Lazarus

by Cooper McKenzie

  They moved so quickly and efficiently that Quillan had a hard time keeping up with them. But that might have been the blows to his head, or the pain that kept him in a foggy sort of mental space.

  Before he could comprehend what was happening, several large men entered the room and quickly carried the packed boxes and bags out. In less time than he could imagine, the room was emptied of everything, including his worktables. He frowned as he wondered what was going to happen to him and all his fabrics now.

  “Come on, cub, let’s go home.” Laz knelt before him, pulling his scattered attention back toward him.

  “Home?”

  “Yes, Little boy, home,” Laz said before leaning in and kissing him again. This time the kiss lasted several seconds. Quillan’s cock jerked and began to stiffen in response.

  “Wow,” he whispered when Laz finally leaned back.

  Laz just grinned at him before standing up and holding out a hand in front of Quillan. He laid his hand in Laz’s and allowed the man to help him to his feet. Cara took the chair and wheeled it out of the room and down the hall.

  Quillan and Laz followed, but Laz stopped them in the great room area that included the living room, kitchen, and small dinette area.

  “Is there anything in here you want to take?”

  Quillan shook his head. “Oh, wait. I need to get something out of the bedroom.”

  When Laz turned to go with him, he laid a hand in the middle of the big man’s chest. “You stay here. I’ll only be a minute.”

  Grabbing one of the cloth bags hanging from the coat closet doorknob by the front door, he hurried into the bedroom. Going straight to the nightstand, he pulled open the bottom drawer and pulled out the contents and stuffed it in the bag. Once it was set, he opened the top drawer and emptied it as well. Zipping the bag’s top closed, he pushed to his feet and looked around the room. There was nothing left of him here, and he was damned determined to never return here.

  He just hoped he wasn’t moving into an even worse situation by going with Laz and his biker family.

  Turning, he jumped when he found Laz standing in the doorway. “How long have you been there?”

  Laz didn’t answer his question. Instead, he held out a hand and said, “Come on, cub. Let’s go home.”

  With only a small amount of hesitation, Quillan put his free hand into Laz’s and allowed the man to lead him out of the bedroom. He left the key to the front door on the kitchen counter before following Laz out of the house. He was stunned to see all his belongings were packed into a truck and two SUVs.

  When he moved to his car, Laz stopped him. Taking his keys from him, the big man handed them off to Cara. “Drive safe,” Laz said.

  The woman nodded with a smile. “You sure you don’t want him to ride with me?”

  Laz looked from the small car to his motorcycle and then to him. “Yeah, maybe that would be best. He’s still not tracking right, and I’d hate for something to happen to him.”

  Quillan frowned as he tried to follow the conversation, but Laz was right. His father punching his head had apparently done more damage than he’d originally thought.

  Laz led him around the front of his car and to the passenger’s door while Cara settled in the driver’s seat. Once he was seated, Laz pulled the seat belt around his middle and snapped it into position, then brushed another kiss on his lips. “I’ll see you at home.”

  “Okay,” Quillan said just before Laz closed the door.

  A moment later, they left, the middle of a parade that began with two motorcycles. Lyssa in one of the SUVs pulled out next, followed by Cara and Quillan and then Annie who drove the other. The pickup with his tables, chair, and everything else followed before the last three motorcycles.

  “Go ahead and rest,” Cara said as they pulled onto the road from the ranch’s driveway. “It will take about a half hour to get back to the compound.”

  Feeling drained from the beating, and the shock of everything that had happened since, Quillan could only nod in agreement. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the side window and allowed himself to drift.

  He didn’t fall asleep, but drifted in that space in between. He heard the radio playing and the motorcycles roaring in front and behind them. The loud roar normally irritated him, but today the sound wrapped around him and gave him a comfort he’d never felt before.

  He only prayed he was doing the right thing and that, over time, Laz did not prove to be an even bigger asshole than his father had been.

  * * * *

  Laz followed the parade vehicles up the highway, riding his motorcycle between Max and Victor. Their impromptu meeting with Mr. Kelly had proved effective, leaving the man pale and stuttering at the thought his son would seek legal recourse against him if he ever came within sight of the family. Max’s offer to use less-than-legal methods of dealing with the man had Quillan’s father going gray before he stepped back and slammed the door in their faces.

  By the time the caravan reached the compound, the sun was beginning to set. Thanks to the yard lights he’d had installed when he’d built his house, they would be able to unload tonight. He owed everyone a beer or three, but repayment would have to wait until Quillan felt better. For the next few days, he would concentrate on getting his injured Little boy settled into his new life.

  The unloading went even faster than the loading up had gone. The boxes, bags, and tables were piled into the guest room, to be sorted out when Quillan felt up to it. First, though, they would have to empty the bed, dresser, and other furniture out of the room, and right now Laz was too tired to do that. All he wanted was to have dinner delivered and curl up on the couch with his cub.

  “We’ll come back tomorrow to move the furniture out of the guest room. It can go back to the grandparents’ where it came from,” Victor said as the family trooped out.

  “Thank you,” Quillan said from where he stood leaning heavily against Laz.

