Tough Love

by Heidi Cullinan

  As if that thought had personally gone out and stirred up trouble, no sooner did Chenco think it than Mitch came tearing back in, his cell phone to his ear. “Chenco, we need to get you out of here. Right now.”

  The world shifted slightly sideways. “What? Why? We haven’t had breakfast.”

  “We can’t have breakfast. And when I say you need to get out of here, I mean you need to get out of here. Like, you can’t come back. Ever.”

  “What?” Chenco’s heart slammed at the top of his throat. He swallowed it back down. “No way. This is my life, my stuff—”

  “Chenco.” Mitch pointed out the window. “Sometime in the hour since we’ve been here, somebody painted a gang symbol on Steve’s truck.”

  “They do it all the time. It’s our welcome wagon.”

  “Steve has a very distinctive truck. A lot of people in the valley know it. A lot of dicks in the flats know it. They enjoy bashing in the heads of homeless people for fun. Homeless people who live at the cannery.”

  Oh no. A cold, terrible wind whipped through Chenco. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

  Oh yes, Mitch’s face said. “They know this truck. They know Steve. They hate Steve. I just drove Steve’s truck into their turf and parked it in front of your house.”

  For a horrible second Chenco stared at his brother. Then he melted, slow motion, into a chair.

  Mitch hauled him back to his feet. “We have to leave.”

  Chenco was going to be sick. “If I leave, they’ll trash the trailer. They’ll trash my stuff, Mitch. Caramela’s stuff. I can’t leave her to them. It’s her back there. It’s not just my head, it’s her stuff. I can’t do this to her.”

  “Then start packing. If you have a gun, I’d appreciate knowing where it is.”

  “Under my bed. Bullets in the bedside drawer.” Chenco headed for the dressing room, but he stumbled. “Oh my God, Mitch.”

  “Steve’s on his way, and he called some of the guys.”

  “Not Randy?”

  “Randy is at Steve’s house, keeping my husband from coming along.”

  Chenco couldn’t ask any more questions because Mitch disappeared into his bedroom. To get the gun. To defend the trailer against the Donna gang.

  Chenco moved in a daze, at first simply spinning in vain, trying to decide how to start, then ruthlessly combing through from one side of the room to the other, identifying each item and deciding whether or not it was essential. It was extreme reverse hoarding—to each item he asked, do I need this to live my life? Does Caramela? The answers sometimes surprised him.

  She rose up too, making it clear what was at her core, what she could not leave behind and what was frivolous. When he threatened to fall apart, she soothed him, reminding him all this could be replaced, that they were queens the both of them, that they were strong and nothing and no one could get them down.

  Even so, when Chenco saw Steve filling the doorway to the dressing room, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He broke down.

  Without saying a word, Steve took charge of the room—a few other men Chenco didn’t know had arrived with Steve, and they all moved to Steve’s orders, taking Chenco’s things, finishing the boxing up and moving his belongings outside.

  Sitting on Steve’s massive thigh, Chenco curled into his neck, calming, accepting strokes on his arm and thigh. The uncertainty, the wildness of the night before, was gone. This was the Steve who had petted him, the Steve who had carried him out of the club.

  “I have control of this, Chenco. You do not need to worry about this anymore. I will take your things to my house, and I will keep you safe until you choose to leave.”

  Swallowing a sob, Chenco pressed closer. “Thank you.”

  “Thanks isn’t a requirement. It’s my truck, my past messing up your present, and I clean up my messes.” Steve nuzzled Chenco, vulnerability leaking through. “I know you said you’d think about it, but for now, you need to say yes, baby. We’ll talk the rest through back at my place. What you need to know right now is you’re safe.”

  Chenco wanted to crawl inside Steve’s belly and lie there, warm and curled and part of him forever. “Okay. I’ll move in.”

  Steve crushed him close. “Good.”

  The rest of Chenco’s packing happened with Steve and Mitch and the other silent men as his personal pack mules—when he pointed to something and said it came along, they boxed it or bagged it and took it outside. They had him go through each room twice, closing the door on it when he was finished.

  “This will never all fit in the truck,” Chenco said at one point, starting to lose it again.

