by Jodi Payne
“Fuck.” He hauled his tool bag over his shoulder and grabbed two more storm windows before hurrying up to the house. He found Tony there, sitting on the porch, looking out at Quinn’s back acreage.
“Fourteen acres of trees,” Quinn told him, trying to look like he wasn’t out of breath.
“They’d really kill you if I ran? I mean, what if it wasn’t your fault?”
“That would take some convincing. And really, it wouldn’t do you any good, anyway, because after they dealt with me, they’d just fucking hunt you down and kill you, too.”
“Yeah, I’d considered that.”
“Okay, so if we can get these four up before lunch, I’ll make us grilled cheese.”
“Sounds like as good a last meal as any.” Tony sighed and got to his feet.
Quinn explained how his ancient storm windows went up, about storing the screens, and how the runners were so rusty he was pretty sure this would have to be his last year with them. Next year, he’d pull all the windows out and install new ones, with double-pane glass and the whole thing, and he wouldn’t need to do this chore anymore.
“You might miss it.”
Quinn nodded. “Yeah, I might. You like old houses?”
“Yeah.”
“Work’s never done.”
“Nope, but isn’t that kind of the point?”
Quinn smiled. Yep. It was.
He was pretty fucking impressed with how quickly the two of them got the back stormers up. By the time they got to the last one, they were experts, holding and lifting and sliding the window into place without getting in each other’s way. Quinn got the weather stripping in place and stepped back to survey their work.
“I swear that is the fastest those have ever gone up,” he said, jostling Tony and hooking an arm around his shoulders. “So much easier with two people. Thanks.”
“I was motivated by the grilled cheese.”
They both laughed.
“Come on.” Quinn had a formula for his grilled cheese. It involved two kinds of cheese and real mayo. Everyone always said he was crazy until they tried it. Then they wanted to know how he did it. He started putting the sandwiches together and Tony took two beers out of the fridge.
“Opener on the wall.”
“Definitely a bachelor pad.” Tony used the wall opener, letting the caps fall with a clink into the can below. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” God, a beer always tasted so good after working outside. “I figure we’ll do the last few windows after lunch?”
“Sure.”
“It’s was great to have help.”
“Something to remember me by.”
Quinn sighed. “Morose.”
Tony didn’t say anything else—he just took a swig of his beer, then fished out a couple of plates for the sandwiches. Sucked to be him. Dead if you did, dead if you didn’t.
Quinn had to keep reminding himself that one of those options left him dead, too.
Chapter Four
“How come you don’t have a dog?”
Quinn brought out the sandwiches and set them on the table. “What?”
“A dog.” Tony repeated. “If I lived out here on all this land, all by myself, I’d have a dog.”
“I have an unpredictable schedule. As you might imagine.”
“Yeah? Exactly what is it you do, anyway? I mean, how is it that you found me in that hotel room.”
“I was there to clean up.”
“To clean… To get rid of me?”
“Of your body, yes.”
“And cover up the evidence.”
“I prefer to think of it as restoration.”
“Doesn’t matter what you prefer, it’s the same thing.”
Quinn shrugged and ate his sandwich. “I guess.” Not really, though it didn’t seem like Tony would appreciate the nuances at the moment.
“Why do you do it?”
“Are you serious?” Quinn frowned. What kind of question was that? “It’s fucking good money.”
“That’s it? Couldn’t you make fucking good money doing something else?”
“Not this kind of money.”
“What do you do with it all, Quinn? You live out in the sticks, you’re hanging storm windows from the 1920s on your tiny farmhouse by hand and you’re heating the place with wood—”
“I have a sweet car, though.”
“Yes. But the pickup in your detached garage, which doesn’t even have electricity, is, what, circa 1990?”
“It has four-wheel drive, it gets the job done.”
“Do you gamble?”
“No, what a waste of time.”
“You have a drug habit?”
Quinn laughed. “No. A beer habit, maybe.”
“Seriously, where is this fucking good money?” Tony polished off his beer.
“None of your business.”
“Shell company? Offshore bank accounts? Luxury yacht?”
