Road Trip, Volume 2

by BA Tortuga

  Cowboy snorted. “Ah, true love.”

  MJ nodded. “You know it. Introduce us to your monster.”

  Cowboy knocked on the window of the SUV. “Doc. Doc, they’re here.”

  The window came down, and this perfectly normal-looking guy looked out—clean-cut, a little prissy. Nothing special. “Hey.”

  “So, you worked for the YSA Program?” MJ’s voice was light, but it sent chills down his spine.

  “What? Years ago. I taught English to a bunch of kids there. Did you go there?”

  Oh man. The Program made MJ a little nuts. Just a little. Sonny moved into position, ready to stop any freak-outs.

  “I did. I was one of the original group of graduates, so to speak.”

  Man, even the cowboy tensed a little.

  “Oh. Cowboy says you can tell me why they want to kill me. Well, he also says they want to kill me.”

  “I thought you were all dead already.”

  “We all, who?”

  MJ tensed. “Participants in the…. What were you in? Amnesia study? Migraines? Detox?”

  The guy went pale—like sheet-white pale.

  “Migraines,” Cowboy said quietly. “He says he has terrible migraines.”

  “Huh. They put you in a hospital. Tried something experimental—probably over a summer, but it was longer than you think.”

  “Stop it.”

  Oh, man, this was bad.

  “You probably don’t remember much, but your headaches got better when they let you out. They gave you shots? Pills?”

  “I said stop it. Colby, let’s go.”

  Yeah, real bad.

  “Tell me, Professor, do you remember the first kill?”

  “Jay!” Cowboy’s voice cracked like a pistol shot. “I think you need to back off. He’s not here for you to bully.”

  MJ blinked, actually took a step back. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m sorry, Cowboy. I…. We need to not do this in a parking lot. We need to not do this in public.”

  “Yeah.” Cowboy glanced around. “There’s a place about five blocks down. The Wagon Inn. Go around to room number five.”

  Without another word, Cowboy got in the SUV, and the window went up on a very white-faced man.

  “Come on, Sonny. Let’s go.”

  “You okay, Precious?” Shit, he could tell the answer to that one himself, but he wanted to be sure MJ could do this thing.

  “No. No, I’m sick and tired of this shit.”

  “I know.” Sonny rolled his shoulders. He couldn’t even tease MJ about Cowboy. This was just fucked-up.

  “I thought they’d killed them all. There were three waves of them that Paula and I knew about, about thirty in total, but they all died. There was a huge fire—they rounded them all up and immolated them.”

  They climbed into the Camry, Sonny waiting to give Cowboy plenty of time. No sense in making themselves more obvious than they had. “Well, apparently one is still around.”

  “But why?” MJ stopped, stared at him. “Why? Why let the one go? Lots of them died on their own. I only heard about a handful even surviving the fucking treatment….”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they were just doing more tests. Your friend was supposed to take him out, wasn’t he?” He couldn’t remember if MJ had told him that, but it made sense. They were trying to reel the Doc guy in.

  “Doing more tests… now? When they’ve had one major installation blow? That seems weird….” MJ reached out for him, fingers sliding over his hand, his leg.

  “Yeah.” He backed out, driving with one hand, the other reaching down to cover MJ’s. “I don’t know. There has to be something he knows, even if he thinks he doesn’t.”

  “I could just shoot him.”

  “No. No, it looks like your buddy is fond.” There’d been entirely too much gun waving already. “I could just drive.”

  “You could. We could just go.”

  Sonny glanced over, not able to read a damned thing with the sunglasses in the way. “Tell me now, Precious.”

  “I want to, but I can’t just fucking let this go, over and over. I don’t get it, Sonny. I fucking don’t get it. Why’s the whole fucking thing waking up now?”

  “It’s all you, Precious. They thought you were dead.” Sonny hated to put it all on MJ, but he’d been over and over it in his head, and if people like Paddy and the pale Doc were all that were left of the Program, they didn’t pose a threat. MJ, though? He could blow the whole fucking thing wide open. Could and would, now that they knew where each other stood.

  “I was. I was fucking dead. I should have killed your fucking lover when I had the chance.”

  Wait. How had this become about him and Woody? He’d been minding his own business when MJ came along. Still…. “Yeah. I should have let you.”

