9. Scotty

I've been dreaming about Daddy. For the first time in three days, I've gotten a bit of rest. It's been nice. Knowing Brody is back—that he's still mine—is enough to take away all the hurt I felt during our estrangement. Enough to numb the sting of my father's endless list of betrayals. When I was nodding off earlier, it felt like I could sleep for days. That's why, when Brody frantically shakes me awake with little care for my comfort, I scowl at him. I just want to get a little sleep, and he's ruining it. Then I see it. He's holding a gun, and through my groggy state, my cock swells in my boxer-briefs.

"Daddy," I say dreamily. "Play time?"

He shakes his head, not saying a word. Instead, he studies my face like he's trying to memorize every single atom that makes me who I am. The look feels like shockwaves slamming through my body. I kick the covers away, giving him a front-row seat to the Freakshow Express.

The sound the gun makes as he cocks the hammer makes me jolt. Why doesn't he have his usual playful expression? I've never seen him look so serious before.

"Baby?" I question, holding my hand out for him, inviting him to sit next to me. "Brody, what's wrong?"

He stares down at the bed, looking lost in his own head. "I could have loved you, Freakshow." He sounds so resigned. Like he's giving me away. Setting me free. I don't want to be free though. All I want is him. I try to stand up, but he puts a hand on my shoulder, holding me in place. "Don't." His voice is hard. Like concrete walls have been erected around his heart to keep me out. "I need you to close your eyes, Scott."

That makes my entire body shake. He never calls me Scott. I'm Scotty. Freakshow. Baby. I'm not fucking Scott.

It's like a lightbulb goes off in my head; this is the Brody from the surveillance footage. His scared expression. The anger in his eyes. Earlier, he claimed the video was wrong. That he loved our game just as much as me. He promised me all of this—everything we've shared—was true. Our silly little game. But now, I'm not so sure.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I'm not closing my eyes. Not until you talk to me." I grab his wrist, wanting to shake him out of whatever's weighing him down. "Brody."

"I can't. If I talk to you, I'll . . . I need you to close your eyes for me, Scott. Please, don't make this harder than it has to be." His hand is shaking so much, the gun looks like it might slip out of his grip.

"Not Scott," I say, my voice firm and insistent. He finally looks at me, and the hurt in his eyes makes my heart ache right along with him. "Stop calling me Scott. I'm Scotty. I'm Freakshow."

"You're a mistake."

The words feel like a knife plunging into my heart. He can't mean them. "Please don't say that. I am not. I'm yours. Your Freakshow. Your baby." I reach for the gun, hoping he'll hand it over, but he just takes a step back. "I'm yours. Daddy, I'm yours, and you're mine."

He winces. "You wouldn't want me if you knew what I've done. You'd be running the other way. The things I've done—what I have to do—you'd hate me."

"Never," I say, and I'm done sitting on this fucking bed. Done looking up at him as he stares down at me, seemingly devastated. Once I'm on my feet, I grab his wrist and squeeze, trying to pour every bit of my love into him. "Never, Brody. I could never hate you."

"Then you're an idiot." He takes a step forward, pressing the gun against my heart. Our foreheads touch, and I reach for him, touching his cheek. "I'm not a good man."

I chuckle darkly, because who the fuck does he think he's telling? "Yeah. That's been pretty clear from the beginning. The good news is, I'm not all that good, either."

"You are," he says, roughly rubbing his eyes. "You're a good boy. The best boy."

I shake my head, enjoying the way his forehead feels sliding against mine. "I'm a bad boy. Your bad boy. Whatever you've done, whatever you have to do, it's okay. Just tell me. I promise, there's nothing you can say to make me run. You just have to have faith in me. I promise. Me and you. It'll still be me and you."

"Why?" he asks, his voice cracking.

I roll my eyes, wanting to show him a little bit of my bratty side to put him at ease. "Because I love you, obviously. You asked me to trust you with my heart. Now, I'm asking you to trust me with yours." He pulls back, and I let him go, trusting him with my heart. With my life. I watch as he moves behind me, not turning around to follow his movements. "I trust you."

His lips graze the nape of my neck. "You shouldn't."

"Yeah, well, I do. You don't get to tell me who I can and can't trust." I roll my hips, pressing my ass against his crotch. Maybe I'm playing dirty. Maybe I don't really give a fuck. "And you don't get to tell me who I think is a good person. I see you."

