Zombies Suck

Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End

 Club  Zombie’s flashing neon lights promised all those in attendance a night  of debauchery. Storm pulled his Camry into an almost empty lot and  parked right next to the entrance.

 His best friend glanced over  at him with an expression that screamed, “WTF!” but instead of voicing  the obscenity, Cutter asked, “Is this club even open?”

Damn it!  This was Storm’s fucked up luck. It was obvious the club wasn't the  place to be on Thursday nights.  He shrugged. “They only just started  having under twenty-one nights. Maybe it’s slow tonight.”

 “Hmmm, okay.” Cutter unbuckled his seatbelt, leaned forward, and checked his liner in the lighted mirror on the sun visor.

“Besides, it’ll be easier to get you laid without all the trolls.” The words were bitter, but Storm needed to fill the silence.

Cut slapped the mirror lid closed, flipped the visor up with a snap, and glared at him. “I don’t need or want your assistance.”

Storm  restrained a sigh. Of course Cutter didn’t want help, nor would he need  any. Cutter was exquisite in an emo, brooding sort of way, though guys  in their small Southern town didn’t appreciate Cut. Unfortunately, Storm  was positive Cutter’s charms wouldn’t be ignored in Club Zombie.  

“Do  you want to die a virgin?” Cutter going off with someone might kill  Storm. Fuck, he’d suck it up! There wasn’t a choice. Cutter needed to  get over what Storm couldn't offer, at least not until he got out from  under his family’s thumb.

“Shut the hell up!” Cutter jumped out of the car and slammed the door.

Storm  caught up with him at the big wooden doors of the club entrance. He  fished for his driver’s license and handed the identification to a guy  who was probably only a couple years older than him.

“McGrath?”

Shit!  “Yes, that’s my name.” Would his name ease the way or glue the entrance  shut? His father’s run for the mayor’s office, and now successful law  office, was a mixed bag. Had dear old Dad screwed this guy over, or  someone he knew, in his bid for public office?

“I don’t give a  shit who your daddy is. You’ll follow the club rules or my boot will  introduce itself to your ass,” the guy warned him as though Storm had  broken the club’s rules regularly.

Probably not wise to point out  the man had on loafers and not boots. Jesus, Storm was sick of paying  for things he didn’t do. “I plan to.”

“You both eighteen?” the man asked with a healthy dose of skepticism as he looked them up and down.

“Yeah, we graduated last week.”

“High  school?” After a nod from Cutter, the guy continued, “Midnight is the  witching hour. We clear everyone out and only twenty-one and older will  be allowed back into the club. Do us both a favor and don’t try to sneak  past me, 'cause I don’t give a shit whose condom broke…”

Storm rolled his eyes. Fuck, most days he tried to forget who his father was. “Got it.”

Cutter nodded.

“I’m serious,” the bouncer claimed. “Enjoy your night.”

Goddamn  it! Storm pulled open the club door. The wind must have caught it  because the wood flew open and banged against the wall.

“That’s one way to make an entrance.” Cutter paused at the top of the stairs.

Storm  appreciated the décor, a potent taste of sultan’s harem. Lush fabrics  in jewel tones covered the chaise lounges, chairs, and love seats  scattered around appealing to his hedonistic nature. Scarves dripped  from the ceiling in the same rich purples, indigos, and mauves.

Bang!

Storm  zoned in on two blonds who were at the table closest to the door. One  had tipped over his chair when he stood. Both stared at Storm and Cut.

The  kid embodying bubblegum and pop music bounced over to them, dragging an  underwear model in his wake. “Hi. Welcome to Club Zombie.”

Storm  hated to give his father credit for anything, but he'd forced him to  learn how to present disinterest. It confuses the other party and gives  you more power. He gave the welcome committee a casual, “Hey.”

Mr.  Model didn’t even look at him. Storm had seen his type before: so  pretty he probably jerked off to his own reflection.  Ha. Storm figured  the only time he’d picked up a book was to practice his runway walk. Did  the guy think he was better than everyone else? Screw him!

