Brick by Brick: Rebel Souls MC # 5

Brick 0.01

The spring wind in my face felt cool even though it was the warmest day that it had been all year. I revved the engine of my Harley low rider. I'd just had Greaser put ape handlebars on her and I was taking her for a spin. It felt like all I'd been doing the last two months was riding. It didn't help keep him off my mind, though. Of course it didn't. The memory of him was everywhere.

He was in my room at the clubhouse; he was in every damn part of the clubhouse. I couldn't walk into any room without seeing him, like he was a fucking ghost haunting me. Except he wasn't dead. If he was, maybe I could move on, but that would mean I could never have him again. And as pissed off as I was at him, as much as I hated him for finally fucking coming out after we'd been together for a whole goddamn year, I still hoped we'd get our second chance. I was pining after him like some fucking lovesick kid. Even as I was riding, it was like I could feel him next to me, all the secret rides we'd taken together. I could see his lopsided grin while he looked at me, his bright blue eyes that always sparkled with mischief. Even as the sun shone down, I swear I could see that way it would bounce off of the hoop nose ring he always wore. And the earrings in both of his ears. I'd never dated a guy with any type of piercings before. I could still feel the metal in my mouth when I sucked on his pierced nipples. But even remembering all the piercings wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the memory I could see of his hands on the handlebars of his bike, the way the silver rings on his fingers looked. The way the fingers that had fingered and stroked me to orgasm so many times looked as they flexed when he squeezed the handlebars or the throttle. I could see his helmet low on his head, but that image quickly rolled into the one of him in a snapback. He always had a damn snapback on, obviously backwards, keeping his long hair in a low bun at the base of his head.

I could finally ride again, which had been helpful. The first four weeks after he'd left, I couldn't ride because of the healing bullet wound in my leg. The scar it left behind was nasty, on two sides, since it had torn right through me. I'd been stuck in the clubhouse, hiding in my room and avoiding the damn pride and their endless question. I loved the old ladies, but I preferred talking about their men, not my man. Which was why I'd also been avoiding them.

Satisfied with the way my bike handled with the new handlebars, I pulled off the exit, turning around and heading back towards the clubhouse. I needed a drink. The booze and the weed didn't keep Alec off of my mind, but they didn't make things any worse, either.

The further I rode home, the more unsure I became if riding was actually an escape or not. It always had been, but even the wind in my face and the vibrating of the bike beneath me couldn't keep thoughts of him from creeping into my mind.

The one I'd been replaying the most in the last weeks was the one where he'd kissed me the first time. It had been the night of my patch party. The club had always known I was gay; I had no reason to hide it. I'd suffered the worst of the worst because of my sexuality, thanks to my parents sending me to conversion camp twice between the ages of thirteen and eighteen. Usually they hired the newly patched member a stripper, not that there weren't a dozen willing soul suckers around the club even without being strippers or sex workers. Except none of them were men, so they'd advertised a gay night at the bar and opened the doors. I'd literally had my choice of dozens of guys; women weren't the only ones who chased the cut. I'd found a sexy older guy - older man had always been my preference - and danced with him until I could feel his hard cock pushing against me through his dad jeans. I'd invited him up to my room and he'd said yes without hesitation. We'd been making out, him pushing me against my bedroom door and me struggling to get it open when he'd been pulled from my body.

"Get lost," Alec had barked at him. My suitor, whose name I hadn't known or cared about even then, looked terrified. Alec was intimidating. He wasn't the biggest guy in the club, that went solidly to Tank and Bender, but I could see why someone would find him scary looking. Whenever it wasn't just the two of us, he had a menacing, angry look on his face. It completely contradicted his happy-go-lucky personality. For fuck's sakes, the man had dressed up as Bubbles from Power Puff Girls, giving him his road name. Before my patch party, Bubbles had been all I'd known him as. He definitely had one of those personalities where you had to get to know him before you realised he wasn't an asshole, despite his face not getting that message.