Sex & Mayhem 01 Road of No Return (27 page)

Zak threw down his sketchbook and rushed to the door with a wide smile. He was happy to be dressed properly, with his hair down. But it wasn’t Stitch who smiled at him when he opened the door.

Cox gave him a curt nod. “Hi Zak, is Larsen in?” he asked, but it was the sight of the other cop next to him that made Zak’s eyes go wide. The guy had a massive police dog with him. Versay was already trying to push through Zak’s legs to run out and greet the buff German shepherd, but Zak pulled the door shut behind him, leaving the furry pest in despite its whining.

“No, why? Is something wrong, officer?” he asked as carefree as he could, even though his stomach became a tangled web of thorns. What was going on? Were they suspecting Stitch of dealing drugs?

“We need to speak to him. He agreed to talk and then disappeared. Would you know where he is?” said the other policeman in a rich baritone.

Zak shrugged, hoping he was good enough of an actor to give a believable performance. Not to mention that he was hoping the dog wasn’t about to smell his weed-scented fingers. “Sorry, no idea. You could come by later.”

“Thank you, we will. Could you give us a call when he’s in?” Cox asked in a deadpan voice. He probably knew what the answer would be.

“Why are you looking for him?” Zak asked back, hoping they’d forget to repeat the question.

“I’m afraid we can’t disclose that,” said the other officer, and Zak wished the guy weren’t here, because he was sure Cox would actually give him some insight into Stitch’s wrongdoings.

He straightened up and leaned back against the door. “Well, if you can’t tell me anything then I don’t see a reason to spy on him,” he said with a straight face. “The government already has too much surveillance power over its citizens,” he said to make his stance seem more legit.

Cox, who actually knew him well enough to recognize the bluff, raised his eyebrows. “Er… We’ll be on our way, Zak.”

“Sure, it’s been nice to meet you,” said Zak with a wide smile and popped open the door, pushing in through the crack to prevent Versay from socializing with the wrong crowd. At least the beast was happy to see
him
. He patted the dog's side, squeezed the elongated, fluffy mohawk, and walked all the way to the kitchen. He got himself a glass of milk and returned to the sofa, where he’d left his phone. He needed to see Stitch ASAP.

But before he could make the call, he heard the backdoor slam, and Versay ran toward the rattling in the kitchen. He dropped the phone and rushed to the noise. “Stitch, is that you?” Zak hissed, walking in with his heart in his throat.

In the kitchen, Stitch was just about done stuffing some bag into the breadbox,
and opened the cupboard under the sink to fit in a piece of machinery that made Zak think of the post-apocalyptic shooter game he once played.

“Hey,” Stitch huffed, barely catching a breath.

Zak raised his hands, air going through his windpipe at an agonizing speed. “What the fuck is that?”

Stitch finally looked back at him, trying to push the concoction of shotgun and gas canister under the sink. “It’s… It’s a flamethrower,” he finished flatly after a moment of hesitation. Zak knew that voice all too well. It was Stitch trying to come up with a lie and not being able to on the spot.

“No,” he said through gritted teeth, “I won’t have shit like this in my house. What’s in the breadbox?”

“It’s just for the night,” Stitch assured him and shut the cupboard, ignoring the other question.

Zak walked past him and opened the lid of the breadbox, and it seemed that all blood was draining south from his head. There was a large, mean-looking gun next to fresh sliced bread.

“Be careful!” Stitch rushed up to him and closed the breadbox. He stood between it and Zak as if he wanted to protect the firearm. “It’s all fine.”

Zak shook his head, clawing his fingers in the air. “No, it’s not! I just had cops asking about you. They had a giant fucking dog with them!”

“Fuck. Are they gone?” Stitch asked as if it was all normal. It was dawning on Zak that he sure as hell was an accomplice. “They have no business with this shit, flamethrowers are legal.”

Zak pinched the base of his nose, trying his best to contain his anger. “Get this shit out of my house. I mean it. You promised me you won’t get me involved, remember?”

