Texas and Tarantulas

by Bailey Bradford

  “We do. Me and Diego might be down in a bit. Can bring you dinner,” Joe offered.

  Trent didn’t feel like he could eat a bite or like he wanted company. Not that he’d say as much. “All right. Might see you in a bit.”

  “Yeah. I think you will.” Joe stood up.

  Trent followed suit. He debated telling Joe about the guy in town then decided against it for now. He wanted to savor the whole experience, but maybe after some beer and all, that would change.

  He took his second shower of the day. Images of those bones were interspersed with much more pleasant memories of a romp in a room at Hollis House. Trent didn’t do more than rinse the sweat from his skin this time around. He turned the water off then got out and went to find some shorts to throw on.

  Except when he stuck his hand in the dresser drawer, it wasn’t a pair of shorts that he grabbed. The second he felt the dual stings, the quick sharp pain, he knew exactly what had happened. “Fuck!” He pulled his hand out. The tarantula didn’t hang on for the ride.

  “You fucker, I ought to stomp on you,” he muttered, holding his injured hand to his chest. He wasn’t really injured, and tarantula bites weren’t poisonous. They weren’t even scary to him, having grown up playing with the damned things.

  “Doesn’t mean I like getting bit, you hairy bastard.” There was hardly any blood where he’d been bitten. Trent still wasn’t happy at all. He took the whole drawer from the dresser, intending to dump the spider outside, but the fucker leaped over the shallow side and skittered under the bed.

  “Okay, now that I do mind. No tarantulas inside, and definitely none of you fuckers in or under or anywhere near my bed!” Trent put the drawer back then got down on his hands and knees so he could look under the bed. “Shit!” he screeched as the tarantula came running out at him. “Shit, shit, shit!” He was up and bounding backwards in a heartbeat. “Bad spider! Bad fucking huge spider!”

  God, it had to be bigger than they normally were—“Babies! You aren’t even gonna—” Trent was big on live and let live when it came to most things, unless they were dinner or trying to hurt him or someone he loved.

  The tarantula got it with a boot. Trent blinked at the mess. Parts of the segmented legs had broken off. He didn’t even remember grabbing the boot and bashing the critter.

  “Shit. Oh shit!” Guilt slammed into him. He forced himself to raise the boot. When no tiny little spiderlings scrambled around, he felt better. For a minute there, he’d thought he had killed off a whole tarantula family. He wasn’t sorry for killing the adult—it was attacking him, for shit’s sake.

  Although, the spider was almost certainly more scared than he’d been. “Aw, damn it all.” Trent dropped the boot. “I could have handled that better.”

  But he hadn’t, and Joe showed up with Diego while Trent was still trying to clean the spider guts out of the carpet.

  Joe and Diego walked in unannounced, and when Trent told them about the tarantula, Diego was clearly rattled. He visibly paled and all but climbed up Joe.

  “Tarantulas? No one told me there were tarantulas out here,” Diego complained.

  Trent looked up from the carpet. “You didn’t see any of them all the times you were out skulking around as a wolf?”

  Diego glared at him. “What do you think?”

  Trent winked. “I imagine they were too scared of the big, bad wolf to come out of their burrows. Unlike this spider I just finished scraping up. It was one pissed off SOB, let me tell you. Or scared. How fucked up is it that I feel worse for killing it than I do for killing the shifters that were trying to take you away?”

  “They were going to kill us, too,” Joe pointed out. “That spider bit you. It had bad intent.”

  “I scared it. It wasn’t lying in wait.” Though it kind of was, being as the critter had been in his clothes drawer.

  “You do remember we never found just one at a time in the house?” Joe asked.

  To which Diego yelped and did leap on Joe, jabbering the whole time. “In the house? There’s another one in here? Or more? And they come in our house too?”

  “Looks like you’re in for fun times,” Trent observed.

  Joe gave him a death glare.

  Trent winked at him, too. “Hey, Diego, you want to see where it bit me?”

  “Trent,” Joe grumbled.

  He smiled brightly. “What? I’m just going to let him see where the big ol’ fangs went into my hand.”

