Pure (Trenton Security Book 4)

by J. M. Dabney

  All of it was surreal, as if they were just camping with friends and nothing awaited them back in the real world. He didn’t miss that Horace suspended another bucket of water over the fire, like the man did it every night for Pure’s baths. Maybe he’d taken the men too much at face value. They gave him a lead he hadn’t even thought about, but so many names and their time was running out. The whodunit mystery nowhere near being done.

  RAUL WAS ACTING STRANGE

  N othing but the sounds of animals scurrying in the dark and the steady beat of Raul’s heart beneath his ear intruded in the interior of their tent. The more they played out all the scenarios, the lists of names whittled down to no one. There had to be something. One enemy that couldn’t be excluded without logic. They’d need to move on soon. He didn’t know where they’d go, and Horace and Freddie kept telling them to make a stand there.

  He awoke that morning to find Raul gone and for several minutes, he’d assumed Raul left. Raul wanted to save him, take him out of the equation, but his one rule he’d followed for over a decade was: no one will ever make him kneel. For days they’d talked and strategized, but they danced all around the issue between him and Raul. He’d analyzed the consequences and accepted them.

  When it came to getting passports, he’d spoken with his mom about leaving. As much as it would pain him to leave his mom behind, she’d assured him it wouldn’t be a forever goodbye. He rubbed his bearded cheek on Raul’s chest.

  “Why aren’t you asleep, boy?”

  “Thinking.”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “We should head south.”

  “You mean run.”

  “Yeah.” He turned his head to rest his chin on Raul and met the man’s gaze in the dimness. The only light from the fire showing through the tent. “The more we search, the farther we are from the ones responsible. We stay in the US then we’ll never be able to breathe.”

  Raul rubbed the back of his head, gently tugged at his hair, and then slipped his free arm under his head. “That’s not the life for you.”

  “Every morning I wake up, I think you’re gone until I hear your voice.”

  “If I turn myself in, it’s the quickest way of finding them. You know that as well as I do.”

  “I know that.”

  “Boy, the minute I saw you all those years ago, I wanted you. But after I got to spend time with you, it turned to a craving need. I was so unworthy of it. Never in my life had I met a man who was waiting for his one. So jealous of the man who got you.”

  Goosebumps broke out over his skin at the tug on his hair.

  “Nicolas, you have to let me do what I know is best for you.”

  He’d closed his eyes at the way Raul whispered his name. When Daddy came to the surface, Raul only called him Nicolas. He’d always hated the name, but when his Daddy used it, it was more an endearment than a curse. “I understand that, but—”

  “There’s no buts to this. I’ll compromise, you have forty-eight hours to come up with a better plan or find the fucker threatening me. After that, I turn myself in, and take my chances.”

  “What about me?”

  “You’ll promise to move on. Find that man who will be free for you to call husband and fill a house with all those babies you want. Because as long as you’re free to love—to dream, I don’t give a fuck what happens to me. Until I take my last breath, Nicolas, your happiness and safety will be my only priority.”

  The tears dampened his lashes and cheeks. Just as he was about to speak, Raul pushed him to his back.

  “Fuck, you don’t know how many nights I laid in bed imagining you there. I waited too long to open my mouth and…say something. Now time is running out, but I want to be selfish.”

  Raul’s mouth lowered to his, and he met his Daddy halfway. They both yearned for the same thing. Normalcy and a sense of belonging before the inevitable war. His breathing picked up the pace as the slow hiss of the sleeping bag zipper eased down. He spread his hands over Raul’s smooth chest and watched in fascination as his Daddy stripped off his pajama bottoms. He lifted his hips as Raul gripped the sides of his and ever so slowly bared him.

  Lingering embarrassment urged him to cover himself, but a deep rumble in his Daddy’s chest stopped him. He arched as Raul straddled his upper thighs, their hard cocks aligning.

  “Daddy wants you to fuck him. Do you want that, baby boy?”

  He was nearly too nervous to speak, but knew his Daddy needed him to use his words. “Yes, Daddy.”