  Hands were raised and heads were nodded in acknowledgment, and then the family was gone and Laz closed and locked the door.

  “What would you like for dinner, cub?” Laz asked as he turned them toward the living room.

  Like Quillan’s guest house, Laz’s home had an open floor plan, incorporating the living room, dining area, and kitchen into one space that flowed together in the center of the house. On the left side of this space was a short hallway that led to two bedrooms, one of which he’d turned into a weight and exercise room and the other that would be Quillan’s work studio with a sizeable bathroom that was accessible from both rooms as well as the hallway.

  On the other side of the great room was the master suite with its large en suite bathroom and the nursery he’d built for the Little he’d given up on finding.

  He waited while Quillan looked around the space before he finally turned to look at him. Laz looked around as well, and didn’t like what he saw.

  The walls were a white to barely-there gold, which went well with the wide board pine floors. The windows had white miniblinds covering them to give him privacy. He’d never liked them, but didn’t know what to replace them with.

  The living rooms furnishings were sparse and basic, just a couch, two end tables, and a big-screen TV hanging on the wall. He rarely spent any time here unless he was working out or sleeping. Managing the family’s two restaurants kept him uber-busy, allowing him to contribute to the family without thinking about redecorating after Daniel had left and broken his heart.

  “You can redecorate if you want,” Laz offered, wanting Quillan to be happy living in this place, with him. “I know it’s kind of bare.”

  Quillan looked around again and then moved closer. “Can we redecorate together so we’re both happy with it?”

  Laz nodded with a smile as he turned and gently hugged the man. “I think I’d like that. Now, what should we eat for dinner? I can make us something here, or we can have something brought over from Saints.”

  “Saints?”

  “Saints
is the biker bar and grill I own. I also own the restaurant, Wildfire, downtown. Well, the family own them and I run them,” Laz explained.

  “Really? You own restaurants?” Quillan sounded amazed that Laz was a business owner.

  “Yes, cub. I own two restaurants. Why?” Laz looked down at the smaller man curiously.

  Quillan looked up at him through the one purple eye. He looked almost scared, which was something Laz refused to allow. With one arm wrapped around his back, Laz guided him to the couch. He sat down and then pulled Quillan down onto his lap.

  The man fit perfectly on his lap, though he still looked nervous.

  “Cub? What’s wrong?”

  “Um, well, I was wondering if you needed any kitchen help? When I was in Kansas City, I ran a kitchen for one of the downtown hotels.”

  “You’re a cook as well as being a quilter?”

  Quillan shrugged. “Until today, quilting had been a hobby. I dabbled and gave quilts and stuffed animals away until someone in the quilting group I’m in suggested I try selling them. That’s why I got the booth at the festival today.”

  “We’ll talk about you working once you’re fully healed from all your boo-boos,” Laz said as he brushed a kiss up the side of Quillan’s neck. “Until then, you can set up your workshop and see about making the quilts for the Santi women since I heard them talking about ordering from you.”

  “But I have to pay my way. I don’t have a lot of money, but I don’t want you to be sorry you took me in,” Quillan argued.

  Laz shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about any of that tonight. All you have to think about right now is what you want to eat for dinner, and what movie we should watch.”

  Quillan nodded and smiled. “I can do that.”

  Chapter Six

  Quillan was ready to throw a foot-stomping, lip-protruding, ugly-grumping temper tantrum. It had been five days since Laz had rescued him from his father and moved him into his house. Five days and there had been no sexy action, other than a few kisses on his forehead, cheeks, and lips. His bruises were healing nicely, and it didn’t hurt to move, twist, or bend, but still Laz treated him like he was made of spun glass.

  Quillan was not fragile. He’d survived being raised on a ranch by a homophobic asshole, a year of cooking school, and working in restaurant kitchens since he was eighteen. He’d been beaten up by jerks in high school when he refused to go out for sports, and beaten up by bullies in cities in both Texas and Kansas for simply being himself.

  No, he was not fragile. What he was, was horny and hungry to see what Laz looked like under his clothes. He was also tired of sleeping on the couch and showering alone and getting dressed in the bathroom.

  On Friday night, he was tempted to back out of the weekly family dinner since he wasn’t actually family, and Laz was working a shift at Saints. His hiring search for a manager or three remained ongoing. Apparently not many people wanted to work in a biker bar, even though it was family owned.

  As he was dialing the number for Laz’s grandmother, someone knocked three times on the door. Before he could cross the great room to answer, the single knocks became a flurry of knocks that grew louder by the second.

  “Open up, Quillan. We know you’re in there,” a female voice called as he twisted the deadbolt and then the knob lock.

  “And we’re not leaving until you let us in,” another voice said.

  Pulling it open, he tried to hold back a groan. But it was difficult because all five of the Santi women were standing on the porch with their arms crossed and toes tapping.

  Quillan took a breath as he tried to push down the negative emotions that had been building in him since Laz had left to go to work a couple hours earlier. “Can I help you?”

  “Yeah, go put your shoes on,” Cara said, sounding more bossy than usual.

  “Why? I’m not going anywhere,” Quillan said.