Stitch did a double-take. “I need to wrap stuff up, I can’t just ignore what’s happening. And… this is
our
house.”

Zak groaned. “On paper, it’s mine, which means if they find some illegal shit in here, it’s gonna be on me, do you understand that?” He stepped closer to Stitch and poked him in the chest. “I’ve been patient enough with you disappearing and coming home fucking wounded, don’t you think?”

“Cox got a permit to search the club. This needs to stay here till tomorrow. Day after tops.” Stitch inhaled deeply, his eyes dark.

“No.” Zak crossed his arms on his chest. “I don’t care where it goes, but you’re not keeping it here.”

“Baby, you need to help me out here. This stuff needs to be kept somewhere safe. No one will get a warrant to search your house.” Stitch cupped Zak’s face and looked into his eyes.

Zak trembled with anger and pushed him away. “Don’t you ‘baby’ me. I don’t want this shit in my house, end of story. You will
not
get me involved in this!”

Stitch gritted his teeth, his blond hair in a tangled mess. “So forget you ever saw it.”

“I will, once you get it out of the house. Don’t make me repeat myself,” growled Zak, kicking the cupboard. “And why would you even need a flamethrower, huh? You want to burn down another house?”

Stitch’s frown deepened. “What the fuck is wrong with you today? I just need a bit of leeway for us to finish business with the Nails. It’s not gonna affect you. I can’t bail on my brothers, Zak.”

That was it. Zak pushed past him and reached for the breadbox, but Stitch grabbed his hand in an iron grip.

“The fuck are you doing? Don’t touch it!”

Zak saw red and pushed him away with his whole body weight. He grasped the breadbox and threw it out the open window. A dull snap outside made him freeze, subconsciously expecting pain, but nothing hurt. He was all right. “Fuck...”

“Are you mental?” Stitch yelled at him and slapped him hard right in the forehead. He ran out the backdoor, probably to get the gun.

Zak stepped back, blinking at the thudding in his skull, and looked up, shocked that Stitch would actually hit him. He'd done it once, when he discovered him in bed with Cox, but that had been different. “You piece of shit...” he muttered, staring at the open door.

“What?” Stitch hissed at him like a snarling dog and picked up the breadbox with care.

“You fucking hit me! The hell!” Zak ducked for the flamethrower but stopped with his hand over it when a vision of his kitchen going up in flames flashed through his mind like a bullet train.

Stitch rushed back into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him and gently put the gun on the counter. “You threw my fucking gun out!”

“Because you wouldn’t listen. Take this out. I fucking mean it, Stitch.” Zak swallowed and shook his head. “I can’t believe you hit me.”

“I can’t believe you’re being such a cunt about this shit when I need some help.” Stitch watched Zak’s every move, all tense and ready to bite.

Zak narrowed his eyes even as his fists curled by his sides. “
I
am a cunt?”

“At the moment? Yes.” Stitch looked out the window, but then right back to Zak.

“Fuck you.” Zak bit the inner side of his cheek, doing his best not to lash out.

“Are you done?” Stitch asked with that voice that meant business.

Zak could hardly believe the bastard wasn’t budging. “I’m telling you, you can’t keep this here. This is the last time I’m telling you this,” he said after counting to ten in his mind. This was getting ridiculous.

“Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do?” Stitch spread his arms. “Throw it out when I’m sleeping?” A smirk so mean-spirited curled up his lips that Zak actually took a step back. This was weird. Zak swallowed hard, unsure what to do.

“I could ask Cox to check my fucking kitchen sink because I know shit about plumbing,” he uttered in the end, challenging Stitch with a deep frown. It didn’t sound as loud and threatening as he’d like to. And he would never actually do that, but he wanted to give the fucker a taste of his own medicine.

It must have put the message across, because Stitch grabbed the gun off the counter with a stern face, put the safety on, and pushed it into the inner side of his hoodie. “Why don’t you fuck him while you’re at it, huh?”

