Chapter Forty-Five
Booker
It had taken Frey’s fox-half four sessions in his animal form to heal his injured shoulder, though there remained some residual bruising which burned Booker's ass every time he looked at it.
“Do you know if they moved?” Booker questioned, his eyes on the road as he sat in the passenger seat with Dad driving.
“They are still in the same house,” Dad answered, not looking at Booker as he navigated the busy afternoon traffic.
Booker knew Dad had kept an eye on his old family to make sure they didn’t cause him any problems. Booker suspected Dad had paid handsomely for his father to allow them to adopt him. It had all been too easy, something that—when it came to his father—never happened.
“What did you tell Popi?”
They’d had to be cunning to get away at the same time so as not to garner suspicion from Frey or Lane. They’d both been warned to stay away from Booker’s father and let the lawyers handle it. Only, with the memory of the terror on Frey’s face when he’d recounted to Booker exactly what happened, made it impossible to sit and do nothing. Dad, knowing him well, had rung him the day before to ask when he was going to pay a visit. Booker hadn’t wanted Derick to come, but he wasn’t for being dissuaded and it warmed Booker to his core. Dad had always been the person he measured himself against, and this was why.
“That I needed to find him an anniversary present.”
“Shit, it’s next week. Maybe we should reconsider—”
Dad raised his hand off the steering wheel, cutting Booker off. “Don’t. We are doing this today. You are worrying about what he’ll do next. We need to nip this in the bud, make him understand that we aren’t going to tolerate him attacking our family.”
The steel that ran through Dad’s voice and the truth of his words were all it took for Booker to settle. “I’ll take the blame if Popi finds out, okay?”
Dad’s rich, deep laughter filled the confined space. “Like you could save me from Popi? He’ll kick both our ass’s into next week if he finds out we did this.”
Booker chuckled at the concern Dad tried to hide. Popi might be an omega and divergent, but he would and could match Dad for sheer strength of will. “Yeah, what was I thinking?”
“You weren’t, son, but don’t worry. We aren’t going to get caught. ”
Booker hoped so. He didn’t want to upset Frey and cause him any more worry. But to do that, he needed to make it clear to the man who’d tossed him aside that if he so much as breathed on his mate, he’d end him. The police had given his father a warning to stay away, and although Frey had pressed charges for assault, which the hospital records supported, it wasn’t enough.
“Looks like he’s home,” Dad murmured as he slowed to find a place to park.
Booker didn’t question how Dad knew the BMW, shining like a new cent, was his fathers. Parked two houses down, Booker got out of the car and waited for Dad to join him.
Dad rested a hand on his sleeve. “Let me do the talking.”
Booker shook his head. “Not this time, Dad. It’s time I faced him and dealt with this shit once and for all.”
Over the years, Booker had seen his father on the street with his mother a few times. They’d snubbed him every time, and that was fine. Then he’d left Hazardville, and he could almost believe that Derick and Lane had always been his family—if he ignored the nightmares.
Coming back had been difficult, and now Booker understood why. The memories of his childhood remained tied up with this town and they weren’t all bad. He had a family of his own now and he didn’t want his past to contaminate his present, especially in the form of the asshole who hated divergents.
He’d attempted to explain this to Frey when they’d gone to their bedroom for Frey to shift and heal after Booker had first gotten home. His bear had wanted to curl around their fox and wasn’t for letting anything stop him. So the talking had gotten curtailed and since then, Frey hadn’t brought it back up.
Stop blaming me, you avoided it.
I’m not blaming you.
“Shall we?” Dad enquired, one brow arched as he looked at Booker.
He took a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s do this.”
When they reached the door and knocked, Booker found it easy to push aside the flood of memories of times when he’d have walked into the house without an invitation.
The door opened and there loomed his father, larger than life, wearing an ugly sneer when he saw who was standing on his doorstep. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing coming here? If you’re after my forgiveness ‘cause you adopted a divergent , you got another think coming,” he snarled.
The way he referred to Emmy made Booker’s blood boil, and he had to take a moment to stop himself from reaching up and throttling the fucker who shared the same DNA as him. Genetics didn’t make a family, love did, and Booker clung to that as he stared his father down.
“Beg your forgiveness? What a crock of shit. I have done nothing that requires forgiveness.” Booker jabbed a finger into the enormous chest in front of him.
“You, on the other hand, have,” Booker spat out, as he poked a little harder. “You touched my mate. Laid hands on him in front of our daughter.” As he spoke through clenched teeth, his fingers gripped the shirt he was touching and dragged his father, who he could easily match for size now, into his face.
He met his angry glare with one of his own. “You come near my family, any of them, again, and I will tear your fucking head right off your shoulders and shit in it.”
Booker was too angry to look away when he heard Dad chuckle. He wanted to make sure the man in front of him got the point, because he meant every damn word. This was his family and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to protect them. It was the first time he completely acknowledged what a gift Derick and Lane had given him. He had always appreciated them, but never truly gotten what they had done for him until Emmy.
“H-how d-dare you t-threaten me,” his father gasped, going red as sweat popped out on his brow.
“I do dare.” Booker used both hands to grip his arms in a painful hold and lifted him clear of the ground, his bear pushing him to make the point. “I dare very fucking much.”
Booker shook his father hard enough to make his teeth rattle before he let go and, with satisfaction, saw his father sink to his knees, groaning.
He crouched down and grabbed the collar of his button-down and twisted his fingers in the material until it was cutting off the air supply. “Am I making myself clear?” he ground out.
