by BA Tortuga
“I know, and as soon as I find out what I need, we’ll do that.” Man, he really needed one of those memory-eraser drugs that were in all the spy novels. That would come in incredibly handy.
“Then what do you want from me? I shall try to give it.” Reaching out, Neil took Rick’s hands, playing with Rick’s fingers.
“I need to know who this person is I need to speak with. I need to know who was setting who up. I need to know what’s going on.” His control started to get frayed around the edges.
Sonny gripped his shoulders hard a minute, then let go a bit, and his muscles unclenched. “He just needs to know what you know.”
“Very well.” Neil pursed his lips a moment. “Bethy hired me. I told you that. She explained to me that I was working for a foundation of some sort, not the government. But she truly believes that. So I think you need to start with whoever hired you. She knew him as Greg.”
No. No, Greg wasn’t…. He’d been funneling jobs through the same fuckhead for years. And Harry knew—knew just what to say to make sure he took the fucking job. Knew what to offer. Knew how to make sure he was at the right place at the right time. Goddammit.
Goddammit.
He knew he couldn’t trust Harry. Hell, he’d never even seen the man in person. He needed the man behind….
“Who manages you, man? Who calls your shots?”
“That’s really not important. My contact is not your problem.” Neil seemed pretty damned sure, but, hell, how did he know?
“Why should I believe you?” He needed to think. Neil’d said he’d give up information, but the son of a bitch hadn’t given him anything.
“Well, I cannot know everything, naturally. But I know my source.” Neil spread his hands, the one holding Rick’s bouncing a little. “Most of the people working with Paddy had no idea.”
“Most?” He could get the boss lady out, find out what she knew. Sonny didn’t like dealing with the girls, though. He had that weird scared-of-crying-girls thing.
“Well, I occasionally got a twinge, but honestly, had they known, do you think Paddy and I would have been there for you to find?”
“How come you didn’t know I was coming?” Because if the boss lady knew, Neil should have known, right?
“I told you! I never heard you coming. Not a peep from anyone… and as loud as you are. Christ.” That face screwed up like Neil had sucked something sour.
“You were fucking him. You got distracted and fucking missed me.” What was the son of a bitch supposed to do if he had heard them coming?
“I was supposed to call Bethy. She’d call Greg, your handler.”
Greg wasn’t his handler. That was….
Sonny leaned down, whispered a little. “You’re going in circles.”
“You have a suggestion?” He leaned his head back, met Sonny’s eyes. “Because this is driving me crazy.”
“Well, I tell you what, Precious. He seems awful intent on your source. That either means you should meet with him or it’s a setup. Either way, you get the guy responsible.”
MJ thought about that, nodded. They’d take Neil and Rick with them, and if anything went wrong, he’d pop them both, take Sonny, and run.
“Oh, I think not. We’ll go, but there will be no popping.” Neil crossed his arms over his chest, glaring.
That blind rage caught him again, and he stared over. Get out of my head, you son of a bitch, or I will make you bleed.
Those eyes went wide, and Neil pressed one hand to the side of his head, looking pained. “No killing us. We’re cooperating.”
Okay, then. That worked. “Good. I’m not interested in killing you.”
Random death was shitty karma.
Paddy started to flutter, eyes huge. “Don’t hurt him. Don’t, okay.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Now it was Sonny getting all growly. “Stop with the blinky shit, okay? Everyone is going to get along, stay in their corners, and work together, okay? Y’all behave,” Sonny said, pointing to Rick and Neil. “And you chill out.”
Oh. That stinging bite to his shoulder helped.
“I’m chilled.” He grinned, shook his head. Sonny didn’t suffer fools; Rick’d better get his shit together.
“Yeah. You’re a stud.” Sonny pinched his ass, probably just for good measure. “You, Mr. Brit, need to sit down and write down everything you know. Little Red can help you. I am going to make some real food. Precious, no shooting, stabbing, or exploding.”
“Not even a wee baby kaboom?” Asshole.
“Not unless it’s someone farting.”
Hell, even Rick laughed at that.
“Bitch.” MJ leaned back, looked over at Neil. “You make good money reading minds?”
