“Do you see him?” The question came low and discreet from the Egyptian. He walked beside Clint, eyes forward and exhibiting no indication that he was aware of their tail.

Clint gave a single nod without shifting his casual gaze from the sidewalk ahead. The young man had been on them since they had left the main house, though he was growing bolder now—or rather, careless—exposing his face, if from a distance.

“All right, what’s going on?” Axel spoke in a murmur as he walked alongside Clint, holding his hand.

“Hm?” Clint glanced at him.

“You and tall, dark, and silent over there,” Axel said quietly without altering his stride. “Something’s going on. What is it?”

An ember of pride sparked inside Clint; Axel was fast developing a keen instinct for the slightest shift in the atmosphere. It was a skill that kept one alive in his world, and it made him feel secure that Axel was honing it quite well.

“We’re being followed.”

Axel didn’t have to be told ‘not to look’. He simply nodded and continued to walk without a hitch in his pace. “Do you know who it is?”

“No.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“Not yet.”

“He’s a scout,” Cochise input.

“He isn’t the threat,” Clint added. “Someone else put him on us. He won’t approach us.”

Axel frowned. “Who?”

“Don’t know,” Clint drawled. “Guess we’ll just have to ask him.”

“Ask…?”

Clint slowed, as did the Egyptian, and casually pivoted on his heel without appearing to be alert. From the corner of his eye, he watched the kid slip a little too quickly into the closest establishment; a honkytonk bar with large silver letters above the entrance that spelled out SPURS.

“Amateur,” Cochise muttered.

The three men crossed the street and entered the bar. Country music pumped through the place. Urban Cowboys filled the joint in their crisp denim button-downs, new jeans, and shiny boots—and wouldn’t know a real horse if it kicked them in the head. The women wore similar attire, though much tighter with ample cleavage exposed. Some were poured into Daisy Dukes, ass cheeks nearly falling out the bottom of the short shorts. Clint could have appreciated the look had it been on Axel. He glanced at his boyfriend, the corner of his mouth twitching at the quick imagery.

Axel met his stare and cocked an eyebrow. Clint looked away without clarifying his pleasing thought and walked toward the bar. The quirk in his lips morphed into a small smile as Axel held onto his hand without wavering amidst the blatantly hetero honkytonk crowd that was fast becoming aware of the newcomers.

The bartender sported a plain black button shirt, the top couple buttons unfastened, hinting at the tanned, muscular chest underneath. He started to offer them a drink when he noticed Clint and Axel’s clasped hands. His skeptical stare shifted to their faces. Clint couldn’t care less if the prick approved or not; he was after just one thing.

“A kid just came through here,” Clint said. “Late teens, early twenties. Dark blue shirt, dirty blond hair. Have you seen him?”

“If he isn’t twenty-one, he isn’t in here,” the bartender replied stiffly.

“Well, I don’t know how the fuck old he is,” Clint growled. “But he did come in here.”

The man stared at him dryly. “I didn’t see him.”

“Then I guess we’ll just take a seat and wait for him.” Clint slid onto a stool and drew Axel around between his legs, hands resting on Axel’s hips. Cochise took the stool next to him.

“I wouldn’t hang out here for too long if I were you,” the bartender warned. “These boys aren’t your type.”

Cochise looked around and muttered, “These boys smell like pussy.” The bartender started to remark when the Egyptian silenced him with a chilling stare.

A wanna-be cowboy approached, thumbs hooked in his belt. “Hey. Faggots.”

Clint ignored him and ordered a beer. The bartender made no move to oblige. Clint tapped a stiff fingertip on the bar. “You’ll want to be getting me that beer,” he drawled with a deadly edge.

“I’m talking to you, queers.”

Cochise remained facing forward as Clint and Axel slowly turned. The cowboy was slightly larger than Axel with two backers—one shorter and the other the same height; both men stocky though not necessarily solid.

“Why don’t you get the fuck out of our bar and go back to your own place.” A scowl pinched the man’s face, his eyes cold with hate. “This bar is for real men. Not pansy-ass faggots.”

Axel looked the man up and down but said nothing.

“What’re you looking at, you fucking queer?”

“You call yourself a cowboy?” Axel smirked. He slid his hand into Clint’s crotch. “Now this is a real cowboy.”

The man’s face twitched. “You think your man is tougher than us?”

Axel chuckled low. “Only stupid people ask stupid questions.”

Clint smiled.

“You calling me stupid, faggot?” The man shoved Axel, knocking him against the bar. “Huh?”

“Dumbass motherfucker,” Cochise muttered barely loud enough for Clint to hear.

Axel righted himself. “If I wasn’t before, I am now. Only my boyfriend is allowed to get rough with me.”

The man snorted, and his backups chuckled dryly. “You gonna get your boyfriend to kick my ass, is that it? You think I’m scared of your faggot boyfriend?” He shoved Axel again.

Clint twisted his head and peered at the man from beneath the brim of his hat. “I’m not the one you should be afraid of.” He looked at Axel. “Anytime, baby.”

Peeling off his cowboy hat, Axel handed it to Clint. “Hold this for me, sweetie?”

“Of course.”

“What do I get if I kick all three of their asses?” Axel asked.

Clint squeezed his ass. “The best fuck you’ve ever had.”

Axel kissed him hard. “Well, Yee-ha.”

The redneck snorted. “You serious, queer? You really want to do this? We’ll beat your fucking ass.”

Axel smiled and adjusted the skull buckle. “My man beats my ass every night. I’m used to it.”

A disgusted look masked the men’s faces. “You’re fucking disgusting.”

