Road Trip, Volume 1

by BA Tortuga

  It made him kind of twitchy, another man’s hand near his piece. The weird part was, it made him kind of hot, Sonny’s hand near his piece.

  “Not gonna mess with it, Precious. Not in a bad way.” That wild grin told him Sonny knew. Crazy redneck bastard. One of Sonny’s long-assed legs wrapped up around his thigh, holding them together as Sonny kissed him like there was no tomorrow.

  Fuck, there was nothing like that mouth. Nothing on earth. MJ shoved into the kiss, hands wrapping around Sonny, gun pressing against that tight ass. A hard moan slid into his mouth, Sonny humping back and forth between his hands and his pelvis, cock hard in those roomy pants. Sonny kissed him, tongue fucking his mouth, daring him to respond in kind. He rose right to the challenge, rubbing into Sonny as he arched into that hot mouth.

  They turned in a slow circle, Sonny moving them, that clever bastard finally getting his ass back against the round table by the bed, stepping between his legs to rub some more. Then the man just bit his lip. Hard.

  “Fuck!” He snarled a little, pushing back, their bodies slamming together.

  “Uh-huh. You like it. Admit it.” Laughing, Sonny rocked up, that tight, hard ass rubbing back against his hands, against that damned gun. “Come on, Precious. Really give it to me.”

  “Always fucking pushing.” The table groaned and shifted, the butt of the gun jammed against Sonny’s ass.

  “Always. Just need you, is all.” God, Sonny did like that, didn’t he, the way he went absolutely crazy.

  Yeah. Yeah, he knew about needing. He groaned, looking for somewhere to lose the gun so he could use his hands.

  He finally settled on the bed, tossing it there. The safety was on, so they should be good. Sonny laughed, licked at the split spot on his lower lip, stubbly chin rubbing his skin.

  “You’re dangerous.” He got a double handful of ass, squeezing tight, chuckling as the crappy hotel painting crashed to the ground.

  “So are you, Precious. Want you so fucking bad.” The table creaked when Sonny crowded all up on him, all but climbing him to press down harder. Damn.

  He spread his legs, braced himself, and gave Sonny something to rub against. “I’m right here. Come on, man. Show me.”

  Sonny showed him, lining them up through their clothes and rubbing their cocks together while he kissed at MJ’s chin and throat, leaving stinging little bites as he went. All the while, Sonny’s hands slipped and slid, pinching and petting and loving. Shit. Shit, Sonny made him do stupid shit. Made him need….

  His thoughts stuttered as Sonny’s nails scraped a hot spot. “Right there. Again.”

  “Here?” One thumbnail scratched his nape. “Or here?” Sonny pinched his nipple through his shirt with the other hand. “Shit, Precious. You’re hotter with your clothes on than any other guy I’ve ever done naked. Gonna come.”

  He nodded and gasped, head smacking hard against the wall as he arched. Yeah. Coming was an exceptional fucking idea.

  “MJ!” He could feel it, the very moment that Sonny lost it, all that heavy muscle rippling against him. Sonny’s hips snapped against his, adding just enough friction….

  “Uhn….” The tension inside him let loose with a pop and, oh fuck yes. That was…. Uh-huh.

  “That’s it, man. That’s it.” Sonny stroked his back, stopping just short of his holster, up and down and back again. “That’s it.”

  He was about to nod and get all boneless when his cell phone rang.

  Shit.

  “Time to get to work, Sunshine. Gotta pay the bills.”

  Gotta make the world a better place and all that happy bullshit.

  “Mm-hmm.” Sonny laughed, smacking his ass before straightening up and bouncing a little. “Now what the hell did you do with my gun?”

  “You really need to keep track of that, Sunshine. It’s a bit important.” He flipped the phone open. “Talk to me.”

  Five minutes later, he knew it was time, their best opportunity in three days of waiting right on them. Sonny had them both cleaned up, taking care of him while he was on the phone. They were ready.

  “I’ll call when the job has been completed. I expect full payment immediately, as per our agreement.” He didn’t wait for a response; he just clicked the phone closed and nodded to Sonny. He didn’t need their answer. “You’re driving?”

  He got a look. “I only let you drive when I’m bleeding profusely. You ready to ride?”