Grunts and saliva dribbled from between lips that parted when Booker twisted a little harder, making him moan and gasp for air. To add further insult, Booker brought the toe of his shoe down between his father's legs and ground down hard. “Am. I. Making. Myself. Clear?” he enunciated each word.
His father’s head bob was barely more than a flicker as his face scrunched up in pain, fear lodged in his teary eyes. It left Booker satisfied he’d made his point. He let go and watched the bully slump down, retching as he tried to drag in oxygen, his hands clutching at his balls.
Booker gave him one last look and swung around, stalking off.
He was done.
All the way fucking done!
At the gate, it took a moment to realize Dad wasn’t right behind him. He glanced back to see Dad bent, murmuring something into his father’s ear. What color he had leached away, leaving him pale and glass eyed before Dad stood and walked to Booker.
“Time to leave, son.” He slipped a hand down Booker’s back and encouraged him to walk.
“What did you say to him?” Booker questioned as he walked back towards the car.
“It doesn’t matter what I said, just that I made my point the same as you.” He slapped Booker’s shoulder, grinning when they came to a stop. “‘Rip his head off and shit in it’…” Dad’s laughter helped ease the tension riding through Booker. “You do have a way with words, Booker.”
Grinning widely as he got into the car, he did his seatbelt up as Dad started the car. “I learned from the best, Dad.”
Booker didn’t need a tarot card reading to predict his future when he got home that evening. Frey was waiting for him in their bedroom, his hands going straight to his narrow hips, his blond, damp hair shifting as he tilted his head, giving Booker a hard stare.
He must have been home a while if he’d showered and was now dressed in cotton lounge pants and a baggy T-shirt that made him appear younger than his years and as cute as a damn button.
“Where have you been this afternoon?”
Booker stripped off his suit jacket, trying to calculate just how much trouble he was in. “You know where I was.”
He threw his jacket onto the back of the chair, then tugged at his tie, feeling like it was restricting his air intake. Taking it off, he placed it on top of his jacket as he watched Frey out of the corner of his eye.
“Do I?” Frey stepped closer, his bare feet moving soundlessly over the wood. “Really?” Blond brows arched up and Booker resisted squirming.
“I… it was… I thought… I-I…” Fuck, just spit it out. Only that seemed impossible when Frey reached up and knocked Booker’s hands away from the shirt he was unbuttoning. His body heated at the simple touch and Booker’s gaze went to the open door where Emmy slept.
“Emmy is with Jup.” Frey answered his unspoken question as he pushed aside the cotton of Booker’s shirt, trailing his fingers through the hair on his chest. The move, one Frey loved to do when they were lying in bed together, brought with it desire. “Now explain to me which part of ‘stay away from your father’ you didn’t get? Hmmm?”
Those nimble fingers stroked Booker's treasure trail to his belt buckle. His concentration shot to hell, he couldn’t remember what he was supposed to be saying. The story they’d come up with in the car if they’d somehow gotten caught disappeared with the sound of his buckle flicking open.
“What?” he croaked, as Frey slowly tugged down his zipper, allowing his fingers to graze the bulge beneath.
Frey’s gray-green eyes sparkled with mischief and made Booker’s throat become drier than the one time he’d gotten a mouthful of sand after face planting the beach.
“What. Is that any kind of answer?” Frey said in a teasing tone that made Booker’s dick throb and thicken until his shaft pressed against his boxer briefs. It was the only thing that stopped it from touching the fingers than were parting his slacks.
Somewhere in the past few weeks, Frey’s inhibitions about sex had disappeared and, although Booker had no issue whatsoever about that, it was hard to focus on any subject when Frey unleashed this new playful side.
“I don’t know.” He groaned when Frey sank to his knees, tugging on Booker’s suit pants. The head of his dick, slick with pre-cum, poked out the top of the band of his underwear as Booker hyperventilated at the sight of Frey licking his lips .
He tsked at Booker, all the while he unlaced his shoes. “Didn’t we talk about how communication was key to any relationship?” Booker lifted his foot when Frey tapped at it. “Isn’t that what you said to me when we talked about your father? And when we talked about my family.”
“Yes.” Booker groaned in frustration, growling at how his body was on fire with need as Frey came up on his knees, his face just below the straining fabric trying to contain his erection. Hot breath hit the wet head as Frey breathed out gustily, tugging down Booker’s boxer briefs. His cock bounced and slapped off his stomach, making Booker groan once more as he closed his eyes at the sight before him. Feeling at a distinct disadvantage, Booker wondered how the heck Frey had him wanting to beg. To cry mercy when it seemed Frey wasn’t coming any closer with those pretty lips or wrapping them around the hard shaft right in front of him.
“Yes, what?” Frey asked cheekily, the giggle barely suppressed as Booker opened his eyes to meet those of his mate.
“You’re planning on torturing me, aren’t you?” he asked, resigned to his fate. One he’d not change for the world.
Frey teased his balls with the soft pads of his fingers, a glint in his eyes that answered Booker’s question. “Did you go to see your father when I expressly asked you not to?”
Swallowing twice, Booker attempted to focus on answering despite how Frey took hold of balls and gently squeezed them. His shaft throbbed at the flood of sensation. More pre-cum made the head shine in the overhead lights.
Was he panting?
It fucking felt like it .
“What was the question?”
Coming closer, Frey licked once more at his plump lips, making them as shiny as the head of his cock, which was mere inches from those juicy lips.
“Did you go to see your father?” His breath wafted over the slick skin, causing his shaft to bob in time to his frantic pulse.
“Yes. Fuck, yes I did,” Booker gasped, his hands forming into tight fists at his side to resist dragging Frey closer.