11. Scotty

I'm not going to lie—I've been milking this for all it's worth. After Daddy busted my balls three days ago, I've been using it to my advantage. He's been treating me with kid gloves ever since. He'll probably be super mad if he finds out I'm faking it for attention, but, honestly, that'll just lead to more punishment, and I'm absolutely okay with him spanking my balls again. As a matter of fact, I kind of want him to make it a part of our everyday routine. He can just smack my lovely little Easter eggs repeatedly until I'm putty in his hands.

Growing up, I never thought I'd leave the great—well, maybe not so great with my father being the governor's right-hand man—state of Texas. Now, over this last week, I've seen the country. Granted, the last two days I've mainly seen the sky, as I've just been lying in the back seat, pretending my butt hurts too much to sit upright, but still.

I'm lying with my head on the passenger's side seat when the car comes to a stop. Thankfully, we haven't spent as much time in the car as those first two days. We've been averaging four-to-five hours a day as we travel to the Pacific Northwest. Brody says he's taking me somewhere special, but it's like I keep telling him, anywhere is special as long as I'm at his side.

Looking up, Brody is staring down at me, beaming brightly. "Morning," he says, reaching back and touching my cheek. "Did you sleep well?"

"I guess," I say, throwing him a pouty look. "I would've slept better if I was cuddled up against you."

"I know. I just wanted to make it past Seattle before we stopped." His hand touches my cheek, and I nuzzle into the embrace like a love-starved kitten. "We're pulling into Winawana now."

I arch an eyebrow at him because it sounds like he's having a seizure. "Wina-what now?"

"Winawana," he says again, like it makes all the sense in the world.

"That means nothing to me. Explain. Have you had a stroke? Are you in the midst of a psychotic break?"

He snickers as he takes his hand away to put the car into park. When he's done, he turns off the ignition and swivels around, staring at me. "Are you sure you're okay? Because you still can't sit up after . . ." He looks away, his cheeks glowing red, and sighs. "I hurt you. You don't know how bad I've been beating myself up."

I do, actually. He's been crying like a toddler the last two days, and I've had enough. This isn't my Daddy. This isn't the man who's supposed to teach me right from wrong.

"Look at me," I order. I wait for him to meet my gaze and narrow my eyes, needing him to see how serious I am. "I'm not going to say this again, Brody. You didn't do anything to me I didn't want. I loved every second of it. Once my ass is healed, we're doing it again. I mean, yeah, you could probably go just a wee bit easier on my balls, you sadist, but I want more of that too." Leaning forward and reaching over the car's center console, I grab his wrist and grip tightly. "I fucking loved it, Daddy. Stop beating yourself up, because you're going to need the energy to beat my balls again soon. Understood?"

It's like every trace of worry leaves him and he lunges over the seat, hanging awkwardly over as he smashes our lips together. "When you get better," he promises, interrupting our impromptu make out session. "I'm sitting you on my lap, and I'm going to fuck you until you can't even think. Your hole is mine, Freakshow. Mine." I nibble on my lip, because the look he's giving is a little too intense for me to handle. "Say it."

My cheeks are burning, but I can't look away from him. "You know it is."

"Then say it."

"My hole is yours, Daddy."

He moves in closer and kisses me on the nose. "Damn right it is. Now, you want to come in with me or stay in the car?"

"Where are we?"

He looks out the front window and squints his eyes. "The Winawana Wagon House, apparently. It's not the nicest place we've stayed, but it looks like it's a few steps above the No-Tell Motel, at least."

I stroke his hand and give him a smile. "The No-Tell Motel is the place you made me realize I have a fetish for having my balls slapped black and blue. I won't have you slander its good name."

He snorts and shakes his head. "You've got a point. All right, come on, Freakshow. Let's head in and get ourselves a room."

