by Anthology
But Larson Blackburn was a thing of the past, living his present with the man who fulfilled him in ways I apparently could never hope to do. In every aspect of my life, I needed control. I did. I acted. I decided. In the bedroom, however, I could barely get hard without knowing that the next move was out of my hands. Some called me a submissive, maybe I was just that. I believed it was more of a decompress button that allowed my mind to focus on only one thing -- pleasure.
My current problem was simple. With only words and a glaring gaze, the tattooed and barely civilized client had awakened a desire in me that I thought had died a permanent death.
That could be a problem.
Or...
Maybe it was the solution.
Chapter 2
LLOYD LEDBETTER.
Well, aren’t you the picture of pristine perfection?
And here I was, punctual, as requested, for a case review. This was different. The case review part, I mean. I was no stranger to litigation -- specifically being the defendant in said litigation. This wasn't civil litigation either, hence Lloyd Ledbetter, one of the best criminal attorneys on the East Coast. I was being proactive, because there was a distinct possibility that I would be in need of his services, if not his protection until this all got sorted out.
Yeah, I'd had my share of lawyers on retainer, on payroll, and sitting next to my ass in court. And for the most part, they’d been worth every damn dime I’d had to pay them to keep me on the outside, which they had succeeded in doing to date. But this time was different. This was a whole new scenario I had found myself in and, for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how I had become part of this whole equation with Senator Hastings' disappearance. I had never even met the guy for Chrissake!
Anyone who knew me at all knew that I didn’t rub elbows with politicians. That was not my gig. Nor would I kidnap politicians -- or anyone for that matter! It didn’t fit my persona. It wasn’t on my agenda. And it served no purpose.
I was a businessman. Actually, I was more than a businessman. I helped businessmen hide their money. I didn’t ask questions. They didn’t pay me to ask questions. I provided a service to them and my service ensured that they, along with their ill-gotten gains, remained safely beneath the radar of the FBI, DEA, U.S. Treasury Department, ATF and the rest of those alphabet soup organizations that strived to be a buzz kill to the American Dream.
What the fuck? Wasn’t the whole purpose of our founding fathers and the Bill of Rights they put together early on done in order to make this the Land of the Free? Not the Land of Let’s Tax Your Asses Off and, oh by the way, we also want to take your guns away and listen in to your goddamn phone conversations…
Bullshit!
This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.
I was too young to be this cynical and I knew it. I was thirty-three years old and nobody, including the gorgeous legal eagle sitting across from me studying the contents of the dossier his paralegal no doubt prepared in advance, would know my truth.
So, here were my stats in case you wanted to take notes:
Male100%
Gay120%
IQ: 168
Height: 6’ 5”
Hair: Dark and unruly
Eyes: Dark Blue -- almost the exact shade as Lloyd’s tie
Parents: Don’t know the biological ones. I was traded for a bottle of Muscatel wine when I was ten months old. Ended up at Catholic Charities and fostered out to a great family in rural Detroit. Leroy and Patsy Gunner raised me so that was who I claimed as Ma and Pop. Loved them. No one would ever fuck with them as long as I was alive.
Siblings: All kinds. That’s what Ma and Pop did. They helped kids, adolescents and wayward teens. They were God sent.
Education: Need you ask? An IQ of 168? Hell yeah. Got a full ride at Cornell. Dual major in Math and Economics. Never studied. Photographic memory did it for me.
Career: Financial Consultant. You won’t find my name in the Yellow Pages. I was of the low overhead variety, you see. My biggest business expense was the cache of burner phones I used to conduct my consulting business. That’s all you need to know for now.
Passion: My Harley-Davidson Night Rod Special. Yeah, it was sweet. There was almost nothing better to straddle than my bike. Note: I said almost. There are a few exceptions.
Flaws: Of course. I was not perfect. Nor was I a perfectionist. Aside from my brilliance and penchant for money laundering consultation to support myself quite nicely, I was totally ADD. I flew by the seat of my pants. I detested schedules, planning in detail, and putting my life in order.