  “You’re coming to dinner with us. Laz called Max and asked him to make sure you made it. Max is busy manning the grill, so he sent us to get you. Go put on your shoes and let’s go,” Annie said.

  Though he wasn’t fragile, he had learned over the past week that these women were each a force of nature, even when in their Little spaces. Facing them all together like this was like trying to stare down a category five hurricane…just not possible.

  He tried to stare them down, but they simply stared harder. Finally, Quillan sighed and capitulated. “Oh, all right. Do I need to change my clothes?”

  “No, you’re fine, but where did you get that shirt? I want one,” Dori said.

  Quillan looked down at his shirt that had a T-Rex in shades of purple quilted on the front. “I made it?”

  The women all looked shocked. “Really? Can you make me one? Only I want a pink brontosaurus,” Dori said as she began to bounce.

  “We can talk about it after dinner, Dori,” Lyssa said. “Right now, Quillan needs to get his shoes and we need to get back before the men come looking for us and we all get in trouble.”

  Quillan quirked an eyebrow as five sets of hands moved to cover five female asses. What was that all about? Or did he even want to know?

  “If you want to head back, I’ll follow,” he offered in the hopes they would leave and he could go make himself a sandwich and restoke the grumpy mads he had going so he was ready when Laz came home.

  “That’s okay, we’ll wait,” Willow said. “But you gotta hurry or we’ll all be getting spanks. Even you.”

  Quillan’s eyes widened at the thought even as his cock twitched with interest. He only wished Laz would spank him. Or fuck him. Or do something to him.

  Stepping out of the doorway, he shoved his feet into the sneakers he’d left by the front door earlier that day when he’d been helping Laz clean up the yard. Grabbing his keys from the hook by the front door, he ran a hand through his hair, hoping it didn’t look too messy. He wanted to make a good impression on Laz’s grandparents, who he had yet to meet.

  Stepping out of the house, he pulled the door closed and locked it before turning to the women. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “Great, let’s go,” Dori said.

  She and Willow each him by a hand and pulled him along. By the time they reached the road, the women had all linked arms with him and Willow in the center.

  “Let’s skip,” Annie said.

  Quillan found himself jogging along as the women all began to skip. He watched, but since he’d never been very coordinated, he didn’t try to skip himself. He would wait and try that when he was alone so no one would laugh at him when he fell down.

  When Willow saw he wasn’t skipping with them, she called out, “Let’s take giant steps now.”

  Immediately the skipping stopped and they all began taking giant steps. Every few steps someone called out a new way of walking so that by the time they reached the Santi patriarch’s house, Quillan was giggling along with everyone else at their antics.

  For the first time since he was a little boy on the playground in elementary school, Quillan felt comfortable in his Littleness. With these women there was no embarrassment that inevitably came when someone made a snide comment about his “childish” actions.

  “That was fun,” he said as Lyssa took the lead and pulled them along behind her as she snaked across the yard and around to the back of the big farmhouse to where their men were standing on the back deck talking and waiting.

  When Max and Nico made a point of looking at their watches, Annie hurried to her man. “It’s not our fault. He didn’t want to come,” she said, pointing to Quillan.

  “Yeah, it’s his fault,” the others agreed.

  When several sets of disapproving dark eyes turned his way, Quillan took a step back. He was out of shape and wasn’t sure he could make it back to Laz’s house before the men caught up with him. He wasn’t sure what they’d do to him, but he also wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

  Just as he was about to turn and run, a small, elderly woman with a long white braid
stepped out of the back door. She used a spoon to swat the men, who quickly stepped back and shifted out of their aggressive stances.

  “But Nonna…” Theo began to argue, but quickly shut up when she swatted him again with the wooden spoon.

  “Quillan, please ignore my bad-mannered nipoti and come inside, please. Lazarus with be arriving in a few minutes,” she said.

  Though she appeared smaller than he was, Quillan did not argue. He straightened his spine and threw back his shoulders as he crossed the yard and ascended the steps onto the deck. The five men on the porch stepped to the side, opening a hole for him to hurry through before following the woman into the house.

  “You’ll have to forgive my grandsons,” the woman said once he was inside and she’d closed and locked the door behind him. “They were taught to behave better. I’m just not sure when I lost control.”

  “About the time they started drinking,” an elderly man said from the doorway that led to the rest of the house.

  “Maybe so. Now, I understand you belong to Laz. He’s been remiss by not bringing you by before now. I’m Nonna and this is Nonno. We are the grandparents of this tribe of heathens.”

  “I’m sorry.” Quillan felt the need to apologize for his man. “He’s been helping me heal.”

  “Yes, I hear your father was not a very nice man,” Nonno said as he stepped further into the room. “But you don’t have to worry about him any longer. Lazarus and the boys will keep you safe.”

  “You make quilts?” Nonna asked before Quillan could both agree and argue with Nonno.

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s how I met Laz, at the festival in town. I had the booth next to Cara, Lyssa, and Willow.”

  “Yes, they’ve showed me pictures of your quilts, and the animals you were selling. Very creative,” Nonna said as she handed him a stack of plates. “Please, set these on the sideboard in the dining room with the silverware. While the table is big enough for the entire family, we’ll eat buffet style tonight.”