Hung (Selected Sinners MC #4) (14 page)

“God damn it, I told you to suck the cum out of her pussy. You weren’t supposed to spit it in her mouth ‘till I got back in here. You need some training, don’t ya?” he growled as he stomped toward the kitchen.

In my opinion, there wasn’t any amount of training in the world that would fix Cassie. For whatever reason, she had become unattractive to me, rendering her useless. As Corn Dog scolded the women for proceeding without him, once again my mind shifted to thoughts of Kat.

“You guys want to hang out at the pool?” I asked as I stood.

Sloan pulled her tongue from Cassie’s mouth and turned to face me.

“Can we skinny dip?” she asked excitedly.

“You can do whatever you want. I need to run somewhere for about an hour or so,” I shrugged, “You alright with that, Dog?”

“Okay by me, brother, we’ll be here when you get back,” he responded.

Instead of walking through the kitchen and causing myself to feel more disgusted than I already felt, I opened the front door and walked down the sidewalk toward the garage. I needed to listen to some music and get a little riding time in to clear my head.

Who’s kidding who?

I wanted to check on Kat.

It had nothing to do with feelings or emotion, I simply needed to check on her and make sure she was alright.

Because it was the right thing to do.

As I pulled my bike into the street, I turned up the volume. Almost immediately, Beck’s
Loser
finished playing. After a half-second lull, Marvin Gaye’s
Let’s Get it On
began to blare throughout the neighborhood.

I grinned, twisted the throttle, and pointed the bike toward Winfield.

Let’s get it On.

Hell, who am I to argue with fate?

KAT

I hadn’t developed hatred toward my father, to the best of my ability to recollect, it had always existed. Recently, however, it had become more noticeable. As embarrassed as I was to admit it, I probably wasn’t the only one who realized it. As much as I detested him and his way of doing things, I still attempted to be respectful toward him. As I sat on my mother’s couch and he stood in front of me justifying his actions, it became increasingly difficult.

I sat and stared at the floor, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of making eye contact with me.

“I’m twenty-two years old, not thirteen,” I sighed.

“All I’m trying to do is protect you,” he said flatly.

I glanced up. He stood, arms crossed, wearing his protective vest over his uniform. The word POLICE in six inch high white letters made certain everyone he encountered knew who
and what
he was – as if there could ever be any confusion. Disgusted at his mere existence, I stood from the couch.

“Protect me? From what? Life?”

“Sit down, we’re not done talking,” he demanded as he pointed toward the couch.

I turned toward the kitchen and began walking away.

“
You’re
not done talking.
I
am. And I’m done listening,” I responded over my shoulder.

“You can’t go from one shit bird to another, Katrina. You’re going to have to learn to…”

Before he finished speaking, I turned around and interrupted him, “My life, my decision, and I’ll suffer the consequences. For once, stay out of my life.”

He uncrossed his arms, lowered them, and quickly crossed them in front of his chest again.

“I’ll pull you out of that college so fast your head spins,” he seethed.
"Shit, I've got cock for days. I got cock I don't even need," he said as he pushed the waist of his boxers down his thighs.

I gazed down at the floor and laughed an almost inaudible laugh.

Almost.

“I swear. I got a scholarship, remember? I’m an adult. You can’t pull me from anything. And you know what? You just…you make me…mad. That’s what you do. You make me mad. Who digs through their twenty-two year old daughter’s phone records? Who? Nobody does, that’s who. Nobody but some overbearing
cop
,” I fumed.

My mother’s voice startled me, and provided not only a reminder that my father and I weren’t alone, but confirmation I had overstepped a boundary of her’s by challenging my father.

“Katrina Chadsworth!”

“Don’t you start on me too,” I said over my shoulder.

I heard the sound of her heels on the kitchen floor as I studied my father. Standing in front of me fuming, he seemed to be in shock, ready to shoot me, or both.

“Apologize to your father,” my mother sighed.

