Lazarus

by Cooper McKenzie

  Finally, she pulled out a folded paper from the bottom of the bag. “Aha. There it is,” she said, handing it to Cara.

  Cara looked at it and nodded before handing it to him. “You’re welcome,” she said with enough of a bratty tone that Laz lifted an eyebrow.

  “Watch the tone, Little girl, or I’ll tell Nico he needs to spank you more often.”

  “Does this mean you’re going to bring a Little boy into the family?” Cara ignored his threat.

  “I don’t know if we need any more boys in the family,” Annie commented blandly as she scooped everything back into her bag.

  Laz studied the paper and noted the address. It wasn’t one he was familiar with, so he pulled out his phone and looked it up. After mapping the route, he nodded.

  “All right, ladies. You’d better head home before your men get in trouble for blocking the road,” he said with a grin as three motorcycles sat at the end of the road just outside the blocked off area used for the event.

  As soon as the women drove away, Laz returned to his motorcycle and climbed on. Instead of joining the Santi parade of SUVs and motorcycles back to the family compound, he headed in the opposite direction, the map application on his phone directing him through the headset in his helmet.

  Twenty minutes later, he braked in front of the address Quillan listed on the order form he’d given Annie. Frowning, he pulled out the form and double-checked. Yep, this was the place.

  It wasn’t just a house. It was a fucking ranch mansion. Why the fuck was Quillan worrying about money if he lived here?

  Looking around, he saw what looked like a tiny guest house behind and to the side of the main house. Parked in front of that building was the small red car that Quillan had driven that morning.

  Bypassing the main house, Laz followed the road around and parked his motorcycle behind Quillan’s car. Climbing off, he took the time to remove his helmet and hang it from the handle. Passing the tiny car, he looked in and frowned when he saw everything Quillan had taken to the festival was still packed inside.

  His frown deepened even further when he heard yelling coming from inside the small house. As he approached the front door, he saw it was open a few inches.

  Then a scream filled the air.

  Shoving the door open, Laz stepped in and froze, momentarily stunned by the sight before him.

  Quillan was draped over the back of the couch, his feet kicking the back of the couch as a much older man hit him with a belt. When he pulled the leather back to strike again, Laz noted the bastard was using the buckle end of the belt on the younger, much smaller man.

  “Oh, hell no,” Laz growled as he moved across the room fast enough to grab the end of the belt just as the man began to swing his arm forward.

  Jerking the belt from the man’s hand, Laz shoved him away from Quillan’s still form.

  “Who the fuck are you?” the man asked as he tried to grab the belt and take it back.

  Glaring at the man, Laz held it out of his reach as he pulled out his gun and held it at his side. “I’m his man. Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m Michael Kelly, his father. You can’t be his man. He’s not gay.”

  While Laz knew better, he needed to get this abusive bastard out of the way so he could see how badly Quillan was hurt. “Maybe, maybe not, but whatever he is, he’s mine. Now I suggest you take yourself out of here until we’re gone before I start beating you with this belt.”

  As he spoke, Laz adjusted his grip on the belt so the buckle end dangled free. He then began whirling it around to the side, ready to strike the man if he didn’t leave.

  Mr. Kelly studied him through narrowed eyes for a few very long seconds. Finally, he sidled around Laz toward the front door. Only when he’d slammed the door behind himself did Laz turn his attention to the man who remained bent over the couch.

  The cute T-shirt Quillan had worn that day had been torn, exposing a long, slim back that was crisscrossed with more than a few raised red welts. There were also bruises, old and new, and several bloody spots where the belt or buckle had broken the skin. Though he wanted nothing more than to scoop his boy up and take him back to the compound, he needed help for this rescue mission.

  “Quillan, cub, can you stand up?” Laz asked as he bent over the couch and tried to look into the injured man’s face.

  “I’m fine,” Quillan said, though his voice was tight with pain.

