Hagen, Lynn - Hunter [Zeus's Pack 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting ManLove)

by Lynn Hagen

  “Let me have a few of those.” He squatted and picked up the ones lying haphazardly on the floor, and then grabbed a couple that were clutched in the thin grip of Tristan’s hands. “We’ll put these in the trunk and then head over to the grocery store.”

  “Okay, sir.” Tristan nudged the door open and held it for Quinn. His hat became askew as he fought to hold onto his purchases and keep the door open at the same time. He was an adorable mess.

  “Go on to the car. I can get the door.”

  Tristan plodded along to the car and waited at the rear of it as Quinn pulled his keys out and opened the trunk. He was already getting strange looks, but the guy didn’t seem to notice.

  “Okay, off to the grocers we go.” Quinn led the way with Tristan beside him. He had to hold in a laugh at the way his little friend looked. The guy had no idea the attention he was drawing, and Quinn wasn’t going to clue him in on it either. It would only make him feel awkward, and he wasn’t going to have that.

  “Do I still get to have my Skittles, sir?” Tristan’s eyes were once again darting around, looking for a threat Quinn was clueless about.

  “That was the deal.” He made sure he walked ahead so he could grab the door this time, allowing Tristan to walk in ahead of him.

  “I understand if you don’t want to get them. Deals sometimes have to be broken.”

  “Not when I make one.” Just who in the hell had broken this poor man? “You grab a cart while I see what we need.”

  Tristan struggled to get the cart from the row. It appeared to be hooked onto the last one. Quinn took mercy on him and unhinged the two carts, freeing it for his jellybean to push.

  Tristan began to slowly move from side to side as the music played overhead. “You like that song?”

  Tristan grinned and nodded. The feather almost looked as though it were taking flight as it flapped up and down. “It has a nice beat to it.” Tristan’s hips snapped from side to side as his finger pointed to the ceiling and waggled from side to side.

  Wow, Tristan didn’t say sir. Maybe music was the answer?

  Quinn, never caring what anyone thought of him, began to dance down the aisle with Tristan. “It does, doesn’t it?” He laughed as Tristan’s lips soured, and he began to snap his hips from side to side. Quinn moonwalked back to the guy. “We should shop while we dance.” He did a pirouette and grabbed a few boxes of cereal, tossing them into the cart.

  “Watch, watch.” Tristan said excitedly as he ran to a shelf and grabbed a few cans of soup, tossing them in as he danced around the cart. Quinn was having a great time and enjoyed seeing Tristan so at ease. He no longer resembled a broken puppy, but a man who was flourishing.

  “I can top that.” Quinn grabbed boxes of Wheat Thins and made a jump shot, cupping his mouth as he cheered like a crowd was rooting for him.

  “Try it again.” Tristan laughed.

  Quinn grabbed another box and jumped, Tristan running forward and batting it into the cart, making a one in a million shot.

  “I did it, I did it.” Tristan jumped up and down excitedly.

  He absolutely loved Tristan like this.

  “Hey, look.” Quinn pointed to a rack of arts and crafts. “Get whatever supplies you need to draw with.” It wasn’t much coming from a grocery store, but it would have to do until Quinn could go online and order the more professional items. Maybe he could even get Tristan’s input on what he wanted.

  Tristan picked the sketchpad up with the least amount of pages in it. Quinn picked up the one with the most. “That way we won’t have to run back here when you need more.”

  “I won’t use all my paper up.” Tristan clutched the pad to his chest and turned away, as if it were the lost treasure of Atlantis in his arms.

  “I would still rather you take this one.” Quinn tugged a little and Tristan released it, grabbing onto the one Quinn handed him. Just how much does he like drawing?

  “Get the supplies, too,” Quinn said as he pointed to the selection of colored pencils and erasers.

  “He looks like a colorblind pimp.” Two men came walking down the aisle, one pointing at Tristan as he laughed. “How much do you get for that boy next to you?”

  Boy? Quinn was no fucking boy, but a full-grown man and was about to show these two shitheads what this man could do. “I’d leave him alone if I were you.” Quinn took a protective step in front of Tristan, ready to add both of them to the produce selection if they didn’t back off.

