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“Boys!” Colt called, as if he were calling back to his sons, as if they had run off in a park or playground. Or his pet dogs. Lyle thought both metaphors worked. He had no fucking clue what that made him though. Neither Colt’s beloved son nor the family pet. Lyle was a fucking thorn in Colt’s side. Lyle knew it. He didn’t know why Colt bothered with him. Why hadn’t he let Lyle go? Why hadn’t he let him die?
Lyle watched through his now swelling eye. Nix had wrangled Ash back under control. They were kissing. The kind of kissing that Lyle remembered nostalgically, through rose tinted glasses from his younger days. Devouring. Sure, he had felt that, but unable to picture the occasion, the face, the girl. That kind of reckless abandonment, that unfathomable need. Well, he’d felt that once, recently, with that hot little vixen who kept haunting his dreams. Before they turned into nightmares. Before she disappeared like the puff of thin air she was and Lyle was left with the howling loneliness and demons inside him. Yes, he had kissed once like that, with Penny Rafferty. When she had used him as bait to get her husband to sign the divorce papers. Yes, used. But fuck, he hadn’t cared, he’d used her right back. As his salvation. And had dreamt of her ever since. Sad, wasn’t it? A hasty kiss was all it had been. And a quick fumble, because Lyle wasn’t keen on letting her go. But he remembered that clearer than most things over the last year or so. Or the years before that. Fuck.
Watching those boys kiss each other like the world would stop turning if they didn’t, Lyle felt the bitter sting of loneliness. It stung deep and sharp. He flashed a look at Colt, who was watching Nix and Ash, too, but with a far-off look in his eyes. It was almost like this was part of his punishment, too. Watching what real life and real love could do to a person. Mocking Lyle with the natural high that couldn’t be replaced by blow or alcohol. Lyle tutted, as he watched Ash grip Nix’s head and push him down. Nix sank onto his knees, worshiping in front of the altar of his pilgrimage. Ash smirked, kept Nix’s head down with one hand, popping his jeans open with the other. Nix did the rest with his hands and sunk his lips down onto Ash’s hard cock with a sigh of pure bliss. Ash tipped his head back and roared at the sky. Huh, typical, Colt was right about that, too. Nix hadn’t won the fight then, Ash had.
Colt’s voice boomed out from beside Lyle, making him jump. “I’m giving you five minutes. Then I want you both showered, in the van, ready to go. Fucking hell.”
Lyle couldn’t tear his eyes away. Like watching a total eclipse, knowing it wouldn’t do his eyes any good, but it was just so stunning and starling he couldn’t not look. Ash was rough but Nix was rough, too. Ash was pumping into Nix’s mouth with all his might. Nix had even leaned back, still on his knees, as Ash dominated him. Ash then started to mumble, Lyle couldn’t hear but he was shaking his head, then pulling himself out of Nix’s mouth with difficulty, ‘cause Nix clung on. Lyle watched the power switch then to Nix. Nix was in control now. It happened in the blink of an eye. So natural, so fluid. Nix pushed forward, so he was in a firmer position, and Ash was whimpering, curled up over his head, barely able to stand after all. Nix kept going, until Ash cried out and spasmed visibly. Lyle blinked as he watched Nix stand up, take Ash’s jaw firmly in one hand, and seal his lips over Ash’s. Lyle could only imagine how wet Nix’s lips were after that blowie. Lyle swore. Then Nix pulled Ash’s jeans down more, yanked them off his legs, and stood on the crotch, pulling them off Ash over his boots. Briefs and all. Ash, still panting after what was obviously a blinding orgasm, clung to Nix like a lifeboat in a storm. Nix then put his hand on Ash’s shoulder, and pushed him straight down onto the floor where they stood, and onto him. Ash straddled Nix like it was a comfortable habit. Ash swiped his hand over Nix’s mouth, fuck, fingers popping into Nix’s mouth, and smeared the juice on Nix’s own cock. Fuck him sideways, Lyle had never seen gay sex in the flesh before. From the distance they were, Lyle clearly heard Ash gasping, saying he can’t come again. Begging, pleading. Nix clearly stuffed himself inside anyway, as they both groaned. Nix began pumping mercilessly.
“I know you can and you will. Come all over me. As I come deep inside you and fill you up, Ash. You couldn’t do without me, could you, Ash-baby?”
Ash whimpered.
Lyle shamelessly stared. “Never seen anything like it.”
Colt’s fierce whisper was right next to Lyle’s ear. “That’swhat this MC is about, fucker. Love. They fucking love each other. They fucking love to hate each other. They love to fuck each other. They love to fuck women, too. Sometimes they’ll share a chick. Sometimes they’ll take two to bed with them. Ash likes both men and women. Nix likes women and only Ash. And we welcome that. We welcome them.That’swhat this MC is about. We’ll watch their backs because they are our brothers. Just like they watch mine. Do you think they could do any of this shit out there in the big wide world? No, they couldn’t, they’d be judged, labeled, shunned. Victimized, attacked. But not here. Not in the Black Coyotes MC. We watch their backs while they fuck each other and any chick willing to take them both on. Because tomorrow they’ll watch my back while I screw my missus into oblivion, too. And they treat my kid like their kids, and my friends as theirs, their enemies as mine. Don’t you see?” Colt’s lecture was in full flow now. Lyle drowned it in.
