Oak, Sophie - Siren in Waiting [Texas Sirens 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (24 page)

“Mouse, call the sheriff.” Bo stared down at the man. Damn, he was really more of a boy. Austin? Allen? He recognized the young man on the floor. He was from another town, but he often came into Deer Run with his mom and sister. Fuck. That kid couldn’t be more than sixteen.

“You’re bleeding. Oh, my god, you got hit, Bo.” Mouse tore down the stairs. Her eyes were wide with horror as she pushed up the sleeve of his shirt.

He was bleeding, but it wasn’t serious. He could see that it wasn’t anything beyond a scratch. He kept a boot on his assailant’s chest. “I’m fine, honey. Go on and call Lou. Tell him he has a guest coming in.” Bo felt his eyes narrow. “I hope you like checkers.”

He heard Mouse on her little cell phone and finally was able to breathe again. She was fine. The danger had passed. And now he could see that shooting wasn’t the only thing the jerk had done. It looked like he was into graffiti, too.

Get Out

It was spray-painted on the wall of the parlor in a horrible lime green. It was the same color the hardware store had on sale the week before. He was a cheapskate criminal to boot.

“Are you the idiot who spray-painted Trev McNamara’s truck at the sheriff’s office this morning?” Bo asked.

What did this kid, who hadn’t even been big enough to enjoy football when Trev was a high school god, have against the man? And this kid wasn’t even from Deer Run.

“I ain’t talking.” The words came out in a hateful sputter. The kid tried to move, but Bo had fifty pounds on him. And now that he really looked at the young man on the floor, Bo could see just how fragile he was. The kid had moved past lanky and into gaunt. Bo searched his memory. Austin. His name was Austin, and he lived in a trailer park with his mom. He was bussed in to the county high school. He’d always been a little on the small side. He wasn’t an athlete, but now the kid looked downright sick. There were scabs on his face.

“What did Trev ever do to you?” Bo asked, his voice softer now. He wasn’t about to let the little asshole up, but he wanted to understand what had brought this kid so low.

“Trev? Who is that? Are you talking about the druggie quarterback? What does he have to do with anything?”

“If you’re not here to piss off Trev, then why the hell are you here?” A cold feeling started in Bo’s gut.

The boy shook his head. His skin was a pasty white, like it hadn’t seen the sun in a very long time. “It’s a job, asshole. I was supposed to spray-paint the truck and then break in here and fuck some stuff up. It’s just a job.”

“Who hired you?”

The boy’s skin flushed, and his eyes widened. “No one. No one at all. I was just looking for drugs.”

“That’s not what you said a minute ago.”

But his head was shaking now. “I lied. I didn’t mean it. I was just making shit up. I was looking for drugs. I heard the lady who lives here has a lot of drugs.”

Mouse? He could barely talk Mouse into taking ibuprofen when she had a headache. She’d read something about potential liver damage. No one in the state of Texas would mistake Mouse for a drug user. “Bullshit. You’re scared. Who are you scared of?”

“I ain’t talking. Not to you. Not to the cops.”

Whoever had hired the little fucker had him scared shitless. He wasn’t going to move. Bo had to hope Lou could muster up the energy to look somewhat threatening, but he doubted the sheriff would be able to get the kid to talk.

“Bo?” Mouse’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

Bo turned his head, never letting up on the pressure keeping the criminal on the floor. Mouse’s face was stark white, and it took everything he had not to pull her into his arms and promise her everything would be all right.

He couldn’t do that. She wasn’t his, not in that way. But at least he could say the words. “It’s going to be okay. Why don’t you call Trev?”

Bo could hear the sirens in the distance. Mouse ran to the door to let the police in, though he could have told her the door was kind of hanging on by a single nail at this point. No need for formalities now.

He hated it, but when the chips had been down, it hadn’t been his father’s voice that helped him. Never. But it hadn’t been Aidan’s, either. In that moment when he needed guidance, it had been Trevor McNamara’s patient voice that had come to him. Trev had spent hours teaching him the game when no one else had thought he could learn it. Trev had been the reason he’d made the varsity team his junior year. He’d never quite understood why Trev had been so kind to him, but it had stuck with him, even after all this time. Even under all the bitterness, there was still some warmth for the man.

“I ain’t talking.” The kid was crying now.

Nope. He wouldn’t talk. But that didn’t mean Bo wouldn’t figure out what the hell was going on.

* * * *

“Seriously?” Trev stared at the door. It wasn’t where he’d left it. When he’d left this morning, it had been where doors customarily rested, in the doorframe. Now, long after the sun had gone down, the door was sitting on its side on the porch.

Beth smiled at him, a hammer in her hands. She’d changed into a pair of overalls and a little collared shirt underneath. She had slung a tool belt around her waist. It was pink and slightly prissy looking. It didn’t quell his desire for her. It just made him want to shove his tool where it would do the most good. “There was a little incident a couple of hours ago. I took care of it, but the door suffered. I’ve already reset the mountings. Now I just need a little muscle to get the sucker in place, and it’ll be good as new.”

Trev seriously doubted that, but he picked up the heavy door anyway. His back protested, but he managed to hold out until Beth was satisfied. She turned her little wrench and hammered something into place. When she pronounced it finished, Trev let go and hauled her close. Her time controlling things was done for the day.