  “I ought to smack you.” Joe glowered, looking like he wanted to say more.

  “You’d have to put your boyfriend down, on the floor, where another tarantula might sneak out and get him.” Trent dodged a kick by his brother, but Diego kind of whimpered and Trent decided to stop teasing. “Hey, Diego. That won’t happen. Tarantulas try to avoid us. I was thinking, I probably hurt the one in the bedroom when it bit me and I shook it off. For being big, hairy spiders, they’re surprisingly fragile and a fall from even a few inches can end up killing them. Normally they don’t charge you like that.”

  “He’s telling the truth, honey,” Joe murmured. “And maybe Trent should show you the bite.”

  “Yeah, it ain’t much of anything. A red wasp, now those fuckers will make a grown man cry if one stings you, but this didn’t hurt more than a little sting.” He’d be forgiven the small lie. “And see? I don’t even swell.”

  “I’d die of a heart attack if one got on me,” Diego proclaimed. “Or…or pass out and hit my head then die.”

  Joe’s expression turned utterly sad. “Enough with the dying. We’ve had too much of that around here.”

  Diego’s eyes rounded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “You really can get down,” Trent added when Joe didn’t say anything more. He was relatively sure if there was another spider in the trailer—and with his luck, there was—it wouldn’t come out to play.

  “O-okay.” Diego shuddered when his feet hit the floor, but he stood straight and tipped his chin up. “We brought dinner. I want a beer, and maybe to try the stuff you smoke.”

  Trent hated to tell Diego, but—“Well, here’s the thing. I have beer, and that’s all. The other? It’s still a plant. Haven’t had time to mess with it.”

  “Beer’s good,” he said brightly. “I like beer now.”

  So they sat at the table, Diego with his feet tucked in the chair beneath his butt, and talked about the barn and the plans for the ranch. They discussed everything having to do with business, they joked and teased each other, but they all avoided bringing up the bones.

  And Trent didn’t once mention the man he’d fucked that day. The man who was on his mind even when he’d been scrubbing the carpet.

  Seeing Diego and Joe together made Trent regret being so quick to leave Hollis House. It wouldn’t have hurt to have gotten the guy’s name and number. Of course, that worked both ways. He had to remind himself that the stranger he’d fucked hadn’t been any more interested in getting his info, either.

  Plus, if his dad had killed his mom, Trent needed to figure out what that meant for him. He wasn’t stupid and wouldn’t automatically assume he was going to murder his partner if he ever had one. He didn’t have the anger his father seemed to have carried in his core, disguised as righteousness and the God-given command to discipline his boys.

  “You worried about what people will say?” he finally asked, when Joe stood to leave with a passed out Diego in his arms. “I mean, if people talk shit about it, I don’t think Diego will care.”

  Joe nodded sagely. “But you think it might make a difference to a guy you’re into?”

  “If that ever happens, maybe.” Trent rolled his lips in, thinking about how much to say.

  Diego sniffled, burrowing closer to Joe.

  Trent decided to let them be on their way. “Y’all be careful. See you in the morning.”

  Joe didn’t leave. He had an intense look on his face. “Anyone worth being yours won’t be an asshole a
bout a past we had nothing to do with.”

  “Not like I’ll be able to go out for a while anyway,” Trent observed. “Not just the barn, but, you know. It’d be a good idea to wait a couple of months and make sure Diego’s former pack isn’t going to try anything.”

  “You were eager to go, now you’re not. Guess the crappy sex with Bill was enough to tide you over, huh?”

  Trent shrugged. “Almost as good as fucking my hand, yeah.”

  Joe laughed and after he left, Trent wondered if he was lying to his brother.

  “No. We never did tell each other who we fucked in the first place. We’re not that kind of brothers.” Even if Trent did tease Joe about being noisy and spanking Diego now, it was different. Joe and Diego were committed. That meant something to Trent, too.

  It meant Diego was a part of their family, a brother-in-law he could joke around with and harass, not a fly-by fuck he wouldn’t see again. Diego and he could be friends, and he thought they kind of already were.