  He’d always assumed he’d be the one to bottom. Daddy as the top seemed natural, but it wasn’t the first time Raul said he wanted to be fucked by his boy. He was terrified if he’d do it right. Raul was always careful not to play with his hole too roughly or push inside. Part of him saw it as a failure—that he wasn’t giving his Daddy want he needed.

  Raul tugged their pack toward them, and he watched as Raul dug into a side pocket. His Daddy produced a condom and a small bottle of lube.

  “I’m nervous.” He had to admit it. Raul demanded his honesty.

  “There’s nothing to be nervous about. Daddy will take care of everything. I’ve thought about my boy fucking me so many times.”

  Raul kissed and touched him, nipped sharply at his skin, and he arched into every rough caress. Gasped at the tickle of Raul’s long goatee over his ribs. He slammed his eyes shut as his Daddy sucked at the lower curve of his belly, and he bit down on his lip as his Daddy swallowed his length to the back of his throat. The heat and pressure, his Daddy retreated and tongued his slit. His upper body arched forward as he felt his release coming too quickly. He couldn’t contain his slutty whimper at the tight ring of his Daddy’s fingers at the base of his cock.

  He dug his nails into Raul’s shoulders as his Daddy sucked his cock faster. Raul growled around his length. Just as he felt he couldn’t take anymore, his Daddy released him with a slow retreat. He felt the odd sensation of latex gliding down his cock. His eyes flew open to find his Daddy slicking his fingers and just as Raul moaned, the man slammed his mouth down on his.

  Quick biting kisses, teasing of tongues, and his Daddy was stretching himself. He gripped his Daddy’s ass and sunk his fingers into Raul’s crease. He pulled his Daddy’s cheeks wide.

  “Fuck, boy, you gonna tear Daddy’s ass up,” his Daddy whispered.

  He didn’t have time to respond before Raul shifted, wrapped his hand around his cock, and he brought his hands to his Daddy’s hair.

  “Daddy’s boy is thick, just like I need.”

  The vice-like grip had him curling his toes. He fisted his hands in the waves of his Daddy’s hair. His Daddy started to fuck himself onto his dick. Their mouths pressed together as they each seemed to fight to catch their breath.

  “Daddy, may I move?”

  “Yes, baby boy.”

  As soon as he had permission, he bent his knees and planted his feet so he countered his Daddy. Stroked his aching dick repeatedly in Raul’s tight ass. The harder he pounded his Daddy, the tighter Raul became.

  “Show Daddy how much you love him,” Raul demanded and then stilled.

  He lost all control. All nervousness fled, and he was fucking his Daddy with no care. It was too much and not enough. His muscles strained, and his thighs burned. But the second Raul’s calloused hand wrapped around the front of his throat, he froze grinding against Raul’s clenched ass cheeks.

  “I didn’t tell you to stop, baby boy.” His Daddy braced his right hand on Pure’s chest, and the left was contracting just enough to restrict his breathing but not cut it off.

  His Daddy’s head was thrown back, his muscular body arched and rode him. Their sweaty skin slapped together, their voices rang out in the silence, and anyone nearby would know that Daddy was asking his boy to fuck him. He used his bigger bulk to flip them until he was on top, his wider hips forcing his Daddy’s to part them wider.

  In the dim light coming through the tent, he watched his cock fuck into his Dad
dy’s stretched hole. Raul’s hand was still around his throat had fire rushing through his veins, and then his Daddy was jacking his cock to match his pace.

  “Make Daddy feel it.”

  His sac tightened, and he fell forward with his mouth desperately searching for his Daddy’s, and then he was filling the latex. An answering wet heat spread between their bellies. His Daddy took his mouth in a brutal kiss.

  “Fuck, boy, that dick was made for Daddy’s ass.”

  He kept stroking into his Daddy with shallow thrusts until it was too much and he slipped free. They kissed and touched, both slowly coming down. When their breathing leveled off from harsh pants to deep and even, Raul cleaned them up with a discarded t-shirt.

