Chapter 15

 

THE SOUND of thunder woke me the following morning, and when I lifted up, I realized I had been sleeping in Ian’s arms. We had switched places in the early morning hours, and I had lain beside him, next to the fire. But when my eyes opened to the gray day, I saw I had used his chest for a pillow.

There was no time to say anything, though. What I had thought was thunder was actually a helicopter that landed in the clearing a hundred yards away. First one off was Kage, and Ian and I got to our feet to greet him.

“Who’s that?” Cabot asked as he and Drake moved up beside me.

“Our boss,” I answered, watching Kage stride toward us.

“He’s big,” he remarked.

“And kinda scary looking,” Drake continued.

“Yeah,” I agreed, smiling suddenly. “I’m really happy to see him.”

“Me too,” Cabot sighed.

Sam Kage reached the stairs and climbed up, stopping in front of us.

“Sir, I—”

“Good job, Marshals,” he said, turning to lift a walkie-talkie to tell the others to bring a fire extinguisher.

He turned then and gestured us all down toward the helicopter. Inside, even the small change in temperature was comforting.

“Are you their boss?” Jenner snarled at Kage, the night not having mellowed him even a bit.

“I am,” Kage answered flatly, scowling.

“Well, I want them both in jail for kidnapping my son and—”

“Actually, it’s you who’ll be going there, sir,” Kage returned tersely. “Your actions led to the deaths of ten men, you kidnapped Drake Ford from federal custody, placed your own son in jeopardy, as well as an officer of the law—Chief Holley—and two of my marshals. You’ll be lucky to be back outside. Ever.”

“No, you—”

“I would take a moment and breathe the fresh air.”

Holley, Drake, and Cabot all looked to me with wide eyes.

Well, yeah, my boss was all kinds of scary.

 

 

IT WAS a blur. We went first by helicopter to the chief’s car and collected our bags, then to Drake’s trailer, where he and Cabot hurriedly packed one bag of clothes and Drake’s most prized possessions, including a sketch Cabot had done of him. We were then flown to Wellmont Hancock County Hospital.

All of us suffered from a bit of hypothermia, but once we had fluids and glucose, we were ready to eat. Kage culled the pack, putting Jenner in federal custody, turning him over to the FBI agents. They took kidnapping very seriously. It was sad that even then, Jenner had to spit some more poison at his son, calling him a disappointment and an abomination. Drake folded his boyfriend in his arms as the agents, more than a little disgusted by Jenner’s vitriol, if the looks on their faces were any indication, took his father away.

We said good-bye to Holley, who thanked Ian and me for saving his life and hugged Drake and Cabot and wished them well. Two large Chevy Suburbans were parked at the entrance of the hospital, and Kage gave one set of keys to Ian and four plane tickets to me.

“You’re all flying back to Chicago tomorrow.”

“And you?” Ian asked.

“I have to fly to Arlington to bring charges against Mr. Jenner. I need your full reports no later than 0600 tomorrow morning. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yessir,” I said.

“Yes sir,” Ian echoed.

“And the rental car that you drove to the police station in Bowman is being returned as we speak.”

Big or small, my boss never missed anything. “Thank you, sir.”

Kage gave me a pat on the arm. “Good job, gentlemen.”

FBI agents accompanied him, and one held the door open so he could get into the SUV. They drove away quickly through the lightly falling snow.

“Who wants food?” Ian asked.

I raised my hand, with Drake and Cabot following.

“When does a shower happen?” Cabot wanted to know.

“You want that first?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head at the same time his stomach growled. “Food is definitely number one on my list.”

It was the same for all of us.

“After we eat,” Ian said, gesturing at the car. “We’ll all get nice hot showers.”

It sounded heavenly.

I called shotgun, and everyone thought that was funny, because really, who else would it have been with Ian driving?

“We should eat on the way,” Drake suggested. “It’s like an hour and a half to the Tri-Cities airport. That’s Blountville, right? Tennessee?”

“Yeah,” Ian said, fidgeting, like he wasn’t comfortable in his seat.

“You want me to drive?”

“No,” he snapped.

I suddenly had the oddest compulsion to take hold of his hand, but since I wasn’t sure how he would take that, I just looked out the window instead.