"You don't see shit." The look he gives me when I glance over my shoulder should probably scare me, but it doesn't. Not when he snarls his teeth at me. Not when I feel the cool metal of the gun's barrel. Certainly not when his arm wraps around me, pulling me tight against his chest, his nails digging painfully into my skin. "Don't make me scare you, Scott. I want this to be quick. I want to be merciful. It won't be if you don't close your goddamn eyes and let me do my job."

"Your job?"

His breath ghosts the back of my neck, sending pins and needles sparking to life. When he speaks, his voice is low and cold, every trace of my Daddy having left him. "I'm a hitman for hire. I've been stalking you for a month. Your father hired me to kill you. Do you still think I'm a good person?"

I slap his hand away, take a step back, and whirl around on my heel. His fingers are gripping the gun so tightly his knuckles have gone white. I see more cruelty in his eyes. Just enough to match his tone. But he's still there, right beneath the surface. This is killing him. I can tell. He has the same look he had the day I held him hostage with the blowtorch. Fear with a peppering of lust. I take a step forward, as does he. We stand there, both of us searching the other's face. Waiting to see what happens next. To see who will make the first move.

It has to be me.

I take another step forward, placing my hand on his heart. He stares down at it, surprised. "Do you want to kill me?"

"Of course I don't want to kill you. But if I don't, someone else will." His surety is fading, and I know I've almost got him. He's coming back to me, I can see it in his eyes. "They won't make it quick for you. They'll draw it out. Make you hurt." He leans in and presses his forehead against mine. "I never want to see you hurt. Please, just let me make it easy for you." He brings his finger to his lips and presses a kiss to the tip. I know what he's about to do. If he thinks he's going to offer me a surrogate kiss as a means of goodbye, he's got me fucked up.

"Don't even think about it. If you're going to kill me, I deserve more than a fingertip kiss." Reaching for him, I grab his chin and drag him to me. "You fucking kiss me, Brody. You kiss me, and then you tell me?—"

My words are silenced when Brody slams his lips against mine. Our mouths collide with a force that has me seeing stars, and it's like every one of those stars is burning bright, just for us. Bright enough to light up the sky if we let them. Bright enough to guide me home, right to him.

His kiss isn't a declaration. It's devastation. It's like he's trying to pour himself into me so I can take the pain away from him, the way he wants to take it away from me. His hand clings to my neck, and all logic must have left him, because he's got one leg hiked over my hip, and the other one is quickly following suit. I try to hold him up, but Brody's got a good seventy-five pounds of solid muscle on me, and I'm a delicate little thing. Before I can back us up to the bed, his weight causes me to tumble back. We fall together, Brody landing on me, the gun flying from his hand, hitting the wall, and discharging a bullet through my bedroom window. He jerks away suddenly, eyes wide and full of fear.

"Did it hit you?"

I glare at him. "Put your lips back or I'll grab the fucking gun and blow your brains out. Honest to God, Brody. Worst boyfriend ever."

He shakes his head fiercely. Decidedly. "I'll be the best fucking boyfriend you could hope for, Freakshow."

I can't even react to those stunning words because his lips are on mine, and his tongue tears through my mouth like he's been waiting for this all his life. He grabs my hand and guides it back to his ass. To a place he once told me I was never allowed to touch. More than that, he wedges it between his jeans and his underwear. Brody has given me free rein over his backside, through the protective shield of his Calvin Klein boxer-briefs. I grab his plump cheeks, the tips of my fingers digging into his crack. When I find his hole, Brody whimpers into my mouth—feminine and animalistic.

Jesus.

I want to touch it. To dig my finger inside and root around for his prostate like a twinkish termite. If this is what he's willing to give me though; I'll take it. I'll take whatever Brody has to offer. He pulls away, his lips red and raw with stubble burn. I reach for his face, stroking his cheek as he stares at me with an unbearable heat.

"I want to suck your cock," he says, and I could fucking come right here, right now. "I need to know if this is just a fluke. Can I?"

I don't know where my confident Daddy has gone, but I don't mind this guy, either. "You can do anything you want to me."

