Wait Until Dawn

A Total-E-Bound Publication

www.total-e-bound.com

Wait Until Dawn ISBN # 978-0-85715-492-7 ©Copyright Bailey Bradford 2011 Cover Art by Lyn Taylor ©Copyright March 2011 Edited by Claire Siemaszkiewicz Total-E-Bound Publishing This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing. Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution. The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork. Published in 2011 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.

Southern Spirits

WAIT UNTIL DAWN Bailey Bradford

Dedication RLO—I finally found you again.

Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Jack Daniel’s: Jack Daniel’s Properties, Inc. Mazda Miata: Mazda Motor Company Cliffs Notes: Cliffs Notes, Inc. Scotchgard: 3M SyFi Channel: NBC Universal

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Chapter One

So much anger. Rich Montoya squeezed his eyes tightly shut as the nerve endings in his fingers and toes burned, sending pin pricks of pain up his limbs. He tried to will back the evil he felt roiling inside him, but as had happened every time before, it hammered away at his control until bright spots danced behind his closed lids and the foreign presence that haunted him wreaked havoc on his body and mind. It exploded inside him like a geyser, pressurised hatred shooting up and spewing throughout him, splattering his soul with inky black streaks of the malevolent being that tormented him. “You know who I am.” Rich grunted as he fought the crushing waves of fury, the twisted desires and memories that were forced into his mind. Images of mutilated bodies, his own and another man, seared into his memory. A whimper slipped free as Rich pressed the heels of his hands to his temples, trying to push out the hated invader If he could pop his head right open and put an end to this now, he’d do it. Screams of pain, dark eyes filled with horror, the sadistic glee as the invader forced helpless victims to bear the brunt of his twisted games. Rapist, victim, murderer, victim— Rich was shunted back and forth, experiencing each. His own shouts mixed with the ones shared by the invader, filling Rich inside and out with sounds of terror and denial. Rich’s body jerked at the vision of a brutal penetration, agony ripping through him as if he were being torn into with the force of a jackhammer. His back bowed as he cried out, his hands alternately pulling at his hair and pounding at his head. “S-stop it! Jesus, God, oh fuck, help me…” Rich pleaded, knowing it was useless. His fears and begging only ever spurred the invader on. Curling into a foetal position, Rich trembled, his teeth chattering as he was mentally subjected to more atrocities. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t experience this again and again and stay sane. And if he didn’t keep his sanity, then the invader would win, maybe even take Rich over and have a willing body in which to act out the sick desires. “No,” Rich whispered, then yelled as his own fury erupted, “No! You won’t win!” He rolled off the bed and hit the tiled floor with a loud smack. The pain of the fall helped centre him, giving him something physical to focus on when his mind was in such turmoil. Pushing

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himself up to his knees, Rich pried his eyes open, unsurprised to find himself shrouded in darkness. The invader always came in the early morning hours—the witching hours, Rich’s grandma would have said. On the nights the invader didn’t come, Rich was always wide awake, unable to sleep for fear of having his mind hijacked and filled with horrors no one should ever have to see or experience. He’d wait until dawn, then try to catch a few hours’ sleep. It was a pattern that drained him of his energy—and his will to live. What was the point of living if he no longer had a life of his own? Even without the presence that insisted on shredding Rich’s mind, his nights were filled with his own memories of pain and fear, the glint of light off a sharp-edged knife, the searing fiery agony as it sliced into his skin over and over again. His skin was striped with his experience at the hands of a mad man, lines smooth and jagged etched forever into his flesh. He’d never forget, never have peace, never be who and what he was before. Another wave of images streamed through his head, more screams and agony, more sick delight from the one inflicting the torture. “No more, you fucking evil bastard,” Rich muttered. He grabbed the nightstand with one hand to steady himself and pulled the top drawer open with his other. Even in the darkened room, a sliver of moonlight slipped through the curtains and caressed the cold steel, giving off a subtle glow that seemed to promise salvation, if not respite. Rich picked up the gun, his hand steady despite the rapid beat of his heart. He’d had enough, couldn’t deal with it any more. If he went to Hell, it couldn’t be any worse. He wasn’t sure he’d want to go to Heaven anyway, if such a place existed, not if God was real and let shit like this happen to people. Flick-flick-flick. Images skipped and sputtered like a film reel misaligned in its projector. Memories or fantasies that weren’t his own, would never be his no matter how deeply branded into his mind they were, faded in and out. “Enough,” Rich rasped, flinching only a little when he pressed the barrel under his chin. It wasn’t fear of death that made him twitch, only the shock of how very cold the steel felt against his skin. Rich closed his eyes and took a deep breath, already feeling a sense of peace at having found a way to escape. He slipped the safety off and tucked his finger against the trigger before remembering that finger wouldn’t work. He shifted his hand a bit until his middle finger touched the trigger.

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Mocking laughter, so loud in his head as to seem audible, caused him to hesitate. The invader wasn’t afraid of being vanquished. It egged Rich on, which in turn made him doubt the wisdom of such a final course of action. “Do it, pull the trigger, blow your goddamned brains out! You’re useless, pathetic, you scarred waste! No one will give a shit, no one will even come looking for you—” Except now Rich didn’t know if it was the voice of his tormentor or his own thoughts pushing him to end his life. He’d thought of suicide many times since he’d woken up in the hospital in McKinton, his body and face bearing the marks of a mad man. It wasn’t only during these darkest moments that death seemed the only solution for his misery. He’d had to quit the job he loved, had shoved away his family—what there was of it—and his friends. Despite the drugs he’d been given for pain while in the hospital, he’d been cognizant of Deputy Matt Nixon sitting by his bed, talking to him, encouraging him to wake, to fight, to give them a chance. As soon as Rich had been able to speak, he’d spewed cruel words at the man, unable to even consider letting anyone touch him, look at him… Rich had wanted to die, but each time his heart stopped while he was in the hospital, the determined staff had brought him back. Rich had seen himself laying in the hospital bed, his eyes wide and lifeless, bandages on his cheek and brow, on his chest, arms and stomach as the defibrillator was fired up and pressed to his chest. Twice Rich had hovered above his dead body and screamed silently at the nurses and doctors to stop, let him die. He’d have rather been swallowed by the endless darkness he sensed waiting for him than be returned to the damaged body and mind lying on that bed. Better to spend eternity in black nothingness than to live with what remained of the man he’d once been. He could fix it all now, with one pull of the trigger. “Do it!” the voice ordered, and Rich decided he would, but not because the invader wanted him to, but because he wanted to. If that made the presence that seemed to have become a part of him win, then fuck it. Rich would win, too. “Yes, come on, fucking pussy! What are you waiting for? Pull the goddamned trigger, do it do it do it, you know you want to—” “Yes,” Rich agreed. Then all hell broke loose in his head as his body was shoved backwards by a cold gust of wind. The gun was jerked from his hand despite Rich’s efforts to hold on to it. His desperation to escape what his life had become, to finally sleep, drove a cry

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of protest from his numb lips. The hope for release was receding rapidly, chased off by the painful shards of ice that began spreading from the bones in his toes, melding with marrow, freezing it, deepening the ache. Rich gasped as the frigid feeling intensified, working up his legs, to his hips, through his pelvis and into the base of his spine. It seemed to pool there for a long moment, then rocketed up his spine, slamming into the bottom of his skull and demolishing the invader’s voice, at least for now. Splintered strips of light filled his vision, dagger-sharp icicles chasing away the last of the curses from the twisted presence that often shared Rich’s mind. Rich curled into a ball on his side, gripping the back of his head and pulling it down until his chin pressed against his chest. The gun lay forgotten as he tried to think. What had just happened? His bones still ached with cold. His head felt as if it were packed with snow. The invader wasn’t gone permanently, that much he knew, though he couldn’t say how he knew it. This reprieve was temporary, an opportunity for him to find a way to free himself from the demon or whatever it was that made his life hell. But how? Or maybe this was just another sick game the invader was playing, trying to make Rich think he had a chance at…well, not a normal life, he’d never be normal again, not with the scars and the memories he had, his and the other’s. Maybe he should end it all now, roll over and find the gun, press it to his skin and blow his goddamned brains out. Rich cried out as the chill spread from bones to tissues, his muscles spasming, cramping and burning. He panted as he curled in on himself even more, his body refusing to help him end his life. I can’t do this! Nothing, I have nothing, I am nothing! And I’m so fuckin’ cold. Coppery sweet wetness trickled over his tongue and down his throat. Rich gagged as he tasted blood. He must have bitten his tongue since his teeth were chattering like the old wind-up chattering teeth he’d had as a kid. Rich concentrated on not puking or doing himself more damage, which was funny, considering he’d just tried to put a bullet in his brain. Tipping his chin towards the floor, Rich spat, not giving a shit about the mess he was making. He’d been prepared to make an even bigger one, after all. But this one I’ll have to clean up. And who would have cleaned up the blood and brain tissue if he’d killed himself? Not his father, but someone would have. Rich cringed at the thought. How selfish was he to not have considered that someone would see his dead body, his head half blown off, and have to live with that image the rest of their life? How could he

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ever do that to someone else? He wasn’t any better than the invader who tormented him with sickening images. But he could be. Something inside him seemed to hum, the sound causing the fine bones in his ears to vibrate. Warmth spread to chase away the horrible chill. The shivering should have stopped, but it didn’t. Too much had happened, and the taste of blood still lingered in Rich’s mouth. And no matter how fucked up he was, he hadn’t imagined what had happened. Two, there were two presences toying with him, although the new one didn’t seem malevolent. Yet. He didn’t try to delude himself into thinking it’d remain that way, not after everything else in his life had gone to shit. Rich ignored his trembling muscles and forced himself to roll. He pushed up onto his knees and looked for the gun. When he didn’t find it, he stood on shaky legs and stumbled to the light switch, fumbling to flick it on. Bright light flooded the room, and Rich squinted as starbursts danced in front of his eyes. Blinking furiously until his vision cleared, he kept himself upright by slumping against the wall. When he could finally see, his stomach dipped and he slid down the wall, landing on his ass hard enough to knock his breath from his lungs. Rich shook his head slowly and looked around the room again. He crawled across the floor and peered under his bed. Nothing but months of dust was under it. Sitting back on his heels, he looked in the nightstand drawer and his heart slammed hard against his ribs. His ammo was gone, both boxes. “What the fuck?” Rich mumbled as he started trembling again. Just like the gun, it seemed to have vanished into thin air. “This can’t be happening!” Although, why not? If he could be haunted, or whatever the hell was going on, why couldn’t his weapon and bullets disappear? Maybe nothing in this world was real. Maybe he’d blink and the room would be gone, blink again, he’d lose his home, then his land, then layer by layer the world would cease to exist, until finally he was left in that vast empty blackness he’d wanted to remain in. Except nothing changed when he closed his eyes for several minutes then reopened them. The gun was still gone, as was the ammo, but everything else remained. Anger surged through him. Rich tipped his head back and screamed, “What the fuck do you want from me? You don’t want me to die, but you don’t want me to live either? This is no fucking life!” He didn’t know who he was yelling at—fate, destiny, a god he didn’t believe in, the forces of

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chaos that seemed to love to target him—it didn’t matter. He could shout until his vocal cords ripped and it wouldn’t change anything other than his ability to speak. Exhausted and defeated by his own thoughts, Rich crawled on to the bed. His own negativity made him sick, but what was he supposed to do? Be grateful to be alive when he was an ugly, scarred man who had things trying to control his mind? How could he see anything positive about any of that? “Fuck it.” His eyelids refused to stay open. It’d been so long since he’d truly slept, and his mind was playing tricks on him, enticing his body with the promise of rest. Rich didn’t believe it would happen, but he still closed his eyes, scoffing internally at the kernel of hope that he might sleep. It was the last thought he had before he slipped into the first peaceful dream he’d had in a year.

**** “Aw, c’mon!” Rich slammed the cabinet shut hard enough to rattle the hinges. He dropped to his knees and jerked open the kitchen drawer where he’d kept a back-up bottle of Jack and a plastic bag with a handful of pain pills. “Goddamnit!” His hands were shaking so bad he could hardly make his fingers pluck at the tools and odds and ends he’d accumulated over the three years he’d lived in his house. No Jack. No pills. “This isn’t funny!” Rich slammed the drawer shut with the palm of his hand. He needed something now to take the edge off…off everything! His head ached terribly—the pain pills would have helped with that. Even aspirin might have dulled it some, but every bit of medicine and alcohol in his house had mysteriously disappeared overnight. When he’d slept peacefully, for the first time he could remember since he’d nearly been killed in McKinton. Rich’s stomach heaved again. He coughed and groaned at the same time, which made his throat burn. Stomach muscles—already sore from throwing up until he’d nearly passed out—clenched and he moaned as hot rays of pain spread through his abs. Sweat dripped from his face and hands as he panted and tried to keep from falling over. A twitch kicked in at the corner of his left eye. If this was what a decent night’s sleep got him, he’d stick to the insomnia and nightmares he’d had when he did manage to sleep for an hour or two.

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“You’re not gonna do this to me,” Rich mumbled as a vague notion of driving himself to the liquor store popped into his mind. Bracing himself on the cabinets, he stood. His head spun and black-grey dots speckled his vision. Blinking didn’t help, he discovered—it only made the dots spin and flicker into varying shades of light and dark. Fuck it, then. I’ll walk to the convenience store down the street. They wouldn’t have any Jack or any other hard liquor, but they’d have beer and some kind of pill he could pop along with it that would surely fuzz his brain up good. He didn’t want to call a cab and wait like he usually did when he needed something. Rich took a step and nearly gave up. It had been like trying to walk through three feet of wet cement. He could barely find enough strength to move. A second step didn’t prove to be any easier to take, and the third had him halting completely as his heartbeat escalated until it felt like he’d swallowed a dozen hummingbirds and they’d lodged in his chest. “What do you want from me?” he cried, wiping his clammy hands on his jeans. A new tendril of panic took root and blossomed inside him. He couldn’t survive without selfmedicating. The booze and drugs were all that made it possible for him to deal with the bizarre horror movie his life had become. Rich swiped at the sweat pouring from his brow. His forearm slid across his skin doing nothing to stop the flow of moisture. He tried again, this time pulling up his T-shirt and mopping his face with it. He grimaced as he caught a whiff of himself. Rank didn’t even begin to describe it. The T-shirt reeked of body odour and vomit. Withdrawals, he thought dully as his body began shaking, working its way up to double digits on the addicts’ version of the Richter Scale. His stomach clenched painfully as the pounding in his head increased. Rich pressed one hand to his belly and the other to his brow. “Shit,” he hissed, sliding down the wall, his vision dimming as his thoughts churned into a blend of nonsensical tripe. He welcomed the darkness that swamped him, toppling willingly into it. It didn’t matter if it was temporary or permanent, it was an escape for now, and that’s all that mattered.

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Chapter Two

Rich came to with a pounding in his head that resonated with the pounding on the front door. He whimpered as he pried his eyes open, then gagged as he drew in a breath. How long had he been here, unconscious on the kitchen floor? Long enough that his body had tried to flush out the toxins he’d kept it supplied with. Long enough that his muscles creamed in protest when he tried to roll over and push himself upright. Rich didn’t even want to know what the wetness was his palm landed and slid in. The banging on the door grew louder and he dimly became aware of a man’s voice shouting his name. Rich cringed as his brain put a name to the voice. He didn’t want his father to see him like this, didn’t want his father to see him at all. Hell, he couldn’t stand to look at himself. How could anyone else? “Richard, open this door or I’ll break it down!” Rich had no doubt his father would do just that. The problem was Rich couldn’t seem to find the strength to move. He swatted at something his hand brushed against as he tried once again to get his arms under his body to shove himself up. Rich glared at the offending item, frowning when he saw that it was an empty water bottle. He didn’t remember buying any bottled water, much less getting up from the floor and drinking any. His palms slid through puddles of…he didn’t want to know what, especially since he landed flat on his chest in the mess. Rich grunted as his chin whacked the floor, but he managed to roll to his back. The ceiling spun and rippled until he blinked it into focus. “Rich, oh, son.” A sob from the doorway startled Rich more than the words. He’d kind of thought those were just in his head. He craned his neck so he could see his father standing in the kitchen entryway. Despite his own confusion over how the man had got inside, Rich noted the tears on his father’s cheeks. He couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, to see the disappointment and pity he was sure he’d find there. His father was a retired Houston police officer, and he’d know what the mess Rich was lying in was from. “How long?” Rich swallowed and closed his eyes as his father walked towards him. “How long have you been lying here? What have you been using?”

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Rich heard his father’s knees pop and knew the man knelt nearby. A cool, rough hand slicked the hair back from Rich’s brow. The soothing gesture reminded him of how his father had taken care of him when he’d been a child, sick with the flu or some childhood malady. Tears stung Rich’s eyes as he cleared his throat. No one had touched him in so long. No one had been allowed to. “Don’t know,” Rich croaked in answer to the first question. “Whiskey, some prescription pain meds,” he managed for the second. His father grunted, then Rich was lifted by two strong hands under his arms. He opened his eyes as the world tilted and spun. His father stood and brought Rich up with him, holding him up until his toes barely touched the floor. Rich couldn’t avoid looking in his father’s dark brown eyes then, eyes so like his own. Except his father’s reflected a wealth of love and compassion Rich hadn’t been expecting. There was no condemnation in their depths, no judgement in his father’s expression. Something terrible rose up in Rich’s chest, then burst free in a strangled sob. He clung to his father, and for the first time since he’d been abducted and tortured by the mad man who’d cost him everything, Rich cried, secure in his father’s arms.

**** Diego Montoya tucked his son into bed and brushed a damp lock of hair off his brow. Though his touch was gentle, Diego railed in silent fury at the sick bastard who’d hurt his boy. Rich had been such a bright light in the world, dedicated to his job as a Houston police detective and to having fun, enjoying life. Then he’d gone to McKinton to help his former partner, Laine Stenley, catch the man who’d killed Stenley’s lover years ago. Rich had ended up a victim of the killer’s, tortured and sliced open in too many places to count. How he’d survived was a mystery. But this, Diego knew as he looked down at Rich’s pinched features, this wasn’t surviving, even. He traced a fingertip over the faint silvery scar that ran from the outer corner of Rich’s left eye to the hinge of his jaw. The doctors had done a good job stitching him back up. The scar itself wasn’t so bad, but there were more, and the ones Rich carried inside were worse.

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Diego cupped his son’s right hand. The index finger had been severed at the second knuckle. There was nothing the doctors could do to reattach it since the missing piece hadn’t been found. Diego couldn’t stand to think of what the killer had done with it. He wished the fucker was still alive. Diego would love nothing more than to tear the bastard apart, slowly. Forget justice and courts. There was no justice for that asshole’s crimes. Not even an eternity in the fires of Hell were cruel enough for him. After placing a soft kiss on his son’s forehead, just as he used to do when Rich was a boy, Diego stood and made his way into the kitchen. The entire house was filthy, a reflection of his son’s depressed state, but the kitchen floor where Rich had laid in his own filth for who knew how long was especially nasty. Diego found a mop but the sponge was dried out and cracking. It fell apart when he wet it. Sitting it by the overflowing trash can, he looked around the kitchen. Dirty dishes, but not many. As thin as Rich was, he probably ate very little, if at all. No paper towels, no dish towels. Diego’s fury pulsed white hot inside him. Where were Rich’s friends? Had he pushed them all away as Rich had done to him? And what about the man Rich had helped in McKinton, where the fuck was he? Didn’t Stenley give enough of a shit to check on Rich, see how he was doing? Rich had almost died trying to help that man. Diego suddenly had a new outlet for his anger, but first he had some cleaning to do. Maybe by the time he was done, he could speak to the man without threatening to kill him.

**** Laine Stenley moaned as his lover swallowed around his cockhead. Severo could give a blow job that’d suck the chrome off a bumper. Laine fisted his hands in Severo’s long dark hair and pumped his hips, wedging his cock just that much deeper in his lover’s throat. Every nerve in Laine’s body was hypersensitive. The feel of the charm on Severo’s necklace brushing over his balls sent shivers from his groin to his chest. “Fuck yeah, baby, take it all,” Laine murmured as Severo swallowed again. “Gonna come,” he warned as his sac drew up. Severo hummed and bobbed his head, keeping the suction tight and his tongue flicking every hot spot along Laine’s length. A slight pressure against his hole had Laine spreading his legs a little wider. A slick finger slid into his opening and he screamed and bucked, his body bowing as cum spewed from his dick. Ass

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play—at least, his ass getting played with—was a new and tantalising addition to their lovemaking, and it drove Laine right out of his mind. Laine vibrated with pleasure as Severo swallowed and sucked, massaging Laine’s shaft until every last drop of spunk was gone. The finger in his ass pumped a few times, then brushed over his gland, and Laine damn near came off the bed, it felt so good. His dick slipped from between Severo’s lips with a lewd slurp and he glanced down to find Severo grinning smugly up at him. “Like that, do you?” Severo asked, wiggling his finger. Laine gasped and his entire body jerked as electric sparks shot from his rectum to the top of his head. “Yeah, you do. Gonna make you come all over again, just from doing this—” “Fuuuuck!” Laine shot up until he was nearly sitting as Severo rubbed his gland harder. “Sev, baby, please!” Stop, don’t stop, Laine didn’t know what he wanted, his body was filling with so much ecstasy he thought his head might pop off. Severo chuckled and fisted his own thick cock. “Lay back down, lover. Gonna come all over you, mark you with my scent, rub it into your skin until it’s mixed into you forever.” Laine was stunned enough by this new burst of dominance in Severo that he flopped back on the bed with his mouth agape. Severo’s pale eyes gleamed through the narrow slits of his lids. There was a determination stamped into his expression Laine had never seen before, and damned if it didn’t excite him every bit as much as the finger buried deep in his ass. Severo was his, from the top of his silky hair to the tips of his elegant toes, and now Laine would be his as well. This time, Severo only intended to come on him, but as a second finger worked into his hole, Laine was left with no doubt there would soon be something new added to their lovemaking. He’d never bottomed before, but the way Severo looked at him, the way his fingers were twisting and stretching Laine’s anus, he knew that was going to change. And while he’d never wanted to let another man have him in such a way before, Laine wanted to give himself to Severo. He was just a bit surprised Severo wanted to fuck him, as Sev had always professed to be a strict bottom. “I want all of you,” Sev whispered as he pumped his cock. Laine wasn’t surprised his lover picked up on his thoughts. Sev knew how to read Laine like no one else ever would.