  The loudmouth’s lip pulled back in a snarl as he looked Quinn up and down in distaste. “I’m getting tired of seeing fags in this town. Why don’t you and Sir Pimp-A-Lot get the hell out of this nice god-fearing town while you still can?”

  Quinn’s brows shot to his hairline as Tristan dropped to the floor and onto his knees, his head lowering as his hands rested on his thighs.

  Oh shit, just what they didn’t need right now.

  The two cowboys laughed maliciously, one taking a step toward the downed man. Quinn growled and got into the cowboy’s face. “Get the fuck away from him!”

  “Is there a problem?”

  Quinn didn’t look behind him to see who was asking. He couldn’t afford to. This Billy Bob would have a split-second advantage if he did.

  “Taking up for the queers again, Sheriff?” The man took a step back from Quinn, his snarled lip pulling up tighter as they locked eyes.

  “I warned you what would happen if you kept that hate crap up, Clancy. Get the hell out of here.”

  Quinn took a chance and looked back. Sure enough, a man in a cop’s uniform was coming down the aisle behind them. He reached down, keeping his eyes on the two jackasses as he pulled Tristan up to his feet. What really pissed Quinn off to no end was the fact that he had finally had Tristan opening up and being himself, and then these two had to ruin it.

  A muscle clenched in Quinn’s jaw when he saw Tristan backed against the shelf, his sketch pad clutched to his chest. His head turned back to the two men. “I want you to apologize to him, now.” Quinn’s voice was cold and unforgiving.

  “I don’t say sorry to pansies.”

  “That’s it, Clancy. If you don’t apologize to this young man, I’m taking you in.” The sheriff stepped up next to Quinn, squaring his shoulders.

  “For what?” he asked in mocking disbelief.

  “For being an asshole. Now do it.”

  “I’m sorry.” The man paled, looking past Quinn and the sheriff with fear. Clancy and his buddy shot out of the aisle, leaving Quinn to wonder what the hell had scared them.

  “What’s going on?”

  Quinn spun around, his arms blocking Tristan. Two large men swaggered up to the sheriff. He knew one of them to be Torem, one of the occupants of the new home the construction company Quinn worked for was building. The other looked familiar, but he didn’t know the guy’s name.

  “What’s going on, Quinn?”

  He took a step to the side, feeling the need to block Tristan from their view. Quinn wasn’t quite sure why. “Nothing. I had a little trouble, but that’s been taken care of.”

  Torem tilted his head to the side, peering past Quinn. “You know you can call me if you ever need any help.” Torem’s brow rose, but he didn’t say a word. He straightened and smiled at Quinn.

  “Thanks, but I got this.” Quinn gave a short nod to the sheriff. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  “Am I in trouble, sir?” Tristan asked as he hurried next to the cart Quinn was pushing.

  “No, jellybean, there are just assholes in the world, and you met two of them.” Quinn pushed the cart to the checkout and began to unload his items. At the last second he remembered Tristan’s treats. He looked over the candy shelf next to the counter and spotted what he was looking for.

  The cashier stared at Quinn when the whole vendor’s box containing the Skittles bags rode down the conveyor belt and stopped in front of her. “Someone’s got a sweet tooth.”

  “That would be me.” Tristan r
aised his hand.

  The cashier and Tristan chuckled. “I like your hat.” She smiled.

  “Thank you. Quinn bought it for me.” Tristan ran his index finger and thumb around the brim, showing off his red fedora, with the long and large feather protruding from the side.

  “It sets off your eyes,” she complimented him.

  Tristan turned, pleased as punch with a big smile on his face. “She likes my hat, sir,” he said softly, so low that only Quinn could hear him.

  “You have very good taste, jellybean.” Quinn winked at him with a smile.

  Chapter Two

  Tristan stored the last of his clothes in the few drawers Quinn had allotted him. He looked across the room where Quinn was trying to make him an art table. The sound of the cordless drill was a little unnerving. “Sir?”

  Quinn glanced up at him, the drill coming to a stop. “What’s up, jellybean?”

