Accidental Roots The Series Volume 1: an mm romantic suspense box set

by Elle Keaton

  Being quiet didn’t matter; the two people in the house were arguing so loudly a slew of cars could have raced into the yard and neither would have noticed. Regardless, he was as quiet as possible. The front steps creaked when he stepped up them, so he took them two at a time. The porch itself was halfway falling off the front of the house; there was a large gap between the front door and the last porch board. Buck stepped over it and into the house.

  The man Joey called Andre had his back to the front door, which was standing wide open. He was continuing to scream, spittle flying, at the petite Asian woman, whose straight black hair was flying as he shook her savagely by the shoulders. Tears were running down her face. Her dark eyes flickered when Buck stepped into the room, but she did not give his presence away. Instead, she said something in the same language as Andre that only infuriated the man further.

  Buck wasn’t a fighter, although he had faced bullies before. He was, however, a mechanic who spent his days using his body for hard work. Fury he didn’t know he had stored inside him rose, engulfing him. All the times as a child when his own father loomed over him, demanding that he hit back, that Buck “prove himself,” “be a man.” Buck had cowered in front of his father, much like Perla was, shaking his head and repeating “no, no, no,” begging him to stop. Buck had been a small kid. A small, chubby kid. A disappointment. The kind of kid who gets picked on, has few friends. How many times had his father threatened him like Andre was threatening the woman?

  Wrath shoved aside his secret shame. Buck stepped closer and tapped the guy on the shoulder. When he turned, Buck clenched his fist and unloaded a jackhammer punch to his jaw, putting his entire shoulder into the blow. The huge man was caught off guard and stumbled backward, colliding with the back of a moldy couch. Barely catching himself from falling to the floor, he launched himself at Buck with a scream of rage.

  Jesus Christ, the asshole had fifty pounds on him. Buck was at a disadvantage both in weight and height. Andre’s arms were longer, and his fists were the size of hams. However, he must have been used to being a bully because he only used his weight advantage, pressing against Buck and trying to force him to admit defeat. Buck rolled out from under him, kneeing the guy in the balls as hard as he could on the way, resulting in a shriek of pain before Buck was hammered in the side of his face by a huge fist. Stunned for a moment, Buck staggered backward, luring Andre close again. Buck twisted around, kicking at the back of his knees, barely avoiding the long arms trying to reach out and crush him. Fuck. He frantically tried to swipe the sweat out of his eyes; it was freezing inside the house but both men were sweating profusely.

  Buck was fueled by rage and anger. The massive amount of adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream kept him on his feet. Still, he needed to figure out how to pacify this guy before he was hammered into the ground. Buck would not win a long-drawn-out fight with him. He was not strong enough, so he needed be smart. It didn’t matter how he did it, he reminded himself; it mattered that he got it done.

  Once again Andre was up and charging toward him, his face crazed. Buck feinted to the left. Andre fell for it, giving Buck an opening to again kick the guy’s knees out from under him. He thought about the kids sold by their families into slavery and shipped to the United States where they were held in inhuman conditions, about Perla, about the girls and kids who had disappeared over the years, and his rage grew exponentially. Andre tried to get up on his hands and knees. Buck kicked him viciously before reaching down with both hands and forcing him onto his back. Before the giant could protect himself, Buck was on him, straddling his thighs, hammering and punching his hideous face. Anger coursed hot and dangerous through his veins.

  Voices penetrated the fog in his mind; hands grabbed his shoulders, trying to pull him away.

  “Buck—Buck, stop!”

  Joey was speaking, but Perla was the one trying to get him off Andre. Joey stood in the doorway with Sacha propped against him, trying to hold himself up. The light streaming in from behind them made Joey look like an angel.

  Stumbling back off the unconscious man, Buck sagged to the floor, his heart beating a million times a minute, his head fuzzy. Perla tried to wipe his face with a rag of some kind, but he pushed her away. He couldn’t have anyone touching him.

  “Right, sorry if I underestimated you,” Sacha rumbled. “Remind me not to piss you off.”