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Laine opened his mouth to reply but his words turned into a long moan as Sev caressed his gland. Laine fisted his hands in the sheets as he ground his ass against Sev’s hand, trying to get more—more fingers, more pressure on his prostate, just more. Sev’s wicked sexy laughter along with a third finger being pressed into Laine’s opening had Laine teetering right on the brink of his second climax. The burn and stretch of his ring around Sev’s fingers brought a fiery pain that mingled with a promise of intense pleasure. Laine heard a whimper and was shocked to realise it was his own. “That’s right, honey,” Sev rasped. “You look so fucking hot with three fingers stretching your ass. I’m not gonna last much longer. Grab your dick and jerk yourself off, come with me.” Laine let go of the sheet and brought one hand to fist his cock and the other up to pinch at his nipple. Sev began thrusting his fingers in hard and fast, brushing over Laine’s gland with each stroke, and Laine barely got one slide up and down his dick, one twist of his nipple, before Sev tapped his fingers firmly and shoved Laine right over the edge. Laine cried out with each jet of seed that splattered him, Sev’s mixing with his until his chest and belly were striped with cum. “God, look at that.” Laine cracked open eyes he wasn’t aware he’d closed and watched Sev rub their mixed juices all over his torso. It’d be a sticky, flaky mess, but damn, Sev looked turned on all over again, and Laine loved feeling like a marked man. Sev twisted one of Laine’s nipples, sending a zing of pleasure-pain straight to Laine’s balls. “Fuck, I’m getting hard again already,” Sev said. Laine found enough energy to arch an eyebrow at his younger lover. “Twice in a row is about it for me, but if you—” The phone beside the bed rang, and Laine snarled at the interruption. He started to grab the phone, but Sev stopped him with a shake of his dark, sexy hair. “Got cum all over our hands,” Sev pointed out. He wiped his hands on Laine’s thighs, grinning evilly as he did so, then he crawled up and over Laine and answered the phone. “Hello?” Laine saw the change in his lover’s body immediately, the loose, relaxed muscles tensing even as Laine heard a deep male voice demanding, loudly, to speak to him. Sev turned back to him, worry etched into his features, and held out the phone.

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“It’s Diego Montoya, Rich’s dad, and he sounds like he wants to kick your ass.” Laine nodded and reached for the phone. He couldn’t blame Mr. Montoya—Laine wanted to kick his own ass for ever letting Rich get hurt in the first place. He deserved whatever anger Rich’s dad wanted, or needed, to toss at him. Laine took the phone and pressed it to his ear. “This is Laine Stenley, Mr. Montoya.” Instead of the cursing and anger Laine expected—or, to be accurate, along with those things—Laine discovered just how horribly he’d fucked up by letting Rich take part in bringing down James McAlister, the man who’d stalked Laine years ago and who’d killed Laine’s former lover. Mr. Montoya told Laine, although he might have phrased it differently, exactly how Laine had ruined Rich’s life.

**** “What the hell happened while I was out of it?” Rich’s cheeks burned with humiliation when his father gave him an arch look. “You mean, what happened while you were going through involuntary detox for the past three days?” Rich wanted to bury his head back under the pillow, but he forced himself to remain sitting up, his back against the headboard and his gaze locked with his father’s. The need for a drink, a few shots of Jack or a couple of pain pills, made him twitchy and his mood sour. He hadn’t wanted to detox, that was true enough. Without the pills or the booze, the images the invader speared into his brain could be overpowering. And the next time it happened, Rich would need those crutches to deal with it. No one had the right to deny him what comfort he could find, not even his father. Who was in the middle of throwing Rich’s clothes into a suitcase. What the hell was going on? Rich’s stomach dipped. He used drugs and alcohol to cope, but his father didn’t know the why of it. Rich hadn’t told anyone about the awful things that had been shoved into his head, the visions and memories of a sociopath who, even in death, was finding a way to get his twisted jollies. Rich heaved himself off the bed and took a shaky step, stopping when he thought he might fall. He bent sideways and braced himself with one arm on the mattress as he glared at

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his father. “Why are you packing my shit? If you think you’re gonna send me off to rehab or something like that, forget it. I won’t go.” Diego Montoya snorted and flapped a hand at him. “Look at you. You’re nothing but bones. I could drag your ass to rehab with one hand tied behind my back. And you cuss at me again, I’ll put you over my knee and bust your butt like I did when you were a kid.” He turned away from Rich and continued emptying his drawers into the luggage. Rich glared daggers at his father’s back, then glanced down at his own body. Clad only in boxers, Rich could see every rib clearly, the sharp points of his hips, the knobs of his knees. His belly was the only soft spot, pooching out the faintest bit. The six-pack he’d once been so proud of was long gone—the only demarcations left on his stomach were those carved there by James McAlister, the fucker who’d almost killed him. Rich shoved the thought aside as he resumed glaring at his father’s back. Big, broad, brawny—his father was all of those things, and he wouldn’t hesitate to do what he’d threatened. Rich could do without such a blow to what little remained of his pride. “Fine. I apologise for cursing.” Which only his dad was allowed to do—how had he forgotten? It was disrespectful for a child, adult or not, to curse to or around their parents, according to the elder Montoya. Rich was too used to being on his own to think he would remember that particular rule for long. He tried standing again, and this time gave himself a moment before shuffling towards the bathroom. “Can you at least tell me where I’m going?” His father ignored him and finished packing while Rich stood propped in the bathroom doorway and watched. Once the suitcases were full and set by the bedroom door, his dad walked over to him and took his arm in one big hand. “You need to shower, then eat something. I’ll help you shave that rat’s nest off your face before you eat, though,” the elder Montoya said, pointing to the straggly beard on Rich’s face. Rich tried to pull away and promptly started to tip backwards. His father grabbed his other arm and gave him a little shake. “That’s enough, son. Look at me.” Rich reluctantly dragged his gaze up to meet his father’s, unsurprised at the anger in the man’s dark eyes. “You are not going to kill yourself, you hear me?” his father snapped, giving him another shake that made Rich’s eyes cross. “You’ve pushed everyone away who could help

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you, everyone who cares, who loves you, including me. While you were lying in that bed, screaming and puking and shaking so hard I thought you’d break in half at times, I was calling people, pissed off because no one was here for you, no one seemed to care. You know what I found out?” Another shake, and this time Rich couldn’t bite back a snarl as he clutched his father’s forearms. “I found out you’ve been telling them all the same bullshit lies you been telling me,” the older man ground out. “You’re doing fine, keeping busy with work and doctor’s and therapist appointments! I didn’t raise you up to be a liar any more than I raised you up to be a drunk or a drug addict!” Rich’s temper burnt out his embarrassment as he tried to dig his fingers into his dad’s forearms. Another hard shake and Rich was teetering towards violence, ready to deck his father if he could just get the chance. The realisation terrified him, and he stopped fighting, stopped kicking legs he hadn’t even been aware of moving. He loved his father—the man had always been there for him, raising him alone when his mother had wandered off to explore greener pastures. Despite being a police officer, his dad had managed to attend every baseball game, every important even in Rich’s childhood, and he’d accepted Rich without question when Rich had nervously confessed his bisexuality, then again when he’d admitted he wasn’t bi at all, because as much as he wanted to like girls, he just couldn’t. This big, macho man had nodded and hugged Rich and told him he loved him, and always would. “It’s the drugs and alcohol fucking with your head, making your temper volatile,” Rich heard his father explain, pulling him from his reflections. “Think about it, Richard,” the other man continued, “you know what I’m saying is true. Fight past it instead of fighting me.” The plea hit him in his heart, and Rich sagged against his dad’s chest. So he’d try to leave off the Jack and pills, and hope he didn’t go insane. He wasn’t very optimistic that he’d succeed at any of it, even if he agreed to go to rehab. “What place are you sending me to?” Rich mumbled against his dad’s chest, wondering if it’d be here in Texas or somewhere in New Mexico where his dad lived. He frowned at that. Why was his dad here, even? Rich had called him like he usually did, hadn’t he? He leant back enough to look up at his dad. “Why’d you come down here?”

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Leading him over to the toilet and nudging him to take a seat, the older Montoya took his time answering. Once he had the shower going and a wash cloth as well as a towel laid out, he gestured for Rich to stand. Rich did, then quickly slapped at his father’s hand as he pulled at Rich’s boxers. “I can do it myself,” Rich sniped, then flushed to the roots of his hair. Someone had been cleaning him, taking care of him for days, when he obviously couldn’t take care of himself. Withdrawal wasn’t pretty or clean at all. “Oh, God,” Rich whimpered, feeling the last of his ego wither away. “Everyone needs help sometimes, son,” his father said in a voice filled with understanding. “But yeah, I think you can get your own drawers off this time. Probably you can even get in the shower, but you should sit before you fall once you’re in.” He turned and left but didn’t shut the door. Rich didn’t have the energy to waste on it, either. He tugged his boxers down then carefully got in the shower, easing himself to sit on the now warmed fiberglass. It wasn’t until he finished scrubbing the stench from his body that it dawned on him his father never had told him where he was being sent off to.

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Chapter Three

Rich stared at the bags piled in the trunk of his sleek little Miata. The car used to be his pride and joy—the sunny yellow colour would lift his darkest mood instantly. But that was before. Since shortly after he returned to Houston, Rich hadn’t wanted to even look at the car. He didn’t want to be happy, something he hadn’t understood until that very moment. Well, I’m for damn sure getting that wish if I can’t get out of this. Going through with this trip will leave me as far from happy as possible. Rich pivoted on his heel and almost ploughed into his father. He glared up at the bigger man, then quickly adjusted his attitude before he got another ass chewing. Be calm, reasonable… “I don’t want to go back to McKinton!” Rich mentally slapped himself upside the head. Sure, sounding like a seven-year-old throwing a tantrum was going to prove to his father how stable he was. He glanced at the dead grass under his feet and felt a certain sense of satisfaction that he wasn’t the only one who’d suffered. Petty, and dumb to boot, considering he was the one who’d killed the lawn he used to be so proud of. Rich sighed and forced himself to look at his father. “How could you think sending me back to the place that destroyed my life,“—destroyed me —”is a good thing? How’s it supposed to help?” “Son,” the older Montoya began, then stopped and shook his head. He traced the path of the scar along Rich’s face, and as much as Rich wanted to pull away, he didn’t. Couldn’t, not when his dad looked so sad, and older, as if the days he’d spent here had aged him a decade. “It wasn’t the place that did this,” his father finally said, “or this.” He tapped Rich’s right hand. “Or any of these.” Rich felt a soft brush of fingers from his collarbone to his thigh. “That wasn’t a place, and it wasn’t your friends. A man did this, and you have to move past it. What you’ve been doing here isn’t helping, no matter what you think. You need to be around people who care about you, and if you won’t come back with me…” Rich was shaking his head before his father finished. He loved his dad, but staying with him at his ranch in New Mexico would drive Rich insane. More insane. Rich absolutely hated ranching, and the hogs his father loved so much frankly scared the shit out of Rich. He’d

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even quit eating bacon after seeing those monstrous things. No way was he going to go help slop them, or whatever kind of work his dad would think he should be doing to keep busy. Even returning to McKinton would be better than that. His dad snorted and patted Rich’s shoulder. “Those hogs won’t hurt you none, long as you’re careful. Be good for you to face your fears.” Rich caught himself before he could roll his eyes. “I’d rather face those fears when they’re fried and topping a burger.” Not that he’d eat it, but his dad didn’t need to know that. The other man nodded as his lips twitched. “All right, then. You’re gonna go stay with that sheriff you were partners with when you were still with HPD.” “What?” Rich took a step back before he could stop himself. His voice was a shaky as his hands when he spoke. “I can’t stay with Laine! It happened in his house, how can you think I could—” “Hush, son, calm down.” Rich gulped in air, trying to stop himself from panicking. He could not step foot in that house, not when he’d nearly died there. “Richard, he doesn’t live there anymore. That whole place was torn down and he sold the land, moved somewhere close to some other friends of his, he said.” The soothing voice his father used calmed him more than the words themselves. Knowing he wouldn’t even have to see Laine’s old house helped, too. He really didn’t care that his dad had told Laine about Rich’s attempts to cope. Rich was past the point of caring what anyone—besides his father, apparently—thought of him. All he did care about was getting this whole deal over with if he couldn’t get out of it. “Okay,” Rich muttered. The agreement was good enough for his dad, who sighed and pulled Rich in for a hard hug. “You call me when you get there,” the older man ordered as he thumped Rich between the shoulder blades. “Shouldn’t take you more than half a day, and you start eating. You feel as fragile as a bird, all thin bones and—” “Fine, I will.” Rich would eat until he weighed five hundred pounds if it’d keep his dad from making him feel like a breakable wuss. “I better go.” He grit his teeth then forced himself to try to sound sincere. “Thanks for coming down here and taking care of me.”

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His father tapped Rich’s chin and shook his head. “You don’t want to thank me, and that’s fine. You will. As for coming down here, how could I not?” He shrugged as he looked past Rich. “You’re my son, and when something tells me you need me, I’m gonna come running every time.” That wasn’t an explanation Rich cared for, and he snapped before he thought better of it. “Would have been nice if that feeling would have kicked in when McAlister was carving me up. Before, even.” His father looked stricken, and Rich wanted to take back the words, but they were true. Still, he’d hurt the one man he’d always been able to count on. “Dad, I’m sorry, I…I’m an asshole, I know—” “No,” Diego rasped. “That you don’t apologise for. I don’t know why things happen, why I didn’t know you were being hurt before, but knew I had to get here before something bad happened. I’ve never been a spiritual man, or believed in curanderos or magic or anything like that, none of the things your mama was so sure existed. Maybe if I did believe in that stuff, I would have known, just like I did this time, and that’s going to haunt me the rest of my life.” Rich struggled to find something to say, words of absolution for both of them, but nothing seemed appropriate. His father hugged him again then slammed the trunk shut before opening the driver’s door. “Go on, they’re expecting you.” Rich walked to the car then stopped and touched his dad’s cheek. He waited until the man met his eyes. “I don’t blame you, you know. McAlister, and myself for being so careless that I didn’t even realise he was waiting in the motel room until it was too late, but not you. You weren’t there, and I didn’t want the hospital calling you. I just wanted to die.” Diego’s eyes welled as Rich watched. “And I think you still do, son, but we aren’t gonna let you. You’ll see that you’re still a good man, and that people love you and need you. Stop pushing everyone away, and stop letting what happened to you control your life. You give McAlister a victory every time you withdraw. Don’t let that bastard win.”

****

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Don’t let that bastard win. Rich heard those words repeatedly in his head, every time he started to turn the car around. But how could he go on when he never knew if the coming night would be filled with horrors? When he could, even now, feel the tendrils of that dark presence crawl over his skin? Rich knew the invader would be back, had picked up little glimpses of evil on and off during the darkest hours of the night. Every time it had happened, that frigid cold would start spreading in his bones, and before the full mind-fuck could begin, the invader would roar with anger then vanish. But how long was that going to last? And how was Rich ever going to have a normal life when there were two presences poking around in his head? The loud blast of an eighteenwheeler’s horn startled Rich so badly he yelped and swerved. Righting the steering wheel, Rich tried to glare at the driver of the huge black rig on his left, but there was no use. As low as the Miata set, and as tall as that cab was, Rich couldn’t see more than the door handle without risking a wreck. Scowling and wondering if flipping the driver off would get him flattened like a pancake, Rich floored the gas and pulled ahead of the semi. He glanced in the rearview, careful to avoid his own reflection, and his heart skipped a beat. That was a huge rig, and it looked unlike any others Rich had seen. It was black and trimmed in chrome everywhere possible, with a grill that angled out, coming to a point in the middle. The overall effect was that of a train, speeding up behind him. Rich decided against giving the trucker the finger. There were ways he didn’t want to die, and being run over by an eighteen-wheeler was one of them. Too much potential for pain. A bullet would be quicker. He flicked another glance at the rig. Maybe a bullet wouldn’t be quicker. The tips of his toes and fingers tingled with cold, and Rich got the message. No thinking about suicide, not if he wanted to be left alone. “You win—for now,” Rich muttered then concentrated on keeping well ahead of the semi. Why it was important to do so, he couldn’t say, only that something about having squealed and been scared by the foghorn-like sound of the damn thing spurred on the machismo Rich had thought thoroughly quashed. He realised with a start that it felt good to have the zing of competitiveness coursing through his bloodstream, even if the other driver didn’t have a clue what was going on. His face felt odd. Rich risked a peek in the mirror and nearly swerved again. The grin stretching his lips was foreign enough to him that he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t

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hallucinating. Or maybe one of his unwanted visitors was back, but no. He remembered when grins like that were commonplace for him, when he thought the world was his playground and bad things happened to other people… Was it really such an awful thing to enjoy the moment? The top was down on the Miata, and the Texas weather wasn’t its usual hellacious self. The day was sunny but cool, the autumn air carrying only the faintest stench of the pollution Rich managed to ignore in Houston. Once he got out of the city, the fresh air had always surprised him—and still did. Rich inhaled deeply and the crisp air seemed to warm him through and through despite its cool temperature. No, he decided, maybe it wasn’t so bad to relax just a little and try not to think about anything other than this very minute. He should have known that was the kind of thinking that’d get him in trouble. An hour later, his temporary respite from the crap his life had become went up in smoke along with the Miata’s engine. A knocking came from under the hood as Rich pulled the car to the shoulder, then further into the grass as great swells of smoke seeped from the seam of the hood. “Goddamnit all!” Rich slammed the gear in park and shut off the car. He reached for the phone his father had insisted he take and dialed Diego’s number. The call went straight to voicemail and he left a terse message telling his dad the car was toast and he’d be late getting to McKinton. Hopefully his father would call Laine—Rich wasn’t ready to speak to his former partner any sooner than necessary, and it’d be necessary once he arrived at Laine and Sev’s place. “If I get there.” Rich unbuckled and got out of the car, waving his hand in front of his face when the wind shifted and sent a cloud of smoke at him. “Shit!” He could hear the burbling of coolant under the hood and suspected he might have a blown head gasket or two. “Should have been paying attention to the damn gages instead of relaxing like an ignorant…” A rumbling growl and whine of breaks had Rich snapping his mouth shut and spinning around to watch as the big black semi pulled over and rolled towards him. “Jesus!” Adrenaline, that’s what it was warming him from the inside out. Seeing that great beast of a truck coming at him turned the adrenaline into terror, sharp spikes of it shooting through his veins. Rich tried to calm himself, aware that he was overreacting. It was just a rig! It wasn’t like he’d never seen one before, although this one looked different, a more modern and no doubt expensive version than he was used to seeing. There was no

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reason for him to freak out over it, and yet he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that he was in danger. It was ridiculous, really. Surely it was a lingering result of his isolation and the mess his life had become. But his heart slammed hard against his ribs as the driver stopped the semi a good half a dozen feet away. Rich watched in a stupor he couldn’t explain as a huge man got out of the cab. No wonder he drives a big-ass truck like that! The guy had to be six and a half feet tall at least, his head shaved so that there wasn’t even a hint of hair and with shoulders broader than the length of Rich’s arm from shoulder to fingertips. His chest was heavily muscled— surprising for a trucker, Rich thought. They were usually kind of soft around the middle, in his opinion, but this guy…wasn’t. The black T-shirt he had on was stretched tight over taut muscles. Rich could have sworn he could even see the delineation of an eight-pack under there. Narrow hips and thick, strong thighs—and Rich felt the first real stirring of arousal he’d experienced in over a year. It shocked him enough that he snapped his head up and found himself the recipient of a smug grin on a wide pink mouth, emphasised by a… Rich squinted. What the fuck was that dangling from the guy’s chin? “It’s a labret piercing,” the man rumbled in a deep voice. Rich jerked his gaze up from the piercing which swayed as the man spoke. His eyes locked with a whisky brown pair, and Rich’s throat and mouth went dry. It wasn’t the craving for a drink that hit him, though. That, he would have been able to handle. What hit him with all the force of a bowling ball to the solar plexus was the intense lust he felt and saw reflected back at him in those warm eyes. “Sorry I scared you earlier.” Rich bristled as the man grinned. “Some idiot cut in front of me and nearly ended up fucking my grill up,” the man continued. “Woulda been a shame to mess that beauty up.” He winked and stuck out his hand. “Name’s Chris—short for Christian, not Christopher—Neeland. Looks like you could use a ride.” Rich took the proffered hand and immediately tried to jerk his own back when a jolt like an electric shock shot up his arm. He looked into Chris’s startled eyes. “Rich. Montoya. Give me back my hand.”

****

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Chris looked at the sexy, wounded man in front of him and kept Rich’s smaller hand enclosed in his. The man was thin, too thin, and the scar running from eye to jaw didn’t appear to be very old. Chris wanted to know what had happened to the man to make him so weary of life. That’s what Chris saw in those sad eyes, and it twisted his heart in a knot. His mom had told him he’d know his partner when he saw him, and while Chris had tried to write off her promise as nonsensical new age babble, it appeared she’d been correct all along. He wanted this man, had even detoured on his way home to follow the guy, which was, admittedly, a little stalkerish, but now he saw it more as fate. A tug against his hold had him carefully tightening his grip. Chris looked into the dark chocolate eyes framed in dense lashes and felt his heart begin to tip towards the other man. Careful, careful, don’t want to scare him off. He looked down at the other man’s hand and nodded. “Your hand? The skin is very smooth, the bones almost too prominent, but it makes your fingers appear very elegant, almost—” He looked up and winked, knowing he was goading Rich. Montoya. “Almost feminine, you know?” Rich scowled and jerked his hand back, and this time Chris let him go. “I do not have girl hands, and you didn’t scare me with that damned horn,” the man sniped, and Chris thought he couldn’t possibly look cuter. “I swerved because…because there was something in the road!” Chris let his eyebrow do the doubting, arching it up high on his forehead. Rich’s cheeks turned ruddy and he narrowed his eyes. “Fine. Whatever.” “Mind if I take a look under the hood?” Chris gestured to the still billowing car. “Though I have to say, I don’t think there’s much hope we can do anything for this cute little car right now ‘cept maybe tow her.” Rich glared at him for a moment then turned to press the button for the hood. Chris watched him closely and wondered once again what had happened to the man. The anger and scowls didn’t set naturally on Rich, and Chris would bet his beloved rig the smaller man had once been a happy-go-lucky flirt. “I think it overheated and the heads are cracked,” Rich muttered as Chris walked around to the front of the car. Chris frowned at him. “You didn’t notice the temp gage or—” He shut up when Rich blushed even more and looked a hair past miserable.