  He had his sidearm, his spare, his timers, his knives, his emergency bag. His redneck.

  Yes.

  Yes, it seemed he was ready.

  “Let’s ride, Sonny.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “DUDE, IT’S my ass if I get caught.”

  Sonny could see the tension across MJ’s shoulders as his Precious resisted the urge to whap the little man across the face. This asshole didn’t have a clue about what would happen if they got caught wandering around this particular thermodynamics lab, especially one where the security cams just conveniently went out. “You’re good, man. I just left my security card in there when I was cleaning. Just let me in; I’ll pop in and out.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be quick as a bunny.” Innocent. Try for innocent, MJ. You had to be. Once.

  A damned long time ago.

  The guy pulled his key card out, triggered the voice recognition switch and, as the door opened, boom. There was Sonny with the syringe, and Mr. Worried About His Job went down with a thump.

  “Nice work.”

  “Anything for you, Precious.” He grinned over, bouncing on his toes, helping MJ drag that deadweight into the lab and shut the door behind them. “So do you think this guy’s research is really the great evil they make it out to be? Or do they just do that for your benefit, make them sound greasy?”

  MJ thought a second, chewing on his bottom lip. “I don’t know. I imagine both, but I don’t stop to get to know them, if I have a choice. That makes it messier, when you know.”

  “Yeah.” Shit, all he needed was to put MJ into a thinking mood. Sonny turned a corner, making sure there wasn’t another door beyond the office. “I wasn’t trying to accuse you of anything, you know?”

  “Huh? Shit, it’s a job. This mark makes weapons; I destroy them. We both chose our lines of business. I get a bonus for killing him. That’s still under advisement.”

  Better. MJ had a conscience. It was just wrapped up in a serious moral flexibility. It was fascinating. “So what are we gonna do after, Precious?”

  “Get a shower, get our bags, and drive north. Maybe stop and see my mom?”

  “You mentioned that before. Is she gonna hate me?” Somehow the thought of meeting MJ’s momma terrified him. It really did.

  “Not a chance. She’ll stare and offer you hummus and a toke. Mom is incredibly flexible.”

  “Cool.” Sonny tilted his head. “Does she know what you do?”

  “She might have once. She doesn’t anymore. She’s kinda… lost in a haze.” MJ grinned, the look a touch tight. “When my pop finally went over to the Alzheimer’s, she never bounced back.”

  “Ah.” Yeah, he could relate to that. His momma had been just fine with his asshole of a daddy even through all of the mistresses, but when he’d died, she’d just wandered around lost.

  MJ nodded, bouncing as he started searching for the hard drive, for the files they needed. “It’s not here, Sonny. Not the laptop, nothing. Shit.” MJ wasn’t even talking to him; the man was just jabbering, nerves firing some.

  “So, what now?” Sonny beat a tattoo on the edge of a desk. This whole being trapped in a lab without windows was gonna give MJ an aneurism.

  “I don’t know. We’ll have to wing it.” MJ grabbed his mini-laptop, tip-tapping away, dialing into God knew what. “Guy we’re hunting lives in the compound. Second floor. East wing. Has a fuck buddy that’s here on a work visa, but not government that we can find.”

  “Doesn’t look like a bodyguard, though, right? I mean, if I rem
ember all the specs.” He thought he did. He hadn’t killed that many brain cells.

  “No concealed carry license. No PI or bodyguard license. Hell, both these guys are skinny. No. Not protection. Records show the dude’s a consultant.”

  “A consultant? That sounds ominous. Like a therapist or something.” He amused himself by imagining MJ going to see a therapist. Oh, Christ on a crutch, that was a funny thought. Shit, some scary doctor-guy would tell his Precious to get in touch with his feelings and would end up with a smoking hole in the center of his desk.

  It might be worth seeing.

  “You ever set a bomb off under a psychiatrist, Precious?”

  “What?” He got one of those looks again, one eyebrow up in MJ’s hairline.

  “Oh, just wondering.” God, he loved that look. Made the waiting game bearable when MJ got all worried that he’d lost his mind. “I mean, someone, somewhere had to think you needed therapy, tried to get you to talk to some egghead about your feelings.”