“What do you guys wanna eat?” I asked Drake and Cabot.

“Yes,” Cabot said, chuckling.

Meaning anything and everything.

“Okay,” I said playfully, patting Ian’s leg. “Drive.”

He caught my hand and held it against his thigh, taking a breath at the same time. “Who wants a steak? I feel like steak.”

Cabot whimpered.

“And all the fixins?” Drake asked hopefully.

“You got it, buddy.”

I turned to look at Ian, and after a minute, he let my hand go and put his on the wheel. “You all right?”

“Fine,” he answered softly.

“So get us steak, man.”

Moving my hand, I checked my e-mail on my phone, and when I put my phone down, leaned sideways and took hold of the back of his headrest.

Every now and then, out of the blue Ian smiled, and I could look at him and see the little boy he must have been. It was all sunshine and happiness and heartbreaking vulnerability. The smile annihilated me and also made me almost murderously protective. So when he turned his head and gifted me with it, I smiled stupidly back.

Fucking Ian.

We stopped an hour later at a place that Yelp said was good, and at three in the afternoon, since it was just us and two older couples, we were guaranteed focused service.

The amount of food we ordered was ridiculous, and our waitress, Jill, was funny and sweet and thrilled with every new menu item requested.

Cabot ate his filet rare and smothered in mushrooms, Drake had a porterhouse I didn’t think a wolf pack could have finished, Ian had a T-bone named the “cowboy cut,” and I had a ribeye. We shared sides—ordered eight of them—and then had dessert.

“Someday, when Drake and I are done with witness protection, will you guys drink with us?” Cabot asked hopefully.

“Absolutely,” I promised.

“And we’ll be staying in Chicago, right?” Drake wanted to know. “I mean—you and Marshal Doyle are—”

“Make it Ian and Miro,” Ian corrected. “After everything, I think we’re done with titles, yeah?”

Drake smiled wide, and I saw Cabot looking at us hungrily as well. They were both starved for male authority-figure friendship. “Yeah,” he agreed happily.

“So,” Cabot hedged, “we’ll be in Chicago, and you guys will check up on us and stuff?”

“Yes,” Ian promised.

Nice to see the relief wash over both of them, Cabot even more so, and I understood why. His whole life had changed in a twenty-four-hour period.

“You both have to go to college,” Ian informed them.

There was lots of nodding, and I heard Ian cackle under his breath.

As soon as we were on the road again, our two witnesses passed out in the back.

“Normally transport marshals don’t do check-in,” he reminded me.

“Yeah, but I think this is a special circumstance.”

“I agree,” he rumbled thickly, twisting his head back and forth.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I dunno,” he said too fast.

Okay. “What do you think?” I prodded.

He shook his head.

I would have to figure it out later.

“Boss has us with a reservation at the La Quinta Inn & Suites near the airport.”

“All right. I’ll navigate us to there.”

“Let’s actually get a suite, okay? Not just a room with two beds and two cots.”

“Why would you make the boys sleep apart?” I baited him, to which there was no reply.

Nothing.

“Ian?”

“Where am I going?”

“You’re staying on US 23 going south. It’ll turn into I-26. You’ll be on it for another ten miles.”

He grunted.

Something was wrong. “I was thinking that I could start typing up our incident report, since I don’t get carsick.”

“Good idea,” he said as he checked the mirrors.

It was like pulling teeth; the man was back to being his normal laconic self. “Are you pissed at me?”

No answer, which basically let me know that he was, in fact, angry. Since I had no hope of figuring out what I’d done, I gave up and pulled out my laptop.

The thirty minutes of drive time went by quickly as I wrote the report, making sure to include the notes I’d e-mailed Kage and the ones I’d made on my phone. I talked to Aruna when she called to let me know that Chickie was having a very good time playing with the kids as well as Liam. I reported the news to Ian, who merely nodded.

“You’re quite the conversationalist,” I informed him.

He made a noise in the back of his throat.

“You’re being a dick.”

His gaze flicked over to me and then back to the road.

My phone buzzed. A text message from Kage.

“What is it?” Ian asked.

“Apparently twelve members of the Malloy crime family were murdered last night. Orson Malloy is in the wind.”

