Bound for Keeps (Men of Honor)

by SE Jakes

  “Talk to us, Shane,” Reed urged.

  “I feel…desperate,” he confessed.

  “It’s not desperate to know what you want,” Reed countered. “Most people never hone in on what they really need. They’re searching and then they settle, but they always feel restless. When it really clicks, you know.”

  It was something he never would’ve considered before this. Threesomes were a hot fantasy but a real-life one? How, exactly, could it work?

  Worked for three men for eight years, he reminded himself.

  “We’ve met lots of guys in the past who needed our help. Some of them stayed here without this dramatic entrance. But none of them ever came close to make us consider inviting them inside.” As Reed spoke that last word, he put his fist to his heart. “So, you have to decide what it is you want, Shane.”

  “I want to be more than your fantasy. Because I’m goddamned real. Flesh and blood, and we all know that fantasies aren’t real.”

  He’d floated around for months after Kyle’s death. When the threats started, they actually gave him purpose. He had to run. But now he simply felt adrift. Disconnected.

  Until he collapsed on this doorstep and realized these men might just understand him.

  “We weren’t using you. Christ, far from it,” Keith told him. “We miss Bobby, but with you, it was right. Not convenient. Right.”

  “I wasn’t using you.” But that was a lie, because he had. They’d been his crutch. But they’d also helped him to heal. Taught him to love again when he thought he’d never feel anything but pain.

  “You might’ve been, at first. And that’s all right. But I think we’re past all of that. When you watched us, I think you knew. It felt electric having you there,” Keith told him.

  Reed just tugged Shane into his arms and said, “Life sucks a lot of the time. Don’t throw away the good parts. He’d want you to be happy, wouldn’t he?”

  Yeah, he would, but Shane didn’t trust his voice. He simply nodded and Reed smiled and said, “Then be happy.”

  After a long, secured session with a man called Prophet, Shane knew what he had to do, even as Prophet planned on his end. He would turn around and hunt the man who was on his six. And Keith and Reed would be there to back him up. Prophet too.

  The man with the dark hair and the sardonic smile had listened to the story without saying a word, and Shane didn’t know if the guy believed him. At the end, Prophet had said, “Sounds like the CIA. Bunch of asswipes.”

  He sounded angry—as angry as Shane felt, and he wondered how Reed and Keith had met him. But they didn’t say and Shane didn’t ask, supposed it would come out over time. At this moment, all that mattered was getting Guthrie the hell out of his way.

  Now another week had passed, making it a month from the time Guthrie originally left the letter and nary another sign from him. But Shane didn’t have a cell phone and Keith’s and Reed’s were secured and there was no landline for the cabin. There wasn’t mail service here either—it was all delivered to a PO box in town, and Keith had checked to make sure it hadn’t been compromised and that no letters had been sent.

  Nothing. Keith did a search of real estate of the area and pinpointed some foreclosures that they could hone in on. But Prophet warned them away from that—telling them Guthrie would run. And they wanted him to think he had the upper hand.

  But the tension was becoming unbearable, for all of them. Sitting around waiting wasn’t any of their styles.

  Shane was tired of sparring, of training, of pacing and waiting. Instead, he put himself on the couch in full view of the office, where Keith and Reed had been holed up all day, and stripped. Spread his legs and began to stroke himself, head back, a long sigh escaping his throat.

  It had been a week since they’d touched him other than during sleep in the big bed. And he knew his nightmares were killing all of them. But they were treating him like that fragile creature who’d first landed on their doorstep—he’d have to make them stop.

  When he heard them stop talking, he figured they were out of the office, watching him jerk himself off, his cock glistening with the lube he’d used to make his hand slide, the slow catch and release, the quickening of his breath. And he fucking loved this, wanted their eyes on him. Wanted to let them know that this was for them, that he was giving himself to them.

  “Yeah, that’s it, Shane,” Keith told him, his voice hoarse. “Make it count, baby boy.”

  Shane groaned, threw his head back and shuddered. His cock dripped, his nipples were so damned tight they hurt, and he tugged on one. Hard.

