Introduction
8 Years Ago
Malik is walking down the street, headed to Cienage House, as the rain intensifies from a drizzle to a steady downpour. His belongings were shoved into the bag strapped to his back. I’ll kill you before I let you turn into some Pájaro, remembering his mother’s words as his tears blend with the rain falling. He shuffles past the people turning into bars and restaurants, trying to escape the rain. He slips into the bar attached to the Cienage House and finds a seat close to the door. His hair wet, sticking to his back, he stands to adjust himself, slamming into a guy running in from the rain. He apologizes quickly, slipping his wallet from his chest pocket, that his third is tonight. He goes into the bathroom to go through its contents and passes a large man with an MC cut on with a guy slammed to the wall. I don’t give a fuck about what happened before, you pay before you play around here, he says as he squeezes tighter around the man's throat. He slips into the women's restroom and eyes the sign on the men's door. He counts his money from the wallets and heads back out to the bar, ordering a burger and soda. How much for a room he asked, eyeing as the Vacancy sign lit up. 45 an hour, his server responds, popping gum, sounding exhausted. Can you help me with that? Go see the front desk. Freddy will help you with that. She says as she walks away. Malik finishes his dinner, savoring it, not knowing when the next time he will be able to eat will be. When he’s done, he walks up to the front desk. A man sitting behind a glass, watching a small TV. Malik notices the paint peeling as he approaches, How can I help you, little lady, the guy she’s assuming is Freddy asks. A sheevers is sent through Malik’s body, the same one he gets when he is referred to as a girl or sweetheart. He asks for a room for 45 for the first hour, 25 for every hour after that. 8-hour limit, Freddy explains. Malik hands over the last of the money he stole and heads to the back courtyard to enter room 212. Walking through the courtyard, he notices all of the bikes hanging around and whispering. He feels the eyes on him from all directions as he walks with his head down, just trying to make it to the stairs. As he approaches the stairs, he eyes the one from the bathroom hallway. Their eyes connect, and he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, which is full but fits his face perfectly. Malik continues his ascent up the stairs, making it to the room. He settles quickly, showers quickly, and puts on an oversized t-shirt and some boyshorts and lies down. He knows that tomorrow is a new day, a hard day, but a new day nonetheless.
Something doesn’t feel right, Jax explains as he trails behind his father, trying to get him to listen. Jax’s father, Shawn, waves him off. They should’ve been here by now, Dad, Jax yells. Shawn swings around with a backhand across his face. Here I am, not your father, I am your president, and I say this is the move. Jax stands straight up and takes the punishment and public humiliation like a man turns locking eyes with Spider. Spider gives him a look of concern, and Thorn looks like he’s ready to pounce. Jax shook him off and went to stand by the stairs where he was told. Then she enters the courtyard through the main lobby door. We all fall silent, Shawn and his court, and sit whispering about our latest interaction. Jax has been more defiant in front of the club, and it was only a matter of time before Shawn reacted that way. Jax and the young lady lock eyes as she walks up the stairs. He licks his lips, staring until she has made it to the door and lit a cigarette, and waits like they’ve been doing for the last two hours.
Mailk is ripped from sleep by the brutal cacophony of gunfire tearing through the courtyard, a chorus of screams and guttural yells echoing the violence. He recognizes the harsh, biting sound of Russian accents slicing through the chaos. A shadow darts past his window—a brief, menacing silhouette—then pauses, a firearm raised. A deafening crack from the weapon rattles his very bones, and the shadow pitches backward into the darkness. Tires shriek, protesting the sudden halt of a vehicle, followed by a fresh wave of Russian shouts. Shawn's desperate yell is cut short as a key enters his door lock and a large man rushes through the door. Malik opens his mouth to scream, but Jax is already there, a finger pressed hard against his own lips, silencing him. Jax slams the door shut, slides across the room, and yanks Malik violently down to the cold floor just as a hail of bullets stitches a deadly pattern across the building's facade.
They stay there for what feels like forever, pressed together on the cold floor, listening to the gunfire fade into sirens and distant shouting. Adrenaline keeps them glued to each other long after the danger passes, every shuddering breath drawing them closer instead of apart. By the time the courtyard falls quiet and the night finally exhales, the raw edge of fear has blurred into something hotter, messier, impossible to shove back down. Jax’s phone rings, and as he digs his waist deeper into Mailk and the wetness between his legs betrays him once again. Jax answers the phone with a low, whispered tone.
