Dangerous Breed (Time Served 2) Prologue - Ch. 17 (Patreon)

Prologue

Memphis Camden hissed at the sharp sting of alcohol over raw skin, biting down on his lip to keep from screaming. Sweat poured over him, burning his eyes and pooling in the dip of his lower back. His long blond hair stuck to his neck and forehead, and his skin stuck to the clear plastic cover on the ugly floral couch in his friend Gemma’s fancy airstream trailer, but he hurt way too much to move.

The aftermath of his father, Tennessee’s, explosive temper never got any easier. If anything, it worsened with every single beating. This time, he’d whipped Memphis so violently he snapped the strap he’d used, which had only pissed him off further. He’d stomped on Memphis twice and kicked him in the ribs before Rita had come in with Knox and distracted the man long enough for Memphis to crawl away.

Memphis didn’t even know what he’d done to set his old man off this time. It could have been nothing. Hell, it could have been anything. It was hard to say with him. Tennessee was a large man, over six and a half feet tall and weighing in at close to three hundred pounds. He liked to throw his weight around, got off on people being afraid. Everybody but his children.

Tennessee wanted his kids to be tough. He didn’t raise his boys to be pussies. It was one of several life lessons the Camden boys had beaten into them from a young age. “Don’t be a sissy. Don’t be a pussy. Act like a man. Stop crying before I give you something to cry about.” It had worked for a time. His older brother, Nashville, was just like his dad, tall as a city building and half as wide, mean as a snake.

But not Memphis.

Memphis was barely five-foot-ten and favored his mother. He had fair skin, bright blue eyes, and his mother’s wide plush mouth. He couldn’t grow facial hair, and at sixteen, he was still lanky while his father and brother were bearded and muscled. It made his father hate him. Just looking at Memphis seemed to infuriate the man, regardless of how much Memphis had tried to conform. After a while, he just quit crying, no matter how brutal his father got, no matter how vile his words were.

“I put you in front of the finest pieces of ass this town has to offer and you still can’t get it up. Maybe I’ll put you in a dress and pass you around to the boys. I bet, after a few rounds, being a queer will stop looking so good to you.”

The words just sort of slid off him now. The scar tissue on his body had turned him into teflon. But the blows still hurt, the pain in what were certainly broken ribs still felt like a knife when he breathed in and out.

“You need to tell somebody about this, M,” Gemma said before dabbing at his fresh wounds with another cotton ball.

“Who?” Memphis asked, craning his head to look over his shoulder. “Who am I going to tell? Who in this town isn’t being held hostage by him? He owns the cops. Everybody else is just as afraid as I am.”

Gemma bit down on her plump lower lip, pushing a strand of bubblegum pink hair behind her ear. “My mom? My mom doesn’t give a fuck about your dad and his gang. She’s in the medical field. She’d know how to help you.”

“Your mom works for a vet clinic. Besides, if she came after my dad, she’d turn up dead within a week and I would, too,” Memphis said. “Tennessee owns this town, and when he dies, my brother, Nash, will take his place. That’s just the way things go around here.”

“Your father doesn’t do this to Nash or even Knox. This isn’t right.”

Gemma was right. Nash was one of his father’s chief enforcers and Knox was just a baby, but neither of them had ever stirred their father’s rage like Memphis did. He closed his eyes as her fingertips danced along the scars on his lower back, her caress stopping just before they disappeared below the waistband of his jeans. It was rare to have anybody touch him with anything but anger, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t long to lean into the touch.

“Tennessee doesn’t do this to Nash because he’s a neanderthal just like him, and he doesn’t hurt Knox ‘cause he’s still a baby. I’m the only one who infuriates him.”

Her hand disappeared for a long moment. Memphis jumped when she suddenly pressed a bit too hard with a Betadine swab. It felt like the end had barbs, digging into his flesh and clinging as she moved it along the gashes on his back. Tennessee had a flair for the dramatic, Memphis would give him that. He’d long ago given up taking a belt to him in lieu of a whip he’d made himself in his leather shop.

Memphis had never seen the thing up close, but he suspected it had glass or razors worked into it somehow. In addition to the inch-wide welts and abrasions that accompanied his father’s beatings, there were now thousands of tiny gashes that made it feel like fire ants lived under his skin. It was far more painful than a belt, but it would never have the effect Tennessee wanted.

“You need to get out of there. If you don’t, he’s going to end up killing you,” Gemma said, popping her gum loudly as she worked.

“I wish he’d just go ahead and do it already. He’ll never beat the gay out of me. I’ll never look straight enough, talk tough enough, look masculine enough. Dying would be a whole lot easier.”

Memphis didn’t even remember the first time Tennessee had beat him senseless. Maybe it was the time he’d gotten into his mother’s makeup at four. Maybe it was earlier than that. He had seemed to sense Memphis liked boys long before Memphis had liked anything at all.

“You should just stay with us tonight,” she said, the plastic crinkling as she plopped down beside him in her Wonder Woman panties and electric blue tank top. He turned his head to look into her icy blue eyes. Gemma was beautiful. Probably the most beautiful girl Memphis had ever seen. She had fair skin and freckles covering her nose and cheeks and a body most guys would have gone crazy over. But it did nothing for him. Girls did nothing for him, and his father hated him for it.

“I can’t. If I don’t go home, he’ll just accuse me of sucking dick at the drive-in or hooking in the alley behind the liquor store.”

“Your dad spends a lot of time thinking about you having gay sex,” Gemma said, wrinkling her nose.

“Like anybody in this town would touch me,” Memphis said, tone bitter. “Any guy anyway.”

He closed his eyes, trying to shut down the memories threatening to overwhelm him. Plenty of women in this town had touched him. Several, in fact. Starting when he was barely twelve. Whatever his father had hoped to accomplish by forcing them on him had failed miserably.

He couldn’t make himself respond to their touch just because his father loomed over them, screaming at him. If he could have responded to any girl, it would be Gemma. But she wasn’t any more interested in boys than he was in girls. Gemma wasn’t interested in anybody at all, much to the dismay of every man who courted her where she danced at G’s Lounge.

Gemma pushed a lock of hair from Memphis’s eyes. “There’s nobody in this town worthy of touching you, M. They’re all cowards. They let your father get away with murder. Even the fucking sheriff.  I just don’t understand it. There has to be somebody who will stand up to him.”

“It won’t matter. If my father dropped dead tomorrow, his whole operation would just go to Nash, and he would be just as bad as my father. He’s got the whole MC watching his back. All I can do is make a run for it and hope he doesn’t care enough to come find me.”

“Where are you gonna go?” Gemma asked.

“Los Angeles? Hollywood? Some place where nobody cares if I’m gay,” he said offhand, having no real plan other than just running as far and fast as he could from the podunk Northern California town of barely six hundred people.

“When will you go?” she asked, wrapping her gum around her finger before plucking it back into her mouth.

“When I have some money. So, you know, never.”

“Wait right here,” Gemma said, popping up and hopping off the sofa, disappearing behind the pocket door. He really had no place else to go. He could still barely walk.

Once more, his thoughts turned to his predicament. Tennessee worked both Nash and Memphis hard, but only Nash got to keep any of the money he earned running errands for his father. Memphis had to hand over every dime. Truthfully, Memphis probably would have tried to make a run for it two years ago, but then Rita had given birth to Knox and Memphis had fallen head over heels for his baby brother. He was terrified to leave him alone with Tennessee and Nash.

Rita was a good person, but she was afraid of Tennessee just like everybody else. She wouldn’t be able to stand up to him anymore than Nash’s and Memphis’s mother had. Everybody knew the one time his mother had talked back, she’d disappeared three days later. Rita knew it, too. She was a hostage and was barely sixteen herself. There was no way she could protect Knox.

Gemma returned with a tampon box in her hands and knelt down beside Memphis. “Here, take it.”

His brows knitted together. “I know my dad thinks I’m a girl, but I don’t exactly need tampons.”

“No, dummy. Look.” She opened the box and pulled one of the wrappers free. Inside each, where a tampon should be, were tiny rolls of money. “It’s where I stash my tips from the club so don’t nobody come around here and try to steal them. It’s only like five grand, but it could be enough to get you out of here.”

“Five grand?” Memphis practically shouted, trying to whip himself into an upright position and quickly regretting it as knife sharp pains wracked his torso, stealing his breath.

“I’m a good dancer. I make lots of tips. Rita used to be the best dancer before Knox, so now, I get all her customers, too.”

Neither talked about how neither Gemma or Rita were old enough to be working at a strip club. Right and wrong didn’t matter in Rexford. In Rexford, the only things that mattered were Keith ‘Tennessee’ Camden and the Devil’s Crew motorcycle club. And nothing would ever change that. Ever.

“I can’t go. I can’t, and I definitely can’t take your money. You need to get out of this town before Tennessee ruins you, too.”

She waved her hand, sitting on the floor of the trailer, plopping her feet right next to Memphis’s thigh. He poked absently at her perfectly manicured toes, but she paid him no mind. “Please. Whether Tomcat wants to admit it or not, I’m still his only daughter. Your Daddy ain’t gonna fuck with me.”

Memphis stared longingly at the box filled with money. Leaving would be selfish, probably the most selfish thing he ever did in his whole life. But what was his life expectancy in Rexford? Maybe twenty if he filled out and learned to pretend he was as big a piece of shit as his brother and father.

“You gotta get out of here, Memphis. As soon as you get where you’re going, you can call me, and if anything happens to Knox, I’ll call you. I promise.” He could feel himself folding. He wanted to be free of this godforsaken place once and for all. Gemma seemed to realize he was giving in. “At least start making a plan. Before it’s too late.”

Memphis nodded reluctantly, tossing an ace bandage to Gemma, so she could wrap his ribs tight enough for him to walk home without passing out from the pain.

Gemma was right. He needed to get out. Los Angeles was only an hour’s drive if anything went wrong. He couldn’t help Knox if he was dead. Right? “Fine. But I definitely need a plan. Where do I start?”

Chapter 1

Preacher

“Tell me why you do this again?” Preacher Graves asked, wrinkling his nose at the stench coming from the property just ahead of them.

“Because that smell is a bunch of dogs lying in their own filth or dying from septic shock after being torn up in a dog fight,” Cy said. “And those fuckers in that house right there are the ones who caused it. So, we’re going to go roust them so Animal Control can come in there and do their jobs. Get these animals the care they need.”

Preacher gave a long-suffering sigh. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about the animals. He did. But, even though Cy and Preacher had done twenty years in a federal penitentiary together, Cy’s record was expunged. Whereas Preacher was guilty of the crimes that had sent him upstate for twenty-five years, and he really wasn’t looking forward to going back. “And this is all legal? What we’re doing? Like, the cops aren’t going to arrest us for busting into somebody’s private property?”

Cy shook his head. “This is our job. We have a deal with the state. Because we’re private citizens, we have a little more leeway with what we can get away with than county employees. Besides, these shitheads all have records longer than my dick.”

Cyrus Whitaker was a huge man by any measure. Even behind bars, his very presence had often been enough to prevent anything too gruesome from happening to him. Preacher, on the other hand, had survived by creating a persona for himself. As he’d aged, he’d gone from target to guru, his near constant state of zen and a small wooden cross convincing the other inmates he had some kind of wisdom to share. It was all bullshit. Preacher didn’t have shit going for him. He just wanted to be left in peace, but Cy paid cash and Preacher was in dire need, so there he was, with an illegal firearm jammed against his lower back, about to raid a house full of dog-fighting criminals. Prison had been much easier in some ways.

Cy crept forward, peering in the window. He held up four fingers to Preacher before crouching out of sight. They weren’t alone. Cy had hired both Lawson and Javier, both former inmates from the same prison, as well as two other guys, Manson and Cabbot, who were not only convicts but former gangbangers. They were a ragtag group if Preacher had ever seen one, but he didn’t think the dogs were real picky about who rescued them from the hellhole that was a rusted out shed.

Cy gave one final nod before planting a booted foot on the door and pulling a shock and awe. “Nobody move!” he shouted, voice booming.

Chaos erupted, the four men scrambling for their weapons about a minute too late. They froze, hands in the air, clearly irritated but not afraid.

“On your knees, hands behind your heads. Now!”

One guy with a tattoo across his forehead spit on the floor. “You don’t look like fucking cops to me.”

“Do I look like somebody who won’t hesitate to splatter your brains across this ugly fucking wallpaper?” Javier asked, lowering his weapon to kick the other men’s guns out of reach. “Lawson, frisk them. Make sure they ain’t holding.”

Lawson grimaced. “Ah, man. Why do I have to do it? They all smell like weed and stale beer.”

“‘Cause it’s your fucking birthright, bitch. Just do it.”

A strange sound caught Preacher’s attention. He didn’t know what it was at first. A whimper, maybe? It could’ve just been a squeaky fan, but it was coming from the end of the hall. He jerked his head in that direction, and Cy gave a nod.

Preacher kept his gun drawn and pointed straight ahead as the whimper became two voices. A child was crying, and a man was yelling, but the words were muffled. Preacher gently tried the door knob. Locked. The child inside was frantic, and the man’s words were much clearer. “You called the cops, you little bitch? I should fucking shoot you in the head for ratting out your family. Maybe I’ll just take this instead.”

The child’s response was a wail of dismay. “No! Please, Nash. I’m sorry.”

There was a strange high-pitched sound, but Preacher didn’t need to hear anything else. He kicked the door in, the cheap wooden frame splintering into a million pieces. On the other side was a small boy cowering in the corner and a large bearded man holding a Pit Bull puppy by the scruff. Despite the gun Preacher was holding, the man sneered at him. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m the guy who’s gonna empty this clip in your skull if you don’t very gently give that puppy back to the boy.”

The man looked to be no more than mid-thirties at most, but he had a meanness in his eyes that gave Preacher pause. He knew the look of somebody who was comfortable with dying. It was the same look lifers got once they’d done enough time.

“Don’t get antsy. Just put the dog down and we can all play nice.”

The man dropped the puppy just as he swung on Preacher. He managed to dodge the wild punch but not without stumbling. The man was bolting out the open door and into the woods before Preacher could even raise his weapon again. The boy snatched the gray and white puppy up, clutching it to his chest.

The puppy appeared to be fine, but Preacher couldn’t say the same about the boy. He had a bloody nose and a black eye. He was filthy and malnourished, a steel ring locked around his tiny ankle. “Jesus,” he muttered under his breath.

There were three more puppies in a cage on the other side of the room and no other furniture, just a bucket in the corner and the open door the man had taken off through. Shit. What the fuck had he walked into?

He dropped his weapon to his side and crouched down to the boy’s level. “Hi, what’s your name?”

“Knox.”

“Hi, Knox. I’m Preacher. What’s his name?” he asked, pointing to the puppy wiggling against the boy’s dirty green t-shirt.

The boy gave him a guarded look, clutching the puppy close. “This is Donatello. That’s Rafael, Michelangelo, and Leonardo.”

A spark of recognition lit in Preacher’s brain. “After the ninja turtles. Nice.”

The boy seemed to relax after that, as if Preacher had passed some test. There was more shouting from the main room, and then Cy was standing in what used to be the doorway. Knox’s eyes went wide as saucers at Cy’s presence. He was still intimidating even in street clothes, especially with his mohawk and the skull and crossbones tattoo below his eye. Cy looked just as shocked to see the young boy. “Everything okay here?”

“I think we’re going to need a medic and a hacksaw if we have one handy?”

Cy followed the length of chain to where a metal loop was bolted into the wall. He walked to it and gripped it tight, seeming to test it, before wiggling it once or twice and then yanking hard, sending drywall raining down on the boy as the ring came free in Cy’s hand. He looked to Preacher. “Take him outside. Have Pam look him over. I’m sure they have something in the truck to get that off.”

Preacher scooped up the boy and the puppy.

“Don’t hurt them!” Knox cried over Preacher’s shoulder. “They didn’t do nothing.”

“Nobody’s going to hurt them. They’re going to get them help. Just like we’re going to get you some help, okay?” Preacher promised.

“I don’t need help. I’m fine,” the boy said, even though Preacher could still see the tracks of the boy’s tears in the dirt on his cheeks.

Pam stood by the truck as Animal Rescue worked to tranquilize the animals in an attempt to get them in the cages. Her eyes widened as she saw the boy and his puppy, but she plastered a big smile on her face almost immediately. “Who have we got here?”

“This is Knox and his puppy, Donatello,” Preacher said, setting the two down on the tailgate. “Knox, my friend, Pam, is a nurse. Would it be okay if I held Donatello while she just takes a look at you?”

Knox eyed Pam warily but handed over the squirming puppy.

“How old are you, Knox?” she asked as she looked at the boy’s bloody nose and then his teeth.

“Almost twelve.”

She nodded. “Oh, wow. That puts you in…what? Fifth grade?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t go to school.”

She gave Preacher a startled look. “Oh, no? How come?”

“Nash says somebody has to watch the puppies until they’re old enough to start training and take care of the bait.”

“Bait?” Preacher echoed before he could stop himself.

The boy just looked toward the shed where the dogs had been kept before turning away. Pam looked down at the boy’s shackle. “Preacher, can I talk to you alone for a moment?”

Preacher handed the puppy back to the boy. “We’re just going to be right over here.”

Knox just shrugged like he didn’t care, but Preacher could feel the boy’s eyes on him as they walked.

“We need to call the police. They were clearly holding that boy hostage. This is kidnapping or, at the very least, massive abuse and neglect,” Pam said.

Preacher nodded. “One of ‘em ran off when I showed up. The boy called him Nash.”

Pam’s lip curled in a sneer. “That boy’s about twenty pounds underweight, and I’m betting there are probably some more signs of abuse under those clothes. He needs a hospital.”

“How are the animals?” Preacher asked, shading his eyes to look in the direction of the shed.

“About how you’d expect from years of torture and abuse. Some will probably have to be put down, but I have hopes we can rehab and rehome most of them. I’m going to get Nick on the phone and have him track down some more info on these guys. We gotta find out if this kid has a mom and dad that aren’t living in a shack in the middle of the sticks, and if so, how did he end up out here?”

Preacher shook his head. “You call the cops. I’ll call Nicky. I’m not supposed to be here, and I’m definitely not supposed to be armed.”

Pam took the gun from Preacher, checking the safety before she slid it into place under her shirt. “Deal.”

Preacher pulled his cell phone free of his jeans and dialed one of three numbers stored on his phone. “This is Webster,” Nicky said. He still went by his old last name to everybody but the guys he’d gone to prison with, even though his married name was now Whitaker. It was still weird as fuck to him that Cyrus and Nicky had become a couple in prison, but they were both good guys.

“Hey, it’s Preacher.”

“Preacher? Is Cy okay?” Nicky asked, panic creeping into his voice.

“Yeah, Cy’s fine. The same pain-in-the-ass bleeding heart he always is. I need you to give me everything you can on whoever owns this property. 3849 Crawfish Drive. Rexford, California.”

There was the sound of typing. “The deed says the property belongs to Keith Camden… Keith Camden is… Oh, shit. Ol’ Keith, aka Tennessee, is currently being held without bail on a drug trafficking charge in Arizona.”

“Anything else?”

“He’s apparently the head of the Devil’s Crew motorcycle club. They sound like lovely people. Just your average gun-running, drug dealing band of murderers.”

Preacher shook his head. “Fantastic. Don’t suppose there’s anything in there about somebody named Nash?”

Once more, he listened as Nicky typed frantically. “Nash. Nash,” he muttered absently. “Got it,” he cried. “Nash, as in Nashville Carter Camden, age thirty-three. One of three sons born to Keith Camden. The others being a twenty-six-year-old son named Memphis Daniel and an almost twelve-year-old son named Knoxville Coe. Nash, like his father, has a long list of felonies that he has somehow never served time for. The little one seems to have disappeared off the radar after first grade.”

Preacher glanced over to where Cabot was working to get the cuff off the boy’s ankle. “Yeah, we found him here. He says he wasn’t allowed to go to school. What does it say about the middle son? Is he a scumbag, too?”

“Hold, please,” Nicky said, clacking away rapid-fire. “No. Memphis Camden works at a flower shop here in Los Angeles. As far as I can tell, he’s never been in any trouble. Lives in a studio apartment over said flower shop. Why?”

“You might want to try to get him on the phone. If the oldest one’s in the wind and the dad’s a piece of shit, somebody’s going to have to take guardianship of the kid. Pam says we gotta get the kid to the hospital to get looked over. They’ll probably want to keep him at least overnight.”

“Yeah, alright. I’ll see about getting in touch with him. You just bring my husband home in one piece.”

Preacher’s gaze fell to Cy, whose knee was firmly planted in the back of one of the men from the house. “I think he’ll be just fine.”

Preacher found himself looking at the small boy once more. He wasn’t sure the same could be said for Knox. As the ambulance pulled up, he disconnected, jogging back towards the boy. “Hold up. I’m riding with him.”

Chapter 2

Memphis

Memphis couldn’t stop shaking. Part of it was from rage—at himself and Tennessee. Another, far more prominent part, was shaking from fear. A fear so embedded into his core it was impossible to fight. A fear that had wrapped itself around his lungs and strangled the breath from him the moment he’d answered his phone. He’d worked so hard to put his old life behind him. He’d had to train himself not to think about Rexford or Keith Camden, had to remind himself that his father probably hadn’t given Memphis a thought in years. He’d fought hard to carve out a life for himself—a small, quiet life where he could appreciate the simple beauty of things like flowers and quiet.

Ten years. A whole decade. That was how long it had taken for Memphis to find some inner peace. A place where he didn’t wake up shaking in a cold sweat, a place where he wasn’t constantly looking over his shoulder, where he didn’t jump at the sound of every revved motorcycle engine and his scars didn’t pull and burn every time he smelled gasoline or cigarette smoke. But, in just one phone call, all that work had unraveled. He was unraveling.

Even with Knox in the hospital, battered, bruised, and malnourished, it was impossible not to be afraid of the man who put him there, and that fear made Memphis feel like his insides were shriveled and rotting, like at his very core he was rotten, too. He was an adult, nearly twenty-six years old, and he was still scared, still weighing whether he was strong enough to fight for a child he barely remembered. Maybe that made him worse than his father thought. Maybe the last thing Knox needed in his hospital room was a headcase like Memphis.

Especially that hospital. Hillsdale General Hospital. Memphis had spent the worst months of his life recovering there after his ‘accident.’ Hillsdale wasn’t technically in Rexford, but his father’s reach loomed infinitely in Memphis’s head. While the man had never once visited him while he was there writhing in pain, he’d sent his men there to watch him, intimidate him, to make sure Memphis kept his mouth shut about what really happened. Would he do the same to Knox? Could he? If his father and Nash were still around, why would they call Memphis?

Well, somebody had called him. He hadn’t said he was from any hospital, just that Knox was in one and in bad shape. They’d told Memphis that Knox needed him, that there was nobody else to care for him. Still, he’d hesitated. Because he was weak. Because, after all this time, Keith ‘Tennessee’ Camden still fucking lived rent free in his head and he couldn’t shake the feeling this was a set-up, some way to get Memphis back in the place where his father was king, so he could finish what he started and put Memphis in the ground once and for all.

The hospital lobby was only feet away, but Memphis couldn’t seem to get out of his Uber. The driver was turned in his seat, staring him down, as the heated interior warred with the sharp bite of winter’s end outside. Fuck. He could do this. He had to do this. Knox needed him. He was a baby, barely twelve. Was he even twelve yet? There was no way for him to take care of himself. Could Memphis care for him? Most days, caring for himself seemed like an insurmountable task, and that was in Los Angeles, not Palm Valley. Sometimes, even on his best days, LA felt too close.

When the driver gave a heavy sigh, Memphis shoved his door open and got out in one quick motion, like ripping off a Band-Aid. He forced himself to walk, putting one foot in front of the other, closing the distance between the curb and the automatic double doors. Goosebumps broke out as the sweat on his skin evaporated in a rush of cold air tinged with the odor of disinfectant. His scars itched and pulled as memories fought against the walls he’d put around them. He fucking hated that smell. It was the scent of pain and sadness.

He stopped at security, handing over his ID and standing for his picture before slapping the visitor sticker to his hoodie dutifully. The man behind the desk pointed to the bank of elevators, letting him know Pediatrics was on the fourth floor. Once inside the empty metal box, Memphis did his best to slow his heart as it pounded against his rib cage. When the doors opened, Memphis stopped short, taking in the garish display of paper hearts with white doily backings, construction paper envelopes in shades of pink and red. It was dizzying.

Right. Valentine’s Day. How could he forget? The shop’s busiest day was coming up. It all seemed so far away now, like that one phone call had severed him from his old life somehow, leaving him floating in the deep end without a life jacket.

Kids in robes ran along the hallway and played video games in a room beside the nurses’ station. The nurses themselves bustled around, somehow managing to do their work while kids and parents seemed to be everywhere. The hospital staff on this floor dressed nothing like the staff on the second floor. The burn unit. Here, they wore various prints of pink, red, and black, their stethoscopes adorned with little fuzzy creatures, as if they were part of the decor.

When he stopped at the nurses’ station, a dark-haired woman looked up from behind the desk, giving him a banal smile. “Can I help you, sir?”

The words stuck in his throat until he cleared it, finally managing to say, “I’m sorry to bother you. I’m looking for Knoxville Camden.”

Her smile faded, and she looked him up and down, like she was memorizing everything about him. “And you are?” she asked, a bite in her voice.

“His brother, Memphis. Sorry, it took me a while to get here. I live in LA.” He had no idea why he was apologizing to the woman, but when she heard his name, she seemed to visibly relax. She looked closely at his name tag as if to confirm his statement. He fought the absurd urge to cover it up.

“Your brother is in room 406. That way.” She pointed behind her.

Memphis gave a stilted nod, putting the hood up on his black hoodie as he walked down the hall, even though he knew it made him look like a villain. He just felt too exposed under the harsh fluorescent lights. All around him, machines beeped and whirred and kids giggled and cried. It was organized chaos. When he found the room, he hesitated for only a moment before pushing open the door.

His heart stopped cold at the sight of a man with salt and pepper hair holding a pillow in front of his brother’s face.

“Get the fuck away from him!” he shouted, jerking forward, stopping short as both the man and the small boy didn’t stop what they were doing, just shot a strange look at Memphis, like he was the crazy one.

The man took the pillow he had, pulling his brother’s frail body forward and adjusting it behind his back, asking, “Is that better?”

