“Put the pedal to the metal, Uncle Clint.” Cory was in the backseat with Colton, face taut as he stared out the side window. “I want these fuckers. If they hurt our baby boy, I’ll fucking gut them.”
Clint glanced in the rearview mirror and didn’t miss the slight gloss in the younger man’s eyes. The strain on his face betrayed where his thoughts were at; the night he’d lost Shay. Now, the life of Shay’s son hung in the balance.
“Don’t worry,” Clint murmured. “Our little buckaroo is coming home with us today—safe and sound.”
Not much came out of Cochise, but he didn’t have to say the words for Clint to understand how worried he was for Jules’ safety. The boy touched a special part of each of their lives and their world would come crushing down if Jules was taken from them for good.
“How far away?” Cory asked.
“About twenty-five minutes,” Clint told him. “Cruz, Sanchez, and their boys are closer. They’ll get there first, check out the situation. If Jules is in immediate danger, they’ll go in and get him. If not, they’ll hold back, stay out of sight until we arrive.”
Cochise and Cory were polar opposites as the Egyptian sat stone still while Cory fidgeted restlessly, eager to be out of the car and kicking ass. Like Clint, Colton was tense and alert, though neither restless nor rigid. Typically, Clint wouldn’t have allowed Colton—or Cory, for that matter—to accompany them on a dangerous job. Decades ago, Clint had promised Donny that he would look after his little brother. He had failed to keep that promise throughout most of his life, but he was given a second chance and he meant to follow through this time. Had it been anything or anyone else but Jules, Clint would have insisted both Cory and Colton stay behind—as he’d instructed Axel. But in the case of Jules, it would have done no good to tell them not to go; neither man would have listened. Axel complied because he understood Clint’s fears, but had he insisted on coming along, Clint couldn’t have stopped him…short of handcuffing him to the bed.
The cowboy allowed his mind to drift in that direction for a few moments as he maneuvered the car through the city streets. The imagery of Axel handcuffed to their bed worked wonders at relieving his stress and tension. Once Jules was safely back home, Clint thought he might have to pursue the notion of restraint with Axel. The young man wouldn’t object. If it pleased his cowboy, he would do it.
The corner of his mouth twitched with a small smile; he missed the boy already.
♦
Tazz and Blade joined a few of the other members as they mulled over their new information. Momentarily forgotten, Callum quietly struggled with his restraints, to no avail. Jules sat on the floor nearby, still hugging his pup protectively, distrustful eyes on Blade.
“Jules,” Callum whispered. Neither of the men had sat him upright and the edge of the chair ground into his arm, pinning it to the concrete floor. “Jules, come here.” He glanced anxiously toward the others, but they remained oblivious to Callum and Jules.
The boy looked at him then crawled over, the pup staying close with him.
“In my front pocket,” Callum murmured. “I have a pocketknife. Can you get it for me?” He tossed another glance at the men when their voices rose a little. Jules nodded and stuffed his small hand into the pocket that Callum indicated and retrieved the knife. “Okay,” Callum whispered, keeping an eye on Tazz and Blade. “Do you think you can open it and cut me loose?”
Jules appeared uncertain then nodded and worked open the knife blade.
“Be careful,” Callum said quietly. “Don’t cut yourself, the blade’s sharp. Try not to cut me either. Just stay between my hands and saw the ropes.” The boy hesitated then reached for the ropes. “Sit with your back to them,” Callum instructed. “So they can’t see what you’re doing if they look this way. They’ll think you’re just sitting here talking to me.”
Jules scooted around and sat on his knees, facing away from the men. He gripped the knife in his small hand, damp eyes worried.
“You can do it, bud,” Callum encouraged him. “We have to get out of here.”
Jules looked at him fearfully. “They’ll catch us.”
“We’re just gonna have to run,” Callum whispered. “Wait till they’re distracted—like now—and just make a run for it. The door is unlocked now, we can get out.” He looked at the men. “Hurry, before they see us.” Nodding, Jules began sawing at the ropes. Callum kept his eyes on Tazz and Blade and the others. When one of the ropes loosened, he encouraged Jules to keep going, that he was almost there.
“Adrian is fucking with us.” Tazz’s stiff voice drifted back to Callum. “He’s stalling.”
“He’s hooked up with that fucking mob family,” Blade said. “They could be moving in on us right now.”
Tazz shook his head. “They don’t know where we’re at.”
“Maybe you should call him back,” Blade suggested. “Tell him if he tries anything, we’ll gut the brat.”
Chills swept through Callum. “Hurry, Jules,” he whispered anxiously. The boy was trembling, his small hands working awkwardly but making progress.
“I’m not afraid of his men,” Tazz muttered—always the arrogant one. “They’re probably all a bunch of queers like him.” He snorted. “We gonna back down to a band of sissy faggots?”
You’re in for a rude awakening if you think they’re sissies, Callum thought.
“Fuck, no,” Blade chuffed and the other men seconded his motion. “Let ‘em come for us. We’ll string the fuckers up and ram sticks up their asses and fry ‘em.” He smirked. “They’d probably like the stick up the ass part. Sick motherfuckers.”
Tazz huffed and nodded. “To be on the safe side, though,” he said. “Get the boy and lock him in one of the rooms and put a guard on him. As long as we have him, they won’t do shit. He’s our leverage.”
Shit. “Jules, hurry,” Callum hissed.
Blade turned around and stopped short as Callum’s hands suddenly came free. “Hey!”