  He and Joey shambled over to the couch, but before Joey could help him sit, Sacha changed his mind.

  “Help me to the floor. I’ll catch something from that piece of shit, and—” he waved toward Andre, “—find something to tie that guy up with before he regains consciousness, or we’ll all be in a world of hurt. More hurt,” he clarified.

  As smoothly as he could, Joey lowered Sacha to the floor. The man groaned when Joey dropped him a few inches. “I thought you were a nurse, supposed to be kind and help people, not cause pain.”

  Buck found some ancient cable cord he used on Andre. Under Sacha’s baleful eye, he wrapped it as tightly as he could around the man’s wrists and ankles. Joey was repacking Sacha’s wound when they heard the first distant sirens coming their way.

  As the first of Adam’s team stormed the house, Andre began to come around. Before anyone could stop her, Perla hit him in the face with a piece of wood she had brought in from the porch. Buck took her by the arm, pulling her away, though he understood how she felt.

  Now that the adrenaline had dissipated, Buck was exhausted and embarrassed by his actions. The agents kept saying how lucky it was for Perla he was there, clapping him on the shoulder with pride. Buck felt ill. He couldn’t bring himself to look Joey in the eye, or Perla, or anyone.

  An ambulance finally bumped down the narrow drive. They had to move cars around like one of those puzzle games where only one square was empty so it could get close enough to load up Sacha. Good thing his wound wasn’t life-threatening and that Joey had been there to take care of it.

  Buck tried to focus on what was happening around him. He’d told his version of events to the investigators what seemed like a hundred times. The agents had taken him and Joey to another location, an office building, where Adam had lain in wait for them. Joey’d cringed when he saw Adam’s grim face among the waiting team.

  “Fuck me sideways,” Joey muttered, not quite under his breath.

  “Hello, Mr. James, Mr. Swanfeldt. We meet again. Lucky me.”

  Buck was humiliated that he had allowed his violent emotions to get away from him; more like they had poured from him. He’d hit another person in anger, with intent to cause physical pain. His hands now had someone else’s blood on them. He had been so angry he couldn’t control himself. A flash of Andre’s—no, Andriy’s; the agents had spelled his real name for them, though Buck didn’t see why it mattered—bruised and battered face kept popping up like a stupid billboard in his head. He couldn’t get rid of it and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He had only hit one person in anger before. It didn’t matter that the person on the other end of his fists was morally corrupt, that he’d been threatening Perla. Buck had used his fists and body to hurt someone.

  “Bathroom?” he asked. Weir looked at him a little oddly but nodded his okay.

  An agent he hadn’t been introduced to pointed down an empty hallway. Buck made his way as quickly and unobtrusively as he could, passing several empty offices. The restroom was unoccupied, thankfully. Buck locked himself in the stall farthest from the door. Bending over the toilet, he threw up what was left of the waffles. Then he slid down onto the tile floor, not caring when it had last been cleaned, his head between his knees, body shaking, his bruised knuckles throbbing in time with his heart.

  Thirty-Three

  Joey and Weir watched Buck bolt from the conference room they were stationed in. Buck had been quiet since they’d been brought there from the Hansen estate, but he was a quiet person, Joey knew that much about him. Even the New Year’s Party had been pretty quiet. Music playing softly in the background in
stead of blaring so loudly that no one could talk. He was, Joey decided, a man of few words.

  The expression on his face just now, though . . . Joey couldn’t put a name to it. Buck looked like he’d maybe murdered a baby or abused a puppy. His glacial blue eyes were a clouded gray, not the clear icy depths Joey had been learning expressed what Buck didn’t say out loud, eyes that held nothing back. When Buck was quiet, which was most of the time, Joey had a pretty good idea what was going through his mind. Which raised the question, what on earth did he see in Joey?

  “You wanna go check on your guy?” Weir asked.

  Joey didn’t hesitate; he was out of the room and down the hall before Weir could rescind his offer.

  The door to the men’s room opened silently. Seeing no one at the sinks, Joey stepped farther into the room and let the door shut behind him. The sound of hitched breathing interspersed with sobs echoed softly off the tile walls, followed by sniffling, as Buck tried but was unable to get his emotions under control. A fresh round of tears broke out.

