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Gumby agreed wholeheartedly. The cops finding out had disaster written all over it.
“LJ is backing the club’s van up to your fence right now. We’ll load the guns up and get out of here without you neighbors being aware of what we removed. Tell ’em it was lawn equipment if they ask.”
Jazz shuddered. “Good. I’ll tell them anything you want, I just want those guns out of here.”
Screw sat on the other side of Jazz, pulling her in for a kiss on her temple. His mouth was set in an uncharacteristic hard line and his eyes held what looked like regret.
Something else was coming, something she wouldn’t like.
He gave her a somber look. “You can’t stay here, Jazzy. Not until we’re sure they won’t retaliate against you.”
There it was.
She let out a defeated sigh as she sagged against Gumby. “I figured.” She glanced over her shoulder at him then looked up at Screw again. “You got room for two strays?”
“I sure do,” Screw said, pinching Jazz’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tipped her head up and whispered, “We need to get outside and help. You’re handling this like a rock star,” before kissing her.
Jazz reached her hand out for him, so Gumby scooted close. He draped his arm across the back of the couch, hand landing on Screw’s shoulder. When Screw ended his kiss with Jazz, he leaned in a little.
Gumby swallowed. Outside, Screw’s club brothers milled around moving a shed full of weapons. Sure, they were alone in the house, but would someone walk in?
He’s eyes met Screw’s. When he saw the patience there, the understanding, he knew it was safe to…take a leap. As his lips met Screws, and Jazzy let out a blissful sigh, a zing of happiness shot through him.
A loud bang followed by, “Hey, bitches, I have arrived,” in a booming voice he’d know anywhere had him jerking violently away from his lovers and scooting all the way to the opposite end of the couch.
“Guys in cuts out front told me to walk right in. What the fuck?” the big man, the No Prisoners Sergeant at Arms said in his booming, bullhorn voice.
Gumby couldn’t move. It felt like his limbs had frozen solid.
No. No. No.
The word repeated in his mind again and again until he opened his mouth, emitting a squeak that was drowned out by Jazzy’s squealed, “Jester!”
She launched herself off the couch and straight into the arms of the mountainous man.
This couldn’t be happening. The room spun and for a second, Gumby worried he’d pass out.
“Who the fuck is this?” Screw growled as he began to rise.
“SAE of my club,” Gumby managed, voice ragged as though someone had rubbed his vocal cords with sandpaper. He needed to get up. To greet his No Prisoners family, but he couldn’t fucking move. Jester had seen. He’d walked in the very moment Screw’s lips touched his.
Not once had he ever given his club any clue he was attracted to men. None of the men were openly gay or bisexual. Sure, they were cool guys, but Crystal Rock, Arizona wasn’t exactly a Mecca of homosexual activity. Actually, the tiny town was pretty much the opposite, full of more bigoted assholes than anything else.
Men like his father. Just the thought of his old man had Gumby’s insides firing up with the need to protect himself. To run. To hide.
To deny.
“Well, fuck me. The guy’s as big as LJ,” Screw said with a laugh as he rose.
“His personality is bigger,” Jazz said as Jester lifted her off her feet.
Shit. They were all there. His friend. His club. His brothers. There to witness his relationship with a woman and a man. The ache in Gumby’s left hand roared to life as memories of his father’s fists flew at him.
“Damn, girl, you’re looking fierce,” Jester said as his huge arms swallowed Jazz whole. Her feet dangled a good twelve inches off the floor.
She squealed again. “Oh, my God! Striker! Hook!”
Jester released her and she treated the other two to the same enthusiastic greeting. “I can’t believe you guys are here.” He could hear the tears thickening her voice as she reunited with his club brothers.
“Hey, man, I’m Screw.” He extended his hand to Jester who wrapped his big mitt around Screw’s hand and pumped vigorously. He cast a glance in Gumby’s direction as though assessing how he’d handle the situation. And, Christ, was that disappointment in his eyes?
Gumby watched the entire scene as though sitting through a horror film. Jester smiled at Jazz, hugging her again. Screw shook each man’s hand making them laugh as was his specialty. Only Striker kept his focus on Gumby, one eyebrow arched in question. Would he react like Gumby’s father? Would he lose his shit? Kick him out of the club? Take his cut? The urge to cover his eyes, to bury his head between the couch cushions surged in him yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the bloody scene.
