Feel My Pain (Curse Bound 1)

Was this what had attracted Zane here? The danger of who Roach was or had been?

“Sure. Wanna see it? I’m no pussycat just because I lost my club.” He shoved some old clothes off a box and reached inside. The cold steel fit into his hand with ease, even though he hardly ever left this room armed anymore, and as he stood, showing off the gun, a light went on in Zane’s eyes.

“Can I hold it?” he asked after a moment of silence that heated up the tension beyond the boiling point. Roach’s skull was about to pop.

He stepped closer. “What do I get in return?” He made sure the safety was on without having to look at the weapon. He’d be giving it to Zane, even if the bargain only included a kiss. He didn’t keep the bullets inside anyway, so there was no risk of Zane accidentally hurting himself.

Zane’s Adam’s apple trailed up and down, a living being under skin bearing traces of dark stubble. Roach wanted to close his mouth on that throat and kiss it until the flesh turned pink and Zane’s cum splashed them both.

“You get to kiss my hand before you give it to me,” Zane said softly, reaching out as if he were a medieval monarch expecting worship.

Roach grabbed the hand greedily and licked it from palm to thumb, his eyes not straying from Zane’s. He’d never been so desperate for another man. His life was a hot mess, but this one thing he understood, and was hard for it already.

Zane’s hand felt as clammy as his, which he didn’t expect, but maybe there was something about him that stirred this man’s juices? Maybe he’d get the night of his life and create memories he’d cling to forever.

With a little smirk, he passed Zane the gun. This was his asset. Zane wanted to fuck a biker, and Roach wouldn’t deny him. He could even stay in the cut if that was what Zane wanted.

“Knock yourself out.”

The heavy chunk of steel looked out of place in beautiful hands more accustomed to creating music than violence, but Zane’s face lost its smile, his eyes darkening as he frowned, sliding his finger along the top of the barrel. Roach was about to step in, do the whole thing where he’d press his body to Zane’s from behind and show him how to hold a handgun, but any and all ideas evaporated as if he’d been splashed with liquid nitrogen when Zane stepped back and squared his shoulders, pointing the muzzle straight at Roach’s chest.

“Not so brave now, huh?”

Roach squinted. Had he removed the bullets? Was he sure? “It’s not a game, Zane. The thing’s real.”

The teasing was over. Roach had seen Zane from behind a colorful, sparkly veil, but it had now dropped, and the gray eyes were no longer seductive, lips no longer invited him close.

Had the whole evening been about… this?

“Yeah, I know. I’m gonna finish what I started,” Zane said in a voice that sounded too low for him, as if it were dropping into a hollow space where Roach would soon land too on a bunch of rusty nails.

He raised his hands in surrender, but his blood pumped faster for all the wrong reasons. “Are you high?”

Zane swallowed, and in the faint light his wild mane betrayed that he was shaking slightly, regardless of the bold scowl twisting his handsome features. “I’ve never been more sober. I thought I got all of you, but you really are like a cockroach.”

His voice sounded raw, as if it were dragging over sharp stones, but his hands squeezed the firearm with intent to kill.

Roach took half a step back, his whole body sagging. “What are you saying?”

Zane’s teeth shone in his tanned face. “You thought I was just some helpless piece of meat? That I’d just let it go? Well, you have another thing coming! I roasted them all, and I’ll do the same to you, motherfucker!”

Roach’s brain scrambled when he saw Zane in new colors. He couldn’t help the feeling that there could be a bullet in that gun, and that bullet might send him straight to biker hell. “You set fire to the clubhouse?” he rasped.

Zane smiled, but there was no joy in that expression. Satisfaction—yes, but also copious amounts of anger and disappointment. “Bet you’re sorry now you hadn’t let me make that stupid wallet thing up to you, huh? How much money was in that thing anyway, that you thought it deserved what you’ve done? I kept fucking asking myself what kind of cash is a fortune to someone like you!”

Roach glanced at the gun, but what did he have to lose? His life was shit anyway, and for all he knew, the thing was empty. “It’s the principle that mattered,” he said through gritted teeth. “You can’t treat people like shit.”