Road Trip, Volume 1

by BA Tortuga

  “Okay.” Sonny thought about it. “But I think you should be unarmed….”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “I think that Englishman brings out the worst in you, Precious.” The snarly, sexy, fucking hot psycho.

  “I think you’re probably right.” MJ nodded, forehead on his shoulder. “Then you have to be.”

  “I will. No problem. You know I can handle a weapon, huh?” He grinned, thinking of that silly rifle and MJ’s knife and, and….

  MJ nodded, eyes burning into him sorta. “I know. I trust you.”

  “Yeah.” He touched MJ’s cheek. “And I trust you with my life. Just not the Brit’s.” He grinned. Neil made MJ crazy.

  MJ chuckled, the sound damn near a snort. “We’re having a moment, redneck. Don’t screw it up.”

  “Oh, right. How about this?” He took a kiss, deep and slow and almost lazy, but that underlying emotional shit? Heavy.

  “Mmm… that works. Do it again.”

  “Yeah. Love it.” Sonny kissed MJ again and again, wondering if his body could even contemplate three.

  MJ grinned, nibbled his bottom lip lazily, just basking. Basking. Like lizards. Sonny figured he could handle that for right now. They could go question the mad scientist and the Brit later. Sooner or later they’d have to stop putting it off.

  But not now.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  BOOMER WAS blowing foam into the end of a gun and then dragging a fuzzy thing through it. It was sort of fascinating, really. In that “Gee you’ve got a lot of guns” way.

  Paddy sat in the shade of the little cabin, Neil standing close by, staring out into the water. Sonny was sort of pacing, looking at Boomer over and over, the sun shining on the man’s bald head.

  “You’re going to get sunburned on your head.” Paddy sunburned a lot; he knew. Well, except not on his head because he had hair and shit.

  “Honey, it’s been years since I burned.”

  Well, maybe that was true. Sonny had that… crinkly look.

  “Oh. Are you going to let us go?”

  Boomer arched an eyebrow, looked over. “Eventually, yeah. I need to know who you both work for.”

  “I work for Bethy at M3 Research. You know that.” This whole “Where do you work” thing was getting old.

  Neil said nothing, just standing there and staring. And staring. It was kinda creepy.

  “I need to know who your sidekick works for, Rick. I need to know what he knows about us.” Boomer’s eyes were sorta scary, really. Sort of inhuman.

  “We don’t know anything about you.”

  Well, they did but they didn’t. Know. They more knew in that whole Neil-reading-minds way, which he really didn’t think Boomer would like.

  “Leave him alone. Haven’t you done enough?” Oh, now Neil spoke. Like all cold and British.

  “No one forced him to design weapons. He wasn’t there under lock and key.” Man, MJ could do icy cold too.

  Neil turned those funny-colored eyes on Boomer, staring right through him. “You were in the Program. You know what they keep from you.”

  “Are you working for him?”

  MJ’s stare pierced Neil; it looked sort of painful, really. Paddy tilted his head, trying to figure out who “he” was supposed to be. Boomer knew Neil didn’t work for him.

  “No. His boss, Bethy, was told to hire me. At least so far as I know. I was supposed to protect him.” Neil’s face twisted, his shoulders hunching up.

  “So how did she know about us?” MJ’s head tilted. “Rick, was she part of the Program?”

  “The Program? You mean school?” Paddy shook his head. No. No, Bethy had been at M3 way longer than him.

  “I mean the Program, Rick. Jesus, open your eyes, man. You think everyone went to college and got a PhD before they were twenty?”

  “Well, no….” Of course not. They were smart. Really smart.

  Sonny turned at the end of one pace and glared at them all impartially. “Are we getting anywhere, Precious?”

  “I could shoot Rick in the leg and see if it helps.”

  He would be more worried if the gun wasn’t in about a thousand pieces.

  “You could. But maybe you need to start asking better questions.” Oh, snarly. He didn’t think he would take on Boomer that way.

  “Better questions? Fine. How do you know the personal information about us, you smarmy little fuckhead?” MJ started putting the gun back together, not even having to look at the pieces.

  “Endearments will get you nothing.” Now Neil was smiling, looking at MJ like he was some kind of weird bug.

