All Kinds of Tied Down (30 page)

Fucking Ian.

We stopped an hour later at a place that Yelp said was good, and at three in the afternoon, since it was just us and two older couples, we were guaranteed focused service.

The amount of food we ordered was ridiculous, and our waitress, Jill, was funny and sweet and thrilled with every new menu item requested.

Cabot ate his filet rare and smothered in mushrooms, Drake had a porterhouse I didn’t think a wolf pack could have finished, Ian had a T-bone named the “cowboy cut,” and I had a ribeye. We shared sides—ordered eight of them—and then had dessert.

“Someday, when Drake and I are done with witness protection, will you guys drink with us?” Cabot asked hopefully.

“Absolutely,” I promised.

“And we’ll be staying in Chicago, right?” Drake wanted to know. “I mean—you and Marshal Doyle are—”

“Make it Ian and Miro,” Ian corrected. “After everything, I think we’re done with titles, yeah?”

Drake smiled wide, and I saw Cabot looking at us hungrily as well. They were both starved for male authority-figure friendship. “Yeah,” he agreed happily.

“So,” Cabot hedged, “we’ll be in Chicago, and you guys will check up on us and stuff?”

“Yes,” Ian promised.

Nice to see the relief wash over both of them, Cabot even more so, and I understood why. His whole life had changed in a twenty-four-hour period.

“You both have to go to college,” Ian informed them.

There was lots of nodding, and I heard Ian cackle under his breath.

As soon as we were on the road again, our two witnesses passed out in the back.

“Normally transport marshals don’t do check-in,” he reminded
me.

“Yeah, but I think this is a special circumstance.”

“I agree,” he rumbled thickly, twisting his head back and forth.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I dunno,” he said too fast.

Okay. “What do you think?” I prodded.

He shook his head.

I would have to figure it out later.

“Boss has us with a reservation at the La Quinta Inn & Suites near the airport.”

“All right. I’ll navigate us to there.”

“Let’s actually get a suite, okay? Not just a room with two beds and two cots.”

“Why would you make the boys sleep apart?” I baited him, to which there was no reply.

Nothing.

“Ian?”

“Where am I going?”

“You’re staying on US 23 going south. It’ll turn into I-26. You’ll be on it for another ten miles.”

He grunted.

Something was wrong. “I was thinking that I could start typing up our incident report, since I don’t get carsick.”

“Good idea,” he said as he checked the mirrors.

It was like pulling teeth; the man was back to being his normal laconic self. “Are you pissed at me?”

No answer, which basically let me know that he was, in fact, angry. Since I had no hope of figuring out what I’d done, I gave up and pulled out my laptop.

The thirty minutes of drive time went by quickly as I wrote the report, making sure to include the notes I’d e-mailed Kage and the ones I’d made on my phone. I talked to Aruna when she called to let me know that Chickie was having a very good time playing with the kids as well as Liam. I reported the news to Ian, who merely nodded.

“You’re quite the conversationalist,” I informed him.

He made a noise in the back of his throat.

“You’re being a dick.”

His gaze flicked over to me and then back to the road.

My phone buzzed. A text message from Kage.

“What is it?” Ian asked.

“Apparently twelve members of the Malloy crime family were murdered last night. Orson Malloy is in the wind.”

“Okay, so what does that mean for Drake?”

“Nothing. While he’s been in custody, Fisher’s been talking, and it turns out he doesn’t only do cleanup for Malloy, but for several different families. He stopped talking because he said he had a feeling that Drake might not be around much longer.”

“What does the message say about that?”

“To watch out for Drake and Cabot until we get them on the plane. Once we’re back in Chicago, no one will know who they are.”

“Right. Does he say who he thinks might be coming after them?”

“No.”

“Okay,” he said on an exhale. Then after a few moments of silence: “Were you worried last night?”

“What?” I asked, turning to look at him, ignoring my laptop.

“Last night? In the woods? Were you scared?”

“No.” I yawned. “You were there.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“No, I don’t mean, like, you were there, so you saw I wasn’t freaked out. I mean, you were there, you were with me, and so I was fine.”

“Oh.”