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“I was just…it’s been so long since I just…” Rich waved a hand and Chris waited for him to continue but he didn’t. Chris was left to fill in the blanks himself. He couldn’t decide if it’d been ‘so long since’ Rich had taken a drive, or since he’d been happy. Chris wasn’t sure about the first, but the latter seemed to fit the man for some reason. God, Chris just wanted to scoop him up and hold him, which would definitely make Rich think he was crazy. “Looks like shit under here,” he called out then jumped when Rich’s shoulder brushed against the middle of his back. “Figures,” Rich said sourly from beside Chris. “I’m supposed to be in McKinton in a few hours. I’d better call and tell them I’m going to be late before the sheriff sends out a freaking search party.” Chris didn’t know who ‘them’ were, or why a sheriff would bother getting involved, but Rich sounded too miserable for words. After a quick calculation of miles between here and McKinton, Chris came to a decision. “C’mon, I’ll give you a lift to McKinton. Save you from being hunted down. You can call for a tow from the rig, or I have a friend who can pick your car up and fix it, then bring it to you wherever you’re at.” That would be him, but there was no need to freak out Rich with that info right now. Rich gave him a long, considering look. “Why do you have that thing on your chin?” Whether or not he accepts my help depends on the answer to that? Chris decided on the truth. “Because I like it, and it looks good with these—” He lifted his shirt and showed Rich his nipples, speared by two thick hoops. He tugged his shirt down then danced his fingers over his fly. “And with the piercings I have here.” Then he stuck his tongue out and wiggled the bar in the slick muscle, setting the ball to bobbing. “Shit,” Rich mumbled, drawing the word out into two syllables. He swallowed noisily and his gaze darted from Chris’s tongue to his chin, to his nipples then down to his groin. He swallowed again and Chris could do nothing to stop his cock from swelling, which sucked as he’d tucked down and to the right this morning. His tight jeans were strangling his shaft, and it flat out hurt. Chris shifted and figured what the hell. He popped the top button on his jeans and started to inch his hand down, intent on moving his cock to a more comfortable position. Rich hissed and jerked his head back to glare at him. “What are you doing? Someone might drive by! You can’t pull that out here!”

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“Calm down, sweetie,” Chris goaded, grinning when Rich’s pretty eyes bugged. “I’m just making some room since you got me all hot and bothered.” Rich looked up at him, surprise evident in his wide eyes. “You’re—” “Gay,” Chris finished. “Yup. Figured you must be too since you visually fondled me when I was walking up.” A goldfish, that’s what Rich looks like, his mouth flapping open and shut like that. Chris found it strangely endearing and…his dick throbbed against the tight denim confine. Every time Rich’s mouth formed an ‘O’ Chris wanted to press his length into it. Whether Rich was ‘the one’ or not, Chris wanted him, plain and simple. Except maybe it was neither of those things, because he was thinking other thoughts besides ones of just getting off, and those other thoughts involved words like ‘commitment’ and ‘partner’. “Sweetie?” Rich finally said, or squeaked, really, his voice several pitches higher than Chris would have believed possible. “Well, sure,” Chris muttered as he struggled for an explanation. Telling the obviously highly-strung man that Chris’s mom, a well-known—in her circle of like-minded believers, anyway—had foretold, albeit vaguely, of Chris finding the man he was meant to spend his life with, would probably just make the guy take off at running full tilt. Chris didn’t mind a chase, but he preferred one where his prey wasn’t terrified of being caught. “Don’t take it personally. It just sort of slipped out.” He’d never called any of his previous lovers by anything other than their name, but it didn’t seem beneficial to his cause to say so. Rich gave him a disbelieving look then pointed one long finger at him. “I am anything but sweet. Don’t fucking do it again.” Ah, a curse word to prove your un-sweetness. Got it. Chris shrugged. “I’ll try, but some habits are hard to break. Now, since I can’t fix this here for fear of shattering your delicate sensibilities, would you care to decide whether or not you’re going to let me give you a ride to McKinton?” If Rich said no, Chris would just have to sit here and wait with him until someone else rescued the man. Rich’s shoulders drooped, and Chris was left trying to figure out if it was the idea of riding with him or of going to McKinton that seemed to stamp defeat onto the smaller man. “What time is it?” Chris frowned and glanced at his watch. “Eleven thirty. Are you going to be late for something?” He could drive fast as long as they didn’t catch any traffic.

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Rich’s shoulders sagged as he shook his head. “No, I just have to get to Laine’s on time or he’ll come looking for me. I really don’t want that, so if you’ll give me a minute to get by suitcases?” “Sure,” Chris mumbled, his lips going numb. Laine. He’ll come looking for me. I really don’t want that. He hadn’t considered Rich already had a boyfriend, which was a big case of stupid on his part. Of course a man as handsome as Rich, with that hint of vulnerability in his large dark eyes, would have someone. But it wasn’t the right someone, or else Rich wouldn’t sound so unhappy about seeing this guy, or seem worried about him coming to look for Rich. Chris tried to parse out what it all meant. Scenarios of Rich in an abusive relationship were the most prominent ones, as Rich really didn’t seem to want to hook back up with the guy. And Rich definitely was hurting, had been hurt, not just physically. If Chris squinted he could just make out the aura around the other man. Unlike his mom, Chris had to really work to see someone’s aura, and he was usually glad for that. He didn’t want to look around and see everyone’s emotional state surrounding them. A chill skittered down his spine when he picked up the smoky colours around Rich. Not a glow, which was a bad, bad thing according to his mom. Shit. Colours, colours, concentrate and pick them from the smoke. Fuck. Mustard yellow. Grey. Oh shit, white… Chris blinked as his concentration scattered. He hadn’t even looked to see if there was anything positive surrounding Rich. He’d been too shocked by the negativity. Mustard yellow, a sign of anger and pain. The grey was a reflection of darkness in a person, as well as depressive thoughts and feelings. Those were bad enough, but the white… Contrary to what many might think, white in an aura didn’t signify purity, not according to his mother, unless it was observed around a baby. White symbolised a contact with the spiritual side, which his mother had drilled into him, in almost every case, meant the person with the white aura was likely to die soon. He thought she’d said some other things about white auras, but the possibility of Rich dead in the very near future shorted out Chris’s thought process. He didn’t want Rich to die until they’d had a chance to live long lives together, or at the very least, he admitted as his inner slut peeked out, he’d like to feel the man reaming his ass as many times as they could both manage it. Chris shook his head and jogged over to Rich who was lifting the trunk. “Here, let me get these. Why don’t you go ahead and wait in the cab?” He really, really wanted Rich away

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from the road. How many times had he heard news stories about someone getting hit and killed by a passing car? Chris grabbed the luggage, grunting only a little as he hefted the three bags from the trunk. “I’m not helpless,” Rich snapped, reaching for a bag. “Nope, you sure aren’t.” Chris couldn’t resist darting a glance at the hood, which still had thin curls of smoke streaming out from under it. “Close the trunk, would ya?” He waited, keeping his bigger body between Rich and the road several feet behind him. Rich snarled a few bad words but slammed the trunk shut without arguing. Then he turned on his heel and treated Chris to a very fine show of taut, tiny ass and long angry strides. At least it got Rich’s shoulders back up straight instead of drooping like he was ready to throw in the towel and roll over and d—don’t tempt fate! Chris did some snarling of his own as he followed the sexy smaller man. He would find out what was going on with Rich Montoya. Once he did, he’d get the damned ugly colours out of the man’s aura just as soon as his mom told him how, fate and all that other shit be damned.

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Chapter Four

“Have you been in one of these before?” Rich shook his head as he stared through the open door at the inside of the rig’s cab. It looked like the cockpit of a plane, or maybe a spaceship, with all the gages and chrome. Two comfortable looking pilot seats covered in a grey material with dark blue insets took up several feet, yet there was still enough room for a person to get up and move around. Rich could just see into the sleeper, and knowing there was a bed back there made his skin prickle with goose bumps. “Let me help you up.” “I got it,” Rich nearly squeaked as he scurried to climb in the cab. That rough baritone seeped through Rich’s skin, swirling under the surface and pooling in his balls. It set off tremors of lust that shot from his ass to cock to nipples then surged right back to where they began before zipping off again. And the man that voice belonged to was startling sexy—startling because Rich had never been attracted to a man who was so much bigger than him, and he’d pretty much avoided any potential lover who had more than a single ear piercing. Yet he wanted Chris Neeland fiercely. Rich took a seat and tried to find a position to cover his erection. As glad as he was to have and maintain a hard on, he was also reluctant to let the other man know. He kicked off his shoes and pulled his left leg up, glancing at Chris who was watching him. The smirk on the man’s wide lips told Rich Chris was aware of exactly why he’d hitched up his leg, but if there’d been any doubt it was chased away when Chris stared at Rich’s crotch then licked his berry pink lips. Chris made this purring sound that Rich’s cock approved of, spurting a daub of pre cum Rich just knew was going to soak through his boxers and jeans. Rather than feel flattered, the anger that seemed to simmer below the surface of his consciousness began to boil over. What the fuck kind of game was Chris playing? There was no way the guy could be attracted to him, not with the hideous scar on his face, and the skeletal body. Yeah, Chris had looked like he was turned on outside, but it could be he got his kicks from playing the

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saviour or toying with someone he thought could use a pity fuck. Rich had no illusion about his looks, not anymore. “What?” Rich snarled when Chris continued to visually devour his package. Chris finally looked at him and leered as he climbed up through the passenger door. Rich started to get up but found himself pressed back into the seat by one of Chris’s very large hands. Tattooed hands, Rich noted as he glared at the offending appendage splayed open against his chest. What looked like rings were tattooed around Chris’s index and middle fingers. “Where are you going?” Rich stopped trying to figure out what the tattoos were supposed to be and looked up until his gaze clashed with Chris’s. The mocking expression he expected to see wasn’t there, only confusion tinged with desperation. “You don’t trust me.” It wasn’t a question, but Rich answered anyway. “No. I don’t even know you, and you’re practically salivating all over my cock.” Chris slid his hand slowly down the middle of Rich’s chest, then further down his stomach. Rich sucked in a startled breath when that big hand pressed harder against his concave belly before smoothing down to cup his erection. “How could I not look at this?” Chris squeezed lightly, and Rich moaned as another jet of wet heat spat from his slit. Chris bent down until his nose was practically touching Rich’s. “You can’t tell me a handsome guy like yourself hasn’t had plenty of one-offs in clubs with men you’ve barely spoken to.” Rich’s cock might have stayed hard, might have even pushed up into that warm hand, but the rest of him recoiled. Chris was playing him, probably thinking the scared freak would be desperate for it. He wasn’t far off—Rich hadn’t been touched in so long, hadn’t even got hard often. This was the longest time he’d maintained an erection since he’d got out of the hospital. Still, he had his pride, or what was left of it. He wasn’t going to be anybody’s pity fuck. “Get your hand off me and let me out.” Rich didn’t know if the venom in his voice was his own or a residual of the invader. It sounded hateful and angry enough, and it scared him. He didn’t want to be that sort of person, the one who hated everyone and everything, and he for damn sure didn’t want to be under the influence of something…other.

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Chris studied him intently, his light eyes never veering from Rich’s dark ones. Rich wished he knew what the other man was looking for, what he found that made him nod slightly and hum under his breath. Chris’s hand swept up his torso, and Rich tried not to whimper in disappointment. It’s just a game to him. Rich repeated the thought but his dick was not agreeing with him. It ached for a more personal touch, the stretch of warm, soft lips and a wet tongue, or a tight hole to shove into. Even Chris’s big fist stroking the sensitive flesh would be more than Rich had felt in a year, and he craved it suddenly and intensely. Even if it was some sort of game, why couldn’t he go along with it, get off with someone who was obviously willing for whatever reason? Chris was right—Rich had fucked men whose names he didn’t know and didn’t care to. They’d been willing bodies and this wouldn’t be any different. Then Chris had to go fuck it all up. “You think this means you aren’t attractive?” Chris trailed a finger over the scar on Rich’s face as he cringed and tried to escape the touch. Rich felt like an elephant was sitting on his chest. He couldn’t breathe, his lungs constricting as panic replaced his anger. “D-don’t—” When he tried to jerk his head away he found his face caught by Chris’s other hand, forcing him to hold still as Chris traced the scar again. “You do,” Chris murmured. “Silly, sexy man.” He dipped his head to the side, nuzzling the left side of Rich’s face. The scratchy feel of stubble rasping over Rich’s clean shaven skin tore a moan from Rich even as he started to struggle. Chris huffed out an annoyed sound, or maybe it was amused, then Rich felt the slick wet tip of Chris’s tongue tracing over the ruined flesh. Rich froze, so shocked he couldn’t move. The hands framing his face slid up into his hair, tipping his head back. “You’re gorgeous.” Those words from Chris broke the spell that held Rich immobile. He knew what he looked like. His anger returned, a bright hot ball bursting in his belly, flowing through him like an eruption of lava. Rich slammed his hands against Chris’s massive chest and managed to nudge him back an inch or two.

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“Get the fuck off of me!” Rich scuttled back in the chair, trying to get both legs in the seat so he could crawl over the back of it and get out, away, gone before this man ripped him apart inside with mocking words coated in a sincere voice. He might be something close to desperate to feel another man’s touch, but he wouldn’t be anyone’s fool. Rich got his heels in the seat and pushed up as Chris reached for him. Rich swung out and caught the bigger man in the ribs with a solid right. Chris merely grunted while pain shot up Rich’s hand to his elbow. “That’s enough,” Chris growled as he caught Rich’s wrists and pinned them to the armrests. Rich bucked and tried to kick his legs out only to find himself straddled by well over two hundred pounds of pissed off man. Chris’s eyes were narrowed, the pupils huge, chasing out the whisky colour until it was only a thin ring. His lips were pressed into a tight line, and his nostrils flared with each sharply indrawn breath. The man looked furious, and his big body tensed, muscles rippling as he tightened his grip on Rich’s wrists. Oh shit, he was an idiot! He’d let another psycho get to him, and this one was bigger and looking to hurt Rich in a whole different way! McAlister had cut him, imprinting on his skin proof of McAlister’s madness, but he’d never said anything sexual, never touched Rich with even a hint of desire, not even when he’d held Rich’s cock or balls in his hand and nicked that delicate flesh. “It doesn’t make me crazy to want you,” Chris rumbled, apparently having read Rich’s fears in his expression. “It doesn’t make me a rapist or…or someone who wants to hurt you. And that scar does not make you hideous like you seem to think it does. If anything, it makes you hotter. Rich,” Chris whispered, and all the anger flitted away, leaving a soft look full of compassion and desire on Chris’s face. “I don’t want to hurt you, I want to help you, and I just, oh gods, I just want you.” Rich’s trampled confidence warred with the flicker of hope warming his belly. Instincts he’d used as a detective kicked in. Chris sounded sincere, his body was tense, yes, but he wasn’t forcing himself on Rich, only holding him down to keep him from striking out again. Or keeping him from escaping. Rich’s instincts had done shit all to keep him safe from McAlister, another detective with whom Rich had worked in the same department for years and never suspected of being a sociopath.

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“Rich, I didn’t mean to scare you. What can I do to make you believe me?” Chris drilled Rich with a look so intense Rich found himself wanting to believe him. “I know what might help.” Rich tried to wiggle and get Chris off of him to no avail. “Yeah, getting the fuck off me and letting me out would help a lot.” Chris sighed as he slid off Rich’s lap. “I’m off, and I’ll let go of your wrists if you give me your word you won’t deck me again. You pack a punch, let me tell you. But I want you to listen to me for a minute, that’s all I’m asking. Will you do that?” “Is that a condition for my release?” Rich sneered, regretting the impulsive words the second they were out. Why didn’t he just agree then do whatever he had to in order to escape? Chris’s sigh this time sounded as if it was the release of whatever hope he’d carried inside. “No, of course not.” He stepped back, letting go of Rich’s wrists once he was out of swinging distance. “I’ve screwed this all up.” To Rich’s surprise, he didn’t shove up from the seat and bolt for the door like he was sure he was going to. Apparently his body had other plans, and his brain was in on it. Instead he watched as Chris rubbed his hands over his bare scalp. A dull flush crept from his thick neck, turning his cheeks ruddy and the tips of his ears pink. Those huge shoulders Rich longed to lick sagged and Chris scooted over and grabbed the door handle. With a twist of his wrist and a soft grunt, he flung the door open and stepped out of the cab. Rich watched the shift and bunching of muscles in the man’s back, then dropped his gaze to the plump round ass he wanted to bury his dick in. Chris stood with his back to Rich and stared off in the direction of the Miata. “Go on,” Chris said so softly Rich could barely understand him. “I understand you wouldn’t want a big tattooed, pierced guy like me when you can have any pretty boy you flicked a finger towards.” His bitter laugh shocked Rich. It sounded wrong coming from a man who seemed more likely to laugh uninhibitedly. It definitely caused Rich’s heart to twist when he compared it to the heated lusty look that had lit the man’s eyes minutes earlier. Rich took a shaky breath then got up, not bothering to slide his shoes back on. He stood in the doorway of the cab and willed Chris to look at him. Chris didn’t get the message though and Rich finally cleared his throat in an overloud manner. Chris’s shoulders

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tightened then he slowly turned to face Rich, his movements small as if he were afraid he’d send Rich running if he dared speed up. When Chris raised his eyes to Rich’s, he didn’t know why he’d ever thought the bigger man was a threat. McAlister had had those dead eyes, the ones that never showed any expression, that smiles never reached and tears never filled. Chris’s eyes showed too much, and the pain and regret in their depths made Rich feel like the biggest asshole in the world. “What was it you wanted to tell me?” Chris sucked part of his bottom lip between his teeth and shook his head as he darted another glance towards Rich’s car. He pulled his cell phone off his belt clip and looked at the screen, letting his lip pop free of his teeth. A swipe of pink tongue and the glint of metal sent Rich’s libido into overdrive. He clutched at the doorframe until his knuckles ached—it was the only way he could keep from reaching for the other man. “I…you aren’t…” Rich stopped and tried to organise his jumbled thoughts. This was harder than he’d imagined, but what did he really have to lose? Another day spent alone with the demons that haunted him? And, possibly, the attentions of a man unlike any he’d met before. Did he really think Chris was a threat? Not physically, no, but… “I don’t want a ‘pretty boy’,” Rich blurted out, heat scorching his cheeks. Chris looked up at him with a notquite-hopeful expression, but his shoulders relaxed slightly and he quit fidgeting with his phone. “I had plenty of them before—just before,” Rich confessed, not as proud of it as he’d once been. “There’s been no one since this.” He reached up and forced himself to touch the scar though it made his stomach quiver. “And there’s…there’s more, a lot more. It’s—I’m grotesque.” Rich hated the word, but it always sprung to mind when he thought of his damaged face and body. When he’d been perfect, unscarred and handsome, he would have turned away from someone who looked like he did now. Why would anyone treat him any different? Wasn’t it a karmic rule or something? Chris muttered something Rich couldn’t hear then took a small step forward. He slid his gaze over Rich from head to toe, lingering for long seconds on Rich’s rapidly swelling cock. When he licked his lips and caught the ball of his tongue piercing between his teeth, Rich thought he was going to shoot in his jeans. What would that ball feel like flicking over my cock, sliding into my slit? Rich moaned and cupped his erection, aching for just a touch from Chris.

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“Call your friend, the sheriff, give him my name, license number, plates, truck description.” Chris turned his head to watch a passing car. “Or is he your boyfriend? He didn’t—he wasn’t the one who hurt you, was he?” Chris faced him again, and the look he gave Rich told him Chris intended to kick the ass of whoever had hurt him. “He’s dead,” Rich said bluntly. “The sheriff, Laine, is my friend. So is his partner, Severo. Laine and I were detectives in Houston years ago, and the fucker who nearly killed me was after Laine. I was just a way to hurt him.” Chris’s tan had faded away as Rich talked, leaving the bigger man’s complexion unnaturally pale. “Jeez, Rich, I—” Rich didn’t know what else to say as he watched Chris’s hands curl into fists. He heard a pop of plastic and Chris cursed, looking down at the hand clutching his cell phone. Frowning so hard his brow wrinkled with it, Chris put the phone back in the clip. “At least this time I didn’t break it.” He took another tentative step forward then another, stopping several feet away. Too far away, Rich thought. “You probably don’t believe me, but I’m usually a pacifist.” “Okay.” Rich looked at those bulging muscles and did find it hard to believe, but who was he to judge someone by their appearance? Chris’s lips twisted as he fisted his hands again. Rich watched the way his forearms and biceps tightened, the way his full lips thinned and pulled down at the edges. “It’s a good thing he’s dead and gone.” “Yeah,” Rich murmured, “it’s a good thing he’s dead.” He was very much afraid the gone part was too much to hope for.

