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14 - Benji
SareeYoung love!
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Flying Death 15 - Circus
~Punch’s Point of View~ “Talk you piece of shit,” I yell as I kick a worthless loser in the gut. We’d held a sting of sorts, Dozer didn’t like it exactly but he told me to “straighten shit out,” so I had a loose interpretation of that. I was gonna do what I wanted regardless, he probably figured as much. I found out one of the shy pups at my boxing club, a kid we called Pudge, was getting sexually abused by his mom’s boyfriend. He confided in me, and I knew it wasn’t easy for him. The poor kid thought it was his fault and I wasn’t having that. But what I uncovered in the course of trying to take out the trash, was something far worse. More men. Too many. Only I didn’t have names, I had shadows. Well, I hunt shadows and I never fucking lose. And NOT when this happens in my town. “I tell you anything, then I’m as good as dead,” the guy mumbles, then spits blood. I laugh right out loud as Missile shakes his head. He was a good man to have as a back-up, or maybe I had him tag along
Flying Death 16 - Labels
~Hazel’s Point of View~ I blow out a hard breath as I kick some rocks in the driveway. He’s not coming. I already know it. “Honey? You're still here,” I hear, as my mom trots out the front door in her robe, looking mildly crazy with bedhair I don't want to even think about. “I can call Hector to come get me but he may already be at school. I can’t believe Punch is gonna make me late for my first day,” I whine, knowing fully well mom would go off. She’d taken the step of calling him last night to confirm, letting him know it wasn’t up for negotiation. We were BOTH going to school, together. So he was definitely doing this on purpose. Low, even for him I felt. Just as mom put her hand on my shoulder the rumble of a motorcycle came to life in the distance. On purpose. Late. Deliberate! Sure enough Punch pulls into the driveway a minute later. No backpack, no nothing. Just his leather Flying Death vest and a black hoodie underneath it. In January, in two degrees. No real coat, ho
Flying Death 17 - Unravelled
~Punch’s Point of View~ I’d seen Hector and Hazel all over the fucking place today. Cozy. Holding hands. He even kissed her at lunch after they made eyes at each other literally the entire time. Mick was ready to rip me apart over it. I grabbed some random cheerleader for head but bailed at the last minute when she stuck her hand in my pants. Could’ve gotten it too. I’m such a bitch. Goddess help me! When shit gets heavy for me and things start to feel out of control, normally I face it head on. Grab some female and fuck it out. Get in the ring and really fucking punch somebody. I mean ... I'm Punch, it's what I do. I fix whatever it is. But every damn thing about the Hazel situation is different. What can I even do? So here I am, actually fucking participating in gym class. Running around the track for over an hour, trying to get out my frustrations. “Mitchell! What are you doing? Class is inside,” I hear, as I looked back to see the teacher, also the wrestling coach at the d
Flying Death 18 - Lock Down
~Hazel’s Point of View~ “Hmmm,” I moan, as Hector explores up my back, even running his fingers under my bra. His hands are so big and warm. When he holds me and we’re lost in kisses, I feel so safe. This is about the furthest we’ve gone so far, and I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out on him. It’s more than obvious he wants more, I can see his damn hard on through his pants. He’s always hard when we mess around and when I leave him high and dry I know he has to be pissed. I mean I've jerked him off, but he hasn't gotten my mouth. I’m not even remotely blind to the way females look at him, even with my hand in his… They still gawk and yeah it makes me crazy. The pressure to compete with them is getting to me, even if it's only a war in my own head. I’m always wondering if he’s not getting sex from me, is he getting it somewhere else? When he tugs playfully at my shirt, trying to lift it off, I don’t push him away. I don’t tell him no. He pulls my blouse over my head then pu
Flying Death 19 - Sleepover
~Punch’s Point of View~ “Stop! I don’t know anything else,” the male squeals, as I stand back and admire my handiwork. I’m a sick fuck, but something more than pride swells in me when I see the hourglass carved on this bastard’s back, over his pack tattoo. Out of time. I know exactly how deep you can cut someone and where, to get the most pain but always ensure they won’t bleed out. This bastard ain’t getting off that quick. It isn’t at all lost on me that there will most definitely be consequences for taking out a patched member of Viuda Negra. Though we’re pretty confident we can put the blame at the feet of Black Fog’s pack, maybe. “Tsk. Not what I hear Oscar. Word is you were one of the males who did the robbery,” Missile taunts, waving a butcher knife around. “Maybe we need to send a couple fingers to his little girlfriend? You still fucking that little 16 year old pup,” I say, licking my lips. Mick stirs in my mind, the smell of blood too thick in the air. The fear in o
Flying Death 20 - Sick
~Punch’s Point of View~ “He’s not answering my texts, and when I called him it said his number isn't in service. Did… Did he block me,” she sobs, and my gut tightens. Mick practically does a backflip, maybe Hector is doing my job for me. “Hey, hey come on. Don’t cry into your tomato soup and grilled cheese,” I say, chomping on mine. I slipped the older lunch lady a $100 bill at the beginning of the school year and she always gives me two lunches when I actually show up. I’m a growing boy who needs his calories. Her hand visibly shakes when she tries to eat some soup and I grab a napkin to catch the spill. My body only wants to fuck up someone for making her upset, seeing her cry messes with me. It always has. But in this situation, it’s actually the best thing for her. “Hey Haze, what’s wrong,” a female says, sitting down next to her. “Ohh Kylie,” she sobs, wrapping her arms around the girl and bawling into her neck. “Female shit,” I say, trying to look macho and tough. I quickly
Flying Death 21 - Oh, Hello
~Hazel’s Point of View~ I gape in horror as Mags calmly sews a new patch on Travis’ vest while everyone eats breakfast around her. Like it’s just any other day. “Reeve.” Tears instantly pool in my eyes as I cover my mouth and spin to run out of the dining hall. I make it to our room and the floodgates burst, My eyes move on their own to a picture on a shelf. I blink rapidly, trying to focus on it. Travis is standing behind me, it’s about three years ago and we’re at an amusement park. He was trying to convince me to get on a roller coaster but I was terrified. I went though, and he held my hand the entire time. I felt like I could do it, because I had him. My gut sinks thinking about all our sweet moments. All the times he was just what I needed him to be and nothing else. Not this larger than life killing machine. This beast who jumps however high my dad asks him to. I know it's for the good of the pack, of our territory. But that is only a small comfort. After Roddy’s “heart at
Flying Death 22 - The Good Son
~Punch’s Point of View~ *We need to get home, something feels weird, I don’t know what it is, but everything telling me to get home,* Mick says, panting. It’s gonna be damn near sunrise in a couple hours, and we’ve been out here running til our legs burned. Doze is being a dick about letting me go too far from the packhouse, but I don’t want to be at the there because I can’t fuck my adopted sister who is in my bed and hurt because I didn’t get to her in time. I also can’t take my frustrations out about losing Roddy on the piece of shit in our basement who likely is helping to funnel drugs into my territory. So all around, going home does NOT sound appealing. So I’ve been running my wolf for hours, outside of Dozer and Mona’s house. Afraid to go to the place that’s been my haven and sanctuary now for years. Might even just crash here. I also got some news about my fight that I’m not sure how to handle, what to make of it. I don’t like fighting males that I don’t feel are in my lea
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