  “Not since Sister Mary Patrick sent me to confession when I was ten. Well, there was that situation in Amsterdam, but it was fixed with a roll of duct tape, a water hose, and a live eel.”

  Sonny hooted, whapping MJ on the back. “You’re something else, Precious. So, do we wait for nightfall and go grab it?”

  “We’ve got most of the people still in and out, ready to evacuate. Let’s go in now. If we have to, we’ll wait to leave. Blow things in the morning, but I really just want it done. I hate random casualties.” MJ closed the laptop, screwed the silencer on his piece.

  “Sounds like a plan.” Way better. Waaay better than waiting until night. Hell, they might have time for supper and pie.

  “Okay.” It was like flipping a switch, and it still creeped him out, the way MJ could go cold and sorta empty. Still, it worked.

  He followed MJ’s lead. The man was the boss at times like this. He just offered backup and a getaway ride. MJ made it across the big-assed place like he owned it. Then a flight of stairs, a couple of wires cut. It only took a second for MJ to jimmy the lock—a squirt of something from a bottle, a jiggle, and they were in, MJ moving toward the wall of the foyer.

  Sonny checked the danger areas, knowing it was probably unnecessary but not wanting to get sloppy. He moved slow and easy, his rubber-soled boots not making a bit of noise. Someone was making noise, though. Lots of it. Kinda moany.

  Lord. Figured. At least if they were getting busy, the job would be easy, and the guy might give up the hard drive without a fight.

  MJ crouched down, moving quick as anything toward the noise, piece in hand. They made it to the messy front room—the place looked like what Sonny imagined a fucking frat house would look like, with the pizza boxes and bottles and piles of books.

  The hall to the bedroom was pretty short, just an empty bathroom on the way. Sonny checked it, checked the corners of the return by the bedroom door, nodding when MJ looked at him.

  MJ reached for the door, when the fucking knob started turning, and MJ stepped back. He pulled his handy-dandy doper gun out as the door swung open partway, and a tall, naked blond appeared. MJ got a bead on him, muzzle lifting up only to be met with a baseball bat smashing into the silencer. Well, fuck.

  It was amazing how fast things could go to hell in a fucking handbasket. Sonny swung around, leaving the Glock in its holster, trying to get the unwieldy outfit he had loaded with some serious drugs into play. It had a muzzle that was just slightly too damned long, and he almost blew it as the naked guy swung on him. He managed to blast off two rounds, though, and without hitting MJ. Go him.

  MJ growled low, biting out a couple three cuss words while he dropped the mangled gun to the carpet and reached for his ankle holster. Of course that’s when the weird-assed naked whirlwind came screaming out of the bedroom, leaping on MJ’s back and whacking him on the head with a… bag of M&M’s? Sonny popped off two more shots at the weaving tall, tattooed guy with the nice butt, then went for the dervish on MJ’s back, hauling at him. He could hardly shoot the man while he was on MJ, could he?

  “You leave him alone! There’s no cash here, assholes! If there were, I wouldn’t share! Leave Neil alone!”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  MJ growled and slammed all of them back against a wall, sandwiching the tiny freak between them and cutting off the screams before the cavalry came running. “Goddammit, grab the little fuck!”

  They had to get the shit to shut up. Sonny clamped a hand over mouth and nose, effectively cutting off the guy’s airflow. Thank God the other one went down like a felled tree, landing at MJ’s feet, almost sending them all ass over teakettle when they bounced off the wall.

  MJ stepped over Tall, Skinny, and Unconscious, and spun around. “Why does it always have to be a challenge with…? Rick?”

  The little shit in his arms blinked and relaxed, nodding furiously.

  “Well, fuck.”

  Sonny looked from MJ to the back of the curly red head of the guy MJ held like a lover. Which was weird, when he thought about the correlation between violence and fucking, at least where MJ was concerned. Sonny shook his head. “You know this guy?”

  The red curls bounced again, and MJ sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. We’re fucking frat brothers.”

  “You’re kidding me.” He let go of the guy’s mouth, as he figured there would be no screaming now that it was all old home week.

  “Boomer? Boomer, what are you doing here? Everyone said you were dead. Everyone said you died at school.”

  MJ groaned. “Rick, what’s your real fucking name?”

  “Huh?”

  “Your name, Rick.”

