by BA Tortuga
The light caught on the barrel, and he clamped his hand over Sonny’s mouth as he shoved them both over the side of the bed, blessing the motel gods that put the heaters by the curtains.
“Shooter at the window, man. Easy.”
Sonny had gone full-on battle ready, and he didn’t relax, but he did nod against MJ’s hand, signaling he understood. They stayed low, both of them moving to try to see but not brushing against each other. Not making noise.
There were two. One at the door, one at the window. They wouldn’t dare kill him here. It’d be too fucking noisy. They’d want to take him.
Fuckers.
Sonny tapped his shoulder and motioned, tipping MJ off that he was gonna be on the move, and then he headed for their bag, which was over by the bathroom.
And had all the hardware.
The only advantage they had, hopefully, was that their eyes didn’t have to adjust from the bright parking lot to the dark room.
He moved toward the door, keeping the knob in sight. He could hear them jiggling it, working the lock open. His fingers found Sonny’s jeans, found the two lighters in the front pocket. MJ broke one open and blew the lighter fluid under the edge of the cheap-assed door.
Sonny moved into position behind him, the bag strapped to his back, heavy pistol in his hand.
MJ held up the lighter, scooted back a bit as the lock clicked. One.
The doorknob turned.
Two.
As the door swung open, he tossed the lighter, protecting his eyes against the little flash-bang.
The guy at the door screamed, the flare catching him right at the legs. The window shattered as the guy there went down under Sonny’s fire, Sonny’s free hand on the back of MJ’s neck to keep him down.
The fire went out quick, and so did the screaming as he stood and took the man’s windpipe out with an elbow, the crunch satisfying as fuck.
It was over almost before it began. The guy went down, the other one making wet gurgling noises as Sonny went, shifted through the guy’s pockets, and snatched up wallet and gun and ammunition. Then Sonny popped up in front of him, snagging his sleeve.
“Time to go, Precious.”
“No shit.” He nodded, grabbed his shoes and a set of keys, moving and running before the cops showed.
Before the adrenaline rush faded.
Sonny took all of two minutes to get dressed, and then he was in the car, revving it up, bouncing as he waited. As soon as MJ’s ass touched the seat, Sonny roared out, tossing a pistol in his lap along with a bunch of crap from the shooter’s pockets.
He checked the clip, chambered a round. “Not police issue. Fucking silencers.”
Which was sort of cool. They needed some.
“South or east, Precious?” They’d been choosing daily, just sort of like tossing a dart at a map.
“East.” These weren’t cops. They’d had fake IDs, big cash money, cell phones. “How the fuck did they find us?”
“I don’t know, MJ. When was the last time you logged on? Not Idaho, was it?” Sonny spun out on a curve, slipping right past the interstate, opting for the state highway. Kansas. Right. They were somewhere in Kansas, had slipped down through Wyoming and Colorado yesterday.
“The day after. When I got my money.” How did they do it? Fuck him.
“Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Okay, from here on out, we do radio silence, yeah?” They didn’t have any pursuit. Yet. But the cops would be out. He breathed a sigh of relief when Sonny slowed to the speed limit and cruised just under.
“Yeah.” He started sifting through the stuff, loading another pistol for Sonny, putting the cash in the little hidden pouch they’d made. “There’s two cell phones here. I’ll see if anyone calls them.”
“Okay. The IDs were fake, you said? So that’s not gonna help us figure out where they were from.” Always thinking, his Sonny.
“There’s no credit cards, no pictures.” He looked at the car keys. “Pickup truck. Not a rental, so they were local.”
“No shit? They have local talent in Kansas. Who fucking knew?” Sonny grinned over, white teeth flashing in the semidark of the car. “Lord, Lord, you’re popular, Precious.”
“Yeah, it appears so.” Man, he needed to get his shit together, get off the road. “We might talk about splitting up.”
“No!” Loud, forceful, Sonny growled it out. “You’ve got your money. We just need to get my shit settled, and we can take a nice, long vacation.”
“They aren’t looking for you, Sunshine. Man, you know what kind of a boat we can get?”
