Linchpin

by Jodi Payne

“How long before I hear from you?”

  “I’d guess about three days after they leave, but shit happens. Could be longer.”

  “How am I going to know you’re okay?”

  “You’re not. I won’t risk calling you until I’ve got things lined up.”

  “But if…”

  “You wait ten days, and if you don’t hear from me, you’ll hear from someone else. You’ll leave the country without me.”

  “What? Fuck that, Quinn!”

  “Tell me you have a better idea.” Quinn pinned Tony with a glare. “No, right? Then don’t fucking swear at me, Tony. This is it. This is how it’s going down.”

  Tony was pissed, and not in the fun way. That was okay. He was allowed some time to sit with it. But Quinn was determined that this was the only way. Tony climbed over Quinn and out of bed, and started looking for his jeans. Quinn watched him. “You have issues?”

  “Yes, I have issues. I have fucking issues.” Tony pulled on his jeans and the sweater he’d borrowed the day before.

  Quinn got out of bed, too. “There’s a bunch more windows—”

  “Great, let’s do it.” Tony stormed out of the bedroom. Quinn listened as Tony stomped into his boots and heard the front door open and slam closed.

  Damn right Tony had issues. If he’d learned anything at all about Tony, though, Quinn figured they’d come out later. He was pretty sure he knew what he was in for.

  By the time Quinn joined him, Tony had hauled two sets of stormers up to the house on his own. Quinn helped him haul the other four and they got to work. Just like the day before, they worked easily together but they didn’t talk much. They simply threw themselves into the physical activity. But Tony’s gears were turning, Quinn could tell. He was doing the math, again, only this time with entirely different parameters.

  It wasn’t lost on Quinn that the work they were doing was actually a complete waste of time. If everything went as planned—either plan—it wouldn’t matter to anyone if the storm windows were up or not. There wouldn’t be anyone left to care about the draft. Oh, well. At least they’d be warmer tonight.

  Working in the still-falling snow was frustrating at times because the runners got wet and their hands got cold. They each took a break once in a while to run in and warm their fingers by the stove, but even so, they managed to get the work done before dark. As they were finishing off the last window, Tony sighed, finally speaking.

  “Tell me that you’re confident you can talk your way out of this.”

  Quinn waited and set the weather stripping before replying, mostly because he thought he knew where Tony was going with his question and Tony wasn’t going to like the answer. “I’m…fairly confident.”

  Tony nodded. “So, this plan of yours, it’s really about ensuring that I make it.”

  “Well, yes and no. I mean, I’m really hoping that we—”

  “Quinn.”

  Quinn sighed. His fingers were frozen and there was snow on his eyelashes, but he ignored all of that and just told the man what he needed to hear. “Yes, Tony. It’s about ensuring that you, at least, live through this.”

  Tony shook his head.

  “Look. A mob boss is serving you up on a platter, and you have no idea why. That means you’re either the stupidest man alive, which we both know you’re not, or you are innocent and haven’t actually done anything.”

  Tony snorted.

  “And frankly, Tony, I’m halfway to hell already.”

  “Oh, come on, Quinn.”

  “No, listen to me. I know what’s up. I’ve been in this fucking business for ten years. That’s ten fucking years of associating with criminals. Ten years of cleaning up hotel rooms, cars, yachts, airplanes, vacation homes, you name it. I lost count years ago of how many fucking bodies I’ve burned, buried or otherwise disposed of. I’ve been paid to be discreet, to be loyal, to turn a blind eye. I’m a bad guy, Tony.”

  “Quinn—”

  “Do you know why guys like me stash money in the Caymans or in fucking Bora Bora, Tony? Do you know why we strategically collect favors and hang on to them? Because we all know, every one of us, that one day we’re going to need it. One day, it’s all gonna go to shit and we’re gonna need an escape route. No one does this forever, sooner or later, we all know too much, we all see something, or they just fucking get tired of us, and we’re next on the list. You don’t retire out of this life, you run from it.”