  “He’d look good pierced,” Reed said, and Keith agreed. “Might have to get both his nipples done.”

  Jesus, they would too, would mark him up the way they wanted.

  “You’d let us, wouldn’t you?” Keith asked and Shane smiled, nodded, the bliss from his impending orgasm carrying him along.

  “Jesus, call the piercer,” Reed breathed, and with that, Shane came, spurting over his stomach, his chest as he panted and continued stroking. He noted both men were hard as anything in their pants, and he knew what he needed to do next. What he would do. And he hoped Keith would help him.

  “Reed, why don’t you take off your clothes? Keith can help,” Shane said, and his tone was low and dangerous, maybe more so than Reed had ever heard. It melted the tension out of his body and he responded without thinking, which was exactly the way Shane wanted it.

  Keith stripped his shirt, unzipped his jeans, walked Reed over to Shane.

  “What do you need from me, Shane?” Reed asked, sank to his knees in front of him.

  “I’m going to get what I need by giving you what you need.” Shane passed a hand across his lap, motioning for Reed to climb on.

  Reed froze in place. Hadn’t expected this at all, even though he knew that baby boy did indeed have dominant tendencies. And although he didn’t have the polish Keith did, or probably the experience in clubs, he had the presence.

  Reed swallowed hard. Wanted to say don’t do this, but he couldn’t. Because there was no reason why Shane couldn’t—no reason why Reed shouldn’t want it.

  Other than fear, of course. It was one thing to kiss and fuck. Another thing to trust his body like this to an unknown entity.

  “I promise, you’ll love it, Reed.” Shane held out his hand, and Reed stood and backed up a little bit. “Don’t make me come get you.”

  Maybe that’s what he wanted, a chase to the death. Reed backed up a little more, and Keith didn’t try to stop him. “I don’t think I can do this.”

  His voice sounded strangled and he looked to Keith for help, but the bastard gave him none except that stern look that told him he wasn’t getting away with anything. Shane rose off the couch and Reed told himself he was a grown fucking man, that he could stop this anytime. That he could tell them both to fuck off, use his safe word that he hadn’t used in years, and they would leave him alone. Or climb into bed with him and make him feel better without all of this.

  Reed opened his mouth but nothing came out. Not when Shane stood inches from him. “I’m going to ask one more time and then I’m going to drag you to the couch.”

  How had it come to this? Not that he hadn’t been surrounded by tops all these years. Not that he hadn’t known what Shane was. But he felt so damned exposed.

  Shane put a hand on his cheek. “It’s all okay, Reed. Come on. I know what makes you feel better. Can you trust me on this?”

  Reed’s shoulders slumped forward at Shane’s words, and his silent surrender was seen in his short, shuffled walk to the couch, with Shane behind him. He waited until Shane sat and then he knelt, first putting his cheek against Shane’s thigh, letting himself breathe through the very real possibility of the panic attack.

  “Climb up, Reed.” Shane’s voice was so calm it was almost hypnotic. Reed did as he asked, pushed himself to lie across Shane’s lap, but not before Shane asked him to take his pants down.

  That was always the wors
t part. Bad enough when you let another man do it, but to do it yourself…it was the ultimate humiliation, because it meant you wanted it.

  “Nothing to be ashamed of, Reed. You know that,” Shane comforted him as he fixed himself, his cock hard despite his fear. He didn’t know this boy well enough for this kind of intimacy. But obviously Shane thought he knew Reed.

  The first slap came down with the right amount of pressure. Before Reed could express his surprise, several more were administered in rapid succession, until the tightness in his chest stretched to where he could barely breathe. The pressure built rapidly, and then, as it always did when Keith or Bobby was doing it, it receded, leaving him flying.

  He wasn’t sure how long he remained in place, but he complied easily when Shane tugged at him and said, “Come on—hands and knees now.”

  His body was still humming and Shane rubbed his ass, which was hot and tingling and then gave it another slap he wasn’t expecting. He turned to say something but then Shane was pushing inside of him, filling him up in one long stroke that took his breath away.

