it easily. The liquor burned hot and delicious all the way into my stomach.

  “You try to take shots when you have acid reflux,” Priest said mildly.

  “Logan, what can I do ya for?” Coop tossed a whiskey bottle from hand to hand.

  “I’m in the mood for something fancy,” Logan said. “Dealer’s choice.”

  Soon I had a cold beer and Logan had a Goldschlager cocktail to grimace over. We lingered in the kitchen where I could see the entirety of our common space, filled to bursting with club members laughing and drinking and shooting the shit. My chest tightened at the sight of it.

  It hit me like this sometimes, in one big crashing wave. When I was younger, sleeping on a cold, hard mattress in the crypt-like quiet of juvenile detention, I figured that was good as it was ever going to get. I had a roof over my head, I had regular meals, and people were only sometimes trying to kill me. I had thought that was all I was going to get in life. The concept of a family wasn’t even on the table. Not for people like me. People on the outskirts of society, cast out to waste away in solitude. And I had been fine with that. I figured I’d struggle along, have a few flings, get good and drunk a few times, and die young and violent.

  Tex’s beer pong shot went high and bounced off Maverick’s bald head, then Heath next to him snatched it out of the air. The three of them exploded with amazed cheers at the trick shot. Maverick blinked in shock at the ball in Heath’s hand. At my side, Logan laughed so hard tears formed in his eyes.

  I had more joy in my life than I’d ever thought possible.

  “Did you see that?” Logan asked through his breathless laughter, wiping away tears. “That was insane.” He tilted his head. “What? Is there something on my face? Goldschlager flecks?”

  “C’mere.” I took his hand and pulled him towards the front of the room. Near Coop’s bar, I stood on the hearth, which gave me enough height to see everyone. I rapped the neck of my beer bottle with the handle of my pocket knife. “Hey! Gang! Listen up!”

  The room went quiet as all eyes fell on me. Logan leaned against the arm of the couch and smiled, rapt.

  “I know it’s been a rough year,” I said. “It hasn’t been easy since we lost Ankh.” Murmurs of agreement. On the couch, Priest closed his eyes. “It’s not been easy for me, and I know it hasn’t been easy for any of you. But if there’s anything this last year—and especially these last few months—has taught me, it’s that our individual strength is rooted in the strength we have together.

  “Loyalty’s not an easy thing to come by. And when I look at everyone here, I don’t just see members of a club. I see a family. I see people who would—and have—put their lives on the line for each other.” Around the room people nodded. Priest reached over to Logan and squeezed his knee. “What we’ve got here is rare. And we’ve only got it because you all—each and every one of you—make the decision to put each other first, every day. Every day you make that choice. I’m proud to be president of this club. I’m honored you even let me lead.”

  “No one else wanted to, it’s too much work!” Gunnar shouted, but his eyes were suspiciously wet. Titters of laughter and agreement. I grinned at Gunnar. He raised his drink.

  “Forget what I said, you’re a bunch of hooligans,” I said. More laughter. “But you’re my hooligans! Raven, toss me that box?”

  It was the box I’d brought over from the house. Logan looked at it in my hands, then at me, and his eyes widened.

  “Logan,” I said. “You took a bullet for me.”

  “It was sort of my fault to begin with—” Logan said before Priest pinched him on the side, and he held up his hands placatingly. “Okay, okay!”

  “When I first saw you in Ballast, you made it clear you wanted to beat my ass,” I said, to laughter all around. “But to my luck you decided against it, and stuck around here even after we souped up your old Sundance. Since you showed up, you’ve become a part of this family. Patching us up—” Heath smiled, “—building our bonds—” Raven grinned “—and challenging our assumptions.” Gunnar nodded.

  “I know I speak for all of us when I say you’re part of our family here. And this is long overdue.” I opened the box and pulled out the leather jacket. The silver stitching caught the light and sparkled. “Will you wear it?”

  “Blade,” Logan murmured. He walked over towards me, dazed.

  I stepped off the hearth and held the jacket out to him. He ran his fingers over the embroidery, tracing the shape of the anchor, then touching the silver lettering of my name. “It’s just like…” He placed one hand on the back of my neck and tapped his fingers to the top of the ankh, where he knew, just by feel and memory, my tattoo ended.

  “Yeah. I said I’d get you one. You’ll wear it?”

  “I’ll never take it off,” Logan said. He handed the jacket back and turned around.

  I held it open for him as he slid his arms into the sleeves. He faced me. It fit perfectly. The leather was just snug enough on his shoulders, but loose enough to wear long sleeves beneath it. He left it open. The black leather against his white shirt,
tan skin, and piercing green eyes made my heart slam hard against my ribs. He looked tough, and sultry, and confident, and he had my name on his back.

  “You like it?” Logan looked up at me through his eyelashes.

  I tugged him close to me and kissed him hard. “I love you.”

  His eyes met mine. “I love you too, Byron,” he whispered against my mouth. I wrapped an arm around his waist and tipped him backward in a dip; the rush of blood in my ears drowned out the cheers and whoops from the rest of the club.

  27

  Logan

  The raucous party ran late into the night. As people finally began to disperse, to rooms upstairs or, in Coop’s case, just passing out on the couch, Blade tugged me by my wrist out the front door.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he murmured in my ear, his voice a low, rough growl that curled heat low in my belly.

  I zipped my jacket up against the chill. The leather was supple against my skin. I turned the collar up against the breeze and Blade’s eyes went dark.

  “What do you think?” I turned so he could see the back of the jacket, then threw a wink over my shoulder.

  Blade stepped against my back and grabbed my ass hard with both hands. “I think I need to get you home,” he said. “Now.”

  Inside our house, Blade pinned me to the front door with his body and kissed me. It was a deep, searching kiss. “I love you. Seeing my name on you drives me fucking wild.”

  “Yeah?” I looped my arms around his neck. “Good. I’m yours now. Your Old Man.”

  “More accurate to call me yours,” Blade said. He kissed my neck then nosed against the leather collar of the jacket. “God, I missed this. Let me fuck you.”

  Arousal lanced down my spine. I shuddered and pressed our hips together, my cock growing hard fast. “Take me upstairs.”

  Blade slid his hands under my ass and lifted me easily. I wrapped my legs around his waist and squirmed against him, hungry for the contact. He kissed me hard then walked us upstairs easily.

  “Wait,” I murmured into his mouth.

  “I’ve been waiting two months,” Blade growled.