by CJ Bishop
•
After a long talk with Lorenzo about the topic of Anthony and Angelo’s visit, Cruz and Sanchez went to their room. Without speaking, both men undressed and climbed into bed. Neither intended to sleep; that wasn’t even an option. For multiple reasons.
“So, talk to me,” Cruz murmured. “What was it you wanted to say?”
Sanchez sat propped against his pillows. Cruz sat forward, the sheet around his waist, his backside bare and exposed as he drew his legs up and rested his arms on his knees and stared across the room. Sanchez trailed his fingertips up and down Cruz’s back. The man’s skin prickled as a light shiver ran through him.
“Why weren’t you completely honest with me last night?”
Frowning, Cruz twisted and looked at him. “Honest about what?”
“About why you couldn’t sleep.”
“I told you,” Cruz said. “I was worried about Cat.”
“I know,” Sanchez leaned forward and flattened his hand on Cruz’s lower back and kissed his shoulder. “But that wasn’t the only reason, was it?”
Cruz stared at him, his eyes shifting anxiously before he looked away. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
“Why didn’t you tell me the nightmares were coming back?”
“They aren’t.” The rasp in Cruz’s voice betrayed the lie.
“Babe.” Sanchez scooted closer and wrapped his arm around Cruz’s neck and kissed his head. “You don’t have to hide it from me. I’m not going to think you’re weak or unstable because the shit we face brings on nightmares. I get them, too.”
Cruz shook his head. “Not like I did,” he whispered. “Before. Right after…” He fell silent, a tension in his body.
“I know,” Sanchez murmured. “I was there. I’m not sure what scared me the most…the kid’s mutilated body…or the fear and horror on the cowboy’s face.” He swallowed thickly, his chest tightening at the memory. “I’ve never seen that man afraid of anything.”
Cruz ducked his head and slid his hands through his hair, wetness in his breath. “In my nightmares,” he trembled. “I was him and…you were the one being beaten to death…” his chin trembled. “…and there was nothing I could do to stop it…to save you.”
Sanchez hugged him. “I know, baby,” he whispered unsteadily. “I remember.” They’d had some long, troubled nights for weeks after that incident. Sanchez had had his own share of nightmares, though nothing in comparison to what Cruz had suffered. The cowboy was like a brother to him; a powerful unshakable force—until then. Sanchez had been the one who carried the beaten young man out to the car and driven him and the cowboy home, witnessing firsthand the terror in the cowboy as he’d sat in the backseat, holding the love of his life in his arms while the boy threatened to slip away from him forever. Sanchez had suffered plenty of nightmares. Cruz suffered more. “I thought they had stopped,” Sanchez murmured against his hair.
“They did…for a while.” Cruz raised his head and tears filled his eyes. “Then we lost Diego…and the nightmares started coming back.”
Cruz blamed himself for Diego’s death. No one else did. It was a bad day. But the only one at fault was the fucker who put the bullet in Diego’s head.
“You should have told me.”
Cruz shook his head and leaned against him. “You watched over me enough the first time around,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to put you through it again.”
Laying the man down, Sanchez touched his face, kissed his lips. “We’re a team, baby, we take care of each other. It’s just what we do. You’re not putting me through anything. It hurts me worse when I find out you’re in pain and not letting me be there for you.” He brushed his knuckles along Cruz’s cheek. “You’re the most important thing to me in this life.” He kissed him softly. “In case that wasn’t clear.”
CHAPTER 15
“Here Today, Gone Tomorrow”
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Riccardo transferred the SD card from the camera to the laptop and loaded the photos.
“You’re certain this woman is from the Santiago family?” the man asked as he waited for Riccardo to open the first picture.
“Positive.” Riccardo zoomed in on the photo that displayed the woman’s face clearly—along with the rest of her luscious body. Riccardo’s cock twitched at the memory of her body writhing in ecstasy, matching her cries.
The older man stared at the photo—which depicted Flynn fucking the woman. “At least he’s not fucking a man,” he muttered.
