My phone buzzes in my pants pocket. I’m not done with the wires, and I’m content to let it go to voice mail, but Miles walks over and slides his hand into my pocket, caressing more of me than necessary to grab my phone. I lift an eyebrow as he flashes me the cracked screen. It’s an old fling of mine—Donny McCoy—and I wonder why he’s calling.
“Answer it and hand it over,” I command.
Miles complies. He answers the call and places it between my shoulder and ear. I continue to affix the wires.
“What is it?”
“Pierce?” Donny asks with a hint of amusement in his voice. “You said you were looking for Rodger, right? That we should give you a call if we found him?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I did. What of it?”
“I saw him. I know where he’s staying, and you won’t believe it.”
“Out with it. I need to drag him back to his father.”
Miles situates himself behind me and slips his hands back into my pockets, kneading the top of my thighs. I’m covered in dirt and sweat, but Miles leans against me regardless, his hot breath on the back of my neck.
Donny chuckles. “He’s at this gated house with a woman. I think it’s also a church or somethin’. A bunch of weirdos run the place and wouldn’t let me in. You want me to break into the place and scope it out?”
“No,” I say. “Tell me where you are. I’ll handle it.”
“I’m at the corner of Poppy Cotton and Merrymore. You know the area? Near the country club?”
I curse under my breath. I must’ve passed that area of the city fifty times by now. How did I never catch sight of Rodger? Fuck me.
“I’ll be right there,” I mutter.
“All right.”
The conversation ends. With my hands preoccupied, I leave the phone trapped between my arm and head. My work slows the more Miles grips my cock. I close my eyes and tilt my head back, enjoying the way he breathes onto the nape of my neck. Miles removes one hand and slides it down the back of my pants, tracing the cleft of my ass. I tense and jerk back, pushing him away with my shoulder.
“Stop,” I snap. “I’m not into that.”
“You sure? You got pretty hard when I did it.”
I drop the wires and my phone as I turn on my heel. Miles flinches back with a half smile. I glare.
“It doesn’t feel good for you?” Miles asks, his tone and posture nonconfrontational. “I mean, it hurts a little for me at the start, but once we get into it…. It feels good. Real good.”
I pick up my phone—the screen has another crack in it, but I don’t care—and gather the wires with a snort. I know he enjoys it. Hell, I’m sure our neighbors know he enjoys it.
Miles shrugs. “Have you ever tried it before?”
Yeah, I’ve played bottom. And Miles is right—after the initial pain there’s a physical pleasure to playing bitch that’s unique to the experience—but I don’t enjoy it for outside reasons. It’s all psychological. I feel uncomfortable with the idea of submitting to another man. It’s hard to articulate, but it’s like I’m relinquishing control, and I don’t truly trust anyone anymore. Even my exception for Nick has become suspect.
“I don’t feel like talkin’ about it,” I say, tossing the wires to the corner. “Besides, we’ve got work to do. C’mon. Back to the car.”
Miles nods and heads for the front. I pull my jacket over my sullied clothes and follow after. The laundromat sits empty with a hundred machines dark and unused stacked in rows throughout the front room. I exit and lock the door behind me, glancing over my shoulder the entire time. It’s imperative no one knows what Miles and I are doing, lest the plan become leaked to the Cobras. Once everything is secure, I walk to my car and take my place in the driver’s seat.
My phone buzzes again, and I wish I had just destroyed the damn thing. I snatch it from my pocket and answer without looking.
“What is it?” I growl.
“Pierce,” Jeremy replies.
I sigh as I pull the car out and speed down the road. Jeremy is the last man I want to talk to. “Jeremy. I didn’t think it would be you. What can I do for you?”
“What’s the progress on the tunnels?”
“They’re almost done. I’ll return to them later tonight.”
“Why not finish them now?” he asks in a tone of irritation.
“Your brother showed up,” I reply. “I need to go pick him up and bring him home. He’s been out past his curfew, and you know how your mother gets.”
