A Desperate Man

by Tia Fielding

  It was just what Aaron needed to fuel his anger. “Oh, fuck you. You think you can come here, into this house, and pretend that you give a fuck? You’re here for you, asshole, not for me, and you can keep all your post-rehab concern bullshit to yourself, because remember that I know you. I know you, and your family, and I know exactly what you are.”

  “What am I?” Quinn asked, lifting his chin.

  “You’re the reason my dad is dead,” Aaron said. “You, and your father, and your uncle, and every piece-of-shit MacGregor in the entire county. You’re all fucking scum.”

  There was something hard in Quinn’s eyes, despite the way a lazy grin spread across his face. “Yeah? Never said I wasn’t. And if you thought it, that was on you, wasn’t it? Not me. But you used to like slumming it, didn’t you? Sheriff Larsen’s little golden boy with your perfect grades and your spot on the baseball team. You used to love getting your dick sucked by this piece-of-shit MacGregor, didn’t you? You couldn’t get enough.” He leaned in close, and his breath smelled like cigarettes. “You used to love sucking my dick as well.”

  It hadn’t been like that, not at all, but it was easier to pretend it had been. So much easier to talk about dicks than about hearts. Because Aaron had loved Quinn, and Quinn had whispered the words back to him enough that summer that he’d believed them. Back then it had been a secret they’d kept from everyone else, and now it was a secret they kept from themselves. It was easier to pretend it had been something dirty, instead of something precious, because that way the loss of it didn’t sting as badly.

  But just like that, Aaron was tired of pretending. He did it with everyone else. He didn’t have the energy to do it with Quinn as well. So instead of letting Quinn’s tirade spark another burst of anger, he took a swig of whiskey instead, and enjoyed a different burn. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and said, “My mom died.”

  Quinn’s eyes widened. “Shit.”

  “Cancer,” Aaron said. “She got the diagnosis when I was in Afghanistan. She didn’t pass away until I was home though.” He flashed Quinn a bitter smile. “Everyone says I was lucky she held on that long. Doesn’t feel very lucky.”

  Quinn looked away, as though Aaron had revealed something in his expression that he couldn’t bear to look at. He looked at the wall instead. “You doing the place up? You moving back?”

  “Hell, no,” Aaron said, huffing out a breath. “I’d rather burn the place to the ground than move back. I’m selling it, though the housing market in Spruce Creek is worth shit. Gives me something to do for a while.”

  “You’re not in the army anymore?”

  “Not anymore,” Aaron said. He set the bottle on the floor. “It’s all fucked up, isn’t it?”

  Quinn glanced at him.

  “This town,” Aaron said. “Me, and you, and Charlie. And a kid. It’s all fucked up. We were supposed to get out, remember?”

  “I guess I did,” Quinn said.

  “And now you’re back,” Aaron said, a heavy weight settling in his gut. “For family business.”

  “Yeah.” Quinn swallowed. “Now I’m back.”

  It was all fucked up.

  Something passed between them in the silence, and Aaron waited for a moment and then pushed himself to his feet. He climbed the stairs, listening to see if Quinn would follow.

  Quinn did.

  * * * *

  “Just shut up, okay?” Aaron said, turning awkwardly to see Quinn standing in his doorway. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “Okay.” Quinn shrugged like he didn’t give a fuck.

  Aaron limped over to the mattress on the floor.

  “You used to have furniture though, right? I’m not misremembering that?”

  “Shut up or get out, Quinn.” Aaron tugged his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor, and then fumbled with the button on his jeans.

  He felt Quinn step up behind him, a wall of heat, before strong arms encircled him from behind, and a second pair of hands was working at his button. Quinn’s fingers were long, his hands not as square as Aaron’s. Aaron might have even mistaken them for elegant, except for the scarred knuckles that spoke of a violent history. They had been unblemished the last time they’d touched Aaron. Then again, Aaron had been unblemished too.

  He leaned back as Quinn popped the button of his jeans and tugged his zipper down. His dick was already hard, but that was no surprise. Aaron couldn’t remember the last time he got laid. It had been before his injury. So months, at least, but maybe longer.