A small crowd was beginning to gather; all of them—men and women—casting the three newcomers the same vile looks. A woman stepped forward and brushed her tits against the front guy. “Kick his ass then kick them out of here, Chuck.”

“No worries, honey,” Chuck murmured. “We’re gonna clean house.” He unfastened the cuffs of his denim shirt and rolled up his sleeves. “Ready to rumble, faggot?” He glanced warily at Clint and Cochise as if they might suddenly jump in.

“Don’t worry,” Axel assured. “They’re just going to watch me kick your ass, they won’t interfere.”

“You really think you can take all three of us?” Chuck scoffed. “Let me guess, you want to fight us one at a time?”

Axel shook his head. “No. I don’t have time to waste. I’ll take care of you all at once.”

“You seem pretty fucking sure of yourself.”

“You gonna fucking talk him to death?” Cochise muttered, turning slowly on the stool. “Or fucking fight him?”

Eyes narrowing in a frigid scowl, Chuck glanced uncertainly at the Egyptian then beckoned to Axel. “Come on, queer bait, give it your best shot.” A cynical smile jerked his lips as he tossed his buddies a dull eye roll.

“All right.” Axel swung fast and hard, nailing the man in the jaw. Chuck crashed back against his buddies who barely caught him, preventing him from hitting the floor.

Clint smiled. “That’s how you do it, baby.”

Axel didn’t give Chuck a chance to recover, and threw another punch, smashing his nose. Blood squirted from his nostrils and ran down his mouth and chin.

“Motherfucker!” Chuck’s first buddy jumped in and swung on Axel, hardly clipping his cheek before Axel dodged away. The grin that spread across his face hit Clint right in the crotch, inspiring a massive erection; the boy was fucking sexy when he was kicking ass.

“Get back!” Chuck yelled at his boys, regaining his balance. “This fucker is mine!” He wiped a quick hand across his mouth, smearing blood. “Come on, you little faggot.” His fists came up—clenched tight, bulging the veins in his arms.

Clint chuffed and looked at Cochise. The Egyptian turned lazy eyes on the battle. “Cory’s gonna be pissed he missed this,” he muttered.

“Fuck,” Clint chuckled low and watched Axel, his cock throbbing inside his Wranglers as Axel’s supple body swayed with ease and grace, anticipating his opponent’s every move. You’ve come a long way, baby, Clint thought with a shitload of pride.

 

♦

 

Chuck, the wanna-be cowboy, had lost his cool. One of the first things Cory had taught Axel was to control his temper. Whoever loses their temper first, Cory had explained, loses the advantage. The urban cowboy here before him had lost the upper hand the instant he got pissed.

“You think you’re tough, faggot?” Chuck fumed. “That was a cheap shot, but I guess I shouldn’t expect a little queer to fight fair.”

Axel smiled. “A cheap shot?” his eyebrow arched. “You told me to give it my best shot, and I did. If you weren’t ready for it, that’s on you, baby.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll pass.”

The sexual connotation fueled Chuck’s anger. “You fucking…” He swung hard, throwing his shoulder into it, launching himself forward recklessly.

Axel ducked and weaved to the side, pivoted his hip and smashed the hard sole of his cowboy boot into the side of the man’s knee, dropping him instantly. Chuck hit the floor with a painful crack of his knees, and Axel spun around, drilling his fist into the man’s head, laying him out.

“Fuck, yeah,” Clint nodded and squeezed his hard package. “We’re gonna fuck good tonight.”

A zing of excitement shot through Axel’s crotch; the harder he kicked these guys’ asses, the harder Clint got. What more incentive did he need?

Clint’s comment extracted disgusted looks from Chuck’s buddies and the gathered crowd. The two other men moved in on Axel, stepping over their downed friend who shifted painfully on the floor, spitting curses and blood.

The men lunged at the same time, the taller one capturing Axel in a rear bear hug, thick arms clenched around Axel’s chest, pinning his arms to his sides. The man grinned as Axel struggled against his vice-like grip, no doubt mistaking Axel’s struggles as panic.

Axel calmed a bit and raised his eyes as the shorter of the two men came at him from the front. He steeled himself and took the gut punch, a hard gasp of air bursting up his throat. “Fucking faggots!” the man growled viciously and nailed him again.

“You got this, baby,” Clint assured from his place at the bar, unfazed and unconcerned about the slight turn of events.

Axel nodded and gripped his captor’s clenching forearms, shoved his back against his chest, and swung both feet up off the floor as the shorter man surged in for another punch—nailing the fucker in the face with both boot heels. The man went down hard, back slamming to the floor, head cracking the solid surface as blood exploded from his nose.

“Fucker,” Axel muttered and dropped his feet to the floor with a loud thump—and smashed his head back into his captor’s face, knocking the man off him. As soon as he was free, Axel whipped around and struck with an uppercut to the man’s chin, dropping him on top of Chuck.

A flood of cursing swept through the crowd, and more men started for Axel when Clint and Cochise stood up, halting them dead in their tracks. “The matter is settled,” Clint drawled, a deadly edge to his southern brogue. He casually drew back his jacket to reveal his handgun and absently caressed his thumb over the weapon. “Be smart and take your defeat like men.”

The men glanced at one another with uncertainty then stood down, turning their attention to their fallen buddies.

Axel lowered his fists and walked over to Clint. “Well, that was fun.” He wrapped his arms around the cowboy’s neck and planted one on him, dragging the kiss out, long and deep. He gasped when he broke away and smiled. “I believe you owe me one hard fuck.”

Chuckling low, Clint palmed his ass with both hands and squeezed. “Does it have to be just one?”