15. Brody

Iwant to shield him from this. There's nothing I want more than to take Scotty into my arms—into our little cabin—and hide him away from what's about to happen.

I got the notification while he was playing his damn card game with Barb. I don't know how, but my wife found me.

After weeks of worrying about what I'd find when I checked my old email account, I decided it was time to man up. The email she sent wasn't much of an email at all. It's simply a screenshot of our GPS location, and another picture. A picture I know I have to show Scotty. Yeah, I could just pack our shit, grab my boy, drag his ass out of Winawana, Washington, and never look back, but Fee isn't alone in the second picture.

"Shit."

I run for the office, not giving a damn how many of Barb's pink flamingos I knock over on the way. The bell above the lobby door chimes, and once I'm inside, they stare up at me from their card table.

"We have a problem," I say to Scotty. Something in my expression must give away how grave the situation is. I think, for a moment, of pulling him out of Barb's office and discussing this in private, but now that Fee knows where we are, it puts Barb's life in jeopardy too. So, I take a seat beside Scotty, and I set my phone on the table, showing him the picture my wife sent.

"Oh my God," he whispers, stroking the cheek of the man in the photo. "No." He looks up at me with more fear than I've ever seen on his face. It doesn't belong there. I want to rip the fear right out of him, but I can't. "Tatum?"

Scotty looks up at me with an expression I rarely see. Anger. Rage. He's staring at me like he resents me for this. Like it's my fault. And, maybe it is.

"Fix this." He reaches for my hand, his nails digging roughly into my skin. "You fix this, Brody."

"I don't know how I can, Freakshow," I admit. "If they have him, then they plan on using him for leverage."

"I swear to God. If they touch him . . ." He stands up and walks behind the front desk, bending over to grab something from behind the counter. When he stands up . . . Fuck. My cock goes hard in an instant.

"Where the fuck did you get an assault rifle?"

Barb chuckles softly. "I told you—you boys ain't the only ones with a past."

I pack that away, but we'll definitely be circling back to it later. For now, I focus on my boy. "Do you even know how to use?—"

Before I can finish my sentence, Scotty aims the gun at the ceiling, unleashing a stream of bullets as he glares at me. I just blink at him until he releases the trigger.

He beams brightly. "I was raised by a Republican. I know my way around an assault rifle."

"You're patching every hole you just made," I say, earning myself a scowl. "Seriously, was that really necessary?"

He shrugs. "It was hot, though, right?"

I sigh, because as much as I want to bend him over my knee and finger-fuck him into submission, I know we've got a fight heading our way, and it's one we'll need to prepare for.

Their car pulls uptwo days later, just after noon. Having heard the tires against gravel, the three of us are already lined up outside like some busted-up biker gang, each of us wielding a firearm. Scotty's got the assault rifle. I've got my Glock. For reasons I don't quite understand, Barb is carrying a paintball gun in one hand, and her 9mm in the other.

Their car comes to a stop, and I make eye contact with my wife. She doesn't look very happy, but she also doesn't look like a woman scorned. One of her eyebrows lifts in accusation, but I refuse to let my emotions show. While inside, it's panic and dread and an overwhelming level of protectiveness for my boy.

Fee is the first to move. As she approaches, she pulls off her wedding ring and tosses it at me, her eyes narrowing. "You son of a bitch."

I swallow, my throat feeling raw. "Fee, it isn't?—"

She shakes her head sharply. "Don't. Don't even think about it. You're not talking your way out of this."

Behind her, Kincaid walks around the back of their car, popping the trunk and picking up something wrapped in a hot-pink blanket. The top of a head is exposed, bleach-blond hair peeking out. My blood runs cold, because . . . She wouldn't. She couldn't. Scotty must be thinking the same thing, because he lunges forward, but I'm faster, holding an arm across his chest to keep him back.

"Drop him," Fee says to Kincaid. Instead, he bends down, delicately setting Tatum on the ground. He takes off his coat and places it under the boy's head as a pillow of sorts. Once it's done, he stands up straight and glares at me like he wants to put a bullet between my eyes. I'm sure he does. Doing so would result in Freakshow's death, though. I cock my gun and aim it right at him.

Beside me, Scotty whimpers. It's a pained sound that cuts and cracks at my heartstrings. His friend is dead, and he's probably thinking he's next. He lets out a thunderous roar and aims his gun at my wife.

"Is all of this really necessary?" Fee says, sounding . . . bored?

"You killed my best friend. What do you think?" Scotty shouts at her.

