THE INNOCENT: A Cowboy Gangster Novel

by CJ Bishop

  Frank looked down at his glass. “I don’t expect you to feel the same for me,” he whispered. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to expect it when I know you’re not gay.”

  “Well…” Wil chewed his lip and Frank looked up. “I’ve never actually tested it.” The dream took over and acted on its own, as Wil was certain that what he did next would not have taken place in reality. He crossed the kitchen and stood before Frank. “I lost interest in having sex with Sandy after Tad was born…maybe there was a reason for that.”

  Frank took a bigger drink and swallowed with a hard gulp. “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning…” Wil moved closer and stroked his thumb along the man’s jawline. “…why don’t you kiss me and see if revives my desires.”

  Frank stared at him for a very long moment, then set his glass aside and grasped Wil’s shirt. “I can do that,” he breathed shakily and kissed him before Wil could change his mind.

  Heat shot through Wil’s body, surging straight to his crotch, reviving everything. Frank’s tongue slid into his mouth and Wil startled himself by moaning loudly and pushing into the kiss—andsucking Frank’s tongue. Frank pinned him against the counter with his body—his very aroused body—and groaned when Wil’s erection swelled. Frank dropped one hand and brushed his palm over Wil’s hard bulge; not invasively or crudely, but almost lovingly.

  Frank’s tongue withdrew slowly from Wil’s mouth as Wil whimpered and tried to draw it back in. “I love you, Wil…”

  Wil came awake with a small jolt and blinked, his heart beating erratically—and a prominent throb in his crotch. He swallowed thickly…and tasted liquor on his tongue. How…? He hadn’t been drinking…

  “Evening, sleeping beauty.” Frank’s raspy voice reached him from the sofa. “Hope you don’t mind…I started without you.” The man kicked back on the sofa…and raised a glass scotch to his lips.

  Wil stared at him, the flavor of the liquor lingering on his tongue.

  The tingle came back, stronger than ever.

  Chapter 34

  When Bryce Thorn’s call came in the following morning, the man was very clipped in his responses and questions. It was quickly established that Bryce Thorn was, indeed, David’s father. When asked specific questions about the boy, Wil was unable to answer as he had yet to meet David in person and had obtained little to no information on the boy.

  The father agreed to come see his son, though he didn’t seem happy about it. Wil contacted Clint to arrange to have the boy brought to the station. His gut had begun sending up warnings the moment Bryce Thorn had come on the line, but the man was David’s father. Wil wasn’t yet informed as to how the boy had become separated from his father in the first place.

  Clint agreed only to bring the boy to Wil’s home, and from there Wil could take him to the station. When the cowboy and Axel arrived, there was a younger boy with David as well.

  “His name is Robby,” Axel explained, and Wil recognized the name from the list. “David asked if he could come with him. He hasn’t seen his father in a while and was nervous about meeting him alone.”

  Wil saw no problem in Robby coming along.

  Clint had stipulations before be willing to leave David with Wil. “You make sure he is a good man before you let him take the boy.” The fierceness in the cowboy’s tone left no room for argument. “Something is off here, I can feel it. David won’t say anything about his father, but you just make damn sure he is fit to care for a child before you send David with him.”

  Wil had his own misgivings about the boy’s father, though he hadn’t yet met him. He assured Clint and Axel that he would assess the situation carefully. The two boys grew nervous and wary once the men left and seemed uncertain if they should trust Wil. Having Tad there helped them relax some and Wil tried to get David to talk to him about his father. The boy insisted he didn’t remember much about the man, but it was obvious he wasn’t being entirely truthful.

  At the station, Wil had the two boys wait in an interview room. When Bryce Thorn arrived, Wil took an immediate dislike to the man. Though he was dressed decent enough, there was an unkempt air about him and the nicks in his shaven face suggested this was the first time he’d shaved in a while. Wil was disturbed by the man’s slightly bloodshot eyes and dull expression.

  “Where is he?” Bryce Thorn’s voice was gruffer in person than on the phone—and it was gruff enough on the phone.

  “Before you see him,” Wil said. “I want to talk to you about what he’s been through.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “First, let me ask…how did you and your son become separated?”

  The man shrugged. “He ran off.”

  “Why?”

  “Ask him. I don’t know.”

  “What about his mother?”

  “She split and dumped him on me when he was a couple years old. Haven’t seen her since.”

  Dumped him on him? “How did you and your son get along?”

  “He wasn’t one for listening, so he was in trouble a lot. Probably why he took off.” He frowned. “What’s with the third degree? Did he tell you some bullshit story about me?”

  “He hasn’t said anything.”

  The man was impatient. “What did you mean you wanted to talk to me about what he went through?”

  Wil rubbed his mouth. “Your son was taken by child sex traffickers.”

  “What?”

  Wil led the man into the small room behind the two-way mirror that looked into the interview room. “He’s been sexually abused.”

  Bryce Thorn stared through the glass, a rigid frown cutting across his brow. “Are you telling me he was fucked by men?”