  “Did I do okay, Daddy?” The insecurity that flared in the lessening of post-orgasmic bliss made him ask.

  “You were perfect, baby boy. Daddy loved being your first.”

  Raul stroked his back as his Daddy positioned him with his face buried in Raul’s neck. They shared more kisses and whispered words. He opened his mouth to tell Raul, his Daddy, how he felt but forced it back. He was terrified that all the changes would be too much. Tomorrow, when they were both clear-headed and not relaxed from sex, he would confess then.

  HELL HAS FOUND THEM

  Explosions rang out, smoke and the stench of burned flesh filled his nose, and his eyes burned. He’d lost sight of Pure. His boy was out there in the open. He fell to the ground as Horace called a warning and a round passed so close that he could feel it displace the air over his shoulder where he was tucked down.

  “Pure headed east, Freddie had his Six, but that boy was moving fast.”

  “Find him,” he ordered, and Horace disappeared without argument.

  He took several deep breaths, jumped to his feet, and took off running in the direction the shots had come from. He didn’t have time to think about the one that had hit the ground an inch from Pure. How the hell did they find them? Twigs and leaves crunching beneath his boots were overshadowed by the crackling of the fires where the explosions had sounded.

  His heart was beating fast, and sweat dampened the t-shirt he’d dragged on. None of them had time for vests. Whoever was out there was on the move, and they needed to take them out before they got to his team—to Pure. He slowed his steps in the pre-dawn darkness that was only illuminated by the flickering of flames. Kept low. Listening for the even pace of steps. A quickened harsh breath.

  A single shot rang out, and the shrill screams of a dying man drowned out everything else. He heard the panicked calls of the bastards sent in after them. He focused, counted individual voices, and heard four. Five by five team. Small but effective. The downed man screamed for help only to be met with men yelling for him to shut up.

  He circled, hid in the shadows and tried to pick out shapes. He spotted Freddie alone and tried to ignore his fear when he couldn’t see Pure nearby.

  He jumped as another shot preceded more screams, two down only three to go. The beam of a flashlight flashed seconds before he saw the muzzle flare. He followed the line of fire, and he started off at a run as the fucker’s aim was true. Pure flinched but never stopped. He didn’t hesitate to aim and shoot as he squeezed the trigger, controlled bursts, conserving his ammo.

  The beam danced in the dimness as it tumbled through the air when the bastard fell. Just as he reached the downed man, Pure was nowhere to be seen. He crouched down, cursing as the tree exploded right next to his head. Flying bark and wood stinging his cheek.

  Stay on the move, Raul, your boy needs you alive.

  Screams of dying men came from four different directions, which meant there was still one out there.

  “You’ll never make it out of here alive,” an enraged male voice said, and he froze at the sight in front of him when the trees opened to a small clearing.

  “I’m a sniper by trade, but for you…” Pure’s voice held no emotion. “For you, I want up close and personal.”

  Pure had the barrel of his forty-five beneath a greasy looking man’s chin. From that distance, he could see the overwhelming hatred in the man’s eyes.

  “He’s dead whether I live or die.”

  “Maybe I’ll just keep you alive.”

  Quickly Pure lowered the weapon and fired once into the man’s knee. The stranger tried to lean forward, but Pure’s grip in his hair was too tight, then the barrel was right back where it was.

  “There’s one, now, names, and if I get no names, there’s another knee, maybe that sorry excuse for a dick is next.”

  A snapping of a twig as he entered the clearing made him raise his arm, and he squeezed his trigger, three shots echoed at once. The man fell, the shotgun falling from his hands and then he turned to check on Pure, to find Pure and the man both on the ground. Blood covered Pure’s side, and his chest moved as if struggling to take in each breath.

  “Pure,” he yelled as he knelt beside his boy.

  “Did I get him?” Pure wheezed.

  “Yeah, baby, you did.”

  “Ya…gotta go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Never in the years he’d done this job or worked with Trenton had terror caused him to shake. His boy was bleeding, fighting for each breath. Fear, rage, and helplessness.