The boy nodded, moving noticeably closer to the older man as he peered at Memphis nervously. His brother was small for his age, his cheeks hollow, his nose red, one eye sunken, the other swollen and purple, but even then, Memphis knew it was Knox. He had Rita’s dark hair but the same cobalt blue eyes as Memphis, Nash, and their father. His father, who was apparently still beating the shit out of his sons. Guilt twisted at Memphis’s guts, tying them in knots. He was supposed to protect him. Gemma had promised she’d call if anything happened to Knox. But when was the last time Memphis had even reached out to her? Was she even still in Rexford? Was she alive?

The man with his brother studied Memphis warily. Was he one of his father’s goons? He had the look—jeans, a black t-shirt covered by an open flannel and a leather jacket. He was tall, muscular, not overly buff like some of the guys who surrounded his father, but he had that look in his eye. The look of a predator. Somebody who’d lived in a world of kill or be killed. He was attractive in a hardened way. He had salt and pepper hair that brushed his shoulders, a five o’clock shadow that was more gray than black, and three overlapping crosses tattooed on his neck. It was hard to gauge his age, but Memphis would put him just above forty. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man’s brows rose. “They call me Preacher. Who the fuck are you?” he countered, his voice sounding more amused than angry.

“Memphis. I’m his brother. You can tell my father I’ll be taking Knox home to stay with me and that’s that,” he stated, forcing himself to meet the man’s gaze, hoping he sounded like somebody who didn’t make idle threats.

“Kid, from what I hear, your dad’s in the clink in Arizona awaiting trial and your other brother is in the wind. Took off when we broke up his little dog fighting ring.”

“We?” Memphis asked.

The man—Preacher—dropped down in the uncomfortable looking chair beside Knox’s bed. “The rescue organization I sometimes help out with.”

Memphis walked over to the bed and leaned in close to the boy. “Hey. I know you probably don’t remember me, but I’m Memphis. Your brother. I’m here to take care of you. Okay?”

Knox shrugged. Preacher stood and walked from the room without a word, returning a moment later with another chair, which he set down behind Memphis before returning to his own. Memphis locked eyes with the stranger. He had eyes that were somehow both green and gold and made Memphis feel seen in a way that didn’t make him want to run screaming for a change.

“Thanks.” Preacher nodded, his eyes burning a hole through Memphis as he watched Knox. “If Tennessee’s in prison, who hurt you, buddy? Was it Nash?”

Knox’s gaze drifted to the far wall. “It was my own fault.”

Memphis frowned, eyes flicking to Preacher before returning to Knox. “What was?”

Knox’s voice sounded raw, like he wasn’t used to using it. “I was feeding the dogs, and I set all the kittens free. So, he put me on the sun porch so I wouldn’t get in the way of his business. He let me keep the puppies, though, for company.”

Memphis looked at Preacher. “Can I talk to you outside?”

Preacher nodded and gave Knox a smile. “I’ll be right back, little man. Okay?”

Knox seemed relieved to have the tall man’s presence. Once in the hallway, Memphis turned on the man, jamming his hands in his pockets. “Who are you? What the fuck happened to my brother? Who did this to him?”

The man leaned against the wall. “Listen, I’m not your enemy. I’m just keeping the kid calm because, when we brought him in here, his vital signs were a mess. He’s been on fluids since he got in here. We found a bunch of malnourished and abused animals on your brother’s property. We also found your little brother shackled to a wall in the back room. The sun porch, he called it.”

“Shackled?” Memphis repeated, his head spinning, like he was on a tilt-a-whirl.

“Yeah, shackled. By his ankle.”

Nash had chained their brother to a wall. Memphis was selling flowers to cheating husbands and plotting floral arrangements for overpriced weddings and Knox was being beaten and starved. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He slid down the wall, putting his elbows on his knees, holding his head as he fought to drag breaths into his spasming lungs. He’d let this happen.

Suddenly, Preacher was hunkered down beside him, close enough for Memphis to smell the woodsy fragrance of his cologne. “Hey, stay with me. Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. I think you’re having a panic attack. Do you want me to get the nurse?”

Memphis wanted to answer, but he couldn’t make the words come. When Preacher went to stand, Memphis’s hand darted out, snagging his shirt. “Don’t. Please.”

Memphis wasn’t even sure what he was asking for. Don’t get the nurse? Don’t leave him? Don’t judge him for falling apart after three minutes of being in the same room as his brother? How was he going to protect Knox from anything? He couldn’t protect himself from his own past, his own psyche.

Rough hands clutched his cheeks, lifting his head to make eye contact. The warmth of Preacher’s skin bled into Memphis. “Hey. Just look at me and breathe. Can you do that?”

Every instinct was telling him to run, telling him he wasn’t safe, that he couldn’t keep himself alive let alone Knox, and that the whole world was going to know that soon enough. He could hear Preacher talking, his voice deep and warm, comforting in a way no stranger’s voice had a right to be. He blinked the sweat from his eyes and did his best to focus on that greenish gold gaze, and that rich, soothing tone, and the heat burning into his skin.

“Can you inhale while I count?” Preacher asked. Memphis nodded jerkily, sucking in a pained breath as he counted to five. “Hold it for five. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. And out for one. Two. Three. Four. Five. Good, again.”

It felt like an hour passed with him sitting on the floor of the busy pediatrics ward, but, in reality, it was likely only a few minutes. When he could breathe again and the world stopped spinning, he gently pushed Preacher’s hands away. “Sorry.”

When he dropped his hands to his knees, Preacher gripped them, looking at the small circular burn scars that covered the tops. “Did your father do that?”

Memphis yanked his hands back, glaring at Preacher. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know. I imagine if your older brother was willing to chain your younger brother to a fucking wall then he had to learn it from somebody, and since you thought I worked for your father, I figure your older brother learned a few tricks from him.”

“My brother’s not safe here. I need to get him back to Los Angeles. Even if Tennessee is locked up like you say, there’s still plenty of his fucking crew willing to take out both me and Knox to protect their interests. The best thing I can do is get him as far from here as possible until they catch Nash.”

“That’s the thing of it. Knox refuses to admit your brother did anything wrong. He still hasn’t even named Nash as the one who abused him. He just keeps saying ‘he.’ If we can tie him to the dogs, we can get him on animal cruelty charges. That’s a felony here in California. We could get him put away for three to five years, maybe even consecutively. But the deed’s in your father’s name and those morons we busted in the house aren’t talking. Without your brother, we’ve got nothing.”

“Dog fighting?” Memphis muttered. “My brother was fighting animals? Christ. If he’s running my father’s crew, keep digging. You’ll find all kinds of bodies, not just animals. But I should warn you. Anything that happened in Rexford won’t fall on anybody in my father’s club. Never has, never will. He’s got reach.”

“He’s not omnipotent. Arizona clearly doesn’t give a fuck who he is,” Preacher said.

Memphis shook his head. “Just wait. He’ll walk. They all will. No matter how many bodies you uncover, no matter how many crimes you pin on him, he’ll find a way to wiggle out of those cuffs, he always does. You’ll see. He’ll get free, and if we talk,  he’ll come for me and Knox. Nobody can outrun Tennessee.”

Chapter 3

Preacher

Preacher wasn’t sure what he’d expected of Memphis Camden, but it wasn’t this beautiful man with his tawny skin, golden blond hair peeking out from under his black hood, and unnaturally blue eyes. He was taller than Preacher first thought. He just walked with his head down and his shoulders rounded, pulled in on himself, as if doing so could make him invisible to the world at large.

Preacher knew the look well. He’d seen it when inmates had been pushed too hard, gone too far. When they’d been prey for so long they began to believe nobody was trustworthy, that there was nothing good in the world. It was the last stage of prison life, what separated the survivors from the statistics. Memphis Camden appeared one step away from snapping and going truly feral or ending up on a coroner’s table from a self-inflicted injury.

There was no doubt in Preacher’s mind that whatever Knox had been through, Memphis had been through worse. He talked about Tennessee Camden like most people talked about the Boogeyman. In Memphis’s mind, his father was lurking in every shadow, waiting to finally make his worst fears come to life. Preacher remembered that feeling well, and it made him ache for the two boys in front of him.

“The doctor says Knox needs a few more days to get some of his labs back in line. So, he can’t leave the hospital just yet,” Preacher said once they were both back in Knox’s room.

Knox was playing Mario Kart on the wall-mounted television, no longer paying any mind to the two strangers beside him. Kids Knox’s age were resilient. He’d bounce back once he was permanently removed from the dangerous life he was born into. The same couldn’t be said for Memphis. Whatever trauma he’d been through had reshaped whoever he could have been into somebody who was hardwired to believe the worst was all that was left for him.

Memphis shook his head, once more delving his hands into his pockets as he paced beside Preacher. “We can’t stay. We’re not safe here.”

Preacher lowered his voice. “You are safe here. I’ve been with the boy for the last twenty-four hours. I’ll stay until he’s released, if that’s what you need.”

Memphis cut his eyes to him. “No offense, mister, but I don’t even know you. For all I know, you’re just as bad as they are, rescue work or not.”

That was fair. Preacher wasn’t sure knowing him would somehow make Memphis trust him anymore than any other person on this planet, but he decided to give it a shot anyways. “My name is Isaac Graves, but most people call me Preacher. I don’t know why. It started years ago, and it just stuck. I’m forty-two years old. I’m an Aquarius, if that shit matters to you. Blue is my favorite color. I have two rescue dogs, one named Bo and one named Luke. I spent twenty-three years of a twenty-five year sentence behind bars. I was paroled for good behavior last year. I make my living restoring furniture and, sometimes, taking on bodyguard jobs for shady rich people who think having an ex-con as a bodyguard makes them safer. What else would you like to know? I’m an open book.”

Memphis’s shoulders dropped, and he stopped pacing, looking Preacher dead in the eye. “What’d you go to prison for?”

“Murder.”

Memphis toed at a scuff mark on the floor with his sneaker. “Who’d you kill?”

“Somebody who deserved it,” Preacher said.

Memphis’s hand went to his mouth, and he gnawed on his thumbnail with his perfectly white teeth. “Are you sorry?”

Preacher shook his head. “Can’t say I am. No.”

Memphis nodded, refusing to be still.

Something about Memphis’s frenetic movements made Preacher want to wrap his arms around him and force him to halt. He wanted to tell him that nothing would happen to either of them while Preacher was there. It was a strange thing, to feel so connected to two strangers, but he recognized himself in them. Saw the same exhaustion behind both of their gazes, the kind that came from never knowing what would happen next, what words, what joke, what minor infraction would set off their abuser. Knox had it all the time, but Preacher couldn’t help but wonder about Memphis. What was he like back in his little flower shop? Was he relaxed? Did he smile? Make jokes? Was he funny? Did he have somebody back home who made him laugh or held him when he cried?

None of that was any of Preacher’s fucking business. “Have you spoken to the police yet?”

Once more, Memphis hunched in on himself, his look almost petulant. “I’m not talking to the Rexford police. They all work for Tennessee.”

“It’s the Palm Valley police that are working the case. They’ll want to talk to you.”

Memphis shrugged. “Then they can come here. I’m not leaving Knox alone.”

There was no point in arguing. Memphis was clearly stubborn.

Preacher picked up his phone and typed out a message before dropping it back in his pocket. They sat in silence, watching Knox play his video game for the next hour or so, Memphis only sitting down once Preacher stood to stretch his back. He was too old to be sitting in that shitty chair for a whole day. The night nurse, an older Filipino woman named Annie, had offered to bring him a cot, but he’d refused. He hadn’t wanted to sleep, just watch over Knox as the boy had fallen into a restless slumber.

An hour passed without either of them saying a word, but when a large frame filled the doorway of the hospital, all three of them turned towards the visitor. Well, visitors. Memphis once more jumped up, but Preacher put a hand on his. “Relax, they’re with me. Memphis, this giant here is Cy Whitaker, and the guy lurking behind him is his husband, Nicholas Webster. We call him Nicky.”

“What do you mean they’re with you?” Memphis asked.

“That organization I told you about? Nicky runs it with a woman named Pam—”

“Pam’s nice. She gave me ice cream,” Knox interrupted, pausing his game to wave at Cy.

Preacher smiled. “Yeah, she is nice. You remember Cy, don’t you, Knox?”

“Yeah. He ripped my chain out of the wall with his bare hands,” Knox said, looking at Cy like he thought he might secretly have superpowers.

Preacher leaned into Knox’s space just enough for the boy to see his face. “Your brother and I have to go talk to those officers you spoke with yesterday. Do you think it would be alright if Cy and Nicky kept you company until we returned?”

Memphis shot a sharp look at Preacher. “What? No way. I’m not leaving my brother.”

“The sooner you talk to the police, the sooner we can get you appointed as his temporary guardian and keep him out of foster care,” Nicky said. “That way, when he gets out of the hospital, you can take him straight home until we get some things sorted on a more permanent basis. That’s what you want, isn’t it? For Knox to be able to stay with you?”

Memphis gave a stilted nod, looking at Knox. “Is that alright? Can Cy and Nicky keep you company while I’m gone?” he asked, echoing Preacher’s words.

Knox shrugged. “I don’t care.”

Preacher didn’t miss the hurt look that crossed Memphis’s face at Knox’s casual dismissal. “We’ll be back real soon, okay?”

The boy didn’t even respond, pretending to be absorbed in his video game. Preacher gestured towards the door, nodding at Nicky and Cy as he left.

###

Palm Valley police station wasn’t more than a ten minute drive, but the silence filling the cab of Preacher’s old Chevy made it feel like the green mile. The police department didn’t look like the ones in Los Angeles. This one was a shiny modern building with tan stucco walls, brown trim, and large windows that let the sunlight in. Date palms surrounded the building, and a modern looking sign announced that the police shared the complex with the fire department, the courthouse, and the tax collector.

Once they were signed in, Detectives Desiree Manchester and Phil “Yes, that’s my real name” Filmore came out to greet them. Manchester had tan skin and wild dark curls that were almost blonde at the ends. She dressed in all black, like she was going to a funeral, the only color the badge on a lanyard around her neck. Filmore was older but fit, good looking aside from his rapidly receding hairline that left him bald at the top with hair only clinging to the sides of his head.

They all shook hands before gesturing for Memphis to follow them. He took only a few steps before he turned and looked at Preacher. “Aren’t you coming?”

“We’d prefer to question you alone,” Manchester said, hands on her ample hips.

Memphis rounded his shoulders, glancing up at Preacher from under long dark lashes. “I don’t really give a shit what you’d prefer,” he said, presumably to Manchester, though maybe he was telling Preacher his presence wasn’t a request. It was hard to tell with Memphis.

“Do you want me to come?” Preacher asked, needing to be sure he wasn’t imagining this complete one-eighty reversal from just moments ago.

Memphis nodded before looking at the detectives. “There’s nothing you can’t ask me in front of him.”

Manchester and Filmore exchanged glances before Filmore said, “I wasn’t aware you two knew each other.”

“We don’t,” Preacher confirmed. “Are we doing this or what?”

Memphis gave the tiniest hint of a smile, the corners of his wide mouth hooking upwards just enough to let Preacher know he’d somehow scored points, even if he didn’t know why.

Once seated, Filmore ran a hand over his balding head and adjusted his loosened tie. He clicked a button on the microphone in the center of the table, and they all went around introducing themselves and giving their title. Once Filmore gave the case number, the questions began.

The first few were easy. Name, rank, serial number type questions. The kind of information cops most likely already had but used as a sort of truth telling baseline. With those out of the way, they moved onto the real questioning.

Manchester tapped her short glossy nails against the manila folder in front of her, a small black notebook and pen beside her. “Mr. Camden, how long has it been since you’ve seen any member of your family?”

Memphis sat slouched low in his chair, legs wide, head down, hands deep in his pockets. “A little over ten years.”

“Why is that?” she asked, jotting down notes like the recording wasn’t there.

“Because my father is an abusive piece of shit and a criminal, and I wanted no part of that.”

Well, there was no mincing words there. Preacher didn’t doubt Memphis was telling the truth, but everything about him from his posture to his tone made it seem like he was testing them as much as they were him. It was like he was playing chicken with an electric fence. If the cops really weren’t in his father’s pocket, nothing he said would come back to haunt him, but if they were in his pocket, he might be putting the last nail in his own coffin.

“Did you know your older brother had temporary custody of your younger brother…Knoxville?” she asked.

“No.”

“Did you know your father was in prison?”

“No.”

Manchester pulled a piece of fuzz from her shirt, tone bored. “To your knowledge, is your brother involved in any illegal gang activity?”

“If he’s anything like my father, yeah, probably up to his fucking eyeballs.”

Filmore frowned. “You seem awfully sure of that for somebody who hasn’t seen or spoken to his family in ten years.”

Memphis scoffed. “You guys live a stone’s throw from Rexford. Are you going to sit here and pretend you don’t know who Tennessee Camden is or what he’s capable of? You people know just as well as Rexford PD all the shit that man gets into. You know it now, you knew it ten fucking years ago, but you didn’t do shit about it. You won’t do shit about it this time either.”

Preacher wanted to press a hand to Memphis’s back. He wished he had some way of letting him know the world wasn’t his enemy, but there was nothing he could do. Besides, he clearly wasn’t wrong. Both the detectives looked flustered, and Manchester’s hand sort of lurched towards the recorder before she pulled it back, like she realized that would be the wrong play.

“We work the special victims unit under major crimes. We’re not narcotics or a gang related unit,” Filmore said.

Memphis flicked his gaze between them. “It doesn’t matter who you are. You know who my father is and what he’s capable of.”

Manchester shook her head. “Mr. Camden, I assure you there’s no cover up here. We are eager to find your brother’s attacker, but that would be easier if he’d cooperate with us and tell us who was holding him prisoner in that house.”

“You know it was my brother, Nash.”

Filmore sighed, leaning forward to tap his finger on the table. “What we know and what we can prove are two different things. If we can’t get Knoxville to talk, we’ll have no way of keeping him from your brother, should he dare to show his face.”

“I could ID him,” Preacher said. “I was the one who saw him threatening the puppy. I heard the boy call him Nash.”

Filmore gave Preacher a dirty look. “No offense, Mr. Graves, but with your past, you don’t make the most compelling witness.”

“I could testify about what they did to me growing up. The abuse,” Memphis managed, sweat once more beading on his forehead.

“Your brother abused you when you were younger, too?” Manchester asked.

Memphis shrugged. “Yeah, some. At my father’s request.”

“That doesn’t hold much weight ten years later. An attorney could argue he only did it under duress, for fear of being abused like you were,” Manchester argued.

Memphis shot to his feet so fast both officers were reaching for their weapons when they realized he was whipping his t-shirt and sweatshirt up, turning so they could see his back. Manchester audibly gasped. Preacher had to bite down on the inside of his cheek, hands fisted against his thighs as the taste of metal filled his mouth.

While Memphis’s chest and belly were smooth muscle, except for what looked like an appendectomy scar on his left side, his back was a disaster, a patchwork quilt of scar-tissue that started at his neck and disappeared under his jeans. “Does this look like something somebody did under duress? Does it? Have you ever had somebody set you on fire just for fun? ‘Cause I have.”

Preacher had seen a lot of shit in his day. A lot. Twenty plus years in prison will show you how truly sick and depraved humans can be to other creatures, especially other humans. But he’d never, ever seen anything like what he saw right then. Clearly the detectives hadn’t either because they seemed to have been rendered speechless.

“Mr. Camden...” Manchester started before trailing off.

“Nash did this?” Preacher asked softly as Memphis righted his clothing.

“Either him or my father. I’d made the mistake of falling asleep on the floor of the living room, trying to do my homework. I woke up on fire, with my father and Nash sitting in their recliners, laughing their asses off. It was my dad’s girlfriend who threw the blanket on me and smothered the flames. She was the one who drove me to the hospital and told them all about my tragic ‘accident,’” he said, hooking his fingers into air quotes.

“Jesus,” Filmore muttered, jamming his finger down on the recorder.

“Do you want to press charges?” Preacher asked.

“Statute of limitations on aggravated battery is six years,” Manchester said, sounding as nauseated as she was furious.

Memphis shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anyway. You don’t press charges against Tennessee Camden. At least, that’s what the police chief told me when he came to visit me the day after they’d woken me from my medically induced coma.”

Manchester leaned forward. “Listen, I don’t know what kind of deal your family has with Rexford, but it doesn’t extend to us. We just want to find out what happened to your brother so we can put the right people behind bars.”

“Look, I appreciate what you’re saying, but your intentions don’t matter. If you go after my father or the Devil’s Crew, you’ll end up dead, just like anybody else who’s ever tried. That’s just how it is around here. The best thing you can do for me is help get my brother as far away from this place as possible. With any luck, they won’t look for him anymore than they looked for me.”

Chapter 4

Memphis

The whole way back to the hospital, Memphis stewed over his conversation with the detectives. He had no idea what was happening to him. He was all over the place, blaming his father and brother one minute, saying it wasn’t worth even trying to convict them the next. Showing them his back. Showing Preacher his back. Memphis didn’t do that. People he’d known for years had never seen his scars. They were just too ugly, too awful, and they led to too many questions and a level of pity that Memphis just couldn’t tolerate.

It made hookups difficult. There were too many rules for most men to bother. Don’t touch his back, don’t turn on the lights, don’t ask questions. After a while, it was just easier to jerk off. So, why had he done it? Part of Memphis was just hoping to shock Preacher, make him stop looking at him like he wasn’t broken or damaged. He was both and so much more. Then again, Preacher was a murderer, and yet, even that hadn’t shocked Memphis out of remembering what it felt like to have his hands cupping his face, his voice crooning at him to breathe. Preacher Graves was sexy no matter how inappropriate it was for Memphis to think so. There was no ignoring that.

Back at the hospital, Knox was sitting up in bed. Preacher’s friend Nicky was sitting half on, half off the mattress, a second controller in his hand.

“I’m gonna get you this time,” Knox swore around a laugh.

“You’re gonna eat my dust, short stuff,” Nicky promised, a mad cackle escaping a second before it abruptly died as a turtle shell came from out of nowhere, sending him careening off the track.

“Hah. I told you I’d beat you!” Knox shouted, fist pumping the air.

Something lightened in Memphis’s chest. Knox wasn’t lost emotionally. He could still laugh, could still feel happy. Kids were resilient. Not like Memphis. Nicky’s husband was a looming, faceless shadow in the corner, his silhouette enough to give pause to anybody who might try to hurt his brother. It made Memphis think maybe he should go. Maybe these people were what Knox needed, not some gloomy black cloud who didn’t know how to let go of his past.

“Preacher, Memphis!” Knox said, voice excited. “Did you see that? I beat him. He’s a computer guy and I beat him.”

Memphis forced a smile onto his face. “I did see that. That’s awesome.”

It felt so fake, so false, but Knox beamed at him before flopping back down onto his pillows. Nicky stood, setting the controller back down. “Thanks for letting us hang out with you for a while. Would it be okay if we came and saw you again sometime?”

Knox nodded shyly. Nicky acted like it was the best news he’d ever heard.

“Awesome.” He held his fist out, and Knox bumped it. “Blow it up?” Knox smiled, opening his fist as Nicky did the same, making an explosion sound.

As they were leaving, Memphis watched Nicky thread his and Cy’s fingers together and felt a stabbing pain in his heart. He’d never have that. There would never be anybody who Memphis could just reach for, who wouldn’t hesitate to reach back. Most of the time, he convinced himself he didn’t want that. Love only led to broken promises and broken bones. But sometimes, like now, he wondered what it would be like to trust that somebody would always have his back.

“You don’t have to stay,” Memphis said, looking to Preacher. “I can take over from here.”

“I’m good,” Preacher said, looking like he was about to dig in his heels.

Memphis shook his head, voice stern. “Seriously, we’re fine here at the hospital. I’d like some time alone to get to know my brother.”

It wasn’t a total lie. He did want to get to know his little brother. But he also needed to get this man away from him as quickly as possible. The proximity was making him think about stuff he had no business thinking of. Preacher looked from Knox to Memphis before giving a stiff nod. “Alright. I’m still going to come by and check on him in the morning.”

It wasn’t a question, so Memphis didn’t bother to answer, just turned and walked away. When he looked back, Preacher was gone, and the room felt emptier for it. He plopped down in the chair beside Knox, who kept glancing in his direction like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

“Do you need something?” Memphis asked. “Are you hungry?”

“Am I going to live with you now?” Knox asked, his eyes locked on Memphis like he could tell if he lied.

“I hope so. I want you to. Would that be okay?” Memphis asked.

Knox shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know you.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” Memphis agreed. “What do you want to know. I’ll answer anything.”

Knox rolled towards him, and Memphis leaned over to carefully untangle the lines of the boy’s IV so they didn’t tug. Then the inquisition began, Knox firing off questions almost faster than Memphis could answer.

“Where do you live?”

“Los Angeles.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“Girlfriend?”

“I’m gay.”

His eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth and then shut it again.

Memphis tried to remember that his brother had been subjected to all kinds of racist and homophobic rhetoric since birth. “I know what Tennessee and Nash say about gay people. None of it’s true.”

Knox gave him a look like he was dumb. “I know that. My friend Tyler has two dads, and my friend Misty has two moms and a dad. We live in California, not Mississippi.”

Memphis laughed, relieved he wouldn’t have to overcome that particular hurdle with his brother.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Knox asked.

“What?” Memphis blurted, kicking himself for not seeing that question coming. “No. I don’t…have time,” he stuttered.

Knox looked at him like that was a stupid answer before saying, “You should marry Preacher. He’s cool.”

Memphis laughed. “Marry Preacher? I just met him. Besides, I don’t think he swings that way.”

Knox’s look was smug. “Yeah, he does. That’s what Cy and Nicky said anyway. They’re gay. Did you know that? They’re married, too. They rescue dogs and find them new homes. They all met in prison. Nicky was wrongly accused of being a terrorist, and Cy was framed for murder.”

This time, Memphis was the one who was wide-eyed as Knox animatedly told him way more than he’d ever imagined needing to know about the group of strangers who had surrounded his little brother with protection. Memphis was happy to listen. Knox sounded like any other twelve-year-old boy, even if he looked small for his age.

When Annie came around to give Knox his nighttime medications, she offered to bring the rollaway cot, and he gratefully accepted. She also brought him a pillow and blanket as well as a toothbrush and mouthwash. He made himself a spot in the darkest part of the large room where the lights from the television and machines weren’t likely to keep him up but where he still had a good view of Knox should he need anything.

Memphis and Knox ate a dinner of hospital cheeseburgers and fries, which Memphis admitted wasn’t half-bad, and watched a movie in Knox’s bed before the boy drifted off to sleep. The nurse said it was a mild sedative the doctor prescribed to help him get the rest he needed.

