by BA Tortuga
“Uh-huh. Thermodynamics. Dynamics. Hot and cold, not booming. Blowing. Up. And stuff. Ice and fire.” He shuddered a little, head rolling on his shoulders.
“Well, I can see why he got to know you.” One hand landed on his knee, not weirdly intimate or at all sexual. Just kind of patting. “Put your head back. It will help.”
“Yeah? Can you read my mind too?” He closed his eyes and leaned back, gasping a little.
“No. I just know where you are right now, mentally.”
Oh, he doubted it.
No one could have a clue how he felt. Only Neil.
“I think I need to get off the boat.” Wait. Where did that come from? He was on a bus, going to see Boomer.
“Yeah. Okay, honey. Too bad we’re not on the boat. You hate boats, yeah?”
“Yeah. Yeah, in the worst way. I hate MJ’s boat. They’re hurting Neil.” Padraic started leaning, his head bobbing. “I can’t fall asleep before I find him.”
“I know. Don’t worry. Boomer has a plan. I think.” The last part was a bare murmur, one he wasn’t even sure he heard.
“I’m worried about him. This is all my fault, somehow.” Except maybe it was MJ’s. He blinked, fighting the urge to drowse with all he was and losing the battle. God, he was tired.
So tired.
“Everything is someone’s fault. I’ll get you to Boomer, okay?”
“Okay.” He reached out, patted the guy’s wrist. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to make Boomer help me.”
If he had to do something terrible, he’d make MJ help.
MJ was good at doing terrible things, right? The last thing he thought, before he stopped thinking for a while, was how very bright the sky looked out there.
It seemed like it should have been dark.
Chapter Thirty
SOMEHOW, A few years ago, the sight of Cowboy carrying a limp redheaded rag doll onto their boat might have struck Sonny as strange. These days? Kidnapping was par for the course, as was drugging and stuffing people belowdecks. He’d had to do that to Duncan, because the man had started to get agitated without Cowboy.
Like, his muscles started swelling agitated.
As much as MJ had wanted to poke that bear and watch, they’d only had two hours to get the boat to the French side of the island.
A limp Duncan was way easier to deal with. Just like a limp Paddy.
MJ was still pouting a little, and that was damn near cute. Almost as cute as Mr. Babe running down to rescue his professor.
“Well, I guess we don’t get to ask if he was any trouble, huh, Precious?”
“Nope. Rick looks like hell, hmm?” MJ bent over the poor kid, poking a little. “The Brit and running don’t seem to have been terribly good to him.”
No, the kid looked terrified and exhausted—which, honestly, was basically the way the guy had been for most, if not all, their previous visit together.
“I imagine the last week has been tougher than usual.” Man, MJ had the lizard-brain thing going. Sonny sighed, rolling his head on his neck. “We should cast off.”
“Yeah, I want the chip out of him first. If we put him out a little longer, then he’ll only notice when he wakes up. That’ll keep the screaming to a minimum.”
“Okay. I’ll do the dosing, though.” MJ might get heavy-handed.
“You’re the chief of pharmaceuticals, Sunshine. You want to search for the thing while I get supplies, or vice versa?”
“I’ll look.” MJ had pretty much taught him where to look, and he was better at the minor surgery stuff.
“Okay.” MJ nodded and headed down, leaving him with Tiny, Pale, and Shaky.
And trying to wake up.
Damn it.
“Neil?” Paddy’s eyes fluttered, red eyelashes moving. Oh, now. That was a bad idea.
“Shh. Just hush.” He put a hand on Paddy’s chest, hoping the touch would soothe. MJ handed over his kit damned quick, and Sonny drew up a weak shot.
“Neil. Neil, I’m coming. I promise. Gonna make Boomer help me.” The kid was starting to thrash weakly, but the extra dose fixed that right up, leaving Paddy limp and murmuring under his breath.
“Man, he wants to come to, bad.” MJ shook his head, working the guy’s jeans open.
“Yeah. Well, who knows what’s going on in his head?” It was kind of fascinating, the idea that Neil and Paddy had a psychic connection. Scary, but fascinating. “I need to get to work, huh?”
“Yeah. Let’s do it quick.” Tough old MJ. Sonny hid the smile. The man couldn’t resist a wounded animal, not even for a second.