  “I don’t have anything,” Aaron said. “Blowjobs work for you?”

  “Yeah.” Quinn’s voice was low as he slid one hand inside Aaron’s underwear. “You clean?”

  “Says the drug addict.”

  “I got tested in rehab. I’m clean.”

  “And I got tested in the VA hospital,” Aaron said. “You fucking happy now?”

  He felt Quinn’s hand still for a moment, and then his warm breath on the back of his neck. He closed his fingers around Aaron’s aching dick. “Works for me.”

  Aaron shoved his jeans and underwear down, pushing Quinn away for the moment. His stomach twisted as the denim on his right thigh caught on the liner. He pushed his jeans further down, lifting his prosthetic awkwardly out of his jeans.

  “The fuck?” Quinn murmured.

  “I told you, shut up or get out.” He didn’t want to talk about this. Not with Quinn, and not with anyone. He kept his back turned on Quinn.

  “Your dick still works though, right?” Quinn asked.

  “You want to get on your knees and find out?” Aaron managed to extricate his left foot from his jeans at last, and turned around to face Quinn.

  Jesus. The look of hunger on Quinn’s face was new.

  “Fuck, yeah,” Quinn said. He pulled his shirt over his head as he swaggered forward. “Been a long time since I sucked your dick, Aaron. Looks like you had a growth spurt, huh?”

  Aaron levered himself down onto the mattress, unwilling to trust the prosthetic to hold him up for this. Quinn, unfastening his belt as he moved, slid his jeans down and stopped to tug them off. He was all lean, ropy muscle. He was wiry, almost too skinny. He looked nothing like the boy that Aaron remembered, and maybe that was a good thing. Aaron wasn’t sure he wanted that boy in his bed. Wasn’t sure he could have that boy break his heart again. This man—this stranger—was what he needed now.

  Quinn jerked his dick as he stared down at Aaron. “Lie back for me.”

  Aaron leaned back onto his elbows, and Quinn knelt between his knees. One hand cupped the kneecap of his left leg. The other made a faint tapping sound against Aaron’s prosthetic, and every one of Aaron’s muscles tensed in anticipation of mockery. He was relieved when Quinn moved the hand, setting in on the warm flesh of Aaron’s inner thigh and coaxing his legs further apart. And then, with a flash of a grin, Quinn leaned in and sucked Aaron’s dick into his mouth, no hesitation.

  Jesus Christ.

  The back of Aaron’s head hit the mattress as he arched up into Quinn’s mouth and Quinn just swallowed him down. And all he could think was that Quinn sure had crawled out of the gutter with a bunch of new tricks up his sleeve, and there was no way in hell that Aaron was going to last. He reached down and curled his fingers tightly in Quinn’s hair, trying, and failing, to resist the urge to pull. Quinn didn’t seem to mind though; he just groaned, his throat fluttering around Aaron’s dick as Aaron’s balls throbbed and the coil of pleasure inside him tightened.

  He loosened his grip on Quinn’s hair then, letting Quinn bob up and down on his dick, and lost the ability to feel anything apart from heat and wetness and that inexorable build towards a climax. And right then, one of Quinn’s fingers brushed against his hole.

  With a shout, Aaron was coming, way too soon, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. His body shuddered, and he gasped for breath as he came down Quinn’s throat. He flopped back onto the mattress, boneless, and flung an arm a
cross his eyes so he didn’t have to see Quinn’s smirk. He struggled to catch his breath, and to work out some way to reciprocate that wouldn’t kill his knee.

  Sudden weight on the mattress beside him caused him to lift his arm.

  Quinn was propped on his elbow. “Come on,” he said, nudging Aaron’s hip with the warm, damp head of his dick. His voice rasped a little. “Give me your hand.”

  “Thought you wanted my mouth.”

  “Not for this,” Quinn said, and leaned forward and pressed their lips together.

  Aaron surrendered to the kiss, sliding his splayed fingers through Quinn’s hair. He shifted, grunting a little at the discomfort of having to move, and then there was room for Quinn to rut against him, his dick sliding across Aaron’s overheated skin. Aaron got a hand between them, and discovered his fingers tangling with Quinn’s, and then they both jerked him off as they kissed.