  “We have a man down, shotgun to the lower left side. Labored breathing.” Freddie was speaking somewhere in the distance. Coordinates were relayed.

  Horace had his shirt off and pressed to the wound.

  “Sin and Saint have the chopper. They’re on the move.”

  He leaned down, Pure’s face in his hands and pressed a kiss to his lips. “You gotta hold on for me. Help is coming.”

  Pure weakly pushed at his chest, rasping as he attempted to order him to go. He wasn’t running. That’s what got them in this situation.

  “Hey, don’t close those pretty blues. Tell me something good.”

  “Not a lot—”

  “Tell me,” he demanded.

  “You would have made pretty, feral babies.”

  He forced a laugh, and Pure began to cough, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth.

  “We still have time.”

  Just as he was about to yell for an ETA on the chopper, a roar above them signaled help had arrived, and the trees surrounding the clearance started to dance from the spin of the rotors. He covered Pure’s body to protect him from debris. He glanced upward in time to see Sin rappelling to the ground with the bright yellow rescue basket, another larger figure just above.

  Gibson, the Powers Fire Chief touched down, then Sin and him were in movement to Pure.

  “What do we got?”

  “Thirty-year-old male, shotgun blast to the lower left side. Possible punctured lung. It was at thirty feet.”

  “The shot would’ve dispersed and lost power at that distance. Pure, hey, we’re going to check you over and then load you up. They’re waiting for you at the hospital. We’re going to get you stable and move you to Atlanta.”

  He held tight to Pure’s hand as Gibson worked on him, checking his stats and dressing the wound. Sin was readying the basket to lift Pure out. He wanted to demand answers. Then the monitor signaled an alarm, and the line went flat.

  “We don’t have time to stabilize in the field…let’s move. I have a portable de-fib in the chopper.”

  Everything was chaos, from the first shot fired no more than an hour ago maybe more, until they rushed to get Pure in the basket.

  “Daddy’s coming for you, decide now, run or stay and fight,” Sin whispered in his ear.

  All he could do was stand there helpless as he watched his boy ascend. Would he live or die? He’d waited too long—fucked up too much. Tried to be noble and what did it get him, his boy fighting for his life and he wasn’t there to watch over him.

  “Come on, man, let’s get back to camp, we can still make a run—”

  “No, Horace, I’ve run enough, my boy doesn’t make it then I don’t really have anything to run fo
r.” He tapped his weapon against his thigh as he dragged ass behind Horace and Freddie back to camp. Bullet holes riddled the tents that were turned on their sides. The two men started clearing out the ruined gear and starting a bonfire.

  “You know that’s evidence, right?”

  “What are they gonna do, lock us up?” Freddie started the fire.

  He stumbled onto a stump, tossed his weapon aside, and rested his face in his hands. Then he waited for Pelter to arrive. Days of running and worrying, the sense of dread that his boy was already gone, weighed him down. If Pure died, he had nothing left because his career was over. All he would have were bittersweet memories of his boy’s first time. The ultimate bliss. How would that hold him over?

  His days were numbered. The minute the doors closed behind him was his death sentence. He could fight but for how long, and did he have anything to fight for anymore?

  “Raul?”

  He turned his head as Pelter’s voice came from behind him. The big, dark-skinned man gave him a look that didn’t fill him with hope.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He hung his head as he pushed to his feet and put his arms behind his back. The cool steel of handcuffs pinched his wrists and desolation filled him. Never in his life had he allowed himself to be defeated. All he knew was fighting out of a corner and with Pelter’s mournful I’m sorry, his world collapsed around him.

  His rights being read to him were no more than a low drone, and as he was led away from the clearing all he could think was he hadn’t told his boy what Pure meant to him. He hadn’t made the promises he knew Pure craved. A simple four-letter word, one short sentence, and when he’d had the opportunity, he’d let it go assuming he’d have another day—another time.

  Their time had run out, and all he had were regrets.

  THE SLAMMING OF JAIL DOORS