Sonny supposed that was a good thing. That was what had gotten him into MJ’s low-slung sweats. “Yeah. It’s here at his groin.”
“They like that spot. Fucking pervs.” MJ’s snarl was enough to set the hair on the back of his neck on edge.
“I’ll get it. I need the alcohol and the scalpel.” He kept his tone light and his hands steady.
“I’ve got your back.” MJ handed over the alcohol packet. “It shouldn’t be too deep, but it won’t look metallic anymore. It’ll just be a weird-looking lump. The flesh grows around it, to protect the body.”
“Gotcha.” Gross. He liked tattoos better, that was for sure. That was what he ought to think on—tattooing MJ. Yeah. Much more pleasant than cutting into Paddy like he was.
Thank God MJ was about as good a field medic as he was at stripping a gun and getting it clean. His Precious kept the goo factor down to a reasonable level, dabbing the blood away and holding the skin open.
“I think it’s there, Sunshine. Right to the left of the scalpel.”
“Here. Mop a little.” He needed to be able to see, not just feel. There. Oh man, that was like removing a weird tumor. Ick.
“See that? It’s a blood vessel; try not to cut it.” He froze, and MJ’s free hand slid over his arm. “Just like hunting, hmm? I know you’ve done that. It’s little. I’m just trying to keep the bruising down to a minimum.”
Right. Reduce bruising. Maybe he should superglue the cut closed too.
Sonny took a deep breath, ignoring the little voice in his brain that insisted he was crazy for being a part of any of this. Hell, he’d known he was crazy for MJ from the get-go. “There. Better?”
“You’re good at this.” MJ’s breath was on the hollow of his ear. “I wish I’d had you around to take mine out. I thought Paula was just going to use her teeth.”
“She sounds kind of like a barracuda.” He didn’t like to think of his Precious in that container, with the rotting partner. Blegh. The sound as the chip came out made his stomach flip, made sweat bead up on his forehead.
“I got it.” MJ grabbed the little thing, rubbing the goo off and looking as he pressed down with a little square of gauze. “It’s pretty standard. We have a few options—I can break it, dump it into the ocean. I can see if Paddy and I can’t fuck with it, although it’ll give them more time to find us. Of course, I’m not entirely opposed to just letting the fucking bastards find us.”
MJ rambled on, not helping, just letting him slap a butterfly bandage over the little cut.
“We need to find his man first, though, huh? They find us, we kill them, this one will go crazy on us.”
There. All fixed. His hands weren’t shaking a bit, but he was a little queasy. Not a bad field medic, him.
“Good point. So, do you think I should just break it or find another boat to slip it onto?”
“Oh, that’s a good idea, Precious. Maybe one of them tourist boats.” That would keep the bastards going in circles.
“I’ll be back in ten. Get us ready to go?” MJ kissed him, and then, poof, the little son of a bitch was moving, sort of disappearing.
He sat with Paddy for a moment, hand on the kid’s hip. Then he covered the poor, pale body with a soft blanket and stuck his head through the door down below. “We’re about to shove off, man.”
“You drug Jay-Jay too, man?” Cowboy’s head popped up, faster than he’d th
ought it would. “You need help?”
“No.” No, he was just fine, thanks. “MJ went to get rid of the chip. And you need to keep your guy on a leash, huh?”
“Yeah, well, when you and Jay figure that one out, y’all let me know. I’ll be on it like white on rice.”
Laughing, Sonny relented, nodding a little. “I hear that. They’ve been touched by something shitty, huh? Good thing they have us.” He raised a brow.
“You know it.” Cowboy’s eyes twinkled. “And just think of the mass destruction we can wreak on the world with them….”
“Stop. MJ has pondered this a lot.” He still shuddered, thinking about the diagram on the napkin when he and Neil had gone to the bathroom together once. For five minutes.
“Yeah? That could be a world of fun.” Cowboy motioned toward Paddy with his chin. “That one’s a loose wire, huh?”
“Right now and always. Worse now.” Cowboy might as well know. “He’s damned complicated.”
“Worse than MJ?” Now that question was loaded with a thousand different things.
Sonny tilted his head. “Less self-aware.”
