Someone was talking in a low, pleading voice. Johnny didn’t have to hear the words to know what he was saying. He’d sounded just like that. It hadn’t changed anything.
The door was cracked maybe an inch. No light came in. He pressed his eye to the crack.
First he saw Sloane’s face, the hard face of a man who’d stopped listening. He was pushing his unzipped pants down with one hand and bending a boy over the couch, a boy about Johnny’s age, naked, ass up. Trembling, Johnny saw that the naked boy’s eyes were squeezed shut. He was gritting his teeth, and his whole face was deep red. Sweat or tears were running down his cheeks. Whatever was about to happen, it wasn’t the first time.
Johnny knew he should go back to bed, should press the door closed, but he couldn’t. Just hours ago, he’d wanted Sloane to have him, to give him anything he wanted. Now he could see what Sloane wanted, and how he wanted it.
Thunder rolled overhead again, louder this time, shaking the walls. Like he’d woken up from a bad dream, Sloane backed away, looking at Johnny’s door. "Get dressed.” He handed the boy his clothes. “And tell my brother I said I’ll pay off your debt. Go home.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Hurry up,” Sloane said. “Before the storm gets you.”
The boy pulled his pants on, grabbed his shirt, and went out, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Sloane bent down, out of Johnny’s view, and when he stood up, his chest was still bare, but his pants were done up. He moved silently across the living room, toward Johnny’s door, barefoot. Johnny fought the instinct to slam the door and lock it. He moved backward carefully, desperate to stay on his feet, not wanting to find himself on his back looking up at Sloane.
Sloane pushed the door open. “What are you doing up?”
One bad step, and Johnny would be on his back, looking up at Sloane’s hard on. Trying not to let his lips tremble, he said, “Thunder woke me.”
Sloane moved past him and sat on the bed. “Storms scare you?”
Uneasy at the thought of Sloane behind him, Johnny turned around. “Yeah. Sometimes.” But lying to Sloane made Johnny even more nervous. “No,” he said. “All the time. Even little ones.”
Sloane got a look on his face like Johnny had a lot worse things to be scared of. “I need to tell you something,” he said.
“What?”
“If anyone asks where I found you, don’t talk about Donnelly. Don’t tell anyone you were his driver.”
The storm was really revving up. Wind was blowing over the glass roof. He was alone with Sloane. He should have stayed with the Packard. “I won’t make any trouble for you,” Johnny said.
“I know.”
Something about the way Sloane said it, the way he kept his voice low made him seem harmless, the way a tiger with a full belly could be harmless. “You think they’ll play the game tomorrow if the field’s all wet?”
“Maybe.” Sloane fell back onto the bed and scrubbed his hands over his face. “If they don’t, I’ll take you somewhere else.”
Johnny took in Sloane’s hard flat belly, his arms heavy with muscle, the way his pants pulled against his crotch, showing the curved lines of his cock. Tonight, Johnny had come so close to dying that being on his knees between Sloane’s legs seemed almost… safe. And he wanted to be on his knees, inhaling Sloane’s scent, pressing his legs farther apart.
Kneeling at the edge of the bed, Johnny pressed his face into Sloane’s crotch and kissed softly. Sloane reached down and ran his long fingers through Johnny’s hair, and everything was going good until thunder rolled across the sky. Johnny nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Come sleep in my bed,” Sloane said. “That’s all. Just sleep. I don’t want you alone on a night like this.”
Johnny didn’t want Sloane thinking he was some crybaby who couldn’t make it through a storm. “I don’t mind,” he said.
Sloane sat up, looked down at Johnny and rubbed a thumb over his lips. “I do.”
Johnny leaned his head over so he could rub his face against Sloane’s rough hand.
“Up,” Sloane said quietly. “Go on.”
Sloane’s bed looked like it could sleep five and have plenty of room left over. It was all black, four posters, maybe mahogany. Johnny was completely distracted by wrong angles that didn’t add up. “How did you get a bed like that in here?”
Turning toward Johnny, his eyes steady on him, Sloane said, “All the boys I brought up here, and none of them ever asked about the bed.”
Flushing deep red, Johnny mumbled, “I grew up seeing men build things.”
“Lie down,” Sloane said. “Get some rest.”
Johnny, in just pajama bottoms, lay down on the side of the bed farthest from the door, his back to the wall. Sloane left and went into what Johnny thought of as the Big Room, and then Johnny heard the sounds of something pouring.
By the time Sloane came back, the storm was raging through the night. The ceiling was just like the other bedroom, all glass. It glowed with lightning.
Sloane lay down on the far side of the bed, facing the door. Johnny watched him through slitted eyes, the curves of muscle on his body, the way he didn’t look scared, almost like a stormy night was nothing compared to what was on his mind.
Thunder clapped through the sky loud enough for Johnny to think the glass would crack for sure. He jumped a little, trying to act like he’d been sleeping.
In the dark, under the muttering thunder, Sloane said, “It’s just a storm. Not like we’ll blow away.”
“Seen whole houses get blown away,” Johnny said. “Where I come from, storms kill you.” He turned toward the wall, because what he really wanted was to be under the bed. But that was too embarrassing.