“I have in the past, yes. I confess, I’m not sure how well I shall do in the future.”
“Yeah, it sucks to get bent over and dry-fucked.” He knew. Fortunately, he planned ahead.
Sonny snorted, the sound loud as all hell. “I thought you liked it.”
“Watch it, redneck, or we’ll try it a few times and see if you get used to it.”
Rick was making these great odd noises.
“Uh-huh. You try it and I’ll clean your plow.” He did love that man’s laugh, all low and rough and hot.
“Promises, promises.” Man, they hadn’t had a good brawl in days. He turned, trusting Sonny to watch his back as he stole a kiss. Sonny watched his back and felt it up too, kissing him hard and deep, needy as anything. Yeah. That was the ticket. He ignored the groan from the Brit and the little peep from Rick. This was their motherfucking boat. They could make out if they wanted.
“Looks like we scared ’em off,” Sonny said when they came up for air. Sure enough, Rick and Neil had disappeared belowdecks again.
“Good for us. It’s our high level of studliness. They can’t bear it.”
“There you go.” Grinning, Sonny pulled him closer, cupping his ass. “Whatever will we do with ourselves?”
“Mmm. Fuck like bunnies?” He was so helpful.
“We could do that.” His meth-lab man was up for anything.
“Oh good.” He muscled Sonny back a little, hands sliding up that fine fucking body. “I need to contact Harry. Meet him.”
“Okay. We need a landline, then.” Yeah, they wouldn’t want to give up their boat, their position.
“Yeah. You’ll drop me off, let me make the call and set shit up. Then I’ll get you once it’s done.”
“Oh fuck that. I’m gonna have your back, Precious.” Sonny kissed him good and hard, taking all his air. “No more splitting up.”
MJ sorta blinked, gasping for air a second before nodding. Okay. Okay. Damn. He pushed into another kiss, tongue fucking Sonny’s lips. Sonny held him there, hard against him, like the proverbial immovable object. Shit, that man could make him melt. Good thing he was on MJ’s side.
MJ crawled right up his own personal redneck, humping one hard thigh, fingers rubbing against the stubble on Sonny’s scalp. Bastard needed to shave.
“Mmm. Yeah. Man, you need to shave me.” Looked like maybe Sonny was the one reading his mind now. That didn’t bother him near as much.
“Hell yes.” He got off on that, straddling those fine hips, rubbing and shaving and baring that skin.
“Oh damn, Precious.” Okay, so maybe he was rubbing and humping now. And Sonny was lifting him so their cocks slid together.
“Later. Later. This now.” Fuck, he loved this, loved fucking under the sun.
“Uh-huh.” Sonny freed one hand, reaching down to slip it into MJ’s baggy pants, grasping his cock and stroking.
“You are a strong bastard.” His eyes rolled back in his head, balls tight as anything. “You bring out the beast, Precious.” That hand just pulled and pushed and made him crazy. Sonny knew every sensitive spot, every fucking place on his body that would ping.
MJ leaned forward, bit the join of neck and shoulder, growling low as he shot.
“Uhn.” Shaking, Sonny hum
ped up against him, hips moving fast in that redneck’s gotta-come rhythm. And damned if Sonny didn’t come for him, right in those too-tight jeans.
They both slumped to the deck, kissing and holding on as they rode it through.
“Goddamn, MJ. Need to get you all worked up more often, huh?” Sonny grinned, dark eyes dancing for him, lips looking swollen as all fuck.
“You like it, huh?” He licked Sonny’s bottom lip, catching it between his teeth and tugging a little.
“I like all the parts.” Those hands were working him again, sliding down to his ass, then up his back, massaging along either side of his spine.
“Yeah.” He met those dark eyes, jonesing on the look there. “Gonna figure this shit out, dump our excess baggage, and get the hell out on the water.”
“Sounds like a plan, Precious. Sounds like a hell of a plan.”
MJ nodded. A hell of a plan or a fucking disaster looking for a place to happen.
Either way, it wouldn’t be boring.
Chapter Forty
TOMORROW MORNING they’d hit land in the Bahamas. He and MJ had agreed on the Bahamas, finally. He’d wanted Florida so they could hit land and run if they had to. MJ had wanted someplace that wouldn’t foul the nest if things went bad.
