The Grass Is Greener [McQueen Was My Valley 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Karen Mercury

  “Turn the car around!” Rowan yelled as he alternately surfed and jogged down the rise.

  Rowan didn’t like that Perry shot at the truck from behind the cover of Sasha’s rental car as the truck squealed by. The Dickhead made a shot that luckily went about ten yards wild and also shattered his own passenger window which had not been rolled down.

  Sasha had already made the turn and was rolling by the time Rowan jumped into the front seat. “Just follow the truck. I’ll shoot out his tires and force him to stop.”

  “I think I got one of his tires,” said Perry from the back seat.

  He was right. Already the truck wobbled and dragged precariously to one side, and shredded rubber was furiously flying away from the tire. It was fairly simple for Rowan to halfway climb out the open passenger window, feeling daring like a movie actor, and shoot out the other rear tire. The vehicle’s forward motion was abruptly arrested as it sashayed diagonally but continued to speed forward. It lost velocity immediately, and Sasha came dangerously close to hitting it.

  “Careful, careful,” Rowan cautioned. “We got him. No sense in ramming the truck.”

  “I wasn’t trying to,” Sasha protested, following now at a safer distance.

  When the truck began driving on its rims, El Zeub cranked the wheel and headed off into the desert. Rowan had never understood why targets being chased always thought they could get away with this tactic. Like the pursuer wasn’t going to follow them? True, they only had a crappy rental car, but Rowan ordered, “Follow. Not too close.”

  “He’s not going to get far.” Perry noticed the same thing Rowan did. This was kind of pointless, a busted man’s last ditch attempt at a few more moments of freedom.

  Rowan wasn’t surprised when The Dickhead jumped from the truck while it was still chugging fruitlessly ahead. Blood splashed one shoulder where Rowan had shot him. The Dickhead fell on this shoulder and rolled, and Rowan shouted, “Stop the car.”

  Both he and Perry jumped out and advanced slowly. El Zeub wasn’t going anywhere now, but he was still armed. He still clutched the .44 in his bare, pink hand, and he now struggled to raise his torso, leaning on the bad arm so he could lift the pistol.

  “Don’t try it, Hinton,” bellowed Rowan. Personally, he just would’ve shot the guy, he had put everyone through so much difficulty and anguish, not to mention death. The guy was about to shoot at them again. But Rowan stood in front of his two lovers, one a doctor, the other a cop. Benevolence and compassion were rated highly in their books. Besides, I’m a changed man. Getting older has softened me up. I’ll give him another chance to surrender. “Drop the gun.”

  Sean Hinton wouldn’t, though. His shaking hand was about to squeeze the trigger again, and Rowan was a split second away from doing the same, when the most inexplicable thing happened.

  A bald eagle squawked overhead. It must have been doing that for a while without Rowan paying any attention— he was that fixated on the fluorescent El Zeub. So the eagle must have been wheeling about, looking for a likely rock that stood out from the surrounding landscape, and El Zeub with his pink dreadlocks was it.

  In the split second before either man pulled a trigger, the eagle dropped something like a bomb onto the terrorist’s head. The boxy, dark thing plummeted like a meteor, hitting The Dickhead’s skull with such force it didn’t glance off, but knocked him back to the ground. The .44 went flying several feet harmlessly, and both men ran toward the target, holstering their weapons.

  “What the fuck did that eagle drop?” Rowan shouted at Perry.

  “Looked like a fucking turtle!”

  Indeed, when they reached El Zeub, he had either been brained or murdered by a turtle. The turtle had bounced off his skull, making a dent in his head, before coming to rest safely about ten feet away. Now it shook its head as though trying to clear it after its exciting journey. The eagle still circled around as though it would make a fresh dive for the turtle, seeing as how the shiny pink rock hadn’t succeeded in breaking the turtle open, but the beaked reptile was making a very slow-motion run for it. Perry dove on top of the thing, which looked rather large for a turtle, to Rowan’s uneducated mind.

  Rowan fell to his knees next to The Dickhead, sticking the mad bomber’s firearm into his waistband. He thumbed El Zeub’s eyelid open to see he was out cold, and put his face to his mouth to feel breath. He was alive. Good.

