Author Name: Layla Wolfe
Book Name: A Lone Stranger
Series: The Bent Zealots MC
Book: Three
Can be read as a standalone
Release
Date: October 12, 2015
Blurb:
Ride on. Ride
on.
HARTE:
After a world-altering run-in with the guy I thought was my father, I
went on the road to find myself. I
patched over to The Bent Zealots MC, an out-and-proud club on the Colorado
River. A cock virgin, I raced to
experience all I could, eagerly sniffing every nook and cranny, a whole new
existence offered up by Grindr. But when
Ormond Tangier was assaulted by a rival club, I quickly got down to brass
tacks, to show my new brothers I was all business.
Too bad that
business involves Bond Blackburn, jailbird brother of our Prez, Turk. That guy is so far in denial he’s practically
Egyptian. But he even he can’t deny what
I saw with my own eyes at the gay club.
Sure, I was on my knees paying homage to a Daddy Dom, but Bond can’t
pretend he wasn’t getting some oral praise as well. And now they’re telling me I have to work with this hypocrite?
BOND:
This club is a fucking joke.
How’s a man supposed to make a new start after the joint? First, my own brother forced me to prospect. I couldn’t automatically rise to the top of
the heap through my family connections.
No, I’m supposed to labor in a noxious sweatshop making product for
their pot dispensary. And I have to
sneak downtown if I want to get some halfway decent head, because I don’t even
want my gay so-called brothers knowing about my shameful hobby.
Now we’re reaching
out to the cops to even the score with those Hellfire Nuts who abused
Ormond. And that delicious Harte
Saxonberg is getting my goat, so by the book, such bleeding heart. I just want to strangle him—or fuck him.
HARTE: I’m stuck between
a rock and a hard place, one that slab of a man, Bond Blackburn. He kisses me, then punches me. Fucks me, then ignores me. He’s got me so upside-down I’ve lost the
clarity I had a week ago when I rode west.
Ride west, young man. I could be a steam train if I could just
lay down my tracks. But the only name
I’m calling out is that sexy convict’s.
Ride on. Ride
on.
Publisher’s warning:
This
book is not for the faint of heart. It contains scenes of gay sex, consensual
BDSM, illegal doings, vaguely legal marijuana operations, and violence against
men. There is no cheating or cliffhangers, and HEAs for all.
Pages or Words: 62,000 words
Categories: Fiction, Gay Fiction, M/M
Romance, Romance
Excerpt:
“Stupid
kids,” was all Bond would say. “Fucking
spring break.”
“You
never got a chance to go to college,” I said, tentatively. I thought we’d started a good conversation
the day before at Ormond’s. We could
certainly continue along that tack. Bond
didn’t seem to be aware that Turk had had an equally lousy childhood as he
had. He seemed to think Turk was rolling
with some kind of sudsy reality family where Jim Bob Duggar would dispense with
fatherly advice about dental cavities and wet dreams. He somehow seemed to have gathered this
vision of Turk’s adoptive home as a heavenly, squeaky clean TV set, not the
lousy, dirty Party Central that it was.
“But Turk didn’t, either, and he was the smartest of the bunch of us,
growing up. He didn’t have the best home
life, Bond. I don’t know where you get
your impression of Cropper Illuminati, but Turk wasn’t playing board games and
roller skating. He had it rough.”
“Sure,”
snorted Bond. “Cropper docked his
allowance if he didn’t eat his broccoli.”
“I
doubt they ever had broccoli.” I was starting to lose patience with this
man. “I doubt they even knew what a
fucking board game was, Bond. That house was just as bad, if not more so,
than any of your group homes. You
probably played Life or Trivial Pursuit a couple of times.”
“A
couple of times, maybe,” Bond grudgingly admitted. “I knew what they were.”
“Well
Cropper had Turk and Ford stealing Walkmans from Radio Shack when they were
ten. He was handing them hits of
four-way Windowpane as rewards. Before
he started Illuminati Trucking, they slept with buckets around their beds
because no one could afford a new roof.