They were still arguing, naturally.
Neil and Paddy had been mostly hiding, but now they were out on deck, watching him and MJ like they were watching a tennis match. Lord.
“No. We gotta make the call from one side of the island and meet somewhere else.”
“We’re going to call and watch. They’ll come to where we called from, anyway.”
“Well, no shit. But goddammit, I won’t have you getting caught. You hear me?” He got up in MJ’s face, ignoring the audience.
“I don’t intend to get caught, asshole!” MJ thumped against him, their chests slapping.
“Yeah, well, you didn’t last time either, did you?” Jesus Christ, this was the most stubborn man on earth. After him.
“If your fuck buddy hadn’t screwed me, I wouldn’t have!”
“He wasn’t my fuck buddy anymore! That’s your job!” His teeth snapped together on the end of that one, inches from MJ’s nose.
Those blue eyes flashed, the look going from pissed to satisfied, just like that. “You bet your ass it is.”
“Then you know it’s also your job to stay alive.”
“I’m not going to leave you. I’m not going to fucking die. Bastard.”
“Good.” He took a kiss, hard and deep, good and hot. Yeah. Goddamn.
MJ groaned, tongue fucking his lips, hands on his shoulders.
“They’re going at it again.” That was the little shit.
Sonny turned on Paddy, growling, his hands clenching. “If you weren’t here, we’d be banging like bunnies. I tell you, it’s tempting to toss you overboard.”
“I bet he’d float.” MJ’s hands cupped his ass, squeezing good and hard.
“Mmm.” He went up on tiptoe, baring his teeth at Neil, who looked vaguely amused and kind of horrified.
“What I don’t get is why they don’t fuck more often. You’d think they’d want to get it all in now.” Those hands slid around his belly.
“I think they’re afraid we might see.”
“I think you two have an unnatural preoccupation with fucking,” Neil said, sneering. “What do you plan to do with us while you meet?”
“We’re going to strip you, tie you to poles, and put signs that say ‘Fresh Meat’ around your necks.” MJ sounded plumb tickled.
“Oh, now that’s a good one.” Sonny approved. Damn.
Neil didn’t. He just stared. “Yes, well, we’re not the catch of the day.”
MJ started working Sonny’s balls, nice and easy. “No, not quite fresh, but you’re not on ice. Yet.”
Sonny rocked, humming a little as his cock drew up hard and his belly went tight.
“Neither are you. But Greg is still looking for you, Manning, and if you’re not careful, you’ll end up in a box with a bullet in your brain.”
He felt the growl a half second before MJ fucking pole-vaulted around him and launched himself at the Brit like a fucking missile. Shit.
The Brit dodged, but not for long, and Sonny took two long steps so he could pry the clenched hands off Neil’s throat. “Stop it, Precious.”
MJ was tight as a board against him, muscles quivering. “Son of a bitch.”
“Me? Oh, I think not. You’re the hired killer.” Neil was rubbing his throat but standing his fucking ground. You had to admire the sheer stupidity of that.
“You stay out of my goddamned mind, you lousy prick, or I will rip your brains out of your nose with a hook.” Man, that was a good threat.
“Graphic and pithy, babe.” Gotta love it. MJ seemed calm enough to let go of him, though. Seemed levelheaded.
Which just proved that looks were deceiving.
MJ lunged forward and head butted Neil in the gut. Neil’s hands came down with a dull thud on MJ’s neck, and MJ grabbed both arms and sent Neil flying over his inked back and across the deck.
Things would have been fine then, if the little redheaded shit hadn’t cold-cocked MJ in the temple with the butt end of a screwdriver. “You leave him alone!”
MJ blinked at him and swayed, then hit the deck himself.
Sonny roared, popping Paddy right in the nose, sending him skittering back to land on his ass. Then he checked MJ, making sure nothing important was broken.
MJ’s eyes were rolling, but they came to rights, staring at him. “Little shit hit me.”
“With a tool. I thought you cleaned out belowdecks.” He helped MJ sit up, watching Paddy and the Brit, who were kinda in the same position they were.
“I thought I did too.”