“No. You’ll have to tell me. If it’s not a bass boat, it’s beyond me.” Sonny laughed. “And I don’t care who they’re looking for. I am not letting you out of my fucking sight again.”
“You swear?” He didn’t like this. Didn’t like it at all, being hunted.
“Cross my heart, Precious. Mine. You hear?” Oh, that was a pretty redneck sound, that drawl, but MJ kinda liked it.
“I do.” He nodded, reached over and touched Sonny’s shoulder. “I hear you. Let’s find somewhere to burn this ID. I don’t want to be caught with it.”
“Okay. And I need to look at the fucking map. And eat. Wake me up out of a sound sleep to try and shoot at me…. Jesus.”
“Rude assholes. I want bacon.” He looked up at the moon, said a prayer of thanks. Shit, if it hadn’t been for that….
Damn.
“Me too. And maybe waffles. Mmm. We could get syrup packets to go. I could get you very messy.” Sonny reached up to grab his hand, clinging a little too tight.
“Yeah? We haven’t been able to play.” He held right back. Shit, his heart was pounding.
“I know. I say we push through. If we drive straight, it will take us… maybe twenty-eight hours to hit North Carolina. That way we have no stops, and we’ll be harder to find. We can sleep in shifts in the car. Then we can be out of the country in forty-eight.” Sonny glanced over. “What do you say?”
He nodded. “Works for me. Let’s get your shit taken care of and disappear.”
Together.
Chapter Sixteen
THEY WERE in Tennessee. So close Sonny could feel it, and, damn, it felt good to have this almost done.
MJ looked hollow-eyed and pooped, just like Sonny felt. Goddamn, he was ready to be done. Sevierville, Canton, and then Asheville, where they’d meet up with Woody, who would have his money and the supplies they’d need to get to Florida.
Good old Woody.
“Hey, you okay, Precious?” The road was pretty dark, the trees like a tunnel and the curves tight. He didn’t want MJ freaking out on him.
“No, but I’m coping.” MJ kept looking behind them, nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room of rockers.
“We’re almost there, man. We’re almost there.” They’d change out cars, pick up Sonny’s Starfire. They could sleep for a bit, eat, and then head out. The bolt-hole he and Woody kept would be safe enough.
“Yeah. Then we head to the coast. Buy a boat.”
“Yeah. Just laze around a bit.” He patted MJ’s leg, casting around for something to keep him awake. Fuck, his bullet wound was itching. “What does MJ stand for?”
“Manning Jameson. It’s a family name.” MJ’s nose wrinkled, eyes just rolling. “My dad’s James.”
“Well, there you go.” Lord, he’d bet MJ’s folks had money. “I’m a junior. That’s why I’m a Sonny.”
“What’s your full name?” MJ looked over, scooted closer.
“Harrison Robert.” He’d much rather be a Sonny than a Harry Junior. “I like Sonny just fine, thanks.”
Mmm. MJ was warm.
“You don’t look like a Harrison any more than I look like a Manning.” MJ hummed, hand moving along his back, petting.
“Exactly.” Oh good. “’M’all stiff. We got any Twinkies left?”
“Nope. Ding Dong or cherry pie?”
“Ding Dong.” The pie would just be messy as hell. Besides, those were better when they had
time to lick and suck a little. The chocolate would be instant energy.
MJ stretched over, dug in the bags of odds and ends they’d collected, and came up with a Ding Dong, just grinning from ear to ear.
“Don’t you eat both of them, you. I know your addiction, now.” God, he was so close. So close to relaxing.
“Me?” MJ opened one, tore a piece of cupcake off and offered it to him, held in those square fingers.
Sonny grinned before nipping it right out, chewed a little, then licked MJ’s fingers clean. “You. I tell you, Precious, I’ve never seen anyone hoard chocolate cakes like you.”
It was one of the many things he fucking loved about the man.
Sonny swerved, just keeping it on his side of the road. Loved. Whoa.
MJ chuckled, took a bite of his own, eyes on him. “Chocolate is a gift from the gods.”
“It is.” Sonny licked his lips, his mouth dry as a bone. “Water?”