When he stumbles off me, he pulls his shirt over his head, and I'm greeted once again by the most stunning sight I've ever seen. The hard lines of his abdominal muscles, and the bulbous bulges of his pecs. The dark hair growing from his chest like wildflowers. I follow his lead, pulling off my shirt and throwing it across the room. He shucks off his jeans but keeps his crimson boxer-briefs on. There's a noticeable wet patch at the end of his erection, and I want to lean in and suck every trace of his flavor from the fabric like a cloth-covered lollipop. I don't get the chance to, because the next thing I know, Brody's lifting me up and throwing me on the bed. I squeal as I land, giggling like a maniac when he lunges forward, launching into the air and landing on top of me. Like a madman, he snarls his teeth at me and growls, pretending to snap at my neck like a rabid dog.

"Want your cock," he rasps, his voice still heavy with a groan. "I want to touch it. To suck it. I need to fucking claim you. You're mine now, Freakshow, and I take care of what's mine." Rather than pull my underwear off like a rational human being, Brody rips them in two with his bare hands. I should probably be alarmed by the sheer strength he has, but I'm basically a whore for him at this point. He could literally set my bed on fire with me still in it, and I'd whine and whimper and beg him to burn me faster.

He leans down until his face is an inch away from my package. The way he's staring at it makes me a little uneasy, but I'm nothing if not resilient, so I power through, combing my fingers through his hair. He wraps his hand around my shaft and stares at it like it's the prettiest sight he's ever seen.

"I fucking love your little cock, baby."

"Well, that was certainly uncalled for. Jesus, Brody," I hiss. "Way to shatter my self-confidence."

He shakes his head, his thumb stroking softly over the head. "It's perfect." Our eyes meet, and I watch, wonderstruck, as his lips get closer. At first, I think he's going to wrap his lips around it. My entire body shivers as he places a gentle kiss on the underside of the head, his eyes never leaving mine. "Perfect size." A drop of pre-cum pearls at the tip and Brody laps at it with his tongue, collecting it for sustenance. "Perfect taste." A smile splits his face, he closes his eyes, and I don't know if I've ever felt this adored before. His smile holds everything. Every word he wants to say but can't get out. Every hope and every dream of a life spent at my side. With my cock in his hand, only the head peeking over his fingers, he kisses it over and over. Like I'm precious to him. And, I swear to God, I can feel the love pouring out of him, directly into me. He's not even trying to hide it anymore.

His mouth opens wider, and swallows me down to the base, his entire body shuddering as he tastes me for the first time. I want it to stay like this. Just him and me, cocooned away from the rest of the world. I'll never need another soul, as long as I have him.

He's mumbling around the shaft and I have to ask him to clarify, because I can't understand a word he's saying with a mouthful of my dick. Pulling off, he's staring at me like he's just discovered some long-forgotten artifact, and he can't wait to share his find. There's a string of saliva and pre-cum still connecting us, only breaking when he licks his lips.

"What is it?" I whisper, almost too afraid to ask.

He shakes his head incredulously. "I didn't know, Freakshow. I had no idea."

"What?"

"This," he says, shaking my cock for emphasis. "You. I didn't know it was supposed to feel like this. Thank you." I'm not entirely sure what he's thanking me for, but I am entirely sure if he doesn't get his mouth around my dick again, I'm going to grab the gun and threaten him within an inch of his life. "This is how it's supposed to be. It's just right, you know?"

Fuck.

He's staring at me like I'm a God, and I can't handle the intensity of his stare. No one should ever look at another human being this way. It's a look that could end the world as we know it. One that can change our world, if we allow it.

"I love you, Brody," I whisper, taking delight in the way his cheeks go red at the admission. He opens his mouth like he's about to say it back, but stops himself. I watch as his mouth opens and closes before finally granting him a stay of execution. "It's okay."

"It's not . . . I mean, I feel stuff, Freakshow. A lot of stuff. Big stuff. I don't know why I can't say it."

"How about instead of focusing on what you can't do, you take care of what you can? My dick's getting cold, babe. Warm it up?"

He gives me a nod, but I can tell he's feeling disappointed in himself. He powers through, though, aiming his sights on my dick. Leaning in, he kisses a path from my balls to the head, his gaze flickering between my eyes and my cock.