Malik stares up into Jax’s eyes as they lock onto his, a shared moment of desperate, breathless connection. He watches, mesmerized, as Jax’s lips part, words slipping from his mouth in a low, husky rumble, but Malik misses the conversation entirely, lost in the powerful, intoxicating trance of their proximity. He can feel the shocking, undeniable wetness seeping into his thin boy shorts, his own body a traitor in this moment of raw vulnerability.
With a sudden, decisive movement, Jax pulls himself up from behind the bed, the moment shattering like glass. "Pack your bag, you're coming with me," Jax commands, his voice hard, ending the call with a curt click. He snatches Malik’s arm in a non-negotiable grip, not allowing him a moment to put on shoes or jeans, and yanks him forcefully from the room.
Malik stumbles, moving quickly to keep up with Jax’s furious pace. The scene outside the room is a nightmare: bodies are scattered around the opulent hallway and courtyard like discarded dolls, the walls and stone columns decorated with an obscene scattering of bullet shells and fresh bullet holes.
"Take her to your treehouse," a man Malik recognizes as Shawn says to Jax, his face grim as he shoves two heavy, black duffel bags into Jax’s free hand. "Wait for my call, keep her close, don’t want her saying shit to the police," Shawn’s voice drops to a chilling vice, his eyes narrowing with a dark, predatory hostility as they rake over Malik’s half-dressed body.
Malik walks in a frantic, sutter-step, fighting to maintain his balance and keep pace with Jax. A woman named Cipher wordlessly thrusts a key into Malik's trembling hand. They walk toward the back of the courtyard, where a hidden gate lets out directly onto the dark, winding path of Los Pasillos. Jax helps Malik into Cipher’s massive, lifted black truck, and as Malik scrambles up, the movement offers Jax an undeniable, fleeting view of the taut curve of his bubble butt and the telltale, shameful stain of wetness visible between his legs. Driving fast but still undetectable, Jax is winding through the tight streets of Los Pasillos, eyes darting from the road back to Malik, lingering a second too long on the sharp planes of his face, the dark intensity in his stare. The oppressive heat of the city is nothing compared to the slow, internal burn coiling low in Malik's gut, a heat swelling acutely between his thighs as Jax takes a corner a little too sharply. The ride is a silent landscape of charged glances and barely contained tension, the air thick with unspoken desire as they make it to the desolate outskirts of the city, where the forgotten warehouses meet the dark, restless ocean. They arrive at a warehouse, Jax hops out, leaving the truck running, opens a gate, and pulls into a parking lot, parking the truck. The warehouse sits on the outskirts of the city, where the streetlights thin out and the pavement gives way to cracked gravel. From the outside, it looks dead, a rusting roll-up door, busted windows patched with plywood, graffiti older than most of the kids who tag out here. The only signs of life are the faint, warm slit of light at the base of the main door and the low, constant hum of a generator tucked somewhere out back. Don’t move he says to Malik with a harsh tone. Jax pulls his gun and heads over to lock the gate back. Comes over and opens Mailk’s to help him out of the lift truck. As his bare feet hit the ground, he feels Jax’s hand slide to the shelf of his ass. The heat returns between his thighs, and he feels the fabric between his legs moisten and cling to his folds. As they enter the warehouse, Malik notices it still feels like a warehouse: high ceilings lost in shadow, steel beams crisscrossing overhead, the smell of old oil, dust, and rain that sneaks in through the seams. A few naked bulbs hang from long cords, throwing small circles of yellow light over stacks of old pallets and mismatched crates that now serve as tables, seating, and makeshift barricades. There’s a scarred workbench against one wall, cluttered with tools, spare parts, and the kind of things you only keep if you don’t want anyone asking questions.
