Saddled, chapter 16 (Patreon)

John checked the GPS as the phone rang. He knew roughly where he was going, but Boston was a nightmare to navigate and he couldn’t afford to be late. On the fourth ring, Logan picked up.

“What?” Logan demanded, as personable as ever. 

The light turned green, and John turned right. “Hey, it’s me. I’m not going to be able to pick you up at the airport.”

Logan didn’t answer right away, but John could hear the crowd in the background. It sounded like Logan was still in the main terminal or the luggage area. Thank god he’d turned his phone on before getting out to the pickup curb. “Why not?” Logan finally asked.

“Because I have work,” John said. He had expected to have more free time in Boston, but he was grateful Elena was finding him jobs. Since he wasn’t going out on the boat at all, he needed the income.

“Your work is on a boat in another state.” Logan’s voice turned suspicious. “Did you leave Mom alone with that mutant of a sister of ours?”

“No, of course not.” John chose to ignore the insult to Fawn. Those two would never get along, and he was tired of trying to make them play nice. “I’m still in Boston, but I have to work for a few hours this afternoon, so take a damn cab and stop bitching.”

“I’m sorry, what work do you have in Boston?”

John really didn’t want to get into the details, but if he didn’t tell Logan something, he was going to start digging. John wasn’t entirely sure how high up the food chain Logan was, but it was possible that he could dig out the truth about Briarwood if he asked the right people. And if those people trusted him. “I told you—I work for a company that provides all sorts of service workers for the wealthy. Ferrying people around on the boat is my normal job, but I’m sorta desperate for money here, so my boss offered to find me other work.”

“Oh, that sounds ominous. Are you talking about robbing banks or whoring yourself out.”

John’s voice came out too high. “Excuse me?” A small white car cut him off in traffic and John came inches from rear ending the asshole. He blamed that an not Logan’s words for his racing heart.

“There is no excuse for you,” Logan shot back as if it was all just a light hearted moment of teasing.

“Asshole.”

“And proud of it. So, tell me exactly what you’re doing for rich people.”

“Not whoring myself out,” John snapped, and today that was true. A client wanted the fantasy of stealing another man’s girl, so John was there to play a part. He would bluster and threaten and then take a weak punch to the stomach before the client strode off with the beautiful woman. This fantasy was so common that John could sleepwalk through the scenario. Hell, he could sleep through the weak punches some of these men threw.

“I knew that,” Logan said quickly. “After all, who would pay for your broken down old ass?”

“My ass is still prime,” John said darkly. And given how much his ass was earning, he had good evidence to support that.

Logan said sarcastically, “You’re a regular muscle daddy. Now what the fuck are you doing for rich people in Boston?”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business. However, one of the clients has a blind date sort of meetup.”

“Okay, this is sounding like the setup for breeder porn.”

“Will you shut up? I’m supposed to hang out at the bar and make sure she is comfortable with the guy.” Logan’s attitude was really starting to rub John the wrong way. He made fun of everything, and if John’s cover story had been true, a woman had every right to some extra protection. If hiring someone like John made a woman feel safer, that was legitimate. Hell, he’d escorted women to concerts and beaches and nightclubs for that exact reason. A few times, groups of women had hired him because even in packs, they didn’t feel safe from asshole predators. 

“You’re not trained as a body guard… are you?” Logan sounded suddenly unsure. Maybe it had just dawned on him that they only talked once a year and John could have been doing anything with his life.

“No, I’m not. But she’s not dropping a ransom or visiting Afghanistan. She is meeting a guy who is probably just as nice in person as on the internet and she wants to feel safe. I’m just there to watch and make sure that if she’s creeped out, she’s not alone.”

“And if this guy is a creeper, what are you supposed to do?” Maybe Logan didn’t mean that as an insult, but it sure as hell came off as one.

“There’s this amazing new invention. It has buttons, and can magically connect you to the police if you hit the ‘nine’ button followed by two ‘one’ buttons.” If Logan had been in the car, John would have head slapped him.

Instead of apologizing, Logan kept right on pushing it. “So they’re paying you to stand around and dial 911 if something happens?”

