Sons of Mayhem 3: The Full Force (5 page)

I
sat
on the edge of the bed with the cell phone pressed against my ear. It began to ring and I waited for the voicemail to kick in. It was 1 a.m. and I was calling the work number of my boss to let him know I wouldn’t be in tomorrow. I had his cell number, but I definitely didn’t want to be calling that at this time of night. I’d considered sending a text message, but that didn’t seem professional enough.

“John Wickham,” he answered breezily.

Shit. Why the hell was he still at work at this time? Didn’t he ever sleep? I was so shocked I almost went to hang up, but he’d know it was me that called. Stupid modern technology and its caller IDs.

“It’s uh… I mean… Hi.” Shit, get it together. Try again. “It’s Ava. I’m sorry I can’t make it in tomorrow.”

“I see. How was the show?”

Shit. How’d he know about that? The only person I’d told was Carol. I let out a silent sigh. Carol. She was the closest thing I had to a friend at work but she was way too much of a gossip for her own good.

“The show was fine. It’s my sister. She’s in the hospital here. I need to take a personal day.”

“Another personal day? Okay Ava. See you soon.”

Before I could respond he hung up.
Another
personal day? I’d taken two previously early in the year. Once when Lily had her wisdom teeth removed, and then again for her high school graduation. Was I that bad?

“Fuck him,” said Lonnie. He had walked up to the edge of the bed while I was on the phone and was now offering me a cold can of beer.

Shit, he looked
good
. Not good if you’re into pretty boys in designer clothes, but good if you were into rougher, tougher,
real
men, Blue jeans, a white t-shirt, workboots, tats up his muscled arms. A lot of people think of Hugh Grant when they think of hot English guys. Not me. Nuh uh. Jason Statham, that’s more my kind. Lonnie was like a taller, more tattooed, younger Jason Statham. Well, that might be exaggerating it a bit. But not much. He looked
good
. The epitome of the cheeky good looking bastard bad boy.

I reached forward and grabbed the can from his hand, popped the top and took a greedy swallow immediately. Lonnie sat down next to me. I didn’t mind.

“Is your boss a bastard, too?” he asked.

“Yes. What do you mean, ‘too’?”

“Well you were quite insistent that
I
was a bastard earlier.”

I loved that accent. Loved it. It wasn’t one of the higher class (
posh
I think they said) accents, it was rougher. Harder but perhaps more honest.

“Well, you
were
a bastard earlier.”

He took a sip of beer as he moved his head closer to mine. So close. Hot breath on my cheek.

“I was, was I?”

I nodded. My heart was racing, my tiredness fading. What was going on with me. Was I going to do this, I wondered. Could I? With my sister in hospital I probably shouldn’t but, goddammit, I was just so fucking sick of everything lately. Sick of being a ‘mother’, sick of sucking up to my boss, sick of the daily grind. Shit. I just wanted to forget it all, to lose myself in something else. Someone else.

I haven’t had a proper relationship in years. Maybe never, actually, highschool doesn’t really count, right? But I’d gone on a few dates and sometimes they ended up in one night stands. I never wanted to commit; not because I was scared, but I was either too busy or they were simply not right. But sometimes I went all the way. I needed the release that only a good round of naked wrestling can bring.

So, to answer his question. “A complete,” I grabbed his chin with my free hand, “and utter bastard.”

I’d made my decision and suddenly our cold lips pressed against each other in furious energy, quickly turning hot as the chilling effect of the beer was overwhelmed by the heat of our blood. One night of stress relief was all I needed. Just one night.

Two half full cans of beer tumbled to the floor and then he was pushing me back onto the bed, his strong jean-clad thighs straddling me as my tight t-shirt slipped up and he ran powerful hands over my skin, not stopping, not shy, straight under my bra and I gasped and yanked at the back of his head pulling our lips back together as his fingers squeezed my aching breasts, hard nipples pressed into his tough hands.