I glanced over my shoulder.

“Seriously?” I chuckled.

“
He
needs to apologize to
me
. He’s interfering with my life, going through my phone records, reading my text messages, and just being a…” I paused and turned to face him.

“A dick,” I huffed, “He’s being a dick.”

“That’s
it
,” my father shouted as he thrust his hands in the air.

“Katrina!” my mother shouted.

“What are you going to do? Use your cop power to dig through my shit? You know, I bet that’s against the law. I’ll look into it,” I said as I glanced around the room nervously.

I felt trapped. Both of them now stood in front of me, arms crossed, and glaring. As they searched for their next insult, glanced down, grabbed my purse, and stomped toward the door.  
As the material cleared the twitching shaft, what appeared to be a third leg hung heavily between his legs. I gazed down and blinked my eyes, uncertain if what I was seeing was some kind of a joke or if it was real.

“If you leave here…” my father began.

“Katrina…” my mother whined.

I waved my arm her direction. She supported my father regardless of his position. Growing up, my brother had the freedom to do as he pleased, and I was constantly under surveillance. He was able to be out all hours of the night with his friends – because he was a boy. I was required to be home much earlier, and when I was out, my father often drove by or stopped in to check on me. Having an overprotective cop for a father minimized my chances at having many true friends.

I pulled the door open and turned around, “What? What are you going to threaten me with if I leave?”

“You’ll disown me? Do me a favor, grant that wish. And I was serious about the text messages. I’m going to talk to an attorney,” I growled as I stomped out the door.

For him to have talked to Biscuit would more than likely ruin my chances at ever having anything develop with him. I suspected it was the sole reason I hadn’t heard from him in a matter of several days. As I backed my Jeep out of the driveway and onto the street, I decided if nothing else, finding out what my father did would provide me with a reason to call Biscuit and apologize. Talking to him would be nice.

Maybe I could convince him to meet me for a drink instead.

If I got a few drinks in him, I could probably convince him to fuck me. And, if we had sex, and I
really
satisfied him, maybe he’d forgive me for having a dickhead father.

Men.

Maybe they’re all just pieces of shit, and it’s only a matter of time until you smell it.

For some reason, I believed deep down inside Biscuit was a compassionate man. Penetrating the thick outer shell would be difficult, but I was willing to give it a try.

As I drove down the street, I began to cry. Not knowing if it was Biscuit’s absence, Kyle’s abusive behavior, or my father’s childish antics, I pulled the Jeep to the side of the street and attempted to collect my composure.

Lately I seemed to be an emotional mess, and I needed to get my shit together. After a few minutes of sobbing for reasons unknown, I gathered my thoughts, regained my sanity, and wiped the mascara from my cheeks.

As much as I wanted to go home and call Biscuit, I needed to rest. Maybe after a good night’s sleep I could call him and see what he thought about meeting for a drink. Some sleep, a three mile run, and a good breakfast should clear my mind of everything, and leave me in a good state of mind.

I pulled my Jeep back into the street and drove toward the highway. The forty minute drive to Winfield would settle my nerves and let me forget about my father being a dick.

I pushed through the controls on the back of my steering wheel, searching through the satellite channels for
something
.

As I clicked past the radio stations frantically,
After kicking his shorts to the side, he glanced up and grinned. With his eyes locked on me, and my eyes glued to the eighth wonder of the world, the sound of his raspy voice confirmed this was no joke.
Alt-J’s
Left Hand Free
caught my attention. I pushed the
back
button until I reached the channel playing it, and listened to the entire song, a rarity for me.

Although my preference was Indie music, I preferred music that was more mellow and relaxing – music that meant something. Modern music seemed to have very little substance, and was a mixture of synthesizers, voice altering devices, and was filled with reference to money, pussy, or expensive cars. 
As he spoke, I shifted my eyes to meet his.

