Four Mercenaries - The Complete Collection

by K. A. Merikan

  “Don’t tell him,” Drake said in a voice that could have come from a man with a pre-death onset of rigor mortis.

  Tank shrugged. “It’s fine. We’ve known each other a while. Not many gay bounty hunters out there. Works well for us. We take on jobs as they come and get to live life how we choose to.”

  Boar shook his head and walked Clover into the small room, closing the door behind them. The setup the cramped space full of shelves provided was kinda hot, but Boar didn’t push him to his knees, letting go instead.

  “Are you okay?” he asked in a gentler tone, his proximity drowning Clover in the scent of cum and chocolate. Such a weird combination.

  Clover stared, unsure how to interpret the question. “Huh?”

  Boar chewed on his lips and placed his hands on his hips, looking like a flustered teddy bear, his fluffy mane strengthening the aura of cuddliness. “Look, none of us is good at this kind of shit. I’m not asking what happened to you if you don’t want to say, but if this arrangement you made with Tank isn’t really what you want, you can tell me.”

  Heat crawled up Clover’s neck, and for a moment he was too shocked to speak. This was really sweet. “N-no,” he choked out in the end. “It’s okay. I’m a bit shellshocked, so thanks for asking, but I’m wrapping my head around it. I’ve never done anything like this, but it’s hot. You and Pyro… I’m not a problem for you, right?”

  Boar snorted and combed back his tousled mane of red hair. “Nah. Me and him? We’re not super compatible in terms of sex, so sharing boys is kinda our thing.”

  Clover grinned and stood on his toes to kiss Boar’s lips. He slid his fingers into the coarse beard as their lips met, and only spoke when they parted. “Thanks for checking up on me.”

  Boar grunted, and his hands briefly rested on Clover’s ass, pulling him so close their hips rubbed together. “I think we’ll all enjoy this trip north. Now pick anything you like,” he said, giving Clover’s ass a brief squeeze.

  Clover hesitated, unsure if he wasn’t misstepping. “So… Boar? Where’s the nickname from?”

  Boar grinned and pulled down his lower lip revealing protruding canines. “Used to be much worse back at school before I had braces. I took the nickname in stride. Best you can do really.”

  Clover snorted, imagining a guy like Boar wearing braces. It somehow put him at ease, made the whole thing more normal, and with Boar’s help, he chose the ingredients, throwing in a wild card of his own—sesame seeds. When they went back into the kitchen, Pyro’s gaze followed Clover’s every move.

  “So you burn in the sun easily?” he asked.

  Boar blinked, placing all the products he chose on the counter by the stove. “Right. We need to buy you some sunscreen. And clothes.”

  “He does look cute in that dress,” Pyro said and nudged Drake, who stepped away as if the touch burned him, but said nothing.

  Clover was more relaxed by the second. He’d get new clothes, he’d be fed, and he’d have a bed to sleep in until he stood on his own two feet again. This would work. “Is albinism your fetish, Pyro?”

  The man barked out a laugh. “You really do have a mouth on you. I like stuff that looks different, and you’re pretty unique, gotta give you that. Your eyelashes are so cute I just wanna eat you up. Literally. Can’t wait to eat your ass again.”

  Boar grinned and broke the eggs before mixing them in a bowl.. “Knock yourself out. All of him is sweet like a meringue with cream.”

  Clover’s gaze briefly met Tank’s, who watched him with an amused expression. Maybe this was exactly the kind of rattling Clover’s life needed. Even if just for a while, he would be Tank’s boy and love every second of it. He would attach himself to those competent men and stay safe. Away from Jerry, away from his cheating ex, and far away from Arizona. He didn’t know where this path would lead him, but it was a clean start.

  Boar instructed him to put butter in the pan, and then showed him how to stir the eggs with his big hand over Clover’s as if they were two characters in a rom-com.

  This would work.

  He wasn’t even in a hurry to reach New York.

  Chapter 6 - Clover

  Tank had beautiful hands. They were large, veiny and had a bit of hair on their backs. Seeing them squeeze the steering wheel was distracting Clover from the easy conversation they were having. The empty landscape, no matter how beautiful, provided little stimulation, so Clover focused on his new Daddy.