Memphis didn’t need any help getting to sleep. He fell into a restless slumber almost immediately, dreaming of being chased by his father through a parking garage of never-ending cars, their alarms blaring and tires leaking air, making it impossible for him to do anything but keep running through the cacophony of noise, doing his best to keep one step ahead. A hand reached out of the darkness, grabbing him around the neck, squeezing until the air leaking from his lungs sounded like that of the leaking tires.

Memphis sat up with a gasp, his hands clawing at his chest, forcing the oxygen back into his body. That was when he saw him—a bulky figure leaning over Knox. At first, Memphis thought it was another aide there to take vitals or get labs, but then he saw Knox’s hands tearing at the man’s forearms, his legs kicking, his heart rate sending the machine beside him into a series of loud dings that had to be alerting the staff.

“Get the fuck away from him!” Memphis shouted, lurching to his feet, crossing the room without any thought as to what he would do when he got there.

The figure turned on him. “Memphis?”

He had just enough time to realize he was looking at his brother, Nash, before the man’s fist connected with his nose and mouth hard enough to send his teeth clacking together, dropping him onto his ass, the impact reverberating through his whole body. Before Memphis could even get back on his feet, Nash was sprinting down the hallway, knocking over the linen cart and dodging a nurse pushing a child in a wheelchair.

“Hey!” Memphis shouted, but Nash didn’t look back. He barreled into an elderly black woman with a hairnet and the cart of trays she pushed, drawing more attention than Memphis’s shout had.

“Memphis…” Knox’s voice sounded scratchy.

He slammed his hand down on the light fixture on the wall, blinking as the ugly florescent bulb flared to life. Knox had fresh bruises on his neck. Nash had tried to kill Knox with him sleeping less than ten feet away.

“I’m so sorry. He wasn’t supposed to be able to get in here,” Memphis promised, pushing the button for the nurses.

Before he was even done sounding the alarm, Annie and another woman ran in, both breathless. “What happened?” she cried. “Who was that man?”

“My brother, Nash. How was he able to even get in the building at this time of night?” Memphis snapped.

Annie shook her head, shrugging helplessly. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

The older red-haired woman intervened. “Sir, I’m Marguerite, the night shift supervisor. I assure you, we’ll get to the bottom of this. I’m going to alert security and have them call the police.” She looked to Annie, who still looked stricken and a bit confused. “I’ll page the on call doctor, you stay with them. I’ll have Heather look in on your other patients.”

With that, the older woman was gone. That was when Memphis saw Preacher standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. His stomach did somersaults when their eyes met.

“What are you doing here?” Memphis asked.

Preacher shrugged. “I never left. I was in the visitor’s lounge. They have a shitty couch in there. I just didn’t feel comfortable leaving you two alone. Looks like I was right.”

When Preacher walked towards him, Memphis had to fight the urge to take a step back. Preacher cupped his face in his hands for the second time that day, this time to wipe the blood from his nose and lips. “Yeah, he really clocked you. Nothing like the element of surprise.”

Memphis broke away from Preacher’s hold, hating the way this stranger made him feel. “What am I supposed to do? He can’t stay here. He needs to go back to LA with me.”

“You really think that’s a good idea? We found out everything we needed to know about you with ten dollars and a thirty-second Google search. Your whole life is on the internet. If we can find you, so can they.”

“So, what the fuck am I supposed to do? We’re not safe here. We’re not safe in LA. How am I supposed to protect him?”

“Stay with me.”

Memphis did a double take, instantly regretting it as a wave of dizziness swept over him. “What?”

“Your family doesn’t know me. They’ll never look for you at my place.”

“I don’t know you,” Memphis reminded him.

Preacher ignored Memphis’s logical response. “There’s plenty of room for you. My German Shepherds are trained attack dogs. I have a security system, and I know how to take care of myself and the two of you. If you don’t want to stay with me, then I’ll ask Cy and Nicky if you can stay with them. Nicky works for a protection agency.”

Memphis didn’t want to stay with any of them. He liked his tiny one bedroom apartment over the flower shop back in LA. He looked at Knox. The nurse was fussing over him, but any joy Memphis had seen earlier was gone, once more buried under a somber expression.

This wasn’t about Memphis. This was about Knox. He needed to feel safe and protected. Clearly, Memphis wasn’t up to the job. “Fine. We’ll come stay with you on one condition.”

Memphis knew he had no right to demand conditions and that he sounded like an ungrateful asshole, but he didn’t care.

Preacher’s smile was a barely-there smirk. “What’s the condition?”

“You teach me how to defend myself, just in case.”

“Deal. But first, we have to convince the doctor to let him out of this place.”

Chapter 5

Preacher

Knox wouldn’t speak. Not to Preacher, not to Memphis, not to the medical staff. The medical doctors said Nash hadn’t caused any physical trauma to Knox’s vocal cords. So, they’d brought in the head shrinker, a children’s psychiatrist who wore jeans with his white coat and looked more like he should be selling vitamins at GNC than worrying about a child’s cognitive development.

Preacher didn’t like him. He smiled too much and talked to Knox like he was two instead of twelve. Hell, maybe he was two again in his own mind. He looked much smaller and fragile than he’d looked the day before. Even with everything he’d been through, he’d told Preacher he’d found the hospital fun in comparison to his former living arrangements. He’d been mouthy, sarcastic, told dumb jokes. Now, his eyes were…vacant. Nash wrapping his hands around that boy’s throat in a place he’d felt safe was the last straw for him, it seemed.

Memphis wasn’t doing much better. He paced erratically, snapping at police officers and doctors alike. He tracked Preacher’s movements like the wounded dogs they pulled from the rings. Beaten and broken, terrified but desperate for somebody they could trust. Preacher wanted to be somebody Memphis trusted. He hoped on some level he was. He couldn’t shake the feeling he’d let both of them down. He suddenly wanted to call and apologize to Cy for all the shit he’d given him when they were on the inside and Cy was protecting Nicky, a stranger. Cy had said it was instinctive, that they’d protected each other as kids and that need to look out for Nicky had returned the moment he saw him again.

Preacher got it now. He did. He didn’t know Memphis or Knox, but he felt this pull, this tug in his gut that told him they were his responsibility. Maybe he felt this way because he was the one who found Knox in that room, dirty and bruised? The need to protect him had kicked in almost immediately. Hell, maybe it was selfish—Preacher needing to be needed. Seemed a big ask of a twelve-year-old.

But then there was Memphis. Preacher felt a much different kind of pull from him. A weird urge to touch him, brush his hair from his eyes, know what his lips tasted like. Sometimes, he’d catch Memphis looking at him and wondered if he was thinking the same. Preacher had never really experienced an attraction like this before. One that seemed to spark out of nowhere.

But none of that mattered; it wasn’t the time or the place. They stood outside Knox’s hospital room as the psychiatrist did his best to coax Knox into speaking to him.

“Why’s it taking so long?” Memphis muttered as he paced a small circle in the narrow corridor.

Preacher didn’t answer. He had no idea how headshrinker’s shrunk a head, even one as small as Knox’s. He wasn’t sure Memphis was talking to him anyway. He was hunched deep into his hoodie, his golden blond hair poking out around his face like a lion’s mane, a couple day’s growth of stubble on his sharp jaw. He chewed on his thumbnail, brows drawn together, occasionally shaking his head as if in answer to some inner monologue.

When the doctor emerged, Memphis approached him so fast the large man took a couple of steps back. Memphis seemed to catch himself, pushing back the black hoodie as if he thought that was what made him look like a threat and not the wild look in his eyes. “What’s wrong with him? What did Nash do to him?”

Even though Memphis said Nash’s name, it was clear he blamed himself for what happened. That Preacher understood. He blamed himself, too. He shouldn’t have agreed to leave. He knew all too well how people like Nash Camden behaved.

The doctor cleared his throat. “I believe your brother might be suffering from selective mutism.”

“So, he’s just choosing not to talk?” Memphis asked, frowning into the room where Knox was now slumped in the bed, covers up to his neck.

“It’s not quite that simple. Your brother has experienced a severe trauma, and this is his brain attempting to process it.”

Memphis gave the doctor a look like he was stupid. “We grew up in one big traumatic environment. You’ve seen Knox’s bruises. Our older brother, Nash, did that.”

The doctor nodded as Memphis talked before saying, “I understand. But as extreme as that environment was, Knoxville—Knox—still felt there were boundaries in place. While your older brother might hurt him, starve him, beat him, there was a limit to the level of abuse. Knox believed there was a threshold that wouldn’t be crossed. Last night, Knox learned that he’d never been safe and, even with two hundred people in the building with him, he almost died. That’s a lot for somebody his age to process.”

“I should have protected him,” Memphis snarled, his thumb once more returning to his mouth to chew on his nail.

Preacher pulled the hand from his mouth, giving it a squeeze before letting it go. “This isn’t your fault. Nash is a monster. The police should have known that he could come back and they should’ve placed an officer outside Knox’s door. He’s a witness in a criminal investigation.”

“Pretty sure that stuff only happens in the movies,” Memphis said, stress etched into the creases marring his forehead.

“Yeah, well. Consider me your full-time bodyguard,” Preacher said.

The doctor cleared his throat. “So, for this type of traumatic or psychogenic mutism, we use behavioral therapy to help the child process their trauma. I’ll have the nurse bring you the cards of some of the specialists in the area.”

The man turned and left without waiting to see if Memphis had any questions. Preacher could see something was eating at him. “What is it?”

“I make fuck all at the flower shop. I have a studio apartment that I live in rent-free because it’s the size of a hotel bathroom. I don’t even have a car. Kids need things. Clothes. Food. Shelter. Health insurance for behavior therapists. I can’t even take care of myself. I’m almost thirty and I’ve never even been to a dentist. How am I supposed to take care of him?” Memphis asked, looking two seconds away from crying or punching a hole in the wall.

Preacher wrapped a hand around the back of Memphis’s neck. He tried to flinch away, and Preacher knew it was because his fingers were touching the burn scars left from his father. He held firm. “Look at me.” Memphis’s gaze twitched to Preacher’s, and he was once more struck by eyes as blue as lapis yet somehow golden in the center. “Let’s focus on getting the both of you back to my house and getting him settled. He needs some stability and safety…and you do, too. Your brother knows you’re here, so we need to go. Now.”

“Knox still needs infusions. Look at him. What are we going to do?”

We. Memphis said we, and it felt like somebody punched Preacher in the heart. If he was smart, he’d just walk away right now. There was still time. He could still untangle himself from these two damaged boys and their fucked up families and go live in peace in the middle of the sticks with his dogs. Which was what he’d told himself he’d do if he ever got out of that fucking prison.

It was a fleeting thought, burning bright and flaming out as quickly as it came. One look at the tiny flicker of hope in Memphis’s gaze was all Preacher needed to realize he was already in way too deep with these two…orphans. Fuck.

Preacher let his hand fall away, missing the warmth of Memphis’s skin almost immediately. “You go sit with your brother. I need to make some phone calls so we can get you out of here, okay?”

Memphis’s pink tongue darted out, licking over his lower lip, before he nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

##

Preacher spent the next two hours calling in favors, bargaining with friends, and making idle threats to anybody who tried to get in his way.

Convincing the doctors to let Knox leave the facility was surprisingly easy once Nicky had called the hospital’s ombudsman and threatened to get attorneys involved. After that, it was if all the doors had swung open. Nicky wasn’t rich or famous, but he worked for powerful men who were married or family to other powerful men, and that meant something. The doctor had even agreed to allow Knox to receive his IV infusions at Preacher’s home since Pam was a registered nurse.

Even with everybody in agreement that it was best for Knox to be out of the hospital, it still took five hours before they were given the discharge paperwork and were free to leave. Cy and Nicky had stopped in to bring Knox some clothes, so he didn’t have to leave the hospital in a gown, and the boy had seemed grateful to slip on the hunter green sweat pants and camouflage hoodie.

Preacher scanned the parking lot for any sign of Nash as he went to get the truck, but though the parking lot was full, there was little sign of movement. He pulled around to the valet where a nurse wheeled the boy out in a wheelchair. Hospital policy.

The crisp air bit through the fabric of Preacher’s t-shirt where his jacket fell open, the wind whipping his hair against his face as he put Knox’s meager belongings—a pair of jeans and two t-shirts—in the space behind the seat before helping him up into the cab. He slid to the middle of the bench, seemingly content to be sandwiched between Memphis and Preacher.

The same couldn’t be said about Memphis. His gaze darted around the parking lot on high alert, like Preacher’s dogs when they caught a scent on the wind. He wanted to say Memphis was overreacting, but, after last night, he was starting to understand why Memphis talked of his father like he was some kind of supernatural evil and not just a man. Both Tennessee and Nash had a boldness to them that was astounding. A boldness that came from never having to face the consequences of their actions.

Preacher put the car in gear and turned the corner, rolling to the first stop sign in the parking lot. That was when he heard it. The revving of an engine. Knox stiffened, a whimper falling from his lips. Memphis wrapped his arm around the boy as another engine joined. Preacher went to roll through the stop sign, but they were already on them.

They passed the truck one after another. Preacher lost count after the tenth bike. They circled the parking lot like sharks before parking once more and revving their engines in neutral, hiding behind their helmets.

A horn sounded behind them, causing Memphis to jump. It was just a minivan furiously gesturing for Preacher to drive. He did. He rolled through the stop sign, pulling out onto the busy street. The tension in the cab was palpable. He could almost smell the fear rolling off Memphis and Knox, but he didn’t know what to say or do to make them feel safe. Because they weren’t safe. This was a warning. The gang letting Knox and Memphis know they were seen. They were watched.

He took the long way back to his place, looping around buildings repeatedly to make sure there was nobody following. Neither Memphis or Knox said a word, clinging to each other beside him. Preacher turned the radio on to try to fill the silence, but it didn’t work. He didn’t know how to make it better.

By the time he opened the gate to the property and drove up the long dirt drive, the sky was fiery shades of orange and pink, the sun no longer visible. He disabled the security system as Memphis grabbed Knox’s things. At the sound of the alarm disengaging, claws scraped furiously on the hardwood as the boys clamored to greet him. Bo and Luke appeared, tongues lolling, panting happily at the sight of him.

“We got company, boys. Behave,” he warned. Memphis and Knox entered slowly, both eyeing the dogs warily. “The all black one is Luke, the black and tan is Bo. You can pet them. They won’t hurt you. If anything, they’ll love you to death,” Preacher promised Knox.

Knox dropped to his knees, and the dogs instantly enveloped him, licking his face and arms and anything else they could get to as he tried to hug and pet them both at the same time. Knox didn’t speak, but he did smile at the attention. It was a start.

“This is your house?” Memphis asked after he’d gotten Knox settled on the sofa.

Preacher looked to the boy, who seemed more than content with one German Shepherd squished beside him on the couch and the other lying between his legs, head on Knox’s stomach.

He shook his head. “No. Not really. I’m renovating the property for the owner. He travels a lot. Bought this place as another safe house. I’m just doing the carpentry work. I’ve done the interior floors, the kitchen, and the bathrooms. The back deck is a disaster, so stay off it. Other than that, feel free to roam. There are only two bedrooms, but you can bed down in my room and I’ll take the couch.”

Memphis shook his head. “No. No way. I’ll sleep in the room with my brother. I don’t want to put you out.”

Preacher glanced once more at the boy, who seemed to be half-watching the sitcom on the television. “I’m not sure there’s going to be enough room for you. Knox has made some friends.”

“Rescue dogs?” Memphis asked.

“In a manner of speaking. Cy trains service dogs, and these two flunked out, hardcore. They were the worst. So, Cy and I trained them as security dogs.”

“Like K9 cops?” Memphis asked.

“Something like that. High-level targets buy dogs like Bo and Luke as a kid-friendly security system. They sell for around twenty grand a piece. But these boys are mine.”

Memphis nodded, suddenly looking exhausted. “Um, if it’s alright with you, I’m going to take a shower.”

Preacher nodded, pointing to the door on the left. “Yeah, sure. Towels are under the sink.” Memphis nodded and began to walk away when Preacher reached for him, grabbing his sleeve. “Hey, do you need something to wear? You didn’t bring any clothes with you.”

For a moment, Preacher thought Memphis might refuse, but then he gave a stilted nod. Preacher returned with a t-shirt and basketball shorts. “I’ll turn the heat on so you guys can get warm.”

Memphis started to walk away but then stopped. “Preacher?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks…for all of this.”

Preacher swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “No problem, kid.”

Chapter 6

Memphis

Once in the shower, Memphis just let go, sinking to the cold tile and crying. He kept his hands fisted against his mouth as the hot water sluiced down over him, but he couldn’t stop the tears themselves or the sobs that wracked his body. What the fuck was he going to do? This had all seemed so easy yesterday when he’d been high on adrenaline and fear. But reality was quickly seeping through the chinks in his armor. He was falling apart.

He couldn’t take care of himself much less a twelve-year-old boy who was quickly becoming as destroyed as Memphis was, both inside and out. He rested his head against the tile, letting the water hit his face and chest.

And then there was Preacher. Fucking Preacher. What was his deal? He was just always there, waiting to say the right thing, do the right thing, make a phone call and fix everything. Offering him and Knox a place to stay. He should have refused. It never paid to rely on others, not even friends. Eventually, everybody betrayed you.

Memphis had ‘friends’ back home, people he laughed and smiled with, but nobody knew him, not really. Nobody was ready to watch him open up his heart and bleed all his past traumas all over them. That was too much to ask anybody. But fucking Preacher. He’d gripped the back of Memphis’s neck and hadn’t flinched at the mangled flesh beneath his fingers. It was like he hadn’t even noticed. He’d just looked straight into Memphis’s eyes, and that was it. He didn’t even remember what Preacher had said. One look and he was gone. That was how starved for affection Memphis was.

He’d heard people talk about that spark of attraction, lust, whatever it was. But he’d never experienced it. Any time he was around a new man, somebody who showed any interest in his pretty face, Memphis couldn’t relax because underneath every thought was the knowledge that, at some point, they’d want to get naked with Memphis, and he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. He knew he should be more enlightened, give people the benefit of the doubt, maybe be one of those body positive people that everybody loved on the internet. And he was when it came to other people but never with himself.

There was nothing positive in him. When people saw his scars, they asked questions, and questions led him down a rabbit hole of self-loathing nobody would want to deal with.

He stood as the water started to cool, quickly washing himself and shutting off the shower. He toweled off his hair and body, pulling on the soft gray pants Preacher had given him. He went to put on the shirt and caught the scent of lavender. He pressed his nose to the fabric, inhaling deeply.

Preacher smelled like lavender, like that shirt, but also something else, something spicy and all man. Probably some hyper-masculine deodorant. Preacher was all man. His hair was more salt than pepper, and he usually wore it pulled half up, as if just to keep it out of his face. He had a deep tan, like somebody who’d been out in the sun for most of his life, deep creases in his forehead and around his eyes, gray scruff on his chin. Somehow, none of that took away from his attractiveness. If anything, it only made him sexier. Memphis shook his head. He had fucking Daddy issues, clearly.

He pulled the shirt on and pushed his hair off his face before opening the door to find the living room empty. The house wasn’t what he expected. It was all bleached pine and glass windows, and the furniture in the dining room consisted of sleek modern lines, like somebody had bought out an IKEA, but the sofa and two chairs in the living room looked old and lived in. Much more what he expected from a man like Preacher.

Memphis followed the hallway past the open kitchen, gleaming with new appliances and fancy fixtures, and found Knox and Preacher in a small bedroom at the end of the hall.

Knox was on his side in bed, facing both the wall of windows and Preacher, who sat in a high-backed chair, looking ridiculously out of place. At the end of Knox’s twin bed lay Bo and Luke, staring in rapt attention at Preacher, who was reading a book to the boy. Memphis found himself leaning against the doorframe, listening to him read in that deep rasp that made Memphis hot all over. He tried not to let himself think of what it would feel like to have that rasp in his ear, Preacher’s hands on his skin. Memphis closed his eyes, trying to clear the dirty thoughts creeping into his head. The man was reading Peter Pan for God’s sake, not porn.

Still, Memphis stood there, listening for two more chapters, until Preacher closed the book and pointed at Knox, putting a finger over his lips to indicate the boy was sleeping. The man stood and stretched before plunging the room into darkness. The dogs made no move to leave their post. Preacher left them in there, pulling the door until it gaped slightly.

“Isn’t Knox a bit old for bedtime stories?” Memphis asked.

“I was reading to the dogs. Why? Jealous?” Preacher teased.

Yes. “Do you think he’ll be okay?” Memphis asked.

“Are you okay?” Preacher countered softly.

The question hit Memphis like a baseball bat to the chest. He couldn’t speak. He wasn’t sure anybody had ever asked him that before. No, he wasn’t okay. Could he say that out loud? He felt like he had a lump lodged in his windpipe.

“You’re allowed to not be okay. You get that, right?” Preacher asked.

This was all too much for him. This man needed to stop saying all the right things. “I need some air.”

For a minute, Memphis thought Preacher hadn’t heard him. He just turned and walked to the kitchen, but then he returned with two beers in his hands and jerked his head towards the door. “Come on, I know just the place.”

Memphis frowned, gaze straying to the hallway. “What about Knox?”

“We’ll be right outside his window. Besides, woe betide the creature who tries to step between those dogs and that boy,” Preacher said somberly.

Memphis believed him. With one last look over his shoulder, he followed Preacher out into the darkness. The frigid air had teeth, biting through the thin fabric of his shirt, and made his damp hair feel like icicles. Before he could say a word, Preacher shucked off his heavy flannel and draped it over Memphis’s shoulders. Prince fucking Charming, Memphis thought, somewhat bitterly.

They walked around to the side of the house. Memphis looked back over his shoulder. Preacher was right; they were just under Knox’s window. There was no grass in the space, just gravel. Somebody had built a fire pit out of stone and repurposed a wooden swing set to hold a porch swing. Preacher gestured to it.

Memphis sat. Preacher popped the top on the first beer and handed it to Memphis, who took a long swallow. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since he’d had a beer.

Preacher started a fire. Memphis wanted to tell him not to go through any trouble, but the truth was he was freezing, even with Memphis’s heavy flannel and the warmth from his body still on the fabric. But he wouldn’t tell Preacher that. He was going out of his way to be nice to Memphis, and it was fucking with him, making him feel things. Things he’d decided a long time ago weren’t meant for somebody like him.

Once the fire started to crackle and burn, Memphis realized there was only one other seat. The one beside him. When Preacher approached, he gestured to the spot. “Can I?”

Memphis could only nod. The swing wasn’t big, and Preacher was much broader than Memphis had realized. When he sat, it set the swing in motion, but Memphis could only focus on how he and Preacher touched everywhere from knee to shoulder. It had been so long since Memphis had experienced this level of closeness, his body instantly took notice. He wished he’d worn underwear.

“You don’t seem like a murderer,” he blurted, face flushing as soon as the words left his lips. Way to lighten the mood, idiot.

Preacher shrugged, taking a swallow of his beer. “After years in a state penitentiary, I can tell you that, despite what the media shows, killers don’t look any kind of way. Nobody looks good in a mugshot.” He gave a laugh, and it rolled through Memphis like a swallow of whiskey, making him feel hot and tingly. “Hell, one of the meanest motherfuckers I ever met in my life looked like a bible salesman.”

Memphis processed that bit of information. He should be more afraid of Preacher. The man admitted to being an unrepentant killer. But he had rescued dogs and Memphis’s baby brother. Hell, he’d already rescued Memphis twice. Preacher was somehow both sinner and savior, and knowing that was doing things to Memphis on every level.

“Does it bother you?” Memphis asked.

“What?”

“Talking about prison. Do you feel like people judge you?” Memphis asked.

Preacher took another long swallow of his beer. “I don’t know a lot of people. I don’t care what strangers think. I’m doing better than most people who leave prison with a murder conviction. Hell, I walked out with a job, a roof over my head, and friends who have no interest in going back to jail. Most people don’t have that. All jail does for most is teach them how to be better criminals and give them a network of like-minded people to work with when they get out. The deck is stacked against them forever.”

Preacher set the swing in motion once more, and Memphis closed his eyes, letting the icy wind wash over him, hoping it would do something to cool down the semi hard-on tenting his joggers. When he opened them again, Preacher’s hand sat on his knee, and Memphis suddenly ached to know what it would feel like if it was on his knee instead. It was like Preacher had activated some long dead part of Memphis that had forsaken touch.

It had been a long time since he’d thought about sex or even kissing, but sitting there that close to Preacher, who felt so warm and smelled so good, it was hard not to lean in, put his head on his shoulder. He hated to admit it…but he missed being touched.

“I feel it, too, you know,” Preacher said.

“What?” Memphis muttered.

“This…connection. That’s what you were thinking about, right?”

“What?” he said again, his face somehow both hot and cold.

“You’ve been staring at my hand for a solid five minutes. You can hold it if you want.”

“You’re crazy. We don’t even know each other. Besides, my brother is right there.”

Preacher chuckled. “I said you could hold my hand, I didn’t ask you to ride me on the porch swing.” Preacher cut his eyes to Memphis. “Though, I can’t say I’d object if you did.”

Memphis’s whole body flushed, his nipples and cock hardening fast enough to make him dizzy. The thought of both of them naked on the porch swing, Preacher inside him. Fuck. “We don’t even know each other.”

Preacher angled his body towards Memphis, looking him in the eye. “What does that matter? Are you saying you don’t want me to kiss you right now?”

Memphis definitely wasn’t saying that. He was just…scared. Kissing led to more, and more led to being naked, and he didn’t know if he could do that. But he already had, a voice in his head argued. Preacher had seen his scars in the police station and was still right there beside him. There were no questions to be asked because Preacher already knew all his secrets. He’d blurted them out there, right in front of him. He swallowed. “No, I’m not saying that.”

Preacher leaned in and brushed his lips across Memphis’s in a barely-there kiss, but it was enough to set fire to Memphis’s insides. He grabbed the back of Preacher’s head and smashed their lips together, wincing as their teeth connected. Jesus, he was so bad at this.

Preacher pulled back, his smile almost feral, cupping Memphis’s face like he had in the hospital, before dipping his head once more. This kiss was deeper, more thorough, Preacher’s tongue slipping past the seam of his lips, massaging his tongue in a way that had Memphis moaning. Preacher tasted like beer and smelled like sex, and Memphis wanted more.

He didn’t stop to think, just wiggled himself into Preacher’s lap, forcing him to scoot over so he could straddle his thick thighs. Preacher’s hands cupped his ass, dragging him closer, and Memphis could feel how hard he was. Fuck. He was hard for Memphis, scars and all.

Preacher’s lips were soft and warm, and his scruff scratched at Memphis’s in a way he definitely didn’t hate. Memphis had missed this. Making out. A man’s hands roaming his body, desperate for his touch, his kisses, his hands.