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Chapter Five

Chris couldn’t remember ever being so angry before. He turned his back to Rich in order to keep his eyes averted, not wanting to scare the smaller man with what Chris feared might show in them. His mother had said the eyes really were the windows to the soul, and whoever had come up with that discovery was the most intuitive person ever born. He wasn’t sure about that, but he did know he had expressive eyes, and while he didn’t know the extent of what Rich had been through—the Cliff notes version had been pretty damn awful—he’d bet it wouldn’t endear him any to Rich if the man saw the fury burning in Chris’s soul right now. No doubt his aura was now a murky grey tinged with icky yellow as well. “Chris.” The sound of Rich’s trembling voice sent a shiver down Chris spine. The feel of Rich’s hand tracing the shiver’s path filled Chris with a desire so strong he could hardly breathe. “I don’t see what you could possibly find attractive about me. You haven’t seen all of the scars, and I’m—” “You’re beautiful,” Chris said as he slowly turned to Rich. The inclination to spin around and grab the man and show him just how beautiful Chris thought he was, was only held in check by the fear Rich would think Chris meant to harm him. Rich shook his head, dropping his lids down so Chris couldn’t see his dark eyes. The thick fan of lashes against honey brown skin made Chris’s heart flutter in his chest. He couldn’t resist touching, and slowly brought his hand up to brush a finger just under the soft black fringe. Rich gasped quietly and looked up at him. Chris didn’t pull away, instead letting his finger trace a path to Rich’s full lower lip. Rich’s lips parted on a sigh that Chris wished he could swallow. “You are,” Chris asserted, daring to dip his fingertip between the lush lips he wanted to taste. “And strong, so strong, honey—” Rich’s eyes widened at the endearment, but Chris wasn’t going to make an excuse for it this time. “You have no idea how strong you are, do you? But I see it, I do.” And Rich would probably call him ten kinds of fool if Chris told him about seeing auras, but maybe someday, if Chris’s mom was right, he’d be able to tell Rich. “I’m not, not any of that.”

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“You are,” Chris repeated then let his hand drop back to his side before he gave in to the need to kiss Rich’s protests away. He pulled out his wallet and took his license from its slot. “Call your friend, give him all that information along with my license plates number and description of the truck. It’s a 2011 LoneStar sleeper cab.” Rich sputtered for a moment then tried to hand Chris his license back. “Nope,” Chris said backing away. “Besides, if this guy is your friend, he will probably shit sheep when he sees you getting out of this thing.” Chris gave his rig a loving look then made shooing motions with his hands until Rich got back in the cab. Chris shut the door then jogged around to his side and got in. Rich was holding the phone in front of him—and his hands were shaking. Chris stopped in mid sit and edged over to the smaller man. “Rich? Are you going to call him?” “I can’t,” Rich mumbled as the shaking spread up his arms. “I haven’t talked to Laine since I left McKinton. That’s where I almost—I wouldn’t answer or return his calls, and now…” He clutched the phone tightly as his voice trailed off. “Now what?” Why was Rich going back to the place where he’d been so brutally attacked? Why would he want to go stay with someone he obviously didn’t want to talk to? Although, unless his friend, this Laine, had done something to hurt Rich, maybe talking to the man would help him. “Now it’s either him or my father, and I hate pigs, hogs, whatever. They freak me out with those beady eyes and—” Rich took several deep breaths, but instead of relaxing him, his body seemed to coil tighter. He looked at Chris through those thick lashes and wetted his lips with his tongue. As far as distraction went, it almost had Chris begging the man to fuck him. “I have some problems. Too much Jack, too many pills, too much isolation, and the nights are… unbearable, sometimes.” Chris couldn’t stand it. He cautiously smoothed his hands up Rich’s arms, then, when Rich didn’t protest, he dipped his hands behind the smaller man and slowly leant in to hug him, careful to keep it loose though he wanted nothing more than to press Rich tightly to him. Rich must not have been afraid of Chris after all, because Chris quickly found himself toppling onto his ass as Rich flung himself into the hug. The man’s arms were thin, but strong. He knelt, straddling Chris’s thighs. From pelvis to shoulders, they were fitted against one another.

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Chris worried about making Rich uncomfortable for all of a second before he locked his arms around him. Rich groaned and pushed against him. Chris could feel the hard ridges of the man’s collar bone and ribs. His hands traced the path of Rich’s knobby spine. Had no one held him, comforted him at all in the past year? How could they not realise Rich needed to be touched, needed the reassurance that he wasn’t—Chris cringed at Rich’s description of himself—grotesque? Why did his family and friends let him shove them away? Were they all idiots, or had Rich always been so independent that the people who loved him believed what they wanted to? Was it simply easier for them to think he’d been adjusting to his traumatic experience and that his refusal to speak to or see them meant he was doing fine? If so, that brought them right back to being idiots, in Chris’s opinion. “Why didn’t anyone fight for you?” Chris murmured, his eyes stinging at the thought of Rich suffering alone. Rich didn’t answer, only vibrated against Chris as he clung tighter to him. Chris held Rich and whispered soothing chants for protection and peace his mother had drilled into him. The words themselves sounded soft, like a nursery rhyme used to soothe a frightened child. When Rich’s breathing slowed, his heartbeat following suit, Chris leant back and tugged the leather necklace off over his head. Rich looked dazed, as if shaken by the need he’d given in to. He didn’t resist when Chris slid the leather over his head, or when Chris tucked the protective crystals dangling from it under Rich’s collar. Rich frowned then hissed as he plucked at his shirt. “What? Did I scratch you when I put the crystals under there?” Chris was already reaching for the leather. “It burns.” Those softly spoken words sent a chill straight to Chris’s gut. He needed to talk to his mom as soon as possible. And Rich needed the protection, or else something wouldn’t be fighting the power channelled into the crystals. Chris plucked the crystals out and placed them on the outside of Rich’s shirt. “Better?” Rich nodded and started to touch the necklace then lowered his hand back to his side. Chris could see the question forming, and since he wouldn’t have an answer until he spoke to his mother about why the crystals would burn someone, he decided to deflect.

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“Why don’t you let me call your friend—Laine, right?” Like Chris would forget. Laine was one of the people who’d left Rich to deal with this shit on his own. “I’ll fill him in, and you can talk to me or something so he hears you and knows I’m telling him the truth.” “Okay, thanks.” Rich looked like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, although his hand shook a little as he pressed a button on his phone and handed it to Chris. Chris just hoped he could pretend to not want to kick Laine’s ass while he was talking to him. He wasn’t sure he could pull it off when a gruff, deep voice came on the line, but one look at Rich, his shoulders hunched and his face turned away, and Chris figured he could do whatever he had to in order to make Rich feel safe.

**** An internal war woke Rich up. He bolted upright in the seat, at a loss for where he was, the surroundings unfamiliar and his head muddled with sleep and the presence, or attempted presence, of the invader and the other, the one that came to him, through him, as ice in his bones. Both were muted, but he could feel them, the evil trying to reach him, the cold trying to push it back, and both unable to get a hold on him. “Hey, you okay?” Rich twisted around and blinked as his sluggish brain tossed up the events that had led to him sitting in the cab of the big rig. Chris. Christian. Neeland. Seeing the man was almost enough to make Rich forget the weird crap happening in his head. He realised Chris was trying to drive and watch him at the same time—not a good combination. Rich swallowed to moisten his dry throat, but his voice still came out sounding like a gritty croak. “Yeah, just—” Rich searched for an explanation that didn’t involve being haunted or possibly possessed. “Just didn’t know where I was for a minute.” Which was true. “Thanks for calling Laine earlier. Sorry if he was a dick—he means well.” Chris frowned and tapped the steering wheel with one of his tatted fingers. “He wasn’t a dick, just worried about you. I told him we’d be in before dark, thought maybe we’d stop a few miles up ahead and eat.” “Before dark?” Rich hadn’t even noticed it was still bright and sunny out. The invader always came at night, so he’d assumed—what did it mean for this to happen now? He reached for the crystals without thinking then jerked his hand back at the uncomfortable

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warmth that shot through his palm on contact with the coloured stones. The jolt speared clear up to his head and Rich bit back a gasp as his head pounded once. The pain vanished and with it, the dueling presences that had scared him into waking. What the hell? Maybe they realised they were breaking the rules, showing up during the day. “Is that okay?” Rich tried to figure out what Chris was talking about, but couldn’t seem to focus past his confusion. “Rich, do you want to stop and grab a bite? Or would you rather head straight to McKinton?” He doubted he’d be able to eat, but Chris must be hungry. “It’s fine if we stop. I could use some coffee.” Chris gave him a long look that had Rich pointing at the road. “Look at that not me!” “Peripheral vision,” Chris said, though he did as Rich had ordered. “And you need to eat. Not that I don’t think you’re hot as hell, but I could hear your stomach growling for the last hour. That’s probably what woke you up.” Rich tried to hide his embarrassment, but Chris’s twitching lips told him he failed. “I skipped breakfast.” And dinner the night before, and lunch before that— “So you’re gonna eat,” Chris informed him. He began downshifting, a complex series of moves that looked entirely too complicated for Rich. He’d stick with an automatic engine any day. They pulled into a truckstop and Chris parked the rig in a space Rich wouldn’t have believed it’d fit. “Stop worrying, I’m good at what I do.” Rich glanced at Chris and found the man leering, and Rich quickly found himself with a problem he couldn’t quite hide Chris grinned as he noted Rich’s erection. “Nice. You know I want to suck you off, right?” Chris winked and got out of the cab while Rich bent over as his dick hardened even more. Christ, when had he ever ached for a man? “Shit. Asshole.” Rich unsnapped his seatbelt and got out, glaring at Chris’s smug look. That had to go before Rich creamed his jeans. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised his chin. “What makes you think I’ll let you?” Something flashed in Chris’s eyes as he stepped up to Rich. “Get back in the cab. We can eat what I have in the fridge. Or I can do you right here in the parking lot, put on a show

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for all the truckers in the restaurant. Not a lot of tolerant people, truckers, but I’m willing to risk it.” He cupped Rich’s erection, pressing the heel of his hand against the tip and rubbing until Rich whimpered. “I won’t get naked,” Rich warned, unwilling to humiliate himself any more than he already had. “You will eventually, when you trust me.” Chris squeezed Rich’s length while Rich struggled to make sense of what he’d just said. “Eventually?” He had to ask. The drive to McKinton wouldn’t last much longer. Chris nodded and removed his hand from Rich’s groin. “Unless you have any objections, I don’t see why I can’t stop in McKinton. I might even stay a few days. Don’t have another load to haul for a week or so.” Rich, who’d always believed once with a guy was enough because twice was a relationship, decided Chris had a great idea. One guy, only one to worry about baring his body to. Rich could do that, though he didn’t want to seem too eager. He lowered his lids and looked up at Chris through his lashes. “Guess it depends on how good of a job you do.” Chris’s bark of laughter warmed Rich inside as he pulled himself back into the cab. His words scorched Rich and made his pulse race so hard he was dizzy. “I promise you, I’m excellent at what I do, especially this kind of job.” “Fuck,” Rich muttered as he darted into the sleeper section. He stopped short when he didn’t see a bed. In fact, the sleeper section looked like a small, very nice and homey, living room. A built in refrigerator took up part of one wall, there was a couch that resembled benches in diner, and a microwave on a counter opposite the refrigerator. He looked down and tried to decide if the floor was really wood or the fake stuff that was so popular nowadays. “Pretty sweet, isn’t it?” Chris said from behind him. Rich bit his cheek to keep from yelping. He hadn’t even heard the door to the cab close, he’d been so intent on finding the bed. Chris looped an arm around Rich’s waist and pulled him back until he was pressed against Chris’s broad chest. “All the comforts of home. He ground his groin against the small of Rich’s back, sending a wave of lust through Rich. To feel that thick bulge splitting him open… “No bed,” Rich got out, grateful his voice didn’t crack.

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“Sure there is,” Chris told him, nudging him further into the living area. “But we don’t need one for this.” He spun Rich around and pushed him lightly. Rich hadn’t realised his legs had apparently turned to jelly. He plopped down on the couch, grunting with the impact. Chris unbuckled his belt then opened his fly. He shoved his jeans and briefs down to the top of his thighs then fisted his big cock. Rich shivered as he watched Chris stroke the heavily veined shaft, then the glint of metal drew Rich’s gaze. “Holy shit, that had to hurt!” He would have crossed his legs in sympathy if he could have done so without damaging himself. “This?” Chris fingered the hoop spearing his dick. “A little, but you wouldn’t believe how much more sensitive it makes me.” Chris shuddered as he tugged on the piercing. “And I’ve been told it feels amazing to be fucked with.” Rich’s ass clenched, though he wasn’t sure whether it was from fear or the desire to feel that thick pierced slab inside him. “Give me your hand.” Chris held out his hand and stepped between Rich’s spread legs, giving him a much closer view of the tempting cock. Rich placed his hand in Chris’s, eager to touch. Chris huffed as he put Rich’s hand on his dick. “Pull it, just—ahh fuck!” Rich plucked at the hoop, riveted by the way Chris’s hips jerked, causing his large furry balls to swing. Rich cupped the sacs with his other hand, rolling the orbs in his palm while he tugged at the piercing again. Precum oozed from the wide slit and Rich’s mouth watered. He scooted to the edge of the couch and started to lower his mouth to lap at the glistening moisture only to have Chris stop him. “Don’t, honey, I’ll blow before you get any closer.” The desperation in Chris’s voice was a temptation in itself. Rich leant forward and lapped at the leaking slit. Chris yelped and crammed his hand over the tip of his cock. Now it was Rich’s turn to grin smugly as he licked the seams between Chris’s fingers. One taste had not been enough, and, truth be told, he could come just from sucking the man off. That would save him from having to expose his scarred dick. “No,” Chris rasped, prying Rich’s hands from their treasures. “Sit back and pull it out.”

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Rich was so close to coming it hurt to move, but he did so with trepidation. He fumbled with his fly, unable to look at Chris and his flawless package. The piercing only emphasised the beauty of that fat cock. Rich’s erection started to wilt as his stomach burned with anxiety. “I’m not like you,” Rich mumbled, watching his fingers twitch over the first button on his jeans. Chris dropped to his knees and put his hand over Rich’s. “I don’t care if you’re pierced or not. I want you.” Pierced? Yeah I was pierced all right, and there wasn’t a goddamned enjoyable thing about it. I was terrified and wanted to die, and was terrified to die. “Rich?” Chris cupped his chin, lifting Rich’s face until he couldn’t avoid looking at the bigger man. More of that compassion Rich had seen earlier, and it made him hate what he’d become. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I really do want to suck you off, feel you thrust into my throat, come in my mouth, want to see your face when you climax, hear the sounds you make, see if your body trembles or your muscles clench tight. I know you don’t have anything to be ashamed of in this department—” Chris stopped talking so suddenly, his eyes widening as the tips of his ears darkened. “He… Rich, did he…” “Everywhere,” Rich whispered, feeling the shame of each cut burning into him. “I told you I’m gro—” “No!” Chris snapped, anger making the word sharper than a blade. It cut Rich’s protests right off. “You do not talk like that about yourself!” Chris batted his hand away then jerked the fastenings open before Rich could protest. “You do not let that fucking bastard hurt you any more, you hear me?” Chris was almost shouting, but his touch was gentle as he pushed at the waistband of Rich’s boxers. “Hard not to.” “Lift up.” Rich hesitated until Chris growled and shoved his hands under Rich’s ass. He hooked his hands into the back of Rich’s underwear just as Rich lifted his hips. Rich closed his eyes when his dick sprung free. He didn’t want to see Chris’s expression once he saw the scars. The soft press of lips above his pubic hair had Rich snapping his eyes open. Something too close to a sob burst from his chest as Chris’s soft lips traced a long scar there. His eyes were closed, not that Rich could blame him. Chris glanced up at him then and Rich gasped as if he’d been punched in the gut. Nothing but need burned in those whisky-coloured eyes.

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“I told you, you’re beautiful,” Chris whispered with a sincerity that Rich had a hard time dismissing. “This here—” Chris traced another scar with the tip of his tongue. “And here—” He lapped at a jagged scar high up on the inside of Rich’s thigh. “And here—” Chris cupped his semi-soft dick before sucking the glans into his mouth. Rich arched his back so hard he felt like a bow being strung with an arrow. His cock shot to full life when Chris stabbed the ball of his tongue piercing into Rich’s slit. Chris responded by sucking hard enough to strip paint. A quick jerk and Rich found himself sitting with his pants around his ankles. Chris drew his shaft in further while pulling at Rich’s shoes. Rich’s fears that his scars were going to disgust Chris were rapidly evaporating with each swirl of tongue. The tip of Rich’s cock bumped the back of Chris’s throat at the same time Chris got Rich’s jeans and boxers off. Chris’s hum of approval caused Rich to pant and squirm as he tried to keep from thrusting. Chris ran his hands up the insides of Rich’s legs, pausing occasionally to rub a particularly thick bunch of scar tissue. Instead of cringing, Rich relaxed into each touch. He hadn’t thought anyone would do this to him, for him, not without a lot of money changing hands first and he wasn’t ever going to be that desperate. When Chris cupped his balls tenderly in one hand while sliding a finger into Rich’s cleft, teasing softly over his hole, Rich was barely able to hold back. Chris pressed harder against Rich’s opening and dragged his tongue up Rich’s dick. “Want you to fuck my mouth, honey. Do it.” He latched back onto Rich’s crown and sucked harder than before, rubbing the ball of his piercing down Rich’s length. Rich thought he was going to lose his mind and his head would surely blow right off his neck. “Chris, I don’t,” Rich gasped as Chris slammed down on his cock, burying the tip in his throat. “Ahh! Fuck!” Chris swallowed, his muscles constricting around Rich’s cockhead in a mind-melting manner. He shouted as he gripped Chris’s shoulders and shoved his hips up, forcing his dick in just that much deeper. He felt Chris’s rumble of approval all the way up his shaft and into his tightly drawn-up balls. Rich clutched at Chris’s shirt, his shoulders, his ears then settled for the man’s bulging biceps as he started fucking his dick into Chris’s throat. The slight burn of a finger entering his ass sent Rich screaming and catapulting into a climax so intense he was surprised he wasn’t literally turned inside out. Cum spewed from his slit in thick bursts that caused his gut to clench and his breath to stutter. His eyes closed

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and rolled back as he shoved into Chris’s willing mouth over and over. God, he was going to drown the man with cum, he was shooting so much. The last bit was more of a trickle than anything else, but it seemed to sap every drop of Rich’s energy with it. He twitched from head to toe when Chris released his softened cock with a loud slurp. “More beautiful than I imagined,” Chris said in a raspy voice. “Just, let me—” Rich grunted. The man could do whatever he wanted to after that, including—Rich pried his eyes open as his shirt was shoved up. He didn’t have the strength to protest Chris seeing more of his scars, and he couldn’t have spoken if his life depended on it, not with the vision in front of him—Chris kneeling, one hand working his dick furiously in strokes that looked painful. Rough, fast, and mostly dry, the sound of skin on skin made Rich wish he was hard again. He also wished he was able to sit up and take over for Chris, but he was utterly drained. Instead he reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it from Chris’s hand, pulling it up until it rested under his arm pits. “Yes, honey, show me how beautiful you are.” Chris cupped his own balls, his hand flying faster on his dick. He threw his head back and roared then quickly dropped his head forward to watch his cum splatter on Rich’s stomach, groin and thighs. “Fuck, yes! Rich!” Rich slid one hand up to pinch at his nipple and the other down to spread Chris’s cum around. The smell of sex—he hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it, but the scent was an aphrodisiac of epic proportions. One of the biggest turn-ons ever, but nowhere near as erotic as Chris panting and leaning over him to lick the spunk from his skin.

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Chapter Six

It didn’t surprise Chris one bit when, at about ten miles from McKinton, he saw a sheriff’s cruiser pulled over at the side of the road. Surprised him even less when the guy pulled a U-turn and followed him into town. Chris did grudgingly give him credit for two things—not blaring the lights and sirens, and not being a dickhead and driving too close to Chris’s tail. Other than that, though, he pretty much wanted to kick the guy’s ass. Not that Laine—if it was Laine behind him, and he couldn’t figure why it’d be anyone else—had been rude on the phone. He was brisk, and sounded like he didn’t take crap from anyone, but he hadn’t been there for Rich, had he? After Rich had almost died helping him out. Rich, who seemed to think he’d lost everything, and who was afraid of seeing this man, who owed Rich everything. Chris realised he was growling and pressed his lips together to keep in any more Neanderthal sounds. Next he’d be thumping his chest and yelling, “Mine! Ugh!” Chris cast a quick glance at Rich, sleeping in the passenger seat. Chris had offered him the bed, which was the couch when tucked away, but Rich had protested that he wasn’t tired. Chris had seen a flicker of fear in the man’s dark eyes and had let the subject drop, carrying on with lewd jokes as if he hadn’t noticed. Rich had been alone for a year, and he was scared to be alone, what kind of new hell was that? Not new for Rich. Chris glimpsed dark lashes and soft parted lips that he’d still yet to have a taste of and knew there was something about this man that drew him like none had before. And while he wouldn’t dare to scoff at his mother’s predictions, because really they were entirely too accurate most of the time, he didn’t believe in love at first sight. Infatuation, sure, the promise of love, definitely, but he truly believed it took time and knowledge of one another for love to develop. He ignored the niggling voice in his head that sounded a lot like his mom telling him he knew a hell of a lot about Rich Montoya. Like his mom would ever say hell. Chris caught sight of a motel in McKinton, and a nice homey Main Street—a requisite for a small towns in Texas as far as he could tell. The town wasn’t huge by any means, but it

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wouldn’t have hurt them to have a hotel. Chris would have liked to get a really nice room and attempt to seduce Rich in it. A motel just wasn’t good enough for Rich. Almost twenty minutes outside of McKinton, but probably no more than ten miles as the crow flies, Chris pulled into the unpaved driveway of a cute house that looked kind of like a cottage. He hadn’t seen a lot of cottages that he knew of, but he imagined they looked like this, square and white with big windows and lots of plants in the yard. Not fancy, but comfortable. Would Rich like a cottage? Movement in his peripheral vision had Chris turning his head to find a big, although not as big as him, and broad—again, he was the winner there—older man standing beside his door. The dude could win in the age category, no skin off Chris’s nose. The Stetson the guy had on gave him a dangerous look, but… Chris squinted at the man he was sure had to be Laine. His lips quirked up on one side as he checked the guy’s aura. Not a total asshole, so why then did he let Rich end up alone and hurting? A small dark-haired man with golden brown skin darted from the house to the older man’s side. Chris looked over at Rich, finding him still soundly asleep. He probably wouldn’t have a better opportunity than this. Chris turned the radio up a little more then quietly let himself out of the cab. And damned if it didn’t make him feel kind of good to see the older man’s eyes widen in surprise. Hopefully it wasn’t all due to the chin piercing, but just in case… Chris flicked the ball of his tongue piercing against the front of his teeth and arched a brow as he kept his muscles loose. “Oh my God, Laine, that’s so sexy! I want one!” Chris couldn’t help but grin at the cute little dude with the pale green eyes. Severo, Rich had said during one of their first conversations. Well, it wasn’t like they’d had many, really, all things considered. Chris watched the hard look melt from had-to-be-Laine’s face as he glanced at his lover. “You can’t have him.” Ah. An asshole with a sense of humour. Who knew? Chris was tempted to be contrary and say yes, little dude could have him, except that’d be stirring up a pot full of shit which was just stupid. Some things should never be in a pot, much less stirred. The cute guy rolled his eyes and muttered, “Guess you’ll never know how good that could feel on your dick then,” and Chris couldn’t have kept quiet if his life depended on it.