“Stereotypical gangster stuff, right?” So, what if some of that might be true?
“Well?”
Quinn eyed Tony. “Bora Bora.”
Tony laughed. “Right.”
Quinn shrugged and got up. “You want another beer?”
“Are you serious?”
“I told you, I have a beer habit. There’s plenty.”
“I meant about Bora Bora. And yes.”
Quinn pulled out two more beers and opened them. “Like you said, the money sure isn’t in this farmhouse.” Except for the stash in his lockbox.
“Huh.”
Quinn’s cell phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. “Well, look who it is.” He took the call. “Hello?”
“Hey, Randy. So Boss wanted me to check in on you.”
“Well, I’m just fine, but this is damn inconvenient.”
“He made it through the night?”
“Yep.” Quinn looked at Tony. “Very alive. On the mend, even.”
“Oh. Well, hang on, I’ll tell him.”
“You do that.”
Mikey did that cover the phone thing again and all Quinn could hear was muffled voices. “So, Boss says not to worry, sit tight. Won’t be more than a couple more days.”
“Right. Okay. Sitting tight. Come by and visit me when this is over?”
Mikey laughed. “Oh, really? You got it. Gotta hop.”
Quinn was pretty sure Mikey was blushing. “Ciao.” The line went dead. Tony stared at him. “What?”
“That was your ‘Boss’?”
“Well, that was Mikey, he was talking to the Boss.”
“What would have happened if you’d told him that you woke up this morning and I was dead?”
Quinn raised an eyebrow at Tony. Interesting. He hadn’t factored that particular variable into his equation. “Well, then I guess I would be lying to a very powerful man and I’d have to hope to hell he never fucking asked me for proof.”
Tony snorted. “You sound like you actually believe there’s a shred of integrity in your line of work.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re really that concerned about lying to a criminal?”
“Integrity, at least in the sense in which you are defining it, doesn’t play a fucking role here, Tony. It’s about self-preservation.”
“Right.” Tony snorted. “How arrogant.”
“What the fuck do you want from me?”
“Not a fucking thing, Quinn, believe me. You know what? I think I’ll leave you to your fucking little house chores this afternoon. I’m done.” Tony slammed down his beer on the counter.
“Oh? You’re fucking pissed at me, now, huh? Are you forgetting that you’re the one that shit in my cornflakes yesterday?” Quinn stalked over and took hold of Tony’s arm, lifting him slightly off the floor. “Because, right now, I could be doing about eighteen fucking things that don’t involve me babysitting an ungrateful fucking whiner.”
“I’m supposed to be grateful? How is this my fault?” Tony shouted back.
; “Whatever you did to get on the Boss’ bad side is what landed you where you are right now, my friend.”
“So not your friend.”
“Semantics.” Quinn scanned the room, trying to figure out exactly where he could restrain Tony and reasonably expect him to stay put. “These guys don’t do mistaken identity. They’re too smart. They have too many eyes. Too many connections.”
The bathroom? Fuck. There was nowhere in this damn house to hold him down. He was going to have to take Tony back outside. He could try the wood shed. At least he wouldn’t have to listen to Tony’s crap anymore.
“How do you get off being so sanctimonious? You showed up at a shithole motel to fucking sweep a human being’s life under the rug. How is that the moral fucking high ground here?”
“You know what, Tony?” Quinn roared, dragging Tony toward the back door. “I don’t have to fucking listen to anything you fucking say. I’ve asked too many questions already. I don’t want to hear one more fucking thing. When the boys finally come take care of you, I’m going to have to get really fucking creative because there is no way I will pass a lie detector if this ever bounces back on me.”
Tony laughed. “Oh, I feel so fucking sorry for you.”
“Shut up.”
“Poor Quinn—”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Why? What are you going to do to me, you arrogant, heartless fuck? Shoot me?”
“Shut. Up!” Quinn shouted, backhanding Tony across the jaw in frustration. Tony gasped and fell silent, but only for a second before Quinn’s ears rang with Tony’s derisive laughter. Tony straightened up before looking Quinn right in the eye.