The cute blue-eyed kid asked with an accent, “Um, first time here?”

Going  for shock value, Storm answered, “Yeah. Heard a guy could get some  pretty easily here.” He smirked and gave the gorgeous clothing hanger a  once over.

Cutter growled, “Stop eye-fucking the guy.”

The  model blushed and shot a glance toward the exit. Was he seeking an  escape route? Weird. Storm was sure he’d have darted away, but the other  kid gripped his wrist, keeping him in place.

Fuck! Storm was determined to get a reaction from Mr. Sexy. All in. “I bet you’d put out.”

Hurt  crossed the model’s face before he narrowed his eyes and turned his  gaze into an icy glare; one a haughty elven prince would be proud to  wear. “Go in back if you want to get laid.” Gorgeous tugged his wrist  out of the kid's grip and stomped his way back to their drinks.

“Hey,  what’s wrong with your girlfriend over there?” Storm failed to keep the  interest out of his voice even when he attempted retaliation. Why the  hell did he care if the walking anime character blew him off?

Cutter fluttered his eyelashes and asked the brown-haired kid,  “So, um… what’s your name?”

The kid beamed as if he’d won the lottery. “Ulrich Bauer. What’s yours?”

Storm decided to stay in the conversation and answered for both of them, “I’m Storm and he’s Cutter.”

“Cutter.” Ulrich repeated the name with the reverence of an enchanted spell and blushed. “Um, you want to sit with us?”

Cutter shifted his gaze to Storm, and then he refocused on Ulrich and gave a jerky nod.

Ulrich  led them to the table and introduced them to The Prince of Pretty.  “This is Cutter and Storm. This is my roommate Alex Waterman.”

Alex didn’t spare Storm a glance but smiled at Cutter. “Is Cutter short for something?”

The beauty king did speak!

Cutter  nodded and sat down. “Cutler Morgan. But I hate that name!” He grinned  and then turned to Ulrich. “You have an accent. Where are you from?”

Storm didn’t fit in. “Well, since the Elfin King directed me to the back room…”

“Storm!” Cut growled.

Storm swaggered toward the shadows in the back of the club. He didn’t look back. If he did, he’d never do this.

Cutter  had to find someone who could give him what he needed. Logic dictated  Storm should play by his father’s rules until he got through college and  was able to support himself. He couldn’t be what Cutter needed him to  be… not yet, but Storm knew Cutter needed someone now.

Storm  tripped past the wall placard naming a particular hallway “BJ Alley” and  escaped into a private bathroom. Thank fuck the club saw fit to have  single restrooms. Fancy! He locked the door, pulled out his phone. and  sat in the plush corner chair.

His phone chimed as if on cue. His brother texted him, “Father’s on the warpath.”

Ha, when was Ethan McGrath, Sr. not? He texted back, “Thanx.”

His  brother always followed the McGrath family rules as law handed down by  God himself. Erick should’ve been the heir instead of the spare. Their  father certainly made that fact known whenever Storm was within  screaming distance.

Storm checked his social media pages. Just the usual bitches and whines from people he didn’t know.

Ten  minutes. Hmmm, was that enough time for the average hookup? Better  check his e-mail. He didn’t want to look like a minuteman. Might as well  use the facilities while he was here too. He ran water through his  hair. Yeah, that passed as sweat.

He plastered on an  “I got  lucky” face and strutted back to the table. Cutter was laughing. Storm  grabbed a chair, twirled it around, and straddled it. He nabbed Cut’s  drink and gulped the soda.

Cutter frowned and narrowed his eyes. “Uli said they have music tomorrow night.”

“So?”  Storm failed to see how that increased Cut’s chance of getting laid.  Fuck, he seemed too gleeful. Had the Ice King or Mr. Happy put out?

“We  want you both to come back,” Ulrich invited him, but a slight  hesitation made it clear to Storm the offer was made out of obligation.

Storm glanced at Alex. Not being able to resist teasing, he asked, “Would you miss me if I didn’t show up?”

Alex met and held his gaze. “Yes.”

Well, fuck!.