"Look what you do to me," I say as a stream of pre-cum trickles down my shaft. When he takes me in his hand, I thrust up, fucking myself against his palm. The longer it goes on, the harder it is to determine where he ends and I begin. His saliva and my pre-cum pool together, and the sound of our slick splits through the room's silence, sounding nothing short of obscene. He stares in wonder as my cockhead rises and falls into his fist, like the world's sluttiest rendition of peek-a-boo.

With whispered words through bated breath, he guides me toward completion. When I tap his arm, alerting him I'm close, he dives forward, enveloping me in his silk-slick mouth. It feels like an awakening. Like a goddamn revelation. His hand cups my balls, and he brings the other down, rubbing roughly against my hole. God.

I want him to fuck me. I want to feel him fill me up inside and mark me with his seed. To brand me. To breed me.

"Mine," I moan, digging my nails into my chest. "Only mine. Forever."

The words encourage him and his mouth moves faster. He sucks in harshly on each intake, releasing the pressure as my cock drags away against his tongue.

"I'm gonna come," I say, giving him the chance to pull away. I'm terrified of what his reaction is going to be if I come inside his mouth without warning. I don't want to scare him away. Not after getting a taste of what this could be. "Brody. You've got to—you need to pull off or I'm going to?—"

He looks up, and the motherfucker winks at me.

His finger is slicked wet with our saliva and pre-cum, and the second it enters my hole, the room goes white around me. His hair turns to clouds, his eyes like stars. It's like the world around me is changing shape, and all I can do is hold on to hope I fit into the new world left in its wake.

When I come, it feels like an explosion. I feel it. Every spurt. Every single shot as it travels the journey up my shaft, out of the head, and into his appreciative mouth. His eyes are closed, and he hums out his pleasure as I succumb to my orgasm with his hand around his cock, stroking furiously. Once the last waves of my release settle, he rises to his knees and grabs a fistful of my ass, pulling my cheeks apart.

"So fucking pretty. So fucking good for me." He fists his cock, his hand pumping a mile a minute. "Gonna come on your hole and fuck it into you with my finger. Gonna claim you."

"Fuck, Brody," I say, reaching for my balls and lifting them up. He stares at my hole like the flag during the National Anthem. Like it's his patriotic duty to watch as he spreads his load into my eager entrance. I almost expect him to place one hand over his heart and pledge allegiance to my cock: one twink, under his Daddy, with ejaculations and heart palpitations for all.

His eyes lock on mine as his entire body goes stiff. The sound that escapes him is bordering on feral, and when he falls on top of me, it's like I'm being enveloped by the warmest, heaviest blanket in the world.

"Give it to me, Brody," I rasp into his ear. "Put it inside of me. Wanna feel it. Wanna feel you deep, deep inside." His breathing is heavy, and I know he's probably tired, but I don't care. Since he's promised me his load, it's all I can think about. I reach down and grab his wrist, guiding him forward. His breath hitches as his finger presses against my hole. It feels a hell of a lot thicker than when he was fingering me earlier, but I don't mind the girth. I think I kind of like how full it makes me feel. I don't know how much I manage to get inside me before he sucks in a sharp breath and pulls away, staring at me with wide eyes.

"Oh, my God. Scotty, baby, don't. You can't just—" His head falls back as another deep, guttural moan escapes him, and he thrusts his hips. Suddenly, it feels like I'm being torn in two. Like he's slid his entire fist into me. "Jesus fucking Christ. I'm inside you. Freakshow, I'm—my dick is . . ." He stares down, and when I prop myself up, I stare in wonder at the sight of it.

Brody's dick is inside me. His entire cock is sheathed in my ass. His mouth is hanging open, the same as mine. I didn't mean to grab his cock. I wasn't planning on having him fuck his cum inside of me with his dick, but now it's in, I don't think I ever want it out again.

"Brody," I say, touching his cheek. I want him to look at me. I want him to see what he's made me into. His boyfriend. His good boy. His. "Daddy, look at me."

He tears his eyes away from our connection, and when he stares into my eyes, the silliest, goofiest, love-drunk smile splits his face. "Freakshow?"

"I know," I say, nodding rapidly. "I know. So good."

"I'm inside you. My cum is in there. My cock was coated in it." He laughs louder than I've heard him laugh before, snorting and gasping until he falls on top of me, the movement plunging his cock in even deeper. I have to moan, and the sound of it must cause stirrings below, because Brody's entire body shudders. "I'm inside of you, Scotty."

