“That doesn’t sound safe.”
“They are fine,” Milan said. “Now we have shifted the danger away from the civilians here and toward the civilians at my club in the city. Are your people ready to move?”
“Yeah. Darla should have Jackson’s car tagged by now. We’re keeping radio silence until we meet up later, so there’s zero chance of them intercepting any chatter. Director Sewell has units stationed around the club, and she has the national guard on standby in case anyone gets confused about whose badge trumps whose. The second Greyson says anything to incriminate himself, we’re ready to go.”
Milan stared at Travis, and for a second, that calm and sophisticated veneer slipped, and Ollie saw the anger and the desperation under all that control. It frightened him. “Will you get him to incriminate himself?”
“Yes,” Travis said with confidence. “He thinks he has control over you, and he now thinks you have some big overseas customers buying top-end slaves. He’s going to salivate over the idea of taking a cut of that action.”
“Perhaps I should go with you.”
“Absolutely not,” Travis said. “We can easily play this off as you refusing to get your hands dirty, but I don’t think Greyson has the patience to stay away from this setup. Not when he thinks he has the power.”
“And if he does? If he strings you along?”
“Then we bring you in if we have to,” Travis said. His voice was gentler. “This is not a place for civilians. Buck is retired military. He can handle himself, and he’s been in enough firefights that I don’t worry about where he’ll duck if the bullets start flying. The rest of you need to stay the hell out of the way.”
Milan’s gaze slid down to Ollie. “And yet you’ll have your boy in the danger zone.”
Ollie felt a jolt at being described as Travis’s boy. He wasn’t, but it felt good to pretend. He could imagine being tied to Travis’s bed and taken over and over, and in the morning, Ollie would strap on a gun and back up his partner on the streets. There was something intensely erotic about having a lover who both fucked him hard and respected him as a cop. Ollie now realized how different that was from his previous partners. None of them mistreated him, but they hadn’t connected with him as a man and a cop. Travis did.
“He’s a police officer. I trust him to do the job. And if Jackson or Huda or Greyson put their hands on him, I plan to rip the offending limb off and beat them to death with it.”
Milan laughed. “Yes, I imagine you might. I must admit that when Anthony told me some of the things that monster… Well, I found where his family had buried him and did very creative and illegal things to his corpse. It was cathartic.”
“That’s actually kinda creepy,” Travis said. He nudged Ollie with his knee. “Isn’t that a little creepy?”
Ollie thought about the news stories that showed how the bastard had kept Reeves in a tiled pit in the basement with bars over the top. “Actually, I’m voting in favor of desecration in this case.”
Milan graced him with a brilliant smile. “That is my beautiful Sunshine.”
Chapter Twenty Two
“You ready?” Travis asked.
“Yep, I’m good to go,” Ollie agreed. “This is going down as one of my least comfortable road trips, though.” He was willing to do anything if it meant taking Greyson down, but going back to the city in bondage would be awkward.
Travis got a hand under his elbow and helped him up into the back of the van they had borrowed from Milan. “I’m sure Greyson is watching. He may have contracted satellite time with a private company, so it’s best to play it safe. If you want, I can cut you loose when we’re on the road.”
“No. I’m complaining just to hear my own voice. It’s like complaining about wanting to come.”
Travis climbed up into the back of the van behind Ollie. “Yeah, I noticed that anytime I show any sympathy, you stop asking.”
“It aches and I want to come, but I like how it makes me feel to hold it. Even when I’m not hard, I can feel the pressure. And any spark sets me on fire.” Ollie stopped before he said the rest. He fucking loved it when he was hard and Travis whipped him. He suspected that without the built-up pressure from his orgasm, he wouldn’t enjoy the pain half as much. But he’d spent so many years insisting he would never want pain play that admitting it out loud was like saying he was a moron. Of course, he was one. A huge one. After this assignment was over, Ollie had no idea what he was going to do with his personal life, because Travis had rewired his brain when it came to sex.
“How are your shoulders?”
“I think I’m getting used to this,” Ollie said. His arms were tightly restrained, but between the time Milan had trained him after the kidnapping, and the few days Travis had kept him in bondage, his muscles had adapted. At least Travis let him out of bondage for stretch breaks. Milan had kept him bound so tightly for so long Ollie couldn’t bring his arms all the way around to the front the first time Travis took the wrist cuffs off.
