Taming Emilio (Buried Secrets Book 2)

by Brina Brady

  TAMING EMILIO

  Buried Secrets Series #2

  Kaden Donagan and Emilio Escobar

  BRINA BRADY

  M/M/ Gay Romance

  Copyright Text by Brina Brady © 2019 All rights reserved.

  Cover Art by Brina Brady at Brina’s Bargains

  https://www.brinasbargains.com/

  Editor: Tanja Ongkiehong

  Disclaimer: Any person depicted on the cover is a model used for illustrative purposes only.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE: This book contains spanking and graphic gay sex.

  BLURB

  Physically battered and emotionally abused Emilio races out of the cheap motel room naked and swears he’ll never return to that line of work. He fears his pimp Marco and the Russian punishers.

  Rafe tells Kaden about Emilio, but not quite everything. Kaden picks Emilio to be his protectee. He warns Emilio that if he breaks security rules, he’ll discipline him with a belt, but that doesn’t stop Emilio from accepting Kaden as his protector.

  Unfortunately, misunderstandings, lies, and shortcomings on both of their parts threaten to take away the one thing Emilio and Kaden each need more than anything else: each other.

  DEDICATION

  Thank you to all my awesome Beta Readers.

  Cj Lewis

  Debby Demedicis Elliott

  Debra Bookers

  Anita Ford

  Jean Paquin

  Doreen Frantz

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Connect With Brina Brady

  OTHER BOOKS

  CHAPTER ONE

  Emilio

  After a few unsuccessful brutal tries, the winter-white-haired man shoved an ice-cold dildo up Emilio’s ass. As he stood spread-eagled against the wall, his frail body jerked and shivered from the coldness. His bare feet danced around on the shabby motel carpet while he tried to get rid of the refrigerated fake dick from his ass. The man held it in with his fist, preventing Emilio from ejecting it. At first, the coldness hurt, but within a few minutes, the pain dissipated, numbing him while silent tears trickled down his face.

  “Stay still. You know what happens when you get out of position.” The old man slammed the cane against the wall, just missing Emilio.

  “Yes, Sir,” Emilio said, willing himself not to move an inch. His stomach clenched up in knots as he became aware something monstrous was rising in Mr. Brooks’s soul. Emilio turned quickly away from the evil in the old man’s wicked expression and faced the fingerprinted wall as ordered. Something had changed between them since his previous interactions with this client.

  Mr. Brooks reminded him of an enraged animal preying on an innocent life. In the scorching sunlight, his piercing gray eyes blazed like two silver coins. The old man’s stylish white mustache matched his silky hair and almost made him look handsome. He stood incredibly tall, towering over Emilio by a good four inches. His skin was always ruddy. Emilio wasn’t sure if the color was from him drinking too much or if it was his natural color. His wardrobe consisted of three-piece suits, mostly in gray and black. The man’s total package displayed his obsession with making money. His bamboo cane wasn’t to assist poor balance, but he employed it for hitting Emilio.

  “Bend over the chair,” Mr. Brooks ordered in a low, stern growl.

  Emilio despised Mr. Brooks when he had roughly used toys on him, causing him to scream from the pain. Yet he never penetrated Emilio with his cock, which was a blessing in disguise. The man always kept all his clothes on so Emilio had no idea what his dick looked like—not that he cared one way or another. When Emilio sucked him off, the man always blindfolded him. Often, he’d put Emilio upside down until all the blood rushed from his head. Mr. Brooks claimed Emilio would grow because the spine will lengthen a bit due to the lack of gravity compressing the discs, but that was a lie. He never grew any more, but what could he say? The older man’s sole purpose of making Emilio stand on his head was to cause him to suffer.

  Emilio trembled as he made his way to the red-velvet wingback chair. He slumped over the back of it and squeezed the chrome-plated dildo between his ass cheeks, preventing him from losing it. He focused on the matching red plastic flowers in a cut-rate vase on the end table. The cruel man preferred meeting at cheap motels and was stingy on the lube. Not for lack of money, but he reveled greatly in the discomfort it caused. As Emilio continued squeezing the unwelcome invasion, he feared the man would hurt him with his cane if the dildo slipped out of his ass.

  Run. Run now.

  If he protested to Marco about servicing this particular wealthy client, his boss would treat the complaint as an excuse to beat him until he disfigured Emilio. Those were the stories the other rent boys told him. He knew Marco beat up the guys if they stepped out of line, but he hadn’t seen any direct evidence of any of them disfigured. Still, Emilio feared Marco and the Russian punishers who kept them in line. The punishers collected Marco’s share of the money after a job.

  Last week, his roommate had urged him to quit before the job had gotten too bad. No one left Marco’s Mules alive. Ever. Once a rent boy had worked for Marco’s Mules, leaving wasn’t an option. Emilio’s parents had told him to call his cousin Rafe for protection instead of living a dangerous lifestyle on the streets. Why didn’t I listen?

  Mr. Brooks whirled the cane in the air, tapping the side of the chair.

  “Do you know why I never fuck you?” His wrath became apparent as he shot him an icy stare.

