Roped (3 page)

Jamie knew the history well. It had been a part of his life as well as that of his best friend Gunner—Patrick’s namesake and great-grandson—since the day they were born. Born on the same day in fact; brought into the world on a Friday the thirteenth of July. Jamie was to be the older of the two, but a drive-by shooting that left Gunner’s dad dead—a bullet in his head—had sent his mom into premature labor. Blood, violence, and death ushered him and Gunner into existence. Since day one in a shared bassinet, their lives had been planned out. Gunner was to rule and Jamie to protect the ruler, a job Jamie worried a lot about since. While the club was still all about loyalty and sacrifice, it had long ago moved away from its original roots. Running drugs and guns—and sex and violence—were now its main focus.

“They’re not even eighteen yet.”

Jamie wasn’t sure whose voice that was, but apparently, someone wasn’t happy about him and Gunner becoming prospects.

“These are not typical prospects off the street. This is Gunner and James we are talking about.” Rocco’s deep baritone voice was easily recognizable. “They were fucking born for this club.”

“I agree,” someone confirmed.

“Then we take it to a vote,” Rocco said. “All those in favor.”

One by one, Jamie listened as eleven of the thirteen members voted in favor of allowing him and Gunner to become prospects. Each “Aye” caused Jamie’s heart to speed, and by the end he was sweating and breathless.

“Holy fuck,” Jamie muttered under his breath. He and Gunner were officially prospects. The youngest prospects ever!
Gunner.
He had to call Gunner.

Jamie bolted out of the club, nearly knocking down some chick that was coming in. “Sorry,” he apologized without slowing down. He fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone, pulled it out, and flipped it open—dialing as he slid behind the wheel of his truck.

“Holy fuck,” he repeated. Prospect! He and Gunner were fucking prospects.

“This better be important,” snapped Gunner through the phone line. He sounded breathless and irritated.

“Why? Since when do I have to have an important reason for calling you?” Jamie complained.

“Oh…. Um, Jamie, I’m kind of busy here.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Jamie asked suspiciously.

Jamie’s suspicion flared into anger when he heard a female voice in the background scream, “Oh my God. Seriously, Gunner! You had to answer the phone now?”

Something had shifted in Jamie when Gunner had kissed him over three years ago. Or perhaps it wasn’t so much as shifted but fell into place. While Gunner was out trying to bang every chick that walked, Jamie found himself home at night fantasizing about smooth skin over taut muscular chests. It was the one and only thing he didn’t share with his best friend. He couldn’t. There were no homos in the club. Sully and his drag queens and orgies didn’t count. He was a freak, and that was not a title Jamie would tolerate—freaks were not lieutenants.

“I was kind of in the middle of banging….” Gunner’s voice was muffled as if he’d covered the phone with his hand. “What was your name again?”

There was no mistaking the outraged shriek of a female, and with it, the anger drained from Jamie. Whatever chick Gunner had in his bed obviously didn’t mean anything to him. Jamie still felt the prickling sensation of jealousy; he couldn’t help it. Knowing she meant nothing to Gunner, however, let Jamie still live in his fantasy of Gunner only banging girls because it was expected of him, not because he wanted to. That he’d rather be with him and only truly cared about Jamie.

“Hey, calm down, baby…. Put that down….”

Jamie snickered when the sound of Gunner grunting came through the phone. Obviously, what’s-her-name had damn good aim. Jamie cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder and cranked the engine to life, smiling as he enjoyed the drama taking place on the other end of the phone.

“C’mon, baby, don’t be mad. Hey! Where ya goin’?” Gunner’s pleading voice was followed by a loud slam much like the sound of a door connecting with a doorframe. “Fuck you, bitch! Bros before hos,” Gunner yelled.

Jamie laughed out loud and pulled the phone from his ear as Gunner cursed and shouted.

“It’s not funny, you fucker.” Gunner’s voice was much clearer and lower through the phone line—apparently, he moved it back to his mouth and was addressing Jamie.

“You’re right,” Jamie agreed and put his truck in drive. “It’s fucking hilarious!”

“I hate you,” Gunner grumbled.

“No you don’t. Now put your dick away and pay attention. I got some kickass news.”

