4. Tatum

CHAPTER 4

TATUM

I 've learned something over the last three days: car trunks are not the most comfortable means of travel for multi-day trips. It's not the first time I've ridden back here, but it is the first time Abi and I have actually needed to use it. Normally, he shoves me in here because he says he likes to cuddle as Fee drives. With Scotty and Brody having commandeered the back seat as a love nest of sorts, and Fee's luggage taking up the passenger side, our only other option would be strapping ourselves to the roof. I mean, we could always just put the luggage in the trunk and have Abi sit up front while I wedge myself between Scotty and the car door. But, no. No thank you to that idea. One inch between us is one too many. At least there are no pets to worry about. Daisy was supposed to come with us, but Barb seemed beside herself at the prospect of being left alone, so Fee agreed to let her puppysit while we're away.

Abi's been quiet for most of the morning, which would normally be fine by me, but we're the only two back here, so the fucking least Abi could do is keep me company to heal the hurt my biffle's actions have caused with his great betrayal.

Normally, the trunk is shrouded in darkness, but I've been watching makeup tutorials for the last three hours, trying to hone my craft, so my screen has the trunk lit up well enough that we can see each other. He's got one finger inside me, slowly easing it in, then out. His other hand is on my hip, squeezing softly.

"Abi?"

He jolts a little from the surprise of my voice. He's been staring at my neck like he wants to latch on and bleed me dry like a vampire, but once he tears his eyes away from it, a smile settles on his face. "Yes?"

I set the phone beside me, facing it up so we don't lose the light. "We need to go over the game plan."

"We've been over it twenty times. It's all we've talked about these last few days."

My entire body trembles when he twitches his finger inside me. Thankfully, it seems he's just been teasing me, because his finger does this thing where he rests it right against my magic button, petting it like a puppy. Not enough to entice, but more than enough to ease some of my tension.

"When we get there, can we tell my parents we're just friends? No one needs to know we're legally married, do they?" I ask, but I'm too worried about the answer to wait for his response. "Then, once this is all over, we'll get an annulment, and things will be right with the world again." I'm not sure what the hell he's chuckling about, but I don't care for the condescending tone.

"You realize your biffle has lips like carnival cars, yes?" he says, making absolutely no sense whatsoever.

"Lips like carnival cars?"

He nods. "With the horns that go toot-toot. You ride them around and bump into each other. Bump, bump, bump; just like Scotty's lips. He can't keep them closed. If I were a betting man, I'd bet everything I owned that it comes out within the first five minutes."

"Yeah? Well, do you know what I think? I think this whole Russian accent thing you've got going on is nothing more than smoke and mirrors."

"I do not smoke, Tatum. You know this."

This ridiculous man.

Groaning, I bang the back of my head against the wall of the trunk. Seconds later, the car's back seat jerks forward, sending light barreling in, and Brody shouts for us to, "Calm the fuck down in there," before slamming the seat back in place.

"Hope he cries?" Abi asks, his voice soft and affectionate.

"Hope he dies," I agree.

"Hope he?—"

"No, Abi," I say, covering his mouth with my palm. "The joke's gone on long enough." I watch as his eyebrows furrow, loving the look of annoyance on his face. The man is basically a saint—murder and mayhem aside—and each time I see him unleash his unhinged side, I want more. I need more cracks in the fa?ade. More fire outside the bedroom, or, in our case, outside the Winawana Wagon House's lobby. I pull the irritation out of him so easily, like a housefly that refuses to fuck off when asked.

His tongue pokes out, repeatedly lapping at my palm. My hand twitches in anticipation, because his cheek is right there. Right in front of me. Begging to be touched. Demanding I slap the taste out of his mouth. I think he feels it too, because the longer he looks at me from the corners of his eyes, he almost looks bloodthirsty.

There's pressure against my palm, and it takes me a moment to realize the son of a bitch is biting me. Not enough to puncture the skin, thank the Goddess, but enough to make me wince. I pull my arm away, because if I don't, I'm going to slap him silly, and that would mean letting the bastard win. I fall on my back and refuse to budge.