It was common knowledge that the man’s younger brother had been a fag, and it was his obsession over his fag lover that got him killed.
“That’s definitely not a man,” Riccardo grunted.
Letting out a stiff breath, he looked at Riccardo. “What’s the situation?”
“At first, I thought it was just another of his random one-night fucks,” Riccardo said. “But tonight is their second night together. Flynn never keeps a woman for more than one night. And the way they were fucking…” he shook his head. “I think it’s turning into something.”
“That could work to our advantage,” the man murmured. “Tomorrow, go back to Flynn’s place and convince him to come home. Once this starts…” he stared at Riccardo. “I want my son right here where I can keep an eye on him. I don’t need another fucking wild card out there with the potential to fuck up my plans a second time.” His eyes narrowed coldly. “If he interferes, I will put a fucking bullet in his head myself.”
•
Carter sat in the back booth and watched the boys drift through the smoky club like ghosts; gaunt and pale, as if truly a mere shell of their former, living selves. Their well-being wasn’t his concern. He hadn’t come here to rescue one of them from their empty existence. He had come for other things.
When one of the ghost boys passed close to his table, Carter snagged his arm and dragged him into the booth. The boy’s straight black hair was short and dirty, his eyes slanted. Carter huffed. “You a fucking chink?”
The boy frowned and shook his head. “I’m…I’m Korean,” he whispered.
“Gook. Chink,” Carter snorted. “Same difference. Don’t fucking matter as long as you can swallow cock.” He shoved the young man’s face into his crotch. “Take it out and suck it, you gook whore.” The boy didn’t resist and obeyed. In seconds, Carter’s dick was stuffed into the boy’s throat as he gripped the kid’s head and pumped his mouth up and down on his cock. “Fuck…” Carter shuddered and his head dropped against the back of the booth seat, hips lifting, thrusting, ignoring the occasional gagging from the boy when he drove his shaft extra-deep into his throat canal. “You can take it, you little slut,” he groaned. “It’s what you do. All you fucking gooks are good for.”
Carter fucked his mouth until he felt the cum churning in his balls, then pulled the kid off him and set him in his lap. The boy wore only a G-string and Carter tugged the string aside and shoved his cock into the stripper-slut’s ass. The young man gasped and whimpered, tears springing to his eyes as Carter went in dry. It jacked him up to cause a little pain; made the fuck more intense.
The boy shuddered and tried to catch his breath, clutching Carter’s shoulders to steady himself as Carter pushed his cock in deeper. “Uuhh!” the boy choked and squeezed his eyes shut, tears seeping out, but still he didn’t resist; if he didn’t fuck, he didn’t get paid. His bony chest hitched and heaved as he tried to get comfortable on Carter’s fat dick, rising up a bit. Carter shoved him back down and the boy cried out in pain and discomfort. He was tighter than most of the boys in this place. Maybe he was new. That thought caused Carter’s dick to thicken and stretch further inside the kid. Clearly, he needed breaking in.
“Fuck me,” Carter growled. “Pound that tight little ass on my big fat cock.”
Stalling, the boy slowly swiveled his hips, no doubt trying to loosen up his ass a bit. Carted didn’t want his ass loose.
“Fuck me now!” Ca
rter slapped his ass hard and the boy yelped in pain. Carter dug his fingers into the young man’s nearly non-existent ass cheeks and lifted him up, slamming him down with force.
“Ow!” the boy wailed, a sob catching in his throat. “That-that hurts.”
“Good,” Carter snarled and did it again. The boy cried and gasped for breath. “I’m going to keep doing it until you get with the program and start doing the fucking yourself.” He started to lift him again when the boy stopped him.
“O-Okay,” he trembled. “I-I’ll do it.” Sucking back his sobs, he began to stroke up and down on Carter’s stiff rod.
“Harder,” Carter demanded. “We’re not making love—fuck me, bitch!”
The boy swallowed thickly and rode him with increased vigor, his face pinching in pain.