There’s something about doing it in a hotel room instead of a regular bed. And there’s something about doing it with a guy you hardly know. And there’s something about doing it after a night of joy, terror, and crazed adrenaline. And then there’s something about the guy being dangerous, being rough, being tatted and being English. Any one of those things can turn a regular occasion into a night of wildness, but put it all together? You’re in for a wild ride.

Clothes disappeared and he threw me further up the bed so we were on it proper instead of half hanging off the edge. It had been too long since I’d had a man, and after years of looking after Lily, when I did find a man, I wanted him to look after me, to just take me and do me and release all the stress and worry I put myself through.

Lonnie was just the man for the job. He had enough bastard in him to do what he wanted, but not so much that it wasn’t what I wanted too.

In the late of the night there was only me and him, two hot and hungry bodies slick with sweat and excitement. The fears and worries of earlier faded into the inky blackness of post-midnight and all that was left was me grasping him, grasping his thick and oh-so-hard shaft while our tongues intertwined voraciously, never quite getting enough contact, enough heat, always hungry for more, more, more.

First he had fingers inside me while I squeezed and pumped him, my movements coming without thought, without consideration, doing only what felt right and natural. Pure animal instinct of two humans running on pure lust and adrenaline. Thick and strong, powerful and careful he teased me with his fingers but it wasn’t enough. I grabbed at his wrist and he knew what I wanted and removed himself from me. Two strong hands on my thighs, spreading them, forcing me open, making me willing.

I stretched out my arms to my sides, grabbing at the sheets. With arms and legs spread I was open as I could be, offering myself to him, now kneeling above me. He held himself just above me and I could feel the heat of his cock just a whisper above my desperate achingness.

“What am I?” he whispered down at me.

I thrust my hips up, trying to get at him, to get him inside me.

“A bastard! You’re a bastard!” I whispered hoarsely up at him. And he was. But this time he was the good kind of bastard.

He pushed my thrusting hips back down by pressing on my thighs and stared me in the eyes as he finally pushed himself deep, deep inside me.

“Oh fuuuu--”

Had anything ever in the world felt like this? I couldn’t believe it had otherwise this would be all anyone ever did. That powerful man above me, pressing himself in thick and deep made my body shake and moan in a way that will be forever etched in my soul.

“Am I still a bastard?” he whispered in my ear.

I bit my lip and nodded unable to speak but gasping each time he thrust into me again. I needed him in me harder, deeper, faster so I grasped at his back, nails digging in and raking his hot slick skin making red marks across the tattoos I could half-sense through my fingertips in the aching darkness of the room.

My scratching encouraged him and then he was forcing himself ever-harder into me shaking the bed mightily with each thrust and then I was moaning, then gasping then shrieking and lights exploded in front of my closed eyes, my body quaked and shook and I sucked in air as countless muscles spasmed and I lay there panting helplessly, spent for the moment.

My vision returned and I realized my legs were wrapped tight around him, my calves gripping his tight muscular ass as I encouraged him on, encouraged him to finish too and when he did it was with a guttural roar of triumph.

We lay panting, hot and wet with sweat and more and I found myself wondering why the air conditioning wasn’t on.

“Bloody hell,” he said between deep breaths.

I tried it on for size. “Bloody hell to you too.”

He laughed.

“What?”

“You haven’t got the accent for it.”

“Do too.”

“Nope. Sorry. It sounds ridiculous.”

“Bastard,” I said again and pulled his head down to my shoulder. “Bastard,” I whispered in his ear as a tear rolled down my cheek and my voice cracked.

I slept well that night. Some might say too well, considering my little sister was lying in a hospital bed recovering from a drug overdose. But shit, sometimes I need a break, and thanks to the limey bastard on top of me that night I got one. After what Lily had put me through I deserved a bit of me time, and the fact that
me
time came with a hot biker was a bonus.

Hell, it would only be one night anyway, wouldn’t it? A hot and heavy night of passion then off we’d go, me back to my daily grind and him off to do whatever bikers do when they’re not playing security guard.

W
hat
. A. Thrill!