  He liked that nickname. No one had ever given him one before. “Why were those men making fun of me?” Tristan flopped down on the bed and removed his hat. He had loved it the moment he laid eyes on it. The feather reminded him of the ones they used as pens a long time ago.

  Quinn stood and exhaled a deep breath. “Because they have nothing better to do.” He set the cordless drill down and eyed Tristan. “Don’t ever let someone get under your skin. No one’s opinion should bother you. It’s what you think about yourself that counts. Remember that.”

  The realization dawned on Tristan that the men were making fun of him. But why? Quinn grabbed one of the legs he was assembling, and Tristan stared at the muscles rippling under Quinn’s white T-shirt. He was devilishly handsome. “Was it because of my feather, sir?” What else could it have been?

  Quinn crossed the room and knelt down by the bed in front of Tristan. “Now listen, Tristan. It doesn’t matter why. All you need to do is concentrate on being yourself. Everything else will fall into place. Ignore men who want to belittle you. Their hatred is their problem, not yours. The only person who can bring you down is you.” He lightly pressed his index finger into Tristan’s sternum and then stood, his hand falling away.

  Tristan noticed how Quinn didn’t really answer his question. He was enchanted with his clothes. They were a variety of different colors, and some were even made of silk. The hat was to die for, and Tristan loved wearing it. What was there not to like about what he picked out? Why would someone make fun of such beautiful clothing?

  Tristan grabbed his hat and set it on the dresser, his fingers lingering on the soft fabric. “I’ll try not to let them bother me, sir,” he said, more to the hat than to Quinn. Tristan’s life wasn’t an easy one, but he always tried to look on the bright side of things. There wasn’t a bright side to someone ridiculing his clothes. “May I have my Skittles now, sir?” he asked as he turned around to face Quinn.

  “They’re in the kitchen. Look in the pantry.” Quinn went back to building the art table, so Tristan let him be.

  All of this was pretty bizarre. He knew Quinn didn’t like when Tristan called him sir, but it was a habit now. One he desperately wanted to break, but the word fell from his mouth so naturally. Xavier had screwed his head up pretty bad, but Tristan wasn’t going to give up. He deserved a normal life after being treated like shit from his ex master.

  Boy, was that title a joke. The man wouldn’t know what a master was if he was hit over the head with three paddling tables. And the wedgie in the panties was that Tristan didn’t even want to be a sub. That was all Xavier’s doing.

  Bastard. Maybe this time he could stay hidden. The psycho had found him the last few times he managed to get away from Mr. Bondage R Us.

  Tristan searched the pantry for the box he saw Quinn buy, his mouth already watering for a taste of one of those delicious candies.

  “Well, what do we have here?” A husky voice from behind made Tristan stiffen. “Looks like Quinn finally let his boy toy out to play.”

  Tristan whirled around, glaring at the man he saw move his things out of the house yesterday.

  “I’m no one’s boy toy.” He snapped at the guy as he glared at him. He was furious that this man would assume such things about him. Tristan had no clue where all his bravado was coming from, but no one came near him when his mate was in the next room. No one but his mate came near him period.

  His head began to spin as the realization slammed into him. Quinn was his mate! Was that why he wanted to please him and was terrified of him all at the same time? The knowledge just surfaced without him even thinking about it. Holy marshmallows!

  “A twink with ’tude, I like it.” The larger man backed Tristan into the pantry, using his larger frame to bully Tristan further back into the small alcove.

  “Stop.” Tristan pressed his hands into the man’s chest, his brain frantically trying to figure a way out of this situation.

  “Why? If Quinn can play with you, why can’t I?” His rough and callused hands were all over Tristan’s body. His skin wanted to throw up from the touch. It was unwelcome and, quite frankly, scary.

  “No!” Tristan pushed with all his might, slipping under the guy’s arm and running from the room. He slammed into Quinn’s chest and fell to the floor, a yelp escaping his lips.

  “What’s wrong, jellybean?” Quinn reached down and pulled Tristan to his feet. He wasn’t sure what he should say. Weren’t Quinn and the man in the pantry friends? Would Quinn believe him?

  Tristan didn’t have to say a word. When the man in the pantry came out, Quinn’s face twisted up in anger. “What the hell are you doing here, Mickey?”

