by J. M. Dabney
The door opened, and a man in an expensive suit and designer haircut stepped out first. He snorted as the guy checked his shoes for shit.
Linus stepped forward, and Liv let him take the lead. A small thin figure bundled into a puffy white coat came next. Haskell looked like he was getting ready to trudge through the arctic rather than deal with temps in the mid-forties. The situation wasn't looking good.
“Mr. Grant, I'm Linus Trenton.”
He watched Linus hold out his hand, and Mr. D-bag reluctantly shook it.
He lifted his head as two more figures emerged from the plane, an older man and woman. The woman fussed over Haskell like he was a kid. Great, he was babysitting a spoiled brat. Just what he needed in his life, the little shit would probably throw a tantrum as soon as the boy saw his one-room cabin.
“Mr. Trenton. This is out of the way.”
“The Sheriff's private airstrip seemed the safest option for the exchange.”
Linus turned and motioned in his direction.
“This is Francis Livingston. He's in charge of your client's security while he stays with us.”
Suit didn't even glance his way, but that didn't bother him. He studied the interaction between Haskell and the people he was sure were his parents. Paranoia was his greatest asset, and he wanted to get a feel for the enemy, and that was what he considered the client Linus assigned him. He hadn’t survived this long by letting people close.
“We'll need to see where Fielding will be staying.”
“No,” Linus said.
“No?”
Suit’s tone conveyed that the bastard didn’t get told no often or at all.
“Mr. Haskell's location will be kept secret. You'll be able to contact him through secure channels only. His cell will be kept at our HQ.”
“This isn't what we agreed to.”
“You hired us to keep your client safe, and that's what we'll do. Now it's after one a.m., and my husbands are waiting for me.”
Liv didn't miss the snarl of Suit’s nose. He tried not to smirk at the fucker getting ready to piss off the boss. Linus would kill for his men. And Linus had no shame in admitting who he was married to. He’d seen and heard the pride that Linus had for Hunter and Wren. No one could doubt that the three men were a strong triad.
“If you've got a problem you can hop back on that fucking plane of yours.”
Liv nearly fist pumped and turned to head back to his SUV. He could go home to his empty, blissfully silent cabin and ignored the world for a few days. It sounded perfect to him.
“Fielding,” Suit called for the kid.
The kid held tight to a vintage brown messenger bag that probably cost more than all the clothes Liv owned.
“Fielding, don't disappoint me. Have the script memorized and be ready for table reads and filming.”
The kid nodded. Liv’s night vision was great, and the kid's features were delicate—slightly androgynous. He wore a thermal hat with long, blond hair sticking out. He didn't look more than eighteen, twenty at the most, even though the file said he was about to turn twenty-three.
“We have an hour drive, let's go.”
He almost growled when the parents repeated pretty much the same as Suit. The kid had a stalker, one bad enough it required a security team in another state halfway across the country. All they seemed worried about was some script.
“Don't get fat while you're here. Don't deviate from your exercise or diet plan. We don't have time for you to lose it.”
“I said, let's go.”
Haskell flinched, but the kid had better get used to him and quick. He motioned for the kid to follow and opened the passenger door. He didn't touch Haskell or try to help.
“Here's his bags. You know the routine.”
He took the bags from Linus and stowed them in the back seat.
“Dig in for about a week.”
“See you in seven days.”
He once again got into his vehicle and made the long ass ride home. The kid was huddled against the door with his head resting on the window. Thankfully it looked like his new charge was going to sleep the whole way. If only he could be so lucky.
Two
Where Was He Being Taken
Fielding pretended to sleep, but he was hungry and cold. The last thing he'd remembered eating was a salad that wouldn't keep a toddler full. The guy hadn't even turned on the heat. He hadn't seen much of his new keeper. The guy was all shadowed figure and bad attitude.