  “Yeah,” he managed when Shane was in up to the hilt, but the man didn’t give him a second to breathe before he began to pump, hitting Reed’s prostate in a way that demanded he yell. “More, Shane. I want more.”

  “I know. I’ve been told I can corrupt anyone,” Shane said easily. Reed laughed as he came, Keith snorted, and they were both in deep with this one.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  They took turns keeping watch. Shane and Reed used the ATVs to track along the perimeter, while Keith stayed at the cabin with the rifles and the NVs. According to Prophet, Guthrie was still close, although he couldn’t get a bead on where the man was staying.

  None of them had wanted to alert the CIA at all, because they didn’t know if Guthrie still had allies there. Since the death of his father, it appeared Guthrie’s stock had gone way down, but Shane took nothing for granted.

  They’d done this for a week now. It was already partly in Keith and Reed’s routine, so it wouldn’t look all that odd to Guthrie, but they wanted to call him on, wanted to make him think he could take them down.

  The thing was, he might actually be able to—at least at first. Shane had prepared himself for that eventuality, told himself that Keith and Reed would come and get him. But he woke up with nightmares every time he went to sleep these days.

  Now, he rode on the ATV, seeing a few tire tracks in the muddy snow. Used the binoculars to sight the other ATVs, noted they were driven by two young kids, just having fun. It was about to get dark, and out here, it went from dusk to black within seconds and he’d forgotten the flashlight. He turned the wheels toward the cabin, taking the route along the back, looking all around and seeing nothing. Not at first.

  It was only when he got closer and caught the glint of something in the woods. He sped up, especially when he saw blood in the snow surrounding the overturned ATV.

  He knew what had happened in an instant, hadn’t needed to see the dart in the snow, the needle Reed had yanked out of himself, but not before it had done the damage.

  Shane had always thought it would be him, hadn’t prepared himself for this eventuality. He jumped off the ATV and stood, looking at the footprints and dragmarks that led deep into the woods.

  He heard another ATV, turned to see Keith coming toward him.

  “Guthrie drugged Reed,” Shane said when Keith moved in to look at the dart with the needle.

  “Bastard. Had to be stationed in the trees. Whatever was in here knocked Reed unconscious.”

  Which meant Guthrie had waited until the drug worked, which in turn caused Reed to crash the ATV. Hence, the blood.

  “He’s all right, Shane.” Keith clamped a hand on his neck. “He’d know what was happening. He didn’t crash hard—it’s only overturned. Look.”

  Shane did, so he could stop himself from hyperventilating. “We have to find Reed, Keith. I can’t let him take my punishment.”

  Reed opened his eyes and realized he wasn’t inside his nightmare. Realized too that this was much, much worse, because his real life had become the nightmare.

  “Guthrie, you bastard,” he grunted as he tried to move. The box was smaller than the original had been, and the drugs gave him a wicked case of vertigo.

  He’d been ready to head back to the cabin when the dart caught him in the neck. He’d stopped the ATV, had planned on trying to run into the open, where Keith or Shane would’ve seen him, but the drug in the dart had been too strong.

  He had no idea where he was or how long he’d been out—could’ve been hours or it could’ve been days.

  This was his living, breathing fear and he was in it. Forced himself to breathe, to recall what he’d told Keith years earlier, after one particularly spectacular nightmare in which he managed to break Keith’s nose with his flailing.

  They’d discussed what they would’ve done differently—it was like a debriefing they did at the end of every mission, when they’d been in the military and when they were working private missions. And Reed had done his own version of a debriefing, said, “If it happened again, the box, I wouldn’t struggle. It scared me, made me panic. Neither of those things did me any good. If I’d stayed quiet, they might’ve opened the box to see if I was alive. Maybe I could’ve picked the locks. Either way, I had plenty of air and water—I could’ve survived in there for a while.”

  He clung to that, to Keith nodding, telling him, “I would come get you, come hell or high water.”