“Okay, so what does that mean for Drake?”

“Nothing. While he’s been in custody, Fisher’s been talking, and it turns out he doesn’t only do cleanup for Malloy, but for several different families. He stopped talking because he said he had a feeling that Drake might not be around much longer.”

“What does the message say about that?”

“To watch out for Drake and Cabot until we get them on the plane. Once we’re back in Chicago, no one will know who they are.”

“Right. Does he say who he thinks might be coming after them?”

“No.”

“Okay,” he said on an exhale. Then after a few moments of silence: “Were you worried last night?”

“What?” I asked, turning to look at him, ignoring my laptop.

“Last night? In the woods? Were you scared?”

“No.” I yawned. “You were there.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“No, I don’t mean, like, you were there, so you saw I wasn’t freaked out. I mean, you were there, you were with me, and so I was fine.”

“Oh.”

“If you and I are together, I don’t worry.”

He grunted and I went back to my report.

Ian found a drugstore where we stopped for toiletries for the guys before heading over to the hotel. At the front desk, we had to wait a bit as there was a family reunion happening and a lot of people were checking in. When it was my turn, I advised the clerk that I needed a specific layout for our suite and I had checked them on the Internet.

In the room, Cabot was confused.

“There’s only one bedroom.”

“Right,” I agreed. “Now walk with me.”

We passed through a short hallway and saw a bathroom on the left that led to a bedroom. But if you walked by the bathroom, there was a couch that opened up into a bed, and on the other side of the bedroom wall, a dining room table and chairs.

“You guys will be in there,” I directed. “You close the bedroom door here, and the one that leads from the bathroom, and you’re completely enclosed. Ian and I are out here, and anyone who comes in has to come through us first.”

“You have kind of a sucky job,” Drake said bluntly. “I mean, you guys just protect us ’cause you have to.”

“Normally, yes.” I agreed with his summation of the facts. “But I’d protect you guys even if I didn’t have to, at this point. I’m interested to see what happens.”

“We’re like an experiment,” Cabot said, grinning at me.

“Yes,” I agreed, flashing him a smile.

“I’m taking a shower first,” Ian grumbled, walking toward the bathroom with his backpack. “Somebody call down and get more towels.”

He slammed the door behind him, and Drake took his and Cabot’s bags into the bedroom while Cabot turned on the television. Of course, the first thing he saw was his old home on the news.

“Jesus Christ, it looks worse than it did this morning when we flew over it.”

The house was basically gutted. Between the grenades and the bullets, the remodeling would have been extensive. But the inside had been blasted as well. I was glad I had insisted on Cabot taking anything of value when he ran with us, because his bedroom had been completely destroyed.

“I’m sorry you won’t get to say good-bye to your mother,” I said gently.

Cabot shook his head. “Don’t be. She never gave a crap about me. At least my father knew I was alive. Every time he hit me, at least he saw me.”

I couldn’t help it. He was so young, so sad, and at that moment, he needed me. Stepping in front of him, I hauled him to his feet and into my arms.

“You think I’m weak because I’m gay, and—”

“I’m gay, idiot,” I told him, squeezing tighter until he broke down, going boneless against me. “Gay doesn’t have shit to do with anything, and never let anyone tell you different.”

His breath caught as he started to cry, his arms wrapping tight around my waist as he buried his face in my chest.

“You can get married in Chicago if you want. June would be perfect since you’ll have graduated high school by then. People’ll think you got yourself knocked up.”

The dam broke, and the sniffling and laughing turned to all-out ugly sobbing in seconds. He had only just turned eighteen. He was still so young, had been through an ordeal, and was now basically an orphan with no one but my partner and me to give a crap about him and his boyfriend.

“You’re gonna be all right,” I promised. “You’ll see.”

He clung so hard, and I rocked him and soothed him, rubbing circles on his back. When Ian walked into the room, Drake spoke up.

“Cab,” he said softly. “Baby, do you want to take a shower next or—”

Cabot tried to wedge tighter, and I motioned for Drake to go ahead.

“Did you call down for towels?” Ian asked.

“No, we didn’t get that far,” I said, smiling, leaning my cheek on the top of Cabot’s head.

