My Dark Knight (gay biker romance) (Kings of Hell MC Book 2) Page 6

  Elliot’s attention was at high alert, and he calculated if anyone would hear him scream. Mrs. Tepple, his closest neighbor, wasn’t there, and the other trailers were either too far away or inhabited by people who wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if someone flayed Elliot in their backyard.

  “Hey,” he choked out, assessing Martin from head to toe. The guy was even bigger now than he used to be when Elliot last saw him, but even then Martin’s hands had been firm and steady when he held Elliot down as they fucked. Back then, Elliot had no complaints about that, but now he wasn’t sure where he stood with Martin. Their last meeting hadn’t been exactly a bed of roses.

  Martin’s mouth stretched into a smile, and he lowered his head, pushing his way inside the trailer. “It’s been a while.”

  Elliot’s nerves were on high alert, but he closed the door. Maybe Martin, fresh out of jail, was just looking for a place to stay, and had no hard feelings about the way they parted? Elliot didn’t have much, but for what Martin had done for him, he’d share it all.

  “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

  Martin looked back at him and leaned against the kitchenette counter, casually rubbing his bald head. “Why? Do I remind you of your daddy?”

  Elliot made sure to remain out of Martin’s reach for the time being, but he couldn’t tell if his nerves were fear or excitement. He hadn’t had sex in far too long. “No, you’re nothing like him.” It wasn’t exactly true since both men were big, brutal, and went through life like wrecking balls. The difference was that Martin’s violence had only occasionally been aimed at Elliot, only when he was in one of his moods. “It’s just that you weren’t happy when I visited you in jail.”

  Martin sneered. “Didn’t want anyone to wonder why you’d be visiting. Didn’t like your threats either,” he said in a low voice, and a deep shudder trailed down Elliot’s spine. Back when Martin broke up with him during visitation, Elliot threatened to talk about the really bad thing Martin had done. Or rather, why Elliot’s father wouldn’t ever be bothering anyone ever again.

  Elliot swallowed, watching Martin’s expression for any signs of growing anger. Seconds before Martin snapped Elliot’s dad’s neck, he’d seemed perfectly calm. He always seemed collected whenever he wasn’t in the process of putting his fists to use. “I’m sorry. I didn’t really mean that, I was just hurt. I… so much time’s passed, and I haven’t told anyone what you did, have I?”

  Martin grumbled. “I guess you haven’t. You missed me, or have you been slutting around?”

  A familiar tingle of excitement tickled Elliot inside his chest. His thing with Martin had hardly been a normal relationship considering that Martin would only see him at night, away from other people. Martin was in the closet, and who was Elliot to try and force him to come out? They had rarely done much talking, but Martin did listen, and he had saved Elliot from the beating that would have surely ensued after Father walked in on them having sex. Elliot had never seen Martin so furious before, and when Father called Martin a fag, that was his doom.

  Elliot stepped closer. “I missed you.”

  Martin grinned. While not classically handsome, he was strong, and tall, and could lift Elliot up to fuck him against the wall with those powerful arms. “You have beer? I’m dying for some.”

  Elliot smiled back. That was something he did have. Two cans at that. “I’ve got some toast too.” Not much beyond that, some coffee and the cheap cigarettes he sometimes used to stave off hunger. But if Martin were to stay with him, Elliot could figure something out.

  He scooted down to grab a can from his small fridge when Martin’s big palm caressed the back of his head as if he were a p—The countertop dashed for Elliot’s face, and dull pain radiated from his forehead, all the way to his nape. His skull thudded as if it were a shell about to crack and spill its contents to the floor.

  He whined from the pain, unable to tell where the floor and where the ceiling was. Even if he was unable to comprehend what was happening, his body knew it was in danger. He put his arm in front of his face so that the next time Martin tried to slam Elliot’s head against the counter, his forearm served as a buffer.

