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Cutter’s Mission
-- EXCERPT: He really had no choice. The sun would be down soon, and that would make this entire situation a million times worse. Being broken down in a strange place in the dark? That was a horror movie plot. Rom-coms were more of Abbott’s style anyway. Okay, cute twink meets big sexy biker, they fall in love and live happily ever after. Abbott snorted. Yeah, right. Abbott nearly tripped over the step leading from the gravel lot to the small, covered porch. It seemed almost funny that a backwoods biker club would have a porch. Abbott let his imagination run wild, just to get his mind off the impending danger of the unknown. Maybe they held wine tastings on Wednesdays and talked about planting flowers around the building to soften the harsh lines. Did they serve Brie with crackers and a nice Chardonnay? Did they discuss the newest designs on leather jackets and where to find the best tailor for the perfect fit? Was that even a thing? The humorous thoughts helped calm Abbott’s nerves. His hand was barely shaking when he reached for the door handle. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darker interior. The music was lively and loud, and the unmistakable sounds of a pool game was overlaid with raucous laughter. Not too different than some of the gay bars he had gone to before. This place would be a leather-Daddy-loving boy’s dream! Abbott loved men, all men, but big, furry bears were his weakness. Now, to be honest, Leather Daddies had just become a new deposit in his spank bank. And they were everywhere. Don’t get a boner now! They’ll kill you and you’ll never be found. Abbott glanced up, spotting a gorgeous man sitting at the end of the bar. He was drinking beer from a mug the size of a pitcher. Dark, close-cropped hair and five o’clock shadow brought out his deep blue eyes which were staring directly at him. Abbott licked his lips, trying to get the courage to move but his body was completely frozen to the spot. He took in the dark tattoos that covered the sexy bear’s arms and shivered. “You lost, boy?” A stern voice grabbed Abbott’s attention and the ring of authority shook him from his stupor. He quickly moved toward the bar, switching his focus from the blue-eyed biker to the speaker. Not dressed like the patrons, Abbott assumed he was the owner. No denim or leather vest on this guy, but an ill-fitting blue t-shirt, stained half-apron, and a face that was currently sporting a frown. Perhaps this was Clancy? “Yes, well, no. I mean, I, I’m not sure?” Abbott swallowed with an audible click. He realized the music had stopped, and the place was completely silent. “Is that a question?” The gruff server placed his hands on the bar as he studied Abbott. He was clean-shaven, had steel gray hair long enough to touch his collar, a sun-worn face covered in wrinkles, and hazel eyes that traveled over Abbott’s body. If Abbott squinted, the bartender could look like Sam Elliott. Only not as cute, and without the bushy mustache. “Well, to be honest, I’m not really lost. I’m just not sure where I am.” He shook his head to stop his nervous rambling. “Sorry, I was on the main road when my car just died. It’s a junker anyway, but it’s my only transportation. I walked by here once already looking for a place to let me use the phone. To call for a tow. Or something.” No one in the building said a word. The pool games had stopped. Abbott gulped as he looked around. Men and women were standing stock still, even the band were holding their instruments, watching the scene. Every person in the bar had on jeans, a leather jacket, or a vest, including the hottie drinking a pitcher of beer at the bar. “S-so, is there a phone I can use to call a tow truck? My cell doesn’t get service around h-here and it’s, uh, dead anyway.” He held up the offending cheap burner phone before sliding it into his pocket. He had just informed a bunch of strangers, who could be homophobic, that he was alone and without communication. He could really use that guardian angel right now. The bartender shook his head, his eyes never leaving Abbott’s face. “No phone here. Cutter? You able to help this kid out?” “Cuh – Cutter?” Well, things just shifted from the Rom-Com Abbott had imagined into the horror movie he feared. The name was intimidating. But then again, so was every single large, leather-clad person in the bar. Any one of them could squash Abbott like a bug.
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1 Comment
Sue G.
2/13/2021 10:22:13 am
Nice cover. Leave a Reply. |