"Is little baby Tatum going to cry now?"

"Fuck you, trash," I hiss .

"Will he go waah-waah-waah, with the crying? Boo-hoo. It is all you do."

"Die," I bark at him. "I am so not the boo-hooer. If anyone's the boo-hooer, it's you. Boo-hoo, the man I kidnapped won't slap my face to give me a cheap thrill. Boo-hoo, I haven't shoved my finger up his butt in over an hour. You boo-hoo, Abi. You boo-hoo!"

He snorts a laugh as he rolls on his back, his finger sliding out of my hole, making me gasp. He reaches for his small bag at his side and pulls out a package of wet wipes. My entire body tenses, because if he's cleaning himself up, it means he's done with the finger-fucking portion of our trip. It means we're inching closer to Hell on Earth—AKA, The St. James family home—and we're going to have to behave like rational adults again. Part of me craves the normalcy of suburban life, but there's a bigger part—probably the biggest part, if I'm being completely truthful—that wants Fee to turn the car around and head back to Washington, just so I can feel him in me a little longer.

"Not yet," I whisper, too self-conscious to say the words any louder. "Just a little longer?"

He stares at me for an uncomfortable length of time before finally nods and opens his arms to welcome me in. Once I'm nuzzled next to him, his finger finds my entrance and slides in with ease. The fullness he provides me feels like coming home after a long day. The familiar sense of belonging. An overwhelming urge to cling to him like a second skin. I don't know how I'm supposed to survive two weeks without this. Judging by the way his finger purposefully strikes my prostate each time he slips deeper, I'm unsure how Abi will manage, either.

"When we arrive," he finally says, "we will say I am your friend. Your parents do not have to know."

"Even with Scotty's bumper car lips?"

He chuckles. "I cannot control what your friend does or does not say to your parents. "

I look up at him and cock an eyebrow. "Can't or won't? Because we've got a treasure trove of deadly weapons at our disposal. If you were committed to the cause, you would make it happen."

"You have a point," he agrees. "Fine. When we arrive, I will put a bullet through his head. Crisis averted."

The fact he almost sounds serious right now makes him far more adorable than he has any right looking. "Crisis averted until Brody puts a bullet through your head."

"You would miss me."

"I absolutely would not. Not today. Not tomorrow."

"The day after?"

I roll my eyes, but he isn't even looking at me anymore, so a fat lot of good it does. "Maybe," I say coyly. "Maybe not."

"Maybe I will not speak with you again until you decide."

"Maybe you can go fuck yourself," I say, reaching up and thumping the tip of his nose with all my might. He doesn't even flinch.

Fucker.

He stares above, refusing to make eye contact with me. I try asking him about what we'll wear to Scotty's wedding, but he ignores me. Then, I theorize that since he'll be staying at a bed-and-breakfast, not sleeping next to me, he'll probably send me an unwelcome selection of dick pics. Again, he ignores me. When I tell him I might send him one in return, he jerks his head in my direction, only to realize what he's done, and turn back toward the ceiling again.

Fuck it. I can play that game too. Angry Abi might even make an appearance if I fuck with him hard enough. Following his lead, I lie down, resting on my back and staring at the ceiling. "Give me your phone. Mine's about to die."

He doesn't say anything, just reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Once it's safe and secure in my hands, I put his password in and bring up his messages. I need some form of entertainment, and his text history should be entertaining enough.

Finally, he breaks his silent streak. "You know my phone's passcode?"

"It's literally the last four digits of my social security number." Bringing up his messages, my heart races faster. Abi's phone is flooded with unread texts. I scroll and scroll, wanting to see how many people he's ignored over the last few weeks, and not a single one of them has been read, much less responded to. The only message he's opened in the last two weeks is one I sent him a few days ago, threatening to have him arrested for larceny. The victim? Yours truly. The stolen object? The last of my waning patience.

"I'm going to read all your texts," I tell him. "Then I'm going through your photos."