  In utter panic, he reached for the bottle of vinegar standing nearby and swung it back at Martin. The glass shattered, and Elliot wasn’t yet sure how much damage he’d done, but Martin’s screams were a good sign. As soon as the hand was gone from Elliot’s nape, he tried to squeeze past Martin and sprint for the door, but the large bulk of Martin’s body pushed him farther into the trailer, as if Elliot weighed nothing at all.

  The shattered glass bit into Elliot’s palm, but with adrenaline thudding in his veins he dashed for the one place where he could hide: the bathroom. With Martin spewing obscenities and thrashing around by the entrance, Elliot slid in through the narrow door and into the tiny space, locking the door behind him.

  He pulled out his phone in panic, knowing that it was unlikely the police would reach him fast enough, even if they’d bother. And did he even want to involve the police when he was guilty of obstructing justice by never revealing who killed his father?

  Elliot couldn’t breathe, trapped in the small space as Martin’s booming voice and the sound of crushed glass rang behind the door.

  He desperately scrolled through his phonebook, but the menacingly gentle knock on the door made Elliot choose the one number he could think of.

  Knight.

  [Please come and help me. Quick. I can pay!!!] He finished off with his address just as Martin started slamming his weight into the flimsy door.

  “Come out, you rat! You’ll regret it if you don’t!”

  Elliot curled up and quickly pushed his phone back into the jean pocket, shuddering so violently even his teeth were rattling. “Please, M-Martin. I’d n-never tell anyone,” he whimpered, cowering in the narrow space between the shower and toilet. He briefly thought of using the mop for protection, only to remember he’d left it outside to dry. There was nothing that could protect him from Martin’s wrath, and his world shrank to the size of that narrow door as he waited for the inevitable.

  “Shouldn’t have threatened me back when I was behind bars then! You think you can blackmail me, you shit? You’re going down the same way your dad went! You two will rest together forever.”

  Plywood flew into Elliot’s face as the door first dented, then broke and Martin’s flushed bald head emerged, a huge paw grabbing the air in Elliot’s direction.

  Elliot looked up into the red face, bloodied from the glass cuts, and in that moment, he knew he was as good as dead. Just like Knight had predicted.

  Martin thumped his boot against the floor and abruptly stepped inside, filling the entire space with his presence. “Get up.”

  Elliot trembled all over. Only when he rose did he notice that one of his hands was bleeding from where he’d pressed it against broken glass. It didn’t matter anymore. Maybe complete submission could still save him? Maybe Martin would want sex, or money, or the moldy bread on Elliot’s counter?

  His body instinctively pressed into the corner, but Martin grabbed his arm and tugged on it so hard it felt as if he was close to ripping it out altogether. “Maybe I can still forgive you. Who knows?” he murmured, leaning down to glance into Elliot’s face.

  Was this the opening Elliot needed? Had Martin just wanted to threaten him for fun? Elliot had to fight to keep his teeth from rattling. “I was just angry because I liked you so much. I would never do that again. We could just pretend it never happened.”

  Martin put his palm over Elliot’s mouth and pulled him out of the bathroom in a movement so abrupt something in Elliot’s neck creaked. Stricken by panic, he held on to the thick forearm in hope of more stability.

  “I’m not sure you’re being honest. I can’t trust you for shit after that stunt you pulled at visitation,” Martin said, roughly forcing Elliot to bend over the table, which in turn sent all the cosmetics flying.

  Elliot’s legs turned soft when he half-expected
Martin to pull down his pants, but instead something rough squeezed around his neck. It took him a full second to realize it was a worn leather belt, which tightened around his throat at an alarming rate.

  He tried to grab it, slid his fingers under the strap to loosen it, but it was no use, and his vision was already getting blurry, his lungs stinging with the prickle of invisible needles. If he’d only had the guts to get rid of his father himself, this wouldn’t have been his end.

  Brute force yanked him by the impromptu leash and sent his world into a spin, but instead of flattening against Martin’s powerful chest, Elliot slid off the table and spiralled to the floor. His head smashed against the laminate, and without pressure applied to it, the belt finally loosened around Elliot’s neck, letting him breathe. Once darkness lifted off his vision, he was stunned to see two bodies stumbling against his kitchenette with such force the wonky doors of the upper cupboard fell off.