  Shit, he was shocked by how hard it was to say all of that out loud. He had a knot in his stomach and his chest grew tight. “Fuck,” Quinn swore and turned away, pressing a hand to his chest as he headed inside, as if that could contain whatever he was feeling. Keep it down. He’d only gotten as far as the front porch before Tony grabbed him by the arm.

  “Wait.”

  He whirled on Tony. “Tony. You know what this is? You know what this feels like to me? It feels like a shot at absolution.”

  “Oh, Quinn.”

  Oh, God. He’d said a lot of things to Tony in the past couple of days, but that was the first thing he regretted. Honesty was clearly not always the best policy. He just couldn’t take that look. He turned away, pulling his arm free from Tony’s grasp and storming inside. He was practically assaulted by the dry warmth from the wood stove and he tore off his coat, tossing it in a heap by the door. His boots were soon to follow.

  Tony came in after him, similarly stripping out of his too-warm clothing. Quinn went right to the fridge and pulled out two beers—there was no point in pretending, after two days of doing nothing but talking—and fucking—that this wasn’t going to get hashed out like everything else.

  Every time he thought they’d gotten rid of that fucking elephant, it found its way back into the goddamn room again. Fucker.

  He popped open their beers and handed one to Tony.

  “Perfect. Thanks.”

  “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Maybe. But when it’s realistically possible that neither of us will live to see next week, is anything off the table?”

  “But I shouldn’t have put that on you.”

  Tony sank into the couch. “You mean you shouldn’t have let yourself realize that you already had.”

  Quinn squinted at him and fell into the couch beside him. “Oh.”

  “Yeah, I’d already figured out what you were doing.”

  Interesting. Quinn hadn’t realized it at all until right then. “It’s still the only option.”

  “Maybe not.” Tony turned to Quinn.

  “You’re thinking why don’t we just run right now.”

  “I am, yes.”

  “It’s about you, again. If I stay behind, you can get safely gone and my connections will make sure they never find you. They might look for a little while but they’re not going to waste their resources on someone like you outside of the country. If we go together, they’ll know exactly when and with whom I betrayed them, and they won’t stop until they find us both. Ten years is a lot of dirt.”

  Tony sighed.

  “But.” Now there was an idea. “You could go now.”

  “What?”

  “I could make a call, you could be gone in a couple of hours. Before the Boss dispatches anyone.”

  “No, I…couldn’t. I can’t…um. Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well? I’m selfish. I want every minute I can get with you.”

  Quinn snorted. “Another stalemate?”

  Tony shrugged. “What are we actually doing, though?”

  “Drinking beer?”

  Tony wasn’t having any part of that distraction. “When you come to get me in the no-tell motel I’m holed up in and we leave the country, are we leaving the country together, or leaving the country together?”

  “Not following,” Quinn lied. He absolutely did follow, but he wanted more of a commitment from Tony before he answered that question.

  “Oh, don’t play that, Quinn. Am I leaving the country in your company, or on your a
rm?”

  Quinn allowed himself a slow smile that grew broader as Tony smiled back. “Seriously? You’re going to be in my fucking lap.”

  Tony laughed. “I like it!” He leaned in and gave Quinn a quick kiss.

  “So, tomorrow morning, shooting lessons.”

  “Oh, fuck.” Tony collapsed back in the couch again. “I forgot about that part.”

  “It’s kind of the most important part, handsome.”

  “I guess.”

  Quinn flipped over on to his knees, straddling Tony’s lap. “I promise I won’t hold it against you.”

  “I hope not, since it is your fucking idea.”

  “Mmm. Yeah. This is my fucking idea, too.” Quinn slipped a hand between them and into Tony’s groin.

  “Some of your ideas are way better than others.” Tony arched into his hand and gripped the back of Quinn’s neck, pulling him down into a kiss. Jesus, every single one of Tony’s kisses was a challenge.

  Shoving his tongue past Quinn’s teeth and down Quinn’s throat was Tony’s way of throwing down the gauntlet, and Quinn was compelled by desire to pick it up.

  He broke off the kiss and reached over, taking Tony’s beer in his fingers along with his own and leaning back to set them both on the coffee table, next to the all but forgotten car keys and Beretta. He had only just regained his balance when Tony stood, dumping Quinn on his ass on the floor. Quinn hauled himself up, thoroughly aggravated, as Tony must have wanted him to be, and gave Tony a warning shove with both hands. Tony barely moved.

