by BA Tortuga
“You sure you want me to? I got you kidnapped. That’s usually bad.”
“Paddy. Don’t be an arse. Come here and kiss me.” Tugging, Neil brought their mouths together. He’d been fully aware of the risks. He just needed to get them both out of here alive.
Paddy tasted sour, and Neil could tell how hard this was, how scared Paddy was, and how much Paddy was trying to hide that from both of them.
He stroked the back of Paddy’s head, soothing him. Yes, his Paddy was a creature of habit. Work, pizza, work. Just Neil coming into his life had shaken things up, and now this. Poor sweet Paddy. Trying so hard. Neil kissed the fear right out of him for a moment, leaving them both breathing hard, shaking.
“We’ll get out of this, love.”
Paddy nodded. “If I have to, I’ll make the bomb and make Boomer let us go.”
“There you are. However, I think if you know him, we might have leverage.” He laughed aloud at Paddy’s reaction to the way his accent took “leverage.” “Now. Shall we look about some?”
“If you feel up to it. There’s lots of stuff down here.” Paddy looked around. “It’s weird, not knowing where I am.”
“Arizona,” he said absently, standing and wobbling like a newborn foal. He caught Paddy’s shoulders, swaying. “They gave us an odd cocktail….”
“The desert? Don’t fall, now.” Paddy’s hands trailed over his back, petting him.
“No, no, I won’t. And yes. Somewhere dry.” Wasn’t Arizona all dry? Shaking his head, Neil put one foot in front of the other, sort of dancing.
“Okay. Dry. You look a little green, Neil. You want some trail mix?”
His stomach rolled. “No. No, but if you can find something like crackers….” He needed to stop whatever that was that came from upstairs. Someone’s thoughts, chaotic as a hurricane.
“I’ll try.” Paddy sat him back down and started rummaging. “Ketchup. Tabasco. Ew. Squeezy peanut butter. Applesauce. Oh, cool. Saltines. They may be thirty years old, but they look crispy.”
“Saltines. Give.” That would settle him out some. Oh yes. And peanut butter. Later, when he needed protein. Joking, he looked at Paddy’s haul. “Are there Pop-Tarts?”
“Not yet.” Paddy sat on the floor, started working with the wires and radio again. “There better be some upstairs.”
He couldn’t help but stare a moment. Then he laughed again, the sound just on the edge of desperate. “We could knock on the door and ask.”
“Not until the taser is done. Then I will.”
“Good thought.” Sliding down to the floor, he leaned on Paddy, knowing it was probably hampering the work, but the contact blocked out some of the other noise.
Paddy relaxed against him, fingers periodically on his thigh, his arm. “I want to go home.”
“I know, sweet. We will. Somehow.” First things first, get over the drugs. Second, look at their little prison. Third, listen in when it didn’t hurt and find the weak spot to play to.
Grass-green eyes stared up at him. “We will. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I won’t let them hurt you either.”
Neil nodded, tracing Paddy’s cheek with his fingers. “No hurting if we can help it. I find it a good sign that we’re alive, love. Those men are quite capable of killing us.”
“Boomer wouldn’t do that. He’s a good man. We were frat brothers.”
“Ah. That explains a great deal, actually.” The anger, the frustration, and the odd sense of loyalty, it explained it all.
“He died in an explosion. It was terrible. They closed the frat house soon after. Got us all internships in different places.” Paddy wrapped the wire around and around in a coil.
“So, this was not your typical beer and party fraternity, then. And he’s hardly dead.” Paddy. Oh, love, what they’ve done to you, he thought. It was much worse than Neil had imagined.
“Well, obviously. I don’t know. Maybe it’s like an amnesia thing. No, that doesn’t work. He recognized me. His head is scarred, though.” Paddy stopped, focusing on the wire a moment, clever fingers reaching for the wires in the radio.
“Well, we’ll hope he can be reasoned with.” Touching Paddy really, really helped. So did the saltines.
“I offered to write him a check.” Paddy frowned, grabbed the jug of water, and drank deep.
“Are you all right, love?” It occurred to him that while he’d been wrapped up in his own misery, they had probably done something to Paddy as well, something unpleasant.
