A tidbit from my upcoming novel--Soulless Pt. 2: Gone Season

kyzer (58)in #bikers • 8 years ago

"Welcome back, Benjamin."

Prologue

Cold, bony digits crowded my right front pocket—seeping red into the fibers of my Levi’s. The clinking of my metal spoon drew my attention as I absentmindedly stirred in creamer to disguise the piss poor grit in my mug called ‘coffee’. Dried blood and dirty fingernails took away from my busted knuckles, sitting calmly on the barstool—my mind tantalized by a violent replay. Back to how easy my life was sneaking around my house, playing hide and seek with Shay—and wherever I may have found her, I’d end in a victorious pant—Shay frazzled over being home late for dinner but we could never seem to stop kissing! Though I’d get my fix, and our discovery spot was always somewhere new… I never stopped learning because, as it seemed, Shay always showed me the way. I missed the carelessness and simple living we shared; never forgetting those cold moments I had to rethink rash impulses before going to jail over my mother. How I had to swallow and bury the countless daydreams of brutally hacking my step-father up and donating him to an animal rehab center. Now—I had this ongoing fight with who I was and who I never wanted to be. My life wasn’t to end up this way but it had, and hitting the bottom of what presented to be bottomless…I shattered into shards of guilt—the reflection of hanging rags stained with each life I had taken—I crumbled further. Late night addictions that left me buzzed off bleach—skin blistering from a brillo pad vigorously stroking a bloody blade—I did what I had to. I was untraceable, slow, and precise. I was taught that a mess left--resulted from laziness meant for burial beside our enemies—all the same. Merciless and ruthless as ever, I was higher than I’d ever been. I wore a different face; distantly present with a book full of stories behind my shamrock eyes. After the first one; I just couldn’t seem to stop.

Book two of this trilogy can be found at the link below.

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_2?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=kyla+m.+wassil

