Bottom Line_Nomad Bikers Page 7

  I close my eyes, envisioning Mitchell here with us. I thrust twice more before my hot come squirts inside her, and she finds her release before falling limp against me.

  “I love you, Avery, and I know Mitchell does, too. He’s lost right now, but he’ll find his way home to you. I hope that’s a home that will include me.”

  I carry her to the bed where I lay us both down. “Meaghan, I wouldn’t have gotten where I am today without him.” I look her in the eyes. “And without you, too. Whether Mitchell finds me again or not, my heart is yours, my love is yours, and my future is with you.” I press my lips to hers before she smiles softly then rolls over to sleep.

  This is how we usually spend the one day off we have together—naked in bed, sharing our dreams for the future.

  Meaghan knows it all—the good, the bad, and the very ugly. She is the one who encouraged me to go to counseling. Every meeting, she sat at my side, holding my hand and keeping me focused on healing. She also accepts the piece of me that belongs to Mitchell.

  There will never be another person in this world who takes me as openly as Meaghan. And that is our love.

  Love for me has never been about a man or a woman, but about the individual. For a while, I mixed up sex and emotion. Lessons learned the hard way. Sex doesn’t equal love and love doesn’t equal sex. And sex shouldn’t be defined by one’s kink level or sexual appetite. It’s a carnal connection. Accept it as it is and what suits your individual tastes.

  I have been called names before. Growing up, I wasn’t a rough and tumble boy, so all the guys gave me hell, even before I knew what it was to be gay, straight or, in my case, bisexual.

  I don’t want to be with a man. My attraction isn’t to men in general or a type of man, nor is it to a type of woman. I have had sex with women. Mitchell has fucked more females than I can count. I have not had sex with a man, consensually. That is something I would only be comfortable doing with Mitchell. Sex for me isn’t some physical release in having an orgasm. It’s trust.

  I trust Mitchell with my body completely.

  I trust Meaghan with my body completely.

  I trust them to know me and my emotions as well. I equally want them both in my life. This isn’t something I can put a label on. It’s just the way that I love.

  There was a time all this would have broken me. I wasn’t strong enough to face the world. Now, though, now I fear nothing and no one. I am who I am. Meaghan gave me this confidence and acceptance.

  I may never feel whole without Mitchell, but I found my happy, my peace, and I found love.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ~Mitchell~

  D eacon emailed me with all the information his contact dug up on Avery. Honestly, Leed is so small I could have put in a little effort and found him myself.

  The question I have to figure out is: why I don’t rush in and face him.

  Do I truly need to ask? No, it’s because I’m a motherfuckin’ pussy when it comes to all things Avery.

  We have been here for two weeks now, and in those two weeks, I have managed to put an air mattress in the back room to sleep on, convert a piercing station into a bedroom using the drawers for the equipment to store my clothes, and drink my sorrows into a bottle of Jack every fucking night.

  I like blow jobs.

  I like pussy.

  I like ass.

  I like any hole I can stick my dick in and get it wet.

  True story.

  I like fucking as much as I like the idea of dying.

  I just don’t like to do it anywhere near Leed, Alabama.

  So, since we are here, my dick has shriveled up in fear. Not that some dumb fuck will slice me up and let me bleed out in the street.

  Nope, I’m not afraid of that. I would have to go find a fuck to give about what other people think of me—gay, straight, or something in-between. Take me like you get me or leave me the fuck alone. No, none of the things I should be afraid of cause me fear.

  My only fear in life is not death. No, my only fear is Avery and the fact he has the power to destroy me with his rejection.

  I was abandoned by everyone in my life except him. Now, though, he has also cut me off because I couldn’t give him what he wanted.

  Who’s the pussy now?

  Me, this son of a bitch right here. I’m worse off than a heartbroken woman crying in a pint of ice cream over it.

  I look around me to the red walls and pictures of different body modification options. Is this home?

  Fuck no.