  Joey cleared his throat. “Hey, it’s me.”

  The noise ended abruptly, and Joey heard the rustling of the toilet-paper roll.

  “Um,” finally his nursing training kicked in, “would you like to talk about it? Tell me what’s bothering you? I’m a really good listener.”

  He heard Buck shifting around in the stall and he crouched to see that Buck was sitting on the floor next to the toilet. This was bad. He wished he hadn’t lost his phone the day before.

  “Can I come in and sit next to you? Please?” He had no idea what had Buck so wound up, but Joey needed to be next to him, to comfort him in some way. He’d just have to hope it was the right way. Buck unlocked the stall door. Joey guessed that was as good an invitation as he was going to get. He opened the door and slid inside the stall to sit next to Buck.

  “You know, I’ve been in bathroom stalls with a lot of hot guys such as yourself. All the other boys are gonna be jealous, you got me in here without having to promise a lewd sex act.”

  Buck half sniffled, half chuckled. Joey grabbed another wad of tissues off the roll.

  “Here. Seriously, I am not having sex with you here. You are just going to have to wait until we get—shoot, I forgot, I’m staying with my mom right now.”

  “I’m sorry I’m such a basket case,” Buck muttered into the tissue.

  “What happened? And, in regards to our earlier sex discussion, we can totally do it at your house, right?”

  “You are incorrigible.” But Joey could tell Buck was smiling a little. “Miguel is staying at my house.”

  “Wait, why? No, never mind, don’t distract me. You didn’t say we couldn’t. Before we get down to brass tacks about our agreement, can you tell me what happened? Why are you so upset?”

  Buck took a deep breath and kind of shuddered. Joey liked feeling his solid, warm (and hot) body against his own. Even though Buck was physically much larger than Joey, at that moment Joey was the protector.

  “You know I won’t repeat anything you tell me.”

  “It’s not that.” Buck tugged Joey even closer, almost into his lap, settling his chin over the top of Joey’s head. Fuck this, Joey thought, and crawled all the way onto Buck, his knees on the floor so he was straddling him.

  “I don’t know what to say.” Buck’s voice was broken, and he shivered against Joey. “I wasn’t thinking, I—my mind was blank; I was just striking out. I’ve never felt that angry before in my life.”

  Joey tried to soothe him, running his hands up Buck’s sides to help him ground himself. “He was attacking Perla, right? I mean, we heard her screaming.”

  Buck nodded. “And . . . I kept thinking about the kids, how Sveta has a bruise on her cheek. About how scared they all were and still are, how they cower and hide. They have no idea what will happen to them. I wanted to hurt Andriy so badly, if you and Perla hadn’t stopped me I think I would have killed him.” Buck whispered something else, but it was so quiet that Joey couldn’t make out the words.

  “Say again?”

  Buck shook his head. Joey leaned back and saw that his eyes were scrunched shut, tears leaking out again. Joey swung himself around so his back was pressed against Buck. It seemed eye contact wasn’t going to work for Operation Buck Swanfeldt. Almost automatically, Buck brought his arms around Joey’s waist, slumping to rest his chin on his shoulder.

  “Is this better? Can you tell me now what is really bothering you? You were a hero today. If you hadn’t been there with me, Sacha, Perla, and I would all be dead, I have no doubt about that. If you had let me leave by myself . . .”

  Buck’s arms tightened again. “I can’t think about that.”

  Waiting for Buck to bring whatever it was he needed to out into the light was painful. Joey suspected what it was, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear, or easier for Buck to say. Picking up Buck’s right hand, Joey kissed each bruised and scraped knuckle as softly as he could. “These hands saved me today. Even if you were angry, it wasn’t with me or Perla, it was with Andriy, right? You used your power for good, not evil. Kon would be proud.”

  Right into Joey’s ear, so the words wouldn’t escape anywhere else, Buck whispered, “My father used to hit me. The only person who knew was my mother. He would hit me and tell me I was a useless piece of shit, that I couldn’t do anything right. I never knew why, what set him off. I walked on eggshells every day. Every day, from my earliest memory until the summer of my junior year in high school.”