“That could be a blessing or a curse, man.”
No shit. “Yeah. Well, he’s usually not mine to worry about.” One last look at Paddy and Sonny was moving, checking gauges and shit.
MJ was back in short order, pulling ropes and being useful. “Your boy went very growly and bulgy, man. It was relatively hot. He was almost as strong as Sonny.”
Sonny was fixing to be growly when MJ’s hand landed on his ass, touching just enough. “Almost,” Sonny finally said. “Not quite.”
“Not quite.” MJ slipped by, humming low.
“Hey, Jay-Jay! You still do that thing where you bend backward and crawl down the front of a guy?”
MJ chuckled, winked over. “Ask Sonny.”
Sonny grinned wide. “He only does it for me, now.”
“Lucky bastard.”
MJ headed up to the wheel, steady as a rock. “You ready, Sunshine?”
“Ready and rarin’.” They needed to get moving.
“Weirdassed married old bastards.” Cowboy sounded absolutely gleeful. “Will you two get this boat moving, please?”
“Fuck off, babe.” The engines started up, roaring to life.
Lord. Sonny moved automatically, helping MJ get them going, casting off lines and shit. This was going to be hell; he just knew it.
Chapter Thirty-One
COWBOY WATCHED Jay-Jay and Sonny glower at everything and smolder at each other, and he pondered reminding MJ that he knew how to captain a boat. He was pretty amused, though. Really. And Duncan was out cold.
At least for now, anyway. He had no idea how that weirdassed goddamn metabolism would deal with the drugs. God knew that Duncan’s seasickness had lasted about half an hour, and the skinny son of a bitch could eat like a horse. Or a rhinoceros. Hell, he didn’t even know for sure what Sonny’d given Duncan.
Of course, worrying about that led to a little growl on his part about how somebody’d drugged his professor.
Damn it.
Sighing, Cowboy finally just decided to go check on the Doc. That seemed to be the best option in this whole mess.
He met Duncan—or the anti-Duncan, he guessed—coming up from below with a roar, all bulging and wild-eyed, bellering out his name.
“Well, hey, Doc.” He put his hands on Duncan’s arms, knowing his touch would soothe.
“Mine.” He was swept up, wrapped in those huge hands, and dragged down the stairs, Duncan protecting him with all those pretty muscles.
It was cute. Demented, but cute.
Cowboy patted Duncan’s shoulder. “Yours.”
Duncan nodded, rumbling in that broad chest. “Mine.”
Then his mouth was taken in a deep, hard kiss that made sure he got Duncan’s point, one hundred percent, no question. Jesus Christmas.
Cowboy had always considered himself a quick study. He got the point. He grabbed Duncan with both hands and held on as his head swam. His lips were going to bruise with the force of the fucking Duncan gave them, tongue pushing in and in, those green eyes holding his gaze.
Green. Lord, that was still so weird, yet so fine. Cowboy had always been about the weird. Hell, MJ was his best friend.
Duncan’s hands slid down, fingers curling over his hips, digging in and pressing into his skin. Duncan was hard and hot, cock throbbing, noticeable even through the too-tight jeans.
“Well, come on, honey,” Cowboy murmured, smiling a little as Duncan pulled at his clothes. “Come and get me.”
“Get you.” He heard the seams on Duncan’s shirt give way as the man flexed, the fly of his own jeans going next. Then his cock was surrounded by pure strength, fingers squeezing and working him from base to tip. His back arched in a hard curve, his throat convulsing. Jesus. So fucking strong. He could go anywhichways and Duncan could hold him.
Duncan pushed him against the wall, huge arms flexing, lifting him up and up until his head touched the low ceiling and Duncan leaned down. His hips were cradled in the curve of Duncan’s arms, his cock lifting to that open, hungry mouth. Grunting encouragement, Cowboy worked his hips up, thrusting as much as he could with the angle. Come on, come on….
Fuck, that mouth was like a furnace, sucking him in like a Hoover picking up Cheerios from the carpet. A man could live on dreams of that for the rest of his life. Not that Cowboy intended to. He planned on keeping the real thing alive for a good while so he could have it at will. He got his hands tangled in Duncan’s hair, encouraging that head to bob, up and down, hands dragging him deeper and deeper. They found a damn good rhythm, in and out and in, just enough to make his eyes cross.