Jeremy is silent for second before asking, in a voice more hopeful than before, “You found Rodger?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
“The corner of Poppy Cotton and Merrymore. That posh area near the club.”
“Hm. Well, thank you, Pierce. Call me when you’re done with the tunnel. I need to know—we don’t have much time left until Harlan’s game.”
He ends the call and I toss my phone onto the backseat. Now that I’ve decided to leave, everything seems a little less important than it did a few months ago. I relax back against my seat and smile to myself. It’s a load off.
“You look happy,” Miles says.
“Tell me,” I say, ignoring his comment, “what would you do with five hundred thousand dollars?”
He lifts an eyebrow and shrugs. “Uh, I don’t know. Get my brother the best help money can buy.”
Of course that’s what he’d say. “And after that?”
“Maybe get a house.”
“I could see that. You should get it some place nice. Maybe the West Coast.”
Miles stares at me for a moment, his expression unreadable. I return his stare, but he doesn’t say anything. Maybe he knows my plan, maybe he doesn’t. Either way, now when I imagine what he’ll do after we part ways I’ll have a basic idea.
The ride isn’t long. It’s an odd time of day—still morning, but long after breakfast and too soon for lunch. Everyone is at work or busy. I zip along the roads and make it to the exclusive part of town in record time. I want to wrap up everything before I go, and Rodger is one such thing I need to cross off my list.
I narrow my eyes as I get closer to my destination. Merrymore Street is bizarre compared to the ones around it. It’s covered in trees and there are tall iron fences around every piece of property. Even Miles shifts nervously in his seat as we continue down the road. Everything is muted—the sounds, the people, the animals. The place has a natural secrecy to it.
I spot Donny on the corner of Poppy Cotton, and I pull my car alongside him. He’s leaning against his blue Chevy truck with a grin and a bottle of beer. Unlike Nick’s other enforcers, he’s got a real problem with following rules or conforming to the norm. He wears jeans and a T-shirt whenever he’s out on assignment, and his boots look like something a cowboy would sport in the 1700s. I like it—that’s why I fucked him a few years back as part of my daily routine—but it gets Nick mad.
“Donny,” I say, exiting my car.
“Pierce,” he replies, his grin widening into a full-blown smile. “What took you so long?”
“Does it matter? I’m here now. Where’s Rodger?”
He throws back his bottle and finishes his drink as Miles exits the vehicle. Donny gives him the once-over. “He’s a little small for your tastes, isn’t he?”
Donny stands six inches taller than either me or Miles—and he’s got enough muscles to spare for the both of us. I give Miles a sideways glance before returning my attention to Donny. “I said, where’s Rodger not let’s chitchat about bullshit.”
Donny chuckles. “I missed your no-fucks-given attitude, Pierce. Jail isn’t as exciting as the streets. I’m gonna ask Big Man Vice to pair us together again in the future.” He nods to Miles. “Maybe we could make it a three-way.”
Before I repeat myself for a third goddamn time, Donny tosses me a pamphlet. I open it up and glare down at the pictures. Is it for some sort of church? Everyone is gathered in circles and praying to a pillar in the cen
ter. Everyone is disturbingly happy in each photograph, like they’re high as fuck or being blackmailed into such appearance—no one is that jovial without outside influence.
The pamphlet is titled The Pillars of Virtue.
The first paragraph on the first page reads:
And it came to pass as he prayed unto the Lord, there came a pillar of virtue; and he saw and heard much; and because of the things that he saw and heard, he did quake and tremble. And he cast himself upon his bed, being overcome with the things that he had seen.
Miles leans in close and stares. “What is it?”
“It’s the literary equivalent to a flaccid cock,” I quip. “No substance. I bet there’s some sort of catch too. Like you can only see virtue once you’ve handed all your money over to the fat asshole in charge.”
“The picture of the fat asshole is on the back,” Donny chimes in.