There is a bathroom behind the bedroom if you want to clean up, Jax says as he motions his head towards the bedroom. Malik grabs his bag and walks to the carved-out corner turned into a bedroom by framing it in with salvaged sheetrock and a sliding barn door that doesn’t quite close all the way. Inside, it’s rough but lived-in: a mattress on a low wooden frame, clean sheets that don’t match, a heavy blanket, and a couple of pillows that have seen better days. A metal locker stands in place of a dresser, its door plastered with old stickers. There’s a single lamp on a crate nightstand, a half-burned candle, a glass with last night’s drink still in it, and a pair of boots kicked off in the middle of the floor. An old rug, threadbare but soft, breaks up the cold of the concrete. Mailk sets his things down and notices the bathroom Jax mentioned tucked behind the bedroom, boxed in with cinderblocks and metal piping that still shows where it was hacked into the old building’s guts. The door is solid, the only one in the place with a lock that actually works. Inside, there’s a small sink with a cracked mirror above it, a toilet that groans when it flushes, and a narrow shower stall rigged from corrugated metal and plastic sheeting. The water runs hot thanks to a temperamental heater bolted to the wall, and there’s a jumble of toiletries lined up on a makeshift wooden shelf, evidence that, for whoever hides out here, this isn’t just a stash spot. Malik strips from the shirt and drops his boy shorts and feels the fabric sticking to his openings. He takes a brief shower, allowing the blood and gunpowder to rinse away. The warm water allows his nerves to settle as he mentally prepares for what he has to do next in order to make the life he wants for himself.
Jax zipped the duffel bags, the crisp stacks of $75,000 counted, and the brick of cocaine secured. He snatched his phone and called Shawn.
“It’s Jax. Everything’s squared away here, but what the hell is going on?”
Shawn’s voice was a low, strained growl over the line. “The Russians, Jax. They hit us. Everywhere. The clubhouse, the factory… a coordinated strike on all fronts. It’s a goddamn mess.”
Jax’s grip tightened on the phone. “Who’s left? What’s the damage?”
“Everyone who could fight is fighting for their lives, son. The rest are holed up until first light to see what’s salvageable. Listen to me, and listen good,” Shawn’s voice sharpened, cutting through the chaos. “You stay put. Do not move. Do not lose focus on what you’re holding. This is what we fought for. Keep your phone on, and don’t you dare lose that stash. I need you to be solid right now, you hear me? We’ll ride this out.”
For a fleeting second, Shawn didn't sound like a leader, but like a father issuing a life-or-death order to his only son. “I hear you, Shawn. I’m locked down. Just stay alive.”
Jax hangs the phone up and places the stash in a cabinet under the workbench. He heard the water stop a while ago, but no movement since. He approaches the door and sees the light on, but is unable to see anything on the bed. He moved to the door and opened seeing just feet on the bed. He opens the door and turns quickly to close the door.
Malik is waiting on the bed, lying on his elbows with his feet placed on the edge. As Jax turns from closing the door, she spreads her knees, showing me her red lacy panties that barely cover his fat pussy. “Jax, make me feel good,” he whispered shily. Jax kicks off his shoes and takes off his shirt, and dives on top of him. As their lips meet, Malik releases a moan into Jax’s mouth. The moment his finger tips find Jax’s back, he gives Malik one back. They’re locked like this, exploring each other's bodies and mouths. I want you, Jaxson, he moans as Jax brushes his finger over the top of his panties, finding them soaked. As Jax swallowed those words into his mouth, he thought about how Malik knew his full name. No one ever calls him Jaxson, and he feels him tense up. Ever since the first time Malkik played around with a guy, she has always been shy as Jax runs his hands up and down the sides of Malik’s body, licking his lips. He stands to undo his jeans and let them drop with his boxers, and falls to the edge of the bed with half of his body hanging off. Jax pulls him to the edge of the bed and sinks his face between Malik’s wet thighs. Even with her panties as a barrier, Jax can feel her wetness painting his face. Malik feels his body tense as he tries to hold in the moans. Jax pulls the fabric away with his teeth, exposing the opening to him. He moans with an exhale and licks his way from the bottom of Malik’s slit to the top of his clit. Jax feels his body shudder under his tongue. Jax repeats this until he is leaking around his tongue. Malik’s moans are uncontrollable. Jax has his breathing heavy, his long, jet black hair a mess from him throwing his head back and forth. Jax takes her wrist and pushes them to the bed, locking them there to keep her from her continued assault on his head at bay. Malik’s moans become louder, and his legs start to shake as he drops the left on. “Keep it up, baby”, Jax says as he lifts it back into place and exhales right above her opening. Malik has left a puddle of her juice on the edge of the bed from Jax and his tongue assault. What do you want, baby girl Jax asks as he slides up next to Malik. “You inside–” he is unable to finish that and releases a moan as Jax invades him with his middle finger. I didn’t catch that. “Is this