“Yeah. Yeah. I…. Yeah. I’m okay. I just need to finish this so we can get out of here.” Paddy was worried about the lightbulb, about being stuck down here in the dark without being able to find their way out.
“I imagine they have emergency lanterns or torches,” he said, stroking Paddy’s back. “Would you like me to look?”
“Torches? Like tiki torches? Those could be handy.” His mind was suddenly filled with images of Paddy shooting flaming wooden carved spears at the men upstairs and sending them screaming.
He chuckled. “No, as in, oh. What do you… flashlights?” He leaned a little more, kissing Paddy’s throat.
“They can be good clubs. The other would have been more fun.” Paddy’s lips were soft on his temple, his jaw.
“Of course they would have. You have a strange addiction to flame, love.” They’d get out. Of course they would. And he would not retch. No indeed. Nope, as Paddy would say.
“Burning is good. It is.” Paddy patted him, staring up the stairs, that amazing mind running in faster and faster circles. Fire. Ice. Boomer. Explosive. Propane. Propane.
Neil staggered away, searching for a trash can or some such. It wasn’t Paddy’s fault. It was just… too much. Somewhere upstairs, someone was furious, mind racing. And someone else was laughing. He might not survive this, not with Paddy’s fear and worry creeping back in, slamming into him as he gagged and retched.
Neil finally curled into a ball on the floor. “Paddy? Please. I’ll be all right. It’s the drugs.” If he could just get Paddy back into normal thoughts….
Drugs. Drugs. My fault. All my fault. Paddy’s hands were icy cold when they dragged him onto the cot. “You stay there. I’m going to get you some help.”
Then Paddy grabbed up his makeshift taser—that didn’t work, Paddy knew it didn’t work yet—and the canister of propane. Then Paddy headed up the stairs and started banging furiously.
“Boomer! Boomer! Neil’s sick! You fucking let me out!”
“Paddy! Wait. Please.” Oh God, his head was going to explode. It just was. Doubling up, Neil brought his knees to his chest and rocked, his head feeling like it was splitting open to let his brains flow out like lava.
Then the whole world went dark again, fading away in a dizzying swirl, the last thought in his lacerated brain for Paddy.
Chapter Twenty-One
THE BEATING on the door had Sonny rolling out of the bed and reaching for the Glock, his heart fucking pounding. What the fuck? What the fuck? Then he heard the voice, calling for Boomer, and he realized their new guests weren’t out cold, tied up, or even docile anymore. “Precious, I think your old buddy wants a powwow.”
“Huh. Little fuck’s loud, isn’t he?” MJ didn’t look nearly as stressed after a nice nap, grabbing his weapon with that surprising, creepy ease.
“Boomer! I’ll set this place on fire! You watch me!” Yeah, the little guy could shriek.
“Yup. Kinda like you when you tell me not to call you Boomer. How does he get away with it?” Sonny grinned, watching MJ move. It was one of his favorite things in the world.
“He’s young and silly.” He got a quick grin, eyes dancing. “You think I should get dressed before I answer the door?”
“Well, that depends. You think he can damage your parts? I like your parts.” Oh, he did. He so fucking did.
“Rick? He’s into fire. I’d better put some clothes on.” MJ wiggled his ass as he bent over, tempting the hell out of Sonny. His hands actually flexed.
Damn. He had to touch, just before it disappeared under cloth. Sonny dragged his thumb along MJ’s crease before getting up and putting on jeans. He oughta act as backup.
“Mmm. We could just shoot them and be done with it….” Tempting asshole.
“Boomer! Boomer, please. He’s really sick! I’ll give you what you want, but Neil’s sick!”
“He’s your old frat buddy….” It would be a shame to shoot the blond. He wondered what kind of rage that would bring on if he said it. It might be entertaining.
“He is, and a damn smart kid too.” MJ sighed, cracked his neck and back. “Come on. Let’s calm Rick down and get some Phenergan in his man.”
“Yeah, okay. I suppose you want me to stay away while you give the shot?” He waggled one eyebrow, really laying it on.
He got a sharp, pissy look. “You watch it, Sunshine, or I’ll just shoot your new boyfriend, and he’ll stop being an issue.”
