Owner of a Lonely Heart (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Karen Mercury

  “I’m checking in here.” Bettina clambered her way into the workshop where Taos and Del replaced bowstrings and cut shafts. A wild disarray of fletchings, arrow tips, and nocks had been scattered everywhere by the blast, and Bettina zeroed right in on an enormous metal spool that had toppled over.

  There. Sure enough, Park’s cowboy boot stuck out at an odd angle, the leg fractured. An entire work table that had been bolted to the wall had crashed down on him. He wasn’t moving.

  Bettina radioed. “Taos, Taos. I found Park. He’s under your work table not moving. I need a medic. Medics can make it in from the back dumpster side but they’ll have to crawl through a hole.” She climbed over several stacks of crap to shout, “Rod! Can you get back through that tunnel and show the EMT the way in?”

  “Sure enough.”

  Bettina and Crispin gingerly tried to remove as much debris as they could from Park’s body. She slid her arm up his body and felt his breath against her hand. If his spine was broken, it would be asinine to attempt to move him.

  “It sure would be nice if he could talk, though,” she whispered. “I’ll never forgive myself if anything has happened to him.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Crispin whispered back.

  “Oh yes it is, Crispin. I should have been more on top of things. This mercenary guy obviously followed Delano out here or somehow hacked Del’s Facebook account before he closed it. He must’ve friended every one of Del’s friends he thought possibly might be Taos.”

  “Bettina, Taos was your responsibility. Delano is Park’s responsibility.”

  “I know. I just don’t understand why we can’t get it through their thick skulls. All contact with friends, family, or other persons from their past—”

  “Is forbidden. They know. And I’m sure after this they’ll really know.”

  “Oh God, Crispin. Can you move that compound bow off his arm?” Park was splayed facedown, eyes closed as though he’d just taken a slight snooze. They couldn’t move the spool or the work table, but Bettina dearly wanted Park to wake up.

  “Park. Park. It’s me, Bettina.” She sighed. “I’m a firm believer that people can hear what’s going on while they’re unconscious. Too many stories about people on the operating table hearing the physician saying ‘it’s over.’”

  “Or ‘whoops.’”

  “That, too. And those near-death experience stories. People see their body lying on the operating table, then they float up through the ceiling. Some, but not all, of them experience some kind of passageway, gate, tunnel of light, and then they’re there.”

  “Where?”

  “It seems to be different for everyone. Some people see their dead grandma, or a child they knew who died. I was watching that show about people who died and came back. All but one had an ecstatic, beautiful experience in heaven.”

  “What happened to the one?”

  “Well, that was eerie. He was sleeping in the back seat of a car that crashed into an oncoming truck, and he wound up without an arm facedown in a lake. He said it was like a door to a parallel universe, where tons of recently deceased people were trying to get in. There were cries of regret, how they wished it wasn’t too late, how they wanted to go back.”

  The show had really affected Bettina, and Crispin just nodded somberly.

  She went on. “They said, ‘I wish I had five more minutes, I wish I had thirty more seconds.’ He knew he’d gone to hell. The smell of decaying death was everywhere. He saw tunnels leading off of the cave where the dead were going. He went down a tunnel and was surrounded by souls who were bound, crying out, without any comfort. He came to a cliff with a bottomless drop. So he started climbing but he kept falling because he only had one arm. He knew he was at the gates of hell. Looking up, he could see sun and cars and houses.

  “He said God took him up the stairs of the house to show him what was required of him. He told the guy that this was a future place that he’d enter in his lifetime and be given the chance to start all over. The second God let go of his hand he woke up on the operating table.”

  Crispin grinned. “That’s a nice story. Not sure if I believe in a real hell like that, but I presume the guy mended whatever horrible ways he’d been pursuing, after that?”

  “Well, when he got back into his body the pain kicked in.” Bettina hovered her hand over Park’s mangled ankle, wondering if he could see or hear them sitting vigil near his body. “He knew he could no longer be a pimp, a player, he had to be a faithful man. He married, had kids, and became a one-armed barber.”

  “Hm. Well the end result was good, although I’m not sure about the purgatory. I think it’s whatever you believe in, you’ll see. His mother might’ve been a fire and brimstone sort.”

