Terror (Scorned Devils MC 2)

Terror (Scorned Devils MC 2)
J. Hali Steele
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2024 J. Hali Steele

Terror

Goddamn Dread and his fuck-the-world attitude. Defying every norm, the man flaunted his desire for other men. Took them without a care for what anyone thought. Yet he was still the most respected Scorned Devils MC club member, the MC club’s sergeant at arms, and other MCs feared him as if he were some kind of hero with super powers or some shit.

Back then, Terror had detested Dread -- mostly for causing his own dormant childhood feelings to resurface.

Now Terror was returning home from prison feeling as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Having heard from Cat, a man Terror had introduced to biker culture and the Scorned Devils MC days before his release, he was aware of the showdown between Cat and Dread. He’d told Cat to pack up and return to Kansas. Terror didn’t even go home to get his bike. He had bigger plans. He couldn’t wait to see the man who’d taken up so much space in Terror’s head while he’d been locked up for nearly three years. Terror had berated Dread mercilessly about being gay. Treated him even worse whenever Terror heard about Dread screwing any man who would have him.

When he’d been arrested, Battle Graves, their MC president, had been the one to show up to bail Terror out. He’d turned down Bat’s offer of legal representation. The bastard Terror had beaten to within an inch of his life? Shit, he’d do that again if he had to. No reason to fight the charges and have his brothers find out what went down in that motel room in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.

At that time, Terror hadn’t been ready to come out.

He’d been named Terrance Holton by his drugged-out single mom, who’d simply vanished one night. Wading through the foster care system at a young age, Terror had realized he might be gay. Afraid and beat down, he’d buried Terrance deep in his psyche. Deep enough to almost forget the boy existed.

As he grew older, nothing scared the man he became -- an angry-as-hell bastard who cared for no one. Made everyone call him Terror. If they didn’t, he whipped their asses.

He came to embrace one thing -- an old motorcycle he’d stolen from the shed behind his last foster home. It was never reported because that motherfucker would never talk to anyone again.

That motorcycle… the speed, his disdain for the law, it led to Terror’s prospecting with the Scorned Devils MC.

Meeting the club’s sergeant at arms changed everything.

Now he was back. And he was ready to show his true colors.

Would his brothers and other clubs receive Terror the same way?

* * *

Standing in the newly built loft of Hell’s Lair, the place Scorned Devils called home, Terror looked down at Dread, who had moved from the room used for meetings to sit in a chair outside the door. Dread’s preference had always been big, hairy bastards. What would he think about Terror’s fuller, muscular body? A body he’d worked on every day in the prison gym…

The blond hair he used to wear short was now in a ponytail. He tossed it over his shoulder and stroked his beard. Another noticeable change. He’d grown a full beard.

Damn, Dread was still a fine motherfucker.

Strangely, it wasn’t Dread’s green eyes that scorched a path through Terror’s mind. Another face emerged in his thoughts as he finger-combed his beard. A man who, much like Dread, never gave a fuck what others believed about him. A prisoner who ran the cell block Terror had occupied for the last three years.

Rattled Terror to imagine blue eyes he’d assumed he’d forget. Blue eyes that had looked up at him many nights when Terror plundered the man’s sweet asshole.

I. Am. Gay.

Glad he hadn’t given his virginal asshole to anyone, Terror shoved old memories away as he walked down the steps to confront the one person who could have him any way he desired.

With a look, Terror chased the other members out and sent Battle to the office before he confronted Dread. “You and me need to talk.”