Man, he was going to have to dump the hostages or buy a bigger boat.
One with a bigger hold. Someplace dark and wet and echoing and fucking empty. As soon as he knew MJ was okay, he padded over to the other two, reached down to pull his gun out of his ankle holster.
“Empty your pockets.”
“I’m tired of him hurting Neil.” Man, the kid’s balls finally dropped. Too bad the timing sucked.
“Uh-huh, and he’s tired of the bastard raping his mind. You might be happy to mind meld or whatever, but we’re not. Empty. Your. Pockets.” The kid held his eyes long enough for him to cock the pistol, then the pockets got emptied. Man, the little fuck could scavenge.
“Jesus. Were we that fucking careless? Now back up.” He waited until both Neil and Paddy slid back toward the rail before confiscating all the shit.
MJ was getting to his feet, stumbling a bit, temple swelling up already.
“Goddamn.” He was gonna kill the little shit himself. No one hurt his MJ. No one.
“I’m good. Need some fucking ice.” MJ looked over at Paddy. “You try it again, he’ll kill you. It was a good shot.”
“Too good. Get your asses down belowdecks.” He’d had it. He needed to look at MJ’s head. Good thing it was like a rock.
Paddy’s mouth opened, but the Brit grabbed the kid’s hand, and they ran like a pair of scared jackrabbits.
“You gonna live?” he asked, turning to take MJ’s cheeks in his hands, tilting MJ’s head this way and that.
“I think so. Watch the lump.” MJ’s eyes were a little wild, but the man was right there with him.
“I’m watching. It’s growing. Almost as good as the one I gave you one time….”
“Yours always hurt worse.” MJ leaned into his touch, just like that.
“Yeah? Good to know. These days I only hurt because I care.” He grinned, touching his nose to the end of MJ’s.
“Ah. Tough love.” MJ licked his lips, eyes serious as hell. “One way or another, Sunshine, we dump the cargo.”
“Yeah. It’s gonna weigh us like an anchor. We’ll have to watch that kidnapping thing.” MJ was the only one he wanted to keep, hold on tight and just run with him.
> “Yeah. We need to watch that whole working for scary fucks thing too. I’m getting old.”
“No shit. Hell, we’re semiretired anyway. I can probably get us a few side jobs that are less terrifying.” He dropped his hands to massage MJ’s shoulders.
“Yeah? Going to teach me how to make booze?” It said a shitload, how MJ let him rub, rested against him.
“Mm-hmm. Teach you how and then get you drunk on it.” That would be something to behold, he’d bet. God, they needed this fucking over. Now.
“Sounds perfect. We haven’t been drunk in weeks.”
“Nope. And you’ll amuse the fuck out of me.” It felt good to hold on and love on MJ a little. No humping or hitting. Just leaning and feeling.
“Yep. You’ll laugh and forget to take pictures, and I’ll flirt and hump you into the deck.”
“Fuck yes, Precious. My own personal hump toy.” He grinned when MJ pinched his ass. “What?”
“Hump toy? Redneck.”
“I have never denied that….” He loved it when MJ got that snap back, that hot little rumble.
“Like you could. You probably dream about NASCAR.”
“No, I dream about fucking your ass.” He did. Even after he’d done it all night. That whole only him thing just did it for him.
“Mmm. You have fucking hot dreams.” MJ turned to nuzzle his throat, lips and teeth on his skin.
“I do. You’re inspiring.” He squeezed MJ’s shoulders, then slid his hands down to cup that fine ass.
MJ snorted, teeth sliding on his skin, biting down. “Yeah, yeah.”
“You are. You inspire all sorts of shit. Poetry.” He let his hand push around to trace MJ’s ink. “Art.”
“Mmm. You still gonna ink me?” He could fucking hear the need in MJ’s voice.
“I am. Gonna mark you good. We should do that when we’re on dry land too.” Assuming shit didn’t go horribly wrong.
“Yes. Swells make for shitty tattoos.”
“Not to mention I’d have to use a razor and India ink or something….” Which, well, ew.
“No. That sounds less than cool, Sunshine.” Yeah, MJ was all protective of his skin and shit. Even if he did sun worship.