Dickhead

D!ckhead Wrong Side of the Tracks #3 “He says I’m the dumbest hostage he’s ever had. But I’m also the hottest.” Hammer. Enforcer for the Demon Brethren MC. Sociopath. Butcher. Weapon of choice: Sledgehammer Dex. Shameless. Perpetually horny. No impulse control. Weapon of choice: Dumb jokes From the moment Dex saw Hammer smash a man’s head open like it was a watermelon, he was obsessed. No, really, obsessed. He is thrilled when life offers him the opportunity to introduce himself to the bloodthirsty biker god. So maybe it’s not so perfect that Hammer is his prisoner, but beggars can’t be choosers. Standing guard at a secret junkyard prison is serious business, but Dex’s horny brain still gets the best of him. One thing leads to another and—oops—now he’s Hammer’s hostage, they’re going God knows where, and Dex lands in a cage next to a… tiger? Oh well, he’s here for a good time, not a long time. Hammer isn’t letting anyone jail him. Not even his club brothers. He’s not a traitor, and he will prove it if it kills him. His ticket out of captivity appears in the form of a gay, tattooed, blond ball of chaos who seems to have a crush on him. Hammer might be straight but seduction isn’t beneath him if it gets him what he wants. To Hammer’s bewilderment, even as a hostage, Dex doesn’t stop hitting on him. Strangely, the brat’s silly smiles and motormouth begin to chip Hammer’s armor, awakening feelings he never thought himself capable of. Add to that Dex’s surprising talent for dismembering bodies, and it turns out Hammer might be the one in over his head. Themes: bi-awakening, grumpy/sunshine, abduction, size difference, brat, first love, revenge, enemies to lovers, betrayal, coming out, forced proximity, partners in crime, biker gang, first gay relationship, antihero, opposites attract, dark humor Genre: Scorching hot M/M dark romance Length: ~135,000 words (Standalone) WARNING: This story contains scenes of violence, abduction, gore, offensive language and morally ambiguous characters. Copyright This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living, dead, or undead, events, places or names is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced or transferred in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the publisher. Uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without a permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Text copyright © 2022 K.A. Merikan All Rights Reserved http://kamerikan.com Cover design by Natasha Snow https://www.natashasnow.com/ Editing by No Stone Unturned https://www.facebook.com/NoStoneUnturnedEditingServices/ Contents 1. Chapter 1 – Hammer 2. Chapter 2 – Dex 3. Chapter 3 – Hammer 4. Chapter 4 – Dex 5. Chapter 5 – Hammer 6. Chapter 6 – Dex 7. Chapter 7 – Hammer 8. Chapter 8 – Hammer 9. Chapter 9 – Dex 10. Chapter 10 – Hammer 11. Chapter 11 – Hammer 12. Chapter 12 – Dex 13. Chapter 13 – Hammer 14. Chapter 14 – Hammer 15. Chapter 15 – Dex 16. Chapter 16 – Hammer 17. Chapter 17 – Dex 18. Chapter 18 – Dex 19. Chapter 19 – Hammer 20. Chapter 20 – Dex 21. Chapter 21 – Hammer 22. Chapter 22 – Hammer 23. Chapter 23 – Hammer 24. Chapter 24 – Dex 25. Chapter 25 – Hammer 26. Chapter 26 – Dex 27. Chapter 27 – Hammer 28. Chapter 28 – Hammer 29. Chapter 29 – Dex 30. Chapter 30 – Hammer 31. Epilogue – Dex Chapter 1 – Hammer I shall have him under my boot. Blood will stain his pale beard red and slowly soak into the patch at the front of his leather vest. Our president. Crushed glass fills up his eyes, his lips are in shreds, all because he couldn’t fucking shut up. Hammer flinched and scribbled a garbled line on the paper when their club president, Lion, tossed another glass at the wall. A prospect would take care of the clean-up later, but why make such a giant fuss over a slight delay? Did it really matter whether the cocaine reached their clubhouse a day later? It wasn’t like the Demon Brethren MC were scrambling for cash. Exhaling, Hammer put the notebook and pen into the pocket of his jeans and fixed his gaze on the graffiti of a demonic entity riding a Harley, the emblem of the club. Some of the other guys, seated by the coffee table below the mural, seemed to share his opinion on the matter and hid their grins behind bottles of beer. But when he raised his hand to acknowledge them, their faces fell, as if they were children spotted too close to the cookie jar. No one wanted to be too close to the club’s executioner. In moments like this, Hammer understood why in the olden days men who shared his profession wore hoods. They could melt into the crowd once their job was done. For him, that cat had been out of the bag for several years now. Not that he’d ever been good at making friends. Or making women stay at his side for longer than a couple of weeks. The property patch he’d offered to the first girlfriend he’d considered serious still bided its time in the bottom shelf of his nightstand, because his last woman didn’t want it either. As Lion continued his rant with beer foam stuck to his bushy beard, Hammer glanced to his phone where his earlier text to Stefani was languishing unanswered, so he reread it to make sure he hadn’t unknowingly offended her with his apology. Last night had been a bit of a shitshow, but the last thing Hammer wanted was having to get the attention of another woman when he’d already put so much effort into developing an ongoing-but-casual thing with Stefani. [I was thinking a lot about what happened, and I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I may have been too rough, but you seemed