  “Someone’s feeling better.”

  “Yep. Those idiots must have been high if they were really sent to kill me.”

  Quinn snorted. It was true. Those muscle boys had made really ugly messes before, especially if the target was able to fight back, but Quinn hadn’t ever run into someone they hadn’t managed to kill.

  Tony responded with a shove of his own, but Quinn was ready, his center of gravity settled into his hips. As Tony shoved, Quinn locked arms with him and pulled their bodies together, assaulting Tony’s mouth with a kiss of his own.

  Tony resisted at first but then Quinn felt Tony’s arms relaxing and Tony’s body molding against his own. He took advantage, sweeping his tongue in a circle around Tony’s and deepening the kiss. Tony encouraged him with a soft moan, responding with real hunger but no fight.

  There was nothing like this. Tony’s acceptance without submission, the pride in his desire made Quinn dizzy. Quinn had never felt this free just to want, or this safe to express his needs.

  Ironic that he’d finally found it and was likely to lose it, all in a matter of days.

  “Tony—”

  “Bed.”

  “Yeah.” Right now he wanted whatever Tony wanted. Quinn would give Tony anything he asked for.

  Quinn started to move, one slow, backward step at a time. Tony released him and watched him take a few more steps before stalking after him, until they were through the door and into Quinn’s bedroom. Two more steps and Tony was on him again, pinning him against the tall footboard.

  Quinn grunted and smiled. “Kiss me, handsome.”

  Tony didn’t hesitate, claiming Quinn’s mouth hungrily with his own. Quinn started working on Tony’s clothing, slipping his hands under Tony’s sweater and lifting it over his head. Tony did the same and Quinn sighed, loving the feel of warm skin against skin.

  Tony moved his lips over Quinn’s jaw and neck, making Quinn lift his chin and arch to give him better access. He licked and kissed his way lower, over one nipple and down still farther. Quinn gasped, eyes sliding closed, concentrating on every touch.

  Quinn didn’t resist as Tony loosened his jeans, didn’t fight a thing as Tony lowered them down over his hips, exposing Quinn’s hungry erection. He stepped out of his them and let Tony push them aside. He wasn’t simply acquiescing—he wanted this, everything—but he needed Tony to believe he was serious. That he really did intend to make it through his confrontation with the boys. That he intended to call in his favors, gather paperwork and cash, and take Tony what he hoped would be far beyond the reach of American mobsters.

  Tony slipped his hand into Quinn’s and led him over to the bed, gesturing for him to sit and sank gracefully to his knees. Quinn thought of a hundred things he could say about how beautiful Tony was just then, but, as Tony’s to bathe and circle the head of his cock with a hot tongue, words became utterly impossible.

  Instead, Quinn managed an approving hiss and reached back and locked his elbows, hanging his weight on his shoulders.

  “That’s it,” Tony encouraged, his voice deep and rough. “Enjoy it. Because you’re mine when I’m done. Son.”

  Jesus Fucking Christ, every tiny little fucking micro atom in Quinn’s body hated that diminutive, but the way that Tony used it—his tone, the assertion of ownership—sent a sharp and undeniable bolt of arousal down the length of Quinn’s spine and straight into his groin. The sensation was bright and immediate like a blacksmith’s hammer striking an anvil. There was no hiding his reaction as his cock swelled and jerked in Tony’s fingers.

  Jesus Christ, if Tony had said it again he might just have come.

  Tony’s laughter was a mixture of darkness and delight, but Quinn didn’t have time to think about that because the next thing he knew he was buried in the wet heat of Tony’s mouth. “Oh, Fuck!”

  Quinn truly loved a good blow, and Tony was incredibly adept. He seemed to have absolutely no gag reflex, taking Quinn right down his throat as he worked expertly in Quinn’s lap.

  Quinn let his head hang back on his shoulders and groaned, a long and desperately needy sound that even Quinn was surprised came from him.