  “No, but I can make your lover scream like nothing you have ever heard.” MJ’s eyes went dead, icy, and Paddy scrambled to his feet as MJ stood. “I won’t enjoy it, but I have no intentions of allowing my employers to figure out that none of the bodies in the explosion were yours. Give me the information I need, Neil, or I will make you extremely sorry.”

  Oh.

  Oh God.

  Oh, that would….

  Oh.

  “Stop. Leave Paddy alone, for God’s sake.” Neil moved faster than Paddy would have thought he could. Especially on a boat. Neil was in front of him in no time flat, protecting him. “There is no file on you, Manning. You or Harrison Junior there either.”

  “You have exactly fifteen seconds to explain yourself, or I’ll make him pay. Fifteen. Fourteen.”

  Paddy turned, looking for the hatch, for something. He needed a weapon.

  “Thirteen. Twelve.”

  “Precious. Stop.” Okay, Sonny sounded like the voice of reason now. That was kind of scary, but Sonny moved between MJ and Neil. It was like watching a bizarre game of checkers. He kept expecting one of them to shout “King me!”

  “He knows your name, Sonny.”

  “Yeah, and if you kill him, we’ll never know what we want to.” Sonny turned on Neil. “He’s gonna kill you, man, unless you tell him. I might help.”

  “He reads minds, okay? No killing him. Neither one of you!” Paddy grabbed Neil, pulling him away from those two, away from the guns.

  Sonny and MJ stared at him like he’d grown two heads. Neil just chuckled and pulled him close, lips against his temple.

  “He’s lost it.” MJ tilted his head, looked over at Paddy. “Did Sonny drug you again?”

  “Has he?” Neil smiled against his skin before looking up at Boomer. “Tell me, how much do you miss Jerome?”

  Sonny tilted his head. “Who’s Jerome?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest fucking id….” MJ went still, eyes fastened on Neil like lasers, and Paddy could feel the danger in the air like the ozone right before the lightning hit.

  “Yes, you were what? Six? And he was a lovely little hound mix. Now tell me that would be in your jacket, sweetcheeks.”

  MJ lunged for Neil, one hand wrapped around Neil’s throat, fingers squeezing. “How did you know that?”

  “MJ! He can’t tell you if you strangle him!” Sonny was there in a flash, pulling them apart.

  MJ swung around, hitting Sonny in the jaw with a solid pop.

  Okay.

  Okay.

  Paddy grabbed Neil’s wrist and tugged. Down. Down. Neil said MJ was scared of closed spaces. They were better off in the belly of the boat.

  He heard a tussle, Sonny grunting and MJ shouting, but all he cared about was Neil and safe and yes. Down.

  “Good job, sweet. That’s very good,” Neil said when they hit the lower deck.

  “Oh God. Okay. Okay. He’s going to kill you. He’s crazy. I can’t. He has guns and things, and he hates you, and I am on a boat!” The words just kept coming, Paddy stamping and screaming and waving his hands while his blood pounded in his ears so loud he couldn’t even hear himself.

  “Stop. Stop, Paddy. Just stop.” He thought Neil was gonna slap him. Neil kissed him instead, cutting off his air and his thoughts.

  Paddy swayed a little, the world gone cotton-white and still. Neil.


  His Neil.

  “I’ve got you.” Neil said it against his mouth, or maybe never said it out loud at all, just passing it right into his head.

  Sorry. He was…. He just couldn’t. Neil’s fingers brushed that spot on the back of his neck, and the panicworryshame shattered again.

  Oh.

  Neil.

  “Love.” Neil, right there, warm and alive and good and not with MJ, who had lost it.

  Yes. Love. Paddy clung to Neil, both of them breathing together, in sync. Easier. This was easier.

  “Yes, much easier. Much.” Neil kissed his forehead, stroking his back. “They won’t hurt me. They need me.”

  “Why?”

  Neil had the prettiest eyes….

  “I’m not sure… but I know it.” Neil knew shit. He was good that way. He also had a glorious mouth.

  “Okay.” They could lock the door. Hide down here. Together.

