Vic Manhandling His Guitar 🫶🏻🎀

vic manhandling his guitar 🫶🏻🎀

Sweet Cherry Pie-Part 1

Johnny Davis x OC Cherry

Summary: Newcomers have arrived to party with the Vandals, bringing a young mysterious girl with them. Johnny begins to wonder who she is and what ties her to the man she rides with.

Warnings: language, drinking, sexual innuendo, mention of drug abuse

A/N: No worries, there are no spoilers if you haven't seen the film! Should this become a series? I’m still trying to decide. For now I’m having fun writing it. Let me know if you enjoy reading by leaving a comment!

Divider credit @firefly-graphics

"What's your name?" Johnny asked, attempting to keep his voice soft and neutral so as not to scare the lanky, young girl in the corner.

"What's it to you, pops?" the redhead asked with a roll of her eyes, returning her attention to choosing a song on the jukebox.

Johnny watched the neon pink change to orange and then red, illuminating her full cheeks as she hovered over it. Although she carried herself like a woman, her bratty attitude was that of a spoiled child and the thick layer of makeup she wore to conceal her features only confirmed it.

"Look, I'm tryin' to be polite here, but we got rules in this club. We don't let kids hang around," he stated firmly.

"Then it's a good thing I'm eighteen," she noted, eyes never leaving the buttons where her manicured finger hovered, waiting to make a selection.

"Okay," Johnny said, sucking his teeth. "So you're legal, but I still don't know what to call ya."

The girl turned on her heel, an annoyed look in her eye as she looked up and down Johnny's imposing frame without any sign of fear. "You aren't gonna drop this are you?"

"Can't we be friends?" he asked diplomatically.

"I don't have friends," she professed.

She furrowed her brow as she glanced at the pool tables, studying one tall ex military type a moment too long. He caught her staring and stopped all movement, a darkness flashing in his otherwise vacant blue eyes. She shrunk suddenly and gave a weak smile, making Johnny feel uncomfortable with the sudden change in her demeanor. "Who's that?" he asked, wondering how they knew each other.

Like the shifting wind outside, she sighed in exasperation. ”Who is that? Who are you? What are you a fucking owl?" she asked, storming off to a table to be alone.

Johnny could take a lot, but not disrespect. Boots stomping across the sticky floor of the bar toward her, he stopped with a look of determination brewing. "I think it's time for you to leave before you get yourself into trouble. Anyway, I've had about enough of your mouth.”

"You've never even tried it," the red head countered with a sly wink, looking up at him smugly from her seat.

Johnny sank into a chair beside her, utterly confounded by her behavior.

"I'm gonna ask you one more time to tell me your name…" he began, but that was as far as he got. No sooner had he started his question than the man from the pool table was upon them, a long shadow cast over Cherry’s back as the large man dwarfed her.

When Johnny searched his face, however, he noticed he couldn’t have been much older than the redhead herself, perhaps three or four years at most.

He seemed to be well acquainted with the girl, grasping her shoulder possessively. "You good here, Cherry?” he asked, eyeing Johnny suspiciously.

She sighed, disappointed that her little game had come to an abrupt end. Then she looked up and gave a nod. "Yeah, I'm fine," she demurred, batting her lashes.

He stroked her cheek and Johnny swore he saw her flinch before eventually leaning into his touch. It made him even more curious about her and why she might be with the rough looking men who rode in yesterday.

As the man shuffled back to the pool table, Johnny hummed, "Cherry, huh? What kinda name is that?"

"Only one I've got. Take it or leave it," she answered, the acidic bite returning to her tone instantly.

"Seems like I already asked you to leave," Johnny grumbled to himself, grabbing a beer and pushing away from the table in resignation.

A spine tingling screech like the cry of a feral animal stretched out into the air over the low rumble of the approaching motorcycle engines.

“What the heck is that?” Kathy asked, turning away from the picnic table to wipe her hands on her jeans.

“I think it’s the new guys from the bar last week,” Gail explained, glancing over at her husband and Johnny who stood waiting to greet them. “Johnny invited ‘em to keep things civil.”

Kathy grimaced as the newcomers came closer, the noise intensifying to a rallying cry of whoops and whistles. The muscular man with the redhead at his back was the loudest by far, emitting a scream practically deafening her where she stood.

Gail huddled close to Brucie, as did most of the wives who wondered why Johnny had brought more outsiders to their quiet little club. "Who's he?" she pointed.

“That one’s Banshee,” Brucie said with a jerk of his head.

“Yeah I see why,” Kathy exclaimed. “And I’m guessing the girl is the one they call Cherry?” she ventured.

