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Dixon snatches the key from my bra and heads to answer the door.
Then, in one smooth motion, he throws the door open and leaps forward, fists raised, cock out, ready to unleash hell.
“You’re dead,” he screams.
A man I don’t recognize and a man I do — Moose — leap out of the way of Dixon’s naked charge.
“Fuck, dude, put your dick away,” says the man I don’t recognize. He’s tall, well-muscled, wearing a Steel Reapers MC cut, a flannel shirt, and jeans. There’s a large USMC tattoo on his forearm. "No one wants to see that.”
“Speak for yourself,” Moose says.
“What the hell are you two doing fucking around? You both know someone’s already tried to kill Alexandra and me. I was about to attack you both.”
“As if. We both know you couldn’t take me,” Striker says.
“Want to find out?” Dixon retorts.
“Happy to. As soon as you put your dick away.”
“Only an idiot gives up an advantage in a fight. You seem pretty distracted by my cock, so if we’re doing this, it stays out.”
“Distracted by how small it is, maybe.”
“Asshole.”
“Well, if you all want a measuring competition, I’m happy to go to my car and get a tape measure. Happy to do the measuring, too. But, to get to the point, we arrived a minute or two ago, and we heard what you two were clearly up to. Striker thought it’d be funny to put a scare into you,” Moose says. Then he cranes his neck to look around Dixon and his eyes land on me. He gives me a little wave. “Hi there, Alexandra. Nice to see you again. Your tits look fabulous, by the way. So perky. Do you work out?”
I duck behind the bar enough to cover myself. “Hey Moose, and, uh, hey, other guy…”
“Striker,” calls out the other guy.
Striker? Is he a boxer or big union activist, or what?
Striker continues before I can say anything. “Listen, Alexandra, Moose and I are going to turn around for a moment and check out the scenery in the parking lot so you can put your clothes on. Smokey, brother, I’d fucking love it if you’d put your clothes on, too, or at the very least a fucking sock to cover your dick. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before — Alexandra, before you even ask, Smokey and I served in the Marines together, that’s all — but it wasn’t so fantastic that I feel the urge to see it again. Sorry, brother, you just have a very forgettable cock.”
“You wish you could forget my cock,” Dixon says. We get dressed, and then Dixon taps Striker on the shoulder. “I’m not naked anymore, Striker. You can turn around.”
He does. Then frowns.
“God damn it, Smokey. Your zipper’s undone and your cock is still out.”
“Funny how your eyes went right to it,” Dixon says.
“Mine did, too,” Moose says. “No regrets.”
“You’re welcome, Moose.”
Dixon zips himself, then looks at me. “Alexandra, in case you haven’t guessed, Striker and Moose are going to be our backup when we go to Cuff & Chain. They’ll watch our backs in case Seraphina and Kyle try anything.”
“His name is Kyle?” Striker says. “Just fucking ‘Kyle’?”
“Yes, just ‘Kyle.’ It’s a mononym. He felt it’d be more interesting like that, so he changed to it from his original name,” Moose says.
“What was his original name?”
“Romeo Constantine IV.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