"I didn't mean to," I whisper, hoping he's not too angry with me. "Seriously, I thought I was grabbing your wrist. Please don't be mad at me. I promise, I wasn't?—"

"Freakshow?"

"Yeah?"

He chuckles into my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin. "Shut the fuck up and let me enjoy this." His fingers thread through my hair, holding me close. "I've never felt this close to anyone before."

"Me either," I admit.

Then it happens. I feel him swell inside me. His hips roll forward, slow and steady, and I didn't realize there was any cock left for him to give. I don't know if he just lost a bit of volume after he came, but his cock feels even bigger now. Thicker. Longer. And he's pushing deeper, his cum-coated cock filling me up.

I whimper, not giving a damn if it makes me sound depraved. Our eyes are locked, and he looks like he's on the brink of breaking. He pushes up on his arms so his gaze can fall to the place where we're connected, melded into each other.

"Brody?" I whisper, unable to make my voice louder. "When's the last time you were tested?"

"Huh?" He's in a daze and clearly isn't thinking clearly.

"Tested. You're not wearing a condom. We probably should have talked about this before the whole ‘fuck your cum in me with your finger' thing, but still."

"Negative," he rasps, his eyes rolling back in his head.

"Good," I moan. "Good. And you're my first." I lean forward and kiss him gently. "Do you think you can go again?"

His eyes pop open, and they're larger than I've ever seen them, flooded with desire. "You want me to fuck you, Freakshow?"

Wanting to drive my point home, I bear down, welcoming in those final few inches. It feels like my heart is in my throat, and my eyes roll back as I moan, "fu-u-ck," in a voice I don't even recognize. His hips pull back, and for a second, I worry he's done with me. I'm fucking terrified that he's going to pull out, because I'm not ready for this moment to end.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, when only the head of his cock is left inside. I shake my head, even though it's kind of a lie. His dick is mammoth, and I'm scared he's going to split me in half. I don't let it stop me, though. I shove the fear into a tiny ball, packing it away, out of sight, out of mind. If Brody is going to be mine, I've got to be brave. To feel the fear and let him fuck me, anyway.

"Fuck me, Daddy," I say, running my fingers through the hair on his chest. "Make me yours." The look he gives me is overpowering. His nails are sharp as they press into my hips. Looking down, I see small white indentions where he's dragged them down. Tiny trails leading me to the man I love.

"Look at you," he rasps.

I bite my bottom lip and nod. "Shameless. Yeah, Brody. Yeah, I know." I don't know how I'm even speaking. It feels like my insides are filled with fireworks and they're seconds away from exploding. I reach down, pumping my cock as he watches. "Your whore. Your slut. Just yours. Always."

"Always," he says, and then he thrusts forward, impaling me as I cry his name. Brody pauses, his eyes practically radiating fear. He must think he's just hurt me, but he hasn't. He's just found my special place. The one that belongs to him.

"More. Brody, please?" I'm writhing beneath him as he slowly pulls out, leaving only the head inside. Another thrust, and I lurch upward, wrapping my arms around his back and holding on for dear life. His body goes stiff, and he stops moving, but I'll be damned if he thinks he's stopping now. Now I've had a taste of the magical spells his dick can cast, I'm pretty sure I want to spend every single second of my life riding his cock. He can just carry me around, bouncing me up and down like an overzealous pogo stick.

"I'm scared I'm going to hurt you. You keep making all those sounds. Cut that shit out." To his request, I cry louder, playing it up just to piss him off. "Stop it."

"You're splitting me in half," I sob loudly. "You're killing me, Brody."

"Shut the fuck up," he says, his voice hard as nails.

I scream even louder, digging my nails into his back. "I think you ripped me open, you monster."

He pries himself off me, his eyes wide with terror. "Are you fucking with me right now, or are you really hurt?"

I wink at him. "Fuck me some more and find out." When he simply blinks at me, breathing heavily, I roll my eyes. "Jesus, Brody. I'm only playing with you. Shut up and fuck me already."

He sighs. "I just don't want to hurt you."

Fine. Enough games. "Put me on top, then. Let me do the work."