  It was difficult to believe, as hard as he was and as good as it felt, that he lasted as long as he did. It seemed to go on forever, Tony taking him close then backing him off, closer still but not quite letting him go. Finally his arms gave out and he collapsed back into the sheets, diving his hands into Tony’s hair. The muscles in his ass clenched, relaxed, and clenched again, but try as he might, he didn’t have leverage to thrust.

  “Fuck! Oh, fuck. Yes! Tony!” Through the fog he heard himself moaning and begging, and when finally Tony took him deep and didn’t back off, Quinn came hard his hips jerking and bouncing up off the bed.

  Tony moved away instantly, with Quinn still lying there spent and panting hard. Something hit the bed beside his head and he looked over to find the lube. A moment later an empty condom wrapper landed beside it.

  “Tony, that was—”

  The air left him in a rush as he was flipped onto his stomach and one arm wrenched up behind his back. “Fuck! Tony!” He struggled briefly, but he knew already how useless that would to be.

  Tony nudged the back of Quinn’s thigh with his knee and Quinn bent it up high without question. Tony’s weight shifted and fingers pushed inside him.

  “Oh, fuck.”

  “That’s it.” Tony’s voice was low and as smooth as melted butter. “Lift up for me, boy.” Tony pushed his slippery fingers in deeper.

  “I’m not your— Oh, God!” On second thought, maybe he was. At least for now. Holy fuck. Quinn dragged his other knee up higher on the bed, lifting his ass. He only had time for one more panting breath before Tony was on him, sinking slowly and deeply inside.

  God, it had been a while since he’d bottomed and it took him a bit to adjust and to relax completely. Once he had, though, it was so fucking good. This was fine, he was willing to share this with Tony. But just because it was happening didn’t mean he had to be a pushover about it. The arm Tony had twisted behind his back was largely for show. Tony wasn’t putting pressure on it or forcing it up hard enough to be painful. Quinn understood it was a measure of Tony’s control, a show of dominance.

  He also understood how much Tony liked a fight.

  Quinn started by testing Tony’s hold on his wrist and Tony responded with a grunt and gripped him tighter. “Oh, ho,” Quinn managed through his gasps. “Woke you
up, did I?”

  “Shut up.”

  Quinn arched and bucked upward toward Tony’s hips, forcing them both to grunt and Tony to swear.

  “Give it up, boy.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Tony’s growl betrayed him and Quinn could hear, as well as feel, how close to the edge Tony was. He bucked again, earning himself a smack in the ass, then twisted, as if to try to free his arm. Tony pushed down heavily, pinning that arm solidly to Quinn’s back.

  But Quinn's show of struggle had pushed Tony off the cliff. Tony’s body began to tremble and his thrusts became erratic, until finally he buried himself deep inside Quinn and gave in to his climax.

  “Fuck!” Tony shouted, releasing Quinn’s arm and falling over his back. He pressed his forehead between Quinn’s shoulder blades and hung there as his orgasm rolled through him. “Fuck, baby.”

  Quinn nodded and slid a hand up to Tony’s, tangling fingers with him as they lay there trying to breathe. The stillness that followed was full of truths that neither of them could put into words.

  “Be right back,” Tony whispered finally, slipping from Quinn’s body with a groan and disappearing into the bathroom. Quinn rolled over a moment later and followed him, herding Tony into a hot shower. He wasn’t ready to let go just yet and Tony seemed to feel the same way. Their shower was silent and gentle, their hands moving over each other as they enjoyed the sensation of soap on skin and muscle, and the reassuring, relentless fall of hot water.

  After days of talking, it seemed odd that neither one of them was able to say another word. They stayed close as they dressed. Tony found steaks and started the grill out back, while Quinn stoked up the wood stoves and cleaned up the kitchen. Tony made a salad. Quinn baked up some potatoes.

  There was, however, plenty of touching and physical reassurance along with the occasional word or two, and soon enough they were sitting at Quinn’s small table with a hearty meal and a couple of cold beers in front of them.

  “Sure is windy out there,” Tony said, picking up his steak knife.

  “Uh-huh. We got those stormers up just in time, I think. This looks great.”

  “Rare enough for you, I hope.”

  “Trot the cow past the grill—”