  “Yeah. Still.” MJ’s lips twisted. “It was so worth it, man. You’re so fucking worth it.”

  They slid into the parking lot at the Wagon Inn, and Sonny parked out of sight of the main road before popping it into Park and reaching for MJ. “So fucking worth it, Precious.”

  MJ slammed into his arms like a freight train hitting a stalled Buick, mouth mashing onto his. Fuck, yeah. He’d remind that man who belonged to who, who needed to touch. Jesus, that kiss made him crazy, his cock hard and aching in seconds.

  “Sonny.” Fucking tiny foreign cars. His Precious needed.

  Grunting, he reached down and pushed the seat all the way back, then reclined that fucker as far as it would go, just to give them some damned elbow room. Then he pulled MJ up against his chest, reaching into those loose shorts. MJ damn near growled, teeth nipping his bottom lip good and hard, hands holding his face still so that hungry mouth could have everything MJ wanted. Sonny let MJ take, just touching and pushing, his thumb scraping over the tip of MJ’s cock. He could see all that ink, just out of the corner of his eye, could see the black on tan. MJ never said a word, just kissed and bit and humped, pushing on him like it was the end of the earth.

  Stroking harder at that fine cock, Sonny bit MJ’s lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. He wanted the man to feel him. Right there. Right now. He could feel MJ’s belly going tight, feel the way MJ’s prick swelled in his fingers. Best of all were those eyes, staring right into him.

  “Who am I, Precious?” He grinned wildly, knowing the answer would come like clockwork, even as he pushed MJ over the edge.

  “My motherfucking hero. My Sonny. Oh, fuck. Yes.” MJ shot, just like that.

  “Christ, Precious.” That…. Oh fuck, he could smell it, feel it, so hot it almost burned.

  MJ blinked at him a second, all baby-headed. Then he heard the slow clapping from outside the car, the cowboy standing there, applauding.

  Sonny very carefully pushed MJ over to the passenger seat, pulling his hand free of MJ’s shorts. Then he opened the car door and bared his teeth at Cowboy. “Consider yourself warned.”

  Never let it be said he couldn’t strike like a pissed-off cottonmouth.

  “Hey, man. I ain’t never seen Jay-Jay so hot for it that he went stupid in a parking lot. You must be good.”

  Sonny popped the man right on his laughing mouth, so fucking mad all he could see was red. If this was a friend, he didn’t think he wanted MJ to have any more of them. Cowboy swung back, knocking him in the jaw, and he stumbled, bumping into the car. He’d have leaped right back into the shit if a gunshot hadn’t gone off, the asphalt spitting at the bastard’s feet. MJ was standing there, vibrating, Glock barrel smoking.

  “Enough. Get. In. The. Room.”

  Sonny got, knowing MJ had taken all he could stand. Looked like Cowboy knew it too, because he went meekly.

  The professor dude was standing in the middle of the floor, looking lost, moving right for Cowboy like the man could help him.

  MJ pulled out a chair for him, then sat on the cheap-assed table, staring, gun in hand. “I fucking hate Houston.”

  “No shit.” Sonny plopped his ass down, glowering at everyone. Cowboy just slip
ped an arm around the Doc’s waist and grinned.

  “Anyone want a Coke?”

  “Those things are bad for you. I want tequila. Or iced tea.” MJ’s hand landed on his shoulder, rubbing good and hard. Something slipped into his hand as they sat there. Ah. Drug kit. Right.

  He was good at that whole “make them unconscious, Sonny” thing. Oh, yeah. His whole damned self was aching. Two punches at an iron jaw in one day was enough to kill. That last hit would have taken anyone else right down. He was gratified to see it bruising, at least.

  Cowboy handed out water bottles. “Sorry, no tequila. There’s tea bags over there.”

  “Thanks, babe.” MJ nodded at Cowboy, then looked at the professor. “So, I’m going to ask some questions, okay? Just answer them. Don’t lie and I won’t shoot you.”

  “Well, that’s a comfort.” Lord, the pale dude had balls. “Who are you?”

  “I didn’t say I’d answer questions.”

  Cowboy snorted. “Despite the appearances to the contrary, Doc, he’s my friend. Just let him get to the bottom of it, okay?”

  “What’s your name, man?” MJ kept rubbing, the question deceptively simple.