"The best friend you left behind without so much as a warning? That friend?" Kincaid says. Jesus. Why does he sound so irate on Tatum's behalf? He's practically growling. For fuck's sake, he doesn't even know the kid.

"And you stole my husband," Fee counters, glaring at me as she holsters her gun. She points at me, clicking her tongue against her cheek. "As for you?—"

"Don't talk to him," Scotty says, ducking under the human barricade I've constructed with my arm. He stands in front of me like a daddy lion, protecting his cub. It's adorable, but I'm not sure how effective it is at scaring her off. "He's mine. You can't have him back."

Fee stares at me with a humorous smirk. "He sure is a feisty little thing." She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone, scrolling down the screen. "Call off your chihuahua before I muzzle him permanently." I don't know what the fuck she's looking for on her phone, but I know I don't want this escalating any more than it has to.

I lean down and whisper into his ear, "Let me handle this."

He shakes his head, and I can feel his shoulders trembling against my chest. "She can't have you. You're mine."

"I am," I agree, kissing his neck. "I promise, it's me and you, but there's not going to be a me and you much longer if you don't let me take care of this. I need you to trust me."

Sighing, he relents, letting the assault rifle fall to his side. He stares down at his friend and sniffles. It's a sound that breaks my heart, but we don't have time to mourn right now. There are more pressing matters at hand. Apparently, Kincaid hasn't gotten the memo, because he's staring down at Tatum like if he takes his eyes away, even for a second, the man's body might sink into the dirt.

"So far," Fee says, still scrolling, "three attempts have been made on our lives. In Arizona, they tried to run us off a cliff. In California, a woman attempted to drive us into the sea after commandeering our vehicle at a gas station. Tell them about the third time. Tell them what the little son of a bitch did."

"I won't," he says, kneeling beside Tatum. "Don't worry, Pretty Baby. You're safe now."

Pretty Baby?

Fee sighs. "Well, after I walked in on Kincaid practically throwing himself at the man in our hotel room, the little twink made a run for it. He was screaming like a banshee in the parking lot. I simply tried to keep him quiet, and?—"

"You tried to break his fucking neck," Kincaid barks at her.

She nods. "And then he tried to stab me with a plastic spork. We're even." Turning her attention back to Tatum, she eyes him up and down. "I changed my mind in the end, didn't I? His sassy antics are certainly entertaining."

Kincaid strokes Tatum's face like he's the most precious thing in the world, and I'm at a loss, because what the fucking fuck is happening right now? "I've got you. Abi's here."

What the fuck? I've known Kincaid since we were kids. I don't even get to call him Abi. A strange, unwelcome pang of jealousy hits me. I don't want Kincaid romantically. Maybe I could have once, but Scotty's my fucking world. Still, on a purely bromosexual level, it stings, because what the fuck did this kid do to earn the privilege?

And, because we're apparently in a Disney film, Kincaid's words are the kiss of life. Tatum's hand twitches, and he slowly moves, his eyes blinking up at Kincaid. For his part, Kincaid looks overjoyed. He leans down to place a kiss on his cheek. "There you are."

A loud pop echoes across the parking lot when Tatum rears back his hand and slaps Kincaid as hard as he can. "You keep your fucking lips off me. How many times do I have to tell you?"

Scotty lunges forward, and when he reaches them, he shoves Kincaid's chest until he falls back on his ass. Scotty wraps Tatum up in his arms, clinging to him.

"Oh no, you don't," Tatum shouts, trying to pull away. "You just left me to be kidnapped by these psychopaths. What the fuck, Scotty?" He continues wriggling around, trying to unburden himself of Scotty's relentless hug. I'm tempted to aim my gun at him and tell him to let Scotty fucking hug him, but Tatum finally stops resisting. His arms wrap around Freakshow, and I push down the urge demanding I remove his arms with a woodcutter's axe for touching something that doesn't fucking belong to him.

"Tatum," Scotty says, practically purring. "I'm so glad you're not dead."

Tatum's grip tightens. "I'm still mad at you. Your relief over my resurrection doesn't change anything."

"I know. But I really am glad you're not dead."

"I've been practicing my version of Real Housewives takedown monologues the entire trip. You were going to cry."

"I'm sure I would. I cry over everything," Scotty agrees before finally pulling away. He doesn't let go of Tatum's hand. "What about your boyfriends? The Bens and Austin are going to be devastated that you're gone."

"The Bens?" I say, arching an eyebrow. To my surprise, it isn't Tatum or Scotty that respond. It's Kincaid.

