Monday, March 2, 2015

A Gorgeous Mess by Layla Wolfe

Four wheels move the body. Two wheels move the soul.
ANSON: I was just a mercenary back from fighting the good fight overseas. I was on a quest for my father, my roots, looking for answers. Turk Blackburn, Bent Zealots MC Prez, ordered me on a fresh operation to prove myself, my guts, my valor. Infiltrate the Navajo Rez and find out who is claiming the Zealots’ turf, using kids to cook drugs.

My partner is the famous badge slut, Ormond Tangier, known far and wide for his mad oral skills, his subservience to anyone in uniform. Mercenaries don’t wear badges, but my dominant side soon has me all over that seductive Spanish servant. A man may as well have a few laughs while on a fatal mission. Because these things never end pleasantly.

ORMOND: I was flung into a life-or-death battle against the slimy Iceman, leader of a rival MC. Iceman is running all sorts of questionable ops on Bent Zealots land, and now Anson and I have to prove our street creds just to stake a claim in our own backyard. I’m a friend of cops, firemen, and soldiers alike, but suddenly I only want one man ordering me around. Anson Dineyazzie, macho half-breed hired gun, has stolen more than just my heart. This was never supposed to happen.

ANSON: I swear I’m never falling for that service bottom Ormond. I’m accomplishing this op and going back to Afghanistan. But I have to wrest control of this Rez land from Iceman and the lethal hit man who has been trailing us. I’d bury anyone who got between me and Ormond. Does that mean I’m in love? God, I hope not. Don’t think I can take that again. Just need to get back onto the open road and blow the dust from my soul.

Leaving the restaurant, Ormond casually started walking at my side. I felt like a fucking nozzle for having ignored him—after all, we had been partners working on this case up until now. We had found the pot and had the sit-down with Iceman. We worked well together. I liked Ormond’s style. I was just so deathly afraid that someone, Rover probably, would be able to tell by the way we looked at each other. “Ormond had sucked Anson’s prick. And more than once.” After all. I was a military man with a take-charge attitude. Exactly Ormond’s type.

“After this job, are you coming to sleep in my guest room again?”
Terror struck at my heart. I glanced around to see who had heard Ormond’s words. “No. Don’t talk to me. I’ll finish up this job and go home.”

I strode to my bike even faster, but as usual, Ormond kept a dogged pace with me. “I thought we had a lot of fun together in our future, Anson.”

Rolling my eyes, I muttered, “Eyreh be afass seder emmak.” My dick in your mother’s rib cage. I stopped walking to explain to him. “Look, buddy. We had some laughs and that’s it. I didn’t think you were the kind of guy who wanted anything more, anyway. You seriously need to get some self-respect and stop putting out for just any Tom, Dick, and Sergeant Harry who drives along in a patrol car. In the straight biker world, no one wants an old lady who has been fender fluff for every brother in his club. No one wants a sweetbutt who has been a pass-around. She’ll never be anyone’s old lady. You recognize?”

The hurt, stunned look in his eyes shocked me into wakefulness. My jaw dropped and I automatically raised my hands to take him by the shoulders. His injured expression had almost made me forget where I was. Almost.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said in his thick, lilting Spanish accent. “I’m sorry you think I’m as disposable as every other lay you’ve ever had in a back fucking alley in Afghanistan or Iraq. And for your fucking information. I haven’t hooked up with any brother in any club. My wish is for upstanding, moral men who wear uniforms. And I thought you were one.”
I was so fucking shocked, it was Ormond who stalked away angrily first. A couple brothers looked sideways at us, but everyone was dead set on the mission, so no one stopped.

I straddled my ride in a daze. How the fuck did Ormond come to know about back alleys in Afghanistan? He was probably just assuming that. It was obvious to any cocksucker that I’d been around the proverbial block when it came to, well, having my dick sucked. It pissed me off that I was so easy to read. Ormond had made my eyes cross with lust, he’d played me like a fiddle, and now I was putting up a wall to shut him out. I was just surprised that he wanted more from me. I didn’t see a bottom like him ever wanting more than a brief, hot hookup. Guys like him lived for the temporary thrill of Grindr, the hot, bruising fucks in anonymous apartments. Why? What was it about me that broke Ormond’s mold?


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