"Why?"

I shrug. "Nothing better to do." I turn and face him, smirking. "Aren't you supposed to be ignoring me until I answer your idiotic question?" It's hard to tell with the terrible lighting in the car's trunk, but I'm pretty sure he's blushing like a fool right now. A cute fool, yes, but a fool nonetheless.

I bring up his message chain with Fee. I'm probably crossing every boundary line set in place by society, but I don't care. I'm nosey, and he'll just have to fucking cope. "You better hope you don't talk shit about me to Fiona in your texts."

That earns me a chuckle. "If you go looking for trouble, trouble will find you, Tatum."

I roll my eyes and ignore him, because I refuse to indulge his cryptic clichés. "Whatever." I scroll back as far back as the messages go and scoot closer to him. The first message in their chain is simply three heart emojis, quickly followed by a selfie of the pair of them. In it, Fee's got her head on Abi's shoulder, the same way I'm lying on him now. He's got his lips pressed against her forehead, and a feeling not unlike jealousy spreads through me. "My forehead is cold. "

"What?"

"It's cold. Warm it up." When I look up at him, he's got one eyebrow lifted in question, but his eyes quickly locate the source of my manic behavior. The second he sees the picture of him kissing Fee, his cocky grin fades, and he kisses my forehead, leaving a trail all the way across.

"All better? Do you wish for more? I'm happy to oblige."

I huff. "I wish you would die, but unless an eighteen-wheeler rear ends us, I'm stuck with you for Goddess knows how long." His grip tightens around me, and although I know all this body heat should make me feel uncomfortable, it doesn't. I feel snug as a bug in a rug.

"I love when you speak to me like that."

"When I speak to you how?" I ask, closing the chat thread with Fee, because I don't want to see her kissing all over him again.

"The wishes of death and dismemberment. When you treat me as if you do not care whether I live or die. You may enjoy getting off while others watch, but nothing makes my cock ache like your cruel words and sassy tone." He takes my hand and guides it to his half-hard bulge as if he's trying to prove a point. "See?"

I pull my hand away, because I'm in no mood for car-trunk sex. His eyes are probably tracking my movements, watching as I open his messages to Brody. Unfortunately, the only thing I find in the message chain are endless GIFs, a plethora of laugh-slash-cry emojis, and, strangely enough, an image of Tom Daley's speedo-clad asscheeks.

"Do you jack off to this?" I ask, waving the phone inches from his face. "Your best friend sends you spank-bank material and you just ... what? Rub and tug at your leisure?"

Abi's finger exits my hole, making me gasp at the sudden loss of the fullness he's offered me most of the trip. He wraps his hand around my wrist, his lubed-up index finger pointed outward like he's trying to keep my wrist clean. "I did not ask him to send me an image of this man's perky ass, little one. I would never ask to see another man's backside." He lets go of my wrist and squeezes my ass. "Not when I have this pressed against me each night while I sleep."

"Fuck off," I say, my voice fading into a whimper. "Put your finger back. Please?"

He laughs softly before sliding inside me again. "The night we met, it was the first part of you I saw. You were dancing on a speaker box, shaking it for the entire room."

"Yes, well, that was my profession, Abi. I was a go-go boy. It's literally in the job description."

"You should have been awarded Employee of the Month." He digs his finger deeper, squeezing my ass roughly with his palm. "The moment I saw this, I knew I had to have it." His thumb slides down my crack as he fingers me, making me whimper. "Then you turned around, and that's when I knew."

"When you knew what?" I ask, sounding rather breathless, I'm sure.

His lips touch mine for the briefest of moments, and against my better judgment, I find my lips following after his, seeking connection. I lean forward, but when I open my eyes, his face isn't in front of me. He's lying on his back, his eyes locked on the ceiling, finger fucking me slowly.

"When you knew what?" I repeat.

He closes his eyes and smirks. Fucking smirks!

"Nothing. We will save it for a rainy day."