  “That’s not for you to worry about.” Steve said this with another one of his hard grips on Chenco’s arm. “Finish going through your things.”

  Chenco did. He sent everything out except for the cedar box with his mother’s letters, which he said he’d carry himself. When it was all over, Mitch and the guys left the two of them alone in the living room, Chenco’s back to the door, forehead on Steve’s shoulder as Steve wrapped big arms around him and stroked him gently. Steve was a little shorter than he was, so he had to slump, but he felt about three inches tall, so it worked out in its own way.

  “I’m not ever coming back here, am I?” Chenco whispered.

  “No.” Steve kept stroking his arms. “I’m sorry. The guys will stay as long as they can, stripping everything not nailed down, and they’ll bring it to the house. But no, you can’t come back here, ever. Not when they associate you with me. Even if things don’t work out with us, you can’t, because you are now connected with somebody they’re aching to fuck over. You’re a big, easy target. These assholes can’t be taken out by stilettos. Not even in the neck.”

  “I know, I just—” One tear escaped, and Chenco wiped furiously at his eyes. “I worked so hard. I came here with nothing, I beat Cooper, I beat the gangs, and now—”

  He started to break, and Steve dug in his fingers, staying him, but he nipped at Chenco’s ear too, a baby bite, enough to make everything inside Chenco slow to a crawl.

  “Hold on to the pain, baby. Be strong for me, carry your troubles home. Don’t give them your sorrow. They don’t deserve it. You save it for me, lover, and I’ll show you things you can do with the heaviness you carry that will blow your mind. I’ll take you so high you won’t know pain from pleasure. These threats will be so far beneath you they’ll be dust, and you’ll laugh and blow them away. Keep it close, keep it real, keep it deep, because, baby, I’m going to ask you for it, and you’re going to give it to me. You’ll sob, scream, and you’ll beg me for more, get down on your knees even as you cry big fat tears. It’ll hurt, oh, it’ll hurt—so good you’ll never, ever let anybody cheap have it again. So hold on to that pain, baby. Hold on.”

  Chenco’s head felt crazy, rotating lazily about six feet above his body. Steve’s words filled him with terror and yearning, but above all they gave him, inside, the same kind of control Steve could leash a room with. In the distant landscape of his mind, Chenco could see a great big beast he hadn’t known was there. It would have been scary, except he knew that darkness wouldn’t come out until Steve let it. Steve would keep it in control.

  He looked up at Steve. “Give me a preview, Papi.”

  Steve’s eyes went dark, and his face split into a terrible grin, giving Chenco a glimpse of his own monster. Hand in Chenco’s hair, Steve pressed a kiss to his lips before drawing Chenco’s bottom lip into his mouth.

  And bit.

  Chenco cried out in surprise, but as Steve’s teeth found purchase, the cry became one of pain, real pain. Steve fed on it, groaning pleasure and sliding his jaw back and forth, making it worse, making Chenco howl. He melted into Steve’s arms, crying, not quite sobbing but so close, and Steve pressed him into the door, grinding an iron erection into his groin.

  Sadist. Oh. My. God, he really was.

  The beast inside Chenco lifted its head, and as it met its master, it shoved Chenco’s sensibilities and the last whispers of h
is propriety aside. It lay down for Steve, lay Chenco open and wide.

  He’s ready. He’s yours. Take him.

  As his inner masochist came to bloom against the door of Cooper’s trailer, Chenco felt like he’d pulled his chest cavity wide open and stood ready for Steve. He wanted this, he got off on this, not so much with his dick but with something so deep inside him it made dicks seem cheap.

  Here at this door was where Cooper had called him anchor baby and faggot and shitsucker. This was the door Chenco had kept coming to like a dog, where he asked Cooper if this was all he had, if he could hit any harder, because he wasn’t impressed. Here was where he’d made his stand, where he’d taken the pain of his life and put a yoke on it.

  Now this door was where another man, a better man, took the yoke for him.

  His cock was so heavy and ready he fully expected it to bust out of his jeans and start whimpering and begging along with the rest of him. In fact, when Steve drew away, Chenco moaned more than he had for any pain. The loss of Steve’s touch was the first pain from his papi not dripping in pleasure.