  “Oh, cub, I know you’re not. Let me make a phone call and then I’ll come back and we’ll get you cleaned up and packed.”

  “Packed? Where am I going?” Quillan turned to look at him, and that’s when Laz saw his battered face. His father had obviously stunned Quillan by punching him in the face several times before moving on to his body.

  “You’re coming home, cub. Home with me.”

  Quillan looked at him through the eye that wasn’t swollen closed for a long minute. Then he took a deep breath and nodded his head once up and down. “Okay,” he agreed on a sigh.

  “Good boy,” Laz said gently. “Now stay here and I’ll be right back.”

  Quillan nodded and his eye drifted closed.

  Pulling out his phone, Laz called his brother, Max, to gather the rest of the family and come to help him rescue his cub. No way was he leaving Quillan to continue living the hellish life he’d obviously been surviving under with his abusive asshole father.

  He only hoped Quillan would not fight him on the steps he was about to set in motion on his behalf.

  Chapter Four

  Quillan wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but he had a feeling life was about to take a turn for the better. At least he hoped so. If not, he was going to take the little money he’d made that day and drive as far as he could before finding a nice bridge to live under because he sure as hell wasn’t coming back here.

  “I’m sorry, Mama,” he whispered.

  “What, cub?”

  “Nothing,” he answered quickly as Laz approached from the front door, not looking very happy.

  “How about we get you up off the couch and cleaned up? Then you can tell me what you want to take with you and we’ll get you packed,” the big man said as he came around the couch.

  Quillan closed the eye that wasn’t working, gritted his teeth, and pushed himself up. And off the couch. He swayed a moment, trying to regain his equilibrium, which seemed to have gone missing.

  “Whoa, cub, let me help you.” Laz stepped up beside him but didn’t touch him. “Um, well, where can I touch you?”

  He sounded so lost and confused, Quillan couldn’t help but smile even though it hurt his face. At least today he wouldn’t have to crawl to the bathroom to clean up.

  “Hold out your arm and I’ll hold on to you while we head to the bathroom?” he suggested, still whispering.

  “He’s gone, Little boy. And I’ll never let him near you again,” Laz assured him as he offered his arm.

  Quillan grabbed hold and began to shuffle across the open area toward the bedroom door. Laz stayed by his side until they reached the bathroom door where he stopped.

  Looking up at the big man, he said softly, “I can take it from here.”

  Laz studied him for a long, long minute, his expression one Quillan had not seen since his mother had died. The man was worried about him.

  Finally, Laz nodded. “Call out if you need any help. And don’t close the door, just in case.”

  Quillan nodded, though he knew he wouldn’t ask for help. He’d gone through the cleanup process before and knew what he could and could not handle at this point.

  He’d have to wait until later to get a couple Tylenol from the bottle he kept hidden in the nightstand by the bed. Taking a slow, deep breath, he forced himself not to cry as his ribs began to protest. Releasing it slowly, he let go of Laz’s arm and shuffled slowly into the bathroom.

  He’d been sure his father was going to kill him this time with the big silver belt buckle he’d won a million years ago when he’d been a rodeo
star for one summer. He knew Laz had said something about coming home, but Quillan didn’t have a home. The big house had once been a home, but then his mother had died and his father had blamed him even though Quillan had been living in Kansas City at the time.

  Nowadays, Michael Kelly blamed him for everything that went wrong in his life. From the lack of rain, to the drop in the stock market, to a calf not surviving birth, his father laid all blame at his feet. Today’s beating had been the result of Quillan not staying home from the festival to cut the grass and tend to the pool that no one used, but escalated until it became a crazy man trying to beat his son straight so he would marry a woman who could take care of them both.

  His father was a sick man, and at this point, Quillan only wanted to escape and he didn’t care how.

  It took longer than usual to get a lukewarm shower and dry off. He wrapped a dry towel around his middle before turning to look at his back in the mirror.

  Damn, he was a mess. The belt marks were bruising, adding to the collection, and the places where the buckle broke the skin needed bandages, but he couldn’t reach them.

