12. Brody

The room is a shit show. That's the only word to describe it. There's a twin-size bed, a cheap end table that looks like it's made out of knotty pine plywood castoffs, and a tube-style television with a shattered screen. Barb hasn't even cleaned up the discarded glass from the floor. It's just lying there, waiting to slit someone's heel open. I sigh because there's nothing I want less than to stay here.

I spend the next five minutes picking stray glass shards out of the carpet. Once that's done, I fall onto the bed, groaning when I feel the prick of mattress springs pressing hard against my back.

The only reason I haven't thrown Freakshow over my shoulder and dragged his ass to the car yet is because he seems to be letting loose for the first time since I met him. He's always seemed skittish around other people, but with Barb, it's like he can just relax and be his normal, sassy self. I don't want to take that from him.

I spend the next two hours scrolling through Reddit, waiting for my boy to come back to me. There's an ass needing fucking, and I'm happy to offer my services, free of charge. Curiosity finally gets the better of me, and I check Fee's Facebook profile, only to find it's been deactivated.

Shit.

She must be in hiding too. Fuck. As much as I love Freakshow, I hate myself for throwing her to the wolves. Yeah, I'd do it again in a heartbeat if it meant keeping him safe, but I know how much of a monster my actions must have made me in her eyes. I do another quick search for her alternate account, hoping beyond hope Fifi Florentine is still active.

My heart leaps in my chest when her smiling face pops up. The last update from her was from three days ago, after she'd gotten home. It was a picture of her wedding ring next to a knife. The caption? Til death do we part.

Okay, well . . . that's to be expected. Honestly, it doesn't surprise me she's posted such a cryptic update. The only active friends on her profile are her parents. Kincaid and I used to be there too, but it looks like he's deactivated his account as well.

As unnerving as it is, I rest a little easier, because without an internet trail, there's nothing leading her to Winawana. I have no family in Washington, and I've never been sent here on an assignment. The reason I'm traveling north is because there's nowhere specific for her to look here. And if she can't find me, then she can't find Scotty.

Opening my browser, I bring up Senator Levinson's profile and look for upcoming events. He's going to be in California next month. After that, he's got a campaign stop in Seattle. That's going to be our best bet. If I can just get to him and put a bullet in his skull before Fee finds us, Scotty and I might make it out of this thing alive. Granted, I've never killed a presidential candidate, but I'm always open to expanding my resume. Of course, I still wouldn't be able to go back to work for the agency. Failure isn't an option with them.

I power down my burner phone and curl up on my side, treating myself to a well-earned nap. When I wake up, it's dark outside and Freakshow still isn't back. The panic is overwhelming. He knows we're hiding. He fucking knows how dangerous this is. I run for the door, leaving my boots by the bed, not giving a fuck if I've missed any glass during my earlier cleanup. The pebbles and gravel on the way to the office poke and puncture my skin, but it doesn't matter. I have to find him. I have to protect my boy.

The door's hinges sound like they're screaming when I yank it open, but a rush of relief runs through me when I see him. He's sitting on a stool next to Barb, watching in wonder as she knits something I can only assume is meant to be a sweater. He looks up at me, then at the window, and the color drains from his face.

"Brody. Oh, my God. I'm so sorry, I didn't realize it got so late." He moves to stand from the stool, but I hold my hand out, trying to tell him he's fine. I make my way to him, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind. He doesn't need to be scolded. He doesn't deserve it. The man has upended his entire life to be with me. I'm not going to be a dick about him having fun for the first time all week.

"What have we got here?" I say.

Barb gives me a toothless smile. "I'm showing little Jorge how to knit himself a lovely sweater. He says you boys are strapped for cash, so, I says to him, I says—don't go wasting your dwindling nest egg on clothes. Just make them yourself."

I stare at Freakshow and mouth, "Jorge?" but he just blushes and shrugs, looking away.

"I also told him," she continues, "that I'm looking for a maintenance man. Could use a housekeeper too. He's been telling me all about when he worked at a hotel a few years back."

"You worked at a hotel?"

Scotty nods at me with pride. "For a year. It was fun. I met so many fascinating people. One man even called the front desk asking for towels, and when he opened his door to get them, he was naked."

That admission doesn't have its desired effect. I'm sure Scotty wanted it to be a fun, quirky little story, but it just makes me want to find the man and cut off his cock for flashing my boy. No one shows Freakshow their penis. No one except me.

"Brody?" he whispers, taking my hand. When I look down at him, he's got a hopeful look in his eyes. "Do you think we could stay here for a few days? It could be fun to relax. Barb said we can use the room as long as we help out around here a little. She wants to get the other cabins in order. I just—I want to . . ." He closes his eyes and huffs, looking too nervous to get the words out.