He licks his lips before leaning in and giving me a kiss. As our tongues duel, his hand wraps around my waist, holding me against him as he changes our positions. Once he's on his back, I realize my knees are essentially made of jelly now, and I'm having trouble hoisting myself up. I shoot him a pleading look.

"Help me," I whisper. "Help me fuck myself on your cock. Wanna make you feel good."

He bites his bottom lip as his big hands engulf my hips. Slowly, he lifts me off his cock, his eyes focused between my legs. "Touch yourself, Scotty. Jack off for me, babe."

What Daddy wants, Daddy gets.

With my hand around my shaft, I slowly stroke myself for his viewing pleasure. Honestly, if I could bottle the memory of this moment—the way his eyes never leave my cock, for fear it might disappear—I'd tie a string around it and wear it as a necklace so I could revisit it at my leisure. He's never looked more beautiful than he does now. The sheen of sweat on his body, sparkling against the sunlight through the window. The way his chest heaves each time he lifts me until only his tip rests inside. And, my-fucking-God, the sound he makes every time I slide back down his shaft.

It doesn't take long before he's meeting my movements with torturous thrusts of his own. Still, no matter how much I plead, he won't fuck me hard the way I want him to. He's treating me like I'm fragile. Like my skin is made of porcelain, and I might shatter on his cock. After a few minutes, I'm growing antsy, and I scowl down at him, flexing my jaw.

"I swear to God, Brody. If you don't fuck me, I'm going to grab your gun and shoot off your dick." His eyes widen as I take his chin in my hand and squeeze, digging my nails into his skin. "Fucking fuck me."

Slapping his hands away, I rest my weight on my palms, leaning over him. What's that old saying? If you want someone to come, fuck him yourself? No. No, that's not it at all. A ball in the hand is worth a load in your ass? Ugh. No. I don't think that's it either. Live, laugh, come?

Jesus fucking Christ, this is torture. I can't think straight. Not as he tunnels into me at a fucking snail's pace. Fuck it. He's not going to do it, so I guess the burden is at my feet now. I'm going rogue.

I use the still-weak muscles in my thighs to lift myself off him before slamming back down to his base. His cockhead strikes my prostate, tearing a scream out of me. My eyes are closed, because I'm sure Brody's just scowling, thinking he's hurt me. With achy legs, I rise again, like a phoenix from his cum-coated cock.

"Fucking!" My legs go slack, and I slam my ass down.

"Fuck!" I slam my ass down.

"Me!" I slam my ass down.

"Brody!" This time when I land, it feels like a bomb's gone off inside me. When I catch sight of Brody's eyes, I realize that's exactly what's happening. He's coming. Brody's unloading inside of me, and the sight of him like this—so lost in his own pleasure that he can barely see straight—sends me over the edge with him. He slaps my hand away from my cock and takes over, stroking me harder than he ever has. It's brutal and painful and beautiful and world-shattering, all in one.

"Fuck," he groans, stroking me faster. "Oh, God. Come for me, Scotty. Come on. Let me have it all, sweetheart. That's my good boy."

His words are all it takes to tip me over the edge, and we watch as shot after shot of semen erupts from my cock, painting his chest. My ass clenches around him, and I try to tighten my hole even more, loving the way it feels to unload with him still inside me. When it's over, I collapse on top of him, our chests heaving, our hearts slamming in rhythm with each other.

Brody cradles me for a while, like I'm a delicate, fragile thing. He stays inside me long after his dick goes soft, and I want to cry at the empty feeling he leaves me with when he pulls out. I know this is our moment of truth.

If he kills me, I'll die a happy man. I don't want to die, though. I want to live a life with Brody. To spend it at his side.

"I don't want you to kill me," I finally say. "And I don't want you to get hurt either."

He pulls me even closer. "What do you want, then?"

I bury my face in his neck and smile. "Forever. I want a forever with you."

"You wouldn't say that if you knew the rest." When he finally pulls away from me, his eyes are heavy, like he might fall asleep at any second. "There's something else I need to tell you, and when I do, you're going to hate me." I open my mouth to object, but he just covers it with his hand. "I need you to know I didn't expect to catch feelings." He traces a path with his finger, starting at my temple, ending at my chin. He kisses me delicately, his eyes telling me not to move. When he slides from under me and off the bed, it feels like he's taking a part of me with him. Thankfully, I don't have to wait too long for him to come back. He's got the gun in his hand, but instead of holding the barrel to my head, he hands it to me, aiming it at his chest as he sits next to me.

