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    Gang Bang
    Gang Bang
    Gang Bang
    Ebook72 pages1 hour

    Gang Bang

    By Dick Powers

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    About this ebook

    William James of West Chandler, Los Angeles, falls head-over-heels in lust and love with a handsome white teachers' assistant in an environment loaded with gangs and those that despise gays. Through struggle and raw cunning, he must figure a way out for both of them while targeted by the drug dealing Ruby Skulls and keeping his own gang, the Devil Crew, from finding out his dirty little secret.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLunatic Ink Publishing
    Release dateApr 17, 2021
    ISBN9781005264147
    Gang Bang
    Author

    Dick Powers

    Dick Powers writes gay erotic fiction. He also writes heterosexual erotica under Sophie Sin.

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      Book preview

      Gang Bang - Dick Powers

      GANG BANG

      Dick Powers

      Copyright 2021 Lunatic Ink Publishing

      All characters consent and are over 18yrs. More gay erotica at Dick Powers' Book List.

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      Chapter 1: The Devil Crew

      Chapter 2: Further Mistakes

      Chapter 3: First Intimacy

      Chapter 4: An Unimaginable Theft

      Chapter 5: Conclusion

      CHAPTER 1: THE DEVIL CREW

      It was a rare cold morning for summer in East Los Angeles and his breath running slow and cool up in white smoky puffs between his cupped, tattooed, dark skinned hands was the only heat that kept William James warm as he waited. The two block stretch of central Chandler had exactly two pedestrians - a set of pensioners who were probably a couple - and one of them was leading a black-gray mastiff that was hobbling on arthritic knees on a tight five foot of leash in front of its equally elderly male owner, who was likely in his 80s and who also had knees that weren’t much better than his pet’s. These two kept a slovenly pace in the frigid morning air and, true to the unspoken rules of the neighborhood, didn’t pay Will in his black hoody with only his hands bare to the world any mind.

      Around the corner came the sedan. Standard, boring, nondescript: That was how he thought of the car and also how the two Mexicans in collared shirts pulled up high over their neck tattoos with their ties knotted passably right wanted the vehicle to look, even though anyone in the know - and most were in this area - knew exactly what this car was about at this time in the morning.

      They stopped, got out, looked him over to check he was ‘the guy’ and then walked off like two Mormons doing their rounds. Will got in. The car smelled of cigarettes. Strangely, they were menthol and there was one still smoking in the ashtray positioned between a CD player that didn’t work and the glove compartment where the key to the padlock that kept the stuff in the trunk inaccessible was. Will thought this was odd because he’d never met a real Mexican, the kind that actually came from south of the border, who liked menthols. Generally speaking, they were all rolling-their-own kind of guys. In hindsight this should have been his first tip that something was wrong.

      Depressing the accelerator and fiddling with the buttons that brought the window up but turned out to not work, Will pressed on with the journey that had started at 4:30am with a hasty bowl of two mini-boxes of bargain bin $1.50 cereal that had been slightly tangy when he’d added milk and had him now heading on towards outer central and onwards to a destination he’d only know when the call came.

      Time passed slowly for Will as he drove. He was hyper-aware of his surroundings, but still a little groggy, being a morning person, and not truly aware of the danger following a good half mile back with the GPS beacon that Will and the sedan had become firmly in the fresh set of eyes of Lt. Dan Anderson, a veteran member of LA’s finest.

      The call came exactly two minutes after the first sluggish push of the car moving forward towards the unknown. Will liked to pretend he was into current hip hop and so the ringtone was Baby, Baby, Work Dat Back. The bass beat hit hard when he picked up and answered with, Yeah?

      South Chandler. 3rd house down on Green Road. Look for the red ride.

      Beep-beep-beep. The call was over. It’d been a black woman this time. Her accent felt a little Jamaican. He’d have to tell the Devil Crew she sounded hot in that kinda salty but sexy way some women who held onto their foreignness after immigrating to The States did. They’d eat that up and it’d keep up the cover that he’d been sternly holding up since junior high when his dick had first wiggled on seeing his white friend Carlos’ tight ass in the showers that time after PE.

      Green Road came into view several minutes later. There was sewer smog rolling up in slow tendrils from the grates embedded along the cracked curve. Will hated driving Green because there were pot holes everywhere. The Greater City Of Los Angeles didn’t care much for Chandler. It was an eyesore filled with houses that looked the same inside and out and was 20 years past needing gentrification from the white folks. Only blacks and Mexicans lived in Chandler. Will wasn’t sure if it was racism, poorism or what, but they hadn’t filled a pot hole on Green in his 25 years of life and he figured that, until the whites came anyway, it’d be like that for the rest of however long he had living here.

      The door to the house was opened by a black woman with her weave off center, make-up half done and a bagel hanging out of one side of her mouth with cream cheese still stuck on the lower

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