  The restlessness I have fought against for as long as I can remember burns deep in me right now. I want to get on my Harley, ride out, and never fucking look back.

  Where would I go?

  I’m a roamer. A drifter. Some might even call me a gypsy soul.

  Honest to fuck, I’m just a motherfuckin’ pussy.

  The information sits in my phone and I do nothing with it.

  Yeah, that’s the kind of man I am.

  Everything has changed, except me. I came into the club half dead and I’ve lived my life in the club seeking death. I get off on trying to end it all. Because that is the escape from the chance Avery could tell me to fuck off all together. And that is truly something I can’t face.

  Deacon is my closest brother in the club and he’s hours away, living his life. He deserves the happiness. All the guys do. I just can’t help wondering where that leaves me.

  I hear laughter from the room next to mine. It’s Michele. Swear to fuck, she’s got pure harmony in her vocal chords. When she talks, it resonates like angels singing. She’s all soft and abso-fuckin-lutely perfect for Rowdy. They got married, then he got locked up. The man did years in prison for a crime he damn sure didn’t commit. Michele faked her own death and disappeared. Now, I swear they fuck like monkeys to make up for lost time.

  Good for them.

  Bad for me.

  Michele is apprenticing under Sonnie. Michele loves to paint, so she will have her studio out of the shop, but she has also decided to take her work to a different level.

  Everyone is so creative, except me. I’m only creative when it comes to how to fuck someone. I can fuck, suck, and fondle in unimaginable ways.

  I just can’t manage life.

  What a way to be.

  So, here we are, half the club in Tennessee and half here in good old Alabama. Home sweet home, they say.

  Fuck it all , I think, grabbing my wallet off the counter display of earrings, nose rings, belly button rings, and fucking cock barbells.

  I make it to the open seating area for customers, only to stop dead in my tracks. There is a woman at the counter, a drop dead gorgeous woman.

  She’s short, I would say five feet or so. She’s got these hips that fill out her jeans, and an ass I want to try bouncing a quarter off of. Her feet are in flip flops, revealing a tattoo of a raven and the words “never more” on her left foot. Moving up, her waist is tiny, flat, and a small bit of skin peeks out from her tiny strapped tank top. Her hair is long, blonde, and reminds me of Avery’s.

  Fucking Avery.

  “Hey, good-lookin’,” I say, announcing my presence.

  Her eyes meet mine; their blue depths searching. The emotion, the passion, and the pain that radiates off her make time stand still.

  My heart beats wildly, my palms sweat. I fight this sudden urge to run. Something in this woman hits me deep, hard, and instantly.

  “Mitchell,” she whispers, and my cock hardens to granite, imagining her screaming it out in the throes of an orgasm.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Friends call me Trapper.”

  She moves toward me, and in a whoosh , her small arms are around my waist with her tits pressed against my chest. Even through the thin layer of her tank top and my T-shirt, I feel her hardened nipples. I want to suck them.

  Inhaling, she smells like him.

  Immediately, I pull away and watch as she wobbles, trying to steady herself.

  “Avery misses you,” she whisper
s where only I can hear.

  Everything falls apart in an instant.

  I try to rush past her, but she stops me, standing in my way and shoving at my chest. The walls are closing in as she speaks, but the words don’t make sense.

  Avery misses me.

  Dizziness consumes me. I swear I might fall flat on my ass as she continues to slap at my chest, obviously wanting something from me.

  “I have nothing to give!” I yell.

  She doesn’t flinch, she doesn’t budge, and she doesn’t back down.

  “You. All he wants is you, Mitchell. That’s all we want!”

  “We?” Her words hit me like a sledgehammer. “Who the fuck is we?”

  “Stand down, Trapper!” Rowdy orders as I step closer to the little fairy who just rocked my world. “Meaghan owns the Arts and Tarts shop where Michele has some canvases on consignment. She came here to drop off a check.”

  I don’t give a fuck what Rowdy’s telling me. “How the fuck do you know Avery, and what the fuck do you know about me?”