  “It’s not my business, Sir.” Emilio feared the man’s reason might cause him additional pain.

  “I bet you think it’s because I can’t get my dick up for your dirty little asshole. Right?” Mr. Brooks’s words were sudden, raw, and very angry as if he had declared a surprise war between them without including the rules of engagement.

  “No, Sir. I don’t know why.” Emilio stared at the fabric on the chair, not turning his head to face Mr. Brooks. Emilio thought the man had some sexual problem or was fearful of catching an STD, but he enjoyed using toys with him. Marco had informed Emilio that Mr. Brooks always requested him. What would he be saying now? Would he file a complaint to Marco about his dreadful behavior in some way to get Emilio disciplined with a cruel punishment?

  “Because I hate little skinny soy boys. I want to make you suffer because you’re a little faggot,” Mr. Brooks shouted in a voice accustomed to command.

  The first strike of the cane against his ass bit him as much as being called a faggot. He pulled in closer to the chair with the hope of avoiding any further strikes, but to no avail. The second, third, fourth, and fifth swats felt like millions of bees stinging. He couldn’t imagine taking many more of these whacks. He had to get away from the man and his wicked can
e. Mr. Brooks wasn’t paying to enjoy Emilio but to force suffering on him because he was gay. How could I be so stupid? How did I miss the signs?

  Emilio cried silently from desperation, pain, and humiliation. All this time he had serviced the man, he had hated Emilio for who he was. Wasn’t Mr. Brooks also gay? Emilio had read about men who hated gay men enough to torture and murder them. None of the older man’s behavior made sense. Yet, he forced Emilio to give him blow jobs. Wasn’t that part of being gay? Something told Emilio to get out of the motel room as soon as possible before Mr. Brooks tortured and murdered him. He was too young to die. If he didn’t leave now, it would be all over for him.

  Frightened with apprehension of his next move, Emilio backed away from the chair and bolted toward the door, but the man grabbed him by his hair and slammed him against the wall while he swatted his legs with his cane. Emilio’s head throbbed, leaving him disoriented.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going? You’re going to pay for being a freak, boy.” His cold gaze pierced right through Emilio and terrified him out of his mind. The man’s frame tensed when he twisted Emilio’s balls with his cold hands.

  “Fuck! Stop! Please stop,” Emilio begged as he pushed the man’s hands away from the tight grip on his balls.

  Emilio should have told his boss that Mr. Brooks had hurt him in the past, but he’d feared Marco would have harmed him permanently for complaining. He needed to move away from the man fast before this guy murdered him.

  Fuck this job! Leave the room! Now!

  “Not until you get back into position. I own you for one hour, boy.” Mr. Brooks slapped his face repeatedly as he spoke.

  “Yes, Sir.” Emilio remained frozen in position.

  “Face the wall and stick your ass out. I’m going to cane you until you bleed so you remember for next time not to disobey me, boy.”

  Instead of facing the wall, Emilio kicked the man between his legs and rushed away from him. Emilio grabbed his cameo shorts with his phone and raced out of the motel room naked. He swore to himself he would never return to Mr. Brooks or this line of work. Luckily for Emilio, the man didn’t chase after him. Emilio pulled the dildo out of his ass, stopped to put on his shorts, and ran again. He was barefoot. He was relieved there was no one to see him naked at the motel. Never again. He was done. Totally done.

  After Emilio threw the dildo into a garbage bin, he cringed at the horrid punishment he’d receive from Marco for leaving the motel room before his session had ended. If any rent boy had argued with a client and cost Marco money, he’d blame the rent boy. The consequence always ended up with Marco thrashing the rent boy so severely he couldn’t work for weeks. Emilio ran into the nearby church for immediate protection and time to think about his next move. He couldn’t go to his apartment because Marco knew where he lived.

  At this hour, no one was inside the church except God, but thankfully, the priest had left the doors open to the public. Emilio dipped his fingers in the holy water in a small dish near the entrance, made the sign of the cross, and kneeled in one of the pews. Silently Emilio prayed for help to get out of this situation as his lips trembled and tears ran down his face. Emilio hadn’t been living at home since his father informed him that he couldn’t keep him safe from his uncle Sal.

  Two months ago, his father had told Emilio to call his cousin Rafe for protection. At the time, Emilio hadn’t wanted to call his cousin because he was working for Marco and making tons of money on his own. But now, unwanted at home and with the impending punishment from Marco, Emilio had no other choice but to call Rafe. He tapped his cousin’s number and waited.

  “Who the hell is calling me at this number?” Rafe asked.

  “Emilio,” he managed to say through his tears.

  “What’s wrong?” Rafe asked.

  “I’m in trouble and need your protection like yesterday.” Emilio whimpered like a homesick puppy.

  “Where are you?” Rafe asked.

  “I’m in San Diego inside St. Mary’s Church. I’m hiding here because someone wants me dead.”

  “I’m in Ojai. It’d take me almost four hours to drive to San Diego. I’m going to send a limo to pick you up, and he’ll drive you to me. You’ll be safe with me. Stay there.”

  “Thanks.” Emilio took refuge in Rafe’s calming words of immediate assistance.