“Okay,” he mumbled, crossing the room to the phone.

I stood with Cabot, and eventually he calmed. The crying became panting, stuttering breaths, and finally hiccups. I had him drink water fast, and when Drake got out of the bathroom, he smiled, big.

“Oh, there’s my baby,” Drake sighed as Cabot charged over to him. As he wrapped the smaller boy up in his arms, Drake looked over at me and smiled.

“Get in the shower, Cabot. Drake’ll bring your towels in when we get them,” I said.

He did as he was directed, and I pulled out my laptop, got myself situated at the table, and plugged it in. We had to use our phones for Wi-Fi hotspots because of all the classified data we transmitted, and once I got that working, I went back to typing up the report.

The towels arrived, and when Cabot came out looking better, definitely smelling better, and beaming at me, I told him and Drake to order room service if they wanted anything.

“Read over the report,” I said to Ian next. “Add anything I’m missing, okay?”

“Sure,” he muttered, not looking at me as he sat down in front of my laptop.

Something had crawled up his ass, but for the life of me, I had no idea what. But I needed a shower more than I needed to make nice with him, so I left him—sulking or pouting, I wasn’t sure which—and disappeared into the bathroom.

Hot water had never felt so good. I stood under the spray much longer than I needed to, and when I finally finished, the dessert they’d ended up ordering was there. I’d forgotten how much eighteen-year-old boys could eat.

I changed into the lounge pants the girls had bought me and walked out into the living room, still towel drying my hair.

“Are you really—oh.”

Looking up, I saw Drake standing over Cabot but staring at me. “Am I really what?”

“Gay,” Cabot squeaked.

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “Why?”

Drake shook his head like he wasn’t sure. Cabot swallowed nervously, his eyes locked on me.

They were both sort of overwhelmed, and I understood why. I was probably the first other gay man they’d met.

“Let me hang this up, and I’ll talk to you guys, okay?”

They nodded in unison.

Returning to the bathroom, I hung up the towel and then checked the locks on the suite’s door. When I turned to walk back, Ian was right there, having moved up silently behind me.

“I didn’t hear you.” I chuckled, moving by him.

He stopped me with a hand on my bicep.

“What?”

His eyes didn’t leave mine, but he said nothing.

I cleared my throat. “Do you have an extra T-shirt in your bag?”

“Why, because now you’re done walking around half-naked?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Both those boys nearly swallowed their tongues when you came walking out of the bathroom,” he groused, shoving me backward. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

I was lost.

“And could those pants be any tighter?”

“Knock it off,” I said playfully, thinking he was teasing.

“Are you guys coming back to talk or what?” Drake asked, coming around the corner.

“We’ll be right there!” Ian yelled over his shoulder.

Drake’s eyes opened wide in surprise and he backpedaled away fast.

“Why’re you shouting at him?”

“I’m not!”

“Are you listening to yourself?”

“Hey, guys, we’re gonna watch TV in the bedroom!” Cabot announced loudly before I heard quickly slammed doors.

“That’s perfect,” I groused. “Now you scared them.”

“I didn’t scare anybody,” he snapped, clearly exasperated.

“Yeah, you did. They’re just kids, Ian.”

“I don’t fuckin’ care.” He sounded angry and belligerent and mean.

“You know, you’ve been a surly asshole all day. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You!”

“Me?” I was taken aback.

“You’re pissing me off.”

“Why? What’d I do?”

“You shouldn’t—” He stopped speaking and took a step forward, into me, pinning me up against the door, his thigh between mine, spreading my legs, hands on my hips.

I felt a throb, a pulse of want that spread down my spine and flushed me in heat. It was, for a split second, like drowning. “Let go,” I said, begging him.

“Why?”

“Because you’re dangerously close to being thrown up against the wall.”

His breath hitched. “Yeah, okay, do that.”

My gaze met his.

“Do it,” he dared, licking his lips.

“Ian?” I murmured, hands on his face, easing him close. “What’s going on?”

His brows furrowed.

“What do you want?”

Still nothing.

“I can’t guess this time. You have to tell me.”

He coughed softly.

“Please.”

The muscles in his jaw corded. “Yesterday, when we—when you—” He swallowed hard. “I felt like I belonged to you.”