  “Padraic Almon Bair. Why?”

  Boomer…. Oh God. “Boomer?”

  “Shut up.” MJ glared at him, then stared at the guy. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Uh… dangling?”

  “Don’t make me hurt you, Rick.”

  “Well, you have a gun. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  MJ rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t have to hurt.”

  It was like watching a tennis match. Good thing Sonny wasn’t a jealous man, because that kind of banter belonged in the bedroom. “Does this mean we don’t get to kill him?” he asked.

  “I might have you do it. It’s sort of shitty form to off a brother, you know?”

  “Yeah. I guess… I mean. Is it gonna piss you off if I do? I know how you are.” This was gonna be a quandary, he could tell.

  “It would piss me off. Do you need money, Boomer? I’ll write you a check, no sweat. I don’t mind. Hell, you could’ve just knocked and asked.”

  MJ looked like he was in the middle of a nice bout of apoplexy. It was surprisingly adorable. Sonny figured he’d have to try it out himself later.

  “How much could you write a check for?” He grinned, shifting his hold to get a better grip and getting a squeak. Oh right. Nakedness.

  “What do you need? And is Neil all right? You didn’t kill him, did you?” The Rick-person started wriggling, kicking some. “Honest to God, Boomer. If you killed the only steady guy I’ve had in ten years, I’m going to kick your butt.”

  “Sunshine.” MJ was just staring, looking dazed. “Shut him up for a while? We gotta think.”

  “Okay.” There wasn’t anything handy to use as a gag, because the guy wasn’t wearing clothes, so Sonny just hit him over the back of the head. That smashing thing he was good at. Even MJ could attest to that.

  When both naked guys were laid out on the floor and Sonny had grabbed a sheet to tie them up and gag them with, just in case, he went back to where MJ stood, gun in his hand, hand pressed to his forehead.

  “So, were y’all good friends? Boomer?”

  “No. He’s younger than me. I already had my first MS when he showed up….” MJ chewed on his lips, pondering and fretting. “And don’t call me Boomer.”

  “Why not, Precious? It’s cute as hell.” Never a better time to poke than when a man was in
a dither. “So what are we gonna do with them?”

  “We should just kill them both, make it look like a robbery and go.”

  Uh-huh. Right. Robbery. That so wasn’t MJ’s style. Besides, nobody’d fucking believe it.

  “Uh-huh. That’s probably what we oughta do, but you ain’t gonna.” No way. And Sonny knew MJ’s weird sense of loyalty. Anyone he allowed to call him by a nickname wasn’t getting shot while he was asleep. Problem was, they couldn’t just leave them here now, not with the redhead knowing who MJ was and shit.

  “No. No, I’m not. Fuck.” MJ walked over to the bed and sat, nose wrinkling. “Christ, it smells like a brothel in here.”

  “Go them.” Sonny went over and sat next to him, bumping shoulders. “Look, we have a damned big trunk. We can take them with us, decide what to do on the road. We’ll grab everything we can find in here, get the hell out. This joint’s wired to blow. Better to get moving.”

  “It won’t blow until I tell it to. Shit, I hate to move them. We’ll have to wait for dark, but that’ll probably work, though. Hell, we could book it north, then head toward the Rockies.”

  “Mm-hmm. You know I like booking it.” It would be just like old times. On the run, shit in the trunk.

  “Okay. Let’s cuff them both and keep ’em under, but nothing where they’ll puke and screw up the trunk and shit.”

  “Gotcha. We’ll have to put the weaponry in the back seat. Good thing I hollowed out under the cushions, huh?” He hoped for a smile on that one, at least.

  MJ nodded and reached out for his thigh. “You know it. I need somewhere to stash you when we get close to a liquor store.”

  “Uh-huh. Asshole.” He leaned to give MJ a hard, bracing kiss. “Okay, Precious, I’ll get the riot cuffs and all. Why don’t you see what we need to take with us? You said the hard drive was here?”

  “I have the feeling the redhead is the hard drive, Sunshine, and I’m not handing him over to anyone. We’re going to fake it like mad bastards. Grab clothes for me. Nothing we have’ll fit either one of those two.” The light was back on in MJ’s eyes, that quick mind working and bouncing. “Any PDAs, laptops, anything.”