  “I forgot a few things in my hasty departure from your house.”

  “In the pantry?” Quinn looked from Tristan to Mickey and growled, twisting the front of the man’s shirt in his fists. “What the fuck did you do to Tristan?”

  “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…” Tristan began to sing, going to his happy place in his mind. It was the only way he had learned to deal with high-stress situations, or even uncomfortable ones. He’d been beaten for it many times by Xavier, but it was a habit he’d had since childhood.

  “He’s singing, so you must have done something.” Quinn slammed Mickey’s back into the wall. His stance told Tristan that the outcome wasn’t going to be pleasant. He began to repeat the song when the two started fighting in the kitchen.

  Mickey shoved Quinn back and tried to get a punch in, but Quinn ducked and landed one square on Mickey’s jaw. “How fucking dare you come in here and disrespect my company?” Quinn hit him again.

  “Since when do you defend some guy you brought home to fuck, Quinn? I thought we were friends.” Mickey spit on the kitchen floor. It smacked onto the linoleum and was riddled with blood. Tristan took a step back. That was just gross.

  “I thought you were straight? What happened to banging chicks, Mickey? Since when do you go after guys?”

  Quinn advanced and used his elbow to crack Mickey’s nose. Tristan was at a loss of what he should do. He sang louder as he watched the two tussle. It was like a clash of the titans. The two heavily muscled bodies slammed into counters and knocked the chairs away from the table.

  Quinn finally grabbed Mickey by the scruff of his collar and his waistband and shoved him at the front door. “Get the fuck out, and leave the damn key.”

  Mickey reached into his pocket and pulled the door key out, throwing it at Quinn. “It’s a sorry day when you pick a fuck boy over your friend.” The guy slammed the door on his way out.

  “You can stop singing now. He’s gone.” Quinn walked over and looked Tristan over. “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you, jellybean?”

  Tristan shook his head, embarrassed of his childhood habit. “No, sir.”

  “Come on, I have your table ready for you.” Quinn waved for Tristan to follow him, and he obediently ran behind his mate. Wow, his mate. Who would have thought that when he ran from Xavier this time that he would find his mate?

  Tristan walked into the bedroom and came to a halt. In t
he corner was a drawing table. There was a small lamp clipped to one end and all his art supplies that Quinn had bought for him. Tristan walked over to the stool, his fingers ghosting over the table, the sketchpad, and the small cup that held his drawing utensils.

  He wiped a stray tear. Swallowing a few times around the knot in his throat, he turned and stared up at Quinn. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Ah, shucks, it wasn’t nothing.” Quinn chucked Tristan on the arm. “Just giving you something to call your own.”

  If Quinn only knew how precious this was to him. The gesture alone gave him a thousand brownie points. He slid onto the stool and opened his sketchpad, his fingers trembling as he grabbed a pencil and forgot the world existed.

  “I’ll leave you to your drawing. Come find me if you need something.”

  Tristan nodded, barely registering Quinn’s words. His hands flew over the paper, his mind opening up and taking over. His drawing hand became a separate entity.

  Tristan thought of his time with Xavier, the way his ex had been nice at first, like most new relationships started. And then the real Xavier surfaced, and Tristan had done everything in his power to get away. But each time he escaped, the man had found him and threatened his life if he didn’t come back. Tristan crossed his fingers and prayed he had finally gotten away permanently.

  Obsession was not a good thing, not by far. It amazed him how some people latched onto something or someone and felt they had a right to dictate their lives and how they should do things. This was why he enjoyed being around Quinn. The man insisted he make his own choices, something he had forgotten how to do after only one year of being with Mr. Obsessive.

  After what felt like hours, his head started bobbing. Tristan had no clue what music was floating into the bedroom. Quinn had to be playing it…and he liked it.

  His upper body started rocking back and forth to the beat as he drew. Within a few minutes, Tristan was sliding off of the stool and dancing to the rhythm. He danced backwards, did the John Travolta disco moves as his feet tapped around with the music.

  “I see you like it.” Quinn walked into the room and sidled next to Tristan and began to dance. “It’s Eminem rapping.”