They rarely even made it to school, and luckily both got their GEDs
because they kept up with book learning on their own. He had them selling weed to seventh
graders—their own friends! Did you know
that?”
“I
didn’t know squat,” Bond said, somewhat angrily. “I only saw Turk twice before yesterday. He never tried to contact me.”
“Because
he didn’t know where you were! I distinctly
recall about five years ago, I asked him about you, where you were. He said he didn’t fucking know, but he’d
really like to fucking know.”
“He
could have fucking asked! He could have fucking asked the child
placement agency where I went!”
I
was so livid by that time I was nearly driving on the shoulder. The sun blared high above the treeless
desert, and the trailer park we were passing made it even more desolate. My hands clenched the wheel. Now I was the one white-knuckling it. “He did!
He said after the last group home let you go when you were seventeen,
everyone lost track. He knew you were in
Colorado and that was it. He tried,
Bond. He tried. Yet you knew where he was the whole
time. The Bum Steer clubhouse in Pure
and Easy didn’t move for fifteen, twenty years.
They still use it. It’s still a
bar and grill.”
“Well,
what would I’ve said to him? We had
nothing in fucking common. At least he
lived with a real family. I lived with a
bunch of other kids who’d punch you just for looking sideways at them. A bunch of degenerates. Fake ‘fathers’ visiting your bed at night.”
That
last part kind of sailed right over my head.
I was like a dog with a bone now, determined to worry it. “You wound up having a lot more in common
than you thought, didn’t you?”
“What
do you mean? We both like leather? We both ride scoots?”
“No,”
I boiled. “You’d both rather smoke dick
than cigars.”
Boy,
that one, short pause was practically electric with emotion. Bond probably needed that pause to determine
whether I’d really said what he thought I’d said. Then I guess he’d decided that yes, I’d
really said it, because his hand shot out and bashed the steering wheel so
badly I swerved into oncoming traffic.
“That’s
it.
That’s fucking it. Pull over, you motherfucking scumsucker. Pull over to the side of the road. I’m not riding with the likes of you
anymore.”
Luckily there were
no oncoming cars and I was able to maneuver the van to the shoulder next to an
old-timey diner that was boarded up. I
tried to say, “Look. I
was just saying it’s interesting that two brothers who’ve been separated most
of their adult life turn out to be gay, that’s all,” but Bond was having none
of that shit.
He
yanked on the door handle so violently I’m surprised he didn’t break it clean
off. His look was murderous as well, his
chestnut eyes flashing. His left hand
grabbed the lapel of my cut. It was an
unforgiveable sin to touch another man’s cut.
But I felt in the wrong, and I did nothing to stop him. In the rearview side mirror, I saw
Twinkletoes pull his white Dyna to the shoulder as well. He’d been riding back door to make sure us
neophytes didn’t pull any shit. Like we
were now doing.
“Listen,
you fucktard. You may think you own this entire gay thing because you
just came out after twenty-five years in the closet. Just because you were all
over that gay stage owning it like some fairy being ogled by dozens of men with
your stupid fucking cock leash. I’m here
to tell you. You do not get to decide who does what, when. That’s my
business.” And he slammed the hell
out of the door, stomping over to the shuttered diner.
I
immediately followed. Of course I
did. I’d brought up the subject in the
wrong way, possibly at the wrong time.
But I couldn’t just let him run off next to the Sand and Rock diner.
Twinkletoes,
too, was striding toward where Bond had hidden himself in the shadows by the
diner’s front door. I held up a hand to
tell Twinkletoes “I’ve got this.” I
didn’t, really, but what else could I do?
“Listen,”
I told the macho parolee, who paced in the shade with his arms folded so
tightly his nipple ring was set to blow. “I’m sorry. You’re right.