  Wil didn’t appreciate his crude language. “To put it callously, yes. Children rescued from sex traffickers often require therapy-”

  “Who’s that with him?” The man leaned closer to the window, eyes narrowing.

  Wil sighed. “His name is Robby. He was one of the children who was rescued with David.”

  “Why is he here?”

  “David asked if he could come with him. You have to understand, Mr. Thorn, your son has been through a traumatic experience. He doesn’t trust many people right now and clings to what is familiar. In this case, it’s the other children who were with him.”

  Bryce Thorn’s next words caught Wil entirely off guard. “I don’t want no faggot kid.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He’s been screwed by men. That makes him a faggot now. And that other kid…is that his fucking boyfriend?”

  Wil was struck speechless for a moment. The man seemed more offended by the notion that David might be gay because of his abuse—than by the abuse itself. “Mr. Thorn, being sexually abused by someone of the same gender doesn’t turn a child gay. No one can be turned gay. People are what they are from birth.”

  Bryce Thorn looked at him skeptically. “What’re you—one of those liberal pansies? No one is born gay. God don’t make faggots. Getting fucked by men turns boys into faggots.”

  Wil felt sick and regretted ever calling this man. “Regardless how you feel, I would appreciate you not repeating these theories to your son when you speak to him. He’s been through enough.”

  The man chuffed. “I told you, I don’t want no faggot for a son. He ran away from me. Whatever happened to him after he left, he brought on himself. I’m not going to be stuck with the fucked-up mess he is now.”

  Wil went still when he noticed David’s head sink low and tears roll down his cheeks. Wil’s stare jumped to the intercom—it was turned on. Jesus! He stepped over and quickly switched it off. But it was too late. Inside the room, Robby pressed close to David and laid his head on his shoulder, his own face wet with tears. Wil’s anger surged, and he had to struggle to keep it in check.

  “Fine, Mr. Thorn,” Wil said stiffly. “You can legally give up your parental rights and David will become a ward of the state and you will be free from any further responsibilities.”

 
; “Bring me the papers.”

  “They will have to be drawn up,” Wil said. “You will be contacted when they’re ready to sign.”

  The man nodded. “Fine. Are we through here?”

  Yes—get the fuck out. Wil didn’t speak his thoughts aloud. “Yes.”

  When the man was gone, Wil stood for a long moment staring into the room at the quietly sobbing boys. This is fucked up. People should have to pass a humanity test before being allowed to have children.

  Wil entered the room a few minutes later and sat down at the table. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, David,” he murmured. “It was my fault. I didn’t know the intercom was turned on.”

  “Is…is that what I am?” David whispered brokenly. “A fucked-up mess?” His chin trembled. “No one’s ever going to want me. My own dad don’t want me.”

  “Hey.” Wil reached over and grasped his hand. “Listen to me, David. You’re not the one who’s messed up. If he can’t look at you and feel proud to be your father, then that’s a flaw in him, not you. Being a dad is a special honor, and there is something very sad about those who don’t understand that.”

  Wil’s heart warmed as David gently gripped his hand. He didn’t know it just then, but a bond had been formed between himself and the two lost boys just wanting someone to love them. It would be a couple weeks before Wil realized that the decision to take these boys into his home and into his life had been made at that moment, at that very table, when he’d reached out to David…and the boy reached back.

  •♦•

  The search for Grace’s father ended tragically three days after it began. Luke had been right about her father’s dedication to finding his daughter; the man had spent every day and every cent he had searching for his little girl. The stress and pain of her loss, coupled with his lack of care for his own wellbeing had driven Henry Watts to an early grave.

  Grace was laid to rest beside her father and the turnout at her funeral was massive. There wasn’t a dry eye in the crowd as Luke stood up and spoke for Grace. Axel stood at the front with Clint, holding tight to his hand, letting him know it was okay to cry for the little girl.

  “Maybe…” Luke spoke through his tears as he looked at Clint. “Maybe her dad was really there. Maybe he came to take her to heaven with him.”

  Axel took comfort in that thought and hoped that Clint did as well.

  •♦•

  Following Grace’s funeral, the same crowd of mourners gathered again a few days later for the other children who hadn’t made it out of the orphanage. No families had been found, but to an outside observer of the funeral procession, it would have seemed that they’d had many who loved them and held them dear to their hearts…and they would have been right. It didn’t matter that those present hadn’t known the children in life; they were children and that alone made them precious.

  It was after the second mass funeral that Emmy and Oliver stepped up to not only ask Nina, Kelly, and Raimi to be a part of their family…but to discuss an option for the other orphaned kids. With Max, Horatio, and Lex Roaman backing them with adequate funding, the couple began to make plans to open a private foster care facility that could take in all the children.