  “Yeah.” Quinn’s breath was hot against Aaron’s mouth. “That’s it. Fuck, yes.” And then, as he came: “Missed you, missed you, Aaron” in a series of choked-off whispers that Aaron tried not to hear.

  They lay there, panting, and Aaron couldn’t turn his head to look at Quinn.

  This had been a mistake.

  Chapter 7

  When Quinn had finally dropped Charlie off at the diner, he’d gone back to his trailer. He’d sat on his couch for hours, his mind whirring with possibilities, with questions, with…guilt.

  He had a kid. Well, no. He didn’t have a kid, Charlie had a kid. But at the same time, Quinn also had a kid. Because while they’d still been kids themselves, they’d fucked up. She’d let go of her dreams to take care of the person they’d accidentally made and…and Quinn didn’t know what to feel.

  So eventually, when he was itching for a joint or something stronger so badly he could taste it, he went and took a shower. Then he redressed and decided that going for a walk might help him…think more?

  Somehow, he’d found himself in front of Aaron’s door and now here they were.

  When Aaron had called them fuck buddies, it had hurt more than Quinn had been prepared for, but he’d hidden the sharpness of the pain like he’d done for different aches over the years. He’d gotten so good at it, sometimes he could not feel at all.

  Now, he sprawled on a mattress on the floor of Aaron’s old room. Cum dried on his skin and he could feel the way Aaron tensed next to him. The respite was over.

  Maybe they should’ve fought instead.

  “I know you wouldn’t sleep in the downstairs bedroom,” Quinn said into the silence. “But get a frame for this mattress, Aaron. Even I can’t get up from here easily.”

  He maneuvered himself off the mattress and grunted as he pushed himself up. He’d been shot in the side a couple of years ago and the muscles anywhere near the exit wound had never recovered properly.

  Aaron snorted bitterly.

  Before he could say anything, Quinn added, “I knew you, once. Don’t give me any condescending bullshit and self-deprecating cripple jokes.” He pulled on his clothes as Aaron seemed to struggle with the instinct to cover himself up.

  “You don’t know anything—”

  “About who you are now, right. I agree. And fucking ditto,” Quinn snarked. “But I know neither of us actually belongs in this town, neither does Charlie or Lennox, that’s his name by the way. He looks just like I did when I was his age and it’s still freaking me out a lot.”

  He was panting for breath by the time he had all his clothes on. Aaron looked hesitant for a small moment, before another mask fell over his features. Hurt. Quinn could understand that and didn’t blame Aaron at all.

  As he turned to go, he threw a glance at Aaron’s form. He looked good. The prosthetic took nothing away from how gorgeous he was as a man. He’d been a cute twinky boy, but this man on the mattress in the corner of the small room pressed all Quinn’s buttons, even those he didn’t know he’d had.

  “I hate you for being so fucking hot still,” Quinn blurted out, so he wouldn’t say what was in his heart. Nobody needed that mess right now.

  He left the house before he could fuck up even more.

  * * * *

  Quinn went home. He let the cat in when it appeared from the darkness, and took another shower to wash the sex off his skin. He felt jittery, like he needed a little something, but instead, he forced himself to eat some cereal and fed the cat with fancy cat food, and went to bed.

  The next morning, Shadow looked at him with clear feline worry, and Quinn patted her.

  “It’s okay. Thanks for the purrs.” They had helped, those little sounds. Quinn had never really known how relaxing a cat purring next to your pillow could be.

  He went through his morning routines and tried to figure out what to do. He needed to talk to Charlie, for one. There were things he needed to tell her, and he needed to make sure she and Lennox would be fine no matter what happened with the situation brewing on the horizon.

  Just as he was ready to go, he heard a faint buzzing. His burner phone he’d taped behind the end table was making noise.

  He had forgotten to turn off the fucking vibrations, which was annoying in itself, but a call to that phone couldn’t be anything good.

  He got to it before the call disconnected. The number was unknown, but he wouldn’t have expected anything else anyway.