You get to decide when and
where you come out. I was just trying to
tell you you’re being fucking hypocritical thinking you can live a two-faced
life. It’s going to make you unhappy, number one. Believe you me, I did that for years. I didn’t start suspecting I was gay until
like my sophomore year in high school—“
Bond
grabbed my T-shirt this time. He struck
so quickly he was like a copperhead, the way his arm shot out to grab me. I swear my feet were off the ground while he
was growling in my face. “You’re damn
right it’s not your business. And I want
you to fucking forget it ever happened, ‘cause it’s never happening again! As far as you and anyone knows, I’m straight,
straight, straight. And the second we
get back I’m gonna prove it by pushing up on at least two or three
sweetbutts.” He tossed me away like
yesterday’s nachos.
That
pissed me off. Was he seriously going to
pretend he wasn’t gay in the slightest?
“What the fuck is that going to solve, Bond? It’s gonna come out eventually, you living in
close proximity to other gays.
Eventually you’re gonna slip up and someone’s gonna see you doing it
with another guy. Believe you me, it happened
to me. I was sucking someone’s cock in
Flagstaff and my fucking mother saw
me. Yes, my fucking mother, and it all came out then and there, and not in the way I would’ve wanted it
to.” My real father, Sax Saxonberg, had
also seen me inhaling Dayton Navarro’s meat, but he seemed cool with it. The point I was trying to make to Bond was
that it was nearly impossible to hide it.
I tried.
He
yelled, “Why would I slip up if I only hook up with guys in Lake Havasu City?”
“Lake
Havasu?” I sputtered. “That’s like
twenty minutes from our clubhouse. Who
the hell is not going to be grinding
in Lake Havasu? Chances are I’ll
literally run into you within the first ten days.”
“Okay,
then I’ll go farther! Needles, Bullhead
City!”
“That’s
Assassins of Youth turf! Lock was nearly
beheaded by those morons for being gay before they let him leave their fucking
club. Listen, what I’m trying to say
is—“
“What
you’re trying to say is I’m supposed to admit something I haven’t even admitted
to myself! No fucking thank you!”
We
were practically standing toe to toe now, shouting at each other. Being so close, we didn’t really need to shout. But it sort of fit our moods, I think. We were both pissed as hell. “It’s going to haunt you anyway, asshole! Think how wrong it’ll feel, trying to suck
some girl’s boob while the whole time you’re imagining it’s some guy’s cock.”
“I don’t suck cock! I’m a fucking—a fucking—“
“Ha! You don’t even know what you are, that’s how
far in denial you are. You probably
don’t even know what a top or a Dom is.
You’re so far in denial you’re swimming in Lake Victoria, and every time
you slide your cock into a chick you’re going to be fantasizing it’s some guy’s
tight ass. You’re going to be wishing
that hair you’re stroking of the girl blowing you belongs to a guy, and—“
“I
don’t fuck guys either! All I do is let
them blow me, once in a blue fucking moon, and that’s just because they’re
better at giving blowjobs than chicks are.”
Bond was so close he was spitting on my face with every word.
“—and
every time you kiss a girl you’re going to be pretending to yourself it’s a guy
just so you can get it up—“
“Oh, fuck it.”
That
last was just one long groan, and suddenly Bond was kissing me.
I
know, it sounds insane to say. It sounds
insane to write it. In a fraction of a
second, Bond went from a straight guy who only allowed men the pleasure of
blowing him because they were more talented to a guy who just wanted to kiss
another man. And that fucking man was me.
Me. A guy who’d never been kissed.
I
was so shocked, so taken by surprise, at first I thought it was some strange
kind of torture, maybe some martial arts move.
I froze like a Windows computer.
Abso-fucking-lutely stunned, my hands in the shape of claws, waiting for
Bond to hurt me.
But
he didn’t. And he didn’t stop. The kiss just got warmer, more passionate. He parted his lips and tickled mine with the
tip of his tongue, snorting hot puffs against my cheek. His palm cradled my skull, pressing me to
him, and he came up so close the toes of our boots touched.
No. He wasn’t going to hurt me. He was just filled to the brim with lust.