“Fuck,” Carter groaned deep and squeezed the boy’s ass, gouging his flesh. “Hurts real good, don’t it, slut?”
Nodding, the boy avoided looking in his face as tears rolled down his sallow cheeks. His breath labored when Carter slapped his ass again and told him to put more effort into it. He bounced harder, pounding his ass on Carter’s dick, his jaw clenched and fresh tears squeezing out beneath his clamped eyelids.
“Fuck yeah,” Carter panted. “Now we’re starting to fuck.” He thrust up to meet the boy, slamming in hard and deep, over and over, nearly bucking the kid off his lap. “Hold on, cowboy,” Carter laughed with a rasp and fucked him wildly. The boy gasped erratically, hardly able to breathe as Carter assaulted his tight hole. “Fuuck! I’m gonna give it to you, bitch! I’m gonna fucking fill your ass!” He lost all control, whipping in and out of the boy furiously, knocking the kid against the table. The boy cried out and grabbed the edge of the table, holding on desperately as the hard ridge slammed into his lower back again and again. “Uuhh! Fuuuck!” Carter unloaded, blowing his wad deep inside the boy’s bruised ass. He fucked a few seconds longer until his cock wilted, then shoved the kid off his lap where he fell onto the circular bench seat, shaking and choking on sobs. Carter wiped his sweaty face then stuffed his dick into his pants. He slapped the kid’s reddened ass. “Can’t take the heat, bitch, stay out of the kitchen.”
The boy crawled off the seat, falling to the floor in a shuddering heap, then slinked off into the smoke and shadows with the rest of the ghosts.
“Mm.” Carter adjusted his package and exhaled hard. He reached for his drink which had somehow remained upright during the raucous fucking—and abruptly jerked his hand back when a large knife stabbed into the table top, nearly taking a finger. “What the fuck-”
He was ripped out of the booth by his hair and suddenly gagging as an iron fist squeezed his throat. His vision went bleary then started to focus again as his assailant began to take form before him in the dark, smoky atmosphere. His heart screeched to a halt, slamming into his ribs, his eyes wide, seized by the jade green orbs shadowed beneath the brim of the cowboy hat.
The Egyptian materialized out of the smoky haze like a nightmare creature come to life, and pulled the knife from the table. He touched the tip of the blade to the soft flesh beneath Carter’s left eye and put pressure on his eyeball, causing it to bulge a bit more.
“We want to have a word with you.”
Carter panicked, clutching the cowboy’s wrist as his strong hand squeezed harder. He was dragged through the shadowed club and out the rear door, fully aware he would not live to see tomorrow.
•
Tae Min crept through the shadowed club, following the cowboy as he hauled the customer out the back door and threw him into the alley. He huddled just inside the club, the rear door slightly ajar, watching and listening. He didn’t care what they did to the man; he wasn’t a good person.
His eyes followed the cowboy and wondered if he was the same cowboy he’d heard rumors about. The one who had rescued a boy from this awful place—and scarred up the boss’ face. Rumor had it that the boss had tried to rape the boy and the cowboy beat the shit out of him, then took the boy away to a better place where the customers were nice and the boys were treated with respect—and didn’t have to fuck anyone to get paid.
Even if he was the same cowboy, Tae had little hope that he would help him, too. Tae hadn’t come here of his own free will—his adoptive father had brought him to the Blue Grotto and sold him to the club owner. Tae had thought he only had to strip on stage, but he’d been expected to do a lot more. The customers paid a higher price for boys they could fuck. The men who came into the Grotto called him and the other boys whores and sluts, but the men were just as much the same. But they were allowed to treat the boys however they wanted as long as they didn’t hurt them so much that they couldn’t keep working.
Tae’s first customer had taken him into the restroom and almost choked him to death with his cock before practically raping him. Tae had tried to condition himself to handle the rough treatment. But he couldn’t handle it. Sometimes he thought about suicide, convinced it was the only way to escape his owner. Tae didn’t want to die, though. When he’d been adopted from Korea, he thought his life was going to get better; he was coming to America…home of the brave, land of the free; it had been his dream come true.
