King Cobra (Hot Rods) Read Online Free

pitchblack out here. You can lose the pretty sunglasses. Unless you’re famous and wandered into ’Nut Grove by accident. Afraid people’ll recognize you?”
    Alanso shook his head.
    “You aren’t married, are you? I don’t screw around on people’s promises. You’ll find some here that do if that’s your thing. Somebody for everybody pretty much. Not us, though.”
    “Nah. Nothing like that.” Alanso peeled his shades off and tucked one of the arms into the V of his white T-shirt. He liked the way his tattoos showed through the thin cotton. Each inked symbol helped keep him focused on a life motto, lent him strength or illustrated a badge of courage he’d earned.
    He rubbed his thumb back and forth over the R on his right index finger—part of the Hot Rods label he’d indelibly inscribed on his body. A car drove across his left pinky followed by one letter on each finger, a permanent reminder of the group that had imprinted themselves on his soul.
    Tonight, for the first time in over a decade, he embarked on a journey without one of his garagemates. He frowned and rubbed the marking faster.
    He’d survived some rough times before stumbling across Eli and his dad at the youth center. As a child he’d drifted from couch to couch owned by gracious members of his Cuban-American extended family until he realized how he burdened families with enough mouths of their own to feed. After that, he’d survived on the streets in gangs of transient teens—most of them orphaned by deported parents—not so different from himself. Except that crime didn’t appeal to him as a profession.
    Still, he hadn’t had to watch his own back in long enough that he felt soft. But he could hold his own. The knife in his pocket was a last resort kind of insurance. His brawling skills would probably render the precaution unnecessary.
    “Quit biting that lip and get your sexy culo over here. Phil and Ronnie will make room for you, won’t you, boys?” The top knocked his boot into the sides of their knees, urging them apart.
    The guys must have liked the way the ringleader’s cock tasted because they didn’t stop licking it long enough to complain about sharing the adequate, but not overly impressive, hard-on. Alanso imagined they were as desperate as he was, waiting for their bimonthly clandestine fix.
    He’d heard rumors about this place and the things that happened on a random night every couple of weeks. Luck had been in his favor when he’d overheard some guys passing the news of the next date while he’d used a bar bathroom a few days ago. Adrenaline had run rampant through his system since. Could he go through with a visit?
    Excitement and a little bit of terror had left him no choice but to check it out. He worried this could become a habit.
    He had every kind of intimacy with the Hot Rods he could want—love, laughter, shared pain, pride in their workmanship. All but one. Sexual. He couldn’t do without that final gear anymore. Riding shotgun while they stalked women had quit being fun when he admitted to himself that none of the garage bunnies who threw themselves at Middletown’s infamous bad boys stacked up to Sally. And that was even before his eyes had opened to other possibilities.
    Hopeless ones.
    King Cobra would never let him risk their friendship—his and Eli’s, their and Sally’s or the various combinations of the larger group—on a romp. Despite the fact that some of the guys had teamed up before, it’d always been a fling, nothing serious. Definitely not a relationship like the crew had built. That was risky. If something went wrong it could tear them apart. So he stalled.
    As much as Alanso wanted both Eli and Sally, he couldn’t stop dreaming about the complex polyamorous relationship he’d witnessed thriving in the crew. And if he couldn’t have that unbound wild love with his gang, he at least had to know if his recent distaste for a night of no-strings fucking had to do with the gender of his