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“Good doesn’t begin to describe it, especially if you know how to work it over the head and under the rim.” “I like you,” the smaller man announced, stepping forward to offer his hand. “Severo Robledo. Maybe you can talk Laine into agreeing on the piercing.” “Christian Neeland.” Chris shook then hitched his thumb at Laine. “Just tell him it’s him or you that’s gonna get pierced. Your tongue or his dick. Hurts about the same, but I doubt he’d go for a piercing.” He kept his voice light, his tone teasing even though he was itching to have a private talk with the sheriff. The man must have picked up on it because his expression hardened and he patted his partner once on the ass before asking him to please give him a few minutes with Christian. Severo rolled his eyes and told his lover not to make him sic Brendan on him, and Chris was pretty much lost on that one. “Brendan’s one of our friends and he always calls Laine on being a dumbass.” Severo pointed at Laine. “Like he’d do it now, when you’re being rude and not bothering to introduce yourself because you’d rather do some chest thumping. Just don’t whip out the dicks unless I’m out here. Pretty sure what Chris was saying is he’s got a PA and I’ve never seen one live and in person before.” With that spiel, Severo grinned and turned, jogging back to their house without looking back. Chris only watched for a second. The guy had a cute ass, but he wasn’t Rich and therefore not interesting in a sexual manner. Laine watched with a lusty look until Severo was inside the house. Then he turned and gave Chris the same hard look he had at first. Chris grinned, he couldn’t help it, and the bigger he grinned, the narrower the sheriff’s icy grey eyes got. Who would win—him when he smiled so wide his face split, or the sheriff who’d have to find a way to glare at him through his eyelids pretty damn quick? Three things happened in a split second to wipe Chris’s grin away. The sheriff’s hat tumbled off his head, landing behind him with a dull thud at the same time as his tin star badge popped off and spun on the ground, and a stream of white appeared in his aura. “I really have to call my mom,” Chris muttered, watching the star spin in the dirt. “Yeah, like that would help,” Laine grumbled. “Where’s Rich?” Chris dragged his gaze from the star and studied the sheriff. The white tendrils in his aura were pulsing. Something brushed over Chris’s groin that felt an awful lot like a hand. He was ninety-nine percent certain it wasn’t the sheriff, and the slap to his ass confirmed it.

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Chris took a slow step back and pointed at Laine, trying not to freak over the touches that shouldn’t have been possible. Rich, think of Rich, and how this guy left him alone. “He doesn’t even want to come here,” Chris said coolly. “Can’t blame him any.” Laine’s eyes narrowed until they were almost shut as he took a step forward. “His father said Rich needed help, and you know fuck-all about Rich or what happened to him. Rich hasn’t wanted to talk to anyone for a year or more, and I can’t see that he’d want to start with some jackass with a piece of jewellery dangling from his chin.” Chris was not impressed. “If his friends had given a shit, they’d have known he needed them after your stalker sliced and diced him up and left him feeling—in his own word, which I very much disagree with—grotesque. So don’t tell me he wouldn’t talk to me. He needed someone, and sure as shit you weren’t there.” Then Chris got angry, or the anger that had been building burst through the dam of calm he’d tried to keep up. Chris lunged forward and had the older man by both arms before the sheriff could do more than blink. He bent until he could look the man square in the eyes. “He came here to help you, but where have you been the past year? That man in there sleeping has nightmares, and he’s haunted in ways I don’t think either of us can ever comprehend, and here you are playing house with your partner. So don’t give me any shit when I’m not eager to leave Rich here, somewhere he’s afraid to be.” “That’s enough,” a raspy voice called out from behind him. Laine gasped and went so white Chris was afraid to let him go for fear he’d hit the ground. He kept his grip on the man and craned his neck around to find a sexy sleep rumpled Rich leaning out the rolled down window. “Rich.” Laine put enough pain and guilt into the name that Chris was tempted to let him off the hook. But he didn’t, not when he knew how many notches there were in Rich’s spine, when he knew the number of cuts on his thin legs and sweet groin. Not when he’d licked and kissed as much of the man as he could, but hadn’t got to kiss Rich like he longed to. “You left him,” Chris whispered then let the sheriff go. He could stand or fall all on his own. Chris turned away and jogged to the rig. “Hey, honey, you’re looking all rumply and hot.” He didn’t have to fake a smile, not with the way he got all tingly just looking at Rich. Rich’s slow smile was genuine as well, and so sweet it made Chris ache to touch him. “I’m coming up.” Rich scooted back as Chris climbed up and opened the door. He plopped in the

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driver’s seat and pulled Rich onto his lap all in one smooth move. Man, Rich has such pretty eyes. Chris could get lost in them for days, or maybe the rest of his life. Maybe his mom wasn’t so far off the mark after all. Whatever was happening between them wasn’t over, and had the potential to be so much more. Chris held Rich a little tighter and nuzzled the top of his dark silky hair. “You don’t have to stay. I can take you home with me.” He tossed it out there and was relieved when Rich didn’t laugh at him, only looked up at him with those big eyes. “I won’t leave you here if you don’t want to be here, I mean it, Rich. If you don’t want to stay with me, I’ll take you somewhere else, or you could go on the road with me for a while, get away from everything.” Rich shook his head and Chris tried not to let his disappointment show. It was easier than hiding the strangely sharp burst of pain that speared through his heart.

**** He didn’t want to be here, but maybe he needed to be. The fear of returning to the town where he’d been carved up, of seeing Laine and—something Rich could hardly bear to think about—the man Rich had casually and cruelly dismissed when he’d came to at the hospital might be part of the problem. Maybe those were the things that were haunting him, not some dead sociopath who tormented him just as he had in life. Rich hadn’t wanted to come here, but he felt like, now he was here, he had to stay and see how it all played out. “I have to stay, have to face it,” Rich admitted, hating the words even as he said them. “You want to blame Laine and everyone else, but I wouldn’t let them help me. I even got the psych I was seeing right after I got back to Houston tell them it was in my best interest to leave me alone. He wasn’t a very good shrink and easy to manipulate.” And he was a total shit for working the man like a puppet. Chris growled and glared out the window. “They should have known better. If Laine knew you at all—” “He didn’t,” Rich cut in. “He didn’t know I was gay, he didn’t know I knew he was gay until I told him three years after Conner was killed. Laine didn’t know me, no one did, because I only let them see the flirty, charming guy who could wind anyone around his finger, or the dedicated detective who wouldn’t take no for an answer.” He wiggled off

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Chris’s lap and cupped his face. “Those were parts of me, not all good parts, but only parts, and all they ever saw.” But you see me, and did it in less than a day. How did you do that? “No one is all good, Rich. I think you’re kicking yourself for that very human part of you.” Chris nailed it, so simply it made Rich wonder why he hadn’t ever figured it out. “You’ve gotta be close to it,” Rich murmured. His gaze dipped down to the full lips that had been wrapped around his cock hours earlier. How had he not sipped from that lovely mouth yet? Chris’s expression softened, his eyes turning liquid with need. Rich dipped his head down and caught Chris’s lips with his own, sucking tenderly on the plump lower one until Chris moaned and fisted his hands in Rich’s hair. Only then did Rich slip his tongue into Chris’s mouth and taste this magical man. Sweet, literally, Chris tasted sweet and right and like something Rich could come to crave more than his next breath. He deepened the kiss, stroking his tongue over the roof of Chris’s mouth, pressing his lips more firmly to those full ones. Rich straddled Chris’s lap clumsily, unwilling to break the kiss. He smoothed his hands over Chris’s broad chest, his palms rasping over peaked nipples. Chris whimpered and thrust his chest forward in a silent plea for more. Rich gave it to him, turning the kiss from a thorough exploration to a passionate need-filled kiss as he pinched Chris’s nipples. Chris broke the kiss, panting so hard his broad chest brushed against Rich’s with every inhalation. “Shit. Rich, honey, I can’t just walk. I’ll get a room at the motel—” “No!” Rich didn’t realise he’d shouted the word until the cab door was flung open and a very pissed off sheriff bounded up to stand braced in the doorway. Rich forgot about his fear of seeing Laine, the guilt he carried with him for shoving the man away, and clung to Chris even as he pleaded with Laine. “He can’t stay at the motel! He can’t, Laine, tell him!” Laine looked closer to tears than Rich ever would have thought possible. His voice when he spoke was so full of sympathy Rich couldn’t help but think the man believed he’d gone nuts. “No, Rich, of course he can’t. Matt can’t go there either, so—” Rich felt the name like an electric shock through his body. Laine frowned and looked confused. Chris, however, pulled Rich to him and whispered, “You’ll tell me later.” Rich didn’t argue, because he would. Severo appeared behind Laine, climbing up to stand beside his partner. “He can stay here. In the house or in the sleeping area these things have. And he can stay until you don’t

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want him to, or he can come and go.” Severo grinned. “I’m guessing Laine’s grumpy has rubbed off on me. I mean, Chris, you’re welcome to stay and all the other stuff I said applies after that.” Rich noticed Chris didn’t even look at Laine. Instead he watched Rich, who finally got it. “You can stay here until you have to go, and unless we find out today was a fluke, you can come back when you do go.” Please. Please. Chris didn’t hesitate. “Of course I’ll stay. I was planning to, just a matter of where.” Rich’s relief was tempered by the setting sun. What would he do if it happened tonight, or some other night while Chris was here? Rich pushed the thought aside. He’d deal with it when it happened. Besides, there were no guarantees Chris would hang around for long. He’d come to his senses soon enough. “Stop it,” Chris said softly. Rich tried, but he couldn’t see any reason anyone, especially someone like Chris, would want to put up with him. Chris could find dick anywhere, or a mouth, or— “Stop it,” Chris hissed. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, stop!” Rich opened his mouth to explain that he couldn’t stop because he couldn’t understand why Chris gave the littlest damn about him, but he didn’t get any further than a puff of breath before Chris kissed him so softly, his big hands gentle on Rich’s back, stroking his tense muscles and making him feel safe. Chris kissed and caressed him until Rich stopped doubting and started believing. Whether it was a temporary respite or not, Rich took it, burrowing against Chris, taking the comfort his big body, smooth hands, and soft kisses promised. Chris placed a final soft kiss on his lips then tilted his head at Laine. Rich listened to the steady beat of Chris’s heart, the ebb and flow of air in his lungs, watched the repeated bob of his Adam’s apple as he tried to push words out. “I’ll stay,” Chris finally said, and Rich felt a piece of Chris wedge deep inside him, snugging in and keeping Rich from ever feeling alone again.

**** Chris wrapped his body around Rich’s as much as he could without crushing the man. They’d had a mish mash of a dinner from the remaining leftovers in the refrigerator then

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Rich had looked so exhausted Chris had pulled out the bed and nudged Rich under the covers. Rich had barely kicked off his shoes and jeans before falling to sleep, long-sleeved shirt and boxers as his PJs. Chris thought he looked cute, but had more sense than to say that out loud—at least to Rich. Every now and then, though, Rich would jerk in his sleep, his limbs thrashing as if he was fighting someone off. Chris figured he was, as the sick shit who’d hurt Rich would linger in Rich’s memory for who knew how long. Probably all his life, which Chris absolutely hated. Then he noticed the peaks in Rich’s aura, the increase in white every time he seemed to be having a nightmare. Rich would start to reach for the crystals in his sleep, but his hand always hovered an inch or so above them before dropping back to the mattress. It reminded Chris he needed to call his mom, but Rich felt so good in his arms, too good to let go. Chris was glad he hadn’t had to share Rich with Laine and Severo, at least not yet. The other two men had walked back to their house without arguing when Rich had quietly asked them to. And Chris was kind of thinking, between Laine’s aura, which was one of the best he’d ever seen, and the way Laine had looked so pained and guilty, maybe the sheriff wasn’t a bad guy. Severo was pretty awesome, though Chris hadn’t thought to check his aura. He tried to imagine what colours he’d find there and decided there’d be mostly colours showing he was a good person—with a tinge of smoke. The happy laughing ones were always the guys with hidden issues.

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Chapter Seven

“They aren’t going to drive off,” Severo said, pulling Laine away from where he was looking out the bedroom window. Laine came away with a grunt, not resisting but not exactly eager to be led to their bed. It had been one of those quiet, tense evenings, with Laine answering him in monosyllables and his broad shoulders slumped like the weight of the world was pushing them down. Severo had been shocked somewhat when he’d seen Rich. He hadn’t known the man very well before McAlister had got hold of him, but Rich had been bright and shiny like a new penny before then, and now he only glowed when he was focussed on Chris—not that Severo could blame him. The big trucker was well past sexy, with all those thick muscles, bald head—which normally Sev would veto ever being in the same sentence with sexy, but it worked for Chris. The piercings, tongue and chin, made Sev think wicked thoughts about what one could do with those. He’d love to drive Laine crazy with his tongue and, thanks to Chris, Sev couldn’t get the image of licking and fucking Laine’s slit with the ball of a tongue piercing out of his head. Then there was the whole dick piercing. Sev shuddered at the idea of someone shoving a needle through his glans and urethra, but he’d heard stories about how good it felt for both partners, and he wondered if he couldn’t handle the pain and discomfort in order to find out for himself, with Laine, how it’d feel. Of course, maybe Chris didn’t have a Prince Albert, maybe he had a Jacob’s Ladder or a guiche… “Do I even want to know what you’re thinking about?” Sev glanced up beside their bed to find Laine glowering at him. Damn, but he loved that snarly look his man got when he was jealous or just irritated. It made Sev’s already stiff cock even harder. Sev gave his lover the wicked grin that always set Laine’s libido on fire and stroked a hand over each of their packages. “Piercings,” Sev informed him, adding a bit more pressure to Laine’s dick. Laine’s hips shoved forward but his scowl deepened. “You like him?” Laine jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You think that’s sexy, having holes poked—”

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“Oh yeah,” Sev purred, sliding his hand down to cup Laine’s heavy balls through his boxer briefs. “You know I love having my hole poked, but tonight…” He shoved his hand further back until his fingers teased over Laine’s opening. Laine tensed from head to toe but didn’t pull away. He wrapped one rough hand around Sev’s wrist, pinning him in place. Sev tapped the tight hole once and Laine gasped and trembled as he fisted Sev’s hair with his other hand. “Sev, I don’t know if tonight’s the best time for…” Laine swallowed and darted a nervous glance over his shoulder. “Don’t know if I can relax enough, not after seeing Rich and knowing I fucked up again.” Sev heard the almost hidden plea in Laine’s voice. Tonight was exactly the right night to do this, to finally take Laine and drive him to the edge over and over again before letting him explode in a climax that would leave him addle-brained. Laine needed that, needed to stop thinking and blaming himself, although truthfully, Sev thought they both should have known better, reassurances from shrinks or not. And he wouldn’t lie about it to Laine. The man was his life, the only reason Sev had sometimes to want to draw his next breath. Sev had cut back virtually all his work in speaking to the dead, and listening to them, but occasionally there was a police department that had a persistent captain who didn’t give a damn what the press or other cops thoughts. He, or she, wanted answers, wanted killings to stop, and Sev couldn’t refuse. Some of the spirits he encountered broke his heart and dinged his soul, but the evil ones… They twisted Sev up inside, and the only one who made him feel close to normal again was Laine. That was something you repaid with honesty and a devotion that would never be questioned. But you could cushion it. Sev sat on the bed and pulled Laine to him, an awkward move with his hand still in Laine’s underwear, but Laine hadn’t let go of his wrist yet. Sev managed to press the tip against Laine’s hole enough to penetrate, and Laine’s thick thighs quivered as he released Sev’s wrist. Sev grabbed his lover’s underwear and shoved them down, tugging until Laine braced his hands on Sev’s shoulders and unsteadily lifted one foot then the other. Underwear tossed aside, Sev latched on to Laine’s dick before the man could draw his next breath. He sucked that thick cock back in one quick stroke, his hands seeking out balls and ass, anywhere he could touch to drive Laine wild. Laine cried out and pumped further into Sev’s mouth, the crown popping down deep. Sev tugged on his lover’s balls, giving Laine the bite of pain he liked. He swallowed around

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Laine’s cock as he pushed a dry finger into Laine’s ass—something else his big, tough sheriff enjoyed, the hot burn of sudden penetration, though Sev flat refused to do it with more than one finger no matter how much Laine pleaded with his pumping hips and sexy gasps. Laine would love that Prince Albert, love the feeling of the piercing slamming into him… Yeah, Sev was definitely going to have to give that, and a few other piercings, some serious thought—later. Sev wrapped one hand around Laine’s thigh, keeping his mouth full and his finger drilling Laine’s ass. He leant back and Laine quickly got the hint, tumbling them both to the bed, Sev sprawled on his back and Laine straddling him, better able to fuck Sev’s mouth like they both preferred. Sev sucked and licked and opened his throat for every hard drive of Laine’s dick, ignoring the throb of need in his own groin. He gripped one of Laine’s ass cheeks and pulled hard, opening him as much as he could while still fucking and twisting his finger into the needy pucker. “God, fuck,” Laine snarled, his hips slamming hard, his need and guilt driving him to be rougher. Sev knew this man, knew his heart and how he believed he was responsible for everyone and everything he cared about. He knew how Laine ached when he thought he failed, he knew how many nights Laine laid awake worrying or castigating himself, thinking Sev was asleep right up until the moment Sev tackled him and let Laine fuck them both senseless. He knew there were times Laine needed it rough, needed to hurt, but he’d never hurt Sev, which was why he had no problem letting the man hammer into his mouth, shove into his throat. He loved this as much as Laine did, seeing his lover come undone and lose himself and all his worries while he filled Sev’s body. Sev was as addicted to being Laine’s release as he was to the man himself. And Sev wanted Laine in a way he hadn’t expected to. Laine’s grunts were coming faster, short choppy sounds that made Sev’s cock leak onto his belly. He hit Laine’s cock with a bare scrape of teeth as he pinched the rim of Laine’s hole, one finger inside and the other out. Laine gasped then howled, a sound Sev hadn’t heard from him before but damned if he wouldn’t be hearing it again soon. He swallowed the salty spunk that seemed to pour from Laine’s cock rather than shoot out in jets while Laine held himself up on trembling arms and rapidly slipping knees. A hard suck and swipe of the tongue to make sure he had every bit of Laine’s cream, then Sev rolled them both so Laine was on his back. Then Sev dropped his head low to suck Laine’s sac into his mouth. It’d taken practice—which had been fun for both of them—but

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Sev had finally got to where he could get both of his lover’s balls in his mouth. Laine let out a raspy yell as Sev plunged his finger in deeper and rubbed against Laine’s gland. Sev’s dick was so hard he could drill a hole in the mattress, and he was trying to, rubbing and humping until he was on the verge of coming. He gave Laine’s balls one last lick then crawled over the man to grab the lube he’d stashed under his pillow. Sev had the cap off and his fingers and cock coated in record time, then he was back between Laine’s bent legs, sliding two fingers into his tight entrance. Laine hissed and shoved his hips down, demanding more, a stronger penetration, deeper thrusts. Sev gave him what he needed, his own urge to be gentle set aside as he worked his fingers in and twisted his wrist. Laine’s breath came in short, shallow bursts, his inner muscles constricting around Sev’s digits. Stretching his lover for this first joining took almost more patience than Sev had, but he didn’t want Laine to hate it, and he sure knew more about receiving than his partner did. Assured as much as he could be, Sev pulled his digits from Laine’s gripping channel and quickly hitched the man’s legs over his shoulders. “You ready for this?” Sev asked, hesitating with his cock pressing against Laine’s hole. He could still stop if this wasn’t what Laine wanted. He hoped. Laine answered by grabbing Sev’s biceps and rocking up, forcing the first inch of penetration. Sev’s brain melted and he plunged in, filling Laine’s ass with his cock. “Shiiit!” Laine hissed, hands bruising Sev’s arms as his ass squeezed Sev’s dick so hard he felt light headed. Sev swiveled his hips from side to side and Laine cursed again and ordered him to move! Sev did, all his plans to take Laine slow and sweet trampled by the need that flared between them. Topping was something Sev hadn’t particularly cared to do before Laine, but with this man, he wanted everything, wanted to be inside every part of him and feel Laine owning him in return. Sev bent down, bending Laine almost in half, but he needed to taste those parted lips, sip the moans and curses and pleas escaping their lush flesh. He drilled Laine’s ass like his tongue drilled his lover’s mouth, demanding, claiming, seeking out depths he hadn’t known to reach for before. Laine met him stroke for stroke, tongue and hips thrusting and undulating. Sev tried to grip Laine’s dick, needing to bring him off again before filling him with his seed, but Laine snarled and bit Sev’s lower lip hard enough to sting. Sev canted his hips and aimed for the spot his fingers had found, and Laine bucked and jerked his head aside, shouting as strings

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of cum splattered his chest and belly. His ass constricted around Sev’s cock so tightly Sev couldn’t do more than lean into his lover, trying to meld into him as his climax tore through him, heat and ice swirling down his spine and spewing from his body into Laine’s. Afterwards, Sev wasn’t sure how, but he ended up under Laine, pinned by his lover’s thick thigh and strong arm. Sev thought he might have lost consciousness or something, because he had no idea how he got from point A, coming so deep inside Laine he thought he’d become a permanent part of him, to point B, being a living pillow for his heavier lover. Sev closed his eyes and debated whether he wanted to snuggle or breathe, but an urgent tugging on his hair had his eyes snapping open. Laine’s hands weren’t in his hair. A buzzing began in Sev’s head, an urgent demand for a spirit to be heard. Laine stiffened beside him, then sat up and looked around the room with a near panicked expression. Sev scrambled from the bed on limbs not quite steady. He needed underwear or something— “Conner?” Laine rasped, looking at Sev where he was hopping on one foot, trying to get Laine’s underwear on. Laine could grab another pair. “Yeah, I have to get to the rig,” Sev explained as he finally got his other leg through the hole and hitched the underwear up. “I’m right behind you,” Laine muttered, standing up and wrapping the sheet around his hips. Sev stopped from racing out of the room, holding his hand out to his lover. “No, you’re right beside me.”