  “No. No, I need to talk to them. I could do it alone, if you want to stay here.” Neil was worried for him. He could hear it loud and clear.

  “No. No, they’ll hurt you.” Boomer was crazy. Really.

  “He wants to, but under all that, he’s really quite smart.” He noticed Neil didn’t say sane.

  “He’s the smartest man I ever met.” At least Boomer had been before he died.

  “Shhh. I know. He’s not your friend like he was once. But he could not kill you. I think we’re making progress.” He could hear Neil’s smile, feel it on his skin.

  “What happened to him, Neil? Do you know?”

  “He had a rather nasty life-changing experience. Someone close to him died rather gruesomely.” Wow. That was sad. Neil even sounded sympathetic, and that was hard to do when someone tried to kill you all the time.

  “Well, what do we do now?” How did they get out of this without getting dead?

  “I’m not sure. I’ll think of something, hmm?” Neil wanted him to rest now. To stop worrying and save his strength.

  “Yeah.” He didn’t want to be worthless. Pointless. He wanted to be strong.

  “You are far from worthless, love. Kiss me some more.”

  Okay. Yeah, okay, he could so do that.

  Paddy reached up, held on to Neil and kissed the man with all he was. Love. No hurting his Neil.

  Love. Neil loved him too. So much.

  He thought maybe—maybe—they’d figure things out.

  Without dying.

  He was really hoping for that not dying part.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “A FUCKING mind reader? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? What the hell is going on here?” He paced and growled, bare feet slapping on the deck. Mind reading. He didn’t fucking believe it.

  He didn’t.

  Except. Hell, he hadn’t thought of Jerome in ten years, not until the day they were on the road and he saw an ugly little mutt that looked just like….

  No.

  MJ shook his head. “It isn’t possible, goddammit. It isn’t. Fuck. What the hell is going on here?”

  “I don’t know, Precious. But it makes as much sense as anything.”

  Lord save him from people from the Deep South. Sonny believed in hoodoo or whatever. For fuck’s sake. MJ headed back toward the bow of the boat, trying to make a plan. He could just shoot them both. No. That was shitty karma. Fuck, he believed the little son of a bitch when Paddy said he hadn’t known. Shit. He could just shoot Neil. Neil had to have known.

  Had to.

  Sonny followed him, staring and silent, bald head shining in the sun. Damn, but that man still looked good, even when he wasn’t in the mood to be distracted.

  Okay. Okay. Think.

  No looking at Sonny.

  Think.

  Someone hired Neil to protect Paddy.

  Someone hired him to kill Rick.

  Someone….

  Wait.

  Wait.

  He stood at the hatch, growling down. “Who the fuck do you work for?”

  He’d be goddamned if he was getting fucked.

  “Me?” That smug British voice floated up. “Why, the Foundation, of course. I told you. Bethy hired me.”

  Fucking liar.

  He didn’t know a Bethy, but he knew when he was being dry-fucked. It wouldn’t be the first time in recent memory.

  “I am not a liar! Well, at least not in this instance.” That pale face appeared in his line of sight. “I swear to you, it was your Foundation. Or at least that was what they told Bethy.”

  “My Foundation?” He was confused. Did Neil mean the Program? Harry? What?

  “Yes. The Program. It’s the Foundation of something something now.”

  Sheer horror filled him, flashes of Paula in that container, the way she bloated, the way Greg looked when that bastard put a bullet in her brain, then left him trapped. Trapped. Fuck. He…. Fuck. Murderers. Motherfucking bastards.

  “MJ. Jesus, what is it?” Sonny was right there, hands on his shoulders, shaking him. Or maybe he was shaking anyway. Sunshine sure did look scared.

  “I….” He stepped away, trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. What the fuck to do.

  “No. Don’t you shut me out, Precious. We’re partners. You and me. A team. You tell me.” Sonny always put like five more syllables in shit when he was upset. “Tell” came out “Tey-all.”

  His mouth sort of opened and closed, the thoughts swirling in his head faster than he could talk. So many fucking years. So many fucking sins. Paula rotting in that goddamned box. Rotting right there, and he couldn’t get out, and they fucking set him up. “He works for them, Sonny. For those bastards. Did they find me? Did you know I was coming, you bastard? All these fucking years I’ve stayed under their radar, and now…. Did you fucking set me up? I’ll tear you apart, I swear to God!”