  “Duncan Phillips. Yours?”

  “MJ. This is Sonny. When did you work for the Program?”

  Sonny hated it when MJ went all lizard brain. Well, maybe not lizard, but cold and working. It gave him the shivers.

  “The YSA? From 2002 to 2005. I got the offer right after I graduated; I had to take it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Duncan blinked. “What?”

  “Are you sure you left in 2005? When did you start your new job?”

  “Right after, of course?”

  Sonny frowned, the exchange making his head hurt. “You got any payment records? Tax records?”

  “I obviously don’t have anything, do I?”

  MJ looked. “Come on, man. Tell me about the music when you went to California. How you picked your house out? How long did it take you to drive?”

  Smart MJ. So fucking smart. Sonny just had to stare and admire sometimes.

  “What are you talking about? What does it matter?” Dude, look at Mr. Professor Man flush.

  “Get it ready, Sunshine,” MJ whispered, then focused on the professor again. “It matters. Come on, tell me who interviewed you. Tell me the first place you ate in LA. Did you hire a van or did you get a U-Haul? Think, man.”

  Get ready for what? Sonny settled himself so he could jump to his feet if he needed to, and he made sure he could get his hand on his gun in a hurry. God knew, when MJ warned him to be ready, these days he was.

  Then the professor guy started shaking, badly, teeth chattering hard enough Sonny could hear it.

  MJ shook his head at Cowboy, who was reaching for Duncan. “Think, Professor. What did you read? Your final test? What was it over? Did you teach Hawthorne? Kafka? Henry Miller? Don’t you remember?”

  “Doc? Doc, what is it?” Cowboy had both hands on the Duncan guy now, holding his arms.

  “Stop it. Make him stop it.”

  “Come on, Doc, don’t be a pussy. Think. Tell me. Your final at the YSA. What was the topic?”

  “Colby!”

  MJ stared at Duncan. “Man, they’re simple questions. Harmless.”

  “Doc. What is it? Can’t you remember?”

  Doc started convulsing, teeth chattering, foam spotting his lips. MJ jumped up. “Sonny. Downers, dude. Now.”

  Sonny grabbed the kit MJ had handed off to him and worked up a syringe, grinning a little at how easy this had all gotten. Then he moved lightning fast, jabbed the Doc in the butt before Cowboy could stop him.

  “Put him on the bed, Cowboy, before he hurts himself.” MJ patted Sonny on the butt. “Excellent job, redneck. You’re a pro.”

  “I have you to thank for that. Well, you and funny bananas.” Sonny helped wrestle the man down to the bed. “What the hell is going on?”

  “He’s been messed with, Sunshine. His brain’s been reprogrammed. I’d bet you big money that he taught one semester, maybe two, and they had him in that hospital for tests for years.” MJ sighed, shoved up one of Duncan’s eyelids, and looked at the rolling eyes. “I pushed the wrong buttons, and he couldn’t compute.”

  “Jay-Jay! You weren’t supposed to break him.” Cowboy was laughing, though. Laughing. Lord, the man was crazier than the last one, and Paddy was a nut-burger.

  “Hey, I didn’t break it; that was the government. I just chipped the spackle off the cracks.” MJ looked at Duncan, at the fading convulsions, shook his head. “Pretty interesting, hmm?”

  “Shit, yes. Man, I’ve never seen you foam at the mouth, even in a tight space.” Sonny shook his head. “This is crazy shit.”

  “Yep. So, we have some options—you can shoot him, we can overload him with opiates, we can just hope for the best….”

  “No shooting him.” Cowboy moved a little closer, staring down at the Doc, who was slowly dropping into sleep, not convulsing anymore.

  “You like him.” MJ got that evil look on.

  “It ain’t a crime.” The man just winked, nudging MJ with one elbow. “At least I wasn’t getting my hard-on handled in the parking lot.”

  “Well, I’m particularly fortunate there, babe. Sonny’s the best. Did you get the chip out?”

  He was going to beat MJ for every babe.

  “I did. It’s on a truck bound for Yankeeland. No worries.”

  Sonny stared. “Chip? Like in micro?”

  “Yeah. A tracking device. You know that little scar by my balls? Paula took mine out when I left the Program. She didn’t have one. Only the ones who traveled outside the Program had….” MJ stopped.

  Blinked.