  The woman smiles.

  She should run away in fear from a man like me, a monster like me, but she actually looks at me and smiles.

  “Avery is my lover. We live together, work together sometimes, and we are together mostly.”

  “What do you mean mostly ? Did you tell him to disconnect his phone? Shut me out of his life? You one of those jealous bitches? I’m not here to take your man, but you better fuckin’ know I came first.”

  Jealousy builds inside me. For the first time in my life, I contemplate kicking a chick’s ass. Not because I’m okay with violence against women, but the man inside me who belongs to Avery doesn’t want to share.

  “Mitchell, you need to slow down and calm down,” she says to me plain as day. Not a single hitch in her voice.

  Not an ounce of fear. She should be afraid. Very afraid.

  “Look, lady.” I step up into her personal space, to which she doesn’t move. “I fuckin’ killed Butch. Avery tell you that? Avery tell you how his momma died and I came home? I came home to bury the woman who treated me like her very own. Then the sick fuck she was married to threatened to tie Avery—” I stop myself, searching her eyes. What does this little fairy know?

  She nods in understanding, not backing away. She doesn’t search my face to see where I’m going. No, when I read her, I find she knows it all. Why isn’t she afraid of me, then?

  “He told us both he was going to tie Avery to a bed and take out all his grief on my very best friend’s asshole. He would have done it, too,” I press on, watching her, waiting for her to show shock, surprise, disgust—something. She doesn’t falter, so I continue, “I went that night. I went to the childhood house of hell,” I tell her in a low voice. “I went there. I tied Butch to the bed, woman, and do you know the things I did to him?” I don’t care anymore to keep my secrets from the club. I don’t care to hide it from all the world. Avery shut me out. Nothing matters anymore. I will tell the world Avery Collins owns me.

  She smirks, this woman Rowdy called Meaghan smirks at me. Then the fairy tells me what I did without hesitation, without shame, but, dare I say, with pride.

  “You fucked him in the ass with a broomstick while you made him call you daddy.”

  I did.

  The very night we left Laura six feet under, with the loose gravel covering her casket, I went to her house, knowing he would be there, knowing he would be expecting Avery.

  Laura’s things were all trapped and guarded by Butch. He thought Avery would rush there to get his mother’s things. Only, I purposely asked Mrs. Morris to go to the house Avery was renting with food. I slipped her a hundred-dollar bill to keep him occupied until at least nine. Then, knowing he wouldn’t come to the house, I went with the intention of killing Butch.

  Yes, arrest me now. Premeditation, I will proudly serve that life sentence without the possibility of parole. I won’t even testify to justify my actions. I had a long talk with the devil, and the motherfucker said a sick fuck like Butch needed to burn in a special place in hell. Satan himself gave me the privilege of delivering the death blow … to his ass.

  Spunky Meaghan keeps on, “With the broom six inches in, you made him call Avery and apologize. You made him whimper, whine, and beg for your mercy, to which you gave him none.”

  I gasp as she brings back that night for me so vividly.

  I did all those things, and only when I was tired did I cut his throat as he continued begging for death.

  “Mitchell Gates, you’re my motherfuckin’ hero for saving Avery and giving him a future full of peace.” Meaghan doesn’t look at me like I’m vile. Her eyes aren’t filled with disgust, which they should be. No, there is a challenge there, as well as acceptance.

  I slump, my knees going weak as I hit the floor. “Avery,” I say as the emotions flood me. He has moved on. I have lost everything before I could ever really have it once again.

  Meaghan sits on the floor beside me. “I know it all, Mitchell.” She puts her arm around my shoulders, “I went to therapy with Avery. You gave him everything you had to give. You won’t let Avery give back to you. He has so much, Mitchell, so much love, honor, respect, and so much to share with you, and you wouldn’t let him.”

  I look at her, fighting the feeling of betrayal and the feeling of relief. “He told you?”

  She nods. “He told me everything.”