  “That’s true. I’m not sure what Park believes.”

  “He’s kind of hippy-dippy, isn’t he?”

  Bettina grinned. Park was avant-garde, quite cultured and educated. “You could say that. I’m sure he believes in an afterlife.”

  Bettina’s walkie-talkie crackled. “This is Bob from SOG, I’m a shoring engineer.”

  The Special Operations Group had made it from the Las Vegas Boulevard building. Bettina knew Bob—she’d be working in the same office with him soon. They must have commandeered the radio from Taos.

  “Hi, Bob. Inspector Bettina Crenshaw here. Rod from Public Works can show you how to get in here. There’s about one foot headroom through the tunnel, then you’re fine. Things continue to crash down from above, though.”

  The radio went silent as the men entered the crawlspace, and Bettina checked Park’s breathing again. Still alive.

  “So when did you want to get married?” Oh, shiznit! It had popped out of Bettina’s mouth before she’d even formulated the question in her mind! She wasn’t the marrying kind—she didn’t know the first thing about the rules of marriage.

  But Crispin seemed to like it. He looked very boyish sitting hugging his knees, his pistol at his hip, his little “Sheriff Marwick” nametag above his shirt pocket. “I’d prefer if we could do it before you go off to Camp Beauregard. That way I know you won’t run.”

  “Run?” Bettina scoffed. She walked her fingers through the rubble to grab Crispin’s hand. He had such artistic, elegant fingers. Even in the near-dark Bettina could see the glitter of her chocolate diamond. Being stationed in Vegas had given her an interest in mineralogy and she had been admiring these chocolate diamonds lately. There was no way Crispin could have known that. “I’m not running anywhere, you wazzock. Not from you. You’re hot enough to melt iron.”

  “So you agree, we should do it before you go to Louisiana?”

  Bettina shrugged. “Sure. My mother would want to come, and my brother.”

  “Yes. That pain in the ass.”

  “The pain in the ass. How about you? Would your parents want to come?”

  “There’s only my mother left, and she moved back to Brighton when my dad passed. But I could bring her over. Where do you want it? We have to maintain the persona that Sheriff Marwick is marrying Bettina Cruikshank if anyone other than immediate family comes.”

  “Which is why we can’t have anyone other than immediate family. It’s got to say ‘Crenshaw’ on the license, not ‘Cruikshank.’”

  “Will you take my name?”

  Bettina actually felt her heart squeeze painfully—with love. Bettina Marwick. It had a good sound. “You’re lucky your last name isn’t Smith.”

  “Or Cruikshank.”

  Crispin was so devilishly handsome, Bettina had to kiss him. And just in case the unconscious Park could still hear them, Bettina added, “And Park has to come, too. He doesn’t have a girlfriend because he keeps scaring them off with his poetry reciting and his nerdy love of Iron Man.”

  Crispin scooted over so Bettina could sit between his thighs and lay her head on his chest. She didn’t hear little boys crying anymore. The general hubbub of the disaster scene went on—radios chattered, an excavator moved rubble, and of
course a hundred people milled around shouting into holes in the Hip Quiver’s structure.

  Bettina felt secure and even cozy in here. She knew Park would be fine. Taos and Del were fine as long as they stayed out of the building.

  Crispin was saying, “Park will find someone. Look at me. I never thought I’d find anyone.”

  Bettina had to chuckle. “Least of all a fiery, redheaded hot tamale like me.”

  “A hot tamale like you. You will live at my ranch with me, won’t you?”

  “Sure. I guess my brother will have to learn to fly on his own one of these days.”

  “You’re a mother hen, taking care of everyone.”

  “I try to. But what winds up happening is I take care of no one, least of all myself. Don’t worry, though. I’ll take care of you, my straight shooter.”

  “When you’re not out tracking down pedophiles or los malosos. I’m going to be worried sick every time you leave.”

  “What about me? I have to worry sick every time you leave the house to—”

  “To go tip a drunk?”

  Bettina chuckled. Then she felt bad about chuckling because they were still in danger, and for all she knew, not all the boy scouts had made it out all right. Bob’s brain bucket lamp illuminated the tunnel, and Bettina called out, “Bob! Over here! You’ve almost made it!”