“Did that make you feel better, asshole? Did that feed your fucking ego? Go on, do it again, big man.”
Quinn felt the rage building and reached out, fisting his fingers in Tony’s hair and pulling their faces close together. He didn’t have words, he just growled, so ready to fucking break Tony’s neck if he didn’t shut the fuck—
Their lips met in an angry kiss, both of them at once, their teeth and tongues biting and clashing. Quinn had absolutely no fucking idea what he was doing, what Tony was thinking, but neither of them hesitated. Quinn didn’t think to question anything, there wasn’t any doubt. Nothing had felt this right to him before.
It was an answer to a question he didn't know he should have been asking.
“Quinn,” Tony growled, gulping air before forcing another bruising kiss past Quinn’s lips. Quinn moaned in response to his name, still tightly gripping Tony’s short hair in his fingers. He fought Tony for control of the kiss, shoving and circling Tony’s tongue with his own. He switched up the angle of his head, once, then again, but Tony didn’t relent. Tony’s erection pressed into Quinn’s thigh and his cock jerked in response, fighting against the stiff denim of his work jeans.
Tony tasted like beer and salt, and his sounds were deep and hungry, rumbling in Quinn’s ears. Quinn pushed him roughly up against the back door trying to pin him, and Tony dug his fingers into Quinn’s chest. Tony broke off their kiss suddenly and used the leverage at his back to give Quinn a sharp shove. Quinn was forced to step backward to keep his balance.
“Yeah?” Quinn challenged. “Let’s go.”
“Bring it, big man.”
Quinn pounced, but Tony was ready and used Quinn’s own momentum to spin him around so Quinn’s back was to the wall this time. He shook his head at Tony in warning.
Oh, it was so fucking on.
Quinn grabbed Tony by the fabric of his sweater and pulled him close, locking lips with him again.
They wrestled through the main room, kissing and touching with rough hands and determined tongues. Quinn yanked and shoved until Tony’s sweater fell to the floor, and let Tony push him down onto the arm of the big chair, where Quinn attacked Tony’s nipples with his teeth.
“Ah!” Tony hissed, arching into Quinn’s mouth. Quinn grinned, giving the other nipple and sharp tug. “Yes! Fuck!”
Quinn dropped both of his hands to the waistband of Tony’s jeans but Tony startled him by batting them away with a grunt. “Not yet, son.”
Quinn blinked. Who the fuck is he calling son? Hell to the fucking no. He slipped his thumbs and forefingers around both of Tony’s nipples and stood, then pinched them hard, grinning smugly as Tony’s knees nearly gave out. “Fucking call me ‘son’ again and I’ll rip your fucking tits off.”
Quinn relented, though, and Tony laughed, managing to regain the strength in his legs. “Oh, Quinn. We’re going to have to have a talk.”
“Not right this fucking min— Hey!” Quinn suddenly found himself with his ass in the chair and his legs up over the arm.
Tony reached out with one hand and spun Quinn around by the knees to turn Quinn to face him, but then he paused and ran his fingers over the purple contusion along his side. Quinn was fairly sure he’d caught a grimace on Tony’s face, but if so, it was replaced quite smoothly by a smug fucking grin before it stuck. Still, the man was clearly in pain.
Quinn knew this game, and it wasn’t worth playing if they didn’t both come out winners. He gave Tony a second to breathe with a calculated distraction, reaching back and tugging his own sweater off over his head and tossing it to the ground with Tony’s. Then he let his eyes move hotly from Tony’s navel, over deliciously defined abs and the mottled purple skin just under the man’s ribs all the way up to the soft notch at the base of Tony’s neck. He licked his lips and lifted his eyes, meeting Tony’s—the good one, and the one still mostly swollen shut. Holding that gaze, Quinn tried a pass at Tony’s jeans again.
This time, Tony let him, leaning his hips into Quinn’s fingers.
“Hungry?” Tony purred.
Quinn chuckled darkly. “Craving?”
“Mmm. Touché.”