what you want, baby?” He asks with a snicker. Malik moans and tightens around Jax as he inserts his ring finger and slips one of his nipples attached to his perky little tittie into his mouth and suck hard as he sucks him into his opening. Malik begins to move his hand around like he is looking for the remote until he finds what he is looking for - Jax’s dick. He wraps his hands around my 9-inch length and starts stroking. Trying to find the rhythm of Jax’s fingers, the softness of Malik’s hands is sending waves of pleasure through Jax’s body. The precum from Jax’s dick makes the strokes glide easier. As Jax’s fingers explore Malik’s opening, he feels the wave that he as only granted himself once before. He feels his face go flush as Jax releases his nipple with a nibble. “Yes, baby, let go for me, let it happen,” he whispers in Malik’s ear with his forehead pressed firmly against the side of his head. Malik’s hips start bucking, and he bears down on his bottom lip and lets it go, and clutches his walls around Jax’s fingers as he cums around them. “Good girl”, Jax giggles and pulls his fingers out and slaps them on Malik’s clit with a chuckle as he kneels on the bed. He grabs a handful of Malik’s long black hair, gathering it in an unorganized ponytail. He drags him to his knees and brings him to his dick, standing at attention and leaking. “My turn, baby girl, open up,” Jax says in a deep, sexy tone. Malik shudders as he opens wide and then immediately gags, and Jax pushes directly to the back of his throat. “You’re going to have to open up for me, baby,” Jax says, and he stays thrusting forward, poking at the back of Malik’s throat. He swallows, and in a single thrust, Jax is nuzzled against his nose. Jax holds Malik’s head in place, and as Malik begins to swallow around his length, a moan escapes his mouth. Jax begins shallow strokes, pulling back just enough for Malik to inhale through his nose for brief moments. As his pace increases, the length he pulls out with each stroke increases until Jax has his dick at the tip of Malik’s pouty, full lips right before he dives back into his throat, burying him to the hilt. This makes Malik gag around Jax’s length. Slob and precum leak out of the side of his mouth, “Your throat is as wet as that pussy is.” Jax exhales with a guttural moan, his breath ragged. His fingers dig into Malik's scalp, pulling his head back as his pace quickens, driving a rhythm that Malik can't possibly match. Malik can only open his mouth wider, a desperate, silent plea as he lets the relentless, primal assault take place. Malik feels his body betray him as the wetness of his fold becomes noticeable as it drips down his legs. Jax’s eyes lock on Malik’s watery, ash grey ones and sink deep in the back of his throat until he bottoms out. Swallow it all he says as he swells and pumps shot after shot deep down Malik’s assaulted throat. Still holding Malik tight around his now throbbing dick, he shifts himself so he is now lying with his back against the makeshift headboard. “Suck it all out.” Jax says in a low, demanding down shift to Malik, so they are making a T shape on the bed. His feet landed in the spot wet from Malik’s open during the face fucking. “Oh, so you like being throat fucked, baby,” Jax says as Malik is milking all of the remaining cun out of his dick. Jax reaches under him and finds the slickness that has been leaving Malik since they were laid on the floor at the Swamp House. Jax begins to circle Malik’s clit, and Malik lets out a moan around Jax’s dick, allowing him to sink deep into his throat. “Use your hand this time, you're gonna have to work for it”, Jax exhales with a moan. Malik brings his lips to the head and, with a deep suc, swallows the whole thing down to the base. As he comes up, he wraps the slick member in his hand, leaning in on his elbow, giving Jax’s fingers better access to his wetness. As Jax’s fingers speed in their circular motion, Malik’s hand finds a rhythm that matches he swallows. They both let moans escape their mouths. Jax has shifted himself so now his lying at an angle that allows a better view. As he leans up and takes his swollen clit into his mouth, he sinks two fingers into his warmth and begins an aggressive onslaught. They are now in sync, following each other's moans, chasing pleasure together. Malik’s body tenses up, and Jax sucks harder and dives his fingers deeper. Malik tries to pull up from his dick to warm, and feels a hand on his hand shoving his down to the hilt, and then it happens a wave of pleasure rushes through him. He tightens around the fingers that force a moan and an inhale of breath, which forces that large throbbing dick in his throat to reach another level of deepness. Malik gags, and then the fingers are withdrawn, and the sucking stops. Three hard slaps on his pussy match with the strokes of Jax’s hips, making it happen, sending him over the edge. He squirts all over Jax’s face. Malik was still gasping, the remnants of the first climax vibrating through his spent body, when the assault intensified. He thought the worst was over, that Jax was finally finished with his torment. The realization that he was wrong hit him like a physical blow, a sudden, jarring change of pace. Two quick, sharp slaps against his slick, tight entrance, an almost playful prelude to the invasion that followed. Three fingers, thick and ruthless, shoved past his resistance, forcing his passage wider with an almost casual brutality.