  He’d never looked for older guys, too distrustful of those with power, and finding it easier to find a fuck within his own age group, but maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe a guy like Tank was exactly what Clover needed.

  After he’d been saved from Riggs, fucked and fed, he’d slept for eighteen hours straight, and when he’d woken up, there was a glass of water and painkillers on the bedside table. The guys hadn’t rushed Clover or woken him up, leaving him to recover at his own pace.

  They’d started their journey once Clover had had some more food, and Tank had shown him so much affection it was hard to imagine that the guy was part of a crew of mercenaries who’d killed two people just last night. When the guys had told him they’d be taking a longer route to New York for safety, Clover welcomed that information with open arms. He was in no rush to be on his own again.

  Clover ran his fingertips over the inked designs on Tank’s forearms. “How long do you have to train to get muscles like this?”

  Tank snorted, squeezing Clover’s thigh. The road was practically empty, with the exception of their three vehicles, so there was no reason for him not to focus some of his attention on Clover.

  “Years and years. Started out in high school. Bulked up in the army. Got even bigger once I became an independent contractor. Why? You wanna get into that?”

  Clover laughed and pulled his feet up onto the seat. With all the guys having feet like kayaks, he was stuck in a pair of women’s flip flops until he could buy some sneakers. “Nah, but I’d like to do something like calisthenics. I’m a good runner, too. I had a boyfriend who did parkour for a while. But yeah, you. I thought you looked like an army kind of guy. But you seem pretty young. Did you quit? How does that work?”

  Tank laughed. “I’m not that young either. Thirty-seven this year. Hope that’s not a disappointment, boy.”

  Clover grinned. “Hell no. I’ve never been with a guy so much older than me, but…” He winked at Tank. “It’s a total turn-on. I like how you just seem to know what to do. No wonder the other guys listen to you.”

  Tank didn’t comment right away, but Clover could sense it had been the right thing to say. “Well, they do most of the time.”

  “Even Drake? He doesn’t seem like a follow-orders kind of guy.” Drake was the last cog within Tank’s crew Clover hadn’t been able to move, no matter how much grease he used. Leaving him alone wasn’t exactly an option, either. If Clover was to be safe, he needed everyone on board.

  Tank scratched his head, and his firm chest rose as he inhaled a large gulp of air. “Well… he’s a bit of a lone wolf at times. But he knows how to take orders when it counts.”

  “In bed?” Clover grinned and wiggled his eyebrows.

  Tank let out a laugh. “Hell. No. Definitely not in bed. He’s not really a people person, even though he likes to be around us. Like a cat.”

  Clover smiled at the accuracy of that statement. “I do like cats. Maybe he’ll warm up to me with time. Where did you guys meet? How did you get him to join anything?”

  Tank was quiet for a couple of seconds. “On a job. He helped me out, and here we are, seven years later. To be fair, he didn’t like me much either when we first met.”

  “Any tips? ‘Cause I’m super needy.” Clover showed Tank his tongue.

  “What, three dicks is too few for you? We’ve got ourselves a real treasure.”

  Clover flushed and punched the steel-hard arm. “That’s not what I’m saying! I just want him to like me.”

  Tank grinned, rubbing the short hai
r at the top of his head. “I’ve known him for years, and there doesn’t seem to be a universal method to warm him up. Maybe start with a blowie and go from there?”

  Clover hit his head against the back of the seat. “If he even lets me anywhere near him. Why can’t everyone just offer up their dick for breakfast like you?” He walked his fingers along Tank’s skin with a smile. “It turned me on so much when you said ‘come for Daddy’. Don’t even know why.”

  “Daddy issues,” Tank said, without mocking.

  Clover groaned and rubbed his ears when they got too hot. He hated how he turned pink at the slightest flush. “Sounds about right. My step-dad never made me pancakes. But oh well, at least he didn’t fuck me handcuffed either.”

  Tank groaned. “That made me feel so much better. Got it. Pancakes and dick, and you’re good.”

  Clover didn’t want to delve any further into his past, or the half-truths would need to change into lies. He’d been through several foster homes and was glad to have no one to call a parent. He could do as he pleased and make it on his own. And when it came to his new lovers, nothing killed a boner quicker than orphan tears and a tragic backstory.