I
t was
such an honor to be there at the
first ever
Full Force show in the USA.

The guys were oh-my-god-so-much-better live. And if you’ve listened to their album (you have, RIGHT??) you’ll know they rock
ass
recorded. But live? God I just wanted to climb up on the stage and eat them up. And that’s ONLY because of the music. I definitely don’t have a crush on any of them. Nuh uh.

The energy! The power! And ohmygod the band. Gorgeous Johnny Tranquil and his angelic voice. Cocky Neal (he can get
cocky
with me any time he wants, ahem), Sultry Si and the red-haired maniac Rabbie on the drums.

And the accents! They could just read to me for hours and I’d be content. Hey Full Force, if you’re reading this: Please come to my bedroom tonight and read me stories! Feel free to crash with me in my single bed as well if you get tired… ahem…

Check back later for a full report, and check back tomorrow to find out the next show’s time and location!

Remember, RockIt Girl is the ONLY legitimate source for Full Force news. I got the hook up, yo!

L
ove and kisses Force Fans
.

x
xxRockItGirlxxx

I
blinked
and slowly came to, feeling surprisingly good. I guess I hadn’t drunk much the night before. The question was, why the hell not? I was on tour with a rock band wasn’t I? I went to prop myself up but there was something heavy on my arm.

Oh yeah. The girl with the slapping hand. I winced as I stretched a little and felt my back burning. The girl with the slapping hand
and
the scratching nails. Christ, she was a feisty one. I could get used to that. My movement disturbed her and a moment later she too was blinking, looking up at me.

“Shit, I’ve got to get to the hospital.”

I nodded. “Yep, you do. She’ll be getting out soon.” I looked down at her bare breasts. “Shame though.”

She cocked her head at me. “Guess it is.”

“Probably got an hour or two,” I said, looking down at her body.

“Probably…”

One of her hands slid to me, grabbing my morning glory. I let out a slight moan as her hand slid up and down, once, twice, then stopped.

“But best not to risk it.”

I let out a moan of disappointment as she released me and hopped out of the bed. A moment later her hot arse was waving goodbye to me with every swing of her hips as she headed through the bathroom door clutching the clothes I’d ripped off her the night before.

“Bastard!” I called out to her, and all I got in response was amused laughter which disappeared when it was replaced by the sound of rushing water hitting expensive tiles as she turned the shower on full.

With frustrated difficulty I forced my pants on and after dressing I headed out of the room to see what was going on.

I was greeted by a scene of devastation.

How the fuck had I slept through what was going on out here. I glanced back at the door I’d just come through and gave it an idle rap with my knuckles. Damn the soundproofing was good.

The door opposite mine opened and a familiar face appeared. He winced as he looked down the hall.

“Looks like they had a good time, huh?” said Jase.

“Yeah, sure does. Hell we always did, back in the day. Nothing’s changed I guess.”

The expensive carpet was littered with empty cans and bottles ranging from cheap beer to medium priced whisky and expensive bottles of champagne. There was an overturned room service trolley and a giant silver banqueting soup tureen that was filled with a thin liquid that was not any kind of soup you’d find in a recipe book.

“Where is everyone?” I asked. The trail of destruction was jarring against the absence of people. They must have been there just moments before.

“Let’s go find out, brother.”

“The suites,” I said with a nod of my head toward the fire exit at the other end.

I kicked a half crushed can of Milwaukee Best in front of me as we walked down, kicking it around an obstacle course made up not just of other drink receptacles but burger wrappers, pizza boxes, and a large watermelon.

“This should be good,” I said as I pushed open the door of the suite Neal had been in the night before.

Inside was a scene of quiet, almost meditative, chaos. As well as a heavily littered floor the walls had been drawn on with sharpies, lights had been ripped out, paintings had been removed, tables had been flipped, ashtrays had been filled and countless pints of liquids had been spilled.