A muffled cry escaped his throat, swallowed as his head was immediately, brutally seized and jerked up and down in a rhythmic, punishing motion. The unfamiliar sensation of the fingers deep inside, combined with the rough manipulation of his head, overwhelmed his senses. It was a dizzying, humiliating new layer of pleasure and pain, the deep, invasive pressure hitting a new constellation of nerves. His body, already sensitized and raw, buckled and arched against the mattress, an involuntary response to the relentless, pounding rhythm. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, and the only sound was the wet, sliding noises of the penetration and Malik's ragged, choked moans.
This relentless, deep work continued, a grueling, grinding rhythm dictated solely by Jax’s returning hunger. The throbbing in Jax's dick—a hard, demanding pulse against his lower stomach—grew more intense, signaling the imminent return of his own climax. Just as the tension became unbearable, right on the precipice where Malik felt the next wave of blinding, involuntary release begin to coil in his own belly, the fingers were yanked free with a quick, decisive pop. The sudden emptiness was as shocking as the invasion had been, leaving Malik to spasm weakly, utterly spent and on the verge of tears, with the promise of Jax’s final, crushing blow hanging heavy in the air. Malik collapsed on the bed, panting, pussy still wet and pulsing. He hears Jax leave the room, and he lies there and closes his eyes in defeat, realizing his plan didn’t work out as he had planned. He closes his eyes, planning on sleeping until the morning.
Suddenly, a sharp, unyielding force yanked him up, his knees slamming into the mattress, his eyes flying open in a gasp of pure shock. Malik’s body was being ruthlessly positioned, every movement controlled by Jax's dominant hands. Jax’s massive palm pressed hard against the center of Malik's back, a pressure that stole his breath and anchored him in place, while at the same time, his hips were hoisted into the air. Malik’s knees were brutally knocked apart, exposing him fully. The suddenness of the maneuver was dizzying, leaving him breathless and vulnerable.
Malik managed a shaky, deep inhale, the sharp scent of dust and Jax's leather-and-sweat filling his lungs, as he felt the unmistakable warmth and bulk of Jax lining himself up precisely at his entrance. A wave of intense, terrified anticipation washed over him, momentarily eclipsing the shock. The air was thick with tension, the silence between them a heavy blanket broken only by the ragged sound of his own breathing and the soft, unsettling shift of Jax's heavy weight. Every muscle in Malik’s core clenched in a futile act of resistance, knowing full well that any true escape was impossible. He could feel the heat radiating from Jax's body pressed close behind him, a suffocating, inescapable heat. Before he can let out another breath, he is invaded by Jax. Jax buries himself to the hilt, pushing past any internal barriers standing in his way. A sharp moan leaves Malik as Jax pulls himself from him and dives back in deep. Jax continued the rhythmic thrusting until Malik's breathing became ragged. "What do you desire, sweetheart? Tell me what you crave," Jax purred, a smirk playing on his lips as he knocked the thick head of his dick against Malik's wet entrance, sending a jolt of intense pleasure through Malik's core.
"I want you deep inside me," Malik gasped out.
"Demand it like you truly mean it," Jax commanded.
"I want you to fuck me," Malik insisted.
"I'm not convinced," Jax responded, starting to rub the tip of his dick seductively between Malik's slick folds.
“Please fuck me!” Malik exclaims with a moan.
