by Bijou Hunter
“I’ll be back.”
Nodding, Stella is too sexy to look this sad. I reach out and stroke her cheek.
Heat flickers in her eyes. Not from the summer day either. She’s more than a needy chick hoping I’ll be nice to her. Oh, yeah, Stella thinks I’m hella hot too.
I hate leaving her behind. Ideally, we’d be attached twenty-four seven, but even my parents have to separate occasionally, and they’re grossly into each other even after so many decades of eww.
Racing home, I wish the speed would blow off the heat from my skin. Or soothe my rocking erection. I want to be back with Stella. What’s she doing right now? Is she thinking of me? I swear I’ve never once wondered if a woman was thinking of me. Well, maybe my mom when I was little and feeling competitive with my sisters.
“She loves me most!” I’d yell.
Audrey was always the bulldog and refused to bow down. “Me!”
“She loves us all equally,” Lily would say, but we knew she really thought Mom loved her best.
MJ never joined in because I don’t think she wanted to be our parents’ favorite. Too much attention led to far too many expectations. My sister is the one who taught me to be stealthy. She always snuck around the house like a skittish cat, worried about getting caught. I learned to do the same, which isn’t easy since I’m more than twice her size and tend to sneeze a lot when behind the curtains.
Years later as I prepare to go into stealth mode, I’m a hundred percent sure that Mom favors me the most. I’m the only boy, for fuck’s sakes! If they had three boys and one girl, she’d be the favorite, but that’s not how things played out. My poor, less important sisters will just have to be someone else’s favorite.
I find Mom at home, which is typical for late summer. She used to do things with her friends, but now she has MJ and Thisbe to hang out with. Plus, she's trying to learn to crochet. It’s not going well.
“We don’t need more blankets,” Pop told her a few weeks ago. “Lily made more than enough.”
“I need a hobby.”
“You mean, besides riding my dick?”
“I’m right here!” I hollered with my mouth full of morning cereal.
MJ appeared from fucking nowhere to announce, “Me too!”
“Stop sneaking around,” Pop said, ignoring how I was very fucking obviously sitting in the kitchen when he made his dick comment. I might be a grown man, but I hate thinking about my parents porking. Ideally, they only had sex three times, and Audrey was created through a toilet seat or tissue mishap. I don’t know how it worked, but I’m grossed out at the thought of my massive, tattooed, stinky father plowing my saintly, floral-scented mother. However, even after decades of my begging, they refuse to stop flirting.
Pop is already home too, but he isn’t trying to bang Mom yet. I don’t know how long I have before he makes a move. He’s sweaty, and she’s bored. They don’t need much else to get going.
I wonder if Stella and I will one day fuck out of boredom or a lack of TV-watching options. Yeah, that’s what marriage is all about—making the best out of life’s lame moments.
“Where’s Colton?” Mom asks from the couch where she struggles with the needles.
“With that girl.”
“I heard they went to lunch at Belmont House.”
“Heard from who?”
“Whom,” Mom corrects.
“What?”
“Winnie called to say Colton and a blonde were making googly eyes at each other.”
Hiding behind the heavy, beige drapes, I refuse to believe I’m even capable of googly eyes. I’d also like to think that the look Stella was giving me was closer to a sex-starved goddess than goofy kid shit. Not wanting to announce myself, I file the comment away rather than yell out and defend my honor.
“He wants to play hero with the girl.”
“Just like his pop,” Mom says in a voice that makes me wonder if she’ll be naked soon. Fighting a shudder, I miss the next few things they share. Most likely foreplay before Pop goes and cock-blocks himself by mentioning a boner-killer topic.
“Rod lied about being at the motel that day. He claimed he hadn’t been there in a while. I might have believed him, but he got his motel hookup to say he hadn’t been there in weeks and she doesn’t lie as well as he does.”
“Then take his balls and move on with your day,” Mom says, and I smile at how my angelic mother can turn into a badass babe on a dime. “What’s the problem?”