“Being in this MC isn’t a blank slate to do whatever the fuck you want. Settle your own scores, get yourself high. We do it all together. We are a family. Being in this MC means we don’t judge you if you want to take a girl or a guy or a bottle of rum or whatever the fuck else to bed with you each night, because the next day you’ll be standing right alongside me ready to face whatever shit the world throws at us. Got me? But if you aren’t standing right there next to me, then we’ve got a problem. So don’t drink our booze and yeah, it was really obvious how fucking drunk you got every night. The drugs aren’t allowed, clear as day we are a clean club, otherwise the whole deal with the FBI doesn’t stand. And we work with them to take the other scumbags down. You got it? Ash can remind you again any time. And Nix might not be available to drag him back from the edge next time.” Colt paused, spent now himself it seemed.
Lyle sighed, the fight gone from him. The hate and rage burned out. He replied quietly, “Got it.”
“Got it, what?” Colt said through gritted teeth.
“Got it, Prez,” Lyle responded, beaten.
“Good.”
Lyle let Colt maneuver his aching, useless body into the van. The chair felt soft. His bones hurt.
“There you go buddy. Home time.” Colt clicked the seatbelt and Lyle’s eyes closed. Home. He’d forsaken home a long time ago. He had no home. But fuck it, back to the MC clubhouse. And it didn’t feel like home, it didn’t give him the warm fuzzy feeling of belonging. But the thought of going back didn’t make him want to run away and never come back. And that was an improvement on how he felt twenty-four hours ago. So Lyle resigned himself to sit back and let himself be driven back, for the cycle to repeat itself all over again. Him making promises he couldn't keep. Agreeing to deals he had no intention of standing behind. As he did, as he always did until something broke.
3 months later…
“Er… Whiskey dick?” Penny mumbled, trying not to feel stupid.
She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Here she was, standing outside the gate of the notorious Black Coyotes Clubhouse, in line with the lady who was her receptionist at her workplace. Penny was wearing a little dress that she normally wouldn’t be seen dead in. It was red and short and her boobs were barely contained in it. She realized when she saw the other women in the line that she was overdressed. For Christ's sake, she was wearing diamond earrings. She’d just put them in automatically. A present from her husband. Her now ex-husband. Penny blinked and flicked her eyes to the empty space on her ring finger.
“What did you say?” The security guard said, his eyes flicking over her, from the top of her coiffed head to her freshly painted red toenails.
She cleared her throat, glanced briefly at her friend, who was looking excited and nodded encouragingly.
“I said, whiskey dick, the password, my, er… I was told, whiskey… er… dick was the-”
“Doctor’s note?” The guard asked. He was a tank of a man, he had his arms crossed, wearing all black. Another guy, equally well built, stood beside him, was holding a tablet computer and was tapping away as he asked the questions.
Penny fumbled in her little handbag for the print out from the doctors. Her sexual health test results. All clean. She couldn’t believe she needed this to come for a night out at the MC Clubhouse. A password from a member, therefore, by invitation only, and a ‘clean’ bill of health from the doctors. She felt her face flaming as she passed over the piece of paper, and her friend next to her did the same. All the members got tested regularly, too, apparently, her friend had said, it was seen as normal. The guard passed it straight over to his assistant, who immediately tapped away on the tablet. The guard kept looking her up and down, a little frown line appearing in the middle of his eyebrows.
Penny didn’t think she could face the embarrassment of being turned away. What if the password didn’t work? What if he didn’t want to see her, after all? What if he already had a girl for the night? Or didn’t even remember her? It had been months ago, that steamy kiss in the ice cream café, Sophie’s Soft Scoops. When she’d finally tracked her husband down, in the middle of an altercation with some bikers from the local MC, and demanded a divorce. He’d refused, saying they had no proof of grounds, she’d need to commit adultery to get him to agree. She, in a moment of madness, of sheer desperation, grabbed the nearest biker to her. Lyle. And kissed him like her life had depended on it.
And god dammit, he’d kissed her back. Kissed her back like his life depended on it, too. Like she was his oxygen and he’d been suffocating. The café had melted away, her husband had melted away, her anger and fear and hurt had melted away. His hands had taken over, holding her, caressing her, touching like she’d never been touched before. Wanting her, like she’d never been wanted before. Melting her from the inside out.
It had been over as quick as it had begun, of course. She’d come to her senses and dragged herself away with the signature she needed to get the divorce. But that biker’s words had echoed in her mind. And the warmth of his touch had kept her warm on the lonely nights since then.
"Come by the clubhouse if you're ever lonely, baby," he had said to her, "if you wanna get down and dirty, cut loose... we'll work on making you a mama, if you want... we’ll work on all your fantasies…"
She took a shivery breath in. Because that’s what had started it all, really. She’d married Pete Rafferty because he’d been charming and had promised her the world. But the world he had promised her wasn’t the world she wanted, it turned out. And she felt that was as much her fault as his. Yes, she’d wanted the fancy penthouse, the car and the clothes, he’d set her up running her own business as a Reiki healer. And that had all been great and lovely until she suddenly realized his plans didn’t include kids. A family. She’d been up for enjoying the finer things in life because she’d hoped for muddy footprints on the rug and sticky fingerprints all over the walls and she’d wanted the penthouse to be filled with laughter and squeals and smelly diapers and cozy nights in and days at the park. She’d thought the finer things had an expiration date and so she’d been lapping it up, ready to embrace a different pace. But no, Pete Raferty hadn’t wanted their mess-free, child-free lives to end. He wanted to keep it all as sterile as the equipment he stocked in his chain of pharmacies.
And she’d burned with the dream of having a family. Burned to the point she was a wildfire, whipped up into a frenzy and desperate. Beyond desperate. That was the hormones, her friends would tell her. It's your biological clock ticking and your innate urge taking over. It didn’t feel like a ticking clock, it felt like a supernova burning in her chest. She didn’t know what it was, but she raged for it. And, as Pete wasn’t willing to give her that, the rage had turned on him. The resentment had built. It hurt how much she wanted it. How much love she had in her heart to give, and no outlet for it.