  “Laz?” he called, hoping the man would hear him.

  “Yes, cub, I’m here.” Laz appeared in the doorway, having obviously been standing just outside waiting.

  “I …um … Could you help me, please?” Quillan felt his face heat up once again as his cock thickened. Even though he was in pain, his cock wanted the big biker.

  “Sure thing. Where’s your first aid kit?”

  Quillan pointed and then leaned over the counter, bracing himself on arms that trembled. He closed his eyes and grit his teeth as Laz moved in behind him. He was shocked when Laz began to smooth antibiotic cream over the broken skin with such a light touch Quillan barely felt him.

  “How long?” Laz asked as he began to then place bandages over the broken skin.

  Though he wished he could deny understanding the question, Quillan knew his rescuer wouldn’t accept that answer. “It started about a year after my mom died with a slap or a punch. But lately something’s changed and it’s almost weekly.”

  “These bruises aren’t a week old, cub,” Laz said as he traced a line of purple bruises. “They don’t look to be older than a day or two.”

  “Yeah, two days. He seems to think he’s going to convince me to be straight and marry some woman he’s picked out. When I told him to marry her himself, he beat me. It was two days ago.”

  He heard Laz growl just before a set of lips brushed over his bare shoulder. “Never again. He will never touch you again. Now, let’s get you dressed and packed up. Do you have any cuts down here?”

  Quillan didn’t think he could get more embarrassed, until Laz pulled the towel from around his waist. The bruises extended down over his ass and upper thighs, but that wasn’t what caused his face to burn. It was his cock that had stiffened up as soon as Laz had entered the bathroom.

  Quickly straightening, he dropped his hands to cover his cock and balls as he turned away so Laz wouldn’t see him.

  But Laz stopped him and forced him to turn and face him. “No need to be embarrassed, cub. We’re both men and have the same equipment.”

  “Yeah, but yours seems a lot more impressive.” Quillan kept his hands in place as he looked pointedly at the bulge pushing against the front of Laz’s jeans.

  Laz chuckled and shook his head. “You’ll have to until tonight to make that comparison. Now turn around and let me check out your ass.”

  Though he hurt, Quillan couldn’t help the giggle that burst out of him as he turned a half-circle and then wiggled his hips.

  “That’s one,” Laz said, his deep voice somehow even deeper as took Quillan’s hand and wrapped it once more around his arm.

  “One what?”

  “One smack. I’ll keep count, and we’ll settle up once you’re healthy again.”

  Quillan froze and looked up at Laz, his heart suddenly pounding fearfully. “You’re going to beat me?”

  Laz sucked a breath and quickly shook his head. “Oh, no, baby. I’m not going to beat you. I will, however, administer spankings when necessary. But only on your ass and only with my hand. No fists, no belt, no paddle.”

  Though he still wasn’t so sure about the prospect of getting his ass beat, Quillan started walking again. He needed clothes before they had any further discussions about what Laz was planning for their future.

  * * * *

  While his cock was begging for attention and wanting to get to know the naked Quillan much, much better, Laz forced himself to focus on taking care of his boy. The man was injured and in pain, and the last thing he needed was for Laz to put the moves on him.

  From the moment he’d seen the man that morning, moving stiffly but determinedly to unload his car, Laz had wanted nothing more than to mark the man as his own.

  Instead of following his cock’s lead, Laz helped Quillan into the bedroom and collected a T-shirt, soft knit boxers with puppies on them, and a pair of sweatpants. He then helped the man get dressed, though his boy wasn’t too happy about that. Once he was covered, Laz looked around the room. Other than the quilt on the bed that looked like the ones Quillan had sold earlier in the day, nothing made Laz think the man was comfortable here. There were no knick-knacks, no pictures, nothing that said he actually lived here.

  “Okay, cub, what are we packing up to take with us?”