“You’re letting Milan off the hook too easily. I still say I should arrest him, even if we can’t make the charges stick,” Travis said.
“Nope,” Ollie said. “Even if you want revenge against Milan, we’re not doing that to Reeves. You know he’d blame himself because Milan did all this for him.” Ollie settled on a bench in back of the van, stomach down. He thought it was admirable that Milan had gone psychotic over his sub.
“I can’t believe the idiot finally fell in love.”
“Reeves deserves someone good after what happened to him.”
“I hope Milan can be that person. I’m still bothered by…” Travis squeezed Ollie’s calf. “I’m letting this whole thing with Milan go,” he said softly, so Ollie guessed Travis was trying to keep his word to avoid the self-flagellation. “This is safer if you’re restrained. If we had a car accident, you’d go flying all over the back without something to hold you down.”
“I’m fine. Even before all this, I was into getting tied down,” Ollie said. “For a sadist, you worry a lot.”
“I’m trying to keep in mind that you’re my partner on a case, not my sub. And that means I’m trying not to use what Milan taught me about watching a submissive’s body language.”
“Can you tell that I like to be tied up?” Ollie looked over his shoulder at Travis.
“Yeah.” Travis sighed. “I can definitely tell, and it hits my triggers because then I want to push you further and see what other ways I could push you, but like I said, you’re my partner. I’m won’t lose sight of that line. Not again, anyway.” Travis looked away, and it almost seemed like he blushed. They’d had sex three times now, and Ollie hadn’t come once. It was wonderful and horrible, and he wondered how far Travis could push him.
Travis pulled the belts tight over Ollie. The bench was shaped like a trough with a padded center section that dipped down. A slit in the plastic mesh cover in the groin area suggested that the bench had a built-in urinal, so Ollie wasn’t going to get any bathroom breaks. He prayed he could wait, because he did not want to pee while lying on his stomach. The high sides of the bench held Ollie firmly in the middle, and the straps across his legs and back kept him in place. If they were in an accident, he was in the safest spot in the van, assuming they didn’t have a fire break out or something.
Shit.
He should not have allowed his brain to go there.
“So, five hours to the city. I’m sure you saw that you can pee right there. There’s a drink holder, and I’ll fill it with water and get you a straw, so you’ll be set back here. Are you sure you want to ride in bondage?”
“No, but if I’m sitting up with you, one of Greyson’s guys could spot us. Besides, my ass is not fond of sitting right now.”
Maybe Travis took that as an invitation, because he ran his hand over Ollie’s marks. Travis followed one with his finger, and Ollie’s body heat reawakened all the pains and pleasures. He followed the whip mark up to the top of Ollie’s ass, and then he scratched perpendicular to the marks. Four fingernails scored Ollie’s raw skin, and Ollie groaned as the fire of it soaked into every cell of his body. His cock fought valiantly to get hard in its prison, and Ollie squirmed as much as he could.
Travis stopped. “Do not make that noise unless you want me to lose it.”
“Hey, if losing it gets me sex, I’m all in favor.”
“Christ, you’re going to be the end of me, Robertson. I’m supposed to be on the job, not fucking my partner.”
“Your partner likes to be fucked, but if you don’t plan to oblige, we probably should get going.”
Travis snorted. “Yeah, Milan could train you up to be a service top, no trouble. I think you like to push.” With one sharp slap on the ass, Travis jumped out of the van, and Ollie was left helpless. When he’d been in Milan’s cage in the training room waiting to see if Milan planned to kill him, being helpless had been terrifying and terrible. Now Ollie ached with sexual frustration and need. He was on the job just as much as Travis, so he tried to stuff all those feelings back into the box marked
Later, if you have time
. The box just didn’t want to stay closed. The time was ticking down on this operation, and when it was over, Ollie wouldn’t have any reason to stay close to Travis.
Given that the man had a serious case of guilt going, Ollie suspected Travis would run hard and fast the opposite direction. And Ollie would let him. He didn’t want to. Part of Ollie wanted to fight for this relationship and cling to Travis. However, he had to give the man some space so he could have his own recovery. This had been hard on Travis, not only because he defined himself as an abuser, but because his mentor had shown his own feet of clay.