Favorite Word: Askew.
There it was in a nutshell. But right now, my ADD was kicking in hard. And I knew the source of my distraction was sitting three feet away from me. Lloyd’s thick wavy hair was sun-streaked in places, but it only added to his overall sexiness. His suit was grey, and he was wearing a light blue dress shirt and dark, royal blue tie. It was a bit flamboyant, but sexy as hell at the same time. I studied his long fingers as they flipped through the pages of my file, his head bent as he sped read through the contents. He released a sigh, and then looked up and across his desk. Our eyes locked and my breath hitched as I waited to hear what he had to say.
Would he take my case if, in fact, there was a case?
For days now I had been hiding out in New York City waiting to get in to see this man. I hadn’t set foot back in Syracuse since I’d left three days prior. I was lucky I had a connection that got me in with Ledbetter. The hard part was going to be explaining the situation to him, and trusting that he wouldn’t buzz his paralegal to call the authorities, while he slapped a pair of handcuffs on me, declaring that, as an officer of the court, it was his moral and civic duty to detain my ass.
When I received the tip, I packed as much of my shit as my backpack could handle, grabbed all the cash from my safe, and hit the road on my hog.
Destination New York City because that was where Ledbetter was, and my connection insisted the man was the best, persuading me to set up a meeting.
My source had told me that an indictment was going to be handed down soon, the whole thing apparently hush-hush. And you could imagine my surprise when said source told me that I was the intended recipient. Well, if my inside connection was worth a damn, that meant my ass would be ordered to go in front of a Federal Grand Jury in Albany. The part that was really fucked up is that I didn’t kidnap people. I didn’t murder people, if in fact that is what had happened to Senator Hastings since he was last seen. But I already told you that.
Ledbetter finally spoke, and his voice was cathartic to my scrambled mind. “I’ve seen your background reports, Mr. Gunner. What I haven’t seen is the reason why you’re here now. It looks like you’ve done fine beating every rap on what appears to be a long list. Let’s cut to the chase because I’m not sure you can afford to waste my time with small talk. Why did Brenner send you to see me? Clue me in, please.”
And so I filled him in on the tip I’d received from a trusted source. I didn’t share that source with him because it wasn’t pertinent to my reason for needing his services. When I finished, he stared at me for a moment, and I couldn’t tell how the fuck he was processing this information.
“In a nutshell, you want me to find out what the Federal prosecutor has on you as a potential participant, if not perpetrator, in the disappearance of Senator Hastings?”
I nodded, rubbing my denim clad thighs with the palms of my hands. “I also need your protection while I get this shit cleared up. I swear to fuck, I have never met Senator Hastings. How in the hell could I be indicted on a charge of kidnapping someone I have never met? This is more than absurd. This is some serious malfeasance of something!”
Chapter 3
THE CASE WAS a liability. A litigation nightmare, at least from a defense point of view.
When Erin told me Luke Gunner had made the appointment for our follow-up case review, I did not expect him to get a two-hour spot for the next day. In fact, I w
as certain my schedule was booked up for the next couple of weeks to come. But then, my assistant was a miracle worker when it came to shuffling meetings and adjusting time slots.
So there I sat, going over my notes and the clusterfuck of information that had just been dumped on me and my firm, debating whether to call security or dive deep into this abyss of dark waters. My gut was screaming "Guards!" Unfortunately, my professional perversity to a challenge where the odds were stacked up so high against me they tickled God's ass was just too enticing to ignore.
This would require quite a bit of hands-on. The partners loved me since the cases I worked allowed for their biannual vacations to Bora Bora with their wives and therefore reduced the spousal nagging to a bare minimum. I was a rock star but that did not mean they would let me jump in with both feet into a situation as murky as this one. I needed to think, to analyze and fit every possible scenario into plausible categories. Needless to say, it was difficult keeping my mind on task when predatory blue eyes kept their intent focus on every one of my moves.