"Austin, Bennet, Benjamin, and Benito." Kincaid looks away and clears his throat. "They're no longer in the picture."

Scotty's eyes bulge as he darts them between Tatum and Kincaid. "He killed your boyfriends?"

Tatum shakes his head. "Things with the Bens have been strained for a while. Austin's still too hung up on his . . . issues to be emotionally available."

"Yeah, but you said you guys were working things out."

"I was trying. They didn't seem to care enough to meet me halfway." Tatum flicks his thumb behind him at Kincaid, and sighs. "Then this motherfucker comes barging out of a closet door, shoves a needle in my neck, and kidnaps me."

Kincaid chuckles softly. "Kidnap? You begged to come with us, Pretty Baby."

"Did not." Tatum's cheeks burn crimson under the Washington sun. There's another objection on his tongue, but he just swallows it down, shaking his head as he slowly—methodically—backtracks until his shoulders touch Kincaid's chest. Kincaid's hand rests on Tatum's hip, and he tightens a protective grip around him. For his part, Tatum is looking everywhere except at Kincaid, like if he doesn't acknowledge it, the physical contact isn't actually real.

"You did. I have it on film, remember? I have quite a few things on film." Kincaid says, his voice taking on a tone I've only heard him make in the bedroom. It takes me a moment to notice he's practically rutting against Tatum's ass, and Tatum isn't doing anything to stop it. If anything, he seems to be matching Kincaid's movements. "You begged for it, didn't you, love?"

"I've begged you for a lot of stuff. I've begged you to die a thousand times. Don't see you following up on that request." He glares over his shoulder at him. "Rude."

"Kincaid, please refrain from ejaculating in front of our new friends." When Fee says it, their hips stop rolling, and they look like two kids who've just gotten caught with their hands in the cookie jar. "Now, if everyone's done riding the fucking rainbow, can we please get on with this? We've got a trove of trained assassins on our tails, and you're all too busy thinking with your cocks to worry about saving your lives. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous."

"I don't know what the fuck your problem is, Fiona," Kincaid says. "But this shitty mood you've been in the last few days needs to stop."

"As I've stated, we were almost killed. Thrice. My husband was stolen from me by a deranged twink . . ." Her eyes meet mine and she arches her brow. "No great loss there, honestly. It's a wonder you even made it this far north without being killed. For God's sake, you didn't even remember the tracker in your wedding ring."

"Neither did you," Tatum interjects. "You idiotically interrogated me for hours before you remembered the stupid tracker. Worst assassin ever."

She jerks her head in Tatum's direction, cocking an eyebrow. "And now we've got this one attached to our hip. He's been throwing himself at Kincaid the entire trip."

"I've done nothing of the sort!" When Fee shoots him a dirty look, he blanches, turning his anger in Kincaid's direction. "And if I have, it's because of whatever the hell you two keep injecting me with. Honest to God. One second, it's just another normal afternoon. The next, I've been jabbed in the neck with a needle, and there's an unnecessarily statuesque man lording over me and calling me a good boy as I masturbate. And do you know what? I could cope with that. I'm a go-go dancer and a praise slut—I don't particularly hate being seen—but I asked you for one thing, Abi. One thing, and you couldn't even do that."

Kincaid eyes him curiously. "I've done everything you've asked of me."

"You put me in the fucking trunk again. You know I'm scared of the dark."

"I was with you. I'm always with you when you're back there," Kincaid says, but Tatum just shakes his head.

"Not this time, you weren't. You left me. I was all alone."

Kincaid kisses Tatum's scalp, and to my surprise, the twink doesn't swat him away with his hand. "I'm sorry, Pretty Baby. You were sleeping, and I couldn't bear to wake you. The back seat was folded down. I would have heard if you woke up. You would've seen me."

Tatum kicks a pebble, sending it skipping across the parking lot. "Don't leave me in the dark again. I hate it almost as much as I hate you."

"You love me."

Tatum rolls his eyes. "Hate you. Want you dead. Hope you die, hope you cry, hope you get glass stuck in your eye."

Fee is clearly at the end of her rope. She aims her gun at the ground and fires a shot into the gravel. We all go silent around her as she holsters her gun. "Now, if everyone could get their shit together, maybe we could move past the ridiculous banter portion of our afternoon and focus on the task at hand. It's like we're stuck in one of my gay romance novels, and this is the unnecessary part where the self-indulgent author builds up a new couple for the series in the final few chapters."