“His pop believes him. A lot of the guys say there’s no way to be sure so we should let it drop.”
“Well, it’s not like he’d rape a girl in front of witnesses or on video.”
“No, but he did it with her kid just outside the room,” Pop says, finishing his sentence with a bear growl. “I don’t know how to handle this because he’s fucking scum.”
“I do not see the problem, Coop.”
“The consensus says the girl is lying or that he suffered enough when his bike got dinged up. The majority want the shit to drop.”
“But you know if you drop it, that not only is it wrong, but that the other borderline-scum guys will view your behavior as a greenlight to do the same as Rod.”
“Yeah,” he says, sounding tired now.
“What do your guys think?”
For Mom, there are two groups of club members—the ones who are family and the ones who are business partners. The family includes Vaughn Rogers, Dylan Campbell, my brother-in-law, Quaid, and my uncles, Judd and Tucker. These are the guys that Pop trusts with his life and, more importantly, the lives of his family.
The other guys are dicier. Some were loyal to Pop-Pop and never really respected my pop. Then there are the younger guys, many of them are sons of the older guys. They’re the real problems. Legacy fuckers who think they deserve shit because their pops worked hard before them.
I guess I’m one of them too, but I’d never rape a girl or cross any similar line. Not only because my pop would fuck me up—with tears in his papa bear eyes—but also because my mom raised me to have a soft center. She didn’t want me to grow up mean.
“Some men have to be monsters to survive,” she said back when I was sixteen, and she was upset about something. “Some men want to be monsters even if life is easy. If you become a monster, you’ll be the latter, and I’ll have failed as your mama.”
Oh, boy, that woman knows how to push my buttons!
“I feel like this is a test,” Pop says after a few minutes of likely feeling up my mommy. “I need to find a balance between loyalty to a club brother and doing what’s right.”
“It’s Gary Lee all over again,” Mom mutters.
“He wasn’t in the club.”
“But his daddy is, and you had to do right by him.”
“Gary Lee is dead.”
“I know,” Mom says, still miffed at how long it took to kill someone she wanted dead as soon as she learned he was the one who shot her second born. “With Colton dating the girl, everyone will think you came down hard on Rod to make your son happy.”
“Exactly, but the little shit doesn’t care.”
“He must like her, Coop. Men get stupid for the right woman.”
“Hell yeah, they do,” he says, and I cringe at the thought of where this conversation is headed.
My parents share a sloppy kiss with sound effects that’ll haunt my dreams for many, many decades. It might be my last memory before I join Pop-Pop in Heaven.
Mom and Pop end their discussion, and my spying takes a terrifying turn when I worry they might pork in the living room with me trapped behind the drapes. Before I’m traumatized for life, they likely remember how MJ and Thisbe treat this house as an extension of their own and show up randomly. Pop has the same habit with their weird, tent-house. My parents’ heavy—and obscenely loud—make-out session moves upstairs to their bedroom while I pretend they’re doing a puzzle or cleaning the toilet.
“Hi-ya!” MJ cries, suddenly next to me behind the curtai
n.
I flinch away from my older sister, having no idea how long she’s been standing next to me. “What the ever-loving fuck, Miranda Johansson?”
“That’s Miss Johansson, if you’re nasty.” When I give her a dirty look, she smiles widely. “You know, from that song.”
“Yes, I know.”
“What are you doing back here?”
“Spying on Mom and Pop.”
“They went upstairs for their three o’clock sex time.”
“Eww.”
“Grow up. People have sex. It’s natural.”
“Yeah, for people,” I say, emerging from the drapes when I realize I’m hiding from no one. “Not for Mom.”
“But it’s okay for Pop?” she says and sighs dramatically. “Misogyny.”
“I’m okay with that. So, where’s your kid?”
“With her daddy. They’re counting dandelions over by Gram’s house, so they’ll be gone for a while,” she says and sits at the kitchen table. Wiggling her dark brows at me, she asks, “Wanna plot to kill Rod?”