After the song ended, Elton John’s
Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me
began to play. I glanced toward the radio, confused as to why it was playing, but pleased nonetheless. The song had always been one of my favorites. I recognized the station as one of Sirius XM’s newer stations, one which alternated between a song from today and one of yesteryear.

I turned up the volume, got lost in the words, and for the next few minutes, escaped to a world where everyone was free to make their own decisions.

A far cry from reality, but that’s what music did for me.

It provided me an escape from reality.

BISCUIT

Riding back toward Wichita and somewhat disappointed Kat wasn’t home, I twisted back the throttle and sped up to just shy of 100 miles per hour. As I sped down the two-lane highway, I realized just how
alone
I felt. My closest friends and forever riding companions - Toad, Axton, and Otis - were all tied up with Ol’ Ladies. Otis wasn’t technically sporting an Ol’ Lady yet, but he sure wasn’t far from it. Since encountering Sam in the bar that night, they had become inseparable, and if I was forced to guess, marriage wasn’t too far out in the future. As I wondered if the infiltration of women was going to be the death of the Sinners or the dawn of a new generation, I gazed out at the horizon with unfocused eyes.

At the speed I was traveling, hearing the stereo was impossible, and my earbuds were at home; leaving me without music. In my head, Bob Seger’s
Roll Me Away
played, one of my natural highway tunes when I was without music. As I sang the song in my head for the zillionth time, a gray Jeep shot by me in the oncoming lane at an equally high rate of speed.

I checked my rearview mirror.

The brake lights illuminated.

It seemed I was headed back to Wichita, and Kat was headed home. I slowed the bike down to a reasonable speed, pulled to the side, and turned around. Now going the same direction as the speeding Jeep, I twisted the throttle and quickly eliminated the distance between us. As I caught up to her, she slowed considerably. I pulled the bike alongside her Jeep, glanced her direction, and smiled. Still rolling along at forty miles an hour, Kat stuck her head out the window and grinned from ear to ear.

“Hey stranger,” she shouted.

I nodded my head and grinned.

“Follow me?” she yelled.

I nodded once, applied the brakes lightly, and pulled in behind her. As I followed her into town, I was surprised to find my heart racing and my nerves aflutter. Convinced it was a result of lack of food, too few Red Bulls, and overexposure to live porn, I continued to follow her anxiously, literally counting the miles click away as I rode. 

Although I was one of very few men who could claim I had
never
been in a relationship, I could make the statement without any hesitation. Following behind Kat, studying what little of her I could see in her side view mirror, I began to wonder what life would be like with her in it on a permanent basis. Certain I was incapable of such ridiculousness, and convinced Axton, Otis and Toad were influencing my thoughts, I backed away from the Jeep and began following at a distance too far away to see her reflection.

I pulled into the parking lot behind her Jeep. As I surveyed the lot for a place to park, I eventually pulled alongside her Jeep, turned around, and parked facing the rear of her vehicle. As I stepped off the left side of the bike, she opened the door and smiled.

Regardless of our agreement regarding the elimination of emotion, and even as I reminded myself she was nothing more than a piece of ass to me, I couldn’t deny her beauty.

She sat in the Jeep with the door open and gazed my direction, her blonde hair hanging loosely alongside her face. I don’t really know that I had ever seen a woman more beautiful than she was at that moment, at least not in person. Kat was unique in many respects, her gorgeous appearance being only one of them. As I stared at her blankly, she eventually questioned my sanity.

“What? What’s wrong?” she asked as she stepped out of the Jeep.

I shook my head, “Nothin’.”

“Is there something wrong? My makeup’s a mess, I know that,” she sighed as she shut the door.

“You look good, that’s all,” I shrugged as I locked the bike, “You busy?”

She turned around and shook her head, “Not at all. I just got back from my parent’s house. And if you’ve got time, I’d like to talk.”

“Sure. What’s up?” I asked as I turned toward her.

With her book bag over one shoulder and her purse over the other, she tossed her head toward the apartment building, “Let’s get out of this heat. Come on.”