It turns out the motel itself is nice enough. The rooms are all individual cabins, per the sign on the door, but they look more like small tin sheds to me. The main office is a lovely powder-blue shade, and though it shows signs of its age, it's surprisingly charming. There are two flowerbeds, one on either side of the front door. The space where flowers should be growing is filled with fast food wrappers and used condoms, but, still, it's got potential. There's a stained-glass window with what appears to be either the likeness of Jesus on the cross, or a poorly drawn llama. Honestly, whoever made it hadn't put much time into it, so it could be either.

The scent of banana nut bread invades my senses the moment we walk through the door. There's an old Celine Dion song playing on the sound system, with the volume turned up far louder than necessary. Brody takes my hand as he leads me to a desk where an elderly lady with a jet-black updo shuffles playing cards on the counter. She doesn't take notice of us at first, and I'm not sure if it's down to poor hearing or lackluster customer service skills. Either way, it takes Brody three attempts to get her attention.

When she finally notices us, she gives me the warmest smile I've seen in ages. Her two front teeth are missing, and she has a cigarette wedged in the gap, making it look like she's got a snake tongue. I half-expect her to hiss at me. Instead, she pulls the cigarette out and drops it into a can of diet root beer before grabbing an old ledger and flipping it open.

"Welcome to the Winawana Wagon House, birthplace of famed televangelist Eugenia Evangelista." She reaches for her chest and taps a name tag. HENRY, it says in all caps. She doesn't really look like a Henry, but gender is fluid, so who am I to question her? "The name's Barb. How can I help you boys?"

Brody's reaching for his wallet, but he's looking in the wrong pocket. When I reach for it, I only do so to help. And if my hand lingers on his ass a little longer than necessary, that'll just have to be our little secret.

He takes it from me and gives me a smile that makes my heart race, and then he fishes out a crisp hundred-dollar bill. "We'd like a room for the night."

Barb-slash-HENRY just shakes her head. "We're almost all booked up. We've got a five-night minimum stay. Supply and demand, you see."

Brody leans back and stares at the window, his eyebrows meeting in the center of his forehead. "There isn't another car in the parking lot."

She nods. "And there ain't another motel in a hundred miles."

I watch as Brody clenches his fist, and I want to take it and squeeze, because I'm worried if this woman is trying to swindle us, he might kill her. She seems like the kind who's lived a hard life, what with her missing teeth and all, and I don't want to add to her troubles. I don't get the chance, because Barb points at a cabin through the window and grins. "Plus, we only have one cabin in service." She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "We don't get too many visitors around these parts, so we've taken to renting out the others as art studios to the locals."

"We don't need a room for five nights. We're leaving in the morning."

"Be that as it may, you'll need to pay for five. Course, if you're really in a bind, I'll let you park your car here so you can get some shuteye. What about we say an even ninety and call it a day?"

I arch an eyebrow at her, because it seems like a pretty high price for a glorified parking garage. Brody takes a threatening step forward, stopping when he hears my gasp. They both look up at me, but my eyes are locked on the cards she's been shuffling.

Pascurus.

Barb is an avid Challenge of Pascurus player.

I put my arm in front of Brody, hold my head up high, and snarl at her. "There are no wrongs which can't be made right if one is willing to fight."

Barb's eyes widen with surprise. She stares at me in silence for a good ten seconds before clenching her hand into a fist and holding it above her heart. "The fight for righteousness may be just and true, but this I swear, I'll slaughter you."

"What the fuck is going on here?" Brody asks, looking flabbergasted.

"I challenge you," I declare, narrowing my eyes into slits and making the sign of Yllusiana with my hand. Granted, it's simply the sign for "I love you," but it's still an action that earns me a nod of respect from her. "Are you mage, barbarian, bard, or seamstress?"

"Seriously," Brody says, "what the hell is happening right now?"

"None of the above," Barb answers, curling her lips up into a snarling smile. "I, dear boy, am the Botanist."