  Perry said, “I’d rather he be alive for us to prosecute him to the fullest.” With one arm around the turtle, he handed Rowan his handcuffs. Rowan cast a glance over his shoulder. Nathan Horowitz was just pulling up, and Sasha was finally getting out of her car to greet her brother-in-law.

  Rowan couldn’t agree more. “Better that the turtle doesn’t kill him, get more justice that way. Is that a native turtle? What the fuck was that eagle doing carrying an enormous thing like that around? How much does that guy weigh?”

  Perry sat cross-legged now like a little boy, hefting the turtle. “I’d say eight pounds, easy. This here is a desert tortoise, no turtle. I thought it only came from the Sonoran or Mojave Desert in Southern California.” Completely ignoring the unconscious criminal who lolled with his mouth open, Perry stood, lifting the tortoise to the sky. “Where’d you come from, guy? You didn’t walk all the way to Utah. Were you nabbed by a poacher? Gabriel’s been looking for this one asshole poacher for months now. He’s been transporting all sorts of endangered species like bald eagles, owls, and lynxes. I wonder if that eagle we just saw busted free, too? I’ll bet that skin-walker had powers, after all, and freed you.”

  Nathan approached with his arm protectively around Sasha, his own Glock drawn. He looked down at El Zeub. “Dead?”

  “Knocked out,” said Rowan.

  “Pink pony?”

  “My Little Pony,” Sasha answered.

  Rowan said, “Can you help me get him back to your truck, Nathan? Perry’s got his hands full.”

  The men carried El Zeub horizontally, Nathan’s hands hooked under his armpits, Rowan gripping the pink ankles.

  Sasha said, “You know, when we came around the corner where The Dickhead was hiding when he was yelling at you, I noticed a shack in his vicinity. Just a run-down thing, looked like an outhouse.”

  Perry gestured with the turtle, whose legs squirmed as it tried to swim in the air. “I’d like to stop off at that shack if you don’t mind. How far was it away from the road, Sasha?”

  “Oh, right there. Twenty yards, maybe. Nathan, could you follow us in your truck with the, ah, the patient?”

  “The prisoner.” Nathan corrected his sister-in-law. “Sure.”

  “That was poetic justice, that eagle dropping that turtle on this asshole,” said Sasha, getting behind the wheel of her rental car.

  Nathan and Rowan shoved the bag of slippery bones into the back of Nathan’s king cab. He told Nathan, “I’ll ride with you, bro, but let us check out that shack first.”

  Five minutes later, the trio was hiking the short way up the bluff to the shack while Nathan kept a watch on the prisoner. Rowan’s ego was swelling fit to burst that he had finally nabbed El Zeub, The Dickhead. All of those feds who thought Sean Hinton hid somewhere else could go suck it. And his heart swelled with an almost painful fullness because Sasha loved him, she walked at his side, and she held his hand.

  “This day could only get better,” said Perry, “if this turns out to be a poaching cabin.” He had locked the tortoise back in the rental car, safe on the floor wrapped in a towel.

  Rowan covered Sasha’s hand with his. “I’m going to have to keep a lookout for you. All these odd men falling in love with you. Now you can add a mad bomber to your list of beaux.”

  “Oh, that’ll look fantastic on my romantic résumé. ‘Pursued by pink Brony. He would blow up anything for her.’ Luckily I won’t need that résumé, Mr. O’Shea, now that I’m committed to you.” She paused, allowing Perry to jog on ahead. “You are committed to me, right, Mr. O’Shea?”

  He stroked
her under the chin like a cat. “Of course, my love. I’ve been looking for you for a long time now. But where will we raise those chickens?”

  “I don’t really care where. I sort of see why my sisters like the high desert, though. The wide open space makes me feel that anything’s possible.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Good usually.” Sasha’s eyes sparkled. “Yes, definitely good. Even this whole Dickhead thing has been good, the way it turned out. At least we stopped him. And now you’ll get a giant bonus and all sorts of accolades—and so will Perry—and I won’t be able to keep other women’s hands off of you.”

  Rowan would have kissed her then, but a gunshot made them both jump. Rowan clutched Sasha to his chest with his left arm, his right hand going for his shoulder holster.

  But he quickly ascertained it was just his eager game warden buddy, who had shot the lock off the shack’s door in his zest to see inside. “Whoo!” Perry yelled as he kicked his way in the door.

  “A little warning, buddy!” Rowan bellowed.