  “Rick.”

  “They took Rick where?” Sonny knew better, knew that MJ meant Paddy still had a fucking tracking device, and his brilliant motherfucking lover hadn’t thought of it. “We got a land line, Precious. Call him.”

  “Jesus Christ, Jay-Jay. What kinda shit you into, boy?”

  MJ groaned, pushed back his hair. “You have no idea.”

  Sonny sat back down next to MJ and sighed, reaching out to put one hand on MJ’s leg. He had a feeling none of them really knew what kind of shit they were in. Hell, he had an even worse feeling that they had just tapped the very edge of the shit iceberg.

  “We have to get on the road, Cowboy. We have to get moving. All of us.” MJ was vibrating for him, tight as a strung bow. “I don’t know if he has one. There wasn’t any reason to tag him. They never ever let the lab rats go. None of them.” MJ stopped, looked over at Duncan again. “Of course, they didn’t let any of Duncan’s type go either, did they? Shit. Shit. Fuck me. We have to go.”

  “Well, we might as well go now, since the Doc’s asleep.” Cowboy went to get a towel from the bathroom and systematically wiped the room down.

  MJ looked at him. “Are we bringing them with us, Sonny?”

  “I think we have to, Precious.” They didn’t, they’d still have people chasing after them, looking for the Doc. He had that itch on the back of his neck.

  “Okay.” MJ looked at him, lips tight. “Cowboy’s my friend, man.”

  “I know.” Sonny stared right back into those too-bright eyes. “That’s good enough for me, Precious. I don’t have to like him, though.”

  Cowboy laughed, right out loud. “Still here, y’all.”

  MJ leaned in, kissed him good and hard. “I’ll buy you whatever car you want, Sunshine, when we settle this, and we’ll go meet Ma.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” It was kind of amazing, MJ wanting him to meet the man’s momma.

  “Okay. Let me….” MJ’s eyes lit up. “I wonder if they have laundry detergent in the vending machine. We have gasoline….”

  No.

  No kaboom.

  “You really want to advertise where we are more than you did by firing a gun? Shit, I’m surprised the cops aren’t here now.”

  Cowboy tilted his
head, staring at Sonny. “You know, Jay-Jay, he’s smarter than I would have expected.”

  “He’s a little brilliant. This is Texas. They know guns, and I haven’t blown anything up in days.”

  “Well, time’s a-wastin’.” Sonny shook his head. Terrorists and assassins. What was a poor redneck to do?

  “Sorry you met me yet?” MJ caught the towel Cowboy threw and started cleaning up.

  “Never, Precious. Never once in my life.” Out of every damned thing that had been said today, that was the God’s honest truth.

  MJ was worth it all.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  IN THE end, MJ didn’t get to blow anything up.

  Honestly, Sonny and Cowboy could be high-dollar party poopers. They left the Camry, parking Cowboy’s truck in the marina. The professor was still out like a light, murmuring restlessly, flopping around periodically in the front seat.

  “Can you control him at all when he goes… however it is he goes? Because wild and uncontrolled on the ship leads to swimming with the sharks, my friend.” MJ just wanted to make that part clear.

  Cowboy gave him a slow smile, one he knew meant trouble and maybe hand jobs at a rest stop somewhere. “I got my ways, yeah.”

  He chuckled, shook his head. “Lord, babe. You’ve got it bad. I approve.”

  A low grunt came from Sonny, who was toting gear. “We going to move or sit like ducks?”

  “Quack, quack. Can you carry him, Cowboy? I’ll grab your shit. We’ll resupply in New Orleans.” New Orleans was the easiest place; money talked better there.

  “I can.” Cowboy was always fucking deceptive. Like MJ himself, Cowboy didn’t look that big, but he hefted Duncan like the Doc weighed nothing.

  “It’s the third one down. Mind the tripwire, fourth step up.”

  “Gotcha.” Cowboy padded off with his weirdassed man, and Sonny stepped up next to MJ.

  “I got a bad feeling about this, Precious.”

  “You and me both, Sonny, but what am I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know. Stop calling him babe? No more touching either.”

  Oh, growly.

  “Do I call him babe?” He hadn’t noticed.

  “Yes. Yes, you do.” Sonny’s big hands clenched and unclenched. “It makes me a little crazy. He ever meet your momma?”