The joy that has been swelling in me dissipates, leaving me feeling both cold and full of fear. The Botanist? Madame de Pumpawhore? She can't be. Madame is supposed to be a glorious drag queen. The only thing glorious about this woman is her unnaturally jet-black hair and tacky ruby-red lipstick. Yes, one might go as far as saying she's iconic, but icon or not, she's no drag queen.

"Brody?" I say, my eyes never leaving Madame. "My backpack. Front pocket. Now."

He roots through the bag more slowly than the situation calls for, but he can't be expected to know what's at stake here. My reputation in the guild. Three months ago, after losing a round of Pascurus, I swore to my party if I ever found the Botanist in person, her ending would be merciless. Sure, they'd simply laughed at me and called me a sore loser, but that didn't matter. Devastating her face-to-face was my newly formed life's ambition.

"And just what might you be, little fox?" she taunts, her words ending on a whistle thanks to the missing teeth. "Farmer, perhaps? Or a lonely archivist?"

It's like she's slapped me in the face. I won't stand for her slander. A smile splits my face as I hold my hands out for the cards. Unfortunately, I look like a fool because Brody still hasn't found them. We stand in silence for another thirty seconds before he pulls my custom card case out, and when I take it, I slam the pack down on the check-in counter.

"I'm the Bastard Butcher of Brigston."

She looks just as shocked as me. "My arch-nemesis. So, what's this then? You've come to end me? Come to take my cards?"

"I've done enough coming to last me a lifetime, this month, Madame. Today, I seek vengeance."

"Can someone please tell me what you two are talking about?"

I turn and glare at him. "I'm winning us a room for the night. Be a lamb and have a seat. We might be here a while."

Brody doesn't say another word, just saunters over to a small, blue bean bag and takes a seat. For the next two hours, we fight tooth and nail to obtain the Son of Starlight. I've taken many hits. Three of her rose bushes have shot me with their thorns. She's sent a nasty little garden snail after me, but I've managed to hold my distance. What should be the final blow comes when she draws the card of Starlight, himself. His starry dragon wings crack the night sky, illuminating the darkest of darkness. Then it happens. I see the moment she realizes I've bested her. The way her subtle smirk fades and she shakes her head in disbelief.

"No," she gasps, clutching a hand to her chest. "It can't be."

"You're goddamn right it is," I say, slamming the card on the table. "I call upon Prince Noah Noble, leader of Pascurus and the Yllusian Realms. He strikes you down with the might of his trademark smile."

"You . . . you can't. How did you even get him? He's the rarest card of the lot."

Damn right he is. And he cost me a pretty penny. I allowed my father to send me to a gay conversion camp for a month in exchange for the card. When I returned, I played the part long enough to collect Prince Noah, and then I told my father I was still just as gay as ever. It was the day he kicked me out.

"I can't believe this," she says, still in shock.

"I believe we've won the room, Barb." I point at her card deck and smile. "And I'll be taking the Starlight dragon. Please and thank you."

It looks as if the action pains her, but honor is held above all else in the great land of Pascurus. Her hands shake as she hands me both the key and her card. "You've bested me."

I flash her a smile, because, while I may have despised her half an hour ago, this has been the most—fully dressed—fun I've had in ages. Before she pulls away, I clasp her hand with both of mine and squeeze.

"That was so much fun," I practically squeal. "Thank you."

She nods. "Playing in person certainly beats following the flow in Facebook Messenger—that's for sure."

I dart my eyes at Brody, giving him a pleading look. "Would you be mad if I stay here a little longer while you get the room sorted? I'd kind of like to play another round."

He stares at me with an unreadable expression for an uncomfortable length of time. Eventually, he gives me a quick smile and a nod. Standing up from the bean bag, he walks over to me and cups my face. Leaning in, he kisses my forehead.

"Play as many games as you want. You deserve to have a little fun."

With that, Brody heads toward the cabin, and Barb and I launch into another battle to the death.