I had treated him like that, because in bed, I couldn’t hide my feelings. My desire to own him, to make him mine, was obvious. I worried about that and so worked to keep things casual and light between us out of bed. But it seemed like maybe that wasn’t what he wanted—or more importantly, needed.

The way he was looking at me… the light came on.

All of his frustration, his anger, was about ownership.

It all suddenly made sense: his unease in the car, the fidgeting like his skin was suddenly too constrictive, acting as though he wanted to get away from me. He needed grounding. He needed to know where he belonged, and to whom.

“And is that what you want?” I asked as he smoothed his hands up my sides, his head tipping forward so his lips brushed over my collarbone. “To be mine?”

The shiver was all the answer I needed, even if he lied.

“Ian?”

He nodded, his lips parting, his teeth scraping gently over my skin. “This whole time,” he said, his voice thick and full of gravel. “Right here, all along… you’ve been here.”

My whole body tensed as I girded for what could happen, and for what I could lose.

“I don’t—I mean—” He inhaled sharply. “I’m—”

“It’s okay,” I said gently.

“Shit,” Ian muttered under his breath, pressing his face down into my shoulder, hands tracing over the muscles in my back.

“Tell me,” I urged, nuzzling his temple, kissing gently, tenderly, moving my lips along his jaw.

“What the fuck is with these pants?”

Not what I was hoping to hear, but I could work with it, with the fact that he liked what he saw. Taking hold of his hands, I moved them under the elastic waistband and back over my ass before squeezing tight. “They’re for taking off,” I whispered raggedly in his ear.

“Miro,” he choked out, lifting his head, his lips hovering over mine as he ground his rigid shaft against my thigh. “I need more.”

“More what? More kissing? More sex?”

“Fuck, yeah, all that,” he husked, lifting his hands from where they were down the back of my pants, one sliding up and over my hip, the other slipping around front to cup my length.

I thrust forward into his fist, and he moaned before he pressed a kiss to the side of my neck. “And?”

“I’m stuck,” he said, stroking my cock, drawing it from beneath my waistband. “It’s like I’m all I can be, like this is it, unless….”

The lazy touching was driving me wild. I needed his mouth on me or he had to be rougher, tug my flesh until I came. “Unless,” I growled.

“You stay with me.”

It took me a second to parse his words because my entire focus was on his body: its proximity, his warm breath, his hooded eyes, and his demanding hands. “Stay with you?” My heart hurt, listening to him dredge his feelings up from the deep, but I had to know what was buried in him, in his heart.

“Shit,” he groaned and tried to let go of me, but I pushed my hard, leaking dick into his hand and he clutched at me automatically.

“Do I feel good?”

“Oh fuck yeah,” he rumbled, pressing close to shove his own cock, straining against the front of his sweats, over mine.

“Maybe you should stay with me instead.”

“Okay.”

“Should I ask you to move in with me?”

“Please,” he said, seemingly without thought or hesitation.

“Because then you’ll know, whether we’re in a car together transporting witnesses or if you’re alone on the other side of the world, that you have a home with me.”

“Yes.”

“And when you know you belong to me, with me, then not being able to touch me in the car won’t make you feel like you’re gonna crawl out of your own skin.”

His gaze met mine.

“Because when we get home, behind closed doors, I can do whatever the fuck I want to you.”

“Yes,” he rasped, tearing at his sweats, shucking them down enough to allow his longer, thinner cock to bounce free.

I grasped both together, tight, and he moaned like he was in pain.

“God, why haven’t we been doing this since…. Jesus, Miro, you’re the smart one.”

Was I?

I gripped the back of his neck tight, holding him still as I slid my hand up and down our cocks, jerking us both, loving the feel of his skin pressed to mine.

“It’s more than just—” He shuddered. “—this.”

“I know,” I soothed, then moved fast, shoving him face-first into the door, pinning him there with my bulkier frame, my chest against his back. “Don’t move.”