I followed her up the stairs and into the house. After grabbing two beers out of the fridge, and plugging her iPod into the stereo, she walked into the small living room and sat beside me on the couch. My mind immediately went to thoughts of Kyle and the day I beat his ass on the couch. I glanced to each side of where I was sitting, surprised there were no bloodstains on the fabric.

“So, what’s goin’ on?” I asked.

She glanced in my direction, held the gaze for a moment, and eventually took a long drink from her beer. As I considered that maybe I forgot to ask the question, or that she didn’t hear me, she responded.

“I’m sorry about my father,” she sighed.

I shrugged my shoulders, “No big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” she said, “He’s a dick.”

I chuckled, took a drink of my beer, and nodded my head, “He’s a cop.”

“Cop. Dick. What’s the difference?” she shrugged.

“Sounds like somethin’ I’d say,” I said as I tilted my bottle toward her.

She reached toward my bottle with hers and clanked them together.

A blues tune with strong guitar played on the stereo. For the life of me I couldn’t make the artist. I hated to ask, but eventually the curiosity got to me.

“Who’s this?” I asked as I tilted my head rearward.

“Big Sugar,” she grinned, “Oh crap. It’s uhhm,
Goodbye Train
. They’re Canadian.”

“Canadian? They sure don’t sound it,” I shrugged.

As the music continued, I nodded my head, “Good shit.”

“I like it,” she grinned.

As I relaxed, I realized I was under no pressure to do
anything
. If I didn’t bring up sex, Kat would probably be satisfied with simply spending time together. A nice departure from the norm, I sipped my bottle of beer and listened to the music as it played, becoming more and more relaxed as the time passed. We sat silently, drinking our beers and enjoying the music, I admired Kat’s beautiful face and blemish free complexion.

“You ever have zits,” I asked.

“Not really,” she responded, “You?”

I nodded my head, “Yeah as a kid.”

“So, why don’t you do relationships? I’m not complaining, but just out of curiosity, why not?” she asked.

Shocked that she had the courage to ask, but glad she did so, I sighed and relaxed into the back of the couch. After a long minute, I inhaled a shallow breath, held it for a few seconds, and exhaled.

“I’m gonna to tell you the truth,” I began.

“That’s nice to know,” she responded in a sarcastic tone.

I stared down at the floor and cleared my throat, “I think, or I thought, or whatever. Anyway, I always said God put me on this earth for one reason and one reason only.”

She turned and glanced over her right shoulder, “Which is?”

“Fuckin’ women,” I responded.

Her eyes widened and she coughed a laugh, “You’re serious?”

“Uh huh. One, I’m hung like a horse. Two, I’ve got a tongue like a giraffe. And three, I can recover from sex in about ten or fifteen minutes and go again. So why else would he give me all of those sexual gifts if he didn’t want me fuckin’ women?” I shrugged.

She finished her beer and stood. As she walked to the kitchen, I waited for her response. With her head stuck in the fridge and me regretting having spoken my mind, she responded.

“I don’t know. Maybe to make one woman
really
happy,” she said, “Ever consider that?”

I stood and finished my beer. She had a valid point, and as stupid as it seemed to admit it, I had never really considered what she said as being God’s intention with me.

Growing up in Alabama, dropping out of school at fourteen and leaving home at fifteen left me feeling as if I wasn’t a very smart boy. Over time, I believed I had developed into a man who could be perceived as smart, but I always felt I lacked true intelligence. As a boy, I was required to go to church, and as a man, although my belief in God persisted, my participation in Church services stopped.

I always felt if I stepped a foot into one, I’d burst into flames.

“No, never did,” I shrugged as I tossed the empty beer bottle into the trash.

“Ever been in love?” she asked as she handed me a beer.

“Nope,” I responded, “You?”

“Hard saying,” she responded, “Maybe. Maybe not. Truthfully, I doubt I know what love is.”

“Ever been close?” she asked.