**** Chris had seen some scary things, growing up in a coven. People didn’t want to believe there were things in this world other than the ordinary, but he knew better. Still, he couldn’t have been prepared to wake up with Rich kneeling over him, the necklace held by the leather in one hand as Rich stared down at him with a blank expression. His eyes were even darker, whether it was the lack of light in the sleeper of something…else, he couldn’t make out any white in Rich’s eyes at all.

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Rich tossed the necklace aside and straddled Chris’s hips. Normally this would have had Chris’s dick going from zero to sixty in a second flat, but something wasn’t right about Rich. Chris slowly touched Rich’s hand and found it as cold as a block of ice. The night was cool, but nowhere near enough to explain that. Rich didn’t acknowledge the touch, only stared down at him with eyes that saw something Chris couldn’t fathom. It went past creepy right into terrifying. Chris edged up against the headboard a little as his heart thudded in his chest. He darted a glance at the floor, wishing he had those crystals now, but in the darkened cab, he couldn’t see more than Rich’s shape and those dead eyes. A chill crawled up from Chris’ toes, burrowing in his bones as he realised Rich wasn’t exactly…here. “Rich, honey, talk to me,” Chris pleaded softly, more scared for the silent man sitting on him than he was for himself. Chris let his lids droop and felt the cold spear up to his chest when he saw the white and brown sludge mix surrounding Rich. This is very, very bad. He should have made that call— A pounding on the door to the cab startled Chris so bad he yelped. Rich smiled, but it wasn’t that warm, sexy grin that pushed all of Chris’s buttons. This was something else, something malevolent and frightening and not Rich. Chris heard the voices of the men outside and cursed himself for locking the doors. Rich leant down and stroked a hand over Chris’s neck, and Chris went rigid at the icy touch. He could feel something otherworldly, something dark and hateful sliding under Rich’s skin. “This isn’t you,” Chris croaked, catching that cold hand with his own. “Rich, sweetie, listen to me—” Rich’s mouth dropped open and his eyes widened impossibly. The sound torn from his throat had Chris clenching his thighs against pissing himself. That wasn’t anything of this world, that dark and tormented howl. Chris realised he was in danger, not from Rich, but from whatever had control of him, forcing his thin hand to squeeze unbearably tight around Chris’s throat. Chris kicked and thrashed, but all of his strength was no match for whatever was driving Rich’s body. His lungs burned as they screamed for air, but he couldn’t unseat the man, couldn’t pry the one lone hand loose with both of his. Vision dimming and brightening with explosions of white, Chris was filled not with the fear of death, but with regret for what Rich would do, what he’d feel, if Chris didn’t manage to escape. But he didn’t see how he

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could, not when his thoughts were slowing, stuttering, and his heart was fluttering weakly in his chest. “No! Rich!” Chris thought he imagined yelling it, but that wasn’t his voice. It was higher pitched than his own, and vaguely familiar. Rich’s head snapped around in a move too fast to be human, and another of those hellacious sounds filled the cab as Chris sunk into darkness.

**** Rich couldn’t do anything but cower in his mind as two forces shoved into him, the invader with his need to torment, and something else, whose fury and pain was a frigid burn through his bones. His head felt like it was about to explode, his body not his own. He screamed and railed against the hand squeezing the life out of Chris, but nothing he thought, no promises and pleas he made, reached the lips that were no longer his. A third presence swept through the cab, shoving into Rich with the force of a wrecking ball. His head jerked around hard enough that tendons screamed and he saw Laine and Severo through eyes he couldn’t control. The invader howled in victory as he pinned Laine with an angry glare, and Rich, even cowering in the smallest corner of his mind, knew that James McAlister had never left him, had somehow sunk into him while Rich hovered between life and death. “No! Rich!” He heard Severo’s shout and wanted to protest—couldn’t he, of all people, see it wasn’t Rich doing this? Wasn’t Rich trying to hurt—no, kill, lying to himself wouldn’t help—the very man Rich wanted to try to build something with? But that didn’t matter now. Chris might have been able to get past all the hideous scars, and Rich’s fucked up mental state, but there was no way he could get past Rich, or McAlister via Rich’s body, trying to kill him. The third force that had slammed into him drew back and mixed with a fourth. The presences inside him railed as Rich cheered when he was driven back, his body flung hard against the cabinet, his shoulder striking the microwave with a loud crack. This is fine, let them kill me instead, let the others take this body from McAlister and whoever or whatever the fuck that icy thing is. Do it, do it! Rich could die to keep Chris safe, he could die to spite McAlister and drag the man’s spirit to hell with him.

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“Do it!” Rich screamed, and only then realised he was alone in his body once more, his back and shoulder throbbing, his throat raw like he’d swallowed glass. He slid down the counter and collapsed in a heap, shame and loathing filling him. He’d rather have died than have to face this, have to face them. “Get the necklace,” Rich heard over his own quiet sobs. The voice was hoarse and strained. Chris. Oh God, what have I done? “Put it on him,” Chris snapped, then someone was beside him, but not Chris. Rich could feel him—his body tingled and grew hot with longing when Chris was near. The necklace was dropped over his head and the crystal fell into the open vee of his shirt, burning his skin like a hot iron on wet flesh. Good, let it burn through and through. “Get those off his skin!” Chris again, his voice cracking as he tried to shout. “It burns him! Move it!” The man beside him was shoved away, then Chris’s hands were on him, touching him gently as he pulled the crystals up and set them outside his shirt. “Rich, honey—” That was it, that endearment, the syrup-sweet voice rough and damaged. Rich couldn’t do this, couldn’t stay here. He shoved and pushed, trying to get Chris away before he hurt him again. Chris grunted and wrapped his arms around him, lifting Rich onto his lap. The fight went out of Rich with the first sweep of those big gentle hands down his spine. He curled into himself, his head on Chris’s shoulder, and let the sobs wrack his body, praying they’d tear him apart and end his suffering.

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Chapter Eight

After assuring Severo and Laine he wasn’t going to die, file charges, or try to kill Rich, all Chris wanted to do was talk to the man. It’d torn his heart into little still pulsing lumps of agony, holding Rich, unable to help him. For all Chris’s strength and his wicked Wiccan mom, he could do nothing for the man. Slap a leather thong around his neck and burn that sweet skin with crystals. He could do that. The crystals obviously protected Rich as they were intended to, but he couldn’t touch them without hurting. The leather wasn’t a problem, and if it ever was, those things that’d taken Rich over wouldn’t care if Rich was burned to the bone pulling off the necklace. He really needed to talk to Rich, and he needed to talk to his mom. And he definitely needed to talk to Severo, probably Laine, too, after what Chris had seen in his rig. Chris had thought maybe he was hallucinating, dying, whatever, but once he’d been lucid, he’d still seen the auras, the solid white around Severo, and several almost not-there auras that didn’t seem to belong to any living body. And Severo had definitely interacted with them. Chris had not imagined that, either. Rich was in the house, in the guest room. Severo had said he needed to speak to him alone, and neither Laine nor Chris had been happy about that. Laine had headed off to work looking like he’d shoot the first person who so much as jaywalked, and Chris had found himself wandering their yard, scared to get into his own damn rig. Being scared was not something he was used to. Between the protection spells he knew and had placed on him by his mom, and his own optimistic and outgoing nature, Chris simply hadn’t had anything to be afraid of. But now he did in spades. Getting back into the rig was really the least of his fears, so maybe he shouldn’t try to tackle it first. Mind made up, Chris strode back into the house and tapped on the door of the guestroom. He pressed his ear to the door and heard an indistinguishable murmur he thought was Severo’s, then the lock was undone and the door pulled open. Severo slid out of the room and shut the door before Chris could even get a glimpse of Rich. He gave Severo an arch look and waited.

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Severo had big eyes that could pull off innocent like few men could, and Chris wasn’t falling for it. He kept his face impassive as Severo lowered his lids and nibbled on his bottom lip. The silence extended for several moments and Chris concluded that he was facing one man who wouldn’t bend first. Dynamite in little packages and all that, no doubt. Chris felt the stirrings of a grin and gave in. He clapped a hand to Severo’s shoulder, making the smaller man jump and Chris snicker. “Come on, you have some explaining to do, Mr I See Dead People.” Severo snorted and led the way into the living room. “I don’t actually. Well, usually. I’ve seen Conner—Laine’s lover, the one who was murdered by McAlister—and let me tell you, it scared the shit out of me. I’m much more okay with hearing and speaking to the dead.” “That explains your aura,” Chris said, realising it as he said it. “I guess Rich’s, too.” Severo sat on the couch and pulled one denim clad leg up under the other. “You see auras? Is that good or bad?” Chris shrugged, glad but unsurprised Severo didn’t question the whole aura thing. After all, Severo saw…communicated with dead people. Yeesh. “It just is, and really, I’m not great at it. I mean, I have to really concentrate to see someone’s aura, which I guess is good. It’d be too weird for me to walk around seeing shades of people’s true personality around them.” Just the idea made him shudder. “I prefer to get to know people the old fashioned way, unless…” “Unless what?” Chris shook his head. How could he explain the sense that kicked in sometimes and had him peeking at auras, like he had Rich, Severo and Laine’s? Sometimes he just had to, so he did. “There are things I don’t understand, things I think we’re not meant to understand. But I need to know what’s going on here. That—with Rich, that wasn’t him, I know that. I could see his aura, and it was ugly. Rich isn’t ugly, he’s hurt, he’s scared, and he’s—” Possessed? Severo seemed to know where he was going with that. “I don’t think—well, I didn’t think possession was possible. I thought we could be influenced, but that in your big rig? That was not influence—that was something that calls for more knowledge than I have.” Severo patted the couch and looked at Chris expectantly.

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Chris itched to go see Rich, to reassure the man he didn’t blame him, but he sat down and nearly moaned with how good it felt to do so. “Yeah, it’s a great couch, good for lotsa fun things.” Severo wriggled his eyebrows and Chris was afraid he might be sitting on something he’d rather not be. “Scotchgard.” “Not sure that makes me feel any better,” Chris groused, though really, he’d sat on worse. “Don’t be a big pussy,” Severo teased then turned serious again. “So that’s McAlister in Rich, in case you weren’t sure. All I can figure is, Rich was almost dead by the time the ambulance got there, and he died twice at the hospital before stabilising. I guess th—you look like you’re ready to hit someone. Remember, I’m a lot smaller than you.” Chris tried to unclench his jaw and loosen his fists but it just wasn’t happening. He closed his eyes and found his centre, ploughing through the anger and worry and fear that tried to keep him off balance. Several deep breaths and a soft chant later, he felt the peace flow through him, chasing away the negativity of earlier. “That’s a really neat trick,” Severo said, leaning forward to peer intently at him. “Can you teach me how to do that? I try to meditate and crap like that, but my attention span can be a bit… spotty.” “There are things that can help with it—crystals, salts, chants and—” Chris stopped and had to glance away from Severo’s entranced look. For some reason it made him want to burst out in giggles, and giggles were something Chris hadn’t done since he was a baby, if even then. “My mom is a Wiccan High Priestess, in case you’re wondering how I know all this stuff. She’s the real deal, and I think she might be able to help us out with this possession thing. I’ve put off calling her because, well, she is going to be cackling with glee when she hears her prophecy for me came true, and no one likes to hear ‘I told you so’, especially from a parent.” Severo’s eyebrows couldn’t possibly get any higher. Chris only grinned as Severo sputtered for a second then snickered. “I don’t know why it’s hard to believe what you’re telling me, considering what I do.” “I had the same thought myself a while ago. Now—” Chris stood and brushed at the seat of his jeans before wincing. Scotchgard. “I need to talk to Rich, make sure he’s okay—” “He’s not, and he, uh, he doesn’t…”

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Chris expected it, but still, it hurt. He didn’t let Severo see that, though. “And when he said he didn’t want to see Laine or anyone else, how’d that work out for him?” Severo flashed a quick grin before bobbing his head. “Yeah, I see your point, and besides, Conner’s been nagging me to make you hang around. He wants to see your PA.” Severo’s honey brown complexion couldn’t hide his blush at the mention of Chris’s Prince Albert piercing. Chris thought it was adorable, then he felt that ghostly hand cupping his package. “Conner needs to get it through his head it doesn’t give him permission to cop a feel,” Chris said calmly, trying not to squeal and bat at the touch. “If he asked nicely I might invite him to watch me jerk off.” Conner was gone before Chris finished the last word. “Shit,” Severo muttered. “That’s not… I think I want one of those, maybe.” “Do some research first,” Chris advised. “I had an easy time of it but not everybody does. And you need to talk it over with your partner. It’s not a good idea to spring it on someone you’re with after it’s a done deal. Severo?” Severo looked up from frowning at Chris’s groin. His cheeks darkened more but Chris blew it off. Severo hadn’t been looking at him with lusty thoughts, more like trying to figure out how the piercing would actually look. “Two things—if you talk it over with Laine and he and you want to kind of check it out, I’m not shy and I won’t take it as anything other than curiosity if y’all want to see it. And who was the other spirit or whatever that was in Rich?” “I don’t know,” Severo muttered, “but we’re trying our best to figure it out with a little help from Conner.” Severo jumped and glared over his shoulder. “Okay, a lot of help from Conner, who’s going to be sucked into a vacuum cleaner and disposed of the next time he pops me on the ass. Grabby damn ghost.” Chris didn’t like it, but there wasn’t much he could do to find anything out either. He nodded and walked back to the door to the guestroom. The door was locked, but a soft snick from the other side and a phantom touch on his shoulder told Chris that Conner was probably asking nicely in his own spirited way. It worked for Chris. He turned the knob and entered the room, shutting the door quietly. Rich was on the bed, curled into a tight ball on his side, his back to the door. The rise and fall of his ribs along with the unnatural stillness proved he was faking sleep. Chris had held the man, watched him sleep. Some part of Rich was always twitching.

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“I’m not buying it, and I’m not letting you tell me you don’t want anything to do with me, or you’re fine, or any of the other crap you told everyone else so they’d leave you alone.” Proclamation made, Chris strode to the bed and hooked a hand under Rich’s elbow. It didn’t take much effort to get the man to roll to his back, although he didn’t open his eyes. “Come on now, I’m not leaving and you can quit hiding.” Rich’s eyes fluttered open and Chris hadn’t known the relief he’d feel at seeing those dark chocolate irises framed in white. He didn’t wait for an invitation and ignored Rich’s stiff limbs. Chris crawled onto the bed and lay beside Rich, whose gaze dipped to the bruises on his neck. Rich gasped and tried to roll away, but Chris caught him and held him to his chest while Rich struggled weakly for a minute. “I’m not letting go.” “Why?” Rich quit fighting and snuggled against him. “I don’t understand.” “I don’t either,” Chris confessed. “But I feel something for you, something that pulls me to you like an invisible string tethering us together. I can’t walk away and leave you like this now.” He cleared his sore throat against a swell of emotion. “Maybe not ever, though I can’t say for sure. We barely know each other, but we fit.” “No, we don’t.” Rich pushed to sit up and Chris let him. He could catch the man if he ran. “No one fits with me. I don’t even fit with me. There are other things in here—” Rich splayed a hand over his thin chest. “I don’t think they’ll ever go away, and I know I can’t go on like this. I wouldn’t subject anyone else to it. Look what I did… “ He paled as he touched Chris’s neck with a trembling finger. “How can you not be afraid?” Chris was afraid. Not flinching for that brief brush over his neck was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but he’d managed it because the alternative was to hurt Rich by showing that fear. And Chris was more afraid of hurting Rich, of losing him before they could explore this strange and wonderful bond between them. “It wasn’t you,” he said simply. “You wouldn’t ever have hurt me, and you certainly aren’t stronger than me. Whatever that was—whoever—” Chris tested the waters, saw the way Rich averted his eyes. “You believe it’s McAlister.” Rich dipped his head in agreement. “I suspected all this time. I’d wake up with something else in my head, images of the men he’d raped and killed, of Conner tied to the bed, screaming as McAlister eviscerated him, McAlister looking down at my body tied to Laine’s bed. I could f-feel his pleasure in s-suffering and—”

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“Shh, you don’t have to tell me unless you want to.” Chris wasn’t sure he could handle it, but he’d find a way, for Rich. “You can’t let him win. There was another presence, wasn’t there?” “Yeah, that one’s new.” Rich shuddered hard enough Chris figured it had to rattle his bones. “Showed up the night I decided to blow my brains out to put an end to McAlister once and for all.” “No, Rich, honey, don’t ever do that.” Chris ached inside, a sharp hollow pain that reverberated through him, obliterating his centre and every trace of the peace he’d found earlier. He found himself clinging, for the first time in his adult life, to another person, desperate to touch. “Don’t give him that, don’t give him you and take that from me. Don’t.” “Chris.” Just his name, one syllable. How could it carry so much desolation and heartache? Chris caught a puddle of moisture that spilled from the corner of Rich’s eye. He bent and kissed the tender skin, his hands tracing over any part of Rich he could touch. He wanted the man in his arms with every cell in his body, and he’d take him in the way that would be best for Rich. Catching Rich’s wide mouth with his own, Chris rolled to his back, pulling Rich on top of him in a way similar to the episode earlier. Chris thought he could handle it, but his stomach burned and clenched and a tremor travelled from his shoulders to his feet. He rolled them back to their sides, keeping Rich’s mouth busy, learning the taste and texture of the man all over again, branding the scent and memory into his mind. “Fuck me,” Chris pulled away long enough to whisper then promptly took Rich’s lips in a demanding kiss. Chris fitted his groin to Rich’s and cupped the smaller man’s ass, bringing their cocks together in a hard grind that had them both groaning. “Fuck me, Rich, don’t make me beg.” Chris swallowed the protest he could see coming before it spilled from Rich’s lips. He slipped a hand between them and unfastened his jeans, kicking carefully as he shoved them down. He toed off his shoes and socks, then he was naked except for his shirt, but he had that pulled off quickly and tugged Rich’s head towards his pierced nipples. “Please, honey…” Rich leant back on his elbow and swept Chris with a slow gaze from head to toe. “Yes,” Rich said so softly it was more an exhalation than a word. He started to unbutton his shirt then stopped when he fingered the leather strip. “I want to feel you all over, but I—”

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“Put it on me,” Chris advised, trying not to shout out at Rich’s willingness to allow him to see the man’s sexy body. The trust in him doing so was an even stronger aphrodisiac. “Here.” Chris lifted the necklace from Rich and dropped over his own head. He flipped the crystals to his back. “You want unlimited access to the front, the crystals go back. You want me on my knees or side so you can fuck me until I can’t breathe for a week without feeling you, I move them to the front.” “God, Chris!” Rich didn’t hesitate as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside. He was a little less enthusiastic about removing his jeans and boxers until Chris reminded him he’d already seen it. “Not quite,” Rich muttered then stripped the rest of his clothes quickly. He tensed and scooted to the edge of the bed, then stood and turned his back to Chris. Chris had to bite his cheek hard enough to draw blood in order to keep back the cry that threatened to burst free. There were so many scars, and shapes that maybe were supposed to be letters or something but they were nothing but jumbles of painful memories for Rich. Shoulders, spine, ribs, lower back, and his beautiful ass—all were cut and marked with thin lines, thicker lines, smooth and jagged. A particularly nasty one ran from inside the cleft of Rich’s ass to the divot in his right cheek. Chris vowed then and there to find a way to vanish McAlister, and if it were possible to make a ghost or spirit or demon, whateverthefuck McAlister was, if Chris could make it painful for the son of a bitch to be exorcised, then he’d do it. Gladly. “Come here, sweetie,” Chris crooned before the silence could be extended too long. Rich looked doubtful as he crawled onto the bed. Chris wanted to ask about the scar that delved into Rich’s crease, but he’d find out in time hopefully. If Rich couldn’t take him anally, there were plenty of other things they could do. Fun things, like—”So you’ve never blown anyone with a PA? Wanna try? Because I have to say, your mouth on my dick felt pretty spectacular yesterday. Almost made me come too quick.”

**** I should say no. I should leave if he won’t. I almost killed him! But Rich could see Chris wanted this, needed it as much as he did, and he wasn’t a good enough man to deny either of them this pleasure. He eyed the fat cock and the piercing through the glans and urethra. “Fuck, that’s so sexy.” And he couldn’t wait any longer, but—”Can I, um, turn?”