  Trent cleaned up the kitchen, tossing the beer cans into the recycling bin. He stepped out onto the back porch and watered his plants. Standing there, he had the oddest sensation of being watched. The short hairs on his nape felt like they quivered with an electric current of alarm.

  He knew that feeling. Trent went very still, hardly daring to breathe. Someone, something was watching him.

  Chapter Six

  Mahon wasn’t going to be fooled again. Trent froze, his senses alerting him to the fact he was once again being stalked. Mahon didn’t doubt for one moment that was what happened. Trent had been aware of him in Uvalde. He was aware of Mahon now, though perhaps not on a conscious level. Some part of him knew.

  Mahon had been patient, watching the old trailer, waiting. He’d been close enough to inspect the plants growing on the porch—marijuana, which surprised him for reasons he couldn’t fathom. He supposed he never thought of cowboys smoking pot, just figured they all dipped that nasty chewing tobacco.

  There’d been no snuff can rings on Trent’s back pockets. He hadn’t smelled like tobacco, or pot, or anything but clean, sexy man. Mahon had been battling hard-ons half the evening, thinking about Trent’s personal aroma.

  And how he wanted to know more of it, from the muskier scent of his balls and ass, to the rich fragrance beneath his arms. Mahon wanted to lick him from head to toe, learn every flavor there was to him.

  Which made his job really hard to do. Mahon stayed in the dark, careful to keep his eyes shielded.

  Slowly, Trent turned his head, giving the area a thorough perusal. There was no way he could see Mahon.

  Yet when Trent looked in his direction finally, Mahon’s internal alarms went off. There was an almost palpable connection between them, one Mahon thought he should be able to reach out and get an electrical shock from.

  Trent cocked his head, still staring at him.

  No, he couldn’t be. Trent couldn’t see him in the dark.

  Mahon knew his business, and he was well-hidden. He wasn’t more than twenty feet away, but he was invisible to Trent.

  Trent flicked his wrist.

  The next thing Mahon knew, water splattered his face and chest, as well as almost all the rest of his front.

  “Heard you gasp, motherfucker,” Trent said in a perfectly calm voice. “I think we were quite clear on what would happen—”

  “I don’t believe we even really spoke,” Mahon said, stepping out of the shadows before Trent could say something Mahon wouldn’t be able to plausibly deny hearing.

  Trent hit him right in the face with a full-on blast of water. It stung in places, and Mahon had opened his mouth to keep on speaking, so he ended up coughing and blowing snot bubbles as he tried to keep from choking.

  Then it occurred to him to duck.

  Trent followed him with the water until Mahon got smart enough to turn his back to the sadistic hose-wielding bastard.

  “Stop!” Mahon said, and when that had no effect, he roared it. “Stop!”

  “I never did like taking orders,” Trent drawled. “You don’t want to get hosed off, get the fuck out of here then.”

  By all accounts, Mahon had heard stories about how nice the Jacek boys were, even if there were some people who said shitty things because the brothers were gay. Joe was more serious, and everyone—except the bigots—loved Trent.

  Mahon was ready to strangle him. He moved back into the shadows, then back further still. “I just wanted to meet you and see if we could fuck again.” That wasn’t an untruth. Mahon’s ass still ached, but he’d take another round if Trent was interested.

  Then he’d do his job.

  “Yeah well, you’re evidently a stalker, and I really don’t do well with that kind of attention on me—or that kind of pressure,” Trent said. “Besides, I don’t believe you. You’re standing out in what amounts to my back yard, spying on—” Trent dropped the hose. “I swear to fucking God I will hunt you down and shoot you if anything’s happened to Joe or Diego!”

  Trent was inside and yelling out the rest of his threat.

  Mahon scrubbed his hands through his soaked hair, then over his face. How the hell had everything gotten so messed up tonight?

  Oh, right. He’d gotten busted spying on Trent. That’s how. Added to that problem, he’d been a right idiot to think Trent would buy the whole ‘want to see about fucking’ line. Even if it was true. Mahon would have tried to kill someone if they’d acted the creeper like he’d made it seem he was doing.