  “Holy shit!” Perry yelled from inside the shack. “This asshat poacher’s got all kinds of poor critters in cages in here! Two bald eagles, completely dehydrated. A fucking condor! This is unreal, you guys! Here’s a blunt-nosed leopard lizard! Oh, and what’s this? A red-legged frog? Sasha, you got any bottled water in the car? I’m just going to let these birds go. I’ve got to find the right environment to release the reptiles and amphibians.”

  “Oh my God!” cried Sasha. “You’re kidding me. Yes, I’ve got water in the car. That’s horrible!”

  Rowan barely had time to kiss his beloved on the forehead before she jogged back to the car. He knew the animals would take his lover’s attention for a while to come. He didn’t mind. He would be more than repaid later.

  He was in no rush.

  Epilogue

  Six Months Later

  Sasha controlled Perry’s leash.

  She leaned back against the sideboard with her thighs spread wide, the heel of one sandal hooked into a drawer pull. The other heel was hooked in Perry’s back pocket as he leaned into her, lavishing shivery sucking kisses to her exposed throat, her shoulders, her jaw.

  “Perry, dear, sweetest, you adorable boy,” she panted, the leash wrapped around her fist. It kept him close to her, forcing him to attend to her every need.

  But Rowan, standing behind his friend, had a leash, too. It was clicked onto the black leather dog collar around Perry’s neck, and Rowan was working at cross-purposes. He loved being a contrarian. So Perry was being yanked like a puppet. Forward toward Sasha’s chest. Backward so he reared up against Rowan’s torso while Rowan spanked his bare, rounded butt with a riding crop he’d found at the Triple Play stables.

  It was lucky that Perry usually enjoyed taking the submissive role. Infrequently Rowan allowed Perry to penetrate him up the ass, but usually Rowan wanted to be dominant in Sasha’s eyes. That was just the way Rowan flowed, Sasha knew now. It made it even more scintillating when Rowan did take the submissive position. Sasha always exploded in an overwhelming orgasm when being fucked by a submissive Rowan who was in turn being fucked himself.

  Today that was not to be. “Eat her,” Rowan snarled, taking a bite from the side of Perry’s neck. Giving Perry’s delicious rump another few resounding smacks, Rowan yanked on the leash, sending Perry to his knees. “Eat her good, and I’ll let you fuck her, too.”

  Sasha gave Rowan a look of gratitude, and he grinned back at her. She didn’t have to pull on Perry’s leash to get him to dive into her muff. He was nearly as talented as Rowan at this task, and he leapt to it eagerly, lapping away like a cat at a plate of milk. Immediately Sasha’s uterus began to quiver with anticipation of the orgasm he was coaxing from her.

  “He needs a rubber,” Sasha panted weakly, now holding Perry’s head to her pelvis, stroking his soft, sandy hair. They had decided to try and get pregnant with Rowan as the father first, so Perry would have to use a rubber in the meantime. Then, down the road farther than they could stretch their minds, it could be Perry’s turn to father a child.

  Sasha was thirty-eight and she knew that would make it more difficult to conceive, and risky if she did. Rowan was forty-nine, but that was not such a great age for a new father these days. She was glad she had postponed motherhood when married to that asshat Colin. She knew many women whose only chance at motherhood had been with an asshat. Now divorced, they were still glad they had chosen to be mothers. Sasha, however, was glad she’d waited. She had a deep inner conviction she would become pregnant with her new husband sooner rather than later.

  They had been married in January at a scenic overlook along Prism Canyon. Sasha wore a fake fur-trimmed high-necked gown with matching fur-trimmed gloves. A furry tiara completed the look, in a nod to their Furry beginnings as a couple. She even wore delicate white boots lined with faux fur. They made her feel like a fairy tale princess. Perry, of course, acted as best man, and held the exquisite tanzanite ring for Rowan.

  Her father couldn’t be there, as he hadn’t been for Brooke’s wedding in October, but Rowan’s two brothers and their wives came from Ireland. An air of bittersweet emotion hung over the ceremony on the snowy lip of the canyon, a feeling that now they were getting it right. Word from the caregiver at the assisted living home in Charleston was that Dennis McQueen had stabilized, but was still wandering around at night and forgetting he had daughters. The girls had made several trips to Charleston to see their dad, but he only recognized them about half of the time.