Oh ho. Sonny went over, loosely grasped the wrist of MJ’s gun hand before taking a kiss. “You know you’re my one and only. He’s really gonna hurt himself. We should let him out.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” It sorta felt good, the way MJ relaxed and believed him, heading right out the door. “Keep your pants on, Rick. I bet you need to piss, huh? You want some food?”
“I want out, Boomer! Neil’s sick. Really sick. He needs….” MJ opened the door, the little guy tumbling out, propane tank in one hand, weird… thing in the other hand.
“Dude, you’ve been awake awhile.” Sonny moved around, leaving MJ a clear line of fire if need be, watching whatever it was in the kid’s hand. That was freaky.
“Neil’s sick. You have to help him, or… I’ll shock you.”
MJ looked, shook his head. “Dude, you have your connections backwards. You’re going to end up hurting yourself. Put down the propane.”
Sonny hooted. “Besides, you couldn’t shock MJ here if you put on a dress and did the hula. He’s seen it all. I have a shot for your friend. It’ll make him feel better.”
“You promise? You’re not going to hurt him?” Shit, had he ever been that innocent?
“Nope. Gonna make him all better.” Oh man, that look was evil. He wasn’t gonna hurt the guy, but MJ sure was.
“He’s really sick, Boomer. Why did you take me?”
MJ sighed, took the electronic thing from Rick and held out his hand for the propane. “Why do you think, Rick? Give me the propane.”
“No. It’s mine. And I don’t know.”
“Rick, don’t be bitchy. You want your man helped? You hand over the tank. Now.”
Sonny stepped in, smiling a bit, turning on the redneck charm. “MJ’s a little pissy because you ended up being a friend. He wanted to hurt you, he would have, you know? Come on and hand over the propane, honey. Before someone who can help your buddy gets hurt.”
The canister got handed over, the guy pale as milk and shaking bad. Lord.
“Rick. Come on. Sit. You need some juice, huh? Sonny’ll go deal with your man.” Look at that. MJ being all nice and stuff. The man was a true sucker for a hard case.
He’d be jealous, but MJ wasn’t looking at the feller like he looked at Sonny. Not a bit. He slipped on down the stairs, and, man, the kid wasn’t lying. The blond was just heaving, shaking, and didn’t really even look awake for it. Man, even he didn’t react that badly to the drugs.
Sonny gave the guy a shot, watching as the convulsions slowed, then stopped, before untangling the IV line and hooking the saline back up.
Poor guy.
“Is he okay?”
“Rick, sit down.”
“I need to know if he’s okay, Boomer.”
“I’m losing patience, Rick.”
Lord. Patience was not one of Precious’s virtues to begin with. Sonny trotted back up the stairs. “He’ll be fine. He had a bad reaction. The shot is working, though, and he’s resting.”
Rick sat there, a glass of orange juice in front of him. MJ looked at the guy like Rick was a curious little bug. “See? Not dead. Now tell me about the weapons. How did you get into it?”
“Huh?”
Sonny squatted in front of the kid, looking at him. Yup. Shocky. “Drink up, honey,” Sonny said, putting the kid’s fingers around the glass.
“I don’t have any weapons. I don’t even have any good kitchen knives left from the last breakup.”
Sonny looked at MJ. “He’s babbling.”
“You think a Valium would help?”
“Maybe? I could give him another shot. He doesn’t seem to get sick off them.” They had to do something. Those hands were really starting to shake. Sonny worried the kid would have a psychotic breakdown.
“Okay. He’s smart as fuck. I’d hate to ruin him.”
“I’m sitting right here!” Oh yeah. Psychotic breakdown. MJ’d shoot him for sure.
“Okay, Rick, right? Drink your orange juice, Rick, and then Precious here will explain.” Explain what for sure, he didn’t know, but calming the little guy down seemed to be the most urgent bit of business.
MJ nodded, reached out to push the orange juice over, a bit of powdered something poured right in. Shit, MJ was good at that. He’d have to watch for that neat trick. He did wonder if that accounted for some of his heavier sleeps. But it worked. The guy drank deep before setting the glass aside. Then all they had to do was wait. Sonny could almost feel sorry for him.
“I didn’t… I don’t know why you picked me.”
“We didn’t pick you, Rick. We were hired to take your place out, get your info.” MJ put some bread in the toaster.