“Rich people are stupid. I’ve stopped questioning their reasons for doing anything,” John said as he avoided thinking about Davidson’s modified stable. “But this actually seems pretty reasonable to me. I drink a beer, I listen to the music, and if her date goes horribly wrong, she is guaranteed to have a bystander willing to get involved to protect her.”

Logan was silent for a time. “Yeah, I guess that’s wise. How long is this going to take you?”

John figured he’d be done in an hour. After all, he only had to let the client threaten him and throw a punch or two. Mia had the heavy lifting tonight. However, that didn’t match his cover story. “How the hell am I supposed to know? If the guy is a schmuck, I’ll be done in ten minutes. If they hit it off, I could be at the bar all night. I’ve already been to see Mom today, so I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

Logan’s sigh was overdramatic and totally Logan. He finally asked, “What hotel are you staying at? I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

John’s brain whited out and he couldn’t come up with a lie fast enough.

“You fucking martyr,” Logan screeched. “You’re putting thousands of dollars into damn hospital bill and you’re sleeping in your fucking car. I’m going to kick your ass up between your shoulder blades.”

“Like you could,” John snapped back. He didn’t need to get a lecture from Logan. He’d changed Logan’s fucking diapers, so there was no way he was going to take shit from him. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Spend a little money and get a damn hotel room.”

“This is Boston. I can’t spend a little money on a hotel unless I’m sleeping where one hour whores turn tricks. And I really don’t want to touch the bedspreads in those places.” John might be a whore, too, but he was a drug-free, disease-free one. The poor women who worked the streets were neither.

“I’m getting a room with a pull out couch, and you’re sleeping with me. Wait,” Logan quickly blurted. “That came out wrong. You’re sleeping on something that resembles a bed in my room.”

“My car would probably be more comfortable,” John said even though he had bruises today to prove that wasn’t true. He was too damn old to sleep in a backseat.

“Liar.”

“Maybe,” John admitted.

“So, go do your weird backup thing and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before John could say goodbye, Logan disconnected the phone. Family. Some days John wished he was an only child. Either Logan was abnormally rude or California was a bad influence.  He didn’t have much time to wonder though because the GPS showed that he had arrived. The park was quiet. The surrounding area was all business or government buildings, so hopefully no one would be around to call the police on a supposed fight. That had happened a few times. Luckily, John had only encountered one police officer pushy enough to insist on a report after John refused to press charges. That time the client had gotten in a lucky shot and left John with a black eye.

John would have been impressed, except the client had landed the punch by tripping. The extra momentum had given his hit some real weight, but then John had to catch him to keep him from face planting on the pavement. John had gotten one hell of a good tip off that job. Elena, however, had been apoplectic that John’s name had gone into an official police report.

She hated paper trails.

A blue car was parked near the swings, and John parked next to it. 

Mia got out and smiled. “Hey, good looking.” She leaned on her car and waited as John locked his vehicle.

“Hey yourself. You look stunning.” She did, too. The faded jeans were skin tight, and she had a flowing top that reminded John of a sari.

“And you are handsome and dangerous. Why haven’t we gone to bed, yet?” she asked as John held out his arm to escort her.

John leaned close and whispered, “Because you prefer women during your off hours.”

She laughed. “True. You, sir, are all man. You leak testosterone.”

John snorted.

“You do.”

John escorted her to the swings and took the seat next to her. Now they just had to play the part of a couple until the client came to steal Mia away. “I leak normal.” John wrapped his fingers around one of the chains on her swing, playing the part of a possessive boyfriend. “So how goes school?”

“Two semesters to go. Soon I will stop playing with fake vomit and blood and clean up the real stuff.”

“I thought the whole reason you were going for your RN license was so that you didn’t have to clean the vomit,” John teased.

“It won’t be my job to clean the big puddle, but if you go into nursing, you’re going to clean bodily fluids.”

John cringed. He would much rather gut fish and risk his limbs on a crab boat than touch someone else’s vomit. Now if his mother got sick, that was different, but stranger vomit was a hard limit for him. He’d actually turned down a couple of high-paying jobs from men who wanted to pee on someone. John did not understand the appeal on either side of that kink. Then again he hadn’t understood animal play until he’d been in the middle of it kicking Davidson. 

“You’re a wuss.” Mia smiled and gave him a gentle backhand.

“Hey, I will gut any fish in the world for you, but don’t ask me to clean up after people.”