I shook my head, “Never even had a girlfriend.”

She narrowed her eyes and wrinkled her nose slightly, “Seriously?”

I nodded my head. Admitting it seemed strange, and I waited for her to begin to chastise me for never having committed to a woman. Although she never began to scold me or complain, she glared at me for a long minute before continuing.

“If the right woman came along, do you think you’ll ever settle down?” she asked.

I gazed across the floor toward a decorative wooden box. It was filled with various throws and small pillows. After staring blankly at it for some time, I shifted my eyes around the room, making note of all items which reminded me of a woman. Although the apartment was small, there were several flower arrangements which I hadn’t noticed in the past that stood out as being rather attractive and well put together.

“Did you make those or buy them?” I asked as I tilted my head toward the two vases on the end table on the opposite side of the room.

She glanced toward the flowers and grinned, “Made them, why?”

“They’re nice,” I responded.

“So, did you not want to answer the other question?”

I shifted my eyes toward her, and after a moment, my head followed. Now facing her, I pressed the beer bottle between my legs, exhaled, and responded.

I intertwined my fingers, extended my arm and cracked my knuckles, “Right woman? I’d always said there was no such thing. For some reason, starting oh I don’t know, say two hours ago, I began to wonder. If a woman came along that sparked my interest, I may give it a try. Hell, everyone else is.”

“Because everyone else is?” she chuckled, “Who’s everyone else?”

“The fellas I run with, Otis, Axton, and Toad. Pretty much they’re all hooked up with Ol’ Ladies,” I sighed.

She turned, placed her beer bottle on the end table, and turned my direction. Standing in front of me in cut-off sweat shorts, a Southwestern College tee shirt, and Converse sneakers, she looked adorable. As I studied her and attempted to guess her height, she tugged at the bottom of her tee shirt and twisted her hips slightly.

“So, has anyone sparked your interest lately?” she asked.

It bothered me having her stand over me and talk. One of the few things that irritated me - and something I couldn’t stand for more than a few seconds. I pulled the beer from between my legs, glanced to my right, and realized there was nowhere to place the bottle. Without responding, I stood, stepped past her, and leaned toward the end table sitting beside her.

I placed the bottle beside hers, straightened my posture, and inhaled a shallow breath. The smell of her perfume filled my nostrils and caused me to smile.

Couture La La.

I closed my eyes for a split second and inhaled through my nose lightly, and it was then that I remembered. It was the girl from the grocery store who eventually moved to Ohio. The only woman I spoke to regularly without ever trying to fuck. She wore the same scent, and I had asked her once what it was. Couture and a warm smile each time I went through the checkout line were her two signatures.

“Only you,” I responded as I opened my eyes.

She stood a mere two feet away from me fighting the urge to smile. “Good. I feel the same way. You know, I don’t buy into the entire love at first sight shit. Boy meets girl, and they say
I knew the moment I met him…
”

“I’m an acquired taste,” I chuckled, “Nobody is going to meet me and say they love me. How’d we jump to love, anyway?”

She shifted her eyes to the floor and held her gaze for a moment.

“I was just saying. But if you say I sparked your interest, and I say you sparked mine, why don’t we see if we can make something work between us?” she asked as she shifted her eyes from the floor.

I studied her for a moment. Her eyes were brown with little flecks in them. Her hair appeared to be a little more blonde than I remembered it being. Her skin was the golden brown color most women strive to achieve through the course of the summer. In summary, she was nothing short of beautiful. As I studied her for some type of imperfection, the response came to me. 

I crossed my arms in front of my chest and sighed heavily, “You know, I spent fifteen years bein’ exposed to a man and a woman in a relationship that just didn’t work. She hated him, but was afraid to leave, and he hated everyone and settled for taking out his hatred on her. Hell, he couldn’t remember her birthday and vice versa. They didn’t really know one thing about each other. Not a fuckin’ one. But they stayed together because of me.”