Staying here isn't ideal, but it's not the worst course of action either. There's no reason for them to look for us in Winawana. We can't go much further north before hitting the border. I mean, I have a guy who can sneak us across, but what's in Canada that we can't find here? What's the use in using up more of our limited funds when we can work for room and board? Hell, if push comes to shove, I can slit Barb's throat and just take the place over. By the looks of it, we're in the middle of nowhere. Winawana has a population of four hundred, if the sign I saw on the way in is to be believed. Maybe this could be a home for us. For a while, at least.

I lean down and kiss his forehead. "Yeah, babe. We can stay for a while."

We didn't havesex last night. After carrying him back to the cabin, my boy looked like he could pass out at any moment. So, we slept, naked as the day we were born. When I woke up, Scotty was still on top of me. I've been holding him like this for the last hour, gently stroking his ass, hoping it brings a little comfort. As much as I know he loved being spanked, I think it's going to be awhile before we try again. Watching him writhe around just to get comfortable these last few days has felt like a gut punch every time he shifted. I did that. I"m the reason.

He stirs, his face nuzzling closer to my heart. I run my fingers through his hair and lightly scratch his scalp.

"Morning, Freakshow," I whisper, hoping my breath isn't toxic. I haven't been able to move an inch, much less make it to the small bathroom to brush my teeth.

His lips graze my nipple as he offers me a kiss. "Morning, Daddy." His head pokes up, and he looks over his shoulder, down at my hand resting on his ass. "You said you were going to fuck me last night, yet here I am with a non-aching asshole." His voice is basically a whine at this point, and, God, I love to hear him whine. He taps the tip of my nose. "Rude."

I laugh until I snort, and then I'm on top of him, holding him against the mattress. He rolls his hips forward, fucking up against the air as I arch my back away from him.

"Nope. We've got a busy day ahead of us, Freakshow. Can't spend all day fucking your"—I reach below and run my finger down his crack—"tight little hole."

"Please," he whimpers, his cock making contact with my thigh. "Brody, please?"

I scoot back against the wall and fold my arms over my chest. "Not happening."

He glares at me, and then he reaches down, taking matters into his own hands. Well, into his own hand. He wraps his fingers around his little cock and gives it a stroke.

"Did I tell you to touch yourself?"

"I don't recall asking for your permission." He gets up to his knees until he's right in front of me. "If you won't make me come, I'll do it myself."

"And if I say I'll punish you, if you do?"

He shrugs. "Then I'll come on your face. Try it. See for yourself."

I try to harden my expression, but I lose all will when he strokes his taint with his free hand. Dammit. It should be me down there. It should be my tongue working the smooth, creamy patch of skin below his balls. My fingers working his hole open as he brings himself pleasure.

He strokes his cock with abandon, staring me right in the eyes as he does. "Lie down," he rasps.

"Why?"

His hand works faster, and I watch as his beautiful face trembles with pleasure. "Told you—gonna come on your face, Daddy. Lay back and open your mouth."

"Shameless," I growl at him. "Filthy fucking whore." Scooting down, I grab a pillow from behind him and use it to prop up my head. I'll let him come on my face, but I'll be damned if I open my mouth for him. As much as I want to drink his cum like a Slurpee, I refuse to allow him to win.

"I think—" he says, panting. "If you don't fuck me tonight—Oh, Jesus, baby—I'm going to have to fuck you."

My eyes almost bulge out of my head. Absolutely not. In no way, shape, form, or fashion, is his cock going anywhere near my hole. I grab his wrist, stopping his movement.

"If you even look at my hole, I'll tie your ass up, lay you behind the car, and smash your fucking skull open when I drive over it."

The words must feel like an explosion inside him, because he cries out, his body shaking. "More. Daddy, more."

God, I've missed this. Our game. The fear. The look of lust in his eyes as I threaten his life. "You see that television?" I wait for his nod before continuing, knowing this will send him over. "All of those sharp, broken shards of glass around the edges. It would be easy, you know?" I reach up and drag my fingernail roughly across his throat. "I'll shove your head in there and saw your neck back and forth against the glass until your throat looks like ground beef."

"Jesus, Brody. Fuck. More."

I take his nipple between my fingers and tug. "Is that what you want? You want me to kill you real good, baby?"

He bites his bottom lip and nods. "The Wrath. Want it. Need it, Daddy."

The fact he's calling my cock The Wrath without shame or judgment in his eyes makes my heart feel like it's floating. Fee has shamed me into submission about it more times than I can count. Scotty never makes me feel that way, like I'm constantly walking on eggshells, just waiting to fuck up.

"Don't worry," I whisper into his ear. "The Wrath is yours. Go on, baby. Come for me."