The first few nights away from anyone I knew was a few shallow breaths from demented night terrors. An unruly, relentless want to devour a sprouting bud of loneliness, shadowed figures on the wall weighed comfort all around me. I guess to keep me sane--it worked for maybe four days or so, before I panicked inside and had to gather my shit, hit the road and disappear completely. I’d only ever been arrested once and the holding cell was a fucking joke. So how on earth I developed mental imprisonment was impossible to ever define. The realism of waiting an entire lifetime just to prove that it was always her is what knocked me out cold! It had me cowering in a dark corner, clutching my necklace in the deepest loss for rescue. I wanted to come through and be a damn man about it—to say fuck it and do whatever it was that I sought. Instead, I dug a six-foot hole and laid my conscience down, remorse sitting on the ledge in disappointment, and for the longest moment… I stood motionless. I truly felt I was detaching from the best part of me. What were the chances of me surviving all of this on my own? Did I make a grand mistake by copping out on my brothers—the only family that’d have me for all that I am? My demons were loved. I promised myself that I’d stay safe inside my mind while living like a gypsy. On the road at a constant, seeing many different faces, fucking a different bitch at each stop but never inviting any further connection. I gave myself three strikes for any outsiders to interrogate me about my MC. I wore my cut because I wasn’t ashamed to give up my bottom rocker (our chapter) in replace of NOMAD. Sometimes, I felt like it meant an impulsive runaway, but my translation was mistaken. It was a journey to find peace and deliverance. The dare to spread my arms wide, doing 90 down the highway as wind bent my skeleton backward, shocking my nerves like the prickle of static. I was moving my hollowed body by the strength of purpose I held to carry on in the first place; vengeance. And I must say the taste of blood is mighty strange—ensnared by addiction.
To start my mystical journey off with some familiar truth, I guess I’d take you back to the very night I left Knoxville. The Stigmata was the star’s twinkle in my eye, making it my main priority stop. As I pulled into the parking lot, I didn’t immediately go inside. I stood by my bike, using a cigarette as an excuse of what was really stalling me. I didn’t want to say farewell to the only woman who never asked me questions, never worried, but tends to my ever need each time we were together. There were plenty of nights the Disciples would come in and terrorize the ladies with loud pampering, aggressive money blowing and whiskey shots.
The very reason I even showed up was nowhere to be found and I fought from accepting disappointment. I asked another dancer in mid-pass where Nasita was and all I got were pressed lips and a careless ‘not here’. That was when I felt a sharp pain in my gut like I was beginning to feel unsure about everything. I must’ve had five or six shots and a beer and a half to fight the urge to cheat—and take another bitch back for a private dance. I had a lot of empty anger building in my chest and fucking until I felt halfway decent became my immediate go-to. I wasn’t sleazing around, I just enjoyed fucking—and so I did.
For a while, I allowed for another dancer to sit beside me and talk my ear off. Stolen by the sparkly choker around her neck…but I wanted to tell her my hands would look better instead. My mind was altering from the vodka shots and I picked up a few words here and there about a goldfish she once had, Angie or something like that…or was that her name? Fuck. Nasita rushed through the front door, greeted the house mother then headed straight for the dressing room--never raising her eyes from the floor. I had this sudden jolt of electricity burn a hole through my stomach, sinking further into my seat like I wanted to hide. My fingertips ached from squeezing my beer bottle and almost having my eyes roll into the back of my head, I felt nails glide down my arm. Slowly turning my head, the dancer I plainly ignored didn’t twitch a muscle beyond her wrongdoing smirk.
My eyes gently shut and reopened just the same. “Did you—drug me?” I could barely speak as my vision glitched. I felt the lack of control, my heart pounding from the inability to slow it down.
“Some of you are so easy.” Her giggle rippled the air and I desperately fought from collapsing—face smashing against the table top.
Clutching my beer a little tighter, I tried to maintain myself. “What the fuck did you give me?”
“The time of your life,” Her smile was peculiar, dangerously inviting perhaps. “Just wait.” She took a long sip from her pink drink, rambling on once more.
The lyrics to ‘Papa Don’t Preach’ bounced my brains with its beat, losing my self-awareness completely. Trying to focus on what was happening around me, no words occurred for quite some time. I was sitting alone with my thoughts and that was surely a bad position to be left in. My eyes remained fixated on the dressing room door until a plum colored wig sat aglow under the lighting. High waisted white lace and crystal shimmering tassels protruded from her nipples--tearing me from my seat. I staggered a bit, but I slowed my steps because I knew plenty of others had eyes on me. I could feel it. But glinting orbs didn’t arrest my intentions as I disagreed with Nasita not passing the first glance. I was being rather selfish, pissed off, grabbing her by the wrist. Nasita jumped, standing breathless once our eyes met. “Let me have this.” I invaded her space as her hands latched onto either side of my bushy face. “Just once is all I’m asking.” My words fell in a whisper and Nasita quickly looked over my shoulder to see who else was watching.
“Follow me.” She gripped me by the wrist, leading me towards the front door. Meeting eyes with the house mother, a slight shake of her head and the woman shifted her eyes in my direction.
“I’ll tell Mickey you got an emergency phone call.” The house mother nodded, chomping on a piece of bubblegum.
My eyes met the security guard who gave Nasita a look of warning but with confidence, she continued out the door. My cap low and eyes feasting, ears tickled by laughter as Nasita turned, yanking me by the cut. “I am already wet.”
My expression was stone but my hands were quick to grip the small of her back, forcing her against me. Her breath lodged in her throat as her jaw lowered in submission. She knew I was serious and her touch became more of a hold, heading towards a large black van. “This is what I drive.” She reassured the curiosity in my eyes.
Pulling open the back doors, Nasita instructed me to get in. I crawled into the large space with belongings scattered atop a few blankets and my head aimed straight for the pillow as I lied on my back. Doors shut with a slam--Nasita was rested on her knees—watching me. “I’ve wanted you for the longest time,” She reached up to remove hoop earrings, one at a time. “But you always make me nervous and no one gets me that way.”
It took a split second for me to move from lying down to springing upward, bracing an arm around her curvy frame. Slipping my forefingers into dampened fabric, my very tips were introduced to a warm drip. I groaned so lowly and so controlled, I couldn’t help but glide a little further down. With a hardened chest, my cock lied rigid--suffocating beneath my jeans as Nasita raked pinpoint nails underneath my cap, lifting it off. “You know I’m going to fuck you until you can hardly move, right?” My breath invaded her ear as a long moan stretched from her lungs—my fingers entering a dripping tunnel, her chest crashing into mine with a whine.
“Do it…please please please!” She whined once more and I couldn’t slow my pace, nearly coming from getting her off only using my fingers.
“Take me out!” I gasped, but she wouldn’t and it pissed me off.
“You told me you were going to “fuck me until I can’t move” so do it.” She hissed.
I threw Nasita onto her back—hankering above, attacking her eyes with the final strand of control left in me. Jerking her panties downward, they were off in less than a second and I was already working on shoving my jeans down bulky thighs. Hard and hurting all at once, I slid off my cut and tore off my shirt. Nasita’s eyes were glued to my chest, moving to expose her own. I pulled her onto my waist, wanting to give her all that I could. Her wrists were held down as I plowed into her fucking stomach, her muscles sucking at my length. I knew she was beginning to feel sore and raw, perhaps pain from an unforgiving pounding, but she never made me quit. Throbbing, pulsating, and quivering around my engorged member, it seemed to not be enough of me. I knew then that she was trying to fuck her way through something of her own. My tone a whisper while clasped around her tiny throat, I was willing to help. “Show me just how angry you are, sweetheart.” Raising her shoulders like wings of an Eagle, Nasita slammed me onto my back with all her might, busting my head off of some random object on the way down. “You want to see my anger?” Nasita’s long fingers reached my nape, cuffing her hands around my throat with a mild squeeze. “I can take you to the trenches, baby.” A candy smile and tormented eyes, Nasita took me like a bullet to the fucking head.
Since Shay had left, I haven’t given another woman a second look. It was a possibility that Nasita felt I’d leave without a trace just after injecting her with false hope and that we’d never speak again. I’d never dare to show my face for any reason to avoid the feelings she gave me.
She would’ve been wrong.
It wasn’t at all how it seemed on the outside. I just couldn’t find it in me to explain how I truly felt. There wasn’t a damn thing to explain. I didn’t want to love—I felt no need to. Killing off the prime suspects that heckled me was all the pleasure I could harbor. I smiled to satisfy the wonder of others. My colors—their silent questions through the iris. It’s funny how curiosity is enough to make you lose yourself.
I slept enough to get by and ate just to soak up every ounce of alcohol that passed my lips. I figured my trip would’ve been the easiest thing I’d done; a vacation almost. It wasn’t. It was damn near fucking hell along the way. I thought by cutting off my emotions, sleeping with women, and partying every night would seem chore like.
Lie.
I thought attachment was delusive and gratification only held the purpose of maintaining dominance. Lie.
I believed that telling myself nothing mattered anymore would prevent me from longing for affection—that I could no longer feel a thing.
Yet another lie.
Never again fall for any bitch, no matter how lonely their soul and absent insanity. I reminded myself because I didn’t think I had it in me to go another go round. I loved Shay to the very depths of me—but I loved my club more. My sick and twisted addiction that told me I could never change. And I never did.