Aaron – Day 21

This type of shit wasn’t supposed to be happening. I was taking a crash course in the only class that had ever held my interest: Megan 101. I had learned that she enjoyed cooking and trying new recipes. She had expressed that there was a lot she wasn’t allowed to do in foster care, so when she was set free, she explored.

She liked foot massages, which I gladly gave her. If she allowed me to keep fucking her the way I wanted, I was willing to give her any kind of massage she desired.

Although neither of us were big talkers, it didn’t take away from our connection. We seemed to get each other whether we exchanged words or not. However, there were times when Megan would go quiet on me, even quieter than usual. Her fingers would trace the lines and curves of every one of my tattoos. When her fingers weren’t on me, she made my body tingle with her tongue.

There weren’t many areas left on me that she hadn’t explored. It almost seemed like she was studying me, memorizing every line and angle of my body. Like now, her fingers slinked over the lines of the metal skull on my back. Soon after, her tongue glazed over the dull red scales of the diamondback slithering over my shoulder. The head of the snake stopped at my right pec, and so did her tongue.

I’d been bitten by a diamondback rattler as part of a torture session after I was captured by one of my MC’s adversaries. The snake had bitten me twice, and the venom should have killed me after I’d been beaten, thrown into a shallow hole, and left for dead. It was a deadly mistake on the group’s part that they hadn’t ensured that I’d died.

Megan’s movement drew my attention away from thoughts of torture and revenge. I’d never had anyone, especially not a woman, pay that much attention to me. The experience was foreign, uncomfortable, yet sensual in a way. That’s why I didn’t make her stop when she concentrated on me like this. It turned me on, but I wasn’t necessarily roaring to plant one of my heads between her legs.

“What are you doing?” I asked after her fingers trailed over the black printed Scripture covering my left side and along my abs. It was from I John, the first chapter and the ninth verse, which read, ‘He frees us from the slavery of sin and sets us free to experience new life.’ Lord knew I, more than anyone, needed to be set free of sin. I also knew and accepted that I couldn’t do it on my own.

“Remembering,” she finally answered my question in her low tone. She continued the meticulous movement of her delicate fingers until her index finger circled the bloody exit wound tattoo on my lower left side.

The tattoo covered an actual exit wound from the first gunshot that ever pierced my body. I’d taken the shot to my lower back, saving my cousin Ansel. The bullet had pinged off one of my bones and exited through my side. There was a small entrance wound tattooed on my lower back where the bullet had entered.

Megan’s gaze rolled over and rested on the bloodstained handcuff tattooed around my left wrist. Her eyebrows knitted tighter when her gaze rose and landed on the name, Ryan, tattooed in black cursive letters atop a bricked headstone on my forearm.

I felt compelled to share the story of my younger brother with Megan, but I stopped myself. We should be fucking each other, not sharing personal stories. On second thought, we shouldn’t be fucking each other either, but I couldn’t help myself on that front.

I couldn’t believe I’d almost told her about my little brother. Ryan had been shot in the head during a shootout we had with a rival MC. He was a few weeks away from his thirteenth birthday at the time, and I was fifteen. Although Ryan didn’t have a gun, most of our MC had guns in their hands returning fire. Therefore, we couldn’t go to any law enforcement agency to seek legal justice.

Ryan’s death weighed heavy on me. I was the closest to him when he died. He was standing right next to me. I never shared it with the rest of my family, but I truly believed Ryan had died protecting me that day. He’d been ducking behind a stack of old tires right next to me when one of our enemies snuck up on us.

Things happened so fast that I had no proof other than what I think may have happened. I think Ryan stood and took that bullet to protect me. I think he stared death in the face to keep his big brother from getting shot. Ryan meant everything to me. He was a good kid who hadn’t inherited the madness that roared inside of me, and I never tried to push him to embrace this life.

Ryan looked up to me like I was the best thing in his life. He told me I was the bravest and smartest person he knew and that he was glad he had a big brother like me. It should have been me protecting Ryan that evening and not the other way around.

It took my father and me two years to track down the man who’d killed Ryan. I was so relentless in my pursuit of my brother’s killer that I stopped at nothing to track him down. I even dropped out of school for a while. My actions had earned me the nickname Grave Digger.

By seventeen, I’d killed more men than some of our seasoned members. My actions had prompted the chairmen at the time to vote and name me one of the club’s enforcers. I killed five of the rival MC’s men before I found the one who’d shot Ryan. Every time I killed one of them, I’d reopen the grave and add each additional dead member to the pile of bodies stacking up.

Megan’s tongue sliced across my nipple and brought me out of my haunting thoughts. Her action made me suck in a harsh breath.

“It seems like you’re studying me.” I whispered.

She glanced up from scrutinizing the spent bullet shell casings that billowed smoke on the back of my left hand. She flashed me a shy smile. “I am.”

My curiosity was piqued. “Why the heck would you want to study me?”

“Because I want to remember you.” Her gaze was locked with mine. “Everything about you.”

The fuck?

Why the hell would she want to remember everything about a fucker like me?

Megan was more like me than I think she knew. She was not the sentimental type. It was one of the things I liked about her. She didn’t drag in the emotional baggage that women liked to bring into a sexual situation.

That being said, as unintentional as Megan may have been with her statement about wanting to remember everything about me, it had my fucking heart doing flip flops and banging all around in my damn chest.

As much as we’d avoided the emotional side of this affair, the shit crept in from time to time anyway. Not even the rules and laws of Copper County or years of the dark history of hatred and cruelty my motorcycle club stood for was enough to stop Megan and me from wanting each other. I don’t know if she harbored the same kind of want for me that I was starting to have for her, but I think I was beginning to want every part of her—mind, body, and soul.

For God’s sake, I was reading her books and shit. Not that I didn’t study the hell out of shit that could give me any kind of advantage over an enemy. But me, reading a book for the hell of it was unheard of. It had taken me less than two work days to finish one of her paranormal books. Surprisingly, I had enjoyed her spin on werewolves and had since downloaded two more of those addictive books of hers. Seeing the smile I’d put on her beautiful face after I’d informed her that I’d finished the first book, had pleased me.