“Cherry, right,” Brucie agreed, looking her up and down.

The wives all noticed how Cherry was hardly dressed for the autumn weather in her halter top and tiny leather mini skirt. It was drawing plenty of attention which was possibly her only ambition.

“Didn’t anybody tell her the women here don’t go by stupid names? It’s only the fellas who buy into that stuff,” Kathy said shaking her head in disapproval.

Gail just shrugged, “Who cares as long as she keeps these guys entertained and out of trouble, right?”

“Sure,” Kathy agreed, taking up a place at the table.

It wasn’t until the sun was setting a few hours later that she began to rethink her opinion of the sultry looking redhead who refused to join the other women in conversation, preferring her own company instead. Circling the bonfire with her bottle, Cherry kept her distance. Occasionally she would dance to the music with the others, raising her arms to the sky without a care, but mostly she seemed to be watching Banshee out of the corner of her eye.

When he beckoned to her, she went to him and perched on his lap like a cat. Running a hand down his broad chest, she nestled into him as he wrapped a muscular arm around her waist, an expectant look on her face.

Holding her there in a strong grip, he proclaimed to the group, “This is my sweet little Cherry pie.”

“Cherry pie, I like that,” Corky exclaimed with amusement.

“Believe me, you’d love a slice of this,” Banshee bragged loudly, digging his fingers into Cherry’s thigh when she tried to close her legs. She clutched his shirt front, but he kept speaking, looking down at her with a leer.

“I can vouch for it, popped her cherry myself,” he boasted, taking hold of her chin for a sloppy kiss.

Although she accepted the sliver of affection, her body remained rigid and alert, listening to a far off voice mumble in surprise, “That’s why you call her Cherry?”

Banshee tilted his head back and roared with laughter. “People are all the time askin’ her how she got her name, but it ain’t nothin’ special,” he said dismissively, tapping Cherry’s arm to pass him another beer.

As he wiped the lipstick from his mouth with the back of his hand, she seemed to freeze momentarily. Her fingers uncurled from his shirt front slowly and dropped to her lap, light fading from her eyes.

"I thought it was cause of her hair," Cal piped up with a grin.

"Carpet matches the drapes though, don't they, baby?" Banshee joked, running a hand up her back to tangle in her hair.

She jerked away when he began to tug at the ends roughly, his hand swatting her ass to get her moving. As she stumbled off his lap he added, "If you're lucky you might get a peek, this tiny skirt she's got on don't cover much." As the invitation hung in the air, a long haired biker with rotten teeth leaned forward to cock his head at her with decided interest.

Cherry quickly turned away to reach into the cooler, glad her face was shielded from the men assembled in the circle. She didn't realize she was biting down hard on the inside of her cheek until she tasted a metallic bitterness on her tongue.

Across the field a few men from the Vandals took notice of the revelry, Johnny squinting in the dim light to see who was making all the noise. As he studied Banshee’s movements, he overheard Brucie and Zipco talking to one of his gang.

“How long’s he been back?” Brucie asked.

“A year, give or take," the man answered, the flicker of his lighter illuminating his face in the darkness.

“I tried to enlist, you know. Bastards wouldn’t take me,” Zipco spat, crushing a cigarette under his boot with more force than he intended.

“Banshee would say you dodged a bullet, man,” he replied slowly, considering the joint he held between his fingers.

Zipco narrowed his eyes, “And why’s that?”

There was slow inhale, then a few metered words as he considered his answer, “Fucks with your head." He tapped his temple lightly. "You seen the way he is?” It wasn't actually a question, but a thinly veiled warning to those around him. Keep your distance.

“No, I meant, he seems to manage just fine,” Brucie pointed out, tilting his head to watch Banshee talking animatedly to his companions. "Got a bike and a girl. What else you need?"

"Looks that way don't it?," the cryptic reply came with another click of his lighter. Brucie and Zipco stared at each other as they waited for him to turn his attention back to them.

He never really did, mumbling in a barely coherent register as though he were still trying to make sense of it himself. "Nights he don’t spend with Cherry, he’s holed up somewhere with china girl. And sometimes when he can’t get what he wants, he swaps 'em around, see?” The man lingered a second, staring into nothingness as smoke billowed from his mouth in a great cloud which obscured his face.

The look of trepidation in Zipco’s eyes was lost to the haze as he muttered, “No, I…”

Banshee whooped from across the field and the man went stumbling forth, ending the conversation with a halt.

Johnny couldn’t help but notice Cherry was no longer with him. He turned his head in time to see her disappear over the hill with the long haired biker from California, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

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