  “Yeah?” he answered, his whole body tensing up already.

  “Hey, so here’s a thing,” the ever-familiar voice of his friend Day rumbled. “Did you know that Burned Skulls are making a move soon?”

  Quinn’s eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

  “Yeah. Why would they want anything to do with your neck of the woods?”

  “Where did you get this info?”

  “Can’t say,” Day said predictably. “I’m not sure if it’s anything yet, but we both know those guys like to raze things to the ground when they move in.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Quinn wiped his mouth with his palm, his mind going way too fast for his liking.

  Day hummed. “How’s your uncle?”

  “Dying. Slowly. Which is why this makes no sense.”

  “I’ll keep my ear on the ground. Just…you know.”

  “Yeah. You too. Talk to you later.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Quinn turned off the vibrate function and re-taped the cell to the hiding place.

  Shit. He really needed to go see Uncle Ian and Arthur. Without Jimmy there.

  He let the cat out, made sure he had his Glock, and locked the door.

  * * * *

  He didn’t drive to the house, because that wasn’t where Uncle Ian and Arthur would be at this hour. No, they’d be at the Saloon in town, sitting in the corner booth like some dudes out of the Goodfellas or Godfather or some other mob film.

  He parked in the front by Ian’s huge SUV and went inside like he owned the place. The Saloon was crappy and small, but it was the main hub of anything MacGregor-related in town. This was where Robert had sat and listened to the people like a fucking asshole king on a throne. Ian was less pretentious and more approachable, but the town had gotten a lot smaller too, so Quinn assumed the morning hours they sat there these days were spent by gossiping more than anything.

  Jimmy wasn’t there, which was a relief. Instead, Ian sat in the back booth with Arthur and a couple of the other older guys he employed.

  Quinn strolled to the booth like he had every right to be there.

  “Quinn, you remember Henry and Eric, right?” Uncle Ian said, and Quinn shook the hands with the two enforcers he did, in fact, remember.

  “Hey. Uh, I need a word.” He looked from Ian to Arthur and back. “I thought I’d find you here.”

  Ian got serious. “Alright.” He gave a patented Boss look at Henry and Eric who finished their coffees and slid out of the booth smoothly.

  As soon as they were gone, Quinn sat in their place and sighed. He didn’t know how to begin.

  “I have two things I want to talk about. O
ne is business, the other isn’t. Which one first?”

  Arthur chuckled. Ian grinned. “Let’s get the business out of the way first. What’s up, son?”

  The word made Quinn’s heart constrict. He smiled, then pulled the emotion back and sighed. “Okay, so, I have contacts all over. One of them just called me and…Do you guys have dealings with the Burned Skulls?”

  Both men looked confused, then suspicious.

  “No. Ever since Robert told them off, we haven’t had any contact with those guys. Why?” Ian said firmly.

  “My contact has heard that they might be preparing for something,” Quinn placed his words very carefully.

  Arthur cursed. “We don’t deal with outlaw motorcycle clubs. Everyone knows that. We have a couple of legitimate clubs we sell to, but that’s small scale and not in town.”

  Ian looked mildly worried. “Right. Why would your contact think they want anything to do with us?”

  “I don’t know. He promised to call if he hears anything else. Right now, he wasn’t sure, but if something is coming…”

  “Then we need to know about it,” Ian murmured. His expression was unhappy. They all knew what this could mean. None of them mentioned the obvious thought they had; Jimmy. If Jimmy was looking to take over…but would he really go over his father’s head?

  “What’s the other thing?” Arthur asked, probably to break the tension that had enveloped them.

  “Uh, well, you guys know Charlie Kyle has a kid?”

  “Yes, I’ve seen him at the diner a few times,” Ian said, then he and Arthur made the connection at the same exact moment.

  Their eyes widened, then they both laughed, and Arthur patted Quinn on the shoulder.

  “Oh wow,” Ian said, also reaching to squeeze Quinn’s arm.

  “Yeah. Obviously I didn’t know until now, and before you say anything, I agree with her decision not to tell me. Lennox doesn’t belong in our type of life.”