He stood silently, breathing in and out, and I pulled up my pants and left him at a run, getting to my bag, finding the lube, and noting the closed door that led from the main room to the bedroom, and then, as I passed by, that the one leading from the bathroom to the bedroom was similarly shut. As professionalism went, ours was out the window. But Drake Ford and Cabot Jenner were going to be our charges in Chicago, and since we’d first emotionally saved them, and then physically, I wasn’t too worried about them saying a disparaging word about either Ian or me. But even if they did, I could have cared less.

Ian needed me.

Returning, finding him frozen where I’d left him, I shoved my pants to my ankles, then his, before kissing between his shoulder blades. Stepping out of mine, I kicked them away before flipping open the cap of the lube.

“I want to go home with you,” he husked. “I want you to hold me down in your bed.”

How I was supposed to manhandle him when he was baring his soul was beyond me.

“I lied, you know,” he confessed when I reached around him to take hold of his dripping cock and stroke him from balls to head.

“About what?” I asked, sliding my middle finger between his cheeks.

He gasped and arched his back, pushing back into me, burying my finger to the knuckle.

“Ian? What’d you lie about?”

“I-I never dreamed about your couch, M,” he croaked. “I dreamed about your bed and being with you in it.”

The honesty was going to kill me.

Jesus.

“How long,” I demanded, releasing his cock and gripping my own, greasing myself heavily, not ever wanting to hurt him but unable to do any more for him.

“Since the first time I slept over.”

Instead of beating him, I dropped the lube beside me on the carpet and leaned forward, my mouth at his ear. “Why didn’t you come upstairs and get in bed with me?”

“I was scared,” he admitted, hands spread on the wall, lifting his right foot from his sweats so he could widen his stance.

Wrapping my left hand around his throat, I tipped his head back on my shoulder as I kissed along his jaw.

“Miro,” he ground out. “I liked it when you came inside.”

He was trying to kill me. “Oh yeah?” I asked, forcing myself to remain calm, not rushing.

“When you… when your cum was dripping out of me, and I could feel it in my ass and on my thighs… I mean, I know it happened, yeah? We’re connected.”

“Yes.”

“Do it now.”

“You’re gonna take me in, do you understand?”

He nodded.

Leaning back, I took hold of the base of my cock, lined my head up with his entrance, and pushed.

“Fuck!”

His muscles clamped down tight, but I was too slick, breaching him, filling him, watching his hole swallow my cock until my balls pressed against his ass.

“Jerk yourself off,” I directed, hands on his hips, as I pulled out halfway, grinding my shaft over his nerve endings on the withdrawal, and then thrust back in, snapping my hips, jolting him.

“Don’t stop,” he pleaded.

His hands fisted against the wall as I repeated my motion, slamming inside of him, pumping rhythmically, no trace of gentleness, only pounding, driving movement.

His sleek inner walls, the way the muscles rippled and clutched around me—he felt indescribably good, all tight, slick heat.

“Forgive me.”

Like there was anything else to do. “Yes.”

“Keep me.”

“Yes,” I promised, feeling the slow roll of my orgasm building as my balls tightened and I broke out in a sweat. “Grab your cock. Get yourself off, because I’m gonna come.”

“Miro—” His voice went in and out on him, cracking. “I need it harder. Please, Miro. Make it hurt.”

“If it hurts I’m doing it wrong,” I growled, grabbing the back of his neck and shoving him to the carpet on his hands and knees, following him down. “Don’t fuckin’ move.”

He cried out, voice gone, as I pegged his gland, hands on his shoulders, holding him still as I fucked him.

He went rigid under me, and I came inside of him as he spurted onto the carpet beneath him. His aftershocks squeezed my shaft almost too tight, and I wanted to pull out, but a single word stilled me.

“Stay.”

So I collapsed over him instead, relinquishing all my weight, my face pressed into the back of his neck, panting into his sweaty skin.

“What if you end up hating me and I lose not only my lover but my partner and my best friend?”

“I know everything about you,” I said, rolling my head to lick and suck his skin. “What’s there to hate?”

“All the other women I’ve—”

“I’m not a woman.”

“Yeah, I can tell that that since your enormous cock is buried in my ass.”

“Lemme get—”

“No,” he whispered, reaching back to take hold of my thigh and keep me still. “Wait.”

So I stayed there, inside, taking every breath with him.

“This is good.”

It was so much more than simply that.