  Everything, it swirls around in my head. What does someone do with everything? Especially when everything you ever wanted moved on with someone new.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ~Avery~

  W ork is work. I love what I do—taking pictures.

  Except today.

  Today, the paper is doing a piece on Mobile Movers, the Leed-based business that is expanding into national chains. Julius Palmer bought the business when the original owner retired.

  Julius Palmer is the devil himself.

  I know what he did to Mitchell.

  Everyone in town knows what his group did. It took some time for word to spread. More so, the hatred they spewed all over a young man who was trying to be better than his beginnings spread around town like wildfire. Without Mitchell to press charges, it was nothing more than a crazy story rather than the reality he lived through.

  I still don’t know the truth, not in the sense that Mitchell ever sat me down and told me himself, face-to-face. No, I just go off the speculation I can sort for myself through all the small-town rumors, plus the drunken calls, and things I sought out for myself. While I may not have the sleuthing skills Sonnie says Collector has, I did manage to sort out the five men who attacked Mitchell.

  I knew when Mitchell didn’t come home things were bad. I just didn’t know what to do or where to begin to find him. If I called the police, more attention would be drawn to us, when I wasn’t even sure there was an us. It was a fucked-up situation from all sides.

  He wouldn’t answer my phone calls. I called repeatedly, and the more time passed, the more freaked out I got. Then, around four in the morning, I sucked it up and did something I never thought I would do.

  After spending an hour driving around with no sign of Mitchell, I called Julius. After all, he was the last person to see Mitchell. It made sense to contact him.

  Except, when I got off the phone, I felt worse about the future for Mitchell and myself than ever before.

  The spite in his tone, the hate, the words he said still haunted me.

  “We had a good time tonight with your boy. When we finished our fun, we left enough of him to get his message to you.”

  The fear churns in the pit of my stomach. “What message is that?”

  “Your kind isn’t welcomed here. If Mitchell stays, you’ll be the one we get next, pretty boy.”

  I immediately called nine-one-one, all to be told filing a false report was a criminal offense.

  The fuck-off was obvious. They wouldn’t help me.

  No one would.

  Mitchell�
��s text the next morning left me no room to seek help. He told me he made a mistake, crossed a line, and he needed space to see the world. At least that’s what I read into his needing to find himself message.

  I didn’t believe it then. Knowing what happened, I don’t believe he means it now. Only, now too much time has passed and my patience for being his dirty little secret ran out.

  Without sleep and my heart in a million pieces I went to Main Street and literally followed a blood trail from the bar Rat’s Nest to Old Dog Earl’s shop. I wasn’t turned away rudely, but the member’s of the Devil’s Due MC were there and not one of them would acknowledge seeing Mitchell. Even Earl who used to slip money to Mitchell wouldn’t confirm he knew of his whereabouts. He kept sending me away telling me to stay safe.

  Fitz came to see me three days after they hurt him, looking for Mitchell. When I informed him he was gone, he gave me a wicked grin before reaching out and running a finger along my cheek, to which I jerked back. I should have kicked him in the shins or clocked him. I should have done something. Instead, I let him toy with me.

  “We fear what we don’t know, Avery. You should know this and understand it. The brazen way you two want to carry on doesn’t work around here.”

  I remember swallowing back fear as he left with a reminder his dad was the sheriff and he wouldn’t be in any trouble. It was the way shit worked around here back then. The good ol’ boys club, one Butch was a part of, too.

  Butch always told me Sheriff Fitzgerald wouldn’t touch him. They were poker buddies, and being a contractor, Butch built the man’s deck. It was always a “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” system. There wasn’t a doubt in mind none of them would be in any kind of trouble, even if Mitchell had stuck around to press charges.

  Every day I went to Old Dog’s shop. Every single morning and sometimes evenings, too. I went in and asked Earl to tell me where Mitchell went. The old man always shook his head at me but never said a word. The definition of chaos is doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results – that was my life in the months after Mitchell’s attack.