"Oh God," he screams. When the first spurt of cum lands on my mouth and drizzles inside, his taste is glorious against my tongue. As much as I want to lean in and swallow the head, nursing every drop until he's dust-dry, I resist, knowing that's not what he needs right now.

"Fucking whore. That's what you are. Look at you, stroking your little cock. You think I want to see that shit?"

"More," he whispers, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and chewing.

"Fucking pathetic. If you want to act like a little slut, how about I march you out of this cabin and let the whole fucking town see you shoot your load?"

"Brody!" His cum keeps shooting out like an unending ocean wave, each spurt larger than the last. I don't know how the fuck he can shoot so much. I mean, yeah, I haven't touched him in three days, and I know he hasn't jerked off without me, but still. It's like a fucking monsoon.

"There you are," I say, rubbing his stomach as the storm eases to a drizzle. "There's my good boy. You did so good, Scotty." He falls on me, melding us together with his load. I don't even care if we're both covered in cum. The only thing that matters is my boy is shaking like a leaf, and he needs me to hold him through it. "I have you."

"Don't let me go," he whispers.

Never.

When we finally make itout of the cabin, Barb is leaning against the wall of the office, smoking two cigarettes at once. I'm not sure why she needs so much nicotine, but I don't question her. She might be pushing eighty, and she may move slower than molasses, but the look she gives me is enough to put the fear of God into an atheist.

"Was wondering what was keeping you," she says as we approach. "Well, I was wondering until I came out for a smoke and heard the noise you boys were making." Clicking her tongue obscenely against her cheek, she winks at us. "I'll tell you something for nothing—I ain't made sounds like those since I was a teenager. It sure is nice to get a bit of life back into this place." Scotty blushes and looks away, but I just give her a cocky grin.

"Where did you want us today?" Scotty asks, still unable to look her in the eyes.

Barb reaches into the pocket of her hideous forest-green apron and pulls out a keyring, handing it to me. "I'd like for you to work on clearing out the art studio. There's a bunch of old paint buckets in there. We've got a dumpster around back; you can just throw them in there."

"Won't the people who left them here come looking for them?"

She gives me a strange look I can't quite read before shaking her head and looking away. "No, darlin', I don't imagine they will. It's been a few years since they left town. Transients, you see. They never stay in one place too long."

"You housed a roaming band of painters?" I question, raising an eyebrow.

"I've housed a lot worse. At least they didn't wake me up screaming about good boys and hollerin' about where they're going to shoot their . . . you know."

Scotty stares up at her scandalized. "Miss Barb, I call upon the Pascuran treaty of silence. You can't tell the guild members what you heard."

I have to groan, because fuck! I love it when he talks all nerdy. Makes me want to drag him back to the cabin, bend him over the bedpost, and plow his hole with my tongue.

"Brody?" he whispers, his voice harsh.

"Huh?"

"You're dry-humping me in front of Miss Barb. Stop it."

When I look down, I realize I've pulled him in front of me. He's right. My half-hard cock has been rutting against his crack. I would push him away, but then Barb would get a front-row seat to the S.S. Brody. Sadly, it's a ship she has no business boarding.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Barb says, tossing both of her cigarettes onto the ground and stomping them out with her orthopedic pump. "You're with me today, sunshine. I'm going to show you the ledger system. Once we're done, I figured I can stomp your butt in Pascurus and win back my Starlight dragon, Jorge."

Scotty blushes. "It"s Scotty, actually. And, as for beating me in Pascurus . . . you can certainly try."

For the next three hours,I work on the "art studio." Barb wasn't joking; there are paint cans stacked all the way to the ceiling. I've been in a cleaning trance for a while now, so when Barb enters the cabin, I jolt in surprise.

Why the fuck am I letting my guard down? I've never been as off my game as I have been these last few weeks. The little psychopath with adorable eyes and the perkiest ass I've ever seen in my life has somehow torn down every means of defense I have. It's like I'm drunk on him, and even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to put the drink down. I'll guzzle every drop he gives me, not giving a fuck about the eventual love hangover this will cause.

Barb takes a seat on one of the newly vacant chairs and stares at me eerily. I cock an eyebrow at her, because, fuck, she's creepy. "Is everything all right? You need me to wrangle Scotty for you?" The joking tone falls flat, and she crosses her arms over her chest.

She wastes no time with pretense. "How long have you two been on the run?"

It feels like my blood's gone cold. Like ice is drifting through my veins. "I don't know what you're talking?—"

She shakes her head forcefully. "Nope. Let me just stop you right there. I don't have many rules here, hon, but aside from ‘cash only,' lying is the biggest no-no on the list. I won't stand for it." She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone, swiftly tapping her screen. When she holds it up for me to see, I can feel the familiar call of fight-or-flight. I don't want to hurt this woman, but if it comes down to Scotty's safety or her life, I'll put a bullet through her skull before she has the chance to blink.