  He wasn’t sure what he was looking at, still dizzy from the strangling, but cold air was rushing into the trailer through the open door, and his hazy brain was slowly processing the sight.

  Knight came. He responded to the message.

  Knight’s body was smaller than Martin’s overall, but he knew how to use it to his advantage. With his face flushed and eyes sharp as blades, he pulled Martin back, hissing curse words through his teeth. He managed to move Martin all the way to the bedroom area, when Martin freed his arm and repeatedly jammed his elbow into Knight’s stomach.

  Knight’s thick hair covered his face as he folded in two, but just when Elliot thought all hope was lost, Knight grabbed Martin by the balls so hard they might have cracked open. Martin’s shriek tore through the trailer, and Knight pushed his opponent to the floor, landing on him with a vicious sneer. Fists crashed against Martin’s head over and over, and the blows must have confused him enough to keep him from efficiently defending himself. It was as if he’d lost steam, covering himself rather than punching back.

  Seconds ago, Elliot had been calculating how to help without getting in the way but now he sat there on the dirty floor among shards of glass and watched in amazement as Knight unleashed on Martin what he hadn’t been willing to do to Elliot. Every punch was followed by a grunt from Martin, and the way Knight bared his teeth in fury reminded Elliot of the vicious Rottweiler at the Kings of Hell clubhouse.

  Martin didn’t stand a chance against the much more proficient fighter despite having the advantage of size. Another punch from Knight’s powerful fist sent Martin’s skull against the floor, and that was that. He went limp under Knight who stared down at him, breathing hard and still ready to put his hands to use.

  It was only when Martin remained completely still that Knight glanced at Elliot in a way that made his insides flutter. Their gazes locked for what felt like an eternity, and Elliot hoped the moment would never pass until Knight quickly got up and pulled on Martin’s leg just in time for the first signs that his opponent might be waking up.

  Unceremoniously, Knight jumped out of the trailer and hauled the mountainous body behind him, as if it were a sack of potatoes. Something inside Elliot flared with heat, and he gaped at the door, listening to muted threats before Knight walked back in in a storm of wild hair.

  He was heaving and grabbed himself the beer Elliot had earlier put on the counter.

  When their eyes met once more, Elliot couldn’t find his voice.

  Chapter 6

  The guy looked twenty at most. Thin and long-limbed, he watched Knight from underneath a countertop where he sat in a puddle of clear liquid that smelled like aged piss. Shards of glass were everywhere, and some had cut into the guy’s pale flesh as he fought the enormous man who was now gathering his teeth off the ground outside. Judging by the belt still looped around the slender throat and the stranger’s sickly pallor, Knight must have entered the trailer just seconds before the damage done by the choking would have been irreversible.

  Knight took a deep breath and cooled himself with a can of beer grabbed from the counter before he noticed an angry bruise forming in the middle of the stranger’s forehead, beneath sweaty strands of dark hair.

  The guy’s full lips were parted, and he stared at Knight with large eyes reminiscent of lacquered coal, so dark against the background of pale skin. His angular features, with pronounced cheekbones and a sharp jawline made Knight reassess the guy’s age, despite making his eyes seem so big in contrast. The young man stood up, wobbling as if he were about to faint, but he was so tall Knight changed his estimate to around twenty-one years old.

  He was a scarecrow tossed about by cruel wind, but something about his face was magnetic, drawing Knight’s gaze and preventing him from looking away. He was ethereal, with dewy-looking skin, as if he didn’t entirely belong in this world. The guy wouldn’t even blink as he watched Knight back.

  A trickle of blood spilled out of his nostril.

  “Shit,” Knight said and approached him, helping him sit on the padded sofa running along the wall. “Are you okay?” he asked even though the attractive stranger clearly was not. He needed to know if there would soon be any puke to deal with. Wouldn’t be much of a surprise after a blow to the head. The guy was willowy as a skeleton dressed in human skin, and that only made Knight angrier. What kind of man attacked someone who so clearly had no capacity to protect himself against brute force? Knight hoped the beating would teach that fuck outside a lesson that would stay with him forever, unlike the punched-in teeth.