  She had to crawl to help guide Bob, and within ten minutes they were safely out, Bob and the medics safely in.

  The second they popped into the sunlight, Taos ripped aside a few EMTs and bystanders to get to them. He hugged Bettina so strongly her eyes did bulge out. “I saw my life flash in front of my eyes,” he whispered.

  Then it was Crispin’s turn to be bear-hugged by Taos. While Bettina breathed, she saw a very attractive woman tugging on Crispin’s shirt and holding a cellphone urgently in the air. Her dark hair was in braids woven together on top of her head, Frida Kahlo-style, and she had a rich, Latina beauty. She also wore a crisp sheriff’s uniform, and it wasn’t Bettina’s imagination that she glared at her.

  The woman said quietly, “Sheriff. The US Attorney’s office is calling. The target was one of their witnesses.”

  “Oh.” Taos released Crispin, who accepted the phone from the woman. “Deputy Montoya, this is Bettina…Cruikshank.”

  “Yes. I’m sure,” said Deputy Montoya skeptically.

  So this is Crispin’s infamous deputy. She sure is beautiful. Why didn’t he choose her? Have they ever done it? Maybe while being trapped under a collapsed building, like Hot Lips and Hawkeye when they were stuck in that little shack during a bombing raid?

  No, you moron. He chose you. Crispin chose you. You’re the one he wants.

  Keep remembering that.

  She saw her beautiful future husband covered in sheetrock dust speaking to the Assistant US Attorney, her lover Taos hanging on to his every word.

  They were a team. A team that couldn’t be split asunder.

  Epilogue

  The tattoos they’d received the day before still stinging, the three lovers—and Friendly in his sidecar—did some canyon carving into the Valley of Fire.

  Bettina had no misgivings about committing to the ink. The ink slinger they’d chosen out of the millions in Vegas seemed very adept, giving rusty red petroglyph hands to Bettina’s and Crispin’s biceps. Taos got a tiny row of them on his left shoulder blade where the club ink had been. It was one thing to wear her engagement and wedding rings or the spiky collar Taos had given her—she could always take those off if things went south with one or both men. If she’d decided the BDSM lifestyle wasn’t for her, she could remove the collar.

  But Bettina was happy with the tat as they sped past the upthrust plates of pale pink and deep crimson sandstone. They’d chosen an offshoot canyon aptly called Last Chance Gulch. She was quite comfortable with her boots on the buddy pegs, riding two up on Crispin’s pussy pad. When they stopped near a burbling creek and Bettina took off her brain bucket, the silence was deafening.

  Now, in October, it was a comfortable seventy-five degrees, and Bettina removed her leather jacket, the men their various leathers.

  “Leave them on,” Bettina said, catching Crispin’s arm. He’d been about to unbuckle his chaps, and she flashed him a knowing smile that convinced him to stop.

  Bettina stripped down to her barely there black leather vest that laced up the sides. She loved the way it pushed up her boobs, and relished the way the men always stared when she walked. Meanwhile, Friendly dashed up an even smaller side canyon where eerie arches were carved by the wind.

  “No chance of flash floods,” said Crispin, sniffing at the sky.

  “They come out of nowhere and sweep people away,” Taos agreed, “but under this arch are some of the coolest petroglyphs not on any map.”

  Bettina nodded at the cloudless sky and took Crispin’s hand to help her up the first smooth sandstone steps. She didn’t need his help, but it was nice. The straight-shooting sheriff looked even better, if such a thing was possible, in his leather chaps, the jean shirt open at the collar. She tingled with anticipation at what she knew would happen with her two men.

  They climbed just far enough to not be seen from where they’d parked the bikes.

  “See?” said Taos, pointing. “I found these on a Toys for Tots run.”

  Crispin admired the red hands on the canyon wall. “Right above us is where Captain Kirk fell to his death in Star Trek Generations.”

  Taos had a blank look, but Bettina knew what Crispin was talking about. “Seriously? I’d never heard that.”

  “I’m not a nerd,” Taos said defensively. “I wouldn’t be caught dead watching that stuff.”