  The real reason he was out there was worse. Mahon needed to cut his losses for the night and forget about sex with Trent. He had to put his people first.

  He took a half-step back when Trent came outside, holding something a lot more dangerous than a water hose.

  He aimed the shotgun right at Mahon. “Get your ass up here where I can see you in the porch light again.”

  Mahon raised his hands up. There was a very serious, very deadly quality to Trent’s tone that let him know Trent would pull the trigger.

  The wolf shifters had said Trent was a brutal killer. Mahon knew almost anyone could be, given the necessary circumstances.

  He moved forward cautiously, noting the steady grip Trent had, the way the barrel didn’t move so much as a fraction of a centimeter.

  “Now, try telling me again… Why are you out here?” Trent asked. He thumbed the hammer.

  Mahon felt the sweat breaking out along his back and armpits. He wasn’t afraid to die. He just really didn’t want to do it until he was a hell of a lot older. There was no way he was deviating from his claim when doing so would result in his death.

  “I told you. I wanted to talk to you,” Mahon began, letting his nervousness show. “People in town talk. It wasn’t hard to find out who you were and where you live. Asking people for your phone number would have been too weird, so I…I came out here.”

  “And hid out back like a weirdo,” Trent added.

  Mahon let more of the truth out. “You had people over. I didn’t want them to think I was a creep, like you do now. I was going to come around to the front and knock, but you came outside and I was mesmerized.”

  Trent rolled his eyes so dramatically it had to have hurt. “I bet you were. You had a chance to talk to me today.”

  Mahon figured he would just have to own up to another truth. “Look, I’ve never let another guy fuck me. I was, um. I was stunned and yeah, maybe I didn’t know what I wanted. It’s not something I ever thought I’d allow.”

  “Ah.”

  Trent still didn’t lower that damn shotgun.

  He did nod. “I get it. I have the magic dick. It made you see the light and fall in love, right?”

  Mahon laughed before he thought better of it. “Sorry, but no. I just wanted to get laid again.”

  “If that was your first time, your ass won’t be up for more,” Trent argued. “In fact, as hard as I fucked you, walking should be difficult.”

  “You think it isn’t?” Mahon retorted. “I can
still feel you in me, fucking me, your teeth on my skin, your hands gripping me.”

  Trent cursed and still didn’t waver. “You ain’t right in the head, coming onto someone’s property like this and lurking around. Legally, I can kill you in this state. Just FYI.”

  Mahon did gulp then. He wasn’t familiar with Texas gun laws, but… He was in Texas, for fuck’s sake. It was likely that Trent had the right of it.

  “Please don’t,” he asked. “I am not wrong in the head, either. Just in a situation I never thought I’d be in before.”

  “Hunting down a dick to fuck you again,” Trent said. “Maybe that does just make you the average guy.” But Trent snorted and followed that up with a laugh. “Yeah, me and the magic wang. It can cure all ills.”

  With Trent’s Texas accent, ‘wang’ really came out sounding almost like gibberish.

  “I’ll tell you what. You come on up here, and strip out of your wet clothes on the porch. I don’t want my carpet wet. And don’t touch my plants,” Trent warned.

  Mahon didn’t budge. “You’re going to shoot me inside the trailer.” His gut cramped.

  Trent laughed again, this time like he thought Mahon was an idiot. “Please, dude. I don’t want water on my carpets. You think I’m going to want blood and guts on them? Get real. I’ll stop aiming at you once you step inside.”

  It was as good an offer as he’d get. Mahon forced his shaky legs to move forward. His shoes squelched with every step. When he reached the porch steps, he stopped.

  Trent backed into the trailer. “Come on up.”

  Mahon did then he proceeded to strip down to bare skin while Trent watched him. “Do I get the all clear now that you see I’m not armed?”

  Trent stared him right in the eyes. “There’s more than one kind of weapon. What’s your name?”

  “Mahon Morrison. I’d offer to shake hands.” But he didn’t, because there was still a gun aimed at him.

  Trent backed up some more. “Come inside. I told you I’ll take the aim off you then and I will.”