Fine. If he won't finish his fucking statement, he can just sit there smirking like a fool while I invade his privacy. There are an endless number of unread message chains, but my fingers keep drifting back to Fee's. I think a part of me wants to find something terrible in there so it can knock me back to reality. Because, this? This thing between us. It isn't real. It can't be.

When I open his message chain with Fee again, a wave of dread hits, because I'm pretty sure I'm about to get my wish. Videos. There are videos both on the left and right side of the screen. I dig my nails into my palm, because if I open one of these and see Fee masturbating, telling Abi how badly she wants his monster cock, I might kick the trunk open and fling Abi onto the unforgiving pavement of Interstate 20.

Taking a deep breath, I click the most recent video, preparing myself for the worst.

On the screen, my sleeping face comes into focus. The flash is on, lighting me up for Abi's viewing pleasure. It focuses on me for a while, then the camera flips, and I'm greeted with Fee's sleepy face.

"It took me an hour to calm him down enough to fall asleep. I swear to God, if you ever leave me on overnight Tatum duty again, I'm putting crushed glass in your oatmeal." In the video, Fee threads her fingers through my hair, her scowl fading into something softer. Something bigger. Her eyes are radiating affection like a mother to her child, and it chokes me up a little. "He misses you, Kincaid. He won't admit it, but I don't think he can physically be without you." She turns her gaze back to the camera. Back to Abi. "I don't think overnight trips are a good idea anymore. It's not good for our cheeky boy. Brody and I can split the out-of-town assignments, and you can focus on local jobs. He needs you more than he needs us."

The video cuts off, but there are so many more. Picture after picture, video clip after video clip, I dominate their messages. There's a picture of me sleeping in Abi's lap, with the caption, "Does he look like he has a fever?" Next is an image of me shoving a slice of cheese and onion pizza in my mouth. Abi then asked her if she thought I was getting enough protein, because, and I quote, "our growing boy needs his nutrients." To that, Fee simply responded with an eggplant emoji and a water splash emoji. Abi responded with a question mark, probably confused. Goddess love my silly, psychopathic golden retriever. He has a way of being adorable without even trying, and it's one of the reasons this is so difficult for me. I genuinely enjoy his company. I love how he's the sunshine to my summer shower. Had we met under any other circumstances, I wouldn't resist his advances. Hell, even knowing he's an actual murderer, I'm still tempted to give in.

I peek over at him, not surprised to find him staring at me with a familiar hopeful look on his face. He's watching me like my mere existence is the single-greatest accomplishment this world has ever known. I snuggle in a bit closer. "Thanks, Abi." Rather than respond, he tickles my prostate.

"For what?"

I kiss his chest, hoping he doesn't hold it against me. "For caring."

Before he can respond, I quickly turn my attention back to the phone. Their messages go back a few months, to right after he abducted me. Though I've gone through his phone before, I've never dared touch these messages for fear of what I might find. Now I don't really care. He's my?—

No. No, we are not pretending this sham marriage gives me claim to his body. We're not together. Whatever they do with each other when I'm not around is between them. Besides, the images have all been Tatum-centric, and super affectionate, so I know I've got nothing to worry about... now.

Scratch that, because the longer I scroll, the angrier I get. They're practically throwing themselves at each other. Take this message, for instance. It was sent the night they abducted me. The night he called me his Pretty Baby for the first time. After he unnecessarily claimed his undying devotion to me, Abi spent the rest of the evening telling her the many things he was going to do to her vagina.

I grab his love handle and pinch hard.

"What the hell?" he groans, slapping my hand away.

"Sorry. There was a bug."

He peeks at the phone screen, grinning like the cat who got the cream. His finger finds my chin, and when he tugs me toward him, our eyes meet. "Sure, Tatum."

As heat sizzles in my cheeks, I continue scrolling, but the majority of the messages are just pictures of Fee's breasts. They're very lovely breasts, I'm sure, but I still delete each image as it appears. If Abi notices, he doesn't acknowledge what I'm doing. He probably thinks I'm having a temper tantrum, but I don't particularly give a damn. Her breasts have no business on his phone.