Livingston, that's what the guy's boss called him, spoke in guttural tones that reminded him of gravel against stone. No softness existed within it and with the size of Livingston that wasn't much of a surprise. He'd have to tilt his head all the way back just to look at him.
There was something odd about him. Stranger was the fact the interior lights hadn't come on when the doors opened. He didn't think it was a blown bulb, and he sensed it was intentional.
When he was nervous, he talked—a lot, but Livingston didn't invite chatter. So, he bit his lip and pretended to be asleep and thought about the trouble he was in. When the first letter and gift came, he hadn't worried about it. His agent said it was normal to get fan mail. He held onto that belief until the letters from the anonymous fan turned sexual in nature. Outlining all the things anonymous wanted to do to him. It wasn’t that they were disgusting in their descriptions. Some of them seemed to be almost romantic. Letters what he assumed a boyfriend would write or assumed what one of those would say. He’d never had one—probably never would.
The break-ins at his apartment spurned the need for a bodyguard. He hadn't anticipated they'd send him to some small town in Georgia.
He was perversely happy about four months away from his agent and parents. It would be like a vacation. His mother put him in his first commercial at two, and from that day forward, his life was always about his big break. Now only four months separated him from his mother's goal. This wasn’t the life he’d dreamed for himself, but he kept those secrets to himself. It didn’t do him any good to wish for the impossible.
All he wanted was to go to college like other people his age. He wanted a boyfriend instead of the girlfriends his mother always pushed at him. It wasn’t like she didn't know he was gay. He'd come out at thirteen. And he was small and femme, as an actor he tempered it to appease his parents and his agent. They didn't care about him beyond his money-making ability.
He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew the bounce of the SUV knocked his head against the window. He straightened and rubbed at his eyes, but he didn't see anything other than trees in the headlights. There wasn't anything else.
“Where are we?”
Nervousness twisted his stomach as Livingston simply grunted. He wrung his hands on his lap and started to fidget on the seat. Suddenly the trees broke into a clearing, and a small cabin stood in the center. As Livingston pulled up, security lights illuminated the yard. Spotlights shined from trees around the perimeter. The vehicle came to a stop.
The man said nothing to him as Livingston opened the door and got out. He followed the man's lead and exited. By the time his feet touched the ground, Livingston already had his bag and was headed toward the house.
He practically jogged to catch up. Lights came on inside.
“Go inside. I have to grab the groceries.”
Before he could get a look at the huge man, he was gone again. He left his bag where Livingston had dropped it beside the door. The interior was one big room. A king-sized bed sat angled in the far corner with simple nightstands on either side. A living room area was on the opposite side. The place was masculine, not many personal touches. There wasn't any clutter to be seen. He wondered if the man was just obsessively neat.
He jumped when the door slammed behind him. Livingston passed him and headed toward the small kitchen area. Black cotton stretched across broad shoulders and back. He backed up until the door stopped him, he'd seen big men before. Studios had security guys, but he'd never see
n a man this...massive. One of Livingston's thighs was probably as big around as him. This wasn't a good idea. He wanted to go home.
That's when the worst mistake of his life happened, Livingston turned toward him, and he gasped. The exposed skin on Livingston's right side was mottled with discolored scar tissue, and the damage was less severe on his face. Faded somewhat but still noticeable, the worst of them covered his neck and the skin exposed by the short sleeve of the man’s t-shirt. The man's eyes filled with rage and Livingston's strong jaw, even covered with a thick beard, he could see it clench in an agitated rhythm. He was caught between horror and pity, the man was...
“Better get used to it now, boy, you're looking at it for the next four months.”
“I'm…”
Livingston turned away and ended whatever apology he was going to make. He watched as the man angrily unpacked and put away several bags of groceries. He couldn't move or speak. He hadn't expected, hell, he didn't know what he expected.
“Bathrooms through that door. We're off the grid out here. Everything is run by solar power. I have a mobile hot-spot. Signal ain't the greatest, but it works. I need your phone. It'll be turned off for your stay.”