On her screen, there's a still shot of Freakshow. He's holding the wrench over his head, his hand fisting his bulge. The picture Senator Levinson flashed to the whole world. "Now, answer me. How long have you boys been running?"

I give her a threatening glare. "Long enough to leave a trail of bodies. Some people ask too many questions. Some people seem to have a tendency to get themselves killed."

"Lucky for me," she says, shoving her phone in her pocket and leaning forward. "I'm not one of those people. How long?"

I exhale shakily. My gun is wedged beneath the waistband of my jeans. It would be so easy to reach for it. To aim the gun and pull the trigger. To take the life she seems to be hellbent on forfeiting.

"Almost a week," I finally answer.

"All the way from Texas," she says with a chuckle. "You boys sure made good time. And, where exactly are you two planning on going?" I won't give her this. If—by the grace of a God I don't believe in—she makes it out of this cabin with her life, she can use it against us. She could contact the senator. Have him hot on our trail in no time.

"South," I lie. "California."

"Sounds like you boys are heading in a big circle. If I'm being honest, I'm not sure that's the best course of action." She stares at me, but my eyes are focused on her hands, checking for any sudden movements. I really don't want to deal with a dead body today.

"And what would you suggest?"

"My eyes are up here, dear," she says. I look up at her, surprised to see her smiling widely at me. "I think it's best if you both stay here for a while. Ain't got many visitors, so not much of a chance of you boys being noticed. I can give you free room and board as long as you keep helping me out with the property. To own the truth, it's been nice having someone else to talk to."

I gape at her. "Why would you do that? The people I work for?—"

"Don't scare me in the slightest, sugar. Trust me, when you spend forty years married to Abner Smoot, there ain't too much left in this world to scare you. Besides, it's nice to see little Scotty's face light up when I let him win Pascurus. The boy's a little ball of sunshine, but he ain't much of a card player. It's why he's been at the bottom of the league for a year. Can't wield a wand of harmony to save his life."

I dig my nails into my thighs, because, yeah, their card game is unnecessarily idiotic, but she's disparaging my boy. I've slit throats for less. "He's a good boy," I practically growl at her.

Barb rears her head back and howls out her laughter. "God, you boys are precious. There ain't nothing much sweeter than young love. My point is, I like the kid. It's been lonely here these last few years. I think I'd like the company."

"And if I say no? You'll . . . what? Call Levinson and tell him we were here?"

She rolls her eyes like it's the stupidest thing she's ever heard. "I just said I like the boy. Why on Earth would I tattle on him to his bigoted father? Of course not." Her face grows serious as she leans forward and lowers her voice to a whisper. "You two ain't the only ones who know about running from your problems. Let's just say I came to Winawana for a reason too. I ain't too keen on the idea of drawing attention to this place. Now, what do you say? Do you think you might want to stay a while?"

On one hand, staying in one place seems like a flawed plan. The longer we remain here, the easier it could be for them to find us. Then again, we're in the middle of bum-fuck, nowhere, population: non-existent.

Swallowing, I nod. "We could do that."

"Good," she says as her smile returns. "Now, since you're staying, I want you to lay it out for me. Why are you running, exactly?"

And so I tell her. I spare a lot of details, and I don't go in depth about Fee and Kincaid, but I tell her about the agency. About Scotty's dad and the hit he placed on his son's life. Finally, I tell her about the man I've fallen in love with. About the lengths I'm willing to go to in order to keep him safe. If there's a threatening tone in my voice, she must take notice of it, because once I'm done, she scoots forward in her chair and takes my hand.

"We'll need a good cover story for you both, in case someone comes in wanting a room. I figure we can just say you're my son, and you've gotten yourself a lovely little slice of arm candy living with you."

"That sounds like the stupidest idea I've ever heard."

She winks at me. "Not as stupid as high-tailing it out of Dodge on a wing and a prayer. It'll work so long as we stick to it. I figure it's best if you both just start calling me Mom now, so it comes natural."

"I'm not calling you Mom."

"Don't make me pull you over my knee, young man," she scolds, and the worst part is, she seems like she's serious. Great. I'm stuck in a hellhole with a psychopathic boyfriend and an elderly woman insisting I call her Mom.

As a gay man might say: fabulous. Just fucking fabulous.

"I promise you, son—you're safe here. Ain't no one gonna tear you apart. You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like." She straightens the wrinkles in her skirt with her hands and gets up from the seat, her knees cracking as she stands. She pats my head like I'm a lapdog, the grin never leaving her face.

I can't lie—it feels good. Something about her screams maternal, and I haven't had a maternal figure in decades. So, I allow myself this. And when she leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead, I allow that too.