This time, it was Memphis who cupped Preacher’s face, controlling the kiss, rolling his hips so his cock could work against Preacher’s, which was hard and thick behind the zipper of his jeans. Fuck, had he been hard that whole time they were sitting there? It seemed impossible to think Preacher wanted him as badly as he wanted Preacher. But he seemed very much okay with Memphis taking charge of the situation, and that made Memphis stop thinking for a little while. Until Preacher’s hands slid under Memphis’s borrowed t-shirt, fingers trailing over his scars.

Memphis gripped his wrists, trying to pull them away. “Don’t.”

Preacher frowned. “Why?”

Memphis slid free of Preacher’s lap. “Thanks for the beer. I’m...I’m going to go to sleep. I’ll take the couch.”

He didn’t wait to see if Preacher would respond, just escaped back inside, feeling like an idiot. Preacher hadn’t cared about his scars, so why couldn’t he just get over it already? He shook his head, disgusted with himself.

Sleep. He just needed sleep. It had been a long day. Fooling around with Preacher was a mistake.

One that Memphis wouldn’t make again.

Chapter 7

Preacher

Preacher didn’t follow Memphis. He just sat swinging in the cold, goosebumps rising on his skin, watching the fire as it died down. He should feel bad about kissing Memphis. The last thing Preacher needed in his life was the responsibility of Memphis’s fragile heart. He was just starting to get his own life back together. He had a good thing there. He liked working with his hands, building things, helping Cy out with the animals, having his own space where there wasn’t somebody watching him piss or shower.

Still, kissing Memphis was like the first breath of air he’d taken as a free man. He’d been so sweet, so hungry when he’d returned Preacher’s kiss, his hands clinging to his shirt, moaning into Preacher’s mouth, like he was desperate for his touch. When Memphis had climbed into Preacher’s lap, he’d been shocked but more than willing to go along with anything he wanted, even with Knox sleeping close by. Preacher supposed that said something about his judgment when it came to children.

But it wasn’t just Memphis’s company Preacher enjoyed. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed reading to Knox. There was something powerful in knowing Knox felt safer with Preacher nearby. To Knox, Preacher was the good guy, the safe bet. If only he could get Memphis to see him the same way. Which clearly wasn’t the case.

It had to be the scars. Anytime Preacher touched them, Memphis shut down. The thing was, Preacher would forget about them entirely until he touched them, and when he did, he wasn’t turned off or disgusted. They were just a part of Memphis. If anything, Preacher tried not to think about them because when he did, it pissed him off to the point of wanting to find Keith Camden and set him on fire. But it didn’t change his attraction to Memphis.

Preacher understood what it was like to be ashamed, to hate yourself. But there was nothing about Memphis he found ugly. Hell, the scars Preacher had were ugly, only they were all on the inside. Maybe that was why Preacher was so determined to watch over Knox and Memphis. He knew what it was like to be violated.

In Preacher’s periphery, he caught the light in Knox’s room go on. He turned to see Memphis leaning over the boy, brushing his hair off his face, before turning the light out once more. Memphis was right. The boy was probably too old to be read to, but it had soothed him, gave him something to focus on other than the fear and the dread. In the end, he’d fallen asleep without the help of the sedatives the hospital had given them.

When Preacher was a kid, some part of him had always believed he’d get married, have kids of his own. Do better raising them than his father had him. But then he’d gone to prison and all talk of a normal life went up in flames along with his dreams of being something more than an ex-con.

The snapping of a twig to his left caught his attention. He gazed into the pines that bordered the property, listening intently. It was most likely an animal. It wasn’t uncommon to find cougars or coyotes, sometimes even the occasional bear, even with the fence. Still, he stood, narrowing his eyes, looking to see if he could find any discernible shapes in the pitch black of the woods.

Nothing. But the feeling of eyes on him remained. He flicked his gaze back to the window before walking to the front door and opening it. He whistled softly, hoping Memphis hadn’t closed Knox’s door when he left it. He relaxed when he heard the boys trotting towards him. Until he saw Memphis was with them. He was still wearing Preacher’s flannel, and the thought of that gave him a small flicker of…something.

“What’s wrong?” Memphis asked, anxiety giving an edge to his words.

“Likely nothing. I just heard something in the woods. Probably a coyote or a fox.” He looked to the dogs. “Perimeter. Go.”

They took off into the night. When they disappeared from sight, Memphis said, “Nash has found us already. I should probably take Knox and go.”

He didn’t sound scared, just resigned, like the outcome was already written and the bad things running through his mind were inevitable. “We don’t know that. There’s no way we were followed from the hospital. I would have noticed a tail. But if you don’t feel safe, I’ll talk to Cy and Nicky tomorrow and we’ll find a place where nobody can get to you.”

“For how long? Forever?” Memphis asked.

“Until we find a way to put your brother and his crew in prison for good.”

“That won’t stop them,” Memphis said, like it was gospel.

Preacher walked into the house and pulled open a drawer just inside the door. He pulled out the Browning 9mm he’d found in the closet months ago, thumbing off the safety. Memphis followed him like a shadow, even returning back outside with him. Preacher flipped off the porch light, blanketing them in darkness, before sitting on the front porch steps. Memphis dropped down beside him.

Preacher didn’t know how to ease Memphis’s mind, but he could at least try to make him understand that nobody was infallible. “Look, I know what it’s like to realize a person you’re supposed to trust is a monster. I know what it’s like to feel like you’ll never escape them, no matter how fast or how far you run. I know that, sometimes, the only way to get a good night’s sleep is to know they have a bullet in their head.”

Memphis watched him in the darkness. “The man you killed… Who was it?”

“My father.”

“Your father abused you, too?” Memphis asked, sounding like he didn’t quite believe him.

Preacher looked at Memphis, taking another slow sip from his beer bottle. He tried not to smile when he saw Memphis watching his throat as he swallowed. “No. Not me. My mother.”

Memphis’s tongue darted out to lick over his lower lip, his gaze soft, like he felt for Preacher’s mother. “He beat her?”

“No. Well, maybe. I never saw him lay a hand on her, but what he did was worse. I wish I’d noticed it sooner. Maybe I could have done something about it.”

“What’s worse than beating somebody?” Memphis asked.

“My parents were the perfect couple. My dad was a construction foreman, made good money, was a deacon in our church, was at every one of my little league games. He was perfect. My mom was a mess. She said so all the time. She was stupid. She was fat. She was useless. Couldn’t cook. Couldn’t clean. Never wanted to leave the house. My dad said we had to educate her. Correct her mistakes. Said she needed to learn how to be a better wife, a better mother.”

“Jesus,” Memphis muttered.

“When I was younger, I hated my mom. My dad was my hero. I thought he was so patient with her. If my mom was such a shit person, why didn’t he just leave her? It was only when I got old enough to really understand how truly fucking depraved my father was that I realized my mother was never the problem.”

“How old were you?”

Preacher shrugged, tipping the bottle back against his lips only to realize it was empty. He sighed and set it beside him. “Twelve. Thirteen, maybe? Before my father was a construction worker, he was military. He always told me the military made him a man. That they broke you down to build you into a soldier. That’s what he did to my mother, only he never had any intention of building her back up. Over their fifteen year marriage, he’d brainwashed my mother into believing she was lucky to have him. She believed every horrible thing he said about her until he didn’t even have to say it out loud anymore. A glance. A gesture. His silence. That was all it took to send my mother down a rabbit hole of self-loathing. He broke her in a way that no physical pain ever could.”

“But...you killed him.”

“I did,” he confirmed.

“Why? You had to know you’d go to prison if you did it.”

“I didn’t care. I spent the first twelve years of my life treating my own mother like a child, like she was beneath me. I was mean to her, distant, would say horrible things to her, about her. My only memories of my mother are my father coaching me to say things like, ‘Tell your mother the steak is too tough. Men like their meat raw.’ Or he’d say, ‘Your mom’s not as smart as us, so we have to try to be patient with her. I’d just go along with it because I thought he knew everything.”

“But you were just a kid.”

“That’s right. I was a kid. That man not only spent years psychologically torturing my mother, he spent years teaching me to do it, too. And it wasn’t because he had any real interest in having my mom be the perfect woman. He enjoyed hurting her. He liked making her cry. He liked that she would beg him for another chance, would do anything to get even a scrap of kindness from him. At first, I blamed her. Why didn’t she leave, fight back, tell him to fuck off? But then I realized my father had rewired my mother’s brain to a point where she didn’t even realize she was her own captor.”

When Preacher looked again at Memphis, he had tears in his eyes. It was good he could still feel things for others. He wasn’t as dead inside as he believed himself to be.

“You said you didn’t regret killing him,” Memphis reminded him.

“I didn’t. I don’t. My mom tried to kill herself the week before I shot him. My father, of course, called it an accidental overdose, but I knew the truth. My mom had caused a small kitchen fire. Not a big deal. There wasn’t even a mark on the stove. But my father’s constant harassing was enough to send her into a psychotic break.” Preacher had no idea why he was telling Memphis all this but now that he’d started, it felt impossible to stop. “My mom swallowed a bottle of Benzos because she set a dish towel too close to the stove. That was it for me. I knew if I didn’t do something then next time, she’d succeed.”

“Where’s she now?”

“Dead.”

“Did she…” Memphis trailed off.

“Kill herself? No. She died of cancer. At least, that’s what Nicky told me.”

Even in the dark, Preacher could make out Memphis’s frown. “What do you mean? You haven’t seen her?”

“When I shot him, I might as well have shot her, too. She was the one who called the cops on me. She was the one who told them that I murdered her husband. It was like she didn’t even see me as her son anymore. Just the person who took her husband away. Even though her husband was an abusive piece of shit, she still saw herself as the problem and him as her one and only solution. In court, she wouldn’t even look at me. Told the jury that my father was a kind and patient man. She told them to lock me up and throw away the key. Said I was dead to her.”

“Still, you don’t regret it?”

“No sense in regretting things you can’t change. I did what I thought was right at the time. I regret letting either of them steal over twenty years of my life. My mother never once came to visit me. She remarried, had a daughter. I hope her second husband wasn’t a bastard, too. But she died of lung cancer six years ago, so I really don’t know.”

“You have a sister?” Memphis asked, moving closer to Preacher until their thighs touched.

“I have a person I’m genetically related to by blood. She’s almost twenty years younger than me. She lives in Florida. Works at a restaurant in Disney. She seems happy. I don’t think she wants to meet her ex-con murderer half-brother.”

“I mean, Knox says your friend Nicky married his step-brother and he was a murderer.”

Preacher cut his eyes to Memphis only to see him grinning. An honest to god grin. Preacher’s heart rate began to gallop. Memphis was gorgeous even when frowning, but when he smiled...goddamn, it was like the clouds parted and the sun appeared. What would Preacher have to do to see him smile like that more often?

“Perceived murderer. Now exonerated,” Preacher reminded him.

Memphis’s smile faded, and he looked at Preacher with such sincerity and sadness that it made his chest tight. “I’m sorry your mom never visited you. I’m sorry she didn’t see what you did for what it was.”

Preacher’s chest tightened. “And what do you think it was?”

“An act of sacrifice. Of love. You gave up your life to make your mother’s better and she betrayed you.”

Preacher shook his head. “She didn’t. She was too far gone. If I had acted sooner, gotten the police involved, found a way to prove what was happening...maybe he would be in jail and I wouldn’t have lost a quarter of a century rotting in prison.”

“Why didn’t you? Call the police?”

“Because, at the time, I thought he was invincible. Unstoppable. He had friends on the police force. My Uncle Joe was a sheriff’s deputy. My Uncle Seth was an attorney. They all saw the same man I had at first. The perfect father and husband. They all talked about my mother with the same level of disdain. They called her things like a ditzy broad and talked about how she was such a burden to my father.”

Memphis opened his mouth to ask another question, but Bo and Luke came trotting up the drive. When they stopped in front of him, there was blood on Luke’s muzzle. There was no hiding it. “Did you catch yourself a rabbit out there, boy?” he asked, hoping to appease the sudden apprehension returning to Memphis’s face.

Luke just panted, tongue hanging from his mouth in what looked like a smile. Whatever the dog had gotten a piece of out there, he was real proud of it.

Preacher stood, holding out a hand to Memphis, who hesitated before taking it and letting Preacher pull him up. “Come on. Let’s get some sleep. I have a feeling things are only going to get harder from here on out.”

With one last look out into the woods, he followed Memphis and the boys inside, setting the alarm and keeping the gun at his side until he made it to the living room. Memphis went to plop himself down on the couch, but Preacher gently gripped his arm and swung him towards his bedroom. “Uh-uh. I’m taking the couch tonight. This lets me keep an eye on both of you.”

“I don’t need you to keep an eye on me.”

Preacher shrugged. “Maybe I want my eyes on you.” The words were out before he could stop them.

He expected Memphis to run, but, instead, he watched his blue eyes dilate. “Just your eyes?”

“I’m pretty sure you already know the answer to that. But that’s for you to decide.”

Memphis gave him one last long look over his shoulder before heading into the bedroom. He didn’t close the door.

Preacher plopped down, tucking the gun between the back of the couch and the cushion. It was going to be a long goddamn night.

Chapter 8

Memphis

Memphis couldn’t sleep. And for the first time in a long time, it had nothing to do with nightmares or panic attacks. It was sleeping in a bed that smelled just like Preacher. It was knowing exactly how Preacher’s mouth tasted, how soft his tongue was, the way his hands had gripped Memphis’s ass and ground their bodies together, like he wanted Memphis as much as Memphis wanted him.

He didn’t know what to do with that information. He was equal parts terrified and turned on. It was hard to sleep when one was both scared and horny. Part of his brain was like you might not live much longer, you should go get laid while you still can, but the other part screamed that this wasn’t the time or place for him to try to mount the man who saved his brother. The man who seemed hellbent on trying to save him, too.

He punched the pillow before burying his face in it and wondered how often Preacher laid there at night jerking off. Memphis groaned into the pillow. He was acting like such a perv. He wanted to reach into his borrowed sleep pants and wrap his hands around his cock and pretend it was Preacher’s fist.

The door wasn’t even closed. Preacher could be awake in the other room. What was he doing out there? Was he lying there thinking of Memphis? Was he as turned on as Memphis was? Why jerk off when the real thing is waiting right outside the door? his dick argued.

Because his brother was also somewhere just beyond the door and people were trying to kill him. Maybe kill both of them. Luke had taken a bite of something out there in the woods, and while Preacher had sounded confident it was simply an animal, Memphis wasn’t so convinced. Honestly, he didn’t think Preacher was convinced either.

Was there any way to even know? If there was a fence around the property, how did animals even get in there? Memphis didn’t know much about the woods, but he did understand physics, and the slats in the fence were covered with razor wire and what looked like an electrical fence. Wouldn’t animals naturally stay away?

He made a frustrated noise. Why was he stressing about animals in the woods? He had kissed Preacher. He’d crawled into his lap like he was Preacher’s own personal private dancer and then run away only to flirt with him again a minute before crawling into bed for the night with his second raging hard-on in less than an hour. Was it really possible to die of blue balls?

Fuck. Maybe he could just go into the bathroom. And do what? Jerk off in the shower? The sink? Somehow, both those options seemed worse than getting off in a stranger’s bed. And Preacher was a stranger. A total stranger. They’d known each other less than two days. Hell, Memphis knew the UPS guy at the flower shop better than he knew Preacher, but that wasn’t stopping Memphis’s cock from throbbing at the thought of Preacher’s hands skimming over his belly or playing with his nipples or the thought of his mouth sucking Memphis’s cock. All those things Memphis had spent years denying himself suddenly felt like a bucket list, and he wanted Preacher ticking off the boxes.

Yeah, he was a total pervert. It had been such a long time since he’d lived with another person. He didn’t even know how. He’d learned growing up that there was no safe place to jerk off and that you had to just get comfortable with the idea that you were going to walk in on your brother doing something sexual to himself or somebody else and there was nothing to be done about it.

Nash had never hesitated to bust in on Memphis while he was in the shower, as if hoping he’d catch him jerking off. And he had, more than once. And he’d told everybody about it like the dick that he was. Which was why Memphis should absolutely not roll over onto his back and slide his hand down his pants and wrap his hand around his cock.

Except, he already was. He licked his palm first, just to help get him started. He was already leaking. It had been so long since anybody had touched him. Once he was stroking himself, he slid his other hand up under his shirt, the pads of his fingers teasing his nipples, pretending it was Preacher’s rough hands on his body, closing his eyes and imagining the gravel in Preacher’s voice as he whispered all the dirty things he wanted to do to Memphis.

Memphis wanted it, too. He wanted all of it. Preacher’s hands, his lips…his teeth and tongue and cock. Fuck, especially his cock. He canted his hips up into his fist, thumb sliding over the tip, catching the fluid there and working it over his shaft. He wanted Preacher on top of him, inside him. Fuck. What would it be like to have Preacher’s fingers work him open slowly, his weight pressing Memphis down into the mattress as he invaded his body, splitting him in two?

Memphis clamped his teeth down on his lip, biting back a moan. He wanted Preacher’s name on his tongue. He wanted to know what it felt like to beg for what he wanted, to know that he was with somebody who wouldn’t hesitate to give it to him. Preacher wouldn’t hesitate. Memphis was sure of it. Preacher was a giver. The notion was so absurd Memphis would have laughed if he wasn’t so fucking close to blowing his load already. Just the thought of Preacher had him on edge, his nerve endings tingling, his heart racing and his hips driving up into his tightened fist.

“Preacher,” he whispered. Oh, fuck. Right there. Right there. Fuck, don’t stop.

Please, I’m so close. You feel so good. So good. Please. His inner monologue was enough to get him there. He pressed his fist against his mouth, teeth clamping down on his skin as he came on his stomach, riding out the aftershocks in silence when he really wanted to shout. He couldn’t remember the last time he came that hard.

When his heart rate and breathing returned to normal, he realized he had an even bigger problem. No way to clean up his mess. The bathroom was in the other hallway, and to get to the other hallway meant passing Preacher. He would notice the mess on what had been a clean shirt only moments ago.

He looked down at Preacher’s white sheets. What choice did he have? He used the end of the top sheet to wipe off his chest and belly, promising himself he’d find an excuse to wash the sheets. Did Preacher even own a washer? That was tomorrow’s problem. The drama of the day and his mind-blowing orgasm had his eyes at half-mast before he could even drop the sheet in his hand.

***

He woke in the exact same position he fell asleep in, sprawled on his back, clenching Preacher’s sheet, his shirt hiked up around his ribs. He dropped the sheet, rubbing his eye with his other hand, trying to clear it enough for him to read the time on the clock. Ten-thirty. Holy shit. Memphis jumped out of bed and lurched himself towards the door. From across the living room, he could see Knox and Preacher in the kitchen.

Knox was sitting, legs criss-crossed, on the counter with a metal bowl in his hands. He was stirring something with a wooden spoon. Preacher was moving around the kitchen in that self-assured way people can only do in their own home. He had on the same jeans from last night but no shirt. Preacher in clothes was nice. Preacher out of them was so sinful it should be a felony. He was a lot larger than Memphis had realized at first. He had a tattoo of a skull on his left pec and some kind of ink on his bicep. Somehow, Preacher shirtless looked more dangerous than Preacher fully clothed, and Memphis didn’t want to look too closely at why.

He swallowed hard before forcing himself to walk to the kitchen. “Morning,” he muttered, voice raw.

“Morning,” Preacher said, all but purring the word. It really wasn’t fair that this man could have that effect on another human being with just a single word.

“Sorry, I slept so late.”

Preacher frowned. “Why? You didn’t miss anything. We watched some rather disturbing cartoons on the Cartoon Network, and now, we’re making breakfast. Right, Knox?”

Knox’s gaze slid to Memphis and he nodded before returning back to the task at hand. It was more than they’d gotten out of the boy yesterday. So, that was a win, right? He had to consider it a win.

Little victories.

“There’s some orange juice in the fridge.”

Memphis wandered to the large stainless steel fridge and pulled open the double doors. There was orange juice. Fresh squeezed from the looks of it. But not much else. Eggs. Bacon. Milk. Memphis recognized a bachelor’s fridge when he saw one. He bet if he opened the freezer, he’d find a bunch of frozen meals, just like back at his little loft. It kind of made Memphis feel a little better. Maybe Preacher wasn’t that perfect.

When he closed the doors to the refrigerator, Preacher was there, holding out a small glass. “You’ll need this,” he murmured.

Memphis’s gaze slid over Preacher’s naked chest down to the trail of hair below his navel, which disappeared beneath low slung jeans. Words escaped him, so he just side-stepped the larger man and nodded, setting the glass on the counter and filling it with the orange juice before taking a tentative sip. “Wow, that’s really good.”

“Thanks, there are orange groves on the far side of the property.”

“You squeezed this yourself?”

“Well, nobody else was around to do it,” Preacher said with a smile before turning that smile on Knox. “Is it ready? No lumps?” Knox handed over the bowl to Preacher and gave him a thumbs-up. “Good job.”

“What are you making?”

“Pancakes.”

“You know how to cook pancakes?” Memphis said, then blushed at the astonishment in his voice. The man was making pancakes, not disarming a nuclear weapon.

Preacher chuckled. “I worked in the prison kitchen for a while. It’s like one of twelve meals I know and the other eleven aren’t even appetizing if you’re starving to death.”

Memphis smiled, making himself at home on one of the stools at the counter so he could watch the muscles of Preacher’s back flex as he cooked. At the sound of a soft snicker, he looked at his brother whose gaze was swinging back and forth between him and Preacher with a knowing smirk. Sometimes, Knox seemed so young and other times, far too old. Memphis stuck his tongue out at his brother, and Knox returned the gesture.

“Cy and Nicky are coming by in a bit and bringing the owner of the property with him as well as his husband,” Preacher said without turning around.

“Do you know any straight people?” Memphis asked.

“Outside of prison? No. Not really,” Preacher said, not sounding a bit bothered by the prospect.

Considering Memphis worked in the flower business in Los Angeles, his circle of gay friends was more a straight line from him to his friend Owen, and even he was more an occasional acquaintance than an actual friend.

“There are dishes in that cabinet,” Preacher said. “Mind grabbing four of them?” Memphis stood, looking in the direction Preacher nodded, pulling dishes from the cabinet and holding them out to him. He took the top plate and then said, “Can you set the table?”

Memphis took the dishes to the table and did as Preacher asked. Once the food was ready, they all took a seat at the small rectangular table, with Preacher at the head and Memphis and Knox on either side. Preacher filled his plate from the stack in the center of the table while Memphis exchanged a hesitant glance with his brother.

Preacher frowned. “What? Do you not trust my cooking?”

“No, it-it looks amazing,” Memphis said truthfully, taking his fork and putting two on his plate, relieved when Knox did the same. Memphis made a show of putting butter and syrup on the food and moaning obscenely at the first bite. “It’s really good.”

Knox took a bite and nodded in agreement. Preacher gave them both an odd look but said nothing. Memphis didn’t know how to tell him that they’d never had a meal around an actual table before. Well, Memphis hadn’t. He could only assume Nash wasn’t one for family dinners seeing as how he’d kept one brother in chains and their father was in prison.

Tennessee Camden had never cared for that ‘family bullshit.’ He’d preferred to eat his meals in his recliner, hunched over a tv tray with a bottle of Jim Beam and whatever Rita had managed to make from their refrigerator’s meager offerings.

He shook the memories away, focusing instead on the food in front of him. Preacher filled the silence with talk of the property, telling them there was a fishing pond and an orchard. Knox’s eyes brightened at the mention of the fishing pond, but still, he didn’t speak.

When they were finished eating, Memphis jumped up and took the dishes before Preacher could attempt it. Memphis had to do something to earn his keep around the place. Knox wandered into the living room and plopped down onto the couch, his attention once more on cartoons. “It’s probably not good for him to watch so much television,” Memphis said with a sigh.

“He’s had a rough time of it. He’s probably not seen a television in weeks, maybe longer,” Preacher reminded. “We’ve—You’ve got plenty of time to worry about getting him on a normal schedule. Besides, I have something that I think will make him want to get outside a bit more.” Memphis’s pulse leapt at the thought of Knox outside alone, but Preacher shook his head. “Supervised, of course.”

Before Memphis could argue, there was a buzzing sound. “What’s that?” Memphis asked, hating the fear in his voice.

“The gate. Nicky and his boss are likely here.”

Preacher pulled up an app on his phone and pushed some buttons, presumably to let them in. Memphis took a deep breath and let it out. He really wasn’t good with people. He could fake it for the sake of customer service and, in truth, most people didn’t give him a hard time because he was decent looking and good at his job. But these were Preacher’s friends. Cy and Nicky probably already thought Memphis was a dick. He had no idea why he even fucking cared, but he did.

No matter what Memphis had been expecting, it wasn’t the horde of people who arrived in a black SUV with limousine tint. Cy and Nicky stepped out first, holding a small Pit Bull puppy in their hands, followed by a large severe looking man with a high and tight military fade and a guy with a wild mop of blond curls and a full face of makeup who looked vaguely familiar to Memphis. He wore jeans and a pink hoodie that said influencer. Behind them was a black man with bulging biceps and a bald head and another fair-skinned boy with platinum hair and a pair of thick black framed glasses that did nothing to hide how gorgeous he was. What the hell kind of people did Preacher hang out with?

Introductions were made. The boy in the makeup looked familiar because he was a YouTuber named Wyatt Hudson. He was apparently married to the severe looking man who grunted more than he talked. The bald man was Nicky’s boss, Jackson, and the man in the glasses was his husband, Day. They all exchanged pleasantries, and Memphis fought not to fidget or cover the cigarette burn scars on his hands and arms. He should have grabbed Preacher’s flannel. Nobody stared at least, so he supposed that was something.

Cy let go of the squirming puppy who was on a leash. “This is Donatello. He was the puppy your brother was watching when we found him. I thought he might want to keep taking care of him while he’s here? Something to get his mind off…things?”

Memphis looked at the adorable puppy with his marble coat that somehow also matched his eyes. He had no place for a dog in his teeny LA apartment, but he had no place for Knox either. But Cy’s words implied for Knox to foster, not keep. Given Nash’s dog fighting ring, fostering a puppy and then having to give it back was probably something Knox could handle. Memphis nodded hesitantly.

Knox’s eyes went big as saucers at the sight of the puppy, and it looked for a split second like he might actually speak, but then it was like his brain snapped shut and he closed his mouth. He took the puppy’s leash and brought him in to where Bo and Luke were standing at attention in the living room. With a single command, the dogs fell on the puppy, sniffing and licking him with Knox caught up in the middle of the puppy pile.

“Would it be alright if Wyatt and Day stayed here with Memphis and Knox? I wanted to talk business…privately,” Jackson said.