“Hello.” He smiled down at her. There was a little sweat on her brow, but she still smelled sweet, like hard work couldn’t possibly mar her femininity. So fucking soft.

Those pillowy lips raised in a smile. “Hi.”

He loved how breathless she was when she talked to him. He wasn’t about to let her know that he felt the same damn way. He was the Dom. He was supposed to stay in control.

Damn, it had been a long day. O’Malley had put him straight to work. He’d thanked Leo as he left because if Leo hadn’t insisted on vigorous workouts during his rehab, Trev doubted he would have survived the day. As it was, all he wanted to do was cuddle up with Beth and make love to her over and over again. Well, and get fed. He would really like some food. But mostly the lovemaking stuff.

He closed the door. He was damn happy to see that she’d attached a proper deadbolt. He found it strangely sexy that his girl knew how to install a deadbolt.

“I like the lock, darlin’.” He twisted the handle, happy it worked smoothly.

“I’m good with a drill. My dad taught me.”

He pulled her close. “I can show you how good I am with a drill.”

She laughed, her amusement sparking something light in him. The day might have been difficult, but it seemed to melt away now that he was here with her. “I think I know how good you are.”

She had a sexy little smile on her face, and his ego just about doubled because he knew he’d put it there. He kissed her, surprised at just how comfortable this whole “coming home” thing was. Even in this rickety old place. He looked around. Beth seemed to have been busy.

“Painting?” Trev asked, looking at the back wall of the parlor. It had been painted an odd orange color. Now there was large swath of white. It looked white. She had the lights off, so he couldn’t really tell.

She shrugged. “I just wanted to try it. I’m eager to get started.”

“I’m glad that all worked out. How did things go at the bank?”

“It was all right. There was a little trouble when I got back home, but Bo handled it. Oh, and I bought that coffeemaker you wanted, but I had a little accident with it. It kind of went in a million pieces. I promise I’ll get another one tomorrow.”

“Bo?” He couldn’t help the growl. From what he could tell, Bo had decided to play the dog with two bones. He’d talked to some of the hands. They all liked Bo, but they were universal in their praise of just how many women he could get into bed with. He’d done just about every girl in the county according to the hands. All of them except Beth Hobbes.

“He’s my friend.”

There was something about the way she said it, a tightness to her eyes that told Trev she wasn’t telling him everything. A little of his calm slipped away. He thought about pursuing it and decided against it. What if she told him she loved Bo? What the hell would he do then?

“I need to go get cleaned up. I thought we could go pick up some dinner in town and come back here. Is that okay?” Beth lifted herself up on her toes and brushed her lips against his. She immediately went back down, a little look of horror on her face. “Was I supposed to do that? I’ve read some books where the Dom doesn’t want the sub to touch him without permission.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “Touch me all you like, darlin’. We’re not performing a scene or training. We’re just Trev and Beth right now.”

Her arms tightened around him. “Good. I didn’t think I would like that part.”

He wasn’t the type of Dom who required total power exchange. He’d seen it, and it worked for some, but he’d never be twenty-four-seven. In the end, he wanted to be taken care of too much and not because he’d ordered the sub to do it. Beth’s arms around him felt like caring, not the rote, practiced touch of long-held formality.

He kissed her long and slow as his mind drifted over the way he wanted this relationship to go. Submission in the bedroom. Long evenings of her naked at his feet. But part of the point to his dominance was to teach her how to stand up for herself. To give her a feeling of self-worth that seemed to be lacking though she had no reason for it. She was lovely and worthy, and he needed to show her all of those things. Some submissives needed the complete exchange, to lose themselves in another’s dominance, but for Beth, it was different. A Dom could free her.

His hands moved lower, his groin becoming distinctly engaged in this little “hello” kiss.

And then his stomach growled.

Beth pulled back, a little laugh bursting from her lips. “I won’t be long. Just ten minutes.”

He watched as her backside swayed in her overalls as she scampered up the stairs. His dick and his stomach warred, and he promised both they would get what they needed. He would have her undress in the truck on the way back from picking up the food. She would take it all off and sit on his vinyl bench seat while he told her everything he had planned for her tonight. Her pussy would be wet by the time they got home. She would leave a spot on his seat, and he would fucking let it sit there. His whole cab would smell like her. He could surround himself with her.

He started to go up the stairs. His cock had definitely taken over. His stomach protested, but weakly, as though it knew it had a weak argument. He was on the second step when he heard her phone ring. He thought about letting it go, but damn it, he knew who it was. He just knew it deep down.

He crossed the space between the stairs and the front hall table in three long strides and looked down at the number. Sure enough. Bo O’Malley.

Aidan’s words haunted him as well as his own damn fool memory. They had been friends. More than that. They had been close. Bo had been the kid brother he’d never had. Bo had looked up to him for something more than his ability to toss a football and get laid. Trev wasn’t sure what had made him befriend the younger man other than the fact that he looked so lost among the larger players. He could remember hearing his teammates laugh about the fact that Aidan O’Malley must have gotten all the muscle and intellect in that family. He’d known that the kid had heard it all. He’d watched as Bo had sunken into himself.

Fuck. Aidan was right. Goddamn it. He wanted to kick something. He didn’t need this. He wasn’t responsible enough to take care of his own damn self. He didn’t have to do it. He didn’t.