“Bend over, bitch, and I’ll put it away. Right up to your fucking gut,” Gunner growled. “Would serve you right for the blue balls you’re causing me.”

Jamie shook his head at his friend’s remark
. If only you knew
. But he didn’t say it out loud, instead he joked, “You’re one sick bastard. Besides, you forget, I’ve seen your dick, it wouldn’t reach.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. So what’s so important you had to interrupt my pussy poking?”

“We got the votes. You and I are the youngest prospects to ever join Crimson Eight.”

“Fucking A, right?” Gunner hooted. “Well, that does call for a celebration. Get your ass over here! I got a six-pack and what’s-her-name’s friend’s phone number. Party time!”

“Already on my way.”

Jamie ended the call, threw his cell on the seat next to him, and stomped on the gas pedal. It was turning into an awesome night. Not only were he and Gunner going to be official club members, he’d kept his friend from sharing that hot body with anyone else. As he drove, he hummed along to the music with a smile. He didn’t feel the least bit of guilt over the color of Gunner’s balls.

So many things about a person can easily be changed: hair color, religious beliefs, political views, education, job, and the clothes they wear. Man has free will. Men can decide to be good men or bad men or something in between. Whether to have children, marry, fight, or walk away, the options are innumerable. But no matter how many changes we make, masks we wear, we cannot change nor hide from what we are at our core—our true selves. Sure, appetites can be subdued, but desire cannot be eradicated.

For too long, I tried to live a life being someone I wasn’t, but I now realize I wasn’t living. I was existing.

Tek Cain

G
UNNER
STOOD
naked, dripping wet from a hot shower, and studied his reflection in the full-length mirror.
Eighteen
. He certainly looked like an adult. He was built like his father. Tall, already hitting six foot three and still growing. If he reached his father’s height, he’d end up six eight. Well-defined legs, broad chest and thick arms, he added to his size daily with a strict weight-lifting regiment. His longish blond hair and matching goatee also added to the appearance of being older. Gunner ran his hand over his goatee and smiled as he remembered Jamie laughing when he told Gunner he looked like a badass Jesus. His mood turned somber, smile falling as he thought about what he and Jamie would be doing tonight. Tonight, they’d become full-fledged members of Crimson VIII.

The last two years had stripped away the remaining shreds of innocence from Gunner. He’d seen and done shit as a prospect he wasn’t proud of, but reminded himself they’d been necessary evils. When he’d taken the oath and slipped on his vest, he’d vowed to give all eight, every last drop of blood, for the club. Loyalty and sacrifice was his creed. The weight of that statement was already visible in his eyes, the same look he’d seen in Jamie’s green eyes: the loss of innocence.

Turning from the mirror, Gunner grabbed his towel and ran it over his hair, then down his body. He tossed it to the floor and snatched up his jeans from the bed. They stuttered over his damp skin as he pulled them on—his T-shirt doing the same. Gunner wasn’t too worried about his clothing for the evening festivities. He’d been witness to a number of patch parties, all of which ended in the newly inducted members being trashed and naked within a few hours. He didn’t have any doubt he’d be in the same condition soon. With enough alcohol in his system, maybe he wouldn’t care this time. Might actually enjoy it for a change.

Gunner’s bedroom door flew open, causing him to jump and instinctively reach for his gun.

“You about ready to go?” Jamie asked, a big grin on his face as he stepped into Gunner’s room.

“How many times have I told you to fucking knock?” Gunner grumbled and sat down on the edge of the bed, grabbed his tennis shoes, and slipped them on.

“Umm….” Jamie tilted his head, looked thoughtful for a second. “About a million,” he responded with a smirk.

“One of these days you’re going to end up with a bullet in your smart ass for barging in on people like that.”

“Well then you’ll need this,” Jamie chuckled. He sat down next to Gunner, shoulders touching, and held out a cardboard box with a cheap red bow on it. “Here!”

“What is it?” Gunner asked, narrowing his eyes.

“A bomb. Now open the damn thing,” Jamie huffed.