“If you and I are together, I don’t worry.”

He grunted and I went back to my report.

Ian found a drugstore where we stopped for toiletries for the guys before heading over to the hotel. At the front desk, we had to wait a bit as there was a family reunion happening and a lot of people were checking in. When it was my turn, I advised the clerk that I needed a specific layout for our suite and I had checked them on the Internet.

In the room, Cabot was confused.

“There’s only one bedroom.”

“Right,” I agreed. “Now walk with me.”

We passed through a short hallway and saw a bathroom on the left that led to a bedroom. But if you walked by the bathroom, there was a couch that opened up into a bed, and on the other side of the bedroom wall, a dining room table and chairs.

“You guys will be in there,” I directed. “You close the bedroom door here, and the one that leads from the bathroom, and you’re completely enclosed. Ian and I are out here, and anyone who comes in has to come through us first.”

“You have kind of a sucky job,” Drake said bluntly. “I mean, you guys just protect us ’cause you have to.”

“Normally, yes.” I agreed with his summation of the facts. “But I’d protect you guys even if I didn’t have to, at this point. I’m interested to see what happens.”

“We’re like an experiment,” Cabot said, grinning at me.

“Yes,” I agreed, flashing him a smile.

“I’m taking a shower first,” Ian grumbled, walking toward the bathroom with his backpack. “Somebody call down and get more towels.”

He slammed the door behind him, and Drake took his and Cabot’s bags into the bedroom while Cabot turned on the television. Of course, the first thing he saw was his old home on the news.

“Jesus Christ, it looks worse than it did this morning when we flew over it.”

The house was basically gutted. Between the grenades and the bullets, the remodeling would have been extensive. But the inside had been blasted as well. I was glad I had insisted on Cabot taking anything of value when he ran with us, because his bedroom had been completely destroyed.

“I’m sorry you won’t get to say good-bye to your mother,” I said gently.

Cabot shook his head. “Don’t be. She never gave a crap about me. At least my father knew I was alive. Every time he hit me, at least he saw me.”

I couldn’t help it. He was so young, so sad, and at that moment, he needed me. Stepping in front of him, I hauled him to his feet and into my arms.

“You think I’m weak because I’m gay, and—”

“I’m gay, idiot,” I told him, squeezing tighter until he broke down, going boneless against me. “Gay doesn’t have shit to do with anything, and never let anyone tell you different.”

His breath caught as he started to cry, his arms wrapping tight around my waist as he buried his face in my chest.

“You can get married in Chicago if you want. June would be perfect since you’ll have graduated high school by then. People’ll think you got yourself knocked up.”

The dam broke, and the sniffling and laughing turned to all-out ugly sobbing in seconds. He had only just turned eighteen. He was still so young, had been through an ordeal, and was now basically an orphan with no one but my partner and me to give a crap about him and his boyfriend.

“You’re gonna be all right,” I promised. “You’ll see.”

He clung so hard, and I rocked him and soothed him, rubbing circles on his back. When Ian walked into the room, Drake spoke up.

“Cab,” he said softly. “Baby, do you want to take a shower next or—”

Cabot tried to wedge tighter, and I motioned for Drake to go ahead.

“Did you call down for towels?” Ian asked.

“No, we didn’t get that far,” I said, smiling, leaning my cheek on the top of Cabot’s head.

“Okay,” he mumbled, crossing the room to the phone.

I stood with Cabot, and eventually he calmed. The crying became panting, stuttering breaths, and finally hiccups. I had him drink water fast, and when Drake got out of the bathroom, he smiled, big.

“Oh, there’s my baby,” Drake sighed as Cabot charged over to him. As he wrapped the smaller boy up in his arms, Drake looked over at me and smiled.

“Get in the shower, Cabot. Drake’ll bring your towels in when we get them,” I said.

He did as he was directed, and I pulled out my laptop, got myself situated at the table, and plugged it in. We had to use our phones for Wi-Fi hotspots because of all the classified data we transmitted, and once I got that working, I went back to typing up the report.

The towels arrived, and when Cabot came out looking better, definitely smelling better, and beaming at me, I told him and Drake to order room service if they wanted anything.