Preacher gave Memphis a look, brow raised in question. Memphis looked to Day and Wyatt who both smiled angelically and fluttered their lashes. Memphis couldn’t help the snicker that escaped. “Yeah, sure.”

Wyatt and Day might have looked like angels, but they were both devils in disguise. The second the door snapped shut and they were alone in the house with him, their gazes became almost predatory. Memphis went into the kitchen to clean up, and they followed without asking, taking seats at the bar.

“So, what’s your story?” Wyatt asked.

Memphis turned on the water and began to rinse the breakfast dishes. “What do you mean?”

“Listen, our husbands never invite us out with them unless they think we can help, and given the scars on your arms, I’m guessing they thought we could help with some emotional support?”

Memphis stared at them blankly. “What?”

Day shrugged. “You’re lucky they didn’t dispatch all of us. We’re like Elite’s unofficial twink trauma squad.”

Memphis could feel himself blinking rapidly as he tried to process their words. “Am I the twink in the trauma squad…or are you the twinks?” He’d never really thought of himself as a twink, but he never really thought of himself at all, so…there was that.

They looked him over, then at each other. “I think we’re definitely the twinks. You’re the trauma,” Wyatt said. “But don’t worry. We were all hot messes when we met the men in our lives.”

“And you were all made whole by the power of true love?” Memphis quipped dryly, attempting not to roll his eyes.

Day scoffed. “I like him. He’s funny.”

“He’s right here,” Memphis reminded, returning to the sink full of dishes. “And I don’t need a trauma squad…whatever that is.”

“We weren’t made whole by ‘the power of love,’ even though I do love Celine Dion,” Wyatt said. “We were made whole by intensive levels of therapy and probably also by love, but given the scars on your arms and what Cy and Nicky saw at the hospital, they thought you might need a friend or two. So, here we are.”

He had no idea what to say to these two. As ridiculous as every word out of their mouths was, they seemed sincere. “I—”

Wyatt cut him off with a wave of his hand. “My dad beat the shit out of me for years and sent me to conversion therapy for a guy to molest me, which led me to cutting myself and almost killed me. Day’s grandmother tried to sell him for drugs. Also, he can’t read. Like, at all. He also was kidnapped by the guy who raped him, and that guy broke his face so bad it had to be reconstructed. We’ve been through some shit. You look like you have, too. We know what it’s like to have nobody to talk to.”

“You should probably be talking to my brother. He’s the one who’s been so traumatized he can’t speak.”

“Oh, don’t worry. We’re going to get to him, too. But we thought we’d start with you.”

“I really don’t know what’s happening here.”

Day rolled his eyes. “We’re your new designated friends. Get over it. You don’t have to talk about your scars. You could talk about what a hot piece of ass Preacher is. Please, tell me you’ve sampled that particular meal.”

Did kissing count as sampling?

“Oh, he’s blushing,” Wyatt cooed. “You have! Spill. We won’t tell. Okay, that’s a total lie. We’ll tell the others, but inner circle only.”

“Inner circle?”

Wyatt nodded. “Yeah, me, Day, Elijah, Robby. Sometimes, Robby’s brother, Jacob, and Charlie.”

“You’re all married to…men from the same company?” Memphis managed.

“Not Charlie,” Day said.

“He’s not married or not married to a guy from that company?”

“Elite,” Wyatt reminded him. “Charlie’s my BFF, and she’s not married to anybody…yet. Though, we keep trying. But she’s our designated fruit fly and we love her.”

Memphis was almost positive he was having a stroke. “Fruit fly?”

Wyatt nodded. “It’s like a hag but without being gender specific. She has a way with all the gay.”

“I feel like that’s offensive somehow,” Memphis said.

“Probably, but when you meet her, you’ll realize she’s not exactly politically correct,” Day promised.

When Memphis met her. He dropped his gaze back to the now empty sink, realizing he no longer had anything to focus on but the two men in the kitchen. Who were these people? What was happening? Why did these two talk to him as if his membership in some club he’d never applied to was already a foregone conclusion? Why did they talk like he’d known them for years? Why did he want to tell them everything? Fuck.

When he looked up again, both of them once more had those angelic smiles on their faces. “So, start dishing.”

And he did.

Chapter 9

Preacher

Something was wrong. Preacher had suspected it from the moment he’d watched them all unload from the SUV. He’d only expected Jackson and Day, and maybe Nicky because of the puppy. Seeing Linc and Cy, as well as Wyatt and Dayton, was unexpected. He really only knew Jackson and Lincoln through inspections on the house’s renovations. They were stand up guys, but not knowing what had brought them all there left a hollow feeling in his stomach.

Still, he brought the group around to the back of the house to show them the progress—or lack thereof—on the deck. He’d managed the demo just fine and had even gotten the framework set up, but then he’d gone to help Cy break up the dog fighting ring and inherited a twelve year old and his sexy and frustrating older brother.

When they were safely out of sight from the house, Preacher turned on the group, looking to Cy. “What’s up? Really? What’s with the welcome wagon?”

“We should have called and let you know we were coming, but the information came in late last night, so the plan came together at the last minute,” Nicky supplied, moving closer to Cy as if Preacher was a danger.

“What info?” Preacher growled, voice low.

“We’ve got a problem,” Jackson said.

“Who’s we?” Preacher asked. “What kind of problem?”

Cy stepped forward. “All of us. You’re my family, which means you’re one of us. You’ve got a problem, we all have a problem.”

Preacher didn’t have time for this Kumbaya shit. “Okay, so who wants to clue me in on ‘our’ problem?”

Jackson spoke up from where he stood next to Linc, arms folded, mirrored sunglasses reflecting Preacher’s scowling face back at him. “Nicky’s been putting out feelers, trying to see just how deep into the underworld the Devil’s Crew is. Is it just dog fighting and small time drug deals, or are they trafficking guns or girls? We can’t bring them down without details, and, somehow, they were flying under the radar until Tennessee was picked up in Phoenix. I was making a slight bit of progress when I hit a road block.”

“A road block?” Preacher echoed, brow raised. He didn’t like the anxious look on Nicky’s face. He wasn’t one to let a little thing like the law get in his way.

“More like a wall. A big blue wall. The feds are investigating the Devil’s Crew.”

Preacher huffed out a breath. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

Preacher was no fan of the cops, especially the feds, but if they were investigating the club then that meant they might be close to finding something they could use to take down the entire crew, including Nash and Tennessee. That meant problem solved for Knox and Memphis.

“Well, yeah. The FBI investigating the MC isn’t the problem,” Nicky said. “Linc called a friend at the bureau and asked what’s up with the lock on their files. Linc?”

Preacher looked to Linc. “Yeah, I filled my friend in on what’s been happening here with Memphis and Knox. In exchange, he gave me some information they’d just received two days ago. The feds have an undercover guy on the inside at the prison where Tennessee is being held. He’s been working him for months. He’s managed to convince the guy he’s one of them. The other day he was bragging about putting out a hit on one of his own children.”

Rage flared in Preacher’s veins. “Knox.”

Linc shook his head. “No. Memphis.”

The words hit him like a punch to his solar plexus. “Memphis? Why Memphis?”

Linc grunted, rubbing a hand over his beard. “My guess would be they think Nash scared Knox into keeping his mouth shut, while Memphis has information that could only hurt them.”

“What information?” Preacher asked, frown deepening.

Nicky cleared his throat. “His medical chart shows years and years of abuse. How the hospital didn’t investigate further is insane. His last hospital stint was six months after sustaining third-degree burns to forty percent of his body. If Memphis chooses to go on the record, there’s no statute of limitations for attempted murder.”

Preacher felt sick at the thought of the pain and abuse Memphis must have endured in the hospital’s burn unit if they kept him there for six months. “From how Memphis tells it, his father and brother weren’t trying to kill him. They just thought it would be funny.”

“What the fuck?” Linc snarled. “This dude set his fucking kid on fire for laughs. Fuck the cops, let’s just end this motherfucker.”

Preacher felt the same way. As much as he didn’t want Memphis to fear Tennessee and told him the man wasn’t omniscient, he did have a long reach. Preacher might be willing to do another twenty years if it meant seeing Tennessee pay for what he’d done to his children, especially to Memphis.

“Last resort,” Jackson said, as if it was something he’d said a hundred times before, like he was used to having to talk Linc off a ledge. “Let’s try to fix this without committing first degree murder.”

“If either Tennessee or Nash goes anywhere near Memphis or Knox, it will be a mercy killing by the time I’m done with them,” Preacher promised.

Cy nodded in agreement. He was ride or die. They’d been through hell in that prison together and come out the other side. They’d take a bullet for each other. But he didn’t know these people, so their seemingly endless help would be suspicious if not for Cy’s and Nicky’s backing. Preacher wasn’t used to strangers’ generosity, not without an ulterior motive.

“Uh, guys. We’re getting off track here. Even if the feds can’t prove Tennessee meant to kill Memphis, it’s possible they could still use him as a witness regarding prior bad acts and things he witnessed growing up. Or Tennessee could want him dead to get Knox back or scare him into silence. Why he’s decided to take Memphis out isn’t nearly as important as making sure it doesn’t happen,” Nicky reminded them with a look of exasperation.

Jackson and Linc nodded. “You’re right,” Jackson said.

“I usually am,” Nicky said.

“Okay, so why are you all here?”

“Well, we brought Day and Wyatt because they’ve been through abusive situations, and we thought Memphis could use somebody to talk to about what he’s been through.”

“He’s not much of a talker,” Preacher said, looking up at the sliding glass doors.

Linc snorted. “Don’t underestimate Wyatt’s and Day’s ability to get somebody to spill their whole life story. They could have worked as interrogators.”

Jackson nodded in agreement, both of them looking fond and disgruntled at the same time.

Preacher shook his head. “Okay, so why are the rest of you here?”

“We’ve come up with a plan, but Nicky thought we should all come because you don’t really know us very well and you’re not a trusting type,” Jackson said.

Preacher cut his eyes to Nicky who shrugged. “What? You’re not.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Preacher said, refusing to give Nicky the satisfaction of being right.

“We think we should separate them,” Nicky said.

“No fucking way,” Preacher snapped.

All eyes swung to Cy who said, “This isn’t about you. This is about keeping them safe.”

“I can keep them safe,” Preacher said through clenched teeth.

“You can’t even legally own a firearm, man. Besides, how is Memphis going to feel if Knox gets hurt simply because he got in the way of a bullet meant for him?” Cy asked.

They were right. Fuck. “Goddammit,” he fumed.

Jackson ran a hand over his bald head. “We want to take Knox to a friend with a farm two hours north. His husband is one of my ex-employees. A former Texas Ranger and a private investigator. Top notch bodyguard. Their facilities are secure. His husband is a pastor who takes in former trafficking victims, gets them counseling, gives them a place to stay until they’re on their feet. The counselors are there daily and are used to dealing with children in crisis. There are animals for him to help with, and he can bring Donatello. He can get the therapy he needs in a safe environment. Hell, he can bring Bo and Luke if it will make you feel better.”

“I don’t even know these people,” Preacher said.

“You barely know Memphis and Knox,” Nicky said, earning a glare from Cy.

Linc stepped forward. “Look at it this way. Even if somebody manages to find out Memphis is with you, they’ll never find Knox. There’s no way to trace you to the Seton’s. None. It’s a six degrees of separation thing. We can do the same for Memphis. We’ll move him to a safe house with no connection to this place, and we’ll set him up with round the clock protection, and you can go back to your normal life...if that’s what you want.”

It irritated Preacher that Linc said it like he knew that wasn’t what Preacher wanted. “Memphis isn’t going anywhere without me.”

“Told you,” Nicky said, looking a bit smug for Preacher’s liking. “Give them one of the safe houses way upstate. Take them completely off the grid while the FBI tries to take down the MC. Please, Jack?”

Jackson nodded. “Yeah. I know a place. It’s way off-grid but still functional.”

Preacher scoffed. “I spent the last twenty years in a six by eight cell. I think I’ll be okay.”

Preacher would be fine in a one room shack in the middle of nowhere. It was Memphis he worried about. Convincing Memphis to leave his baby brother in the hands of strangers to go live off grid with Preacher was going to take far more persuasion than he possessed. Memphis hardly trusted himself and his brother to Preacher; now, he was going to ask him to put his faith in a group of strangers. Hopefully, he’d see it was for the best.

Preacher didn’t want to leave Knox behind any more than Memphis did, but they were right about how the separation would keep Knox safe. But Knox was more than just Memphis’s brother or a good kid. He was the perfect distraction and barrier to keep Preacher from putting his hands all over Memphis.

Especially after last night.

Not the kissing or the feel of Memphis grinding and moaning against him on the swing. That had been hot as hell, but it was what happened later, after he’d gone to bed, that he couldn’t stop thinking about. Preacher had gotten up to close the door so the light from the living room wouldn’t disturb Memphis. That was when he’d heard Memphis shifting restlessly and making soft whimpers.

At first, Preacher had thought he was having a nightmare, but that wasn’t it. Memphis had been on his back, hand in his pants—Preacher’s pants—touching himself and whispering Preacher’s name. It was the single hottest thing Preacher had heard in all his life. He’d practically had to stick his dick in the ice cube tray to calm down after that.

He’d never say anything to Memphis. The boy already acted like he was hideously disfigured, like there was no way Preacher could ever look past whatever scars laid beneath his clothing, but it just wasn’t true. Feeling Memphis writhing on top of him, his warm body pressed against him, Preacher hadn’t given a single fuck about the damaged skin beneath his fingers. He’d only wanted to make Memphis feel good in any way he’d let him.

Being trapped alone with Memphis in the middle of nowhere seemed like both a blessing and a curse, and Preacher prayed he had the patience to get through it, for both their sakes.

“Yeah, okay. I think you’re right,” Preacher finally said. “But it’s going to take all of us to convince him to leave his little brother behind.”

It was Jackson who stepped forward. “Lead the way.”

Chapter 10

Memphis

“No. No way. Absolutely fucking not!” Memphis said in a stage whisper.

They stood in Preacher’s bedroom with the door closed. The rest of the group was still in the kitchen where they’d found him with Wyatt and Day. When Preacher had asked to talk to him alone, Memphis had worried he would kick them out. It never occurred to him that he wanted to give Knox to strangers. It was fucking madness.

“Just hear me out,” Preacher said. “You don’t know the whole story.”

“What story could possibly justify me leaving my massively traumatized baby brother to deal with the rest of my psycho family and a violent group of fucking gangbangers? He needs me,” Memphis said, his voice hitching at the end.

Jesus, if he cried again, he was going to toss himself out of a fucking window. He needed to calm down. He couldn’t keep falling apart in front of this man or nobody would ever think he was strong enough to take care of his brother.

Preacher stepped closer, his hands gripping Memphis’s forearms. The feel of their skin touching sent a thrill through Memphis’s blood, but when Preacher used his thumbs to rub soothing circles on the delicate inner skin there, Memphis’s cock took notice. “Of course, he needs you. This isn’t about that.” He took a deep breath, his golden green eyes pools of earnest. “I need to tell you something, but first, I’m going to ask you to do something really hard.”

Memphis could feel his chest tightening and tears pricking at the back of his eyes. “What?” he said, voice thick.

“I need you to trust that I will keep you safe. Do you believe me?”

He blinked fast, praying the wetness would dry or something, but there was a golf ball lodged in his windpipe. How could Preacher ask him that? “I—” He shook his head, tears trailing down his cheeks. “I believe that you believe that.”

Preacher’s hands moved to Memphis’s cheeks, wiping his tears, before forcing him to meet his gaze. “Please, don’t make me have to try to explain why I feel so protective of you and your brother. I don’t understand it anymore than you do. I know you don’t think anything can stop your family, but the FBI is already on it. They have people on the inside getting information that’s going to help put them away for good.” Preacher took a breath, and Memphis’s stomach fell to his feet. “But those same people on the inside are saying that your father has put a hit out on you. Just you. Do you understand now why we need to send Knox somewhere safe?”

Memphis’s knees gave out, his vision going fuzzy at the edges as he tried to force air into his constricting lungs. His father wanted him dead. It wasn’t hyperbole. His father wanted to kill him. Why? Why did he hate him so fucking much? Why did Memphis care? Why did it fucking hurt so bad? Preacher was talking to him but he sounded like he was calling from the other side of the world.

Memphis was on the floor now, on his knees, and Preacher was in front of him. Then, suddenly, Preacher’s lips were on his, the warmth against his mouth shocking his system, forcing him to suck in a breath before he melted against the older man. Preacher didn’t try to deepen the kiss or press his tongue into Memphis’s open mouth; he just placed kisses on his lips, gently biting his bottom lip until Memphis was clinging to his shirt and moaning.

When Preacher pulled away, Memphis stared, dazed. “Why’d you do that?”

“You were having a panic attack,” Preacher said, stating the obvious.

“So, you decided to kiss me?” Memphis murmured, his whole body feeling warm and tingly, liked he’d just stepped out of hot water into cold air.

“Kissing was the only thing I could think of that might distract you enough to pull you out of your downward spiral.”

Memphis was tired. He was so tired of being afraid of the men in his life. “Do you really trust these people with my brother?”

“I trust Cy and Cy trusts them. You can FaceTime with him any time you want. They’ll make sure you’re getting daily updates. Twice daily, if that will make you feel better. These people who are going to watch over him have a farm and counselors, and one used to be a Texas Ranger. They take care of other people who’ve been hurt and are at risk. It’s a safe place, and there’s no way your father will ever think to look for him there. I swear they’ll keep him safe.” Preacher looked away and then back again. “They offered to keep you safe, too. Full security detail, safe house. The works. If you don’t trust me to watch over you. Whatever you decide, I’ll understand.”

This was fucking crazy. Memphis didn’t think anybody could keep him safe, not from his family and certainly not from the demons that lived in his head, but they both knew Memphis would choose Preacher over strangers. He’d choose Preacher over anybody, but he didn’t know if that was just his hormones talking or the fatalism that came from feeling like he was always one misstep away from dying. “You know I choose you.”

Preacher looked startled. “Do you?” Memphis leaned forward and brushed their lips together. “What was that for?”

Memphis flailed his hands in a who knows gesture. “For pretending you don’t already know the answer. For pretending I have a choice. For wanting to kiss me and touch me even though I have a panic attack every five minutes and I’m always either crying or yelling at you. For looking at me and thinking there’s something worth saving.”

This time, it was Preacher who surged forward, sealing his mouth over Memphis’s, his tongue plunging inside in a dirty kiss that caught Memphis completely off-guard and made his body ache with need. When Preacher pushed him down onto his back on the hardwood floor, it didn’t even occur to Memphis to protest. It all felt so fucking good. Preacher’s hands were in his hair, and his pelvis pressed against Memphis’s in a way that put the most delicious fucking pressure right where he needed it most.

His legs went around Preacher’s hips without thought as he broke the kiss and growled against his ear. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

The sound that left Memphis was more animal than human. He wanted more of Preacher’s kisses, wanted his mouth everywhere.

There was a loud knock on the door. “You guys good in there? Jackson has a meeting in an hour.”

Preacher sat up like he was waking from sleep walking. Memphis struggled to do the same, embarrassed. The man had just gotten out of prison. Memphis supposed that didn’t make him super picky.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Preacher said, voice full of gravel. “I can’t fucking control myself around you.”

“I guess prison will do that to you,” Memphis said, forcing a smile onto his face.

Preacher didn’t smile back, just gripped his chin and forced Memphis to look at him. “Don’t do that. This isn’t about me being desperate. You think I couldn’t get in my truck, hit a bar, and go home with somebody if I was just looking to get off? I want you. You. Three days together and you’ve got me twisted inside out. Just admit you want me back. Admit that you’re not as undesirable as you think you are.” Memphis stared at him, mouth gaping. Preacher got to his feet and offered a hand. Memphis took it, numb. “Do you want to tell Knox or should I?”

“No. I’ll do it.” Memphis began to walk towards the door when he realized Preacher wasn’t following. “Are you coming?”

Preacher glanced down to where his cock was straining behind his zipper. “Unfortunately not,” he said ruefully. “Just give me a minute to calm down and I’ll be right behind you.”

Memphis blushed, warmth spreading through his core until he was burning up. He did that to Preacher. He wanted Memphis. The thought made him feel dizzy. They would be alone in a safe house somewhere. All alone. Together. And Preacher wanted him.

If he didn’t stop thinking that way, Preacher wouldn’t be the only one sporting an awkward boner, and that was not how he wanted to go and talk to his brother, much less greet Preacher’s friends. Knox was on the floor in the living room with Wyatt and Day, dragging a rope toy across the floor for the puppy. The others were holed up in the kitchen feeding snacks to Bo and Luke, who panted happily, more than willing to do tricks for their treats.

Memphis went and sat on the floor with his brother and his two new friends. “Hey, buddy. Can we talk for a minute?” Knox nodded. “I know I said I wasn’t going anywhere without you, but Tennessee wants to hurt me, and I’m afraid that if you’re with me, he’s going to come after you, too. So, just for a little while, until they make it so we’re safe, would it be okay if you went to stay with some friends of Nicky and Cy?”

Knox’s face was a mask of indifference, but his eyes told a whole other story. Memphis just wish he knew what it was. Maybe he was sad. Maybe he was resigned. Who the fuck knew?

“They have a ranch. With animals. And they said you can bring Donatello with you. You’ll be safe with them. They take care of people like us all the time. Okay?”

Once more, Knox nodded and Memphis felt helpless. He hated that he was just another person who was disappointing Knox. Another fucking liar.

Wyatt spoke up. “The people you’re going to stay with…they’re really good friends of mine and Day. We go and stay with them all the time. They have horses and goats and so much land where you can run and play with Donatello. They also have three cats and two dogs and kids for you to play with. And Day and I were talking and, if you don’t mind, we thought we’d stay at the ranch with you for a couple of days, just until you get comfortable. Show you around and stuff. Okay?”

Knox’s facial expression didn’t change, but his shoulders sagged with relief. Memphis looked at the two men and mouthed ‘thank you.’ The both just smiled.

These people didn’t seem real. None of it seemed real. It was like he was living in some surreal dream…or maybe he’d died and this was purgatory. On the one hand, coming back home had triggered every deep, dark fear Memphis had ever had. But on the other, there was this whole group of strangers who just seemed to envelope him into their strange makeshift family like it was nothing, like they rescued and adopted strays every day. Maybe they did.

Wyatt wasn’t lying about the things he and Day had been through. Somehow, Jackson had seen past all of Day’s insecurities and a crippling disability. Lincoln had loved Wyatt even when he thought he was unlovable. That was what he’d said anyway. Memphis couldn’t imagine anybody looking at either of them and not thinking they were perfect, but Wyatt assured him that was not the case way back when. They’d listened as he’d talked about his scars and his family, and they hadn’t tried to explain away his feelings or tell him he’d get over it. They’d just listened and then they’d asked if he was fucking Preacher and, if so, they wanted details, and that had been that. No judgment. No pity. Just invasive questions about his sex life or lack thereof.

Like friends.

When everybody left, Wyatt programmed his and Day’s numbers into Memphis’s cell phone so they could keep him posted about his brother and he could keep them posted about…whatever. Day had winked at him when he’d said it, and Memphis could feel himself growing hot all over. Whatever was right.

There wasn’t anything for Memphis to pack, so Preacher packed a bag for himself and grabbed food for the dogs. “We’ll stop once we’re out of the area and get you your own clothes. The safe house they’re sending us to is in Oregon, so we might have to stop overnight. They said there are staples in the house, but if we want to eat something other than soup and beans we’ll have to hit a grocery store in town once we’re there.”

Memphis just nodded. He wanted to tell Preacher he’d be fine just wearing his clothes, but that wasn’t true. Preacher’s pants gaped on Memphis unless he rolled them over and his shirt was two sizes too big. But he liked smelling like Preacher.

Getting the dogs into the truck and set up with their harnesses took the longest time, but once they were settled, they got on the road. Preacher turned on the radio, and Memphis’s lids grew heavy. He was mentally exhausted. It felt like a week had passed in just the last couple of hours. Memphis looked at the space between him and Preacher. He caught the look and smiled. “You don’t have to sit way over there, you know.”

Memphis unhooked his seatbelt, but instead of sliding closer, he curled up on the bench seat, resting his head on Preacher’s meaty thigh. The warmth of Preacher’s skin bleeding through the denim onto his cheek was soothing, and when Preacher’s hand dropped to card his fingers through Memphis’s hair, he closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

Chapter 11

Preacher

Preacher let Memphis sleep until they reached the halfway point of their destination, a small town called Willows. Preacher looked for the smallest hotel in the tiny town, determined to pay cash and not show ID if he could avoid it. Even though it seemed highly unlikely anybody in the MC would somehow connect Preacher to Memphis, the hospital did have his name. The same hospital who let a violent man set his son on fire without consequence. There was no way to know who could be on Tennessee’s payroll.

Preacher slipped free of the truck, leaving Memphis sleeping with the boys. The air smelled like menthol and something sickly sweet, but Preacher couldn’t place it. He managed to convince the clerk that he’d forgotten his wallet and asked to pay cash. He wasn’t sure if the small girl behind the counter was bored or intimidated, but she didn’t put up much of a fight over his ID, especially not when he peeled off an extra twenty dollar bill and handed it to her.

He walked back to the truck and gently lifted Memphis’s head to get back inside, but he was already blinking himself awake, slowly sitting up as Preacher turned over the engine once more. “Where are we?”

Preacher drove the short distance to their room so he could park directly outside. “The Blue Gum Motel. We’re still in California for now.” Memphis’s head was on a swivel, looking all around the darkened parking lot, as if danger lurked in every shadow. “We’re safe. Nobody can trace us here. I promise.”

Preacher thought it was a pretty little motel, with a long sweeping drive and tall thin topiary-like trees lining the entrance, but what did he know, really? He hadn’t stayed in a hotel since he was seven and his aunt and uncle had taken him to Disneyland. He unlocked the hotel room door, holding it open for Memphis, before returning for the boys and his bag.

When he came in, Memphis sat on one of the two queen beds, looking uneasy.

“You alright?”

Memphis nodded but said nothing. Christ, he hoped selective mutism wasn’t something the Camden boys were predisposed to. He needed Memphis to talk to him. It was too hard to know what was going on behind those big blue eyes.

Preacher busied himself with closing the heavy blackout curtains and locking the door, sliding the door stop home. He set up the boys’ food and water and then hunkered down in front of Memphis, resting his forearms on the younger man’s thighs. “I know it’s not the nicest place, but it was small and they didn’t ask a lot of questions. The name’s a little weird, but they seem nice and the place is clean.”