“You want me to fuck you?” Jax asks with a giggle, taking Malik’s wetness on his finger and rubbing it on his back hole.
“Fuck Me Goddamnit,” Malik yells, and as Jax plunges back inside him and releases a loud moan and his eyes roll to the back of his head, feeling the fullness he requested. “All you had to do was ask, baby”, Jax says as he starts to stroke deep inside of Malik’s wet pussy. Malik didn't recognize the desperate sounds escaping his own throat. He was pressed face-down against the worn bed, his backside exposed and his hips lifted in a vulnerable arch. He was taking the pounding of a lifetime from Jax, the biker who had stormed into his room during the chaos of a brutal shootout. And to his utter shock and shame, Malik was loving every minute of it.
Jax's thrusts were punishing, a relentless assault that drove him deep with every single stroke, burying himself to the hilt. Malik couldn't catch his breath, his chest heaving with exertion and pure, raw pleasure. He felt the familiar, unstoppable rush; another orgasm building in his gut, a dizzying, exquisite pressure. A searing heat rushed to his lungs, his toes curled so tightly they ached, and his eyes crossed in a white-hot haze of sensation. A deep, guttural moan tore from his throat as his body betrayed him completely, his pussy. “That's right, baby, keep on cumming” Jax said with a possessive growl, as he was gushing all over Jax’s throbbing, hard length.
The room was a cacophony of animalistic pleasure and residual danger. Jax's own low, ragged moans of release mingled with Malik’s whimpers, the wet, slapping sounds of skin colliding, and the rhythmic creak of the cheap bed frame they were bruising against. This violent, beautiful intimacy blurred the brutal memories of the night for both of them, the gunfire, the blood, the fear, leaving only this visceral, consuming need. In this moment of intense, shared ecstasy, the rest of the world, and all its ruin, faded away.
Jax’s barrage of strokes quickened, a relentless, intoxicating rhythm that drove Malik to the very brink of sensation. Each thrust was a hammer blow, meticulously aimed, leaving Malik an unresponsive shell of pure, overwhelming pleasure. His body was a vessel for the constant waves of sensation, all centered around his throbbing core, a blinding supernova of desire. His eyes were wide but unfocused, a silent scream of ecstasy trapped in his throat. His hips lifted instinctively with every connection, a reflexive movement born of an unbearable need.
Suddenly, with a final, deep surge, Jax ripped out of him. The sudden void was a shocking change in pressure, but before Malik could even register the loss, Jax executed a fluid motion, flipping Malik onto his back in one powerful movement. Then, Jax descended, driving his hardened length back down into Malik's waiting, slick depth with a grunt of satisfaction.
Their lips met in a furious, hungry collision for the first time tonight. The kiss was deep, invasive, and shocking in its intensity, a new, unforeseen wave of sensation that slammed into Malik's already overloaded system. The jolt was electrical, a final catalyst that fractured his control. He surged into action, squirming and pushing his body away from under Jax’s weight and dominance.
With a sharp, ragged exhale, a sound that was half relief and half pure release, Jax was slipped from inside him for the second time. The immediate change in internal pressure was all it took. A tremor ran through Malik's entire frame, his muscles convulsed, and he climaxed in a violent, messy gush, squirting a thick, hot wave of his release all over Jax’s taut, descending abdomen. The sensation was immediate and total, a brilliant, white-hot oblivion that left him breathless and spent. Malik lay there completely spent, eyes closed, and he felt Jax’s lips touch his, and with a whisper, “Just a little longer, I’m almost there.” Jax says as he slides himself back into Malik’s swollen, throbbing, sensitive pussy. With a painful moan, Malik accepts his invasion and relaxes into the kiss. Jax’s steadying rocking motion and unbreakable kiss are pulling Malik back into the world of pleasure. His hands wrap around Jax’s back, pulling him closer, and he parts his lips, letting his tongue enter his mouth and tightens around his rock-hard dick. The husky moans, leaving Jax’s mouth. He breaks the kiss, eyes shut tight, reaching down to pull, and Malik locks him in place with his legs and runs his tongue up the tattoo that covers his Adam’s apple. With two more deep strokes, Jax grunts so loud that it shakes the walls, and Malik can feel the throbs as he releases deep inside his walls.
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