A while later, when lightning rippled across the sky, Johnny felt Sloane slide closer, felt his hard body against him. Johnny didn’t move, afraid that he’d fallen asleep and this was a dream. Sloane kissed the base of his neck. Lightning lit the room, showing Johnny their shadows flickering on the wall.
Sloane kissed down the middle of Johnny’s back, making him squirm and push back against him.
“If you want me to stop,” Sloane said, “tell me.”
The feel of Sloane’s lips, his soft breath on his spine, made Johnny shiver all over and made him forget the storm. But nothing could have made him not hear how Sloane’s voice sounded like a lie a man told himself. A man like Sloane took what he wanted, even if he didn’t think he would.
Johnny turned in Sloane’s arms, moving onto his back. Sloane’s lips covered his, making Johnny moan softly into his mouth.
Sloane rolled over on top of Johnny, holding his weight on his arms. He kissed Johnny’s neck and whispered in his ear, “I won’t hurt you.”
In freight cars Johnny had seen enough to know that Sloane was telling the truth. He wouldn’t hurt Johnny, as long as he didn’t say no. But that didn’t matter, because of all the words on earth that Johnny could think of, over the sound of his pounding heart, over the sound of rolling thunder, “no” was the last one that would have come out of his mouth. He slid his arms around Sloane, trailed his fingers down his back, and met Sloane’s eyes in the lightning.
“I never wanted it like I do with you,” Sloane said, and mashed his lips to Johnny’s and slid his tongue into his mouth, moaning softly. His hands slid down to Johnny’s pajama bottoms, slid them down, and cupped his ass, squeezing gently.
Johnny hissed in breath when Sloane’s fingers found his pulsing hole and rubbed slowly, making him shoot his hips up, grinding into Sloane’s hard cock.
“If I do this,” Sloane said, his lips against Johnny’s, “I won’t let you leave. You’ll be mine.”
In dark freight cars rolling across the country, lonely and scared, Johnny had dreamed of a man like Sloane, a man who could keep him safe. Looking out on the night lands rolling by, it hadn’t occurred to Johnny what kind of man he was dreaming of, that it would have to be a man with a wide, dark streak t
hrough his heart—a man like Sloane.
“I know,” Johnny whispered.
Sloane kissed down Johnny’s flat, quivering belly, stopped when he got to his hard cock, and rolled off the bed. He slid his pants down and drew Johnny to him with a crooked finger.
Lightning flashed and threw Sloane’s shadow up on the wall, a jagged outline of a man with muscled legs spread, hands hanging at his sides.
Johnny lay crosswise on the bed, his feet touching the wall, his head hanging over the edge of the mattress. He looked up at Sloane, who hesitated, but Johnny got impatient and licked the slick cock head hanging inches from his lips. Groaning, Sloane slid his cock into Johnny’s throat in one deep stroke.
Moaning, Johnny reached up to caress Sloane’s heavy balls, letting him stroke into his throat again and again. Johnny couldn’t get enough of Sloane in his throat. He loved feeling himself stuffed full of Sloane’s hard cock.
Sloane moaned and pulled out of Johnny’s mouth. “Spin around,” he said. “Put your feet on the edge.”
Johnny turned so his open legs were facing Sloane, eyes on the muscled body standing over him. Sloane took Johnny by the ankles and lifted his legs. When Sloane pressed his cock to Johnny’s ass, Johnny bit his lips at the feel of the thick cock head sliding into him. He winced at the pain, but Sloane bent over him and kissed him, flicking his nipples.
“God, you’re tight,” Sloane said, inching slowly into Johnny.
Resting Johnny’s feet on his shoulders, Sloane brought both Johnny’s hands up over his head and held them there while he slid into his ass. Johnny tossed his head slowly side to side, feeling Sloane filling him, pressing deeper into him. He was thick and hard and pulsing and when lightning flared through the windows and thunder rolled overhead, Johnny didn’t care. All he wanted was more of Sloane, more of him filling him, taking him.
Sloane smiled and stroked into Johnny, slow at first, then faster. As his strokes picked up, the storm raged harder across the skies. Lightning flashed and glittered against the glass. Shadows jittered over them as Sloane claimed Johnny’s ass for his own.
Johnny had seen a lot, been forced to do things he wanted to forget, but Sloane was different. He wanted Sloane to take him, wanted to give him all he’d never given to any man.
Sloane seemed to sense that and bent over Johnny, stroking harder, deeper. “Go on,” he said. “Come for me. Let me feel your ass come around my cock.”
Johnny pumped his hips up and down, taking Sloane deep, moaning. With his arms pinned over his head, he rubbed his cock against Sloane’s hard belly and groaned at the delicious friction against his hot flesh. He arched his back, exploding hot come onto both of them.
Sloane grunted, pinned Johnny harder to the bed, and pumped into him mercilessly, his hips driving his thick cock deep. He clenched his teeth, threw his head back, jammed his fat cock deep into Johnny, and came in a single savage thrust.
Johnny’s cry of pleasure and pain was drowned in a clap of thunder that seemed to split the sky and pour jagged lightning through the night.