“The cleaning up is just part of helping them. I want to make a difference and be there for people who may not have anyone else.”

“You’re going to be great,” John said, “and not just with the patients who don’t have families. My mom is sick right now, and the nurses at the hospital mean a lot to her and to the rest of us.”

Mia wrapped her hand around his. “I hope she’s going to be okay.”

John’s smile was weak, but he couldn’t muster more. “Me too.” They sat in silence for a time before a third car pulled into the deserted parking lot. “Show time.” John straightened up got into the mindset of a thug. After all, their client wanted a hero fantasy. That cast John in the role of the villain.

“You need to know your place,” John said loudly. He stood and planted himself in front of Mia. She rolled her eyes, so maybe he was overacting a bit. He toned it down. “You know I care about you,” he said in a softer tone.

“Of course you do.” Mia stood and put her hands on his shoulders and leaned toward him.

“Sometimes you just make me angry.” John chose a more placating tone. He didn’t want to get the client too worked up.

“It’s my talent, baby,” Mia said. “But you don’t own me.” The song lyrics immediately started running through John’s head and he glared at her. Mia gave him an impish grin and quirked one eyebrow. Bitch.

The new man asked, “What do we have here?”

John turned, and a man in his mid-thirties stood a few feet away with a gun in his hand. John didn’t mind props, but he sure as hell didn’t like getting surprised by one.  “Whoa, put the gun up. No need for violence.” John put his hands up, and silently planned out the loud complaint he was going to lodge with Elena. Either their client didn’t understand the rules and had gone off script or she didn’t trust him to act surprised. And if she didn’t trust him, she shouldn’t send him out on the job.

“You, you’re coming with me,” the client said. John frowned and looked over his shoulder at Mia. Maybe she knew this was actually a kidnapping fantasy. Sadly they were even more common than rescue ones.

“Not the girl, you, Mr. Macho.”

John pinned the client with his most formidable glare. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but I’m not going anywhere. So get your ass back in your car and get out of here.”

The client raised the gun. “I didn’t ask your opinion.”

John’s gut started to knot as he took in several details. The gun had a silencer on the end, a detail most clients wouldn’t bother with in a fantasy prop, and a van pulled up next to the client’s car. John reached out and pushed Mia behind him. She was probably already dialing Elena, or possibly 911, so he just had to stall.

“We don’t have much to steal,” John said carefully.

Two guys from the van came trotting across the grass, and John could see that one held something metallic that glinted when the street lamp caught it.

“Look, I have orders to either take you to make your boyfriend miserable or shoot both of you and leave your boyfriend mourning. Take your pick, hero.”

From behind, Mia whispered, “John, no!”

“I don’t know who you’re talking to, but I don’t have a boyfriend,” John said calmly. Stall. He just had to stall, and where the fuck were the police?

“Clive Davidson ring a bell?” the gunman asked. “Although you are more of his whore than his boyfriend. Doesn’t matter. You’re either coming with us or dying here, and if you’re waiting for the girl to call for help, give it up. We’re blocking the signals.”

John looked over his shoulder, and Mia’s face was scrunched up in fear. That was enough of a confirmation for him. He turned back to the gunman. “Fine, I’ll come after Mia is in her car.”

“You’ll come now. Don’t argue with me, whore.” He gestured at one of his flunkies and the guy walked around John. Mia scrambled to John’s side where the gunman had a clear shot. John didn’t say anything as the flunky pulled John’s hands behind his back and handcuffed him. Then the guy pushed John forward, and when John stumbled, the gunman brought his weapon down on the side of John’s head. Already off balance, John went to one knee.

“No!” Mia cried out.

John struggled back to his feet. “Leave her alone.”

The gunman grabbed John’s arm. “Don’t worry. I’m not interested in her. Babe, call your boss because if the police get involved, this is going to get messy.”

Mia opened her mouth as if to argue, and John cut her off. “Do it,” he snapped, but he didn’t have a chance to see Mia’s reaction because one of the flunkies pulled a bag over his head. Blind and cuffed, all John could do was cooperate and hope Elena wanted to avoid a dead assistant as much as he wanted to avoid police involvement.

Chapter 17: https://www.patreon.com/posts/saddled-chapter-19634666