  Wil Jordan was in awe of this “family” that banded together to care for children who were not their responsibility, yet whom they treated as if they were their own. He found it ironic that his faith in humanity was restored by the compassion of a gangster family coupled with that of a family consisting largely of strippers. Never again would he judge a “book” by its cover. The cowboy alone had taught him that there are many layers to an individual, and not all those layers are readily visible to the naked eye. But when one takes the time to look deeper, they might just find a heart of gold buried inside a most unlikely candidate.

  Epilogue

  It was almost two weeks following the rescue of the children from the orphanage that Wil received the call that would change his life forever. Responding to a frantic report made by two college kids from upstate—and confirmed by the local police in the area—Wil and Frank made the hour-long drive together.

  Frank’s sleepover—in the guestroom—two weeks ago had set Wil’s mind to churning. By the next morning, he’d half convinced himself that he hadn’t actually awakened the previous evening with the taste of liquor in his mouth. Which, if he had, would imply things he wasn’t sure he was ready to face. Yet he consistently came back to that night, and the dream, wondering how much of the dream had been dream and which parts had been inspired by events taking place in reality.

  Frank kissed you that night and you know it. If so…how enthusiastically had he returned the kiss? In the dream, he had been as into the kiss as Frank had been, eagerly sucking his tongue like it was a sweet lollipop. Had he done the same outside the dream? Was that why he had such a strong flavor of scotch in his mouth—because he’d literally sucked the liquor off Frank’s tongue?

  Wil had become obsessed with these questions. All he had to do for an answer was ask Frank, but he wasn’t ready to do that just yet. His biggest question was—what if he’d waken up while they were kissing? What would have happened then? Would Frank have still spent the night in the guestroom or…Wil’s bedroom? It was futile to deny that the uncertainty of the answer gave him an extra-powerful twinge in all kinds of places. He didn’t know how he felt about where all this was taking him. He wouldn’t feel ashamed to discover he was gay, and almost wished he was because what better partner could he ask for than Frank?

  His greatest fear was that he would convince himself he was gay, confess such to Frank, become involved romantically…then discover he had been wrong. It would crush Frank and he couldn’t take that chance. He had to be one-hundred-percent certain of his homosexuality before he even hinted to Frank that he might be gay. He just didn’t know how to gain that certainty.

  Frank was driving, which forced him to keep his eyes on the road and at the same time allowed Wil the freedom to let his mind wander and…wonder about these things that had suddenly become so important to him.

  All such thoughts evaporated when they turned off the rural road and the “meat wagon” as it was so eloquently coined jostled over the uneven gravel drive, thick with slush and mud.

  Wil leaned forward and stared out the front windshield as they emerged from the trees and the large structure loomed ahead, backdropped by the gray winter sky. This was the place. This was the hellhole that had imprisoned the children. Wil knew that once he set foot in the place, he would never be the same.

  He didn’t know what, exactly, awaited them on the inside, just that it was straight out of a horror movie. There were dead bodies, that much he’d been told, but the rest…he was told he had to see it for himself to believe it.

  Frank parked behind the two police cruisers and shut off the vehicle. The engine ticked as they sat there and stared at the ominous place. “Ready for this?” Frank looked at Wil.

  “Something tells me I’ll never be ready for what’s in there.” The carnage within was the result of the cowboy and his men’s vengeance on monsters who raped and abused children. He expected this scene to surpass what they had found in the warehouse.

  The two men exited the vehicle and were met by an officer as they started up the path. Wil paused and looked at the pole in the yard; dark discolorations marred the weathered wood.

  “It’s blood,” the officer said.

  “How do you know?” Frank asked.

  “Deduction.”

  Wil frowned. “What do you mean?”

  The officer—a young man in his mid-twenties—motioned toward the entrance. “Come inside and you’ll see.” His dark eyes were haunted, and Wil suspected they hadn’t been before he’d come to this place.

  They followed the officer inside and were immediately struck by a horrid stench. The young cop hardly seemed to notice it anymore as Frank and Wil covered their nose and mouth with their hands. Wil’s eyes stung with the pungent odor as they walked down a narrow ha
llway and the smell strengthened.

  The officer paused at the door, on the other side of which voices hummed. “Welcome to hell, gentlemen,” he murmured hollowly and opened the door.

  Wil and Frank exchanged an uneasy look then followed the officer inside. Neither of them was prepared for the carnage nailed to the wall. Wil had been right; it was worse than the warehouse slaughter. Much worse.

  “Fuck…” Frank breathed, taking the word right out of Wil’s mouth.

  As Wil looked around, taking in the atmosphere and conditions in which the children had been forced to live, he felt no pity for the sacrifices displayed before them. On the wall was a scripture written in the dead men’s blood. Chapter and verse. Luke 17: 1,2.

  “I looked it up,” the officer said and handed his phone to Wil.

  Wil stared at the words of the scripture, glanced at Frank, then read aloud in a hollow murmur, “Then said he unto the disciples, It is impossible but that offenses will come: but woe unto him, through whom they come! It were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he cast into the sea…” Wil raised his eyes to the three men nailed to the wall. “…than that he should offend one of these little ones.”