  “We have to go, baby.” Steve nipped one last time at Chenco’s swollen lip, but it was so subtle it was worse than if he’d just kissed him. “The guys are waiting. We have to go.” He stroked Chenco’s arm. “It’s time to say goodbye.”

  Chenco did. Holding on to Steve, still pressed to the door, he scanned the half-emptied room, seeing it as it was and as it had been in all its stages. He saw Mitch’s uneaten breakfast as well as his own. He saw the cans of beer Cooper left for him to pick up. He smelled the stench of Cooper’s unwashed body, saw it sitting slack-jawed in front of the television, half-rotten from a stroke. He saw it all, heard it all, remembered it all.

  “Goodbye, Cooper. You fucker.”

  Steve nudged his elbow to move him and opened the door.

  Outside on the trailer’s lawn and all up the street were bikes and trucks, every last one driven by fuck-you leather daddies gleaming in the sun.

  Chenco stared. “This might be worth it actually.”

  Steve’s laugh was low and wicked as he reached down to openly fondle Chenco’s ass.

  Chenco had envisioned himself leaving the flats many, many times, but never had he imagined it would be riding bitch behind Steve on his hog as he drove with Mitch and a small squadron of badass men not just out of the flats but through them, brazenly revving their engines on the gang’s home turf.

  They had it timed right too. They did enough of a circuit to dig into the gang’s side, a parade for the angry-faced, rough young men who had begun to crowd at the end of the street, but the bikers didn’t stay long enough to get the gang so pissed they’d try to retaliate. When they swung out of the flats and toward the highway, a pair of black-and-whites was on their way in, and when Steve tossed a salute to them, they gave it back.

  The ride away from the flats was like everything else about being with Steve—slightly nerve-wracking and ultimately thrilling. His cedar box was tucked into a leather satchel on the side of the bike, secured into place by a buckle, leaving Chenco free to wrap his arms around his papi and watch the world fly by. It felt fucking good to be able to slide his hands down Steve’s thighs at stoplights and have Steve move Chenco’s hands to his crotch, encouraging him to fondle the fat sausage waiting for him there. It should have been a shitty moment, but it wasn’t, and it was all because of Steve.

  He half-thought he’d get a chance to explore more of what they’d started in the trailer when they got back to the house, but all Chenco got was a reassuring grip on his ass before Steve started directing his friends where to put Chenco’s belongings.

  Well. He’d moved out.

  The thought made him dizzy.

  Sam came out to greet Mitch, and Chenco’s brother got not just a motherfucker of a bear hug but a public grope and a hand down the back of his pants before Mitch called over his shoulder he’d be back down to help in about twenty minutes. Then he and Sam were gone. Chenco glanced toward Steve, wishing they could disappear too.

  Randy smirked as he came onto the porch and read the expression on Chenco’s face. “Yeah, none of that is coming your way soon. You, Princess, just put on the world’s biggest cock ring. His nickname is Monk for a fucking good reason.”

  Chenco swallowed a whimper. “I’m not a princess, bitch, I’m a queen.”

  “Yeah, but you’re my best friend’s little brother I didn’t know he had. I have ten years of ribbing to make up for.” He squeezed Chenco’s arm and nodded toward the house. “I’m making brunch for the masses. I could use a sous-chef for vegetable chopping.”

  “Fair enough.” Chenco followed him.

  “There’s some good news,” Randy said as they headed to the kitchen. “My husband got tired of hearing about all the fun we’re having here without him, and he’s coming down in a few days. He can’t wait to meet you.” He grinned over his shoulder. “He’s bringing our gangster with him too.”

  Gangster? Chenco paused, wondering if he should ask for clarification, but given the amount of explosives his poor mind had already endured today, he figured it’d be best not to ask. If there was one thing he’d learned from his new family, it was that pretty much damn near anything was possible.

  Chapter Nine

  IT WASN’T LONG ago, Steve mused as the guys departed after delivering the last load of Chenco’s stuff, that his life had been quiet and boring. Now he had a house full of people and the promise of more before too long. So many fucking people, and every last one of them needed something.

  Once Chenco was settled in with Randy, Steve climbed on his bike and wound his way back into town, letting the wind carry away his tangled thoughts.