Fascinated at her possible plans, I join her and do my best to forget what’s happening upstairs in the master bedroom. Even violence and a shower might not be enough to erase what I know my rough and rowdy father is doing to my delicate flower of a mother.
No, I suspect only Stella’s sweet face will erase the horrible images from my traumatized mind.
THE UNWANTED
Colt’s absence hollows me out. I don’t know what to do with myself until he returns. If it weren’t so hot outside, I’d remain in the parking lot and stare at where he once sat on his Harley. Forced inside by the heat, I find Kori napping and Rae dozing. They look so comfy, but I’m too hot to climb in bed with them.
I take a shower where I deal with the heat between my legs that Colt lit. Once done, I find them both sleeping and the air conditioner cranked up to high. Stomach full, skin cool, and heart relaxed from Colt’s easy smile, I decide to crawl in bed next to Rae sleeping on her back. She doesn’t move when I rest my head on the shared pillow. She’s always slept like a rock. I tend to get startled easily, and the motel is as loud as our old trailer park.
This afternoon, though, I sleep as soon as my eyes close. I dream of him the entire time. Nothing particularly romantic happens, but he’s with me in every weird dream, and that makes them fantastic.
I wake when Kori pokes me in the butt and says my boyfriend is here.
“Will you bring us more food?” she asks as I roll out of bed.
“I don’t know. Colt is the one who paid for the food.”
Kori’s bob is a mess since her nap, but she takes a brush and fixes it before walking to the door to ask Colt if he’ll buy her dinner.
“What do you want?”
“I don’t care.”
“Sure, you do,” he says.
Kori steps back as if offended. “I said I don’t.”
Colt doesn’t get mad like a lot of men. Instead, he laughs at her pissed expression. While she glares at him and he snickers at her, I hurry to the bathroom, wash my face, brush my teeth, and fight with my hair. When I return, I find Kori showing him her tablet.
“I can read.”
“I can too,” he says.
“Duh.”
Colt laughs again. “You’re a real ball buster, kid.”
“Mom!” Kori yells even though Rae is sitting on the bed feet from her. “What’s that mean?”
“You’re giving him grief.”
“Oh, I know. I give grief, not take it,” she says, just like I used to before I realized I’m not nearly so tough.
“Sorry,” I mumble, walking to the door where a cleaned-up Colt stands. “I should have set the alarm.”
“You worry over little things while I don’t worry over anything. I guess between the two of us, we even shit out.”
I smile so widely that my face hurts. Colt studies me before stepping forward into the room and kissing my lips quickly. His tongue hints at more but is gone before I can get a good taste.
“It’s still hotter than hell outside,” he says, tugging at his white T-shirt. “Let’s give your car a quick jump and see if it fixes the problem. If not, I’ll have another look after we get back, and the heat isn’t spitting fire.”
“We can do whatever you want,” I say, and I swear Rae snorts behind me. When I glance back, though, she’s busy explaining a word to Kori. I suspect I’m the one disgusted with how needy I sound with Colt. The reality is that I am needy. Men like him never pay attention to me. Even lesser men lose interest quickly. I’m shocked Colt hasn’t yet, so sounding needy makes sense.
Giving myself a break, I walk outside and shut the door, so we don’t turn the room into a sauna. Colt immediately takes my hand as we walk to his massive truck which dwarfs our Soul.
“Hand me the keys and get comfy in the truck. I don’t want you overheated before I get my hands on you.”
“I can help, though.”
“I know,” he says, flashing his handsome smile, “but I want to show off my manly moves, and you won’t enjoy as great a view of my guns if you’re helping.”
I wrap my hands around his bicep and squeeze. “Impressive, but I can still help.”
Colt takes the keys and gestures for me to climb into his truck. “Help by cheering me on.”
“Go, Colt!” I cry, giggling before I get to the second word. “I believe in you.”
“Oh, that’s the shit. Keep it up so I won’t be as disappointed if jumping the car doesn’t work.”