“Blue gum is eucalyptus. That’s why it smells like menthol outside,” Memphis said.

“Of course, you’d know that,” Preacher said with a smile, relieved when Memphis smiled back. “Why don’t you go take a shower? I’ll see about finding us some food.”

“I still don’t have any clothes,” Memphis reminded, voice dull.

“Take whatever you need from my bag. I saw a few fast food places on the way in. Will you be okay here with the boys for twenty minutes?” Memphis nodded, and the sadness in his face made Preacher fucking ache for him. “Any special requests?”

“Nope.”

Preacher sighed, standing. “Lock and bolt the door. I’ll knock three times when I’m back so you know it’s me.” He leaned down and dropped a kiss on top of Memphis’s head before he could stop himself. Memphis seemed startled. Preacher would be lying if he said he wasn’t, too. What was it about this sad boy that pulled at Preacher’s insides?

It only took Preacher about seven minutes to get to the McDonald’s drive-thru and another ten to get the food and get back, but he sat in the car for a few minutes to collect himself. Every fiber of his being wanted to touch and hold and kiss Memphis until that haunted look was no longer there, but Memphis was just so…fragile.

When he finally knocked three times, it took a minute for Memphis to get to the door. When he answered, his hair was wet and his feet were bare and he wore one of Preacher’s softest, holiest t-shirts and a pair of athletic shorts that barely clung to his hips, even rolled at the waist. He looked ridiculous…and adorable.

They sat at the small round table and ate their burgers and fries, and then Preacher let Memphis feed the boys the plain hamburgers he’d gotten for them. Preacher turned on the tv. HGTV played in the background, but it was better than the silence. “I’m going to take a shower, too. I’ll be right back.”

Memphis nodded, curling up on the bed closest to the bathroom.

Preacher washed himself quickly, taking time to brush his teeth and towel off. It was only once he’d dried off that he realized he’d left his clothes in his bag in his haste. He wrapped the towel around his hips before opening the bathroom door.

Memphis was on his back half-watching the tv. His eyes went wide at the sight of Preacher in only a towel, and he sat up quickly. Preacher winced, not wanting Memphis to get the wrong idea. “I-I left my clothes.”

He pointed towards the suitcase but made no move to cross the room. Memphis was looking him over, and fuck, if Preacher didn’t like him looking. He rolled off the bed, moving closer to Preacher, his movements hesitant, like he was giving him time to run or say no. When there were only a few inches of space between them, Memphis’s hands fell on Preacher’s chest, his fingers tracing his reaper tattoo before teasing over the tight peaks of his nipples. Preacher let a breath out through his nose, his cock filling just from these few timid touches.

Memphis sat on the corner of the mattress he’d just exited, his hands unknotting Preacher’s towel and letting it fall. He stared at Preacher’s hardening erection for a full minute before dropping tender kisses against his hip bone.

“Fuck,” Preacher said, voice raw.

Something in his tone must have emboldened Memphis. He ran his nose along the dip in Preacher’s hip, burying his face in the nest of hair at his groin. Just the feel of his breath so close to Preacher’s cock had him biting his lip to keep from dragging Memphis’s mouth where he wanted it. He didn’t have to wait long. Memphis slid his soft hand around Preacher’s cock before taking it into his mouth and sucking him into the wet heat.

Preacher’s eyes rolled, growling at the tight pull of Memphis’s lips, the hot cavern of his mouth and the soft slide of his tongue. He tangled his fingers in Memphis’s still damp hair, fighting not to drag him closer, push his hard cock deeper. “Yeah, fuck. That’s so good,” he breathed.

Memphis grabbed handfuls of Preacher’s ass, taking him down to the root, throat convulsing deliciously as he gagged, before pulling off and looking up at Preacher with wet eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered, sniffling as he pumped Preacher’s slick cock.

Preacher barked out a surprised laugh. “For what? Choking on my dick? You have a blanket invite to do it as much as you want,” Preacher promised.

Memphis blushed but then gave him a smile, wrapping a hand around Preacher’s cock, using his saliva to jerk him roughly before sucking on the head, his tongue playing with this slit. “Christ,” Preacher whispered.

“I’m a little rusty,” Memphis warned, pulling off again to push Preacher back and sink down to his knees on the motel carpet.

“No complaints so far,” Preacher said, earning a soft laugh from Memphis.

Fuck. Preacher wanted to bottle the sound. It was so rare. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever heard it before. He wanted to figure out the key to making him laugh and do it over and over again. He needed to know what a happy Memphis looked like.

All thoughts disappeared asMemphis dipped his head and sucked on Preacher’s balls, his tongue teasing the skin just behind. Preacher’s hands fisted Memphis’s hair with a growl. For somebody who didn’t know what he was doing, he had Preacher two seconds away from coming. It was like he’d decided to learn Preacher’s body by taste and touch. And it wasn’t just the feel of his mouth or the hungry way he clutched at Preacher, it was the almost hesitant way he tried something new before diving in with enthusiasm. It was sexy as fuck, and he wanted to do the same, wanted to taste and touch and tease Memphis until he was begging for more.

When Memphis took him back in his mouth again, Preacher couldn’t stop the tiny aborted thrusts, rolling his hips as he fucked into the tight suction of the boy’s mouth, waves of heat and pulses of pleasure coursing through him, driving him closer to orgasm. “You’re gonna make me come,” he warned.

Memphis didn’t pull back; if anything he gripped Preacher tighter, like he didn’t want to miss a drop. That thought and the perfect suction of Memphis’s lips were all it took. His release hit him hard, his whole body tightening as he flooded Memphis’s mouth with his release. Memphis took it all, swallowing it down and nursing his cock like he didn’t want to miss a drop. It was sexy as fuck, but Preacher finally had to pull free, too sensitive to let Memphis keep going.

He dragged Memphis up off his knees, forcing his lips apart to taste himself on his tongue. “My turn,” he said against his lips, kissing his jaw, then his throat, reaching for the hem of Memphis’s borrowed shirt without thought.

Memphis’s hands gripped his wrists hard. “No.”

Preacher froze. “Why?”

“You know why,” Memphis said, any light in his eyes dying.

Preacher shook his head. “Is this really about your scars? Because I’ve seen them, remember? I’ve seen your scars and I’m still here.”

“You haven’t seen all of them,” Memphis said.

Preacher didn’t know how to get past this. “Then show me, so I can prove to you that nothing is going to keep me from wanting you. I’ve wanted you since the first moment I laid eyes on you. When I laid on that couch last night with you in my bedroom, all I could think about was crawling on top of you, stripping you naked, and kissing every inch of your body, scars and all.”

Memphis gazed at him, seeming wary but also…hopeful? Fuck, if Preacher was going to get Memphis to trust him, he was going to have to be a hundred percent honest, which might scare the shit out of him.

“You’re sexy as hell. You’ve got the face of a fucking supermodel, but that’s not what turns me on about you. I like that you were scared to death of me but still were somehow determined to fight me. I like that you whipped off your shirt in the middle of a police station to prove your point.” Now, Memphis just looked confused at Preacher’s sudden speech. “I spent half my life in prison. I showered next to men who had scars and tattoos and disfiguring injuries. You can’t shock me.”

“I’m not worried about the shock. I’m worried about the pity. I can’t stand it when people look at me like I’m pathetic,” Memphis snapped.

“Pathetic? What the fuck? People who see your scars are horrified that anybody would have to suffer like that. They don’t think you’re pathetic. They think you’re a survivor. Fuck, Memphis. Please. Please…just let me see you. I just want to make you feel good.”

Chapter 12

Memphis

Memphis was paralyzed in Preacher’s gaze. He said all the right things and did all the right things, but the idea of being rejected by somebody who made Memphis feel the way he did made him want to puke. He couldn’t stop his brain from flashing back to those few awkward hookups when he had first made it to Los Angeles. Most men who had heard Memphis’s numerous rules had run screaming before anything ever went down, but the three men who’d stuck around noticeably flinched at even the slightest feel of the missing flesh on Memphis’s thighs. After that, there was no pleasure in anything they did together, at least not for Memphis. He usually just laid there until it was over and the other guy rolled off him, dressed, and left.

Memphis found it impossible to relax whenever sex was involved. Too many variables were always running through his brain. But now…there…Preacher was begging him to bare his soul and his body, and Memphis wanted, more than anything, to trust that Preacher could want him with the lights on and his clothes off. With a noise of frustration, he ripped his shirt off and gave the shorts a slight push, letting them fall to his feet before turning away from Preacher so he could look his fill.

“There. There you go. Okay?” He hated the tremor in his voice or that he was once more close to tears. Fuck.

He flinched as Preacher’s arms came around him, trying to shrug him off as he curled in on himself. But Preacher was bigger and stronger. He ran rough hands down Memphis’s arms and laced their fingers together, forcing Memphis’s arms across his body as he placed open mouth kisses against his shoulder, his throat. “Kiss me,” Preacher rumbled against his ear.

Memphis turned his head without thought, mouth opening under Preacher’s. He didn’t know how long they stood like that, Preacher holding him, kissing him, making no move to try for more. Memphis relaxed in increments, the tension easing from his back and shoulders over time.

“Get on the bed,” Preacher said.

It wasn’t a question, so when Preacher released him, he just did it, lying on his back, heartbeat stumbling when Preacher crawled onto the mattress, looming above him on all fours. “Just close your eyes and try to relax.” Memphis gave him an incredulous look. “I’ve seen it all. I’m still here. I still want you so bad my dick is trying to rally.” He pushed Memphis’s hair out of his eyes in a gesture that was far more erotic than it had a right to be. “Don’t you get tired of worrying so much?”

Yes. So much. He swallowed hard and just nodded, not trusting himself to speak. This was so much more intimate than anything Memphis had ever imagined, like he’d just handed Preacher his soul or something and was asking him not to crush it. Preacher laid on top of him, his weight pressing him into the mattress in a way that had his cock hardening once more.

Preacher’s lips found his again, but, somehow, this kiss was different. He kissed Memphis like he wanted to consume him, like he couldn’t get enough. It was dizzying. The first two times they’d kissed, it had felt frantic and fleeting, like it would be ripped away at any second, but this time, Preacher kissed him like he could do it all night, like just the slide of their mouths together and the gentle way he bit at Memphis’s lips was enough.

Except, it wasn’t enough, not for Memphis. He was achingly hard, and Preacher was starting to rally, and the feel of his cock pressed against Memphis’s hip was driving him crazy. He surged up against him, moaning at the pressure of Preacher’s belly against his length.

“Fuck, you’re driving my crazy with those noises you’re making,” Preacher said, pressing the words into the skin of Memphis’s jaw. Memphis hadn’t even noticed he was making any noises, far more interested in the sound of their lips meeting and parting and the feel of Preacher on top of him. Before he could think of anything to say, Preacher was moving lower, his fingers playing with one of Memphis’s nipples, while he licked and sucked the other. Memphis heard it then—the whimpers he was making, but he couldn’t help it. This was like nothing he’d ever experienced before, and he wanted more of it, faster, and yet, he also never wanted it to stop. He was too turned on to be embarrassed.

Preacher kissed his way over his ribs and down his belly. Memphis held his breath as he moved lower still until he laid between Memphis’s splayed legs. He expected to feel Preacher’s mouth envelop his cock, but, instead, he pushed his thighs wide, pressing his lips against the scars from his graft donor site. Panic shot through him and he couldn’t stop himself from trying to bolt upright, but Preacher’s big hand forced him back down. “Stop. Just…let me.”

Memphis’s heart slammed in his chest, fear and dread causing his cock to soften once more. Preacher’s hand slid down Memphis’s belly, wrapping around his erection, working him lazily.

“Can you feel it when I kiss you here?” Preacher asked, mouth pressing against the matching rectangular scar on the other thigh.

Memphis took in a shuddering breath. “Yeah.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Does it feel good?”

Memphis closed his eyes, trying to push his anxiety aside and just let himself feel the feathery touch of Preacher’s lips against the skin there. “Yeah.”

Preacher dragged his mouth higher, hands slipping under Memphis’s knees to push his legs up and out in what was probably an obscene pose. Memphis couldn’t care about that because Preacher’s tongue was tracing the seam between his leg and his pelvis, his nose nuzzling Memphis’s balls until he was hard and leaking.

A cry fell from his lips as Preacher finally took Memphis into his mouth, and he arched up off the mattress without thought, hands gripping Preacher’s hair as he pushed himself deeper into that tight heat and perfect suction. “Oh, my… Fuck.”

Preacher pulled off to laugh at Memphis’s cry.

He could only smile, flushing. “Well, don’t stop,” he said, exasperated.

Preacher’s laughter died, and, this time, he was still looking right in Memphis’s eyes when he took him into his mouth. It was the hottest thing Memphis had experienced in his twenty-six years on the planet. Just watching Preacher suck him was almost enough to get Memphis there, but just when his toes were curling and his hands were gripping the sheets and he was doing his best to fuck Preacher’s mouth, the older man pulled off.

“Roll over.”

Memphis’s eyes went wide, and he started to shake his head. “I’m not asking.” Pleasure shocked through him at Preacher’s gruff statement, but, still, he hesitated. Preacher’s look was full of dirty promise when he said, “Where I’m going, I’ll be far too preoccupied to look at the scars I’ve already seen. Do it.”

There was something about Preacher not giving him the option that shut off that part of Memphis’s brain, or maybe he was just too turned on to stop now. He rolled onto his stomach and Preacher hiked up his hips, burying his face in the furrow between Memphis’s ass. He pressed his face into the pillow, shouting into the fabric at the first broad sweep of Preacher’s tongue across his hole, unprepared for how fucking amazing it felt.

He rolled his hips back, unable to stop himself from trying to get more of Preacher’s tongue right where he needed it. When his hand wrapped around Memphis’s leaking cock, he wondered if it was possible to black out from pleasure. Preacher’s thumb collected the fluids on the head of Memphis’s dick, using it to jerk Memphis.

He turned his head to breathe out, “Oh, fuck. Oh, God. I’m-I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come.”

Preacher did a thing with his tongue, spearing it against Memphis’s hole, as his hand twisted over the head of his cock, and that was it, Memphis’s whole body pulsed as he painted his release across the ugly floral comforter.

When Preacher released him, he gently slapped Memphis on the ass, and a shiver of excitement ran through him. Who knew he liked a man who slapped him on the ass and bossed him around? He tried to roll over, but Preacher wasn’t having it, collapsing half on and half off Memphis, his arm and leg thrown over him. Memphis turned to look at him, smiling at the dopey look of happiness on Preacher’s face. He tensed a bit when Preacher’s fingers started to caress the thicker scars from his skin graft. “I can’t feel much there,” he volunteered.

“Anywhere on your back?” he asked, fingers tracing patterns over the abused flesh.

“Some places more than others. The part that looks like lizard scales, I have some feeling, like you’re touching me through layers of fabric, but it still feels nice. The part that looks like scorch marks, or lightning bolts, I can’t feel at all. The skin is too thick.”

Preacher leaned up on his elbow, running a finger along the parts where they’d used mesh grafts to attempt to stitch him back together. “I think they look more like dragon scales. Or dragon scale armor. It’s kind of badass.”

Memphis examined his expression. There was nothing to indicate he was being insincere or humoring him. He literally seemed…kind of impressed or…intrigued maybe. He just genuinely seemed to be enjoying touching Memphis. “Thank you.”

Preacher frowned. “For what?”

Memphis shrugged. “For pushing me, for sticking with me, for giving me the first orgasm I’ve had with another person in the room.”

Preacher’s grin was practically feral. “Believe me, the pleasure was all mine.”

Memphis looked down at Preacher’s still semi-hard cock. “Do you want me to take care of that?”

Preacher shook his head. “No. But if you want to pay me back, you can throw your clothes on and take the boys for a quick walk with me?”

Memphis nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.”

It was cold outside, freezing even, but Memphis didn’t mind. If anything, it was kind of exhilarating. There was a sidewalk that led around the motel to the pool behind, and beyond that was a grove of blue gum trees. They followed the walk, Memphis identifying the flowers they passed as they went. The boys kept close by, even unleashed, only breaking off to do their business. When Preacher took Memphis’s hand, his heart did that stupid beat skipping thing that people talked about in movies and romance novels. Was this what it was like to fall for somebody?

Along the back of the property were two giant gardenia bushes. Memphis broke free from Preacher to stop and bury his nose in the pungent scent of the flower. “I love gardenias. They smell amazing.”

Memphis plucked one and turned, tucking it behind Preacher’s ear and pulling his hair so it flowed over his shoulders like a girl on a Hawaiian vacation. Preacher just left it there, taking Memphis’s hand once more as they walked. It was such a stupid thing, but Memphis couldn’t stop smiling. Maybe this was what they meant by cum-drunk.

Once they were back inside, the dogs hopped up on the bed closest to the door, staring at Preacher like they were asking permission. He looked at Memphis, who just nodded. There was no way he wasn’t sleeping in Preacher’s arms if that was an option.

With just a gesture, the dogs plopped down on the mattress and went to sleep. Memphis wondered what it was like to just close your eyes and fade away for the night. Before he could think too much about it, Preacher was peeling his clothes back off and stalking naked towards Memphis. Christ. He let Preacher strip him down, tucking him under the covers to extinguish the lights and check the door one more time.

Once he slid in beside Memphis, it took only a look and Preacher was on him again, pulling him in close and kissing him. He hitched Memphis’s leg up over his hip, slotting their cocks together so they could rub off on each other, and it felt so good, Memphis didn’t even care if he was being loud. This time lasted longer, was a little lazier, but they both came before Preacher fell asleep.

Memphis was restless, though. He’d slept for hours in the car, and despite two orgasms, his brain was on overdrive. He wanted somebody to talk to. He needed to process everything that was happening to him.

When he looked at his phone, he was surprised to see it was barely midnight. It felt like he and Preacher had been going at it for hours. He tugged his phone free of its charger and pulled up Wyatt’s number.

Memphis: Are you awake?

Wyatt: I am if you’re texting to give me details of what you and that sexy as fuck man have been getting up to in that seedy roadside motel.

Memphis: How do you even know we’re in a motel?

Wyatt: Bro, you have no idea how our group works at all. Preacher texted Cy and let him know you were stopping for the night, Cy told Nicky, Nicky told Linc, and Linc told me. It’s the Elite telephone tree. It works slightly slower than the trauma twink tree, but it still gets me the tea. So, do you have any sexy deets I can pass on to the double T tea tree?

Memphis: Are you asking me to tell you about my sex life so you can tell all of your friends?

Wyatt: No, I’m asking you to tell me about your sex life so I can tell all of our friends. You’re one of us now. That’s just how this shit works. So…is there tea?

Memphis chewed on his lower lip. Why had he texted Wyatt if not to talk about what just happened?

Memphis: Yeah, yeah, I guess there is.

Wyatt: Hell yeah. Day’s right next to me. Tell us everything.

Chapter 13

Preacher

The change in Memphis was literally night and day. He woke Preacher in the night, running his hands over his body, fist wrapping around Preacher’s cock, working him until he woke up and kissed Memphis. They then jerked each other to completion before dozing off for a few more hours.

In the truck, Memphis seemed sleepy but had a smile on his face as he gazed out the window and bobbed his head to the music playing from the radio. Each time Preacher caught his gaze, he’d blush and duck his head. It made Preacher’s heart do funny things in his chest. When Memphis wasn’t gazing out the window, he was texting with Wyatt and Day, getting updates on Knox.

The boy still wasn’t talking, but he was taking to life on the ranch like a duck to water. He had already ridden his first horse, gotten to ride on an ATV with Wyatt, and had introduced Donatello to the duck pond where he tried to chase the water fowl until they struck back. Memphis relayed all this information with both amusement and obvious relief.

Just outside their destination, they stopped at the local Walmart, leaving the boys tucked in the vehicle, while they ran inside to grab groceries, warm clothes for Memphis, and any toiletries the cabin might be lacking. They went at their tasks with speed and efficiency, not wanting to leave the boys in the cold for any length of time, no matter how much the two might enjoy it.

The food items went quick, with the two focused more on function than nutrition, throwing everything in the cart from mac and cheese to Little Debbies. They did make sure to hit the produce section as well, filling up on fruits and vegetables, though with slightly less enthusiasm than they had in the cookie aisle.

In the men’s department, Memphis grabbed two pairs of jeans that fit, two quilted jackets, a handful of cheap thermals, and socks and underwear of his own. Preacher also insisted he grab a pair of sturdy boots since where they were going might be treacherous. Things progressed without a hitch until they hit the pharmacy section. Toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo, and first aid supplies all went into the buggy. Preacher had just turned to toss some Advil into the cart when he realized Memphis was lagging behind.

Preacher backed up the cart, noticing Memphis was now standing before the condoms, but his gaze wasn’t on them—it was on the lube that lined the bottom of the shelf. He cut his gaze to Preacher, his tongue darting out to lick over his bottom lip. Preacher did his best not to get an awkward hard-on in the middle of the family-friendly store. But there was clearly a question in Memphis’s posture, his gaze. He was asking Preacher for more than they’d done last night. Fuck.

Preacher leaned into Memphis’s space, letting him press his front to Memphis’s back as he whispered in his ear, “Whacha thinking? Have a preference?” Memphis’s shoulders sagged like he was relieved, and he reached down for the oil based lube. “You know, oil based lube eats through condoms. You might prefer silicone or water.”

Memphis leaned back into him, craning his head to whisper, “Do we need them?”

Preacher’s breath left him like he’d been gut-punched. The idea of not using condoms hadn’t occurred to him, even though it should have given the things they’d gotten up to in the hotel last night. He’d come in Memphis’s mouth, let him swallow his load. They should have had a conversation before that.

Yeah, now he definitely had an awkward erection pressing against his jeans. He shifted awkwardly as a woman and her husband strolled past the aisle, giving the two of them a curious look. Preacher realized the exact moment he waited too long to answer, Memphis’s expression morphing from hopeful to embarrassed, his cheeks pinking and the light in his eyes dying. “Never mind. We can—”

“Stop.” Preacher’s voice was a low rumble against Memphis’s ear, not wanting anybody else to overhear them and embarrass Memphis further. Preacher wondered if there would ever be a time when Memphis believed he was wanted. “I’m negative. They tested me before I left prison. I was just thinking this is a conversation I should have had with you last night. It was stupid of me. Have you been tested?”

Memphis nodded. “I’m negative. Is it wrong if we just don’t use them? Is it irresponsible?”

“I don’t think they’re going to revoke our membership cards,” Preacher said with a chuckle. “But if you keep talking about letting me fuck you raw, you’re going to find yourself getting banged in a Walmart dressing room.”

Memphis blushed even deeper, but this time, he locked eyes with Memphis, his pupils blown. “Yeah?”

Preacher gave a quick look around before taking Memphis’s hand and dragging it to his cock, which was thankfully trapped behind his zipper. “What do you think?” Memphis’s fingers traced the shape of Preacher’s erection before squeezing. Preacher laughed, snagging Memphis’s hand and threading their fingers together. “Okay, that’s enough. I can’t afford to get arrested for indecent exposure in a Walmart. Let’s check out, and we can pick this up when we’re all alone and nobody can hear you moan.” He grabbed lube from the shelf below, winking at Memphis.

Memphis’s breath erupted from his lips in a short gasp. “I don’t moan.”

Preacher scoffed. “Oh, you moan. And whimper and gasp and pant, and it’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I plan on hearing it a lot more. Maybe I’ll record it so you can hear just how hot you sound.”

“We should definitely leave now,” Memphis said, squeezing Preacher’s hand before letting it go to snag the buggy and lead it towards the front. Preacher snickered, walking behind Memphis so he could keep an eye on their surroundings as they checked out.

All in all, it took seven hours, two bathroom breaks, and a trip to In and Out Burger to get to the isolated property. Preacher pulled up to a call box that stood just outside a ten-foot brick fence that seemed grossly out of place in the pristine wilderness of snow blanketed forest. The drive from the gate to the house took another five minutes or so, Preacher’s truck tires crunching over ice and slush. Except it wasn’t a house, exactly.

“Is that…” Memphis asked, trailing off.

“A treehouse?” Preacher asked. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it is.”

They stared at the small house perched in the trees for a long minute before Memphis said, “That’s the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Jackson sure does have a hard-on for unique properties.”

Preacher smiled at Memphis’s enthusiasm. While the house was suspended in the thick branches overhead, underneath somebody had used the framework to create a small porch with a swing and a tabletop firepit. A spiral staircase on the lefthand side led to the house itself and, presumably, the front door. A light blanket of snow also dusted the stairs and the furniture beneath the house.

Memphis didn’t seem to notice or care about the cold. He was out of the truck the moment it came to a halt, stopping only long enough to free the boys. “Come on, guys.”

Then he was running for the stairs, boots crunching over frozen grass, with Bo and Luke eagerly giving chase, leaving Preacher to grab what he could before he joined them, his breaths leaving his lips like puffs of smoke as he punched in the key code on the solid door.

Preacher knew from experience that all of Jackson’s properties had solid steel doors with solid steel frames and deadbolts reinforced with three-inch screws. It didn’t make a door indestructible, but it would sure slow anyone attempting to gain entry. Still, he questioned the rational for having a house in the trees with seemingly only one exit, but Preacher quickly shook it off.

The house opened up into the kitchen, leading to a small cozy sitting area with a couch, a television, and a fireplace. There was a small kitchen table where Preacher dropped the bags and studied the place. The living room had a large picture window, likely reinforced glass, but somebody had taken the time to strategically angle the furniture so that nobody could get a good shot at anybody, even if they attempted to climb a tree to line up their angles.

There were two small bedrooms on either side of the little house, both easily seen from the center as they were little more than a bed beneath a slanted glass roof, but still plenty of room for two people to sleep comfortably. When he walked across the little room to get a fire started, he felt a change in the density of the wood floors. Underneath, an ugly Persian rug was a trap door that opened to the patio below. Interesting. It wasn’t a huge drop thanks to the built up patio beneath but he wouldn’t call it a convenient escape plan either. Hopefully, they didn’t need one.

“Pick a room. I’m going to go let the boys use the bathroom and get a lay of the property.”

Memphis looked up at him, startled. “Oh, um… I guess whichever one you don’t want is fine.”

There was no hiding the disappointment in his tone. Shit. Why was Preacher so bad at this? He strode to where Memphis stood, now staring at his shoes. “I meant pick a room for us. Okay?”

Memphis flushed, a small smile creeping across his lips. Preacher couldn’t help but kiss the pout from his mouth before gently reminding him, “Stay away from the windows.”

Memphis nodded.