"I bet you jack off to these too, don't you?" I hiss. "You just masturbate at random to images of her chest. First Tom Daley, now this?"

"Does it matter who I masturbate to?"

"No." I continue deleting them. Jesus, fuck! How many nudes does one man need? The second Fiona's lower level makes its grand appearance, I hand the phone to Abi. "I don't want to look at my friend's vagina." He reaches for the button to power his screen off, but I grab his wrist to stop him. "Delete them."

He cocks an eyebrow at me. "Why would I delete her pictures?"

I grab his love handle again, pinching much harder than before. "They're taking up precious memory space. It's hell on your phone's battery. Delete them now, Abi."

He chuckles under his breath as he deletes the picture on screen. From the corner of my eye, I watch until all photos of Fee have been removed. "You know, I can simply ask her to send more. I'll need them, should you decide to stay in Texas."

Panic strikes, and I lunge for the phone. He doesn't need her breasts. He doesn't need to see her vagina. Even if I'm gone once these two weeks are over, the idea of him falling back into a situationship with her— with anyone —feels like a betrayal.

He hands the phone to me, his thumb brushing over my knuckles when we connect. "If you're going to take away my masturbation material, you could at least leave me something to work with."

I bite my bottom lip and consider the request. I'm still not sure how this trip home is going to pan out, but part of me wants him to have this. A piece of me. A memento of the man he loves. "Okay," I finally say, sliding my hand beneath the fabric of my jock. I give myself a few leisurely strokes, trying to get Tatum Jr. to rise to attention. Once I'm half-hard, I fish my cock from the fabric and wrap my hand around the shaft. The camera flashes like lightning across the sky, and when it's done, my dick is staring back at me on the screen. It's not the biggest cock—not by a long shot—but it isn't exactly small either. I measured it once, and it was just below six inches. It's barely a blip on the radar when compared to Abi's anaconda, but his unnecessarily large penis is the exception, not the rule.

I turn the phone toward him, showing him what I've just done. Wanting him to praise me for being a good boy and doing what he's asked. Instead, he gives the screen a nod and hands it back to me. "Well done." He closes his eyes and lets out an exaggerated yawn, using his arm to tug me right against him. "I'm going to take a nap. Have fun snooping."

Okay, well that was hardly the reaction I'd hoped for. Not that I've been hoping for a reaction. Doesn't matter. I read through every text exchange, but there's nothing in them that holds my attention. Just Fiona's periodic check-ins from when she's across the street, masturbating on the farmer's porch while he watches. There are a few exchanges with Brody, most of them containing death threats aimed at me. His message chain with Scotty is both confusing and concerning. It seems, each morning, the pair send clipart with morning greetings. Now and then, Scotty will threaten to end his life if Abi ever scolds him again, but they're all met with a laugh/cry emoji from Abi.

Finally, with all the messages read, I pull up his pictures. There's a folder labeled Private , so, obviously, it's the first folder I explore. Once the images load, my heart thunders in my chest. There's an endless number of pictures showcasing my sleeping face. Always shirtless. Always cuddled up against his chest. Sometimes, he's in the picture, leaning in and kissing my forehead, or smiling into the camera while I'm resting in his arms. He looks so thankful to have me there with him. He's holding me like I'm the only thing that matters to him.

The man stalked me. He stole me away from the only life I've ever known. Perhaps, most egregiously of all, he may have stolen my heart in the process.

"Bastard," I mutter under my breath. I turn on my side, wanting to slap him right in the face and call him a Peeping Tom, but I can't. Not when he's sleeping so peacefully. So, I do the only thing I can. I cuddle up closer and rest my head over his heart. When I pucker my lips long enough to offer him a quick kiss, his face twitches in surprise, but he doesn't make a move, just makes a low, rough grunt.

"I would, you know," I tell him. "I would miss you. Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow. I would miss you if you were gone, Abi."

When his lips curl into a half-smile, I just nuzzle even closer and fall asleep in his arms.