“Come on!” Callum scrambled to his feet and scooped Jules up off the floor and ran for the rear door.
“Cowboy!” Jules called the pup and the dog raced after them.
“Get them, God dammit!” Tazz yelled and Blade broke from his stance and bolted after them.
Callum reached the door in seconds and grabbed the handle. The pup yelped suddenly and Jules screamed over his shoulder.
“Stop right there!” Blade raged and Callum spun around. The man had the pup by the skin of the neck, a knife to its throat. “Take one more step and I’ll fucking gut him open.”
“Noo!” Jules cried, clinging to Callum. “Don’t let him hurt him!”
Tears filled Callum’s eyes as his jaw knotted with frustration and fear. Fuck-fuck-fuuuck! He didn’t move as Tazz walked over, yanked Jules from his arms, and gut punched Callum, doubling him over and dropping him to his knees.
“That’s strike two, you fucking little bastard,” he growled. “Around here, you don’t get a strike three.” He smashed his knee into Callum’s face, knocking him over backward. He looked at his men and singled one out. “Jag.”
Callum shuddered; he knew Jag’s reputation and had done his best to avoid the man at all cost. But Jag had noticed him, on many occasions. Callum hadn’t missed the way the man’s deep-set eyes followed him around like a predator stalking its prey. Callum had pretended not to notice him, never acknowledging his attention, afraid to make eye contact for fear the man would take it as an invitation.
“You want him?” Tazz muttered. “Take him. Just do your business in the back room, I don’t want to see it.” Tazz’s disgust with fags made exception for Jag; the man was a ruthless motherfucker who Tazz considered an asset to the gang. Jag wasn’t necessarily a queer; he’d fuck anything. Maybe the fact that he’d fuck women as well made Tazz more tolerable of the man. Callum didn’t know and didn’t care. All he knew was that he was fucked…in every sense of the word.
Jag walked over and stood staring down at him. Had he not been vicious and perverted, he could have been decent looking; late twenties, well-muscled, tall, moderately handsome face with blondish-brown hair that hung nearly to his shoulders. But it was his eyes that ruined the image; eyes that looked at Callum with a sick, lustful hunger that chilled Callum’s blood.
“It’s about time we got to know each other.” Jag reached down, grabbed Callum’s arm, and hauled him to his feet.
“No…” Callum whimpered and jerked against Jag’s grip, unmindful of the throbbing in his face or the blood draining into his mouth and over his chin.
Jag chuckled. “Go ahead, put up a fight. I’d rather take it than have it given to me, anyway. Much more fun that way.”
“Let go!” Callum choked and struggled when the man began dragging him across the room toward the corridor. “Stop!”
“Should’ve thought twice about double-crossing us, Cal,” Tazz drawled. “Would’ve saved your ass some pounding.” He grinned. The other men standing around laughed and jeered as Callum was forcefully ushered out of the room. He cast one last glance at Jules who was once again in Blade’s grasp.
Please, God, don’t let them hurt him.
His own fate was sealed; Callum understood this. If Jag didn’t rape him to death this first time around, he would become Jag’s fuck toy until the man got tired of him and put him down…or sold him to someone else.
Jag took him to the room that Callum and Jules had shared the previous night and immediately began groping him; palming his junk, squeezing, working his hand forcefully on his goods. Callum shut his eyes, his pulse spiking as panic took over. “Please don’t…” he whispered, hating himself for begging but unable to stop the words from slipping out.
“Ah, what you afraid of, baby?” Jag breathed against his ear. “You’re gonna love my dick…nice and big and thick…stretch out that tiny little hole of yours real good. You gonna be squealing and whooping.” He pressed his lips to Callum’s temple, his hot breath puffing down his cheek. “I like it when you all make noise. Lots of noise.” He shoved Callum down on the sleeping bag, and went down with him, tugging at Callum’s clothes.
“No…” Callum fought his hands and squirmed beneath him as the man’s cock hardened more and more, swelling the crotch of his pants. “No!”
Jag laughed. “Oh, you’re gonna like it, boy,” he panted with jacked up adrenaline. “I’ll fuck you till you like it.” He managed to get Callum’s jeans open and shoved his hand down inside, grabbing his dick. Jag’s grin stretched. “Nice cock.”
Panicked sobs began to choke Callum as he tried to pull Jag’s hand from his pants but the man squeezed his cock harder. “God, don’t…don’t…please!”
“I ain’t had anyone fight me this much in a long time,” Jag groaned and used his other hand to unfasten his own pants. “I like it. Gettin’ me fuckin’ hard and horny, boy. I’m gonna fuck you so deep and hard you’re gonna wail like a banshee.”
Callum squeezed his eyes shut, sucking in short, erratic breaths as he began to hyperventilate. “No…no…stop…please stop…don’t…”
Jag puffed and grunted as he yanked at Callum’s jeans, dragging them off his hips. Callum was spun over onto his stomach and Jag straddled his thighs, using both hands to pull his pants off his ass. “Oh fuck,” Jag quivered. “This ass…” He groaned loud and hungry.
Callum cried and clawed the sleeping bag, trying to pull himself out from under the man, but Jag’s weight pinned him to the hard floor. Please, God, please don’t let him rape me! Please! Please!!
Somewhere outside Callum’s fragmenting mind—he heard a weapon cock and Jag went still as a statue on top of him.
“I don’t believe the boy is in the mood to fuck.” The deep southern drawl permeated the fog of panic filling Callum’s head and a fresh flood of tears gushed out as he began to tremble and shake uncontrollably.
The cowboy!