“Okay.” A bottle was dug out, handed over to him, damp and cool and slick in his hand. “You’re okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good, Precious. Just… I just…. Well…. Thinking bad, water good.” He grinned, trying to make light. Lord love a duck.
“No thinking. We get your stuff, and then we go and make ourselves something.” MJ stilled, tilted his head. “Something just ours.”
“I was just thinking that. See why I kinda freaked out?” Laughing, he snatched the rest of the Ding Dong. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
“Greedy.” MJ’s laugh sounded fucking good; the way the man tugged his hand over to suck it clean was even better.
“Pure-D selfish.” Hoo yeah. Canton was close. He could smell the Bowater. Damned paper mills smelled like nothing else. “We’re in North Carolina, Precious. Give me another forty minutes and we can get a room and fuck like bunnies.”
“Works for me.” MJ’s hand slipped down, teased his ass. “Peter Cottontail.”
“Don’t make me start calling you Bugs.” Sonny wiggled. “So, how do you feel about grits?”
“I don’t like them as much as polenta, but they’re better than oatmeal.”
“Polenta. How very California of you.” They’d have to explore cheese grits with bacon drippings. He’d bet he could bring MJ around. “And fried chicken? I know how you feel about the weird bananas.”
“I grew up in Santa Barbara, man. You know—tofu dogs? Fish tacos? Peanut chicken pizza?”
“Peanut chicken… that’s just wrong.” A deer jumped out in front of them but not close enough to hit, flashing off into the woods after giving them a glowing stare. “Pizza should have meat. Maybe veggies.”
“Chicken is meat.” He got another bite of chocolate and creamy middle.
“No, I mean sausage meat,” he said with his mouth full. “And don’t tell me peanuts are vegetables. I mean mushrooms and maybe onions.”
“Oooh. Sausage and mushrooms. Yum.”
See? He knew the man had some sense.
They kept up the food and the chatter all the way into Asheville, where Sonny turned off on a back road, heading up toward his little bolt-hole cabin, which was a hell of a lot nicer than the one he and MJ had met in.
MJ straightened up, started with that weird, almost-vibrating thing again. “We almost there?”
“Uh-huh. You okay?” They had maybe a ten-minute drive.
“Yeah. Nervy. I’m cool. I am.”
“It’s cool. I’d trust Woody with my life.” Hell, he was, wasn’t he? Man, it would be good to get this done. Sonny had been nervy himself, looking over his shoulder, worrying about being a liability. He’d be glad to have some cash, some means. His car.
MJ nodded, sliding one of the pistols into an ankle holster. He had to admit MJ was fucking careful.
He bumped over a cattle guard, knowing it was more of an early warning system than for actual cows. There was his baby, his Starfire, pulled into a little space under the pine trees by the cabin.
“Here we are, Precious. Hot damn.”
“Cool. Let’s get this done. Quick and easy.” MJ went all business just like somebody flipped a switch. Goddamn.
Sonny stared for a minute but then got his ass in gear. Woody might shoot MJ first and then ask questions, so Sonny sort of muscled up in front of him, knocked on the door, grinning as the little sliver of light came from the opening door.
“Hey, honey, I’m home,” Sonny began, just about the time all hell broke loose. The loud pop-pop-pop of a gun going off right fucking next to his ear sorta stunned his ass, and he swore time moved in slow motion as he staggered back, reaching for the gun in his waistband.
Woody grabbed his arm, twisted it up behind his back, and held him still. “No, sir. I don’t think so.”
What the fuck?
He turned his head, blinking at the lack of MJ standing there. It took a second of looking down, staring at the blood pooling around blond hair, before he could even think.
Sonny went a little crazy then, fighting like a madman, trying to get to MJ. He dimly heard someone screaming, the sounds echoing through the woods, acknowledged that it was him, but damned if he could do anything about it, especially when something cracked with sickening force against his head, making the world go dark as his legs gave out.
The last thing he saw was MJ’s still, pale face.
Chapter Seventeen
IT WAS raining.
Raining.
Okay. MJ was all about the rain.
Man, his head was throbbing like he’d been bashed, the rest of him not feeling much better. Fuck him raw. Okay. Okay, focus. Where the hell was he, and what was he…?
Oh.