  “I… am,” the stranger said in a raspy voice, still affected by the strangling. “Is he gone?”

  Knight pulled out a pack of tissues and wiped the blood off the tempting lips. From up close the young man’s eyes were brown, but a shade so dark it was close to impossible to discern from black. Now they lacked focus, and their owner was clearly confused about where the ground and where the ceiling were, but Knight pulled closer a fallen stool and sat on it, pushing the cool beer can against the swollen bump on the stranger’s sweaty forehead.

  “The Count asked me to come here. Where is he?”

  The guy stared at Knight from under the can and his features went slack. “What? It’s me.”

  Knight did a double take, completely stunned to now recognize the shape of the Count’s lips. They hadn’t looked remotely as nice with the red lipstick he’d always seen on The Count when he was playing the role of his outrageous persona. But now that Knight knew who he was dealing with, he could see that resemblance was definitely there. He even noticed the half-moon inked under The Count’s eye and hiding under his asymmetrical bangs. The man had the same angular features, with high cheekbones and pronounced brows. Despite the clothes layered on his upper body, his limbs were clearly just as thin as The Count’s.

  But where The Count was a silly white-faced clown in a cheap costume, this guy was attractive in his own right and so clearly in need of help it had Knight’s stomach cramping up. He detested people who used their physical strength against those weaker than them.

  “Fuck. It really is you.”

  The Count put his hand over his face but quickly pulled it away when he realized he was smearing blood all over. “I’m sorry you had to see this. I didn’t know who to call.”

  Knight swallowed, and his eyes glided over the worn interior, which would have been considered to be in a severe state of disrepair even before the fighting trashed its contents. The trailer was bitingly cold, and in fact all the thick layers of fabric The Count wore for warmth might have served as padding and protected him from serious injuries. “I was... in the area. You live here?” he asked, grabbing The Count’s hand and making it hold the beer in place so that he could have a better look at the dated trailer.

  The Count sighed loudly. “Just for now.”

  But Knight expected that was a lie of the same kind as when The Count had lied about his car—the same purple piece of junk that was parked in front of the mobile home. The open fridge offered nothing but one more bottle of beer and half a block of
cheese. The bread on the counter was getting moldy on one side. Knight knew exactly what it all meant, because he used to be the kid who went to school without breakfast and had to have his best friend bring his sneakers for him to P.E. to prevent his mom from selling them.

  “Are you a compulsive liar, or what?”

  The Count groaned and wiped his face with a towel, still holding the can against his forehead. “I didn’t want you to see this, okay? It wouldn’t have mattered if I died, but you came, and… thank you. But it’s so awkward.”

  Knight sighed, watching The Count shudder and lean against the table for support. “Who was that idiot?”

  The Count took a deep breath put down the can, revealing the red bruise. “My ex. He just got out of jail. I thought he wanted to make up or something, but it turns out he didn’t like how things went between us.”

  Knight crooked his head in disbelief and opened the can of beer to soothe his thirst. “Was he always like that?”

  The Count looked up at him, wide-eyed. “No! We used to have fun.” He got down to his knees and started picking up scattered makeup into a plastic bag. When Knight looked at him, it was still hard to believe that this guy was in fact The Count. Where The Count was all theatrics, bright polyester, and exaggerated pride, this guy was so painfully flesh and bone with his bruises and fucked-up ex-boyfriend stories that it was hard to even comprehend how the two blended together.

  “And what? He came here to murder you because of a bad breakup?” asked Knight, somewhat irritated by yet another lie.

  The Count took a shuddery breath and zipped up his makeup bag. “I didn’t think he’d want to see me again. He broke up with me. I moved on. Guess he didn’t.” He looked around the trailer with a miserable twist to his lips.

  Knight rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe The Count was still trying to somehow whiten the fucker’s name. He grabbed the guy’s bleeding hand and removed two small shards of glass. “You’re not right in the head.”