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Chris’s face lit up like the New Year’s Eve ball dropped in Times Square. “Oh, definitely, I love simultaneous sucking.” Chris winked and helped Rich slide into place, then Rich was faced with the bounty of Chris’s thickly veined cock and his big furry balls. “Mmm,” Rich hummed as he nuzzled Chris’s balls. Musky and sweat-tinged, the scent set fire to the need in Rich, spurring him into action. He lapped and sucked first one nut then the other as he squeezed and pumped the base of Chris’s dick. Chris’s answering volley of several slow licks from the crown of Rich’s shaft to the soft skin right behind his balls nearly distracted Rich from his prize. He whimpered at the firm flick of tongue over his frenulum then set about sucking the cum from Chris’s dick. The hoop piercing was fascinating, as was the way Chris’s rhythm stuttered and even completely died when Rich stuck his tongue through the hoop and tugged. The rougher he was with it the louder Chris’s cries were, and Rich found himself addicted to the sounds his lover was making. Rich sucked the pre cum leaking from the tip, rolling the tasty liquid over his tongue. Truthfully the piercing intimidated him and turned him on, but he wasn’t sure about having it in his throat. He fisted the base of Chris’s shaft and slid his lips around the crown, tonguing the hoop then the small sensitive bundle of nerves that set Chris to pleading for more. Rich thrust his own cock forward, plunging into Chris’s mouth and moaned around the plump glans. He cupped and rolled Chris’s balls as he worked more of Chris’s length into his mouth. He lost himself in the act of pleasuring his lover, not caring when Chris’s mouth went slack around his shaft as Rich pushed a spit-slicked finger into Chris’s tight opening. “Fuck it, Rich, please, I need you!” Rich smiled around his mouthful of cock and sucked harder, his tongue tapping a rapid beat over the thick veins pulsing under it. He used to be good at this, sex and driving his partner over the edge—why had he thought he wouldn’t still be? Rich curled the finger he had buried in Chris’s ass, catching the spongy gland inside. He pumped the base of Chris’s cock faster as he bobbed and slurped, a firm believer that a messy, wet blow job was always the best kind. Saliva ran down the length of Chris’s penis, spilling onto his balls and dripping lower still. Rich nudged his thumb against the bottom of Chris’s balls as he worked a second digit into his lover’s pucker. Chris thrashed and undulated, his hand loosely fisting Rich’s dick. Rich pumped his fingers in a series of short jabs, twisting the tips around the inner rim, loosening the tight

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muscle stroke by stroke. Chris’s moans were louder now, his shouts and pleas inescapable to anyone in the house and likely in the yard. Maybe even the surrounding mile, Rich thought smugly, as he grazed the underside of Chris’s crown with his teeth. Chris’s ass clenched around his fingers in warning and Rich pushed a third one in as hot cum spewed into his mouth. He swallowed and lapped at the treat, seeking every drop. When he was certain he had it all and Chris’s dick was too sensitive for him to continue suckling, Rich released the softening length and laved a path from Chris’s balls to his stuffed hole. Chris bellowed and almost unseated him when Rich nipped the stretched ring. He sucked hard on the soft skin right above, applying pressure to the spot inside and out. Chris was panting as if he’d run for hours. Sweat slicked his skin, his abdomen shiny and streaked with it. The ridges were deep and Rich promised himself he’d lick every drop of sweat from them next time. If there was a next time.

**** Chris was dying. His body couldn’t possibly handle so much ecstasy. The nerve endings in his body were going to explode and he’d turn into a gross pile of goo. Rich pushed further into him and Chris couldn’t stifle the scream as pleasure seared from his ass to his balls and cock then all the way up to his brain. No one had ever mastered him so quickly and had it been anyone else but Rich, Chris had no doubt he’d be running out the door right now no matter how good he felt. The scrape of teeth over his rim sent Chris’s thoughts to scattering and his mouth to babbling. “Please, please, honey, Rich, now, I can’t,” Chris gasped as another electrical current of pleasure rippled over him. “Rich! Uhn!” That was it, he was gonna die, his heart would give out— “Condom? Lube?” Rich had to repeat the question a few times before it made any sense to Chris. He flopped a hand in the direction of his jeans and managed to mumble, “Wallet.” A lubed condom would do, and Chris preferred it sometimes when he wanted the bite and pinch, the burn of penetration. He had meant it when he said he wanted to feel Rich for a week every time he took a breath. Rich crawled back on the bed with the condom open. “No lube?”

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“No need,” Chris croaked. Rich straddled his chest and held the package out to him. Chris took it and managed to slide it on his lover despite the way his arms felt like overcooked spaghetti noodles. Rich smiled down at him, a wicked sexy tilt of lips that speared lust straight to Chris’s ass. He needed this, and Rich was going to give it to him. “On your knees,” Rich ordered, moving aside and Chris let out a whoop as he immediately rolled over. “Like it this way, do you? Because I can fuck you hard and deep or—” “Yes,” Chris interrupted. “Need to feel you like I said. Want your bruises on my hips, your hands clenching while you shove that big dick in me.” “That’s what you want?” Rich asked, one hand clamping hard on Chris’s hip while his cockhead nudged Chris’s hole. “You want me to just—” Chris’s strangled gasp drowned out the rest of Rich’s words as Rich filled him with one swift thrust. Chris couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but experience the pain and pleasure of the rough entry. His rectum contracted and the pleasure intensified. Chris’s eyes nearly crossed from it and his dick was already erect and leaking onto the bed. He was going to come embarrassingly fast. “Goddamn it, like being in a wet velvety fist,” Rich rasped, then the time for words was gone as he grasped both of Chris’s hips and began slamming into him. Chris arched his back, sticking his ass up for more, shivering as Rich’s balls slapped against his. It was too good, too perfect, and when Rich angled his thrust and slid the head of his cock over Chris’s gland, Chris’s vision whited out and he shot his load without having touched his shaft. Rich’s grunt was tinged with desperation and Chris clenched his cheeks, setting his inner muscles to rippling and massaging Rich’s dick. Rich jabbed into him with a series of erratic thrusts, then he ground his hips against Chris’s ass, moaning as he filled the condom. Chris felt the warmth inside him, the pulse of Rich’s thick cock, and the only way it’d have been better was without the barrier between them. Even in his sex-stupid state, or maybe because of it, Chris knew they’d have that, in time.

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Chapter Nine

Trying to put some emotional distance between himself and Chris after that was impossible. Rich couldn’t find the strength to roll away from the man for longer than it took to dispose of the condom. He also couldn’t stifle the blossoming hope as he listened to Chris talk about his mother. It wasn’t long ago Rich would have been scoffing at Wiccans and any other religious sect, but maybe he’d only been envious that those people had found something to believe. He had something to believe in now—the man lying beside him. His magical lover who saw auras, something else Rich wouldn’t have thought possible, but there were spirits, and he was possessed or something very close to it, so why not auras? “I don’t think you’re possessed,” Chris said out of the blue. He’d just been talking about giving his next long haul to an associate so Rich and he could spend more time exploring their new relationship. “What would you call it then? They’re in me, and at least one of them can control me.” Chris seemed to mull it over before giving him a serious look. “I think you’re a conduit. Somehow McAllister tapped into it, and I have to wonder if the second spirit isn’t after him. It’s not Conner, I don’t think. You said he’d murdered other men?” The extra sense that had made Rich the good detective he used to be tingled, setting the fine hairs on his forearms to vibrating. “He did. There were some murders in Houston, men who looked a lot like Laine. McAlister raped them, sometimes before he killed them, sometimes…” “That’s… “ Chris shook his head as he rubbed at his scalp. “I don’t have words for how sick that is.” He sat up and tugged Rich up as well. “We need to know about those men. What if one of them had some history of being psychic or something? Maybe not, maybe he was just so furious he couldn’t go wherever he was supposed to go. Maybe he was waiting for a chance to get McAlister, although I really want to kick both their asses. If this is someone after McAlister, they don’t seem to care what they’re doing to you, so we should see if any of the victims were kind of jerks.” Rich opened his mouth to reply but the stinging cold bloomed in his jaw, spreading rapidly up to his head and down through his chest. He tried to warn Chris, say something,

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but his vocal chords were as frozen as the rest of him. This is wrong! It’s close to noon, not dark! This can’t be happening! He heard his name being called, faintly as if from far away, then his vision began shifting, images blurring until he couldn’t focus on any one thing. Then as suddenly as it began, the sensation left him. Rich blinked and found himself on his back, Chris straddling his hips. Chris’s hand was fisted on Rich’s chest. “What happened?” Chris exhaled an obviously pent up breath, the strength of it gusting over Rich. “One of them, the not McAlister one I think, because one second you were fine then the next your fingers and toes were freaking freezing. You weren’t responsive until I slipped this”—he tugged at the leather strap —“over your head. I kept the crystals in my hand on your chest. It worked.” “This time,” Rich murmured, staring at that big hand clenched on his bony chest. “What happens if you’re not here?” “I’ll be here, even if you tell me not to be.” Rich wanted to laugh. How could this one man know him so well when no one else had got a clue until Chris smacked them with it? A tap on the door followed by the door knob turning was all the warning Rich got that their time alone was coming to an end for now. Chris evidently saw the knob moving as well because he snarled and got off Rich long enough to pull the sheet over him. Rich murmured a quiet, “Thank you,” as Severo and Laine entered the room. Both men’s jaws dropped when they saw a very sexy, very naked Chris kneeling on the bed beside him. Rich felt justifiably smug. His guy was definitely smoking. Chris’s lips tipped up in a grin as he tapped the PA. “Guess Laine agreed to the free peek?” That was the first Rich had heard about a free peek, but he didn’t mind. Neither Laine nor Severo would touch, and there was nothing wrong with admiring. Of course, Laine looked more like he was queasy, what with the way his skin had lightened quite a bit from its normal tan. Rich glanced at Chris, who winked and tipped his chin towards the other two men. Rich watched with Chris as Severo took a step closer, his eyes drilling the piercing… At least, Rich hoped it was the piercing, but Chris did have an impressive cock.

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“Laine?” Severo took another step closer, frowning slightly. “I think I want one of those, what do you think? Would you like it?” Severo turned back to his lover when Laine didn’t reply. “Oh shit!” He ran back and slid his arm around Laine’s waist. “I guess that’s a no since you look ready to pass out.” “I don’t do that shit,” Laine grumbled. “That just, uh, I haven’t seen that before.” Chris beat Rich to the question. “Not even in porn?” Laine’s cheeks at least had some colour to them, a deep red that made his silver eyes even paler. “I don’t, I never—I have him—” Laine pointed to his partner. “Why the hell would I need porn?” “Aw, baby, you say the sweetest things,” Severo cooed while Rich rolled his eyes at Chris. Chris shook his head in return and twirled a finger beside his temple. Rich agreed. Laine had to be crazy for dismissing porn. It could be a lot of fun to watch with a lover. Maybe he could slip a disc in the DVD player and surprise Laine. Laine looked torn between being embarrassed or smug. He settled for impassive evidently because his expression was bland when he faced Rich. “First, tell your boyfriend to cover his junk up.” “But I like it.” Rich couldn’t resist teasing, the flirt he’d buried a year ago rising easily to the surface as he gave Laine a smile he used to use to charm anyone, except for Laine’s secretary Doreen. She’d been pretty damned resistant to manipulation. Rich might have loved her if he’d been straight. “And it’s not junk, as you can see. He has a very fine set of balls and—” “Rich!” Laine’s face was incredibly red and Rich snickered as he held up part of the sheet for Chris. “You always did like poking at me,” Laine accused as he kept his gaze on Rich. “Well, yeah,” Rich admitted. “You were always so easy to get a rise out of.” “Still is,” Severo chimed in, leering as he brushed a hand close to Laine’s groin. Laine groaned and rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Can we all just, please, please be serious for a minute? Did something happen in here?” Laine’s pleading look said ‘Please don’t make that into the smut story it could be’. Rich was debating when Chris answered. As Laine listened to Chris’s retelling of the events, and their conversation leading up to it, he began pacing the small room.

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“I still have the file, Rich, the one you brought with you. It had the reports on those Houston murders.” Laine touched Severo’s shoulder, a brush of fingers that Rich could see sent a shiver through Severo. “Baby, will you call Matt and ask him to get the file and bring it over?” Matt. Shit! Rich could feel two sets of eyes on him, but there was only one he owed any explanation to, at least one besides Matt, who wasn’t around. Yet. Rich ignored Severo’s questioning look as he left the room, followed shortly thereafter by Laine, who’d only stayed long enough to tell them both to shower and get dressed because they smelt like cum. The fact Laine had blushed to the roots of his hair when he’d said it had just set Rich and Chris both into a fit of laughter, but they were alone now, and as Chris had said yesterday, Rich had some explaining to do.

**** “Come on, you can tell me.” Chris knew it couldn’t be as bad as Rich thought it was. He wasn’t a cruel man, and Chris said as much. “I have been, sometimes, or at least selfish. With Matt, I was both.” Rich twisted the edge of the sheet between his fingers. “You probably caught that he’s a deputy here, right?” At Chris’s nod he continued. “Yeah. Well there were some sparks, kind of that hate-butwant-to-fuck thing, you know? Not that we hated each other, but we definitely had two different set of sparks between us, personalities and that lust that sometimes flares up between two people.” Okay, Chris maybe didn’t want to hear this after all. He’d only known Rich for a little over twenty-four hours, and this Matt guy probably knew him longer than that. “I was staying at the motel, the one you asked about staying at. We’d all had dinner at Zeke and Brendan’s, another couple who are friends of Laine and Severo’s. I went back to the motel and walked right into my room, not thinking of anything other than how much I wanted to—” Rich gave him an apologetic look. “You know.” “Yeah, sure. It’s not like I haven’t messed around.” Rich didn’t seem any happier to hear that than Chris was to hear Rich’s explanation. “I’d rather not think about that,” Rich said gruffly. “I don’t have to finish—”

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Chris hugged Rich to him. “Yes, you do, because it’s obviously eating at you. I’m a big boy, I can handle it.” Rich burrowed against him and slid a hand over his stomach. “If it helps, I wasn’t nearly as attracted to him as I am to you. I never so much as made a pass at him, and you had me in a matter of hours, and I still want you, more than before.” That did help, a lot. Chris kissed the top of Rich’s head. “Same here, minus the whole wanting Matt thing. I haven’t ever been so drawn to someone before.” “That’s good, right?” Rich sounded worried, and that wouldn’t do at all. Chris cupped Rich’s chin and tipped his head back for a long, thorough kiss that left them both breathless and shaking with need. “I’d say that’s better than good. It’s perfect, okay?” Rich nodded and licked his kiss-swollen lips. “Perfect. Got it. So, I went back to the room, and…” Now Chris was certain Rich’s shaking was due to something else. McAlister. “Hey now, you don’t have to tell anything that you don’t feel comfortable telling. It’s enough, you said you walked into a trap, I got it.” Rich’s sigh brushed over Chris’s skin, cooling it. “So Matt came looking for me the next morning, and McAlister was waiting for him there. He stabbed Matt, left him bleeding out on the floor with orders to call Laine and tell him where I was being held. I came to in the hospital, had two of those out-of-body experiences, watched the doctors trying to bring me back and couldn’t figure out why they should.” “Rich,” Chris whispered, wishing he could carry the man’s wounds for him, physically and emotionally. “No, no, it’s…it’s good for me to talk about it. The shrink even tried to get me to. It’s just hard.” Rich was silent for a moment as if gathering his thoughts or maybe his courage. “When I finally woke up, Matt was there. He’d been there since he’d been released, seemed like I had so many memories of hearing him or seeing him briefly, and I couldn’t deal with him. I couldn’t look at him without feeling like I was going to be crushed under this huge wave of guilt. I’d almost got him killed, hadn’t done anything other than bitch at him, and yet he’d held his own personal vigil watching over me. I couldn’t—” “How long were you awake before you tossed him out?” Chris said it without accusation, careful of Rich’s feelings. Rich looked miserable regardless.

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“As soon as I could speak. I don’t remember what all I said, but it was cruel, something about him being a fool and I wouldn’t want some closeted hick like him.” Ouch. That had to have hurt. But Chris understood, even if Rich didn’t. “First off, I don’t think you were all there yet. Second, how long has McAlister been at you?” Rich blinked owlishly at him. “How long?” Chris nodded. “Yup. When is the first time you remember feeling him?” “It doesn’t matter—I was still an asshole who kicked a puppy, pretty much. Matt was a sweet guy, innocent, you could tell, and I crushed him like he was nothing.” “How long?” Chris wasn’t giving up until he got the answer. Rich glared at him for a minute before lowering his lids. “I felt him the first time I died.” “You don’t think maybe you were trying to protect Matt, even just a little?” Chris knew his man better than Rich knew himself. Rich’s shrug was slight but unacceptable. Chris jostled him a bit until Rich met his gaze. “Then why? You gonna keep trying to tell me it was just guilt?” Rich opened his mouth, a ‘Yes’ clearly forming on his lips. He shook his head. “No. But I needed to keep him away. He’d already been so loyal to me, and I didn’t know how else to keep him safe from the man who’d tried to kill us both, not when I suspected the fucker was in me somehow.” Chris couldn’t deny he felt bad for Matt, but the man wasn’t for Rich. If he had been, he’d not have given up so easily. Just like everyone else had given up when Rich had shoved them away. But Chris wouldn’t. He had Rich’s number now. “Come on. Let’s wash off the good smell before Laine has a coronary over it.” He nudged Rich’s hip playfully, grinning at Rich’s stunned expression. “What?” “That’s it?” Rich sat up with a huff. “You’re not going to tell me I did the right thing, or I could have done it different, or—anything?” “Nope,” Chris said as he took Rich’s hand and pulled him up off the bed. “You already know what you did and why you did it. Now you just have to make peace with it and it wouldn’t hurt to explain it to Matt. Now let’s get clean. Last one in the shower blows the other!” “Like either of those options is losing,” Rich quipped, but his long legs carried him right past Chris, who happened to agree wholeheartedly.

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Chapter Ten

He could do this. Rich peered out the bedroom door, listening to the sounds of the other men’s voices. Chris had slipped out while Rich tried to recover from having his eyeballs sucked out through his dick. There was something to be said for having such a strong lover, especially when that strength extended to his mouth. Chris could put more pressure on a suck than a pit bull clamping down on a bone. “Probably not the best analogy,” Rich muttered as his dick tried to crawl to safety. He patted his groin lovingly then tugged at the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt. Bad enough Rich couldn’t hide the scar on his face or the fact he was skin and bones—he didn’t want to appear to be a callous, sloppily dressed asshole to boot. Not that Matt would care, since Rich had been a callous ass-baring gown-clad asshole the last time Matt had seen him. It wasn’t like he could make the guy hate him any more. Probably one look at Rich and Matt would sing a chorus of hallelujahs at having escaped a relationship with him. He fingered the leather necklace, careful to keep from touching the crystals. “Time to quit stalling.” Chris must have agreed because he stepped into the hallway as Rich left the guestroom. “Making sure I’m not going to run?” Chris’s smile lit up his eyes as he bent to kiss Rich. Rich cupped the back of his lover’s head, his fingers stroking over the soft skin. “You wouldn’t run. Come on, Matt seems like a decent guy. He’s got a partner.” Rich was surprised, but—”I’m happy for him. Doesn’t make me feel like less of a jerk.” Chris snorted and tucked Rich’s arm under his. Rich liked the way his lover felt, the way he cared for Rich. “Stop it. If you hadn’t set the guy free, he might have missed finding his true love.” “I somehow doubt he’ll thank me,” Rich muttered as they stepped into the living room. “This is so weird.” He looked at Laine and Severo sitting together in a recliner, Laine in the chair and Severo on the arm of it. Matt’s back was to Rich since he was sitting on the couch. Rich panicked when he realised he and Chris were going to have to sit on the couch, too. Chris didn’t give him time for the panic to set in, leading him right to the couch. Rich found

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himself staring into Matt’s blue eyes. He was pretty sure he might have run after all if Chris hadn’t had a grip on his arm. “Matt,” Rich finally managed. What else he was supposed to say, especially with an audience? Matt stood and looked him over, frowning by the time he reached Rich’s face. “You look a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you.” There wasn’t a trace of anger or judgement in the words, but Rich still burned with embarrassment. “Matt, I—” God, Rich couldn’t talk to him, not with Laine and Severo here. He looked up at Chris, who arched a brow then looked at Laine and Severo. As simple as that, Rich found himself in the room with Chris and Matt, Laine and Severo having excused themselves. Now Rich really didn’t know what to say. And Matt watched him steadily, those blue eyes giving away not a hint of what he was thinking. “Why don’t we sit?” Chris suggested. He didn’t offer to leave, and Rich was grateful. If he didn’t offer, Rich didn’t have to ask him to stay, which he knew he’d do and probably whine a bit when he asked. Matt sat on the couch and Chris led Rich over to the recliner Laine and Severo had vacated. When Rich went to sit on the arm of the chair like Severo had he found himself gently pulled down onto Chris’s lap. Chris nestled Rich against him, his big arms resting casually against Rich’s stomach. Rich caught the barest hint of a smile from Matt who then nodded at them. “Looks like Chris is good for you.” Matt’s smile now was genuine, the outer corners of his eyes crinkling. “Glad you found each other.” The smile dimmed as Matt glanced away. “I wondered how you’d been.” “Not so good until yesterday,” Rich admitted. “There’s still, uh, some problems.” “Yesterday?” Matt’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead. “Y’all just met yesterday?” “Yup,” Chris answered, sounding happier than a pig rolling in mud. “My mom said I’d meet my partner and he’d impact me like a bolt of lightning. She knew what she was talking about.” Rich reeled from that not-so-little revelation, the word ‘partner’ spinning around his head and muddling up any coherent thoughts he’d had. Matt’s laughter helped knock Rich’s thoughts back into order. “I’d say your mom described it perfectly. That’s what it felt like when I met Carlin, and it hasn’t done anything but get stronger every day.”

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Rich hadn’t ruined Matt’s life. How vain he’d been to think he’d wounded the man beyond all repair. But he had hurt him. Rich was man enough to admit it. He tapped Chris’s arms and his lover released him, giving his butt a squeeze as he helped Rich up. It wasn’t as hard to walk over and sit beside Matt as Rich had feared it’d be, not when the man was still glowing with pride over his partner. “Matt.” Rich looked into those happy eyes and hoped they saw the sincerity in his own worried ones. “I’m sorry for being such a dick.” Matt’s smile faded and he glanced at Chris for a long moment before facing Rich again. “I’ll accept that if you’ll tell me why.” Chris stood up and joined them on the couch while Rich filled Matt in on the reasons he’d pushed the man away and what hell Rich’s life had been since.

**** Severo picked up the file on McAlister’s second victim, William Trenton. This wasn’t the way he usually worked, looking over files and pictures and trying to feel a link. Severo’s experience was communing with spirits, and the ones fucking with Rich hadn’t been in any mood to chat when Severo and Laine had encountered them. Seeing Rich’s lifeless eyes, pitch as a starless night, had scared the crap out of Severo. His knowledge of spirits and their abilities was growing all the time, and he didn’t like what he was finding out. Visions of the movie The Exorcist were frequently flitting through his mind, and that movie had given him nightmares off and on for years when he’d seen it. Granted, he’d been six at the time, and his cousins hadn’t noticed him hovering behind them where they’d been crammed on the couch, but still. Thinking about the movie gave him the willies to this day. “You keep looking at that one.” Laine flicked the edge of William Trenton’s file. Severo nodded as he touched it again. Every time he did it the tips of whatever fingers that touched it went jarringly cold. Was it Conner, or was he right in thinking William Trenton was the one forcing his way into Rich? How had Rich survived a year of being violated like that? And how much had McAlister tormented him? Severo could only conclude—maybe incorrectly, he wasn’t a psychiatrist—that Rich thought he deserved to be punished.