He'd never gone a day without his phone before. There was email. Social media check-in.
“They'll be no arguments. It'll be in the safe.”
“Where will I sleep?”
“Don't worry you won't have to share the bed. I have a bedroll. I'll be just fine on the floor. Unless you need something else, I've gotta crash.”
One minute Livingston was there, and the next he was gone. He sighed and quickly got ready for bed, he turned his phone off and laid it on the kitchen table. The hardwood floors were chilly under his bare feet. He hurried to the bed and curled up, as tired as he was, all he could do was stare at the ceiling.
He'd screwed up, it wasn't as if he hadn't done it before but for some reason, he still felt the need to apologize. Although, he felt Livingston wouldn't accept it.
Despite the scars, the unmarred side was gorgeous. The dips and peaks of the marred skin fascinated him, and he wondered what the texture would be like under his fingertips. He was a tactile person. He’d always had a bad habit of touching things just to see what they felt like. His parents had told him how annoying the habit was when he was little. His mother claimed he’d rubbed a sore spot from the circles he drew on her arm when she’d put him to sleep as a baby. It soothed him. Although, everyone else thought his touching was an irksome quirk.
The lights flashed off, and he tracked Livingston, dim nightlights illuminated the edges of the room. He could only make out shadows as Livingston snapped open a sleeping bag and arranged it, and a pillow on the floor nearest the door.
He held his breath as the man efficiently stripped down to a pair of boxer briefs. He hoped Livingston wouldn’t catch him staring. It was the first time he’d seen a man getting ready for bed.
His parents never let him out of their sight and the only time they left him alone was when his mother was trying to get him a girlfriend to show off.
He used to imagine what it would be like to have a boyfriend. There were plenty of men he’d had crushes on over the years. He’d even worked with another actor when he was a teenager who was about his age who had seemed to flirt with him. Then he’d realized the boy had made it into a game.
He turned over before he got caught. Livingston wasn’t exactly happy to have him there. He understood. Who wanted to babysit someone for four months? Even though the space seemed impersonal, he sensed this was Livingston’s home, probably his sanctuary and now some stranger was taking up space. Hell, he’d taken the man’s bed. He buried his face in the pillow and inhaled, there wasn’t any cologne, no scent at all. Livingston must’ve changed the sheets earlier. He felt stupid for being disappointed. He flopped over onto his back.
When he couldn’t sleep, he’d watched TV, but he didn’t think Livingston would appreciate him turning it on at almost four a.m. This was going to be the longest four months of his life. He turned his head to find Livingston on his back, with his arms crossed under his head. His eyes widened as the moonlight coming through the windows, leaving Livingston’s face in shadows, but shined on the man’s powerful chest. One side was covered with thick dark hair, the other side the hair was thinner—patchy in spots.
He slammed his eyes closed and pulled the pillow over his head. He wasn’t going to survive his stay there.
Three
The Boy was Driving Him Insane
Only three days had passed, and he had enough firewood split to last the next few years. With just him, he didn't bother with a fire, but the boy always seemed cold. Fielding wouldn’t survive a real winter, and if the kid didn't stop watching him, Fielding wouldn't make the next four months.
It wasn't like the boy complained. Fielding didn't seem to miss the comforts of TV or his phone. Fielding read most of the time. Picked up the cabin even though neither of them made a mess. The boy put himself in charge of meals. That was one thing he wasn’t going to fight. Cooking wasn't one of his things.
His phone rang, and he removed it from his back pocket. He answered without checking.
“Livingston.”
“Liv, gotta a favor, man.”
Favor. Favors for his teammate, Little, were never good. He liked the guy, considered him a friend, but the man just wasn’t right. He had some quirks that would make a saint pull out their fucking hair.
“Ya know I'm stuck on babysitting duty.”