At least Ollie assumed that was how Travis saw it. As far as Ollie was concerned, a Dom going totally overboard in defense of a sub was one of the four big Hollywood romance plots. It was an old standard, and that particular story was popular because it fed people’s need to believe someone would move heaven and earth for the person they loved. Milan happened to take the cliché and run with it in real life.
Ollie was jealous.
Travis came back with the promised water, slipping it into a holder near Ollie’s head before hooking a loop around the straw so it couldn’t float to the side where Ollie couldn’t reach it. “Comfortable?”
“Weirdly, yes,” Ollie said.
With one last pat, Travis moved to the front of the van. The sun was coming up over the trees, and it cast long, bright streaks on the van’s interior. Travis pulled out some sunglasses and slipped them on.
“Very Hollywood,” Ollie said to himself as he thought about how Milan’s whole story fit the stereotype. Milan’s attitude might be leading-man material, but gender-fluid folks struggled to get cast as the leading hero. Now, Travis had the look. He was rugged and handsome, and he had enough gray at the temples to give him a sort of gravitas. He could play the part of a dashing Dom.
“Right. I’m about twenty years late for an acting career.” Travis started the van. The shadows and rays of sunlight flowed to the right as he pulled onto the long drive.
“You look the part.”
Travis glanced back. “Seriously? You need glasses, Robertson.” He turned his attention to the road.
“So, it’s a long ride. What do you want to talk about?” Ollie laid his cheek down on the plastic. This was high-end stuff that was textured to allow airflow and keep the skin from getting clammy. Milan might or might not be doing anything illegal, but whatever business he ran, it paid damn well.
“I’m not much of a talker. Usually Darla spends road trips telling me about her kids.”
“That must be hard, having kids and being an agent.”
“No harder than being a parent and a cop. Same risks. We have better health insurance.”
“Yeah, you probably do. So, what’s your favorite classic movie?” That had to be a safe topic.
“What’s yours?” Travis turned the question back on him.
“
Predator 2
,” Ollie said without hesitation. “Badass aliens with a moral code not to kill innocents and smart good guys who manage to avoid certain death. So, how about you?”
“Anything with Cary Grant.”
Ollie whistled. “Wow, that’s not classic; that’s ancient history. Why Cary Grant?”
“His characters are always quirky. I like unique,” Travis said, and now Ollie could hear traffic noise. They were on their way.
Ollie didn’t want to rehash the assignment details, so he tried to get Travis to exchange small talk. Travis was never verbose in his answers, but he held up his end of the conversation. His favorite classic music was the Beatles; his favorite current band was no one. He hated
Kink City
, which was pretty much the only show keeping its network out of bankruptcy. No one hated
Kink City
. Fundamentalists did, but Ollie’s ass had very good evidence to prove Travis wasn’t a fundie. Travis and Ollie were in the middle of a debate on the relative merits of 3Dizing old shows when Travis fell silent.
Ollie let the silence go on for a few minutes, but then he asked, “Trouble?”
“We passed Darla’s van on the side of the road. Maybe she had engine trouble.” Travis didn’t sound sure.
“Are you calling it in?”
“I can’t be sure communication is secure. We don’t have Milan’s big-ass signal-jamming dish here.”
The bondage didn’t feel as sexy now. However, if Greyson’s guys had eyes on them, Ollie could only play the part.
Travis drove in silence, and the sense of something being horribly wrong got stronger until Ollie’s gut ached with anxiety. When Travis let out a string of curses and slowed the van, Ollie jerked against the straps that held him.
“Police are checking cars,” Travis said. He must have put the van in park right in the middle of the highway, because he was suddenly there, holding something to Ollie’s lips. “Swallow,” he ordered.
Ollie took the large pill in his mouth and drank enough water to force it down his throat. By the time he could ask what it had been, Travis was behind the wheel again, driving slow in the obvious traffic jam.
“Stealth tracker. It won’t put out a signal until the outer layer is worn off by your stomach acid, so under normal circumstance, that takes about twenty-four hours.”