"This isn't a romance novel," Kincaid says, arching an eyebrow.

"And I am not a love interest. I'm a leading fucking lady," Tatum growls.

Fee rolls her eyes. "Whatever. We need to talk about courses of action. Brody, go to the car and grab Daisy." She turns to Barb, flicking her finger up and down at her. "Since you seem to be the only other person who hasn't lost their mind, maybe you can help them get their shit together so we can go over the plan."

Barb smiles politely at her. "You sure are a pretty little thing, aren't you, sugar?"

Fee just sighs, flinging her hands in the air in frustration. "Jesus on the cross." Spinning on her heel, she marches forward, toward the office. The bell chimes as she enters, snapping the three men in front of me out of their stupor.

Once inside, I notice Fee staring down at Barb and Scotty's card table. She makes eyes at Scotty, and for a second, it almost seems like a kind one. "You play Pascurus?" Scotty's mouth hangs open. "Deal me in next round." She sits at the table and sets her phone on the table. When I take the seat next to her, I notice she has one of the agency contracts pulled up.

"What's that for?" I say.

Around us, the rest of the group takes their seats, and I look at my boy and smile. He's still fussing over Tatum, who is growling at Kincaid as he pats his lap, inviting him onto it. Scotty looks up at me, and when our eyes meet, he blows me a kiss.

"Enough of the goo-goo eyes. This is Levinson's contract." She taps her phone screen, pulling my attention back to her. I watch as she pinches her thumb and forefinger, zooming in on the document. "I was worried he might have signed up with the agency before the death clause went into effect. It's our lucky day. If we can kill him before they kill us, we're home free." Her gaze lingers on Freakshow, and a strong, protective urge rushes through me. I pull him close to me, because it's the only place he's completely safe. "Tell me, sunshine, how do you feel about the prospect of being an orphan?"

After discussingthe situation at length with Fee, we've come up with a plan. While she hasn't really spoken much to me, she's already started the slow process of seducing Scotty's dad via Facebook Messenger.

Honestly, as icy as the reception had been, it's nice to know she doesn't want me dead. I mean, she refuses to even look at me, but still. Small victories.

Barb's set them up in the artists' cabin, and after asking me to show them to their new home, I head around the front desk and grab the key. When I return, Kincaid is inserting a syringe into Tatum's neck as Scotty looks on in horror. Surprisingly, Tatum doesn't seem very distraught, or even surprised.

"Get off him!" Scotty shouts, but Tatum just rolls his eyes.

"There's no use. He does this all the time. Honestly, I kind of like it. It's a nice high, and I'd rather be sedated than listen to his—" His mouth opens wide, and he lets out a yawn. His eyelids must be getting heavy, because he blinks them slowly as the drug takes over. Going off of experience, he's probably used a mild tranquilizer. To my surprise, Tatum's permanent scowl stretches out into a smile, and he holds his arms up, clapping the tips of his fingers to his palms like a child, offering himself up to Kincaid. "Abi," he whispers, his voice full of affection.

Kincaid licks his lips. "There's my sweet boy."

"What is happening right now?" Scotty asks with a concerned edge to his voice.

Kincaid leans closer, letting Tatum wrap his arms over his shoulders and his legs around his waist. "He's adorable when he's drugged." As Kincaid stands, Tatum burrows his face into the crook of his neck, purring like a love-starved kitten. "Don't worry. I've got you." Behind him, Fee is staring at them with a smile. The entire situation is bizarre, and totally off-brand.

"Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?" Scotty begs.

Fee stands up, grabbing her gun and sliding it into the back of her jeans. "They've got a thing going. It started the day we kidnapped him. He'd been acting like a brat for half an hour, and as soon as Kincaid drugged him . . ." She points at the pair of them. "This happened." She studies them, watching as Kincaid rains down affection like a summer storm. "They're kind of cute together. Of course the second the drugs wear off, he turns back into the world's biggest prick, but Kincaid just drugs him again, and it's right as rain."

"That's not okay," Scotty insists. "He's under the influence. He can't consent."

"Don't listen to him, Daddy," Tatum says, his lips smacking as he assaults Kincaid's neck with slobbery kisses. "Love you. Love everything about you."

"It's not like we're sleeping together," Kincaid tells us. "He just likes me to watch while he plays with himself."

"Abi," Tatum moans, rolling his hips. "Missed you."