  “There are two suitcases in the closet. My clothes will fit into them. The challenge is my sewing room. If we can take my sewing machines, I can buy more fabric later.” Quillan sounded heartbroken, and Laz refused to allow that to happen.

  It only took a few minutes to transfer the clothes from the drawers and the toiletries from the bathroom into one suitcase. The hanging clothes were zipped into the second suitcase just as quickly. Laz then pulled the quilt off the bed and folded it up before he carried everything to the living room. Then he helped Quillan walk to the second bedroom.

  Stopping in the doorway, Laz found himself gaping at the colorful beauty this room held. The large, square table in the middle of the room held several machines, though Laz had no idea what any of them were. Along one wall was a table with piles and piles of fabrics in every color. Under the table were boxes marked “stuffie fluff,” “quilt batting,” and “furry trims.”

  There were also several smaller boxes, each neatly marked with the contents from what he could see. Hanging from another wall was a quilt in process.

  “I’m sorry,” Quillan whispered, drawing Laz’s attention from the colorful quilt top that appeared to be about two-thirds done.

  Before he could answer, a heavy pounding began on the front door.

  Bending down and brushing a kiss on Quillan’s lips, Laz pointed to the rolling office-type chair in the room. “Sit down. I’ll be right back with help.”

  As he headed toward the front door, Laz mentally rearranged his house. His Little boy would not only need the nursery he’d set up off the master bedroom, he would need a workroom for his quilt business. The guest room Nonna had insisted he set up would be sacrificed without argument on his part.

  He only hoped Quillan stuck around long enough to make the room his own.

  He also made plans to hire another manager for Saints, and promote his assistant manager at Wildfire to free up his time to spend with his boy. He’d watched his brother and cousins do the same thing once they met their Little girls, and he now understood.

  Unlocking and opening the front door, he found not only Max and Nico, but also Theo, Zeno, and Victor. And all their women. The drive was full of motorcycles and four-wheeled vehicles.

  “Sorry it took so long, but we had to empty the SUVs. Then they refused to be left behind,” Max said, nodding toward the five women.

  “Actually, that might be a good thing. Ladies, you can help Quillan pack up his studio.”

  He stepped back and allowed the women into the house. He only hoped they didn’t intimidate his injured man. Once they were inside,
he eased the front door closed.

  “What’s going on?” Victor asked.

  “Quillan’s coming home with us. When I came by to see him, I found his father fucking beating on him…with the buckle end of a belt.” Laz fought to keep his voice low and his rage under control, though the women would see Quillan’s face and no doubt learn what was going on from him.

  “So, what are we going to do?”

  Laz pulled all the change in his pocket out and shoved his hand toward Victor.

  “I thought the family lawyer might come with me to assure his father that not only will Quillan not be coming back here, or marrying the woman his father had chosen for him, his newly retained attorney would be filing assault charges with the police.”

  Victor paused a moment before holding out his hand. Once Laz dumped the change into his palm, he quickly counted it before slipping it into his own pocket with a nod. “Sounds like a plan. Max, why don’t you come with us? Everyone else can stay here, keep the Littles safe, and help with the packing and schlepping.”

  The six men nodded in full agreement with the plan. A moment later they turned to their assigned tasks.

  Chapter Five

  Quillan watched in wonder as five women swept into his quilting room and took over. One of them went to the kitchen and returned with the roll of plastic bags. Annie, Lyssa, and Cara began bagging the fabrics, keeping the different types of fabrics together and labeling each bag. Once the fabrics were packed, they moved to the closet and began the process all over again with everything he’d hidden away from prying eyes.

  His father would stand in the doorway and scowl at the room, but he never stepped inside. It was as if he was afraid that he might catch something from being in the creative space.

  Willow and the other newcomer, named Dori, carefully removed the partially finished quilt from the wall and folded it up. They packed it with the rest of the pieces sitting on the table beside. They then bagged up the half-finished stuffed animals sitting in a pile in the corner.