But it wasn’t just garbage everywhere, the place was also littered with people. There must have been twenty people in there, lying on sofas, beds, slumped against walls. Some fully clothed, others partly or fully undressed. There were band members, bikers, roadies, groupies and more.

“Ho-ly shit,” Jase said.

“Bloody hell.”

“Welcome, gentlemen” said Chad Chad Price, his voice slurring, as he stepped from a walk-in-closet. He tossed a bag at me which I snatched out of the air by instinct.

“What the fuck’s going on?” asked Jase.

“They’re k-holed,” I said.

“That’s right. They have entered the glorious place we know as the bubble and are reaching new levels of consciousness and higher planes of existence.”

“More like new planes of bloody
un
consciousness.”

Chad frowned in confused disappointment, turned on his heel and went back into the closet sliding the door shut behind him.

“What
is
this place?” asked a guy I recognized as one of the Rager’s prospects. He was ignored.

“Want some?” I asked Jase, waving the bag at him.

He looked around the room with raised eyebrows and gave a laugh. “I told Nicole I was going to get donuts and coffee.”

“She wouldn’t be very impressed, would she?” I grinned.

“Not very, brother, not very.”

“Are they going to be alright?”

I shrugged. “Probably. Except those dumb fucks have another show tonight.”

Jase wandered over to the center of the formerly magnificent room and flipped a guy in leather over with his boot.

“What the fuck man, I ain’t orange,” said our prospect BK as Jase peered down at him.

We both laughed. A confused look crossed BK’s face and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

“We’ve got a show too.”

Jase nodded. “We know where at yet?”

“Ask the guy in the closet.”

This gongshow of a tour had been designed to create social buzz. The way it worked was either a work of genius or a work of dangerous stupidity. Since it seemed Chad was the ‘brains’ behind the operation I was leaning towards the latter.

They were calling this the Secret Tour. The tour itself wasn’t a secret, but the locations of the shows were. The plan was to create massive social media buzz on each day of the tour by ensuring an avalanche of tweets, Facebook posts, and celebrity and music blogs as each day’s location was announced just a few hours before the show. It was to be a rapid-fire series of one night shows, mostly one after the other with almost no days off.

The initial plan had been to cover the West coast and the Southwest until someone realized that was insanity - too much bloody driving and too risky. So they were doing their shows all in Southern California - though they’d be live on YouTube every day too of course.

“Fuck it. I’m going to find something to eat. You coming?”

I shook my head. “I’ll make sure the band’s alright. And try and find out where the fuck we’re going.”

“Take it easy,” I said as we grasped hands.

“Take her sleazy. Later brother.”

“Laters.”

After Jase had left I slid open the door of the closet Chad had disappeared back into. It was mostly empty except for hotel bathrobes and a couple of unopened suitcases. That and its two occupants. A giggling huge breasted woman who looked to be in her late forties and Chad Chad who looked up from the huge breast he’d been sucking.

“Holy shit, Chad.”

“It’s Chad Chad and watch your mouth. There’s a lady present.”

The woman let out a guffaw. “Lady?” she asked, followed by a screeching
haw haw
.

What do you say to that? Not much. So I ignored it. Got back down to business. “We need to know where we’re going, and you really need to sort the band out. Get the fuck out of here and start managing shit. They’re out of their goddamn minds out there and I ain’t here to babysit them.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry. It’s all under control. Remember who you’re taunting to here, buddy.”

“Taunting to?”

“You know what I med. Talking to. It’s Chad Chad Price the triple threat. I get things
done
.”

“Triple pratt more like. Whatever. I’m out. You’ve got my mobile number, let me know when you get your shit together. We don’t want you accusing us of being
late
again. Alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

The woman grabbed Chad by his greasy hair and yanked it back down to her breast. I took that as my cue to leave. Fuck all this shit. I decided to go find some food before our security meeting at 1pm. In theory we’d find out where the hell we were going then - if anyone showed. If the prospects weren’t sorted out by then they’d be in some shit.

I shook my head. I should have known the
Force
would be trouble. People don’t change. They just get more and more fucked.