"What are you?—"

He shakes his head. "Make me. I need you to make me say it, because I don't think I can do it on my own."

"Say what? Tell me," I order, not really sure what he's asking me to force him to do. Whatever it is, it looks like our game is working, making it easier for him to process.

"I'm pretty sure I love you, Freakshow, and I'm kind of freaking out about it."

My eyes widen, and it feels like my heart is going to leap out of my chest. "Oh, Brody." There's a tear trickling down his cheek ,and it doesn't belong there. Sadness doesn't suit him. He's shaking like a leaf in front of me, and I want to make it stop. I need to make it stop. I cup his cheek, pressing the barrel further into his chest. A loaded gun aimed at one's heart shouldn't provide comfort, but somehow, for us, it does. "I love you too. Why would I be mad at you for loving me?"

"That's not all of it." He sits up and hops off the bed. I'm not sure what the hell is so important in the living room that it requires his immediate attention, but there he goes, running off. A few seconds later, he returns with his phone. The screen is freshly cracked, and I'm not sure what that's about, but we'll certainly be discussing it later. He scrolls until he finds whatever it is he's looking for. Clutching his phone to his chest, he gives me another pleading look. "I love you. I need you to know that." His forehead touches mine, and he mouths ‘please,' more times than I can count.

Wanting to put him at ease, I squeeze his thigh and do my best to put on a brave face. I don't know how comforting the look I give him is because he still seems terrified, but he holds the phone out for me, anyway.

There's a picture of Brody and a woman. A woman I think I've seen before. She's wearing a long white gown. Brody is at her side, and they've got their hands in front of them, clinging to each other with awestruck looks on their faces. It takes a second to register what I'm looking at.

A priest. An altar. The man I love standing in front of a woman, staring at her the same way he stares at me. Like she's just hung the moon in his honor.

The picture doesn't make sense, because the woman in front of him is the same one in the picture above his bed. His sister, he'd said. While I may not be the smartest man in the world, I'm smart enough to know incest is illegal in the state of Texas. I look at his hand, and for the first time, I notice the tan line on his left ring finger. I can't look away from it. Now that I've seen the line, it's like it's calling out to me. Demanding to be stared at. Insisting I notice it.

"I'm sorry, Scotty. I never meant to lie to you. And I certainly didn't expect for any of this to happen. This isn't what I do—I don't just go around falling for gay guys."

"But you fell for me?" I say, unable to look him in the eyes.

"Yeah. I fell for you. I'm still falling for you."

I nod, lifting the phone, but not my gaze. "So, what does this mean for us?"

He takes the phone and sets it beside him before holding the sides of my face and guiding me back to him. "That's up to you. I can kill you. That's probably the right decision. It's definitely the easy decision."

"For you," I say with a scowl.

He shakes his head. "For you. Because, if I don't, the next person who comes for you isn't going to show mercy. They won't make it painless. It'll probably be my wife, and if it is, she won't make it easy. She's not known for having a gentle touch."

"Your wife is a killer, too?"

"It's how we met. We were on an assignment together. I've seen her kill enough people to know she won't be kind when she takes you away from me."

"Okay," I mutter, trying to take in the weight of his words. "Well, dying doesn't sound terribly appealing, if I'm being honest. What are our other options?"

"We can run."

"What?"

"We can make a run for it. If we do, we'll always be looking over our shoulder. There would always be the threat of death on our trail. We could never be comfortable. A normal life would be out of the question."

"But it would be a life? One we could share together?" I ask. He gives me a nod, and there's the slightest hint of hope in his eyes. The sight of it gives me the strength to make the easiest decision I've ever made. "Then, we run."

His exhale is heavy and harsh against my face, like little gusts of peppermint and semen-scented wind. I lean against him, enjoying the way his hands journey up and down my back like I belong to him. Because I do.

"She can't have you back," I say, my stomach twisting into knots at the thought of losing him. "Mine forever, Brody."

"Yours," he agrees, kissing my forehead. "My marriage is over. We ended things today. I promise I'm not leaving you again."

I pull away long enough to give him a pleading look. "I wouldn't make it if you did. Just don't take it away."