I flip the pamphlet over and, sure enough, some orange motherfucker in a pope costume is there smiling back at me. I have no idea what these people are selling—salvation?—but I’m not buying.
“Where’s the church?” I ask.
Donny points to the building set back on the corner lot. It’s surrounded by tall bushes and trees, keeping it hidden despite the time of day, and I can already see a myriad of problems ahead of me. The property itself is large enough for three compounds, and I suspect there are multiple buildings around in places I can’t see.
“There’re men at the gate,” Donny says. “I tried to get in but they wouldn’t have any of it.”
“We’ll see about that.” I pocket the pamphlet and mull over the information. If Rodger is inside, and it’s likely he is, I’m gonna need to get in and look around. But how?
Donny tosses his empty bottle onto the bed of his truck before pulling a cold one out of the cooler he has strapped down inside. He twists off the top and offers it to Miles, who declines with a shake of his head.
“Whadda ya say, kid?” Donny asks. “Pierce and I had a lot of fun back in the day. You wanna get in the middle?”
“Whatever Pierce wants,” Miles murmurs.
The comment catches me off guard and gets me hot. I didn’t know he was submitting so thoroughly to me—then again, he seems to enjoy having someone else run things. He’s eager to please and not so eager to call the shots.
Donny smiles and takes a step closer to Miles. “Whoa. Seems Pierce has you trained good. How long you been under him?” He reaches out to touch him, but I turn on my heel and shove Donny back, spilling some of his beer.
“Keep it in your pants,” I say, restraining my rage. “I’m not here for this. I’m here for Rodger. Either think of a way to get us on the property or get out of here.”
“Sure,” Donny replies, wiping off the spilled liquid. “Okay. I’ll keep my hands to myself. Just let me know what you want me to do.” He saunters back over to his truck and leans against it.
I walk a few hundred feet up the block to get a better look at the property. Miles shadows my steps, not saying a word, but his gaze is glued to our target. There are cameras around on the black iron fence, and men circle the palatial estate wearing robes. I doubt they have weapons, but if they do, they’d be well hidden.
I glance over at Miles. He looks unperturbed and focuses on our target until he notices my staring. He rubs at his neck and cocks an eyebrow.
There’s no denying that Miles is good-looking—it’s no wonder Donny honed in on him—especially in his new suit of confidence. I find myself still worked up from Miles’s earlier remark. “Don’t let him touch you,” I command. “If he does, tell me. I’ll handle it.”
Miles offers me a one-sided smile. “It sounded like you two were a thing before. I’m sure it’s an interesting story.”
“We had our fun. Now I’m not in the mood for sharing. That’s the end of the story.”
“All right.”
His willingness to do what I tell him is exciting in a primal way, but at the same time it irritates me. What if he’s just telling me what I want to hear? I want to know more of his thoughts on the situation. I turn back to him. “Do you want to fuck him?”
“Donny?” Miles asks.
“Don’t play stupid,” I snap. “Who else am I talking about?”
He scratches at the back of his head and avoids looking at me straight on—a habit I thought he had kicked. “He’s attractive, and I’ve only ever been with… one person….” He shakes away his nervousness and returns his gaze to meet mine. “But I’m with you. I don’t want any experience so much that I’d jeopardize that.”
“That doesn’t mean you should do everything I say without question.”
“Is that what you think I do?”
I turn away and glower at the scenery. Miles has been the one pushing our “relationship” in a direction I don’t normally go. He’s the one who wanted to make it more intimate—sleeping together, kissing—all the stuff I try to avoid. I guess he’s pretty vocal when he wants to be.
I shake my head. “No. You speak up when you want something.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t speak up this time so what does that mean?”
“Smartass,” I drawl.
Miles glances back at Donny and then to me. “He was the bottom?”
“Yeah.”
“But he’s pretty big. Like, bulky. Ripped.”
“That’s how I like ’em.”
Miles turns his attention down to his wiry frame. Before he can interpret anything as an insult or a suggestion, I point to the entrance gate at the front of the property. “Look. Stop worrying about this and help me think of a way to get in.”