Zak sighed, squeezing and opening his fists. “You know I’m not gonna sleep with him again. All I want is for you to honor our agreement about not bringing this kind of shit home. It’s still the same deal as two months ago.”

“And I usually don’t! I told you there’s a shitload of heat on us today. But you have to throw a hissy fit about it like a little bitch. You call fucking Cox if you want, I’m out of here.” Stitch walked over to the sink and pulled out the scary-looking flamethrower.

“You ungrateful son of a bitch,” muttered Zak through a deep breath he was taking. He was so deflated that all he wanted was to take a nap with Versay.

“You have no idea what I have to deal with, and you won’t even support me with a little thing like this!” Stitch covered the flamethrower with a large black bag.

Zak shook his head. “You don’t
have to
do anything. You just won’t stop.”

“This shit doesn’t just stop overnight. I’ve made a commitment.” Stitch put the bag over his back and poked Zak’s temple like he wanted to perforate the skin and give Zak an impromptu lobotomy. “Have a think about that. Commitment. You help out your man when he needs it.”

Zak pushed Stitch’s hand away with more force than he had intended. He didn’t want to deal with this anymore. He felt... used and hurt by Stitch’s demanding behavior, by the pressure he was trying to apply to him, by the manipulative sweet-talking. He just wanted Stitch to leave him alone. “Come back when you want to apologize.”

Stitch just gave him the most brooding look and walked out the backdoor without a goodbye. He didn’t even turn around.

Zak stared at the floor in front of him, unable to put into words what he was feeling. Slowly, he walked back to the door and locked it both with the key and sliding bolt.

“Versay, you want a treat?” he asked the empty kitchen, resting his hands on the counter, but the dog ignored him, so he slid to the chair like dead weight. He couldn’t believe what had just happened.

A flamethrower? In his house? He couldn’t believe how vicious Stitch had been when he didn’t get what he wanted. Even remembering those angry eyes was making Zak’s stomach throb. What had he got himself into?

The empty, quiet house gave no answer whatsoever.

The scorching heat and all-consuming flames were exactly what Stitch needed to somehow burn the anger charring inside of him. As he walked along with the flamethrower, leaving the field of marijuana to become ashes and coal, peace came back to him, even if slowly. He couldn’t wrap his mind around Zak not wanting to help him, but it was the threat of police, especially Cox, that threw Stitch over the fence of annoyance into a sea of berserk. The betrayal was so deep Stitch didn’t want to see Zak’s face for a while.

“Burn it all the fuck down!” he heard Gator yelling from behind. The words were followed by a mad cackle. Stitch didn’t need to be advised on that. Burning something to the ground was exactly what he felt like doing tonight.

“Burn, motherfucker,” Stitch muttered to himself through the white mask as he threw another portion of liquid fire on the plants.

The lights were dancing over the walls of the large warehouse in the middle of nowhere. It was such a beautiful carnage, smelling sweet, of pot and gasoline, and Stitch couldn’t take his eyes off the flames that were already making his skin burn like after a whole day of sunbathing without any protection. Blood was soaring in his veins, coursing under the skin only to return back to his innards, cleansed by the fire. It was such an exhilarating moment that he stopped to smell and sense the destruction that he brought upon this place. It was only when Captain pulled on his arm that he realized the smoke was getting too thick. The warehouse would soon be no more, and they needed to be far away from here once someone noticed the bright glow and alarmed the emergency services.

Stitch backed away, almost sorry to leave the flames on their own. It wasn’t just the three of them extending their greetings to the Coffin Nails anymore. Joe and two more prospects had got patched in just last month, as Gator wanted to expand, so they would have more manpower if the Nails retaliated. Stitch couldn’t help a smirk when he saw the youngest prospect, Rat (called so for his ugly-ass front teeth and skinny figure) watching him in awe and hypnotized by the fire.