I
breathed. My hands melted, and I dared
to encircle his waist. I ran my hands
underneath his cut, bold enough to feel his burning skin under the filmy
wifebeater he seemed to have worn just to seduce me. Ah. My pheromones were responding to his
essential manly scent, that mysterious, unfathomable scent that draws lovers
together. I parted my lips and allowed
him to tickle my tongue-tip, even relaxing enough to utter a moan that had him
delving his tongue deeper.
He
bent at the knees, leaning into me. With
one of his hands on my hip, the other curled around the slope of my ass,
pressing me into him, sort of lifting me.
I gasped in his mouth, shocked to feel the pressure of his erection
against mine. The delicious sensuality
when he angled his hips ever so slightly sent a rush of bloodlust to my
groin. In a flash, my dick was throbbing
against my fly buttons.
Never
in a billion years had I fantasized about this brutal, statuesque god making a
pass at me, much less kissing me. And
now he was thrust his pelvis against mine, dry-humping me with quick little
jolts as though he meant to lift my boots clean off the ground. Our tongues twined together now, Bond lapping
at the underside of mine. The tip of his beautiful, straight nose touched my
cheekbone. It was much more voracious,
no holds barred then the gentle kiss of a woman. So this
is what it’s like to kiss a man. Already
I wanted to do it over…and over…and over.
Just
as he gave his most savage grunt punctuated by a stab of the hips, Bond broke
away. Panting, with hands out at his
side, he looked utterly stunned. He
gazed at me wide-eyed as though he’d never seen me before. Oh,
Lord. This is where he takes everything
back again. Already I was getting to
know Bond and his flip-flopping ways. He
disgustedly wiped his mouth off on his forearm.
“There,”
he practically spat. “Maybe that will shut you up.” He ambled past me like a Cro-Magnon man, all
bulging muscles and aboriginal forehead, just like the knuckle-dragger he
was. Even his stupid voice sounded dumb,
a roided-out boxer who’d been bashed in the head too many times. “Let’s get this fucking show on the road. That kid ain’t waiting forever.”
I
swiveled around, still trying to drink everything in. That was when Twinkletoes stepped out from
behind a pillar.
“Way
to not be gay, guy.”
It
was so unexpected I burst out in laughter.
I looked at Twinkletoes, expected him to be laughing, too, but he
wasn’t. He’d meant every word. It wasn’t until he saw me busting a gut that
he realized it had been funny. He, too,
started chuckling, his eyes watery.
Bond
had already slammed the hell back into the rape van’s passenger seat, jamming
his seat belt into its buckle, so I stood next to the former Prospect.
“Strange
guy,” Twinkletoes chuckled. “I busted him coming out of the Blue Oyster, but he
denies being attracted to men.”
“Oh,
you saw him there, too? This is what I’m
trying to tell him. He’s not gonna be
able to keep it under wraps for long.”
“Especially
not in a club full of homosexuals. He
doesn’t need to fly the colors of a unicorn riding a rainbow for those Zealots
to scope him out a mile off.”
“I
don’t envy you. You’ve got your hands
full sponsoring him.”
Bond
rolled down the manual window on the old van.
“Hey! Burning daylight here!”
Twinkletoes
exhaled loudly between pursed lips.
“This is gonna be a tough row to hoe, for sure.”
I
slapped him on the shoulder, pretending to be cheery about the whole
thing. In reality, I was tweaked,
thinking about the road ahead for Bond.
It was hard enough coming out when you wanted to, like me. But for
a guy so determined to think he was as straight as a laser beam, coming to
grips with reality would be even worse.
Buy the book:
Meet the author:
Bestselling author Layla Wolfe is satisfied with a leather jacket, one
bad-ass pink camo compound bow, and a vicarious outlaw lifestyle. Her BARE
BONES MC series explores the dark, disturbing life of the biker club in
Arizona. Her spinoff series THE BENT ZEALOTS MC is a gritty MM saga.
Layla Wolfe is the pen name of multi-published
erotic romance author Karen Mercury. To sign up for her email list to be
notified of new releases, visit: http://oi.vresp.com/?fid=c6b5ab1d41
Where to find the author:
Publisher: Quicksilver Books
Cover
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