“You’re doing such a manly job. So sexy and impressive.”
“You’re not lying,” he says, connecting the jumper cables.
I continue cooing over him, sometimes sounding as if I’m speaking to a baby before sexing up the next sentence. Colt never complains about my wording. He just seems irritated by his lack of success.
“I’ll fuck around with it later,” he says, wiping his hands off after closing the hood of the Soul. Once he joins me in his truck, I nearly attack him.
“You’ve got great taste,” he says after I kiss him.
I hear something in his tone that I can’t place. Insecurity feels wrong with a man like Colt, so I’m likely misreading him.
His hot skin tastes delicious when I move my lips to his throat. Colt groans for a moment before peeling me off him.
“I can’t function with a raging boner,” he says, starting the truck, “but I’ll try.”
“Sorry,” I say, a little embarrassed by my bold move.
“Never apologize for wanting me. I never will for wanting you. So I have an idea for dinner,” he says once we’re on the road. “Sharing you with people shortened our lunch. That’s why I thought we might pick up something to eat and head to my workplace.”
“Where do you work?”
“A little house in the middle of nowhere. We can eat, smoke a little primo pot, and talk.”
“No naked time?”
“Of course not,” he says, pretending to be offended. “I barely know you. My mama didn’t raise me to get naked in front of strangers.”
“Good because I know how things go after a guy gets me naked. No way am I done enjoying your company yet.”
“I’m not a guy, Stella. I’m Colton Motherfucking Johansson, and I’m hooked on what you’re selling. Your company is my crack, and I have no interest in rehab.”
Colt’s words are the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever said to me. People never get attached to me. If they do—like Rae and Kori—they aren’t the type to admit their attachment.
Colt, though, is shameless in his interest, and I have no idea if I should cling to him or take off running to protect my heart from getting used to this amazing feeling.
THE HEIR
I pick up enough barbecue pork and fixings to feed ten people, but the fridge at the Lot House is brand new and plenty big. I’ve remodeled much of the place in the years since we bought out the Mullens’ pot and moonshine business. I’d even conside
red moving in, but there’s bad mojo here.
Topher beat on his family in this house, likely killed one of his kids here, and ended up with his brains splattered on the wall in the kitchen. Sure, that last part is worthy of celebration, but I don’t even want to nap in this place, let alone call it home.
The lot next door is full of used cars we sell whenever a local girl is around to show them to customers. She’s a pothead flake, so I’d doubt she works more than two days a week.
A security guy lives in a trailer parked at the lot. He has a huge dog that eats hillbillies. Well, that’s the rumor I started about Hummer after the dog scared the crap out of a customer. I don’t need local thugs thinking they can steal from me.
Despite the house being my workplace, I bring Stella here because I don’t have anywhere else private, and I don’t need a repeat of Pop showing up to ruin my good mood.
Stella reminds me of MJ’s skittish cat, Meow Meow. She remains very close to me, seems nervous whenever anyone new approaches her, and purrs when I rub her tummy. Okay, that last one is just a guess on my part, but the night is young.
When we pick up the food, she’s edgy with people watching us. Of course, locals always watch me. I’m me, after all, and it’s a small town. Chicks think I’m hot. Guys worry I’ll steal their ladies. Oh, and the elderly think I’m adorable. Hell, even little kids want to be my friend and are always giving me high fives.
Stella keeps her head down, doesn’t speak, and holds onto my wrist whenever someone talks to me. Her tension makes me extra possessive, and I growl at someone who gets too close. My father wouldn’t approve even if he’d do the same thing in my position.
At the one-and-a-half-story house, I set out our food on the small wooden table and dig up a blunt from my hidden stash. Stella stands in the kitchen, uninterested in the food and drugs. She only has eyes for me.
I take down two plates, fill them with sticky delicious foods, and light the bud. Stella looks around the house, frowning mildly.
“This is where you work?”
“It’s my office, yeah,” I say, exhaling smoke. “You need to chill.”