“Take it out? My research? Why? Where are we?”
“He doesn’t mean dinner and a movie, honey.” Lord, those bright green eyes had a real cluelessness about them. Maybe the kid had no idea who he worked for.
“But… I’m a research guy. Neil’s the important one. I’m just a scientist.” Rick’s eyes rolled some, pupils huge.
“How much did you use, Precious?” Sonny murmured, watching the kid sway. He thought maybe MJ had gone overboard.
“Pill and a half. It’ll put him out. What does he mean about the blond?”
“I dunno. He was sick as a dog, though. Passed out and still puking. I set him up so he wouldn’t choke and got the saline going. Want me to get this one comfy?” They had pillows and blankets.
“Yeah. He’s about to topple over.” MJ caught Rick as he fell, head lolling.
“Let’s get him all laid out. Then we can make a plan.” Something. Anything. They worked better with a plan.
“Plans are good, Sunshine. I’m a fan. Grab his legs.”
They got the guy settled, nice and tight, like a bug in a rug. Then Sonny checked their other guest, who was sleeping peacefully. Woo.
“Well, that didn’t go exactly as I thought it would, Precious,” he said as he topped the stairs.
“Well, we’re not both professional kidnappers. Just you. I’m still learning.” Smartass.
“Don’t make me beat you. We don’t have time to make it good.” He winked, even as his stomach growled. “Oh, wow. Okay. Hungry.”
“Uh-huh. Bacon. Eggs. I think I saw english muffins in the freezer.” MJ could focus on the important stuff, for sure. It was one of his most attractive traits.
“Cool. Man, this whole not killing people is hard work.”
“No shit. It’s way more complicated than blowing shit up.” MJ grinned over at him, holding up a bag with tomatoes and peppers in it. “How did you ever get into this line of work?”
“There was this surfer guy who was trespassing. Believe it or not, I never did it before you.” Just ran whiskey.
“You were so good at it. It’s a natural skill.” MJ grabbed a knife. “Go grab the muffin deals.”
The freezer yielded muffins, the fridge butter. They could have a feast. “What can I say? You bring out the best in me.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You were looking for a reason to expand beyond meth.” The bacon went into the pan,
onions and peppers flying under MJ’s knife. Lord save him from his Precious learning to cook.
“Watch it.” When the knife stopped a minute, he whapped MJ’s ass with a dishtowel he’d found in a drawer. “You know those peppers would go way faster if you blew them up.”
“I think they call that roasted, Sunshine.” MJ twirled the knife on his index fingers, the asshole just showing off.
The base of Sonny’s thumb throbbed, reminding him how good MJ was with a knife. Better not to get in the way of it. He thawed the muffins before toasting them and smearing them with butter.
“You’re avoiding thinking about what we’re gonna do with them.”
“Well, what kind of choices do we have? Kill ’em or keep ’em.”
“So what do we do if we keep ’em?” There. Not burned things. Yay.
“Uh… put ’em on the boat and find a deserted island?” MJ flipped the bacon without burning anyone.
Mmm. Bacon. There was something about pork fat that was just like an aphrodisiac to a Mississippi boy. Sonny wandered over and leaned his chin on MJ’s shoulder. “We could lock them in the basement with food and water.”
“Mm-hmm. We could give them spoons. Eventually they’d dig themselves free.” MJ leaned back, ass rubbing against him.
Chuckling, Sonny rubbed right back. “That redhead would dig out in a day or two.”
“He’s a smart little bastard. He’d build them a bunker and burn the house down.”
“You really like him, don’t you?” That would complicate things, but dammit, how could a man kill someone he liked? MJ didn’t have many friends. “That piece is about to burn.”
“He knew me before. There aren’t many.” MJ rescued the bacon, flipping it over. “You want to beat some eggs?”
“Yeah.” Moving away reluctantly, he left MJ with a sharp pinch on one asscheek. Eggs. He could do eggs.
“Hey, I have to watch you and voluntary egg-making. You didn’t just drug me, did you?”
“No. I made you bananas and gravy. How hard can eggs be?” He grinned and cracked stuff, making sure none of the shells ended up in the bowl. “Oh, Fire King bowls. My momma had those.”