Just because Quinn had decided to give Tony this first victory, didn’t mean he intended to be cavalier about it. He freed the button at the top of Tony’s jeans and slid two fingers into Tony’s waistband, circling them around and back. He made very slow and deliberate work of lowering Tony’s zipper, then slipped his fingers into the denim and around to Tony’s ass.
Tony sighed. “Hot. I like it.”
Quinn nodded and pulled Tony closer, touching his tongue to the curls that were fighting their way past the open zipper and drawing a line upward. Tony laid his hands lightly on Quinn’s shoulders. It had been such a long time since Quinn had had a lover that challenged him, and he’d never had one that met him in this headspace, and in this way.
Quinn pushed down gently on Tony’s waistband and the man stepped back, lowering his jeans and removing them himself. His eyes were on Quinn as he dropped them to one side and Quinn smiled, reaching for Tony, who took his hand and stepped close again. After that Quinn was single-minded, taking Tony’s erection smoothly and capably down his throat.
Tony gasped, resting one hand on Quinn’s head, his fingers sliding over Quinn’s meticulously groomed high and tight haircut. Quinn concentrated, swallowing Tony long and slow until he heard the man’s breath start to catch, and watched his free hand clench into a fist. Then he let Tony go and teased, licking the head of his cock and up his length.
Tony inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly, taking advantage of the offered respite to find his control again. “So good,” he praised. He smelled musky, like sweat and man, and the aroma could easily have sent Quinn over the edge. He swallowed and steeled himself. His time would come and it was going to be so fucking sweet.
Quinn arched his head back and looked up at Tony, admiring Tony’s flushed cheeks and the light blush over his chest. Tony bent down and covered Quinn’s mouth with his own in a deep kiss.
It was an intense, even romantic kiss until something in Quinn’s body spurred him into action, suddenly impatient. He tore his mouth away from Tony’s returning it with a vengeance to the length of Tony’s cock, taking the man’s erection down his throat again, but this time with more heat and urgency.
&n
bsp; Tony shouted and his hips rolled forward. Both of his hands cupped the back of Quinn’s neck. “Quinn!”
Over and over Quinn took Tony in. He swallowed around the head and scrubbed Tony’s length with his tongue until Tony finally took firm hold of the reins.
“Hold on,” Tony warned, his voice raspy and strained, and his hips started to thrust. Quinn had known this was, of course. Hell, he’d been working for it and he was ready. He opened his throat and relaxed as much as he could manage, and hooked his fingers around the backs of Tony’s thighs for balance. Tony panted hard and made hot, sexy sounds. Moans and needy cries that sent a shiver down Quinn’s spine and set fire to his groin.
When Tony’s hips began to stutter Quinn knew he was close. He wasn’t sure why, but he always enjoyed a kind of smug satisfaction knowing he’d brought a lover to that point with just his mouth, and this moment was no different. He closed his eyes, practically fucking cheering Tony on in his mind.
Tony grunted and tried to warn Quinn, the word “coming” sounding more like a curse as he forced it out between gritted teeth. One more grunt and Quinn sucked him down, draining him and licking him clean. Tony slowly slid his hands from the back of Quinn’s head, down Quinn’s neck to his shoulders and leaned there, letting Quinn take his weight. Quinn turned his head and kissed Tony’s wrists.
“God, your mouth.”
Quinn smiled, standing slowly and hooking an arm around Tony’s back. “Liked that, huh?” He’d been happy to give Tony that win but his own cock ached now and his patience had worn thin. “My turn.”
He didn’t give Tony a chance to respond. He stood, stepping even closer, and hustling Tony backward through the bedroom door. Once inside, he gave Tony a controlled, deliberate shove against the heavy wooden bed frame.
Tony grunted but straightened up and turned around to face Quinn, his shoulders square and his stance a protest.
Quinn watched Tony coolly, taking his time to unbutton and removed his jeans and his boxers. He laid them neatly over the back of a chair in one corner of the room, then paused and opened the top drawer of a chest by the bathroom, pulling out a couple of condoms and his favorite lube.