I'm a little surprised he keeps using Kincaid's first name. I've known the man since I was ten, and he's never let me say it because it brings back too many memories from his childhood. He doesn't talk about it a lot, but from what I've gathered in the twenty years we've known each other, his dad was an abusive son of a bitch. Kincaid's mom had sensed he liked boys a little more than he should, so, when his father was at work, she smuggled him out of Russia and never looked back. Unfortunately, his father found them, and . . . well, he doesn't like to talk about that day very much. When my family took him in, Mom made the mistake of calling him Abi. He mentally shut down for three days. Since then, no one has been allowed to say it. Now, when it falls from Tatum's lips, Kincaid smiles at him like he's just hung the moon in his honor.

Kincaid runs his fingers through Tatum's hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. "Missed you too, Pretty Baby."

Tatum pulls away, his eyes barely open. "I'm sorry for slapping you earlier." Leaning closer, he gives Kincaid a quick peck on the lips. "Sleepy, Daddy. Night-night time." He holds his hand out toward Fee, motioning for her to join. "Sleepy time, Fiona. Come on."

The corner of Fee's lip quirks in amusement. "Far be it from me to keep His Highness from his beauty sleep."

"That's me," Tatum says, playfully nipping Kincaid's chin. "Sleeping Beauty."

As I walk them to their cabin, I watch Tatum practically melt into Kincaid's arms. Walking at their side, Fee's got her hand on Tatum's shoulder, showing him more affection than she showed me in our last months together. I catch her peeking over at him on the journey, giving him the same look she often gives Daisy when she does something adorable. My wife seems enamored by the guy.

In the cabin, Fee takes inventory of their new temporary home. She's used to living in the lap of luxury, so I'm not sure how well this is going to go over. I've spent almost a month trying to get the cabins looking nice again. I know my decorating skills probably aren't up to her standards, but I can't deny there are butterflies in my stomach. I feel like an artist putting their work out for public consumption, hoping the critique isn't too harsh.

The walls, once basic brown, are now a pretty shade of sea foam green. There were old, wooden planks in the maintenance shed I painted white before using them as trim. The old bed Barb had in the room was just a mattress and box springs resting on the floor when I started working on the room, but I used more of those planks to construct a bed frame. For the headboard, I took a painting of sailboats left by the former tenants, and secured it to a strip of boards I'd nailed together. Since the room had no windows, I nailed four boards into a window-shape and secured it to the wall, then had Scotty paint a pretty sunrise inside them.

"This is cute," she says with a smile. "Rustic. Kind of reminds me of a little lakeside cottage."

The pride I feel is indescribable. "Really?"

She looks over her shoulder at me with a raised eyebrow. "Why do you look like you're about to cry?"

"Huh?"

She turns to face me and takes a step closer. "Your eyes are watery and your jaw is trembling. What's wrong?"

Though her voice is firm, there's a level of care in it that reminds me of how we once were before Scotty entered our lives, unintentionally driving a wedge between us. I don't want to rekindle anything with her, but I guess I'm holding out hope that we can fall into some sort of friendship eventually.

"You really like it?" I say, motioning around the room.

She nods. "I just said I do, didn't I? Are you suffering from memory loss now? Have you suffered a head injury that's rendered you stupid?"

I snort. "No, it's just . . . I did this. The room, I mean."

"What do you mean, you ‘did' this?"

"I decorated it. Painted the walls. Picked out the bedding. It was just a shed when I started."

Her eyes go wide, and she looks around the room again, like she's trying to burn the image into her memory. With a clipped nod, she flashes a sincere smile. "You did well, Brody. I'm impressed."

"Less talky," Tatum slurs as Kincaid lays him in the center of their bed. "More sleepy." His eyes never leave Kincaid as he undresses, drinking him in like a glass of wine. "So pretty." As heat pools in Kincaid's cheeks, he slides in beside Tatum, cuddling close. Fee is next on Tatum's hit list, and he lifts his arm, snapping his fingers. "Tater Tot sandwich. Come on, Fee-fee."

I arch an eyebrow at her. "Tater Tot sandwich?"

She rolls her eyes as she unfastens her jeans and slides out of them, placing her gun on the chest of drawers. Shrugging, she says, "He likes to cuddle." Bumping her shoulder against mine, she points at the door. "Now, out you go. Apparently, my presence is required elsewhere."

Pausing at the door, I look over at them, smiling at the sight before me. Tatum's got his chest against Kincaid's, and his arms are around his waist. On the other side of the bed, Fee combs her fingers through Tatum's hair, singing him a lullaby. It's a bizarre situation all around, but who am I to judge?