  “Speaking of pancakes, Daddy…” Clover leaned over to kiss Tank’s jaw and pointed to a rusty sign announcing they were approaching a diner and a gas station.

  Tank snorted and rubbed Clover’s back. “Fine. I’ll just let the others know.”

  A short call was enough, and within ten minutes, he parked his pickup truck next to Drake’s van and Boar’s blue sports Subaru. Tank stretched as soon as he was out, which made fabric ride up his muscular stomach.

  Clover couldn’t look away, despite feeling like a raw egg dropped into a sizzling hot pan. The sun blinded him and pinched his unprotected skin. He spotted two teenage girls staring through the diner window. But they wouldn’t be getting Tank’s dick tonight. He was.

  “Show off!” Clover laughed and poked Tank’s side. “I need new clothes so that I don’t look like a hobo next to you. A new T-shirt, at least.”

  “Why are we stopping so early?” Boar asked, and Tank patted Clover’s shoulder.

  “He needs something to wear and more food. I’ve got a parcel to pick up in the usual place. Drake, how about you stay with him and catch up with us by lunchtime?”

  Clover offered Drake his widest grin and pushed some hair behind his ear. “Thank you, Draaaake,” he said, before the man could even answer. It was a genius move on Tank’s part, so Clover winked at him gleefully.

  Drake blinked, raising his chin after a delay, as if he couldn’t believe Tank was addressing him of all people. “What.”

  “I need a T-shirt,” Clover said, and pulled on Drake’s fingers. He did expect the slap on the wrist it got him. No pain no gain.

  Boar obscured the lower part of his face with his hands, but Pyro didn’t even attempt to hide how hilarious he found Drake’s misery.

  “Make use of that dark back of your van, D. You need to loosen up sometime.”

  Drake exhaled with exasperation. “Not. Interested.”

  Tank ignored him, already opening the door of his truck. “See you in two hours. We’ll eat at Sally’s.”

  Clover smiled up at Drake, trying to look like the picture of innocence. “Will you help me put on sunscreen?”

  “Can’t believe this shit.” Drake shoved Clover toward the small store while the two other vehicles set off for their destination.

  Clover followed him into the store, which fortunately was large enough to sell some clothing items. It was only one rack of touristy printed T-shirts, and they had no shoes on offer, which left Clover stuck with the women’s flip flops, but he supposed he could wear a T-Shirt with a UFO at the front. Were they that close to Roswell?

  “Just get on with it,’ Drake said, walking off toward the aisle filled with snacks.

  “Help me choose, though.” Clover didn’t need the help, but he wanted to engage the stubborn guy. Clover was sure he’d seen a spark of interest in Drake’s eyes before, and he would exploit it if it killed him. He presented the UFO T-shirt in one hand and a white top with a simple outline of an alien’s head and a speech bubble that read, I want to believe in the other.

  Drake turned around with a packet of cheap fruit candy in hand, and scowled, as if the prospect of having any interaction with Clover pained him to the core. “Why, you’re color-blind too?”

  Clover groaned and left the white T-shirt on the rack. “Now, that’s just mean. I don’t go around telling you to quit the funeral colors.” He approached Drake, making sure to catch eye contact. “It’s okay if my loose morals scare you,” he teased.

  Drake’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and as he turned to the sodas, there was a flush climbing up his pale neck. “Take the white one.”

  “We’ll look like night and day.” Clover got giddy at this small bone thrown his way and retrieved the white top. He stopped to get a pack of chips on his way back to Drake. His favorite flavor was on the top shelf, but he was so short that he was struggling to reach it even once he climbed to his toes.

  The nineties pop music mocked him in the empty shop, so he stepped on the lowest shelf, stretching as much as possible, but his fingertips barely touched the chips. Frustrated, he wanted to ask someone for help, but a burly guy with a crew cut only stared at him for a second before walking off, as if he were embarrassed about watching an albino person for a bit too long.

  Clover turned Drake’s way, surprised to see the man standing much closer than before. “Help would be appreciated.”

  Drake’s lips stretched into a small smile for the first time since they’d met. “I prefer to watch you struggle.”