His balls drew up, his skin tight and prickly, his cock about to blow. So hot. “Duncan…. Doc. Good.”
Duncan growled low around his prick, the sound deep and dangerous, echoing right up along the bones of his spine like a predator to its prey. Fucking hot. Gritting his teeth, Cowboy took more, thrusting hard, needing Duncan’s special brand of want. It made him feel tall as mountains and twice as bulletproof.
The tip of his cock pushed into Duncan’s throat, and he felt Duncan swallow, damn near heard the click of that flesh around his prick. Much as Cowboy wanted to hold on and make it last, he couldn’t. That little noise was the most erotic thing he’d ever heard, and that was after weeks on a boat with Jay-Jay and the redneck.
Duncan swallowed him down, grunting happily around his cock, hands gripping his ass convulsively. Those green eyes stared up at him, so serious, still a little wild. Cowboy gave it all up, coming hard, letting Duncan know how good it was. How necessary.
They slowly slid to the floor, Duncan easing him down like he was something precious.
Grinning, he stroked Duncan’s cheek. “I’m right here, honey.”
His jaw was nuzzled, kissed, and then that mouth landed on his throat, the suction sudden and sharp, Duncan sucking up a mark.
“Shit!” He arched, his heels drumming on the deck. Christ. When was the last time…? “Again.”
He didn’t get an answer, just a grunt, and those lips slid a little lower, fastening on again, tugging the blood to the surface. He felt each and every pull in his fucking balls, his prick doing its best to recover.
Wiggling, Cowboy got one hand over Duncan’s prick, pushing the heel of his hand against it through the cloth still covering it. Those seams were gonna give way soon. Oh, somebody liked that. Duncan surged against him, teeth on his shoulder now, spine curling so the man could hump against his hand.
“That’s it, honey. Come on. Look at you.” Those eyes were still green, their expression desperate, needy. Fucking addictive.
“Good.” He could live a long fucking time on that sound—all raw hunger and all for him, that fat cock leaking, making the denim wet.
“You know it is. What do you want, honey? My mouth or my ass?” He was more than willing to offer either.
Duncan rippled, groaning
low. “Suck me. Need. Need you.”
Yeah. Yeah, he kinda got that.
Nodding, he spread Duncan’s legs just a little bit more, and the shorts ripped right in two. Easy access. Cowboy bent, nudging the ripped boxers out of the way, licking at the base where Duncan’s balls drew up. He heard Duncan’s fingers, creaking and cracking on the floor, the wood groaning. The scent of sex and male surrounded him, flooded him.
Damn. Everything about the man was double or triple strong when he was like this. The taste, the feel of that thick cock, it all made Cowboy want more. He kissed the tip of Duncan’s cock, swirling his tongue around the underside.
“My cowboy.” All those muscles flexed, moving him off the floor, but still managing not to choke him with that prick, not hurt him.
He wanted to smile, but he couldn’t, not with his lips wrapped around Duncan’s cock, moving up and down. Licking, sucking, he gave all he could, loving on that prick for all he was worth. Salt dropped on his tongue, rich and heated, one drop, then two, then a constant taste. Moaning, Cowboy worked harder, sucking his way down, trying to get as much of Duncan inside him as he could. It wasn’t as much as he really wanted, but damn, that thing was big.
“Good.” It was just barely a word, really, that snarled sound, but Cowboy knew what it meant—it meant fucking soon and hot and now.
He reached up, cupping Duncan’s balls in one hand, rolling them in their sac. That drove the Doc crazy. Yeah. Damn. A wild roar filled the air, and then Duncan was coming for him, shooting good and hard, cock spreading his lips wide open.
Cowboy closed his eyes, letting Duncan have him, letting the man just work that thick cock in and out of his lips until it was spent. Then he opened his eyes and glanced up, wondering which Duncan he’d see staring out of those eyes.
Bright green stared down at him. “Poked me. Him.”
Oh, there was a bald redneck that had best watch his ass.
“Uh-huh. He was, uh, worried about you, honey.” Not that he was defending said redneck, but Duncan didn’t need to go off on a tear.