  Using that image, and picturing Shane and Bobby, Reed hung on.

  He looked up and saw a straw hanging down to him. As much as he hated being treated like a goddamned animal, survival was the most important thing. He took a pull, didn’t taste any drugs and so he swallowed it. Had to be grateful that the motherfucker wasn’t trying to waterboard him through the vents. Although who the hell knew what would come later. He had to be prepared for all eventualities, even the ones he didn’t want to think about.

  “I’m going to call Prophet.”

  “I’m going to have Guthrie take me,” Shane told him.

  Keith looked like he wanted to stop him, but finally, he relented. Slipped a GPS tracker onto the button of Shane’s coat. Stared at him. “You do whatever you need to survive. Prophet and I will be tracking you every step of the way.”

  “I can handle this. He should never have involved Reed. This was personal.”

  “Still is.” Keith stared at the phone in his hand and told Prophet, “He’s got Reed. Here’s the plan.”

  And then Keith got back on the ATV and took off back down to the cabin, circling around the front. Shane watched him get to the cabin and go inside.

  Keith was safe. Reed wasn’t. It had been over an hour since he’d last seen the man—they’d searched for him unsuccessfully before coming to the inevitable conclusion that Guthrie had planned well and they’d need to use a difference tactic. An hour would’ve given Guthrie enough time to hide Reed and come back. He had no phone for Guthrie to contact him. This was the only way.

  Shane stood there in the freezing cold as night fell. Heard branches breaking from the ice and cold, saw his breath in front of him, the only thing he could see. An hour passed. And finally, the hair on the back of his neck rose.

  He could sense Guthrie, had always been able to. One of the few perks of having worked closely with the man for a few years.

  “Take me instead, you fucking bastard,” Shane said quietly. His wishes were granted when a dart slammed into his shoulder and he fell to the ground as the drug entered his system in seconds.

  He woke, bleary eyed, stomach churning, with a hand cuffed to a long chain attached to a wall. Just like it happened with Kyle, except this time, there was no screaming to be heard.

  Shane didn’t know if that was better or worse. “Guthrie, you coward! Come fight me!”

  His voice echoed.

  “Reed, if you’re there…you’re going to be fine,” he told him. And t
hen a screen above him displayed a picture. A box, with a vent on top, and Shane bent over and vomited, because he knew what Guthrie had done.

  “Fucking bastard. Reed, if you can hear me, just keep breathing. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  If he’d kept track of the hours correctly, they were just entering day three, which meant that Guthrie found and discarded the GPS tracker Shane had on him and left it behind. Otherwise, Keith would be here already, wherever here was. It was around midnight, and the half-open window and lack of heat had Shane shivering and drowsy, especially because he’d been stripped down to his boxer briefs.

  At some point, he’d clawed at the cuff, because the scarred skin was ripped open and bloody, but he didn’t care. Had to get the fuck out of here. Had to stop falling asleep.

  “Guthrie!” he yelled. Was answered by an echo of his own voice and silence. He screamed the name, over and over, until his voice was just a rasp. And then he coughed up a lung, which hurt his throat more.

  “Reed, I’m okay,” he managed, hoping that Reed was close and would hear him and understand. He leaned his head back as a shiver went through him, and he was dangerously drowsy again.

  Something’s gotta give. But would it be him?

  He wasn’t sure how much time passed before he blinked, because he swore he saw a glint coming in from the window above him. A skeleton key that would open his cuffs landed at his feet. He looked up, saw nothing, but knew exactly who was out there.

  He also knew what was expected of him. Especially when a knife dropped down as well, still sheathed. Bobby’s KA-BAR, with his name and rank inscribed along the side of it. It was heavy. Sharp. Dangerous.

  This time, he would fight. And he would win. There was too much at stake not to. And as the cuff popped up, Shane stretched his body to get the sleep out of it, bounced on the balls of his feet to get his blood pumping and his head on straight. He looked at the box that was still the picture on the screen above him and whispered, “Coming for you, baby. Coming right fucking now.”