  Crispin wasn’t fazed by this criticism. “Well, I guess that makes me a nerd,” he said, taking Bettina by the upper arms. He positioned her under a row of hands. The love he felt for her was evident in the shimmering of his beautiful eyes, the slight trembling of his lower lip. “Bettina, these hands we’ve inked show our ownership.”

  “Of each other,” Taos reminded Crispin. Bettina had discussed with the men how she liked to think of it a mutual ownership where they all belonged to each other, not as a Dom/slave relationship.

  Crispin agreed. “Yes, of each other. The hands are a constant reminder when we wake up every morning to each other. You’re my spitfire, my hot tamale, my young missy.”

  Taos grinned. “My one big ball of trouble all rolled up into one.”

  Crispin continued. “And life without you wouldn’t be nearly as full and complete. Bettina Marwick, stay mine forever.”

  “And mine,” added Taos.

  “I will,” Bettina vowed to both men in turn. She pulled at the snaps down the center of Crispin’s shirt. “Let me see your hands.”

  Crispin’s shirt was on the sandstone in a matter of seconds, and Bettina was free—for now—to run her hands over his wonderfully well-developed chest. “They teach us in the Marshals Service that the only thing that matters is your partner. Well, now I’ve got two partners in life that I’m dedicated to until the end of time. I choose you, Taos, and you, Crispin. And being chosen is a God-given responsibility I know you don’t take lightly. Time is the fire in which we burn,” she said, quoting a Star Trek line. “And I spend all of mine with the two of you.”

  While she kissed Crispin, Taos cuffed her wrists at the small of her back. He pressed his torso to her leather-clad back and fingered her breasts out of their leather cups. As he screwed the nipple clamps around the nubs, he murmured in her ear.

  “I transmit and you receive. We’re on the same wavelength. These Anasazi figures way up there, the three people holding hands, that’s us. Taos, Bettina, and Crispin. Together forever.”

  Lust shot straight through to her clit as Taos screwed the clamps on. Her uplifted, bare boobs brushing against Crispin’s muscled chest were more than enough foreplay for her. She was discovering that she needed very little to make her come when mashed between the two men. Now, as Crispin nibbled on her u
pper lip, Taos eased her sweltering leather pants down over her hips. She lifted her legs one by one to allow Taos to chuck her boots and pants aside. When he stood again, his fingers palmed her swollen pussy lips and rubbed them together, capturing the clit’s extension in a painfully erotic grip.

  She gasped into Crispin’s mouth as she felt Taos’s fingers coax the juice from her. It had been flowing on the ride up with the engine vibrating between her thighs, her palms positioned just inches from Crispin’s bulging hard-on. It never failed to arouse her, going on a run with her men. Their destination was usually part and parcel of the deal, with plenty of little canyons and coves in that area of the state. They had done their studying of remote petroglyphs, their excuse for staging scenes outdoors in nature.

  “Babe,” she whispered. “Let’s let Taos have a turn banging me.”

  Crispin pulled away, realization dawning over his handsome features. Bettina knew he’d like that idea. Allowing Taos to fuck her would free Crispin up for other things. It would be a role reversal of sorts. Any sort of switching excited Crispin, and he immediately yanked Taos’s hand away from Bettina’s crotch and shoved the casino owner away.

  “What the—” Taos started to say, but Crispin put his fears to rest.

  “Down on your back, bitch,” growled Crispin. “Take out your cock.”

  “Oh, I’m the bitch now? I like it.” Taos found a comfortable spot where he could halfway sit, propped up by a comfortable easy chair of scarlet sandstone. Bettina admired how he fondled his own prick through his jeans, his fat cock making a nice plump handful.

  She wasn’t prepared when Crispin spun her around to face Taos, her boobs jingling the chain strung taut between them. “Take it out, Taos. Show her what she’s getting.”

  “Nice hot pussy.” Taos practically drooled as he unleashed his panting cock.

  Crispin slapped Bettina’s ass to get her into position. When she planted one knee on either side of Taos’s hips, Crispin’s spanks practically speared her onto Taos’s dick. She sank down with a grunt, Crispin’s expert paddling teasing her into clenching her inner walls around Taos’s penis.