  “I got it,” Rowan assured her, nodding at an inlaid malachite box where they usually kept the extra-large condoms. Then he vanished, down on the floor somewhere between Perry’s thighs. Sasha squirmed on top of the sideboard, smashing her pussy into Perry’s face, delighting in the reflection in the oversized mirror that was placed nearby in the cabin’s living room. Ah. From this position she had a great angle on her husband propped on his elbows beneath their lover, gulping the hefty dick down his throat.

  His powerful throat muscles swallowed as they worked Perry’s meat. Sasha had to get over the slight twinge of jealousy she’d felt at first when watching the two men make love. Her first suspicion was that Rowan was a much better cocksucker than she was. Of course he was—he probably had more experience for one, and for another, he was a man. His mouth was just bigger—he could swallow more.

  And he certainly put his all into scarfing down Perry’s impressive cock. Perry cradled the head to him as he corkscrewed his prick into Rowan’s mouth. Perry’s shapely ass gyrated and flexed as he fucked the mouth. Sasha had to remove one heel from Perry’s back pocket and tap Rowan on the shoulder, three times in quick succession, to get him to back off. She wanted that sweet young prick inside of her.

  When Rowan detached his mouth, Perry backed off her pussy, too. He gasped and rocked back on his heels, maybe with surprise at Rowan’s retreat. Sasha yanked on the leash to jam his face back into her crotch. “Did I say stop?” she nearly shouted.

  In a flash Rowan was at her side chuckling, brandishing his handful of leash. He was telling her wordlessly that he could control Perry just as well as she could. He could easily yank Perry to stand upright, or he could keep the game warden’s face buried in her pussy.

  “Oh, suck it!” Sasha spat in frustration then quickly corrected herself. “No, wait! Don’t suck it! Oh, screw it! Wait, no! Don’t screw it! Oh, hell!”

  Rowan laughed fully, throwing his head back. She loved it when he laughed. He had such a twinkling, merry, well, Irish way about him. He had lightened up considerably since the events of six months ago. Arresting the crazed bomber El Zeub had lifted an enormous load from his shoulders, although they’d only been able to charge him with the Winterhawk and the attempted Triple Play bombings. As predicted, Rowan had won kudos in his field, but it was such a secretive field they hardly went around throwing banquets for him. But his boss allowed Rowan to call the shots now and had given in to his request to live i
n Utah and only fly out on select assignments, mostly domestic ones that didn’t seem to involve being shot at. In the meantime, when not on assignment he fly-fished and BASE jumped with his brother-in-law Nathan Horowitz. Sasha was overjoyed to spend this much time with her sisters, something she hadn’t done since her early teens.

  They were still in Perry’s cabin until their home was finished being built. Xandra McQueen legally owned all of the lodge land, so Xandra had given them a parcel where they could have a view overlooking Prism Canyon. Her sisters’ new homes were too close together for her liking, so Sasha had chosen a parcel closer to the airstrip where the three of them constantly flew in and out. It was the perfect balance, the quiet nights just the three of them, contrasted against the occasional extravaganza at the lodge or the homes of her family.

  Sasha was starting to set up a concierge practice, flying or, less often, driving to see patients who paid her an annual retainer. She served the Navajo on the res and Medicare patients for a lesser retainer than she charged the well-to-do who came to Utah to build Mountain Craftsman McMansions. She was studying for her pilot’s license and she was already becoming so busy that she was planning to limit her geographical scope to two hundred square miles.

  “What’s so fucking funny?” Sasha snapped, her knuckles turning white with the force with which she gripped the leash. “You’re the one who told him to eat me. Let him finish!”

  “My love,” said Rowan, stroking her forehead. “Now it’s time for me to watch his exquisitely statuesque ass while he fucks the stuffing out of you.”

  Sasha softened. “Oh. Okay. That’s all right.” She knew her handsome husband would not just “watch” their lover’s ass, so now she jerked on the leash to bring Perry up for air.

  He came up panting, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm. He made an especially delicious slave with his smooth hairless chest so deeply tanned from going shirtless on horseback or foot around the desert canyons. Rowan had cinched a cock ring underneath his ball sac, and Perry’s thick, heavy cock jutted out proudly. Rowan tugged on his leash just to remind Perry who had the upper hand, and he reached into the malachite box to give Perry a foil package.