Right.
Woody.
Motherfucker.
He got himself moving, crawling carefully, holding his head as still as he could.
“Eight years, man,” Woody was saying, even though it was indistinct, like MJ was swimming in molasses. “Eight fucking years I did everything you asked, worked my ass off for you. Did you ever take me to Jamaica? Fuck, no. Why him?” Woody’s voice rose, shaking a little. “Why him and not me?”
Oh no. No.
He did not go through all this bullshit because of a fucking lovers’ quarrel.
MJ reached down, almost hooting as his fingers met cold steel, still in the holster. Fucking A.
He lifted up, just enough to see through the window, see if he had a clean shot.
Sonny was across the room from him, slumped back against a cot with his hands behind him, no doubt tied. The man had blood all down the side of his face and a huge goose egg on his forehead, but his eyes were open, watching Woody pace and wave his arms as he shouted.
Sonny said something MJ couldn’t hear, and Woody stopped, staring. “Well, of course I did. I figured if they killed him, we’d go back to normal. But noooo. They thought he’d be worth more alive. Fuckers.”
“I’ll show you worth more,” MJ muttered under his breath, lined up, cursing as the man walked back over toward Sonny. Move, bastard.
“I trusted you, man.” Oh, now, that he heard—Sonny sounding plaintive, confused as hell. “You were the one person I always trusted.”
“Yeah, and you shoulda thought of that before selling out on me for some asshole with a boat.” Woody didn’t move away, damn it. In fact he moved toward Sonny, waving that fucking big handgun, standing straddle-legged right in front of Sonny’s fucking face.
No.
No fucking way.
Sonny was his.
MJ tapped the window hard, making enough noise that Woody spun around, gun training on him. Come on, fucker. I’m already having a bad fucking day.
Sonny toppled over, rolling off the cot and squirming under it. Good man. Woody, on the other hand, started shooting at him.
He ducked down, first shot taking Woody through the shoulder, second shot going wide. “Drop the gun, motherfucker. Drop it now.”
The gun clattered to the floorboards; he heard it more than saw it, heard Woody curse v
iciously. When he chanced putting his head up, he got to see Sonny roll out from under the cot and take Woody’s legs right out from under him, sending the man crashing to the floor too. Away from the gun, he hoped.
He kept his gun trained on Woody. “You got him, Sunshine?”
He’d be damned if he was going to move toward the door and lose his line of sight otherwise.
“Well, I’m a little tied up,” Sonny said, sounding for all the world like he was laughing. “But he’s out for now, yeah.”
“’Kay.” He did his best not to move his head, just hurried to the door and got the son of a bitch’s gun.
Sonny was lying there, looking at him. Staring, really. “You come back from the dead right nice, Precious.”
“Huh?” He got Woody’s gun, settled the back of his pistol against the base of the man’s skull. “You okay?”
“No. My head feels like it’s been run over by a combine. How’s your noggin?” Sonny wiggled to a sitting position before promptly turning to one side and retching.
Fuck. Okay. Shit.
MJ refused to follow suit. No fucking way. He was cool. He was going to pistol-whip this redneck bastard, who had the brass balls to think interfering with him and Sonny was a good idea, and then they were leaving.
“Okay. Okay, sorry.” Sonny sat back up, looking like warmed-over shit. “I need… I need my hands, man. I’ve got to get my shit together. We’ve got to get out of here.”
Woody moaned then, starting to stir.
MJ looked over at Sonny, nodded, and slammed the butt of his pistol on the back of the man’s head. He wasn’t sure how Sonny felt about his ex-lover’s brains spattering everywhere, but Sonny was already puking anyway.
“Turn around, Sunshine. Let’s get you free.” Fuck, there was blood everywhere. Goddamn.
Sonny moved carefully, avoiding the nasty spots on the floor, presenting his hands.
MJ untied the torn sheet and stepped back as soon as Sonny was free. Some people responded badly to being tied up.
Sonny just rubbed his wrists before turning back and reaching for MJ’s cheek, thumb sliding up to stop short of MJ’s temple. “Fuck, that looks ugly, Precious. We need…. Fuck. I don’t know what we need.”