A dream that quickly turned into a nightmare when he realized why he had been adopted.
He trembled as the cowboy slammed the customer against the back of the car as his large friend popped the trunk. They stuffed the guy inside and slammed the lid. Any shred of hope that this cowboy would help him disintegrated in the face of the man’s brutal handling of the customer; he didn’t look like someone who took mercy on others.
The cowboy came back toward the driver door and halted abruptly, his eyes cutting to the club door, narrowing to hard slits. Tae gasped when he was suddenly seized by his intimidating stare.
“What the hell you doing, kid?” the cowboy drawled with a southern brogue, his voice deep and edgy.
Tae opened the door a fraction, clutching the edge of it. Please don’t leave me here—please save me. The words stuck in his throat as tears filled his eyes.
“Go on,” the cowboy muttered. “This ain’t your business.” The man stared at him, unmoving, when Tae remained frozen in place. “You the one I saw with this fucker?” the cowboy asked.
Tae nodded, his stomach queasy. He hurt all over.
“Did you like what he did to you?”
“No,” Tae whispered unsteadily, tears thick in his voice.
“He hurt you?”
Tae nodded and ducked his head, shaking.
The cowboy looked at him for a long, tense moment then shook his head and dragged his hand over his mouth. “Get back inside.” He yanked open the driver door, turning his back to Tae.
The tears welled up and began to slip free. Tae slowly closed the door. He curled his thin arms around his skinny, aching body and slinked back toward the main room of the club where other men waited to abuse him for their own pleasure. No one will ever care about a gook whore. You’re going to die here-
Tae yelped when he was suddenly grabbed from behind, a powerful muscled arm hooking his gaunt body and practically carrying him back to the rear club entrance. Panic seized him—then faded a little when he looked up into the cowboy’s rigid face, his heart pounding wildly.
Tae was deposited into the backseat of the car as the cowboy climbed in behind the wheel. He looked at his muscular friend and scowled. “Not a fucking word.”
The other man’s face remained expressionless…but for a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.
CHAPTER 16
“Friend or Foe…Heaven or Hell?”
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The chaos exploding through the large house paralyzed the boy with fear. He pressed into the back of the dark closet where his mother put him and told him to stay—not come out until she came for him. He flinched and clamped his hands over his mouth to prevent his own cries as gunfire and shouts echoed through the halls. Fear for his mother tightened his chest, s
ent his heart into a frantic rhythm.
A woman screamed seconds after another gun went off. The boy froze in terror; mom?
He was terrified of going out there but what if his mom needed him? His father thought he was a coward and despised him for it, said that at thirteen he’d already shot a man and a fucked a girl.
The boy tried to be brave now, for his mom, and cautiously opened the closet door. He was in his parents’ bedroom and he bolted to the nightstand where his father kept a loaded handgun. He knew how to shoot—his father made him learn. Grabbing the gun, the boy ran to the bedroom door and halted, shaking with fear. The weapon felt heavy in his hands—heavier than he remembered when he had practiced shooting.
He opened the door slowly. The hallway was shadowed and hazy with gun smoke. He could smell the gun powder in the air. He slipped out of the room. The woman’s cry had been close by. It had sounded like his mom. He prayed it wasn’t, but he had to find out. She could be hurt and in need of help.
He stayed close to the wall, heart pounding in his ears, distorting the sounds vibrating through the house and making it hard to tell where they were coming from, or if anyone was coming his way. The hallway turned a corner up ahead and he crept around, the gun shaking in his hands. As soon as he rounded the bend—he froze. His eyes widened and filled with tears, blurring his vision; his mom lay face down on the floor and she wasn’t moving. A dark patch was seeping into the carpet beneath her head. His terrified eyes shifted to the man squatting next to her, gripping a gun.
“Mom…?” the boy whispered.