  “Shit.” Sonny disappeared when his fist went through the door, but just about the time he got his hand worked free and was about to go down there and drag that fucking Neil out by the hair, Sonny was back. With a syringe. “You want me to drug you, Precious? You don’t calm down, I so will.”

  “Don’t you fucking dare.” He didn’t want to fight with Sonny, goddammit.

  “Then fucking calm down and tell me what’s going on!” Those dark eyes just burned into his. “You think I like it that he knows and I got no clue?”

  “I don’t know!” MJ held Sonny’s glare, let it give him somewhere to stand. “I don’t know, but we have to figure it out, because if that motherfucker knows I’m alive….”

  Then he was deeply, deeply fucked.

  “Who? If who knows you’re alive? Goddammit, MJ! You talk about me and Woody. If you have some ex-boyfriend with a death wish with your name on it….”

  “Boyfriend?” MJ stopped, blinked, considering barfing up a lung. “God, no.”

  “So what? An old boss? An evil scientist?” Sonny waved his arms. “Boo.”

  “Boo.” He swayed, hand reaching for Sonny. “Lock them downstairs.”

  They so needed to talk.

  “Okay.” Sonny went down with the syringe still in his hands. He and Neil exchanged a few murmured words, then the hatch closed, and Sonny was back. “You want a beer?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded, stepping close to Sonny, hand sliding around the man’s waist. “Yeah. I’m…. Yeah, Sonny.”

  “I got you.” The questions stopped, the fighting went away, and Sonny just pulled him right up against that solid fucking brick house of a body and wrapped around him. Giving him what he needed.

  He pushed up and pulled down, bringing their lips together, breathing in Sonny-flavored air. Oh. Better. Sonny kissed him hard enough to bruise, hands on the back of his head, fingers sinking into his hair. That made things a whole lot better.

  The kiss went on and on, bruising and burning deep down. When they settled, staring at each other, both of them panting and holding on, MJ felt like he might make it. “Hey.”

  “Hey. We making out or talking? Because we could get more com
fy.” He got a grin, Sonny’s chest rising and falling fast.

  “Both, and yeah. Comfy.” His own smile just pushed out of him. Okay. See him. See him cope.

  “Come on.” They sat on one of the benches, the cushion soft beneath them, the sun shining down on them.

  Okay. Yeah. Better.

  MJ leaned over, rested his cheek against Sonny’s shoulder. “When I was a kid, I got recruited into this thing. They called it the Program….”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  SONNY SAT with MJ leaning against him, one arm around the man’s waist. Goddamn. He thought Precious was fucked-up, but now he was amazed at how sane the guy really was. After all that….

  Government and training and shooting and…. Jesus.

  He kissed MJ’s neck. “But you’re with me now,” he said, when MJ was quiet. “So we’ll figure it out.”

  “Yeah.” MJ nodded. “Yeah, we will. I’m not losing this now.”

  “Good.” That was what counted. Sonny wasn’t much on dwelling. He tilted MJ’s face up for a kiss, taking that mouth with everything he had.

  It took a second for MJ to catch up, but when that crazy son of a bitch did? Goddamn. MJ kissed him back so hard his goddamn toes curled. They got busy pretty damned fast, hands sliding on bare chests and bellies, pulling at the loose pants they wore on the boat. Sonny needed all of MJ, needed to show him that he was real and okay and that even mind readers meant nothing when they had this.

  MJ’s hand was hard as fuck against his neck, keeping him close, keeping him right fucking there. Sonny shoved MJ down on his back, muscling between those pretty legs, cock rubbing on MJ’s like there was no tomorrow.

  “Fuck me. Want to feel you.” Demanding son of a bitch.

  “Yeah? Want me in you, Precious? How much do you want?”

  “I want everything.” MJ met his eyes, serious as a heart attack. Jesus.

  “We’ve got plenty of lube, right?” Six tubes, he’d counted. He could think of one thing that would let MJ know he was Sonny’s. Twenty-four seven, three sixty-five.

  “I bought out the Food Lion.”