Outside, Preacher kept the boys off their leashes, knowing they’d come back with little more than a whistle from him. He wanted them familiar with their surroundings and the scents native to the space. It made it easier for them to pick up on anybody who shouldn’t be there. They were seemingly alone for miles, surrounded by nothing but trees and winds that blew snow from the branches and sent it floating through the air, but Preacher wasn’t willing to take that chance. If there was one thing he knew with certainty, it was to never let your guard down.

When the dogs finished, he retreated back to the cabin, scraping the mud and snow from his boots on the scraper attached near the door before re-entering. Memphis was in the small kitchen space just inside the door, putting away the groceries. He smiled with relief when he saw Preacher and the boys. He held up the dog treats they’d purchased at the store. “Can I?”

He nodded, watching as Memphis fed the boys their liver snacks. When they finished, Preacher made a noise and the boys retreated to the small living room, dropping down in front of the fire, turning their snouts toward the heat before collapsing into sleep.

Memphis nodded towards the stone hearth. “I hope you don’t mind. I was freezing.”

“Not at all.”

“The television is broken,” Memphis said, turning back around to finish putting away the food. “Well, I guess broken isn’t the right word. There’s only a power button and no remote, and I don’t know what channel it’s on but they appear to be in the middle of a week long America’s Next Top Model marathon.”

Memphis had put on his new clothes. He wore his new gray sweatpants lined with fleece and a blue henley the same color as his eyes. Had he also put on those tight striped boxer briefs Preacher had watched him add to the cart? He bet they hugged Memphis’s ass perfectly.

Preacher was moving without thought, trapping Memphis against the counter, his lips finding the damaged skin between his collar and his hairline.

Memphis sucked in a breath. “Hello,” he murmured.

“Hi,” Preacher growled, his hands sliding up under Memphis’s shirt, thumbing over his nipples, playing for a moment, before sliding lower, letting his palms skim the planes of his abs, slipping into his loose fitting sweats to cup his already semi-hard cock. “Fuck, I’ve been thinking about touching you all day.”

“You have?” Memphis asked, sounding more smug than surprised.

Preacher pressed his erection against Memphis’s lower back. “You know I have, you little tease.”

Memphis wiggled against him, like he was testing the legitimacy of Preacher’s hard cock. “You could do something about it.”

Preacher chuckled, his lips trailing along the corded tendon of Memphis’s neck, before growling into his ear. “Oh, I intend to. All night, in fact.”

“All night?” Memphis asked, moaning when Preacher started to work him lazily in his dry grip.

“There it is,” Preacher said. “Fuck, that sexy little moan goes straight to my dick every time.” His cock was already hard enough to pound a nail through a board.

Memphis reached upwards, wrapping his arms around Preacher’s neck, pressing back against him, leaving his whole body open to Preacher’s hands.

The simple gesture made Preacher’s stomach clench. The level of trust it took for Memphis to open up like that was a heady thing. He didn’t trust anybody…but he trusted Preacher. At least with his body, and Preacher was both grateful and terrified of that fact. Now that he’d tasted the most intimate parts of Memphis, he only craved more. He wanted all of Memphis.

Preacher tightened his grip, cock throbbing in time with his heartbeat when Memphis whimpered. “You like that, baby?”

“Preacher…” Memphis trailed off, seemingly preoccupied with trying to force himself into Memphis’s tightened fist. When Preacher loosened his grip, Memphis made an almost comical sound of disappointment. “Don’t tease me,” he pouted.

Preacher’s breath left him through his nose in a rush. “Tease you? I have every intention of teasing you all night. Every night. As much as I want, and you’re going to let me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Memphis asked, breathless. “But then you’ll fuck me, right? I need you inside me.”

“Oh, that’s a given,” Preacher promised. “I’m going to fuck you so good…so hard…so long…that your body will forget what it’s like when I’m not inside you.”

“Fuck,” Memphis gasped, pre-cum beading at the tip of his cock.

Preacher used it to slick his grip but didn’t increase his pace, just continued to pump him lazily. “Tell me you want my cock buried inside you.”

“Yeah,” Memphis breathed. “You know I do. Please, Preacher.”

“I want to hear the words.” He tightened his grip again, giving Memphis the friction he craved before taking it away.

Memphis’s whine was almost enough to put Preacher over the edge. “I want your cock inside me. Now. Please.”

“You gonna be good for me?” Preacher teased.

“I hate you right now,” Memphis groaned.

Preacher chuckled, biting Memphis’s earlobe. “No, you don’t. You’re so hot for me, you’re leaking into my hand. I bet I could get you to do almost anything for me.”

There was the tiniest hesitation before Memphis asked, “Like what?”

Preacher grinned. “Like drag you into the shower, get you nice and squeaky clean before laying you out on that bed right there and making you come harder than you ever have before with just my tongue and my fingers.” He could feel Memphis breathing heavily, rapt. “Then I’ll take all that cum and feed it into your tight little hole and fuck you nice and slow until I fill you up with my own load.”

“Jesus,” Memphis gasped.

“You want that?”

Memphis stood on his tiptoes so Preacher’s cock was pressing into the crease of his ass. “You know I do. Now. Please, Preacher. Please. I need you.”

“Now, who’s the tease? You’re so hot when you beg.”

Memphis craned his head to look back at Preacher. “I’m not teasing,” he swore, turning Preacher’s words around on him. “I’ll take it any way you want to give it to me.”

Preacher captured Memphis’s mouth in a filthy kiss. “You can’t say that to a man who’s spent most of his life in prison,” he muttered against his lips.

“It’s true, though. I don’t care how you fuck me. I just want you inside me right fucking now.”

Preacher was so hard he hurt, but he’d brought it on himself. “The groceries can wait,” he said, swinging Memphis around with an arm around his waist and force-walking him towards the bedroom. He didn’t stop at the bed, though, but walked him to the small bathroom.

“Let’s see if the two of us can fit in the world’s smallest shower before I make you come so hard you black out.”

“That doesn’t sound fun,” Memphis said with a laugh.

“You’re about to find out.”

Chapter 14

Memphis

Memphis didn’t know why he was so nervous. It wasn’t fear of Preacher seeing his body—not anymore—but more the overwhelming care he took to ensure that Memphis felt comfortable while he touched his naked body. In the shower, Preacher took his time, using a soapy washcloth to ensure every part of Memphis was squeaky clean, and every drag of the rough fabric over his skin was like foreplay, making him achingly hard. He didn’t think that was an accident.

Though Preacher wasn’t actively touching Memphis’s dick, he was slowly trailing kisses along his shoulder, licking droplets of water from the hollow of his throat, biting at his lips, teasing his tongue just inside Memphis’s mouth, only to retreat before the kiss could flame into something more. It made Memphis feel dizzy and off balance. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever experienced in his life.

Preacher was fully in control, turning Memphis how he wanted him, holding him in place as he played with him. Giving him gruff orders like ‘open your legs’ and ‘look at me.’ God help him, he liked not being in control, liked not having to think about what might happen next. Preacher told him what came next, and all Memphis had to do was comply. It was so…freeing.

By the time Preacher dried him off and shoved him back on the bed, there was no hiding his rock hard cock, flushed pink and straining just under his belly button. He expected Preacher’s weight to follow him down, press him into the mattress, but he never did. Instead, he dropped to his knees on the floor, yanking Memphis closer by his ankles, before pushing his legs back obscenely, leaving him open to Preacher in every way.

It felt like an hour passed as Preacher just looked at the most vulnerable parts of him without moving, but it was probably just seconds. He found himself arching upwards, like he could entice Preacher to touch him, to do something. Memphis needed him to do something. He was going crazy.

Memphis sucked in a breath at the unexpected broad sweep of Preacher’s tongue across his hole. “Oh, fuck,” he moaned, staring up at the wintry sky overhead, his hands fisting the sheets.

When they’d done this last night, Preacher had attacked him like a wild animal, his tongue probing, trying to work past the tight ring of muscle. This was a more subtle assault. This time he worked his lips and teeth and tongue over Memphis in a kiss far more intimate than it maybe should have been. There was no such thing as casual sex with Preacher, not for Memphis. It was all overwhelmingly emotional.

When Preacher sat back on his haunches, Memphis whined at the loss, until he heard the sound of the lube cap opening and closing and felt Preacher’s thick finger probing his entrance. Memphis was pushing down on his finger without thought, desperate to have any part of Preacher inside him. He looked down to find Preacher watching his finger disappear in and out of Memphis’s body, watching Memphis basically fuck himself on Preacher’s finger desperately. He didn’t even care if he looked desperate. Each time he rolled his hips, the pad of Preacher’s finger grazed his prostate, sending sparks shooting along every nerve ending.

“Fuck, you look hot like this,” Preacher muttered.

Before Memphis could even try to formulate a response, Preacher pressed against that tiny bundle of nerves, putting just enough pressure for Memphis to cry out, eyes rolling back, hips arching as pleasure hit him like a tidal wave, causing his throbbing cock to leak onto his belly. “Oh, fuck,” he whined, barely recognizing the voice as his own. “I need more. Please. I need you inside me.”

Preacher gave a dry chuckle, but it sounded strained. “I am inside you,” he said, infuriatingly smug.

Before Memphis could tell him that wasn’t what he fucking meant, Preacher’s finger disappeared only to be replaced by two, causing Memphis to gasp at the unexpected invasion, his entrance burning as it fought to accommodate Preacher’s fingers, which were now twisting rhythmically inside him.

“Please, Preacher. I’m ready. Fuck me. I can’t handle much more.”

“Let me decide what you can handle. Besides, I told you exactly what was going to happen. It’s not my fault if you weren’t paying attention.” Preacher’s fingers once more ground up against Memphis’s prostate, short-circuiting his brain and whatever cusswords he was about to unleash on Preacher.

Then a hand was closing around his achingly hard cock, and Preacher was using Memphis’s pre-cum to jerk him off in a rough, almost sticky grip that would have been too much if his fingers weren’t doing magical things inside him at the same time. The weird pleasure-pain response was causing Memphis to forget the simplest things like words. It was all sensation. The hairs on his arms stood at attention, his nipples were rock hard, and all he could do was drive himself up into Preacher’s fist before trying to work himself down hard on his fingers.

He was babbling; everything falling from his lips was nonsense, shit that would probably embarrass him later, but when he looked down, Preacher was gazing at him with a look that could have melted solid steel. He had his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, like it was taking effort for him to see this through to the end. Somehow, it was that look that did it. Memphis’s toes curled, and he cried out as he came, his release coating Preacher’s fist and Memphis’s belly and chest. It seemed like a lot considering how many times he’d come since yesterday.

“Fuck, yeah. That’s it. Good boy. Good boy,” Preacher said, almost like he couldn’t help the praise falling from his lips.

Memphis liked being Preacher’s good boy, and he didn’t want to think about all the reasons why that might be. Luckily, Preacher didn’t plan to let Memphis think. He kneeled on the bed, manhandling Memphis higher onto the mattress so he could sit between his spread legs. When he caught Memphis staring, he crawled up over him, leaning into his space to capture his mouth in a filthy kiss. “You look so fucking sexy when you come.”

Memphis could feel himself blushing. “What about you?”

“Oh, now, it’s my turn.”

Memphis watched as Preacher slid his finger through the mess on his belly, putting his finger to Memphis’s lips so he could suck the taste of himself off his skin. Why was that so fucking hot? Before he could ponder it further, Preacher was gathering Memphis’s cum on his three fingers, locking eyes with him as he pushed it into Memphis’s hole.

“Oh, fuck,” he heard himself mutter.

“Yeah,” Preacher managed, gathering up more of the fluid and slicking his cock with it.

Then the head of his cock was pressed against Memphis’s hole. “You good?” he asked, voice raw.

“Yeah, do it. I want to feel you inside me.”

Memphis couldn’t help the gasp as Preacher’s thick cock pressed past that first ring of muscle. It wasn’t painful, more a burn that faded to an ache that led to a feeling of fullness that Memphis didn’t remember feeling before. Maybe he’d disassociated with other guys, but there was nothing like that with Preacher. There couldn’t be. The moment he was fully seated inside Memphis, he caught his knees over his elbows before his lips found Memphis’s, his tongue sliding inside in the same slow, tentative movements as his thrusts.

Even when he broke the kiss, he hovered just above him, looking into his eyes, like he needed to make sure Memphis was okay, that he was still enjoying himself. As if that were ever in doubt. He was sensitive, sure. Each slow thrust sent tiny shivers through him that might have been painful if Memphis couldn’t see how much Preacher liked being inside him, how he seemed to be fighting an urge to just wreck him. Knowing that he could make Preacher that on edge was an addictive feeling, one that had him fighting past his sensitivity to press up each time Preacher drove down until the only sounds were their panting breaths and their skin meeting as Preacher’s pace picked up.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good. You’re so tight, it’s making me crazy.”

Those words growled against his ear had his hands scrambling for purchase on Preacher’s slick skin, Memphis’s blunt nails digging into Preacher’s back as his heels drove into the flexing muscles of his ass. “I want more. Fuck me harder. I want to feel you come inside me.”

“Jesus, kid.”

If anybody else had dared used the word ‘kid’ on Memphis, he might have balked, but the desperate rasp of Preacher’s words only had Memphis trying to rally, his cock twitching where it was trapped between their sweat soaked bodies.

Memphis had asked for more and Preacher delivered, his hips now slinging into Memphis in a way that had his toes curling and his breath driven from his body with every hard thrust. Preacher swallowed every gasp, every moan, almost like he was just as hungry for Memphis’s sounds as he was his body. It was overwhelming, all-encompassing. There was nothing in the world that existed in that moment but the two of them, and it was more than Memphis had ever dared hope for.

Preacher’s hips stuttered, and then he was no longer thrusting but grinding his hips against Memphis, his whole body rigid as he came, pulling his lips away to bury his face in Memphis’s throat, his whole body shuddering and twitching in a way that made Memphis feel like he wasn’t the only one who was experiencing an entirely new sensation.

Preacher slipped his arms from under Memphis’s legs so he could straighten them, but made no other move to free himself. Part of him was relieved. It wasn’t that he expected Preacher to get up and run away—they were trapped together for the time being—but some part of him couldn’t stop his brain from jumping back to those other three guys and how quickly they’d run, leaving Memphis alone and humiliated in a dark room.

He shook the thought away. Preacher wasn’t anything like those men. Preacher wasn’t really like anybody Memphis had ever met. He was entirely his own person. A strange grizzly hermit who rescued dogs and children after spending years in prison for a murder he actually committed. Memphis snickered before he could stop himself.

“What are you laughing at?” Preacher asked, voice muffled against Memphis’s shoulder.

“I don’t think it’s as funny if I say it out loud,” Memphis said. Besides, he didn’t want Preacher to think he was making fun of him. Was this why people always wrote books and songs and movies about falling for bad boys? No. Preacher wasn’t a bad boy. Even taking a man’s life couldn’t make Memphis see him as bad. He was a good man who’d done a bad thing for a good reason. He wasn’t even a man when he’d done it. He’d been a boy who was trying to protect his mother.

The smile slid from his lips as his heart skipped a beat. A mother who’d turned her back on him and left him to rot in prison. He carded his fingers through Preacher’s sweaty locks before tugging him up and giving him a chaste kiss.

“What was that for?” Preacher asked, sounding both amused and confused.

“Just cause?”

“I’ll take it.”

“I’m hungry,” Memphis blurted, realizing it was true as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Well, then I guess we should do something about that.”

“I’ll cook,” Memphis said.

“We’ll both cook.”

Memphis arched a brow. “Do you not trust my cooking?”

“I trust your cooking just fine, but if I’m not helping, what am I going to do? Sit on the couch and watch a reality show about bitchy models clawing their way to the top?”

Memphis laughed. “Promise me we’ll never be that bored.”

“Promise.”

Chapter 15

Preacher

Preacher had never thought he’d be the type to enjoy sleeping in bed with another person. Prison life had taught him to value his space. No matter how much he’d gotten along with his various bunk mates over the years, he never imagined there would be anybody he’d like enough to allow them to violate his inner sanctum. Not after years in that six by eight cell. But he’d also never imagined meeting Memphis.

Memphis just made everything so easy once he let his guard down. He was quick to smile, quick to laugh. When their impromptu make-out session in the kitchen almost resulted in burning dinner, Memphis had simply rescued the food and put it aside so that he could finish what he’d started, dropping to his knees to blow Preacher to completion, swallowing every drop before they’d sat down at the small kitchen table and had the most relaxing dinner of Preacher’s life.

They’d fallen into bed, naked and full, and Preacher had taken hours to slowly turn Memphis into a shivering, whimpering mess, fucking him slowly until he was begging Preacher for more, his heels driving into him, back arching, willing to do almost anything just to get what only Preacher could give him. It was sexy as fuck. Memphis was so open to him now. He blossomed when Preacher took charge, enjoyed being bossed around, manhandled. Preacher had never thought of himself as somebody who would be into that, but God help him, he was. He so was.

Memphis had said he didn’t trust anybody, but he trusted Preacher with his body, and, fuck, that was sexier than anything. By the time they’d fallen asleep—Memphis curled up in his arms—they’d both come several times, stopping only to take the dogs out and grab a snack. Preacher had never remembered a time where he’d felt so…content.

He woke just as the sun began to peek through the glass window overhead. He blinked himself to consciousness in time to watch Memphis roll into a sitting position, looking over his shoulder before shoving his arms back into his long sleeve henley from the previous day, pulling it down into place as he padded across the house to the bathroom.

Preacher’s chest grew tight. Memphis wasn’t cold. He hadn’t even bothered with pants, just the shirt, just covering his scars…again.

When he returned, Preacher said, “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?” Memphis asked warily.

“Well, you’re clearly not Donald-Ducking your way to the bathroom because of the temperature. You’re covering up. I thought we were past this. You don’t have to hide from me.”

Memphis froze, jaw tensing. For a split second, Preacher thought he might have angered him, but instead, he sighed, flopping back onto the bed to stare at the trees silhouetted overhead. “I’m not hiding them from you. Not really.” He shifted his gaze towards him briefly before looking away again. “I mean, I guess I am, but it’s not you. It’s me.”

Memphis smirked at his own turn of phrase, but it quickly faded as he poked at his temple hard enough for Preacher to wince and tug his finger away. ”Easy,” he cautioned, kissing his fingertip and the temple he’d just abused. He always seemed to turn his frustrations inward.

As if to confirm Preacher’s findings, Memphis bit down on his lower lip, worrying it between his teeth before saying, “I’m the one who can’t get past it. Like, if these scars were on any other person, I wouldn’t think any different of them. I wouldn’t be less attracted to them or find them lacking in any way. But it’s not somebody else, it’s me. I think of people’s eyes on them, looking at me with pity, and something inside me…wilts. I know I should look at them and think of myself as a survivor, maybe find them empowering or some shit, but I don’t. I hate them.”

Preacher rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his palm, letting his fingers slide beneath the fabric of his shirt to trace the soft skin of Memphis’s belly. “Maybe it’s not the scars you hate but what they represent.”

Memphis’s gaze cut to Preacher, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “When I think about my scars, when I feel them, when I look at them, it’s not the pain I remember. I’ve honestly blocked most of it out and the burns were so deep in some places there weren’t any nerves left to feel with.”

Preacher ached for him. “So, what do you think about?”

“The humiliation.”

Preacher frowned. Of all the things Memphis could have said, humiliation hadn’t even been on Preacher’s radar. He’d imagined Memphis might feel sadness, rage, but humiliation… It didn’t compute.

Maybe Preacher should have just kept his mouth shut. What did it matter if Memphis felt more secure with a shirt on? Preacher had just wanted him to feel comfortable enough to not be self-conscious. But still, he couldn’t leave that answer as it was. “Humiliation? Why?”

Memphis rolled away from Preacher. He was fully prepared to let him drop the conversation if it was too much for him, but Memphis just scooted backwards until he was curled against Preacher, making him the big spoon. He pulled him closer, his heart kicking when Memphis tangled their fingers together.

“Do you know what it’s like to be hated? Not for anything you did, but just for the very fact that you exist at all?” Preacher didn’t think Memphis wanted him to answer, so he stayed quiet, burying his nose in his hair, inhaling the mint of his shampoo. “My dad hated me my whole life. He hated me so much that it felt like an actual thing, some creature always lurking in the corner. He never hated Nash like that. He smacked us both around, especially when we were young. We had to be tough. But he looked at me like there was nothing worse he could think of than having a son like me, like I wasn’t even human. And when I was little, I didn’t get it. It didn’t make sense. Like, what could a five-year-old do that would somehow make a grown ass man so disgusted? Now, I know that he realized I was gay way sooner than I did. I don’t know how or what it was…but he knew, and he hated it so much he wanted me dead.”

Preacher swallowed the lump in his throat, sad in his bones for Memphis. Not Memphis now, but for the boy Memphis once was, the one who’d needed a father and, instead, got a monster. The Memphis who had probably spent his whole miserable childhood asking himself why nobody loved him. The thought gutted Preacher, made him want to find Tennessee and slowly peel the skin off his bones.

Preacher had only ever known kindness from his father, right up until he’d realized what he’d done to his mother. That was its own type of betrayal, he supposed, with its own type of scars, but Preacher had never grown up feeling unloved, unwanted, or unsafe. “You know this was his issue, not yours, right? There was nobody you could have been that would have made him any different. He’s…damaged.”

“But that’s the thing of it. Everybody knew my father hated me. Everybody knew he beat me, threw me around, broke my arm, knocked out a couple of teeth. They felt sorry for me, of course, but it was just the way it was. Nobody wanted to be on Tennessee’s bad side, and I didn’t blame them. If I could have been somebody else for him, I would have been. But that’s why it’s so embarrassing. Because I knew I was a target. I knew he hated me enough to do just about anything to inflict pain, and I let my guard down.”

“What do you mean?”

“I fell asleep where he could get to me. Where I was at his mercy. I used to sleep at my friend Gemma’s a lot. I also kept locks on my bedroom door. It wasn’t enough to stop him, usually, but if he was in enough of a tear, it would slow him down enough for me to run, to get out the window and sleep somewhere else. But that night, I was just so…tired. I’d been cramming, trying to catch up for this stupid test. I don’t even remember falling asleep.”

Preacher tried to process the logic behind Memphis’s confession. “There was no way you ever could have thought you dozing off on the floor of the home you lived in would end in…fire. There’s no sane or rational reason for a person to do what your father did to you. Or for your brother to stand by and do nothing.”

Memphis shook his head. “I knew neither of them were sane or rational. I was going to leave. I had the money. But I just kept putting it off because I was afraid. I was afraid to leave that small town for something bigger and scarier. Afraid my father would catch me and kill me before I could escape. If I had just taken the money and run when I first got it, none of this ever would have happened. But I stayed and my father set me on fire. And I had to live with knowing the entire world knew that my father hated me so much he thought I deserved that. That I hadn’t been strong enough to leave, smart enough to run sooner. I don’t hide my scars just because of the way they look. I hide them because of what they represent. When I think of other people seeing them, it kills me because it feels like the world knows how powerless I am.”

Preacher didn’t know what to say to that. He couldn’t imagine anybody looking at Memphis and thinking he was helpless. “That’s not what I see when I look at you.”

Memphis craned his head back to look over his shoulder at Preacher, giving him the faintest hint of a smile. “I know.”

“I can’t imagine anybody looking at you and what you’ve been through and thinking of you as powerless. You got out. You made a life for yourself from nothing. When your brother needed you, you came, even though you were terrified. You made the hard decision of sending him away to protect him. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

He was quiet for a long moment, then, in the smallest voice Preacher had ever heard, said, “I hesitated.”

Preacher frowned. “What?”

“When I saw Nash attacking Knox that night in the hospital…I froze. I told myself it was because I didn’t understand what I was looking at. It was dark. I was tired. But the truth is, I saw Nash hurting Knox and I fucking hesitated.”

Preacher pressed his lips to Memphis’s head. “We all hesitate. To you, it might have felt like minutes, but it was just a few seconds. Your perception of time changes in a crisis. But even if you did hesitate, you had every right to.”

“You wouldn’t have hesitated.”

“I’ve hesitated. Are you kidding? Of course, I have.” When Memphis didn’t respond, Preacher gripped his shoulder. “Hey, look at me.”

Reluctantly, Memphis turned in his arms, looking up at Preacher with a weary expression. “I was a seventeen-year-old kid in federal prison. I didn’t look like I do now. I was scrawny. Terrified. Soft. Believe me when I say there was a long period when I was an easy target and there were no shortage of times when I ran or hesitated. And a few times when I didn’t run fast enough. Truthfully, before I met Cyrus, things were bad. His size proved to be a big detractor from anybody who wanted to kick my ass. Over time, I trained them to forget about me, but that just put a target on somebody else’s back.”

Memphis reached up to brush his hand across Preacher’s cheek, and his heart squeezed. Fuck. Everything Memphis did just sent Preacher deeper down the rabbit hole. He was definitely falling for him. But that was a problem for another day.

Preacher gave Memphis a soft kiss. “Everybody always talks about fight or flight, but nobody talks about the third response to danger. Freeze. When I agreed to start working with Cy to help rescue animals and kids and whoever else needed our help, we had to take this six week training course on trauma. People sometimes freeze during dangerous situations. It’s involuntary. It’s not something you can actively stop. It’s your brain just trying to keep you safe. Even if you hesitated, you eventually did what you had to so you could protect your brother.”

“It never feels like enough. I never feel like enough.”

“You’re so much more than enough,” Preacher promised. He was quickly becoming everything. Preacher wouldn’t put that on him, though. They didn’t know each other. Except, they did. Memphis knew more about Preacher than even Cy. Preacher wasn’t a talker, he was the listener. The one everybody confessed their sins to so he could offer up some kind of atonement. He didn’t talk about his past. He’d certainly never bared his soul about his parents. But something about Memphis just made him feel…safe. Which was stupid because it was Preacher who was supposed to be protecting him, not the other way around. They’d made a deal.

“How about, when the sun comes up fully, I start showing you ways to defend yourself? Like I promised. It won’t fix everything, but maybe it might help you feel a little more…empowered.”

Memphis nodded.

“But, when this is all over and you and Knox are safe again, I think you should talk to somebody. A professional, I mean. Somebody who actually knows what they’re talking about. Not just some old con who sat through an online course on trauma. Okay?”

Memphis shrugged, giving a half nod. Preacher didn’t push it. Memphis had to want to get help. He also had to be able to afford it.

That thought slipped away as Memphis kissed Preacher’s chin, his leg hooking over Preacher’s hip. “What do we do until then?”

Preacher grinned, letting his hand trail over Memphis’s bare thigh. “What do you want to do until then? Are you hungry?”

“Uh-uh,” Memphis said, tucking his head under Preacher’s chin to kiss along his neck.