Mr. Gunner's previous record, albeit a long list of money laundering charges that never saw an inch of conviction, was going to be a pain to disregard if this went to trial. Unfortunately, no matter the evidence, of what I presumed would be the FBI leading the case, the mere fact that a US Senator was missing and from the information spewing from the media, most likely dead, the prosecution would muscle its way to court. It was an election year, after all, which meant all eyes were on the civil servants of our "Justice for All" singing country. The circumstantial evidence in those cases was eye-roll worthy which explained the easy in and out job of his previous attorneys. This time? Not so easy. In fact, it was almost impossible to see a light at the end of the tunnel. Yet, I was curious as to how they had placed Luke Gunner at the home of a U.S. Senator. If what he was saying was truth, Gunner had never met him.
"You say you have never been in the same room as Senator Hastings?" Having never met a man was not the same thing as never being in the same room. I hoped he understood my question.
The man didn't answer for what felt like hours under his heated gaze. Cocking my head to the side, I kept my eyes steady, refusing to back down from this standstill. That wasn't to say my body wasn't reacting like a furnace, Luke's stare the blazing fire.
"Mr. Gunner..." I probed.
"Luke."
"Mr. Gunner," I sighed, "you are, I mean, may be my client. Let's stick to formalities, shall we? I need you to answer my question. Have you ever been in the same room, at any time, with Senator Hastings?"
I patiently waited, watching Mr. Gunner eye me up, contemplating and assessing his options.
"No."
It was my turn to assay him. Searching his face for tics or a shading of his skin indicating he could possibly be lying, I let my gaze roam over his features. In that moment, I wondered how he had broken his nose and if it had been recent or the act of a teenage boy fighting with his hormonal needs. I wondered if the barely visible scar just above his right eyebrow had been caused by accident or brawling.
Licking my lips as my eyes perused the shadow of a growing beard, I wondered how it would feel against my skin, scraping along the inside of my thighs right before his tongue licked a trail from my balls to the tip of my cock. A fleeting image of me on my knees, lost in the sea of his captivating baby blues, opening my mouth to reverently take in his hardened cock nearly pushed me to the edge of sanity.
There was no way in hell I could conscientiously do my job without fantasizing about sinking my greedy ass onto his, no doubt, masterful dick. In fact, I was so hard at that very instant that the professional thing to do would have been to refuse the case. Say "No, thank you," and move on. Maybe meet him in a secluded hotel, have him fuck me into oblivion and go our separate ways but in no uncertain terms should I even be considering taking this case.
"I'll take your case, Mr. Gunner."
What the hell just came out of my mouth?
"But you need to be up front with me. I will drop you like last night's condom if I learn that you have, in any way, lied to me."
Last night's condom? What the ever-loving fuck did I just say?
The corner of Gunner's mouth tilted up in a smug, self-congratulatory smirk. I wanted to punch him and lick him in equal measure. This whole thing was going to blow up in my face and not in an "Open up and swallow" kind of way. More in the atom bomb and ripped to smithereens way. I predicted it would be quite painful when it did.
"Look," I started, realizing we were getting nowhere fast and, frankly, I was paid by the minute, "I cannot help you if I don't get full disclosure. The more you keep from me, the higher the chances you are getting life in prison. Not to mention a Federal Prison for the murder of a U.S. Senator. In cold blood by the sound of the media's assumptions. They will have a field day with that since the journalists have been getting bored. There is only so much Donald Trump can do to keep them busy. They are chomping at the bit for something juicy and," I couldn't help it, my professionalism faltered as my eyes roamed the six-foot-something delicacy sitting just across from my mahogany desk, "believe me, they will be on you like vultures on fresh meat. No doubt about that.”
I paused for effect, to allow my words to sink in with solid impact. Gunner wore ambivalence like a second skin. "If that isn't incentive enough for you then let's think about the possible lifetime hotels you will be calling your permanent residence if this goes down in the prosecution's favor. Best case scenario? USP Leavenworth. That, Mr. Gunner, is in Kansas. I mean, even as a free man I cannot fathom living in the wheat capital of the US."