  Clover didn’t know what to say to that. It was awful of Drake to say such things, yet he somehow didn’t seem malicious. What was Clover supposed to do about this conundrum?

  “You do?” he whispered, but was so distracted he slipped off the shelf.

  Drake took a loud inhale, still watching Clover in silence. But after two seconds, he did grab the chips off the high shelf, and handed them to Clover. “I picked out sunscreen. Is this the right one?” he asked, opening his mouth as little as humanly possible. It reminded Clover of those stereotypical big-headed aliens, but maybe Drake just feared normal facial expressions would end up giving him early wrinkles. Or maybe his little lisp was the result of a malformed tongue.

  Clover licked his lips. The SPF was right, and so was the UVA star rating at the back. “Thanks.”

  When Drake passed him the tube, Clover touched his fingers with a smile.

  The man stilled, his shoulders going rigid as if he were expecting an attack. “We don’t want to deal with your burns. It’s always easier to prevent.” And yet, he watched Clover like an apprehensive cat.

  “Drake, no need to be so tense. I’ve got no bad intentions. In fact, I could help you loosen up if you let me,” he whispered and stepped into Drake’s personal space, sliding his finger under Drake’s belt.

  The trim, tall body didn’t move even by a fraction of an inch, but Drake’s lips paled when they pressed together. “What do you mean?”

  “The tension in your balls,” Clover said, so close now he could reach Drake’s neck with his lips if he got to his toes.

  When Drake swallowed, trumpets rang in Clover’s ears in triumph, but moments later, cool fingers dug into his cheeks so hard he barely held back a cry of pain. Drake forced him back until Clover’s shoulders hit the side of a block of shelves, his black-clad presence hovering over him like death himself.

  “You might have everyone else fooled, but not me. I don’t trust your smiles, or the whole victim act.”

  Clover whimpered, deflated. Too soon. He’d been too brash. He’d petted the cat with too much insistence, and it lashed out. Back to the drawing board.

  “Okay, okay.” He grabbed Drake’s wrist, afraid of ending up with a permanent imprint of fingers on his cheeks from the strong hold.

  Red blots had appeared on Drake�
��s pale skin by the time he let Clover go and pulled him toward the cash register. They left the shop moments later, and when Clover sat in the passenger seat of the van, he didn’t feel any more comfortable than he’d had in the back of this same vehicle less than two days ago.

  Tension oozed out of every pore on Drake’s handsome face, causing more awkwardness. Clover didn’t even get to buckle up his seatbelt before Drake started the car and drove off. Since the silence went on, he took off Tank’s T-shirt and put on the new one. He took his sweet time, discreetly checking if Drake was ogling him, because the atmosphere in the van was getting so dense he had to open the window.

  “So… you bring all your victims to this van?” Clover asked, after what felt like miles on the road.

  “You’re not funny. You just get away with a lot because of your face. Haven’t you just avoided becoming someone’s victim, yourself? What’s wrong with you to even make jokes like that?” Drake asked, with a scowl that would make his handsome face age faster, but pointing that out right now didn’t seem smart.

  “I don’t know. I’m doing my best, but you can’t cheat fate. Whatever happens, happens. I’m curious about you, because you know what? I’m not buying your thing either.” Clover crossed his arms. “I bet you’re a total marshmallow on the inside.”

  Clover yelped when Drake swerved to the side of the road and parked so abruptly, Clover was glad he had fastened his seatbelt earlier. “What the fuck!?”

  Drake opened his door and slid outside. “I’m done with your attitude and your constant yapping.”

  A jolt of intense heat pierced Clover’s body. Drake wouldn’t just leave him here. He couldn’t do that, could he? He’d been outvoted on this, and there were barely any cars driving through!

  Clover remained still, flinching only when Drake yanked the door open and pulled him out of the van with a bruising grip. “You’re not staying with me at the front.”

  “Why? This is so unfair. Are there even seatbelts there?”

  Drake’s mouth twitched as he hauled Clover along the vehicle, which was already open at the back. The inside was packed with boxes and luggage, all secured to the walls with straps, but Clover’s gaze fell on a gray yoga mat and sleeping bag even before Drake tossed him there.