Squick has been a longtime fixture of The Sacred Heart’s MC. His boss, Trigger, is their Sargent at Arms after all. It took a while for him to put together a bike to become an official hangaround then prospect and he was pretty thrilled that his other boss, Zander, took the plunge with him. Still, Squick is hiding something, something big that could test friendships, destroy relationships and it has become a mask that is becoming increasingly difficult for him to wear.
Squick is miserable, there’s no denying it, and of course now that he is on the very cusp of patching in, that’s when Aaron walks in to his life. Suddenly it’s do or die… Come out to the club and lose the brotherhood and the only sense of true family he has ever known, or don’t and lose them anyways when they find out about Aaron. Squick doesn’t see a third option, and the deeper he gets in to his situation the more his misery compounds. Just what will he do?
“Andy, do you have time for a late consult?” I looked up from my inventory and squinted at Ashton. It was close to closing time.
“Yeah! Yeah. Hold on just a sec.” I hurriedly put things away in my tool drawers and stood up. I followed Ashton out into the lobby area and blinked in astonishment.
He was fucking… Holy shit!
“Squick, are you okay?” Ashton’s voice snapped me out of it.
“Yeah! Hi, what’re you looking at having done, man?” I stuffed my hands in my pockets and rocked back and forth in my worn black All-Stars.
He was amazing. Exquisite. Just… wow. He was shorter than me by a head, but that’s not surprising. I’m like six-foot-five, which made him like five-nine or so. He was slender in that way… that just… shit… just turned me the fuck on. I didn’t like guys that were overly built-out. He had that willowy look to him, muscular, sure but more of a whipcord-over-bone kind. His hair was black, except for the front, where it was on fire. Either he, or someone he knew had helped him, dye the front shock of his hair in reds, oranges, yellows, and even whites so it looked like a fireburst in front, over his brow. The locks of hair brushed his pale forehead and I wanted to reach out and smooth them away.
Text Copyright © 2015 A.J. Downey
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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