Sloane pulled out of Johnny and collapsed next to him across the bed. He pulled Johnny into his arms, and Johnny lay against his strong chest, listening to Sloane’s heart pound like a racing engine.
Johnny threw one of his legs over Sloane’s, nestled closer to him, and said quietly, “I know this is real. I wouldn’t dream about thunder and lightning.”
He kissed Sloane’s shoulder, caressed his smooth chest, and licked at his nipple, until Sloane pressed his head down, fingers stroking through his hair. “Your rail riding days are over, Johnny.”
Even as he said, it, Sloane knew what he really meant was Don’t try to leave. Don’t make me hurt you. He didn’t want to think it, but he did.
After he came inside Johnny, Sloane knew his life was over. Whatever he’d thought he knew, it was all gone, and he was starting over.
Sloane moved so they were lying the right way on the bed. He kept Johnny in his arms, felt his breathing slow down, and thought about how many times he’d watched until a man breathed out for the last time. That was how it worked. Every man had a day when he breathed out and didn’t get to breathe in anymore. Sloane had seen it enough times to know.
His thoughts drifted to Nick. Except for specials like Donnelly, Nick left the blood work to Sloane, because to Nick, dead was dead. He didn’t care how a man got there. He was good about letting Sloane do what he wanted when it came to his work. His brother only cared about one thing: loose threads. Lying next to Sloane was the loosest thread since that whole Garden of Eden thing unraveled. Sloane couldn’t keep Johnny hidden forever, but he couldn’t send him away either. When he let go his last breath, he wanted to do it knowing he’d done at least one good thing in his life.
Sloane ran his fingers through Johnny’s hair. He didn’t know what was happening, or why he hadn’t taken what he wanted from Stephen instead of Johnny. None of what was happening to him made sense. He wrapped his arm around Johnny’s thin body, kissed the top of his head, and closed his eyes.
Thunder rolled through Sloane’s dreams. Except it wasn’t thunder. It was a train, riding under a dark sky, and ahead nothing, just night.
Sloane came awake the way he always did. Between one heartbeat and the next, he was fully awake, eyes open, fully alert.
He heard his brother come in. No one else would have the guts to walk into his place. He let go of Johnny, pulled on pants, and went out into the living room, shutting the door behind him.
“What are you doing here?” Sloane said.
Nick leaned against the wall next to the door, playing it cool. “I used to think you were smart.” He glanced at the bedroom door. “How could you be so dumb?”
Sloane rubbed his eyes, pretending he was sleepy, but he watched every move his brother made.
“I found out who he is. What are you doing bringing Donnelly’s boy here?” Nick’s act about being cool broke down completely. He stalked across the room and slapped his brother’s face. “Are you fucking crazy? You trying to get yourself dead over a pretty face?”
The slap didn’t hurt, but Sloane rubbed his jaw, buying time to think. “He wants to stay with me.”
“He wants? Get rid of him, little brother.”
“No.”
Nick went on as if Sloane had stayed silent. “A tall building, a deep grave, under a fucking church. I don’t care. Take him some place, do what you want to him. But make sure he doesn’t come back.”
Sloane knew his brother wouldn’t let him go to death row over this. Nick would kill Johnny first. “All right,” Sloane said. “I’ll take care of it.”
Nick left and slammed the door behind him. Sloane sank onto the couch, head in his hands, staring at the floor. About an hour later, he was on his feet, and he’d settled his face into a dark, neutral mask, the face he wore when he had a job to do. He went down into the empty speakeasy, pulled out a floor board no one knew about, took out the wooden box hidden in there, and stuffed his pants pockets. Then he went upstairs.
In the bedroom, he shook Johnny awake. “Get up,” Sloane said. “We’re going out.”
Without a word, Johnny slipped from the sheets and dressed fast, his eyes on Sloane. “Something wrong?”
“My brother found out who you are.” Sloane turned to Johnny and took him by the shoulders. He was trembling, and breathing so hard, his breath came out in soft little sounds. “I get a cut for every job I do. I have a stash.” He bent over so Johnny could see his eyes. “It’s almost morning. When’s the first freight train out of the city?”
“Which way?” Johnny asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” Sloane said.
Getting out of 39 was easy. For a man like Sloane, walking the city streets at night with enough money on him to start a new country was even easier. They walked ’til they were just outside the train yard, where Johnny said it was a good spot to run and jump. Johnny talked him through jumping on the boxcar, and then they settled down and
waited.
When the freight line rolled out of the city, Johnny and Sloane were inside wide doors, watching streets and bridges slip by. Sloane pulled Johnny into a corner, settled him between his legs, and they jostled to the rolling iron under them.
They got off in Massachusetts, where Sloane found a farmer who needed cash more than he needed a house and land.
Sloane got tanned from working outside, fixing up farmer’s places. Johnny V got muscles that Sloane teased him about in their long, candlelit nights. Neither of them minded living so far outside a city that there weren’t electric lines. There weren’t any phones either. That made it easy for a man and his nephew to live a quiet life.
Johnny V and the Razor Page 3