  “The summer you grew six inches.”

  “Yeah. He was coming at me one day in our kitchen after we both got home from work, kind of like Andriy did today, and I realized I was taller than he was. Bigger, stronger, healthier. He slapped me across the cheek.” Unconsciously Buck put his hand to his cheek, remembering that awful day. “He was always doing stuff like that. Slapping me, calling me a crybaby. My mom would just stand in the kitchen doorway, her usual helpless expression on her face.”

  “I’m so sorry. Keep going. What happened?”

  “Um, I stood to my full height—I think I must have usually slouched around him, because I was a couple inches taller and hadn’t realized it before. I stood to my full height and told him if he ever hit me again I would kill him. I meant it, too. He laughed at me. So I hit him. I hit him so hard he slammed against the kitchen table and broke it in half. My mother ran upstairs. I went to the bathroom and threw up, but he never hit me again.”

  “And today?”

  “I can’t hit anyone, Joey; it makes me feel like my father, and I can’t be like him.” Buck gulped back a sob. “During the fight with Andriy I wasn’t even thinking, I was just punching, trying to hurt him as much as possible. I think I could have killed him. I hate that I have the potential to kill inside me.”

  There was a light knock on the restroom door. “Hey, guys, we need you in the conference room; can you wrap it up?” Weir said.

  “Coming,” Joey called out.

  “They all say that in the men’s room stalls when I’m around,” Weir shot back.

  “Don’t encourage him,” Buck groused. His voice sounded almost back to normal.

  Joey stood and opened the door, offering a hand to help Buck from the cold floor. They both washed their hands at the sink, and Buck rinsed his mouth. It was a good thing Joey hadn’t had the chance to look in a mirror since morning, as he had forgotten about his black eye for a while. Of course, now it started to throb. He looked almost as bad as Buck. Joey fussed over Buck a little. Someone had given him a shirt to make up for the one he’d sacrificed to Sacha and his undershirt, which had been covered in Andriy’s blood, but it was too damn small and kept riding up. Joey didn’t need any other guys ogling his man’s abs. Or any of his man, for that matter.

  It was early evening before they were allowed to return to Brandon and Stephanie’s. After Buck’s stomach rumbled for a third time, alerting everyone in the room to the fact that he was very hungry, Adam released them to We
ir. Joey and Buck had to promise they would behave themselves and would stay one more night at the farm.

  Kon was waiting for them on the front porch with Xena.

  “I made the mistake of telling him you two were on your way home.” Brandon grimaced. “He’s been beside himself since this morning. The kid is a downright pest when he doesn’t get what he wants. I think he taught himself most of the English language today so he could drive me crazy with questions. Didn’t you?” Brandon ruffled Kon’s black hair, and the boy glared up at him.

  Brandon motioned them inside, where they were greeted in Russian and English alike. Sveta came forward to offer Buck a quick, shy hug. Someone must have relayed to them what had happened, that Andriy had been taken somewhere he would no longer be able to harm them. The church connection was still vague, though. Weir and Adam had told them that Sacha, on his way into the operating room, had said something about a church as well. But the final key person—the money person—they didn’t know who that was yet.

  Tomorrow they were bringing Ira back out to talk to the teens some more. The previous day had been so overwhelming for them, Adam and Weir hoped they might have more useful information after more food and rest. As to what would happen to them, Weir shrugged. Joey could sense he wasn’t going to like what Weir had to say.

  “It depends. Can we find their family? Will their family take them? I’ve been involved with cases like this before, where we either couldn’t find the family, or the living situation was too dangerous to send them back. Most often, kids like these come from a damaged population who have nothing left to lose, persecuted in their countries.” He looked out at the kids, most of whom were gathered in the living room watching TV. A few seemed to be bickering amongst themselves, although it was hard to gauge. Kon, of course, was once again plastered to Buck’s side, Xena curled up at their feet. Buck seemed to need the little boy’s attention as much as Kon needed his.