"North Dakota."
What the hell was he talking about?
"The wheat capital of the United States. It's North Dakota as of 2014. And in case you weren’t aware of it, do you know that vultures are also known as ‘chicken hawks,’ Mr. Ledbetter? Kind of takes the bite out of the analogy, doesn’t it?”
Well then, Mr. Encyclopedia, I wonder how far that knowledge will help you when they start making you the new bitch under the shower.
"Mr. Gunner," I sighed, because, really? "If that is the one detail that caught your attention then I cannot do much to help you." Standing to tell him good day and that our meeting was over, I was met with stormy blues, boring into me like potent lasers. Both standing, like the OK Corral right before a shoot-off, I should have been intimidated yet the only thought that crossed my mind had little to do with legal expertise and everything to do with the different positions I would have let him take me. I knew without a doubt that my pupils were dilating and, judging from his quirked eyebrow, he could see it as well.
"I know exactly what's going on and the risks I'm taking," he told me in a voice that conveyed exactly that. No room from wavering. Had all that silence been his own version of testing me?
"I need to know that our trust goes beyond that of attorney-client privilege. There are things about my life that cannot be linked to this case. Not for me but the security of those I love." The intimate word pouring from between full, firm lips that begged to do sinful things to his lovers seemed all wrong. A man like him could not be capable of love. Could he?
Leaning in, his breath mixed with mine as my lungs worked double time to take in oxygen, he said the only words that would cement my decision to take this case.
"Full disclosure and trust,” Gunner said firmly. “That is what I demand. Anything less and I will not hesitate with appropriate punishment."
Yeah, and then I was hard-er.
"Why 'Guns'?" I suddenly blurted. I figured it had something to do with his last name but the brief time I had known him had me questioning my logic. Luke blinked, probably as surprised by my question as I had been.
"What?" Straightening his spine, he peered down at me, seemingly trying to gauge my intent.
"Why do they call you 'Guns'? Does it have anything to do with you being on the illegal end of a barrel?" With a quirk of his inviting lips, Luke pushed his hands into the pockets of
his jeans and gave me an endearing, boyish grin filled with devilish promises.
"Maybe, if you're good, one day I'll tell you."
With that, he was gone. Leaving me staring at the perfect globes of his ass as he walked out of my now empty office.
Chapter 4
LLOYD LEDBETTER WAS a cocksure motherfucker, but that only served as an enticement for me, both as my attorney and as someone I fantasized shoving my cock balls deep into his mouth or his heat, whatever served my demands at the moment.
I was always up for a challenge, and Ledbetter presented himself as a tantalizing candidate for just that. Growing up outside of Detroit, in the rural area of Northville, our unconventional family had boarded horses on the farm for income. We had also trained horses for sale. Pop was genius with all types of strays. I’d grown up around them and by the time I was fifteen, Pop had taught me how to break wild horses so they were marketable.
These weren’t American Saddle Horses. No way. Pop rescued wild Mustangs from Central and Northern Nevada that were starving to death. He and my Uncle Raymond would take two pickups with long trailers once a year, when the Bureau of Land Management opened adoption of these feral horses, provided the applicants for adoption had proof of licensing for horse boarding within the state and county they lived, along with a certified letter of approval from a local veterinarian. Pop and Uncle Raymond would return a week later with anywhere from eight to ten Mustangs.
On more than one occasion, I’d had the challenge of separating the harem stallion from the rest of the bachelor herd. It had been interesting to observe the change in behavior. Once removed, the harem stallion’s changed from aggressive to subdued. And that’s when my work started. Gaining the trust and respect of the beast was paramount. Once established, I would proceed to mount and train the horse to accept the bit and reins and learn my body signals. All these memories were swirling around in my brain as I absorbed the fact that Lloyd Ledbetter was on board with assisting me and, if my instincts served me correctly, there was a good chance he would provide me with additional relief on demand.