“Ain't no thing, Liv, I gotta pass my firearm cert per boss man's orders. Ya know I don't carry unless I don't have a choice. But Linus takes this shit too serious.”
“It is serious, Little. You know you don't pass the course, he grounds your ass.”
“Yeah, Yeah, hand to hand combat I'm the best. My aim just ain't worth shit.”
“Wear your fucking glasses, man.”
“I don't wanna,” Little whined.
He couldn't help grinning. Little was a big ass troublemaker. Didn't take much serious in life but Little loved his job. Linus had threatened to fire Little a few years back, and Little had a panic attack so bad he thought the man was going to have a heart attack.
“I got your back, man, we'll hit the range before I head back to the mountain.”
“Thanks, Liv. So how's the kid?”
“Annoying.”
“Can't be that fucking bad. You weren't stuck in a van with Raul and Pure for two days.”
“ER visit?”
“Fuck, man, it was close. Pure went in pursuit of our runner. Raul was not having that shit. I swear they should just fuck and get it over with.”
“We know Raul ain't claiming his boy anytime soon. If I was Raul, I'd have that boy tied to my bed and punishing him for his recklessness.”
“Good thing you ain’t Raul. Can you imagine Pure submitting to a spanking? I'd pay to see that shit.”
“Don't even think about Pure's virgin ass, Raul will kill you for it.”
“Ain't that the truth.”
“Raul will get his boy without any help from us. He's gonna have his pretty little sub on his knees when the time is right.” He turned back to the house to get a cup of coffee and saw Fielding standing there with crimson stained cheeks and a mug held in a shaking hand.
Well, that's what the brat got for eavesdropping on a private conversation.
“Man, I gotta go, I'll give a call when I'm headed in.”
“Good deal, Liv.”
He disconnected the call and slipped his phone back into his pocket. “That for me?”
“Yes, sir, I didn't mean—” Fielding swallowed hard. “I wasn't listening.”
The boy closed the distance between them quickly and thrust the mug at him. He caught it before it made a trip to the ground.
“Black. I noticed you didn't, um, put anything in your coffee. Is it strong enough?”
He hesitated with the mug at his lips. He swore the boy was holding
his breath waiting for his approval. Taking a sip, it was perfect, but he took his time to see how long Fielding would keep himself from breathing. Nothing much amused him anymore, but that was doing it for him.
During the time the boy was in his home he'd picked up on little things about him. Fielding's need for approval. The boy's natural submissiveness. Fielding was also downright domestic.
“Not bad.”
“I'll do better. Are you going somewhere?”
“No, not for a few more days. We’ll head to the office for a check-in, and see what Linus’ boy, Hunter, found out about your stalker.” Interesting, the stalker comment hadn’t earned a flinch, but the moment he said boy, the kid’s perfectly arched brows rose. “Make a list of anything you need. We’ll hit the store before we come back.”
“Can I get candy and chips?”
The question took him by surprise. Fielding didn’t look like anything fattening ever passed his pretty lips.
“Do you want candy and chips?”
“So much.”
He hid his smile behind his mug at the boy’s longing sigh. He’d noticed the boy didn’t eat very much, not enough in his opinion, but Fielding wasn’t big. Tiny compared to him, probably not for normal sized men.
“We’ll see then.”
“Yes, sir.”
One more submissive little yes, sir with averted eyes and the boy was going to find himself on his knees worshiping his cock. He was too old for the boy, but his dick didn’t seem to have a problem with it. What made it harder to resist Fielding was a natural submissive born to be someone's boy. He was inclined to dominate and to have the perfect boy in front of him was more temptation than he'd ever experienced.
He needed to get Fielding as far away from him as possible and soon.
The last few days were a level of hell that even eclipsed his worst nightmare, and he was going to make sure it ended. He stowed the boy in the conference room and headed straight for Linus' office. He pushed open the door without knocking not giving a shit what he found on the other side. He slammed the door and strode to his boss’ desk.