  He still reverberated from the kindness of the guys who had helped move Chenco’s things, the laughter and friendship as they’d worked together an unexpected balm. It had been a long time since he’d seen them, and it had felt good to reconnect with the community. All of them were leather, part of an unofficial valley club of sorts, but he hadn’t seen any of them in years. Despite his absence, they’d welcomed him like the prodigal son, encouraging him to call them again, promising to help keep an eye on Gordy if he wanted extra hands.

  Once upon a time they had been his family. When had that changed?

  Except this was a question he knew the answer to. As he headed home, Steve swung into the cannery’s parking lot.

  In Steve’s youth this place had been a hub, full of trucks and tractors and activity. Steve remembered hanging out with his dad on the loading dock, stealing grapefruit from crates and eating them out back with Gordy, their legs swinging as they stared out at the fields and planned out their summer vacations. Usually when he stopped by like this, Steve tried to bring some citrus with him, but he’d forgotten today. This time he needed his best friend as much as Gordy needed him. He didn’t want to cloud this with the idea he’d stopped by to stroke his pet.

  “Gordy,” Steve called as he climbed the stairs. During the day Gordy usually looked before he shot, but it never hurt to be careful. “It’s Steve. You in, buddy?” A shadow shifted in the corner of the old sorting room. Steve moved toward the shape. “Gord, that you?”

  What initially looked to be a pile of newspapers lifted its head. Gordy, face streaked with dirt and long beard tangled with sticks, glared up at him. “I was taking a nap.”

  “I can see that.”

  Steve crouched at the edge of the newspaper pile. Gordy looked good today. Stank like hell, but he seemed calm, almost happy. It made Steve ache, made him want to curl into the mess beside his friend, if it was the only way he could get him.

  “Wondered if I could convince you into putting your nap off for an hour and chat with me instead.”

  Newspapers fell away as Gordy sat up straighter. “What do you want to talk about?” When Steve hesitated, running a mental filter over his recent exploits, Gordy rolled his eyes. “Never mind. I know. The kid. The one you’re mooning after.”

  He kn
ew about Chenco? Steve hesitated, trying to work out how. Randy and Mitch would never talk to Gordy about Chenco, which meant Gordy had been spying.

  Maybe coming here was a mistake.

  Clearing his throat, Steve tried to redirect the conversation. “I want to talk to you about the gangs. Some shit went down today, and they might be by.”

  Gordy’s face screwed up in rage. “I’ll blow them up. I’ll get my guns and mow them down.”

  Steve held up a hand. “No can do. They’d take you out. I told the local police, and some of the guys will be by tonight to check on you.”

  Gordy’s snarl was almost animal. “Fuck that shit. This is my home. I’ll defend it myself. I’ll shoot them in the fucking balls.”

  Definitely a mistake to come here. “This isn’t your home. This is the goddamned cannery. Why do you have to be like this, Gordy?”

  “Why do you have to be like this?” Gordy leaned forward, eyes sparking with anger, his rotten scent choking in its thick, caustic waves. “Why aren’t you protecting me? Why aren’t you sitting with me on the patio, making moon eyes and fetching drinks?”

  Fuck, Gordy had been spying. “I am protecting you.” Steve gestured to the cameras. “I watch you all the fucking time, making sure you’re okay.”

  “Fuck your fucking cameras. I don’t want them, I want you.”

  Steve felt sick. This again. And he knows about Chenco, so he’ll be worse. “Gordy, don’t do this. Just leave it.”

  “Fuck leaving it.” Gordy’s eyes were clear and sharp with rage. “You leave it. Leave me the fuck alone. You don’t love me. You give me scenes, but you hate them. You hate me. Let me go.”

  “Where the hell is it you want to go?” Steve could taste his fury in the back of his throat, rising so easily to Gordy’s bait. “To the flats, to get the shit kicked out of you? Back to the assholes who fucked you over, who broke you?”

  “They didn’t break me. You broke me, you asshole.” Gordy’s sneer was soul-deep ugly, an echo of the darkness haunting Steve’s boyhood friend. “Fuck you and your new boyfriend. You’ll never make it with him. You think I’m fucked up, cuntface, try looking in a mirror.”