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“Why didn’t he tell us? With what I am, what I do, he had to have known we’d believe him.” Laine took the file from him and started flipping through it. “Guilt. He worked with McAlister right across from him for three years and never suspected the man. Add to that, if he couldn’t get rid of McAlister, the last thing Rich would want would be to lead him back to me. Then there’s the fact that McAlister fucking tortured him for hours, left him cut—” Severo bolted out of his chair and wrapped his arms around Laine, offering him comfort and support. “He was always this happy, gorgeous guy, least that’s all he’d let anyone see. Even when I was his partner, he kept everything inside, only showing what he wanted people to see. McAlister took that from him, left Rich with nothing to hide behind.” Severo thought about smacking Laine on the ass. Men. Severo rolled that over and clarified it. Some men. “Rich is still a gorgeous guy. If anything, the scar makes him sexier, and while I think he could stand to gain some weight, he has a vulnerable look about him now, and his face is thinner, his cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. It sets off his big eyes and those full lips.” Laine looked down at him and glowered. Severo’s dick got hard in an instant. “What? I never said he was sexier than you.” Laine grinned and Severo pushed his butt back into the hand palming his cheek. “And you never would say that, even if it was true.” “You’re a crazy man. No one will ever make that true. You are the sexiest fucker on the planet, and I’d probably extend that to the universe even though I’d really need to see some aliens just to be accurate.” Severo practically purred when his butt was squeezed by both of Laine’s hands. The man did know how to flip Sev’s switches. “How’s your ass feel?” Sev reached down and smoothed a hand over Laine’s taut flank. “Like someone fucked it with a two-by-four.” Sev let go of his lover’s ass and tried to push away. “Sorry, I haven’t—” “Hey.” Laine’s arms tightened, his hands digging into the globes of Sev’s bottom. Without even a grunt, Laine lifted him until Sev wound his legs around his lover’s narrow hips. The hard bulge jamming against his crease just about had Sev begging to be fucked there in the kitchen while Rich and Matt—and Chris—dealt with whatever had happened between Rich and Matt after McAlister had been killed.

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“Sev,” Laine said softly as he brushed his lips over Sev’s. That never failed to send the signal to Sev’s balls for them to draw tight because there would be fucking involved very soon. He moaned as he opened for Laine, relishing the way his lover knew him so well. For a man who’d never even considered a relationship until he’d met Laine, Severo thought he was doing a pretty damn good job, along with his partner, of keeping their relationship strong and the passion explosive. “I meant that in a good way.” Yeah, he probably did. Sev was just insecure about being the fucker rather than the fuckee. Hadn’t Laine spread and pleaded? Taken it all and wanted more? “For future reference, saying something like ‘I can still feel you in my ass and it’s the best damned thing ever’ is much more accurate. Just so you know.” “Got it.” Laine kissed the tip of his nose before setting him back on his feet. “It’ll be dark soon, though I guess we all learned the spirits using Rich don’t come exclusively at night now.” “Yeah, now he won’t ever get any sleep.” The kitchen door swung open as Carlin Douglas, Matt’s partner, entered. He noted their erections right away judging by the sly grin on his face. His words confirmed it. “And here I thought you two were working away on those files. If I’d have known what was really going on in here, me and the other guys would have crept in quietly or listened at the door.” Sev winked at the cute blond. “Perv. Is your sweetie and the other lovebirds about done out there?” Carlin shrugged one shoulder, a frown etching fine lines around his mouth. “I’m not sure. I was all prepared to hate Rich, but he seems so sincere, and so troubled, and guilt ridden. Plus he just looks—” “Vulnerable,” Sev said, timing it perfectly with Laine. “Yeah, we know. He really is a great guy. He’s had a shit time of it though.” Sev proceeded to fill Carlin in on the creepy goings on in Rich’s life and now theirs. A few minutes after they finished the other three men came into the kitchen, Matt making a beeline for Carlin while Chris and Rich sat so close at the table they might as well have shared a chair. “What’d you find out? Anything?” Rich asked as he reached for a file. William Trenton’s, Sev read. A sense of foreboding filled him a moment before the papers in the file went flying. Conner, stop it! It was Conner, Sev could feel him, hear his distinctive buzz and

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chatter in Sev’s head. Sev tried to focus on it only to have his concentration broken by Chris’s panicked shout. Rich’s body was bowed unnaturally, his back arched so severely Sev didn’t see how his spine didn’t snap. The crystal necklace was still on him, but a thin trail of smoke was wisping from the spot where they lay on top of his shirt. “Get it off!” Sev shouted even as Chris snapped the leather strap in half, flinging the remains across the kitchen. “Do something!” Chris pleaded as he tried to keep Rich from toppling from the chair. “He’s cold—that means it’s the other guy, the one we don’t know, right?” As much as Sev wanted to reassure Chris, he couldn’t. “It could be both of them. What auras do you see?” Chris stared so long at Rich, Sev worried he wouldn’t be able to read the colours. “There’s the two, the almost solid white and the murky white and sludge colour.” “Look at his eyes,” Matt muttered. Sev would have snapped at him if there’d been anything other than sympathy and concern in Matt’s expression. “Chris! Call your mom, now!” Because damned if Sev knew what to do. “Get him moved to the floor or the bed, just somewhere he isn’t going to take a fall.” Laine barked the order even as he stepped behind Rich and, without a flicker of fear, slipped his hands beneath Rich’s arms to lift him. Sev took it back—he did know one thing. “Laine, don’t touch him!” Sev slammed into Laine, not soon enough though, and he could only hope he’d acted quick enough. “What the fuck are you—” “What would McAlister do if he got a hold of you, the one man he wanted to hurt and own? Do not touch Rich again!” Laine looked mad enough to tear McAlister’s spirit from Rich’s body. “Goddamn it! Matt, Carlin, help him!” Matt and Carlin were already moving, neither man hesitating although both looked scared. Sev didn’t blame either of them. He spared a glance at Chris who watched his lover intently while talking on the phone. Sev just hoped Chris’s mom had a solution that wouldn’t leave Rich dead.

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Rich’s fingers curled, each knuckle bent as a sound was rent from him. Dissonant echoes, fear and pain, the same sound that had come from Rich—no, from McAlister or the spirit Sev really believed was William Trenton—in the rig. Matt and Carlin didn’t even flinch which surprised Sev until he picked up the scent of cookies. Mrs. Hawkins’ spirit was here as well, probably helping to keep her nephew and his partner calm. The buzzing in Sev’s head grew stronger, and Sev closed his eyes and listened to Conner. Spirits weren’t always helpful, but Conner tried, and maybe he’d come through this time. Or maybe he’d just proposed a plan that would end Rich’s life.

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Chapter Eleven

“Mom, are you sure?” Chris listened to his mother’s directions. Terror clawed at his gut, tearing him open and filling him with more fear and doubt. “I don’t know of any other option until I can get there, Christian, and if you don’t do this, the two spirits dueling inside him will definitely destroy him. They aren’t after his body, they’re after each other, at least now they are. The first one probably just preyed on your partner’s grief and guilt and found a way to slip in when Rich was hovering between life and death.” “How do you know about that?” His mother scared him almost as much as spirits did at times. “Don’t ask—it’ll scare you. Go, take care of your man, and I’ll be in McKinton within a week.” Chris hung up the phone and hurried to help Severo carry Rich’s legs. How long could Rich’s body stand to be bent and used as a battleground for McAlister and whoever the other spirit was? How long could Rich’s mind survive? “What’d she say?” Severo asked, grunting with every other step they took. “She said they’re using Rich as a battleground. The second spirit is stalking the first, and the man might not have been a bad guy in life, but he’d obviously been a strong believer in seeking revenge because that’s what’s driving him to hunt McAlister now.” “And how do we get them out?” Chris didn’t look at Severo as he hedged. “We have to get help.” “From?” Severo’s voice had hitched up to a near-squeak. Chris eyed him for a second. “What do you know? Did one of your spirits speak to you?” “Sort of—ouch!” Severo glared as his hair was lifted and tugged. “Asshole. Conner, he said the same thing, we have to get help. He’s already done something spirit-y and is trying to gather who he can.” “They could hurt him, but I don’t know what else to do,” Chris admitted. The idea of letting a fleet, or school, group, whatever—of letting a bunch of spirits enter Rich’s body in

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order to chase away the evil two was like something he’d see on the SyFy channel. And Rich would be susceptible to such attacks again until Mom could get here to weave a protection spell Chris had no hopes of doing on his own. “I don’t either, but we can not do it if you think we shouldn’t.” Severo—unknowingly, Chris hoped—had just put the weight of the decision on him. Rich’s life may very well be in his hands, and he doubted whether he deserved to hold such a precious gift. But somebody has to. He remembered Rich’s desolation, Rich telling him he’d wanted, even tried, to kill himself. This was a risk Chris didn’t want to take, but he knew Rich would insist. Anything to get McAlister out of his head. “I’m terrified of saying this,” Chris admitted as they placed Rich on the bed. The back of Rich’s head and his shoulders touched the bed, as did the heels of his feet. Spasms rippled through his muscles, twitching under his skin. “Rich wants them gone, enough that he tried to kill himself. He can’t live this way, doesn’t want to. Tell Conner to do his best, and keep my man safe.” Eyes burning as his heart felt like it was twisting in two, Chris eased onto the bed and took one of Rich’s cold hands in his own. “Can someone find the crystals? Maybe after…maybe they’ll help.” “I’ll get them,” Carlin offered, already sprinting out the door. “What happens now?” Chris looked at Matt, wishing he had another answer. “We wait.”

**** The sounds in Rich’s head were indescribable. A tornado and an atomic bomb, maybe. He wasn’t sure. There were howls and screeches tossed in, and a pressure pushing against his skull so that he expected his brain to burst and splatter the walls any second now. Pain filled him, overwhelming, worse than when he’d been tied to the bed and carved up by McAlister. After a while, after so much blood loss and so much shock, he’d quit feeling the cuts inflicted on him. It had pissed McAlister off to no end. This pain, though, was like that entire experience magnified. Every nerve in his body screamed, his heart pounded frantically, too hard, too fast. His lungs were, oddly enough, pumping oxygen throughout his body at a steady rate. That couldn’t be good—surely his lungs should speed up or his heart slow down. Rich wished he’d been able to pull the

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trigger, even if it meant never meeting Chris. He’d rather have spared the man this, seeing his lover’s body twisted and nothing more than a place for two spirits to try to destroy one another. Rich was just a a convenient spot to them, a living well they could draw on to stalk each other. And he’d never have put Chris through what happened in his bed, wouldn’t have had him pinned down while the life was choked out of him. A fiery bolt of agony tracked up his spine, and Rich screamed, whether aloud or only in the confines of his mind, he had no idea. The pain slammed into the base of his skull and his body, strung tight, jerked and convulsed. Rich knew because he could see it just as he had before. No, no no no no! Chris! Rich didn’t care about the still lifeless body on the bed as he hovered above it. All he cared about was the man holding his hand, cupping his cheek, laying kisses over his lips and unseeing eyes. What had he done? Sounds burst free around him, Laine, Severo, Matt and Carlin, all reaching for him even as Chris straddled his hips and placed his hands, one on top of the other, over Rich’s heart. It won’t work, I’ve lost them all. How many shocks had it taken for them to bring him back at the hospital? Rich had watched his body jolt and spasm as the paddles were used again and again. There was nothing here now but hands and mouths and desperation. “And love.” A lively—for a dead person or living—chuckle from a mischievous blond with a distinctive twinkle in his eyes followed those words. Rich spun around, floating higher up, which only panicked him more. He didn’t want to leave, not now, not when he only just realised what he’d be leaving behind. “Help me, I don’t…I don’t want to die, not yet.” The blond—Conner?—was joined by two other spirits, an elderly woman wearing too little in Rich’s opinion, and a middle-aged woman whose smile and scent calmed the fear storming through Rich. “You won’t, not yet. We just had to get you out before we wiped those assholes off the map.” “Conner! Watch your language!” Rich snickered considering the scolding came from a woman old enough to be his grandma and she was wearing a frothy negligee more appropriate for someone a third her age. Then again, who was he to judge? He gave her a thumbs-up while Conner apologised profusely to her.

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“Looking good, Mrs Hawkins. Thank you for helping Matt.” Amazing the things he learned when he was dead. The lingerie wearing woman had been the only person Matt had felt comfortable enough with to discuss his sexuality, and his crappy treatment by Rich. “I knew why you did it, once I was here and watching you. Not the kindest way, but you were out of it and terrified, so it’s understandable. And yes, I do look good!” Rich looked at the third spirit, the quietest of the three. She smiled and floated to him, pressing a kiss he actually felt to his cheek. “Tell my son and his husband, as that’s what they should be if this world were a kinder place, that I love them both, and please, tell Zeke and Laine both that they must let their guilt over Eva’s behaviour go. She made her choices. They didn’t make them for her.” God, he hoped he remembered all this, and he really hoped he’d get the chance to pass on the messages. He glanced at Conner. “Anything you want to add?” Conner’s grin was past impish and straight into devilish. “I get my point across, although… Tell your boyfriend I really enjoyed the show. You two were pretty damn hot, and that piercing—” Rich missed the rest of the message as his being seemed to be turned inside out, everything spinning and pulsing as darkness pulled him down.

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Epilogue

Chris sucked one of Rich’s nipples until it was a stiff ruby peak. Rich whimpered when he scraped his teeth over the bud while his fingers plucked the other. “Chris, come on, please fuck me! It’s mean to torment me like this after making me wait for days!” Chris grinned around the tit between his lips, giving it a good tug before letting it go. His amusement faded when he thought of how close he’d come to losing this man. “You were dead, dead, for several minutes! Don’t tell me it doesn’t take several days to recover from that!” Rich nodded. “Yeah, I felt like shit until today. Now I feel like a horny guy whose fixing to become a horny bitchy guy if you don’t get that dick in me soon! Preferably before your mother gets here, but hey, if she shows up during and hears all the noise, I don’t care at this point.” As close as Chris was to his mom, that was a line he didn’t care to cross. “Hand me the lube.” Rich’s victorious whoop warmed Chris all the way to his toes. He caught the bottle Rich tossed to him and quickly opened it, pouring it over Rich’s balls, then lifting them to pour more down Rich’s crease. Rich had assured him the scar running from right beside his anus to the divot of his butt cheek wasn’t going to be a problem, and Chris could see the scar didn’t reach the tight hole, but still. He wasn’t a small man anywhere, and he didn’t want to hurt Rich, who hadn’t been fucked since before he’d got that scar, so how could either of them know if it’d be a problem? Definitely going in slow and easy. Something smacked him in the chest then plopped onto Rich’s thick nest of curls. “Pushy much?” Chris teased as he picked up the condom package, already conveniently torn open. “I prefer eager, which should flatter you and inflame your ego and all that shit.” Rich nudged his ass against Chris’s fingers. “You haven’t seen pushy yet, but it’s coming if you don’t hurry up!” Chris pulled the condom from the package and tossed the wrapper on the floor. He sheathed his dick carefully, ensuring the reservoir was roomy enough for the piercing. He

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hadn’t had a condom break on him yet, but there was always a chance. Another reason to be extra cautious, although he knew they were both clean. Swapping body fluids wasn’t something to be done lightly, and definitely not without a long-term commitment. Chris coated his shaft liberally, wanting to be ready as soon as Rich was stretched. Moving up on the bed, Chris sealed his mouth to Rich’s, pushing his tongue into his lover’s mouth as he pushed his finger into his hole. Rich moaned as his ass clenched Chris’s finger. Damn, if it’s that tight a fit for my finger… He was going to go mad before he had Rich ready to fuck. Chris licked and nibbled at Rich’s lips as he slowly finger-fucked him. Rich’s hissed demands for more were ignored, his ass was still too tight, but Chris did decide to help him relax. He laved a trail down Rich’s sternum, then proceeded to suck and bite his way to the leaking cock he ached to taste again. “Yes, suck it,” Rich ordered, his hands already pressing against the back of Chris’s head. Yeah, he liked his bossy bottom, bossy top, didn’t matter, he just plain and simply liked Rich, a lot. Chris swirled his tongue around the crown, rolling the ball of his piercing under the rim, teasing at the sensitive underside. Rich bucked beneath him when Chris pressed the ball into his slit, and Chris began to insert a second finger into his lover. Rich spread his legs wider, offering himself to Chris. He moved carefully into the space, not wanting to dislodge his fingers or the fat cock in his mouth. Rich undulated, the move sucking Chris’s digits deep into his lover’s ass. He tapped Rich’s gland and received a cry of pleasure and a hard thrust that sent Rich’s cockhead into his throat. Chris hummed around the veined length, pressing his tongue flat, getting a good rub of metal against dick. He swallowed, wishing he could see Rich’s expression when he made such arousing noises. Chris raised his head, keeping the suction tight as he worked the glans. Rich grunted and shoved his head back down. That was such a turn on, Chris could hardly stand it. He began sucking and finger-fucking Rich, no more teasing, although he kept his digits to small movements, no twisting, no hard shoves. Rich’s cock, however, could take it all. Chris enveloped the entire length in his mouth, swallowing rapidly, knowing the quick squeezerelease would push Rich close to climax. Rich’s guttural shout proved him right, as did the tangy jet of cum that hit the back of Chris’s throat. Chris pulled back enough to grip the base of Rich’s cock while he slipped a third finger in Rich’s hole, then Chris let Rich fuck his mouth, pumping into him in short hard jerks.

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A few strokes over Rich’s gland had his dick firming up again quickly. Chris placed a kiss on Rich’s crown then rolled Rich onto his side. “Oh yeah, love this,” Rich murmured, his speech slurred in the way it was after an orgasm wrecked you. “Me too,” Chris admitted as he gently lifted Rich’s top leg, hooking the back of Rich’s knee with his elbow. Chris straddled Rich’s other leg and slid his fingers along Rich’s crease. When he reached the stretched opening, Chris spread Rich’s cheeks, inspecting the scar there. Before Rich could chastise him—or bitch, which tickled Chris every time—Chris lined up his dick and slowly began entering Rich’s ass. Rich swore and scrabbled for a hold on the sheets as he tried to arch into the penetration but Chris hitched Rich’s leg just a little higher, taking what leverage Rich had. “My way, honey,” Chris reminded his lover. That had been the only way he’d agreed to this in the first place since he wasn’t as certain about it as Rich was. “Your way is gonna get us busted by your mom,” Rich threatened. He sounded so sure of it Chris’s hips jerked before he could stop himself. Since Rich’s third death, Chris toyed with the idea the man had developed some sort of prescience. There was nothing concrete, just Chris’s suspicions. It didn’t seem that someone could go through all the things Rich had and not be changed by it. Or maybe I’m just desperate to have him. Chris slid his dick into Rich’s ass with a steady glide. He held perfectly still with his balls resting against Rich’s butt cheek as those inner muscles caressed his shaft with heat. “Jeeeee,” Rich gasped, squirming down, “Ssuuss! Move!” “Gladly,” Chris grunted, withdrawing until his cockhead tugged at Rich’s rim. Chris watched the way his dick stretched Rich’s hole. He traced a finger around the skin pulled tight around his girth. The scar didn’t look irritated. And Rich was cursing, demanding he move. Chris thrust in, his balls slapping against taut flesh. Rich arched, his spine sinking in to divide his back. “Fuck, honey, I can’t—” He bit his lip and withdrew his cock before quickly surging forward into the tight, tugging heat. “That’s it, fuck me, come on, Chris, do it,” Rich rasped. Chris couldn’t do anything but obey his lover and the demands of his own body. He had to trust his lover to tell him if his strokes were too much. Chris gave up trying to retain any semblance of control. His ass flexed and clenched as he filled Rich’s channel over and over. Rich moaned and grabbed his dick, stripping it with rapid jerks as Chris fucked into him harder, hitting the spot guaranteed to make Rich come.

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“Rich, Rich.” Chris couldn’t get anything else past his throat, as if only his lover’s name were allowed to pass. He gripped Rich’s hip, pulling him back with each thrust. Rich’s hand was a blur as he brought himself off, his scream loud enough that Laine and Severo would have been banging on their door were they here. Chris’s yell quickly followed as the scent of Rich’s cum, the sight of it spraying onto his chest, sent Chris spiraling into orgasm. He slammed his hips hard for the last thrust, stilling as his cock was held snug in Rich’s body. His thighs shook and his stomach quivered as burst after burst of spunk shot from his dick. “Rich,” Chris whispered, his gaze locking with Rich’s sex-dazed one. His lover looked satiated and well-fucked, which was exactly how Chris felt. Despite the desire to collapse and sleep for hours, Chris carefully pulled free of Rich’s body. Rich grumbled and tried to twist away as Chris spread his cheeks. “Stop it. It’s not just the scar I want to see.” “What?” Rich propped himself up on one elbow but quite fighting him. “You want to see how fucked I am?” “Of course, makes me horny.” He pushed at Rich’s hip until he flopped onto his belly. “Well, if it’ll get that big dick back in me soon, have at it.” Chris figured he had to have the smuggest grin in the world just then. He had the sexiest man in the world in bed with him, and they were beginning a journey that would, hopefully, last a lifetime—or longer.

About the Author A native Texan, Bailey spends her days spinning stories around in her head, which has contributed to more than one incident of tripping over her own feet. Evenings are resounds for pounding away at the keyboard, as are the early morning hours. Sleep? Doesn’t happen much. Writing is too much fun, and there are too many characters bouncing about, tapping on Bailey’s brain, demanding to be let out. Caffeine and chocolate are permanent fixtures in Bailey’s office and are never far from hand at any given time. Removing either of those necessities from Bailey’s presence can result in what is known as A Very, Very Scary Bailey and is not advised under any circumstances. Email: [email protected] Bailey loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.

Also by Bailey Bradford Southestern Shifters: Relentless Southwestern Shifters: Rescued Southern Spirits: All of the Voices Southern Spirits: When the Dead Speak Southern Spirits: A Subtle Breeze

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