Gunner took the box, still staring at Jamie. He was dressed similar to Gunner, baggy jeans and white K-Swiss tennis shoes, but where Gunner’s shirt was black, Jamie’s was charcoal gray. Their sizes were almost identical as well, Jamie an inch taller at six foot four but their muscle mass nearly exact. The biggest difference between them was where Gunner’s hair was a dirty blond color, Jamie’s was dark brown, nearly black like his beard. And Gunner’s eyes were a common, boring hazel color; Jamie’s eyes were the most stunning shade of blue Gunner had ever seen. But he wasn’t going to think about Jamie and stunning in the same thought. Those thoughts were dangerous.

Gunner turned his attentions back to the box, turning it over, examining it, and shaking it. Whatever was inside made a heavy thunk.

“Would you just open the damn thing? We have a party to attend.”

Gunner gave a slight roll of his eyes and pulled the box open. “Holy shit! Where the fuck did you find this?” He hooted. Inside was a Tec-9 machine gun, the exact weapon he’d been coveting since he was like five.

“Sully hooked me up,” Jamie said proudly. “Bastard actually does something besides fucking once in a while.” He laughed.

Gunner carefully took the weapon out and tossed the box aside. The gun was a solid weight in his hand as he ran a finger over the cool steel. He palmed it, pointing it at the far wall, checked the sight.

“I fucking love it. Thank you.”

“It fits you,” Jamie murmured.

Gunner lowered the weapon and turned to face Jamie. Something in his friend’s voice caught Gunner’s attention; even more curious was the flush in Jamie’s cheeks and the way he averted his eyes.

“What’s that look for?” Gunner asked.

“What look?” Jamie asked without meeting Gunner’s eyes.

Gunner set the gun on the bedside table and shifted on the bed, facing Jamie. “That one,” he said, pointing at Jamie’s pink cheeks. “We don’t have secrets, so spill it.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Good, then tell me,” Gunner demanded and shoved Jamie’s shoulder.

“I was thinking it’s a good nickname for you, you know, Tek, ’cause you’re way more than just a gun.” Jamie shrugged, the color in his face deepening. “It’s kind of stupid, I know.”

“Tek,” Gunner echoed. “I like it.” He threw his arms around Jamie, squeezed him briefly, and then gave him a manly pat on the back. “Dude! That’s two fucking awesome gifts you gave me. Best birthday ever!”

Jamie’s brows shot up. “Yeah? You really gonna use it?”

“Hell yeah! Both the gun”—he picked up the weapon and pointed it once again at the far wall—“and the name! Tek is one bad mother fucker, just like me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Jamie sniffed.

“Whatever, dude. You know it’s true. And tonight we’re both gonna be bad sons a bitches when we get patched and pussified.”

“Crude too,” Jamie grumbled and rolled his eyes.

“Yup,” Gunner said unapologetically and draped his arm over Jamie’s shoulder. “And now for your birthday gift.” He laid the gun on his lap, snatched up the envelope from the table, and handed it to Jamie.

“Oh, cool, an envelope, you shouldn’t have,” Jamie drawled sarcastically.

“Don’t be an ass,” Gunner retorted. “You and I, my friend, are getting our first ink done today.”

“Seriously, you got me pain for my birthday? Wow and here all I got you was a gun.”

“You can make it up to me later by buying the first round,” Gunner teased. “C’mon, let’s go!”

“What, now?” Jamie squeaked.

“No time like the present.” Gunner released his hold on Jamie and got to his feet. He tucked the Tec-9 beneath his pillow; he’d come back for it later. He couldn’t wait to show it off to the other guys. “You’re not scared, are you?” Gunner asked, arching a brow. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll hold your hand.”

Jamie got up and headed out the door without a word, but his reply was obvious with the bird he flipped.

J
AMIE
LAY
on his belly, head resting on his folded arms. Sweat ran down his temples, his gut churning and his back on fucking fire. The first couple of hours hadn’t been so bad, but the fourth and fifth had been hell. It felt as if he had a really bad sunburn and some dumbass named Christian was slapping it over and over. A dumbass he so badly wanted to punch in the face, but he didn’t dare move. He snuck a peek over to where Gunner lay. The bastard had his headphones on, a blissed-out expression on his face as the tattoo artist added ink to Gunner’s broad back.