Preacher slipped his fingers between Memphis’s cheeks, letting his fingers tease over his hole. “Are you…horny?”

“Uh-huh.”

Preacher laughed. “I think I can help with that.”

Chapter 16

Memphis

It was all so easy with Preacher. Almost too easy. No matter where Memphis had been in his life, he could never shake this stiffness in his spine when around others. There was a system in place for dealing with people—all people—face to face. Keep his scars covered, never make waves, keep conversation shallow and polite, don’t ever talk about anything real.

For years, it had worked. It made those around him think of him as friendly if not a bit bland. They didn’t invite him places, at least not after the first few times. He didn’t care if he came off as slightly odd or eccentric. Those things kept him safe. And being safe was worth sacrificing anything.

Besides, he had his plants and a little studio apartment and that was all his. Really, it was far more than he deserved. Being alone had seemed like the only way to feel secure. Dealing with people and the real world was a minefield of trust and feelings that he was no longer equipped mentally to deal with. Some people might have found it lonely—and he supposed it was. But behind his closed and locked apartment door, he could shed the skin of being the weird guy and just be. He’d valued being alone over almost anything. Alone equaled safe.

Until Preacher.

Memphis gazed out over the yard, downing his water bottle, still pretending to recover from their first self-defense lesson. He sat tucked under the treehouse on the little porch, his gaze glued to the scene unfolding in the yard.

Bo and Luke were growling and snarling, fighting over a comically small stick that caused their mouths to sit close enough for it to look like they were conjoined at the snout. They were making a terrible racket and anybody who saw them, might think they were locked in a true fight instead of just playing.

But that wasn’t what held Memphis’s attention. That was reserved for Preacher, who stood not far away, stripped down to a thin t-shirt and his jeans that hugged his ass and thick thighs, the muscles of his back and arms straining as he lifted an ax overhead, expertly splitting firewood, one piece after another in a hypnotic rhythm. Memphis was glad Preacher was facing the woods and not him, otherwise Memphis might be embarrassed about his half-hard cock tenting his fleece lined sweats just from watching Preacher work.

Memphis licked his lips, taking another sip from the bottle. Did other people see what he saw? Part of him hoped not. Preacher was sexy in an unconventional way. In a terrifying way. In a way that sometimes made Memphis think his daddy issues were far greater than he’d ever feared. He was ruggedly handsome, for sure, nobody could argue that, but with a look of somebody who had lived a hard life. Though barely into his forties, his hair was graying, lines formed at the corners of his eyes and sometimes when he looked directly at Memphis with that hardened gaze, it gave him a bit of a chill at the thought of incurring his wrath.

But that wasn’t Preacher at all. There wasn’t a mean bone in the man. He rescued dogs and kids. He protected strangers who had nowhere else to go. And that was almost scarier than if he were a secret monster. Memphis knew how to run and hide from monsters. He’d been doing it his whole life. He didn’t know how to run from Preacher. Preacher whose world weary gaze looked at Memphis with infinite patience, who touched him like he was precious, who listened to him without judgment, who fucked him like he couldn’t get enough. He shivered at the thought, watching Memphis throw another log on the pile.

It didn’t seem real. If he wasn’t on the run from his psychotic brother, Memphis might have thought this was all some fever dream or that he’d finally snapped and was living inside some private medication-induced fantasy where a big, bad, felon had come to save him. Or to teach him to save himself.

Preacher had accused Memphis of lying after their morning training. He’d been shocked by Memphis’s ability to shoot and hit his target, impressed by his speed and agility when they sparred. It wasn’t that Tennessee hadn’t taught the boys to fight. He’d drilled it into them from the time they were in diapers, forcing them to fight each other over every minor conflict. But it was easy to remember those lessons with Preacher; he wasn’t terrified of Preacher. Not physically anyway. He hadn’t been so light on his feet when confronted with Nash and no matter what Preacher said, Memphis couldn’t forgive himself for that. He certainly wouldn’t let it happen again.

Preacher promised they’d keep working, every day, until Memphis felt some sense of control. Because that’s who Preacher was. He didn’t give up and he didn’t shame Memphis for his fears. He just accepted that they were a thing and figured out a way to work around them. And it was really starting to fuck with Memphis’s head… and his heart.

When Preacher stripped off his t-shirt, Memphis put his existential crisis on hold, wishing he’d bothered with underwear, so he could at least attempt to control his now obvious erection.

It was uncharacteristically warm outside—hovering around sixty degrees. But the news said the temperature was going to plummet once more when the sun went down, blanketing them with more snow, so Preacher—being Preacher—had wanted more firewood. Just in case.

Memphis didn’t mind the cold when he had Preacher always ready and willing to warm him up… and fill him up. He shifted, feeling the now familiar ache in his backside. They’d fucked that morning before training, Preacher pounding him into the mattress like he wasn’t fragile and damaged, whispering all the filthy things he planned on doing to him later, trying to coax Memphis to do the same.

Despite the persona he put on for strangers, Memphis had never thought of himself as shy, but he was much more interested in being on the receiving end of Preacher’s dirty words, than trying to voice all the things he wanted the older man to do to him while they were tangled in the sheets.

It wasn’t that he feared Preacher’s judgment. He just froze under the pressure of finding something to say when Preacher was doing things to him that scrambled his brain and removed all reason, leaving no thoughts behind other than yes, please, harder and more.

Preacher dropped the ax embedding it into the tree stump, before stacking the cut wood into a neater pile, then using his shirt to mop at his face and chest before walking to Memphis with a wolfish smile on his face. “Whacha thinking about?”

He dropped into the deep Adirondack chair beside Memphis and gave him a wink that Memphis would have found ridiculous on anybody else, but he was up and moving before he could change his mind, straddling Preacher’s hips and kissing him deeply.

When he pulled back, Preacher arched a brow, glancing down at Memphis’s lap. “Should I be offended that you’ve clearly spent your recovery time objectifying me?”

Memphis looked him in the eyes as he groped Preacher’s crotch, feeling his already swelling dick. “You don’t seem offended.” He ran his thumb over the zipper of Preacher’s jeans before sliding both palms up to span the muscles of his broad chest, letting his nail trace the ink there. The skin was cool and tacky, and Preacher smelled like sweat and the wood he’d been cutting.

Memphis pushed Preacher back against in the slightly reclining wooden chair, following to dip his tongue into the hollow of his throat, tasting the tang of salt before dipping lower to tease one of his nipples with his teeth and the other with his thumb nail.

“This is a dangerous game you’re playing,” Preacher warned with a growl, his hands grabbing Memphis’s hips and dragging him forward, until their erections were pressed together through the fabric.

Memphis sucked in a breath as Preacher slipped his fingers into the crease between his cheeks, his fingertips teasing over his hole. He grunted at what he found. “Fuck, you’re wet. Why are you so wet?”

Memphis kissed his way up Preacher’s throat to his earlobe. “You don’t remember fucking your load into me this morning? Cause I remember you taking great pleasure in fingering me afterwards.”

Preacher made a sound that was almost a snarl, making Memphis’s aching cock leak. He slipped a finger inside, their awkward angle making his thrust shallow and frustrating. Preacher used his free hand to grip Memphis’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Are you saying that the whole time we were shooting and sparring…”

“Your come was leaking out of me?” Memphis asked, kissing Preacher’s slightly gaping mouth. “Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you. It was distracting and sexy as fuck. Now, I’m telling you I want more.”

“Christ,” Preacher muttered. “Lift up.”

“Right here?” Memphis asked, gazing around the empty lot.

“Are you afraid we might scandalize the dogs? I think that ship has sailed.” Preacher shifted so he could force his finger deeper into Memphis’s hole, massaging his prostate until his whined. “Did you really think you could crawl into my lap, dick hard, tell me your horny and leaking and I wouldn’t fuck you right here and now?”

Memphis couldn’t help the needy, wanton sound that spilled from his lips. He did as Preacher asked, planted his booted feet on either side of Preacher’s muscular thighs, gripping the back of the chair, lifting enough for Preacher to unbutton and unzip his jeans shoving them to mid-thigh, before doing the same to Memphis’s sweats, tugging them awkwardly out of the way, leaving his ass exposed to the cool air. Then Preacher’s fingers were back, massaging his entrance before pushing two inside.

They both groaned, but Preacher looked particularly shattered. “Fuck you’re so wet. So fucking wet and warm and tight.”

Every word made Memphis’s cock throb where it bobbed between them. Preacher definitely had a breeding kink. He loved emptying himself inside Memphis, feeling the evidence of his release, feeding it to Memphis on his fingers.

Memphis had never thought that he’d find such a thing sexy, but the truth was, Preacher wanting to leave any part of himself inside Memphis was almost enough to have him coming on the spot. Breeding had always seemed sort of barbaric and caveman, like a man had wanted to mark him or possess him, own him. But when it came to Preacher, Memphis could only hope he wanted those things with him and any evidence that he did, made .Memphis feel warm and wanted. He wanted to be Preachers—only Preachers—and he wanted the world to know that he was.

“You don’t have to prep me. I’m good. I promise. Just fuck me. Now. Please.”

“Bossy,” Preacher whispered, but fondly, like he liked this take-charge Memphis.

The position was awkward, Memphis’s thighs were already burning, but the moment Preacher’s cock pushed inside, all thoughts were replaced with the sting of his body making room for Preacher’s much needed invasion. He closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of fullness.

Memphis had expected another session like that morning, a rough, hard fuck that left them both laughing and out of breath. Instead, Preacher’s hands gripped Memphis’s waist, holding him steady as he slowly pulled out until only the head of his cock breached him, before surging back in with the snap of his hips, the snap of his hips driving the breath from his lungs. If felt like Preacher was in his belly. He was just so fucking deep.

Memphis gripped Preacher’s bare shoulders, needing some kind of anchor. He might have been on top but he was in no way in control. Preacher’s gaze was locked on Memphis, paralyzing him with the intensity of his look until the world grew small around them and there was nothing but the two of them.

Preacher took him apart slowly and it was death by paper cuts, the hard length of him slowly dragging almost free, setting Memphis’s already raw nerve endings on fire, only to thrust back in hard enough to curl his toes in his shoes. But it was more than physical. Preacher watched him like there was nobody else in the world but him, like it was so much more than just sex, than just two people making each other feel good. Preacher watched him like he could read his mind if he just looked into deep enough into his eyes. And it was just all so much.

If it was anybody else, Memphis would have been humiliated by the way his nails bit into Preacher’s skin and moans fell from his lips every time his cock dragged across Memphis’s prostate, making his cock drool onto Preacher’s belly.

He wanted to touch himself, needed to really, but with the material of his sweatpants bunched between them and the precarious way he perched in Preacher’s lap, he was totally at his mercy. It was insanely frustrating and impossibly sexy.

“Preacher,” he whined, hoping the desperation in his voice might force him to pick up the pace. Instead, it somehow only turned up the intensity of his gaze until Memphis was a shivering mess, only made worse when Preacher dropped his hands to Memphis’s ass, spreading him so he could somehow fuck him even deeper.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me, so full. I could do this all day. Just keep you plugged up until its time for me to breed you over and over again.”

Memphis’s brain fell offline for a full thirty seconds at Preacher’s dirty words, then he was cupping his face, looking into his eyes. “Do it, fill me up. I want to feel it. I need to feel it.”

Preacher dragged him in for a kiss, muttering against his lips. “Uh-uh. You do it. You want my come. Take it.”

Memphis froze. This was so much easier with Preacher in charge. “I-”

Preacher spit in his hand, reaching under the material of Memphis’s sweats to wrap a hand around his aching cock. “Don’t think about it. Just do it. It’s just me. Just us. Fuck yourself on my cock, make yourself feel good. I promise that’s all I’ll need.”

Memphis might have fought harder, over thought it more, but then Preacher was working his cock in his tight rough grip, thumb sweeping over the head on every upstroke, twisting in a maddening pattern that had Memphis hurdling toward orgasm almost too quickly. “Slow down. You’re going to make me come to fast.”

Preacher’s responding purr was like a physical touch. “You can do it, baby. I have faith in you. You wanna come with my load inside you, right?”

Fuck. Why was that so hot? He shifted position slightly until his calves flanked Preacher’s thighs, and he could drop all the way down onto Preacher’s cock. He was past thought or reason or shame. He just road Preacher hard, finding a rhythm that put Preacher’s cock just where he wanted it. He gripped the arms of the chair, head thrown back, lost in the pleasure of being fucked and stroked at the same time.

“That’s it, baby. Take what you need. Fuck you look so good like this. So hot.”

Preacher’s voice drove him harder, faster, sent him sling-shotting closer to his release. Memphis wasn’t sure he could hold back. He wanted Preacher to come first but he could feel his spine tingling, his balls tightening. “Preacher…”

Preacher’s hips stuttered beneath him, the muscles of his thighs clenching a hoarse cry falling from his lips as he surged up to capture Memphis’s lips. He couldn’t feel Preacher coming inside him, not really, but he could feel the way his cock pulsed within that tight ring of muscle as he spilled inside him and that was enough. He cried out, his mouth still pressed to Preacher’s, his release sending a full body shudder through him as Preacher just kept working him, milking every drop until his cock lay spent between them.

Memphis fell forward, dropping his head on Preacher’s shoulder. “Wow.”

Preacher’s chuckle warmed Memphis from the inside out. “Wow doesn’t begin to cover it.”

“I’m not going to be able to walk for a week. My thighs are shot.”

“That’s alright, I’ll carry you. You’re kind of scrawny.”

Memphis sat up, poking Preacher’s nipple. “Take that back.”

“Ouch.”

Memphis did it again. “Take it back.”

“Okay, okay. You’re not scrawny. You’re a monster. Totally swole.”

Memphis glowered at him until they both began to laugh. “Did you just say swole?”

Preacher grinned. “Is that not the word?”

“Debatable. Please never say it again.

Chapter 17

Preacher

“Who do you think comes up with these photoshoot ideas?” Memphis asked, his head resting on Preacher’s chest. They lay on the couch, tucked under a throw, Memphis blanketing Preacher, his body nestled between Preacher’s sprawled legs.

Preacher stared at the photo of a girl dangling precariously over a city street in an ugly suit with hair and makeup that would make David Bowie proud. It had probably cost thousands, but Preacher didn’t get the appeal. “Whoever they are, they seem sadistic.”

“Mm,” Memphis agreed, his hand sliding under Preacher’s shirt to splay across his chest.

Preacher dipped his head to kiss Memphis’s head, content to watch this silly show in the dim light of the treehouse, with the dogs lying before the fire. He let his gaze stray to the television. No matter the photoshoot idea: spiders, under water, in a grave, dangling from a building, there was always a model having a meltdown somewhere.

Two weeks, six days, and a handful of hours hiding out in the isolated Oregon wilderness had taught Memphis and Preacher to not be so picky with their choices of entertainment. Though if Preacher had to choose, he’d most definitely prefer the entertainment where the two of them were naked and Preacher was buried inside him, but there was a limit to even that.

The microwave dinged, indicating the bag of popcorn he’d put in had finished. When he went to move, Memphis clung to him. “No. Don’t go.”

Preacher chuckled. “You managed to make it when I walked to the microwave three minutes ago. I’m sure you’ll be fine until I walk the twenty steps to the kitchen and back.”

“You don’t know that. You were gone forever last time. I was terrified. What if something happens right when you reach the kitchen? What if you get lost on the way back? What if you trip and break a hip? You aren’t getting any younger.”

Preacher pinched Memphis’s side and he jumped with a laugh.

“Just for that, I’m not sharing my popcorn with you.” He wriggled from under Memphis, padding barefoot into the kitchen, tugging the popcorn bag free and shaking it a bit to displace the steaming kernels.

“Babe, hurry up. I think Tyra is going to make a girl cry… again. Oh, and bring me a beer.”

It wasn’t a request. Preacher shook his head. When Memphis wasn’t swimming in childhood trauma and existential dread, he was feisty and funny and more than a little demanding. Every day he came out of his shell a little more and Preacher was enjoying meeting each knew part of Memphis.

Preacher was reaching for a bowl overhead when he saw it, the faintest hint of movement in the darkness outside. It was there and gone so fast, he almost dismissed it. It could have been an animal. A deer or bear, but the hairs on the back of Preacher’s arms stood on end, his pupils dilating, his pulse picking up pace.

He flipped the dim kitchen light off, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Outside a beam of moonlight cut a path, catching Preacher’s pickup and something else. His heart sinking as he saw them. Two men, guns drawn, creeping in the distance.

“Baby?” Memphis called again, anxiety leeching into his voice.

“Memphis, get your boots on. Now.”

To his credit, Memphis didn’t argue or panic. He didn’t even hesitate. They’d been training for this for the last week, making a plan so when or if the time came for them to fight, Memphis didn’t freeze.

Memphis joined in in the kitchen, boots and jacket on, gun in hand, carrying Preacher’s boots as well. “What is happening?” he asked, a slight tinge of panic in his voice which was barely above a whisper.

Preacher pushed his feet into his boots, grateful they were both dressed for once, then took the weapon, thumbing off the safety and chambering a round. Low growls started coming from the dogs who were now pacing, sensing Preacher and Memphis’s change in mood. Preacher nodded towards the window and Memphis blanched as he saw the two men silhouetted against the low light. “How?”

“That’s a question for another time. Right now, all that matters is getting us the fuck out of here safely. Grab the shotgun in the closet and bring it to me. Shells too.”

“Aren’t we safer in here?” Memphis asked.

“Yeah, but for how long? And if they know we’re here, so will others. We need to get out.”

“How though?”

Preacher fixed him with a patient stare. “Memphis, baby. Please, go get the shotgun.”

The light in Memphis’s eyes was dull once more. But he did as Preacher asked.

“Bo, Luke. Heel.”

The boys were at his side in an instant. Memphis set the shotgun on the counter as well as the extra ammo they’d picked up in town a week ago. Preacher’s heart thudded heavy behind his ribs as he weighed his options.

On the upside, the truck was just outside and they had the element of surprise. If their attackers didn’t think to somehow disable it, they could use it to get the hell out of there. But the men were too close to make a direct run for it, and there was nothing to put a wall of protection between them if they sprinted for the car. It would turn into a fire fight and while the nine millimeter might provide some kind of cover, the shotgun was strictly a one off.

Preacher went to the living room and peeled back the rug hiding the trap door, and then he unlocked the front door, opening it just enough so the latch wasn’t closed, but so that it still appeared closed. He had a plan but it was only going to work if these two men were idiots and approached together from the front. There was no backdoor. Anybody who’d cased the place probably assumed that meant there was only one way in or out. Hopefully, that also meant they both decided to come from the stairs.

“What are you doing?” Memphis whispered, blue eyes wide. “You can’t go out there.”

“Relax, baby. I’m not. They don’t know we see them coming. The only thing we have going for us is the element of surprise.” He threw Memphis the truck keys and tucked the nine millimeter in Memphis’s sweatpants pocket. “When I say so, open the hatch, quietly. Get to the truck as fast as you can and get the engine turned over.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

Preacher gave him a slight smile. “I really hope not.”

Memphis didn’t appear to find his attempt at humor funny. “What about the gunman? Won’t they shoot me when I make a run for the truck?”

Preacher looked at the two german shepherds, so alert they were vibrating. “No, they’re going to be far too busy to worry about you.”

Preacher peeked through the small window, watching as the two men slowed just beyond the spiral staircase, seeming to have some kind of argument, though silently. He didn’t recognize either men. They were most likely freelance. Hopefully, not professionals, but opportunists. That would be better for Memphis. Freelancers had no skin in the game. If it came down to money or living, they’d likely choose living. They were expecting to find two men sleeping in opposite rooms, but first they had to make it past a solid steel door.

They’d never get the chance. Preacher got Memphis’s attention gesturing for him to quietly open the hatch, but then wait. Memphis complied, face pale, keys gripped in his fingers, handgun causing his sweats to sag on one side. For a split second, there was only silence and the ragged sound of their breathing and the boy’s excited panting.

When the men were halfway up the spiral staircase, Preacher swung the door open. “Attack!”

The boys launched in tandem, hitting the men with the force of a battering ram, sending all four of them tumbling down the steps.

“Go, now.”

Preacher slammed the door shut and locked it as Memphis dropped through the hole. Preacher snatched the shotgun and shells, free falling out of the hatch just in time to see Memphis struggling to open the truck door. His pulse shot up and he rushed towards the vehicle, adrenaline pounding through him as he saw the door give and Memphis slide behind the wheel turning over the engine.

The sounds of snarls and high-pitched screams punctuated the otherwise eerily quiet night, sounding like something out of a horror movie. The boys wouldn’t relent until Preacher gave the command and the men were far too worried about fending off teeth and claws then the two them making their escape.

Preacher went to the driver’s side, forcing Memphis out of the way as he shoved the truck into reverse, tires crunching under ice as he skidded to the side, where a ball of skin and fur rolled around in the dirty snow. “Door!”

Memphis swung the passenger door open and Preacher grabbed the handgun from where Memphis had dropped it on the seat, pointing it in the direction of the screaming men. “Release. Come.”

The boys immediately released the two men, but there was a yelp of pain a split second before they bounded up into the cabin of the truck. Preacher fired two shots toward the men just to keep them down, then pointed the truck down the long winding drive, grateful there wasn’t enough ice on the ground to cost them traction.

Memphis spun around, getting on his knees to look out the back window, scanning the darkness for any sign of the two men. Preacher didn’t blame him. There were too many variables. Did the men have a truck parked nearby? They had to have walked the long way down the drive. They would have heard an ATV. Preacher clicked the button for the gate well before they approached it, sailing through the opening and turning onto the gravel road.

Memphis only turned around once they were turning onto the main road into town, flopping back into the seat, chest heaving. The look he gave Preacher wasn’t fear so much as weariness. Luke hopped over the seat into the back, eyes bright, panting heavily. But Bo whined, pawing at his nose and licking at his side.

“Preacher, he’s bleeding.”

Memphis clicked the cabin light on and Preacher let him examine the dog’s injury. “How bad is it?”

Memphis made a sad noise. “He might need stitches. It looks like one of them had a knife.”

“Just keep him comfortable. We have to ditch my truck.”

Memphis looked startled. “What? Why?”

Preacher gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Because they’ve seen what I drive and we have no idea how they found us in the first place. Its just better to be safe.”

They drove for an hour until they found a big box store open twenty-four hours, heading to the darkened parking lot at the back of the store. They parked the truck and Preacher tried handles until one gave. A mid-2000’s Toyota Camry.

Preacher looked for keys but none could be found.

“I’ve got this,” Memphis said, pulling Preacher from the drivers seat. Preacher watched as Memphis reached underneath and began pulling wires.

“You know how to hotwire cars?”

“All of Tennessee Camden’s boys can hot-wire a car. Even the queer one,” Memphis said, voice flat in a way that unnerved Preacher. Still, he focused on swapping the license plate on the Camry, just for a double measure of security. If the person reported the car stolen, they’d be looking for the wrong plate.

Once they were back on the road, Preacher finally looked at Memphis who stared straight ahead, shoulders stiff. “You okay?” Memphis gave him an incredulous look. “Okay, stupid question. Are you physically hurt?”

Memphis shook his head.

After another half hour of driving, Preacher pulled into a convenience store chain frequented by long-haul truckers. “Stay with the boys. Keep the gun on you.”

Memphis didn’t respond. Damn these Camden boys and their selective mutism. The lighting inside the store was anemic at best, casting a yellow glow on everything it touched, but it was clean and well stocked and smelled like hot dogs and fried chicken.

Preacher didn’t waste any time. He grabbed a bunch of medical supplies, two pre-paid cell phones and as many groceries and drinks as he could carry. Remembering at the last moment to grab dog food too.

He couldn’t have been in the store for less than fifteen minutes, but Memphis hadn’t appeared to move a muscle while he’d been gone. He handed over the bags, which Memphis placed at his feet, then headed back down the road. He found a motel off the highway, it was shabby, near empty and the balding man behind the counter stared balefully at Preacher when he said he’d forgotten his ID, but took the added cash he’d offered.

It was only once they were in the room, door locked and stopper in place, that Preacher allowed himself to give Memphis his full attention. He cupped his face, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Talk to me.”

The world-weariness in Memphis’s eyes was a gut punch. “I don’t want to live like this.” His voice cracked, face crumpling a moment before he started sobbing. Memphis wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tight. It had only been a matter of time before he finally snapped. Preacher was shocked it had taken so long. This wasn’t sustainable. Nobody could live on the run, least of all Memphis who had lived his whole life in a constant state of terror.

Memphis pushed away from him, sniffling and wiping his tears with the back of his hand. “Sorry. I’m good. Sorry,” he said again.

“Don’t be sorry. This is a lot. Why don’t you go take a shower while I patch up Bo?”

Memphis shook his head, going to sit on the queen bed where Bo lay on his side, not looking any worse for wear. Preacher sighed kneeling beside the bed to take a look at the dog’s injury. The wound was shallow, but probably would have required stitches had they taken him to a vet. Instead, Preacher shaved the area around the wound with cuticle scissors, cleaned it, and pinched it closed with steri-strips.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best he could do, given the circumstances. He stood, taking Memphis’s hand and tugging. “Come on, let him rest. We’re going to take a shower and then I’m going to call Cy and Jackson and tell them what happened. We need a new plan.”

Once under the weak shower spray, Preacher took his time soaping Memphis up and rinsing him off. Memphis just leaned heavily against him until Preacher began to soap himself, then Memphis turned, taking the small bar of soap and carefully giving Preacher the same attention Preacher had given him, then more so, massaging his balls and soaping his cock until Preacher was hard and breathless. “You don’t have to.”

Memphis kissed him, increasing his pace and, god help him, Preacher wasn’t going to say no. Instead, he grabbed the soap and reciprocated, timing his strokes with Memphis until they both came quietly in the now chilly water.

Memphis didn’t make any move to step out of the stream. He still looked pale, his eyes dull, but when Preacher went to turn off the tap, Memphis wrapped his arms around him, resting his head on his chest, clinging to him.

Preacher swallowed the sudden lump in his throat as he held him, kissing the crown of his wet head. A sudden realization hit him like a baseball bat to the chest. Preacher loved Memphis. He loved him. He didn’t know how it happened, or when, but Preacher did love him… more than anything.

Memphis was right though. This wasn’t sustainable. Not for Memphis or Knox, no matter how much he loved life at the farm with Robby and Calder. This needed to come to some kind of a head and if that meant putting a bullet in both Nash and Tennessee Camden, then Preacher had to consider it a viable option. He didn’t want to go back to prison, but he wasn’t able to watch Memphis live this way. Not after he’d made so much progress over the last few weeks.

Memphis deserved to be happy.