“Read over the report,” I said to Ian next. “Add anything I’m missing, okay?”

“Sure,” he muttered, not looking at me as he sat down in front of my laptop.

Something had crawled up his ass, but for the life of me, I had no idea what. But I needed a shower more than I needed to make nice with him, so I left him—sulking or pouting, I wasn’t sure which—and disappeared into the bathroom.

Hot water had never felt so good. I stood under the spray much longer than I needed to, and when I finally finished, the dessert they’d ended up ordering was there. I’d forgotten how much eighteen-year-old boys could eat.

I changed into the lounge pants the girls had bought me and walked out into the living room, still towel drying my hair.

“Are you really—oh.”

Looking up, I saw Drake standing over Cabot but staring at me. “Am I really what?”

“Gay,” Cabot squeaked.

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “Why?”

Drake shook his head like he wasn’t sure. Cabot swallowed nervously, his eyes locked on me.

They were both sort of overwhelmed, and I understood why. I was probably the first other gay man they’d met.

“Let me hang this up, and I’ll talk to you guys, okay?”

They nodded in unison.

Returning to the bathroom, I hung up the towel and then checked the locks on the suite’s door. When I turned to walk back, Ian was right there, having moved up silently behind me.

“I didn’t hear you.” I chuckled, moving by him.

He stopped me with a hand on my bicep.

“What?”

His eyes didn’t leave mine, but he said nothing.

I cleared my throat. “Do you have an extra T-shirt in your bag?”

“Why, because now you’re done walking around half-naked?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Both those boys nearly swallowed their tongues when you came walking out of the bathroom,” he groused, shoving me backward. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

I was lost.

“And could those pants be any tighter?”

“Knock it off,” I said playfully, thinking he was teasing.

“Are you guys coming back to talk or what?” Drake asked, coming around the corner.

“We’ll be right there!” Ian yelled over his shoulder.

Drake’s eyes opened wide in surprise and he backpedaled away fast.

“Why’re you shouting at him?”

“I’m not!”

“Are you listening to yourself?”

“Hey, guys, we’re gonna watch TV in the bedroom!” Cabot announced loudly before I heard quickly slammed doors.

“That’s perfect,” I groused. “Now you scared them.”

“I didn’t scare anybody,” he snapped, clearly exasperated.

“Yeah, you did. They’re just kids, Ian.”

“I don’t fuckin’ care.” He sounded angry and belligerent and mean.

“You know, you’ve been a surly asshole all day. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You!”

“Me?” I was taken aback.

“You’re pissing me off.”

“Why? What’d I do?”

“You shouldn’t—” He stopped speaking and took a step forward, into me, pinning me up against the door, his thigh between mine, spreading my legs, hands on my hips.

I felt a throb, a pulse of want that spread down my spine and flushed me in heat. It was, for a split second, like drowning. “Let go,” I said, begging him.

“Why?”

“Because you’re dangerously close to being thrown up against the wall.”

His breath hitched. “Yeah, okay, do that.”

My gaze met his.

“Do it,” he dared, licking his lips.

“Ian?” I murmured, hands on his face, easing him close. “What’s going on?”

His brows furrowed.

“What do you want?”

Still nothing.

“I can’t guess this time. You have to tell me.”

He coughed softly.

“Please.”

The muscles in his jaw corded. “Yesterday, when we—when you—” He swallowed hard. “I felt like I belonged to you.”

I had treated him like that, because in bed, I couldn’t hide my feelings. My desire to own him, to make him mine, was obvious. I worried about that and so worked to keep things casual and light between us out of bed. But it seemed like maybe that wasn’t what he wanted—or more importantly, needed.

The way he was looking at me… the light came on.

All of his frustration, his anger, was about
ownership
.

It all suddenly made sense: his unease in the car, the fidgeting like his skin was suddenly too constrictive, acting as though he wanted to get away from me. He needed grounding. He needed to know where he belonged, and to whom.

“And is that what you want?” I asked as he smoothed his hands up my sides, his head tipping forward so his lips brushed over my collarbone. “To be mine?”

The shiver was all the answer I needed, even if he lied.

“Ian?”