  “The driver will come into the church to get you. Ask him what the word is, and he’ll tell you Ojai. Then you’ll know he’s the driver I sent for you. Do not leave the church.”

  “I’m too scared to leave.” He slid the tip of his index fingernail up and down along the side of the thumb beside it.

  “Everything is going to be okay.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Emilio, there’s nothing to be sorry about. I knew you’d be calling me sooner or later. I love you. Stay safe.”

  “I love you too.”

  The Escobar family attended St. Mary’s Church and Emilio believed God would protect him in here. He prayed his uncle Sal and Marco or any of his Russian punishers didn’t show up for any reason. Luckily for him, it wasn’t Sunday. Emilio went inside one of the confessional booths so no one would find him. He kneeled on the kneeler and hoped Rafe’s driver would hurry.

  Heavy boots pounded in the church. He peeked through the red velvet drapes and saw one of Marco’s Russian punishers. How did his boss know he was here? Trembling inside, Emilio watched the man walk up and down the aisle. What if he looks inside the confessional booths? He sent a text to Rafe.

  Emilio: The man who wants to hurt me sent one of his guards. He’s sitting in the church. I’m hiding in the confessional booth. Send help now!

  Rafe: Don’t move. My car will be there in five minutes. I’ll send him a text to hurry. Which side are you on?

  Emilio: Left side and I’m in the one closest to the altar.

  Rafe: Don’t move. Describe the man to me.

  Emilio: He’s medium height, bald, and wearing black jeans with a black shirt.

  Rafe: Anything else?

  Emilio: White tie. He has a gun.

  Rafe: Stay in there until my man gets you.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Emilio

  Emilio heard another person walking into the church. Hopefully, it was Rafe’s driver. He wanted to sneak a peek at them, but he was frightened he’d be seen.

  Then a fistfight started. Shaking, Emilio closed his eyes and prayed for his safety. He was eighteen years old and too young to be murdered. The red velvet drape whipped open, sending chills up Emilio’s back. A black man dressed in black and wearing a clown mask yanked Emilio out of the confessional booth. Emilio was terrified of the man. Why would Rafe send a black clown to save him?

  “Hurry, we don’t have time,” the man said, pointing a gun at him.

  As they passed the man slumped in a pew covered in blood, Emilio froze. His hazel eyes were still open, but they looked frozen. He wasn’t moving or making any noise. Emilio thought he was dead or in shock. His head was bloody. There was a vertical cut on his nose and odd marks on his chin resembling rug burns. It was impossible to see where the blood was coming from. Emilio had seen this man in the pew before. The rent boys called him Sergey, but none of them had known his last name. He hung around the back of the gay bar in Marco’s office. Since Emilio hadn’t heard a gun going off, the black man must have shot him with a silencer. He boosted Emilio over his shoulder and ran out of the church.

  “What’s the word?” Emilio asked, not sure if this black man was the one Rafe had sent to help him. What if he was a member of Marco’s crew?

  “Ojai.”

  The limo driver waited in front of the church with the back door open ready for them. After the man shoved Emilio inside, he climbed in behind him, and the driver shut the door.

  The driver got in and clicked on the door locks; Emilio was safe and on his way to Rafe. The man dressed in all black removed his mask.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I don�
��t know,” Emilio answered through his tears. He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them and put his head on top of his knees. He still felt the sting of the cane on his ass and legs.

  “I’m James and I work with your cousin Rafe.” James moved beside Emilio and put his arm around him. “You’re safe now. No one will hurt you anymore.”

  “I’m Emilio. Thank you for saving me. That man was going to kill me.”

  “No one is ever going to kill you. You’re safe with me. Are you hurt?”

  “Uh-huh.” Emilio nodded, on the verge of tearing up. “This crazy man caned me.”

  “That’s what I thought by your legs. We can stop for some cream to help with those marks. You can put makeup on if you want to cover them. Remember I’m here to help you out.”

  Emilio rested his head on James’s shoulder, relieved someone would stop the pain and keep him safe. James’s tangy scent of lime traveled to Emilio’s nose.

  “Would you like a drink?” James wiped Emilio’s tears away with a tissue.

  “Do you have beer?”

  James pulled two beers out of the refrigerator. He handed one to Emilio.

  “I hope you’re old enough to drink because I don’t want to hear any shit from Rafe,” James said.

  “I’m eighteen, but I’ve been drinking since I was twelve at home.” Emilio hated that most people thought he was younger than he was. He wondered if he was doing something wrong to make others think that. He only stood five feet six inches, a bit smaller than most men did.

  “You look younger.” James shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t tell Rafe.”

  “Oh, he won’t care. Our families always let us drink with them at home. Rafe and Mateo did too.”

  “You look like you need a drink, so I’ll keep this between us anyway.”

  “Thanks. Do you live in San Diego?” Emilio asked, trying to change the subject and forget what had happened.

  “No, and I wasn’t planning on returning to Ojai until the weekend. When Rafe told me you were in trouble, I offered to help. He was talking to me on the phone when you called. It was a good thing he had call waiting.”