“Do we need to go in through the front?” Miles asks.
“No.”
“Then why not go in through the back while they’re all distracted?”
“Distracted by what?”
Miles gestures to Donny with a devious smirk.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MILES IS more creative than I realized. Maybe there’s something to this high school diploma thing after all.
Donny rams his pickup truck into the front gate going full tilt. He breaks the iron bars and sideswipes a decorative post, almost hitting a man with the splinters, but that doesn’t slow him. He swirls into donuts, digging his tires into the grass and kicking up flowers. I can hear him whooping from the other side of the property. He enjoys wrecking things—it made it easy for him to fall into the career of mob muscle.
Men and women in white robes shuffle to the front, their arms up and their voices incoherent in their yelling. While they’re busy I grab the top of the iron fence. With some struggle I pull myself up and kick a leg over the black fence points. Miles mimics my motions with ease. We land on the grass and crouch-run over to the main building. Just as I suspected, there are other buildings on the property, but I decide to start with the largest one first.
The “house” is one part church, one part communal area. It’s two stories and painted dark blue with old colonial architecture. We run up to the back door and, to my luck, it’s unlocked. Miles and I slip in during the commotion. Donny isn’t going to stop anytime soon.
The first room is a kitchen—clean and filled with the aroma of cooked beef. It’s set up for mass production, much like a restaurant, and I weave between countertops until I pass through to the next room.
I stop when I enter the hall.
The entire place is covered from floor to ceiling in artwork—which is saying something, considering the mammoth size of the building. It’s straight up gaudy and not noteworthy in skill or color palette. The paintings range from landscapes to portraits… it’s eclectic.
I hear people running before I see them, and Miles and I round a corner to allow them by without confrontation. I should just coldcock everyone until we run across someone willing to tell us where Rodger is, but stealth isn’t a bad option either.
A group of women clad in robes runs up the stairs muttering something about going to their rooms. I motion to Miles
, and he picks up on it as well. The upstairs has the dorms. There’s a good chance Rodger is in one of them.
Miles jumps up the stairs two at a time, and I trail after, pulling my gun and watching for anyone who might try and stop us. I get a better look at the pictures on the wall, and I realize they all have something to do with religion or religious imagery, though not in a positive way: a lot of death, starvation, and burning stakes. The place is well furnished, though—I suspect this “church” has money to spare.
“What’s going on?” I hear a man ask.
I leap to the top of the stairs and, to my relief, spot Rodger Vice, the oldest of Nick’s children. He’s the spitting image of his father if Nick were thirty years younger—black hair, broad shoulders, clean-shaven, and tall enough to be a model. He’s dressed in a robe tie-dyed all the colors of the rainbow, the bright swirls detracting from his natural appearance.
“Pierce?” he asks. “Is that you?”
Miles steps aside and allows me to take the lead. I walk over, holster my gun, and nod to Miles. He picks up on my nonverbal communication and pulls his own gun, taking the role of guard.
I step up to Rodger and shake my head. “What’re you doing here?”
“I’m glad you’re here, actually. I’ve wanted to go for a few days, but I haven’t had the motivation. Seeing you reminds me what I’m missing back home.” He turns with a dramatic swoosh of his arm and flounces to a door at the end of the hallway. Without another word he dives in and motions for me to follow. I roll my eyes and pursue him, but there’s a piece of me that regrets ever taking this assignment.
I enter the bedroom and Miles ducks in seconds after. It’s just as gaudy as the hallway, perhaps worse. The art is wall-sized, and I wonder how they got it into Rodger’s room in the first place. The brightness and clash of colors hurts my one good eye. At least he has a decent-sized bed, but even then it’s a room I wouldn’t pay money to stay in.
“Oh my,” Rodger says, examining me and Miles. “I see no one made you shed your mortal holdings before entering the house. That’s a sin, Pierce. They take that seriously here.”
Vice City Page 17