CHAPTER 9
Axel sat at the kitchen table, hunched over his morning coffee, one palm clamped around the warm mug and the other stroking Jonah’s ear, the lab mix propping its chin on his thigh.
He stared into the steam rising from his coffee but didn’t take a drink.
Jonah’s eyes rolled toward the cowboy as he entered the kitchen, and his tail swished against the linoleum, but he didn’t jump up and trot over to Clint as he usually did when Clint appeared.
Clint slid an arm around Axel’s neck, bent down, and kissed his head. “You okay?” He reached down to scratch Jonah’s ears. The young dog wriggled a bit but stayed rooted beside Axel, his favorite human, sensing the young man’s emotional turmoil.
Sighing heavily, Axel rubbed his eyes and finally took a sip of coffee. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Maybe. I guess.”
“Mm.” Clint pressed his lips to his hair. “Thanks for clearing that up.”
Axel laughed quietly. It sounded tired, weary. “Sorry. I guess I don’t really know how I feel.” The simple sound of his soft laugh made Jonah wriggle closer, nosing Axel’s hand. Axel smiled and stroked his head as an almost sorrowful sigh escaped the young man.
Last night’s lovemaking had been intense—and wrought with emotion.
Afterward, Axel clung to Clint and cried himself to sleep.
But even his sleep had been troubled, and he’d tossed and turned until morning.
Clint hadn’t gotten much sleep himself, partly because of Axel’s restlessness and partly because his mind wouldn’t turn off.
He’d repeatedly gotten up throughout the night to check on Luke, needing the constant reminder that their son was safe and sound, asleep in his bed.
Jonah made those treks to the boy’s bedroom on Clint’s heels, whining softly as if he understood something wasn’t right with his people.
After each visit to his son’s room, Clint’s thoughts would turn to the two grief-stricken families, imagining them sitting up in the wee hours of the night, trying to understand how they would go on… or whether they even wanted to.
Then he would think about the shooter, and his blood would boil.
Thoughts of the shooter brought thoughts of Lazarus.
Clint had no qualms about taking him out if he had orchestrated the drive-by.
Every action had a reaction, a ripple effect.
And two innocent boys—two innocent families—had been caught in that ripple, and someone would fucking pay.
Part of the need for revenge was for Axel, as well as the families. He never wanted to see that look on Axel’s face again, the one that reflected his worst fears—put there by the bastards who had caused these tragedies. Yesterday’s events had broken something inside Axel, and that was unforgivable.
“When are you leaving?” Axel whispered, still staring into his coffee mug.
“Less than an hour.” Clint poured some coffee and sat at the table. It was still dark outside, with only a faint glow on the horizon.
“What if Lazarus won’t see you?” Axel asked. “From what you said, the last meeting didn’t go so well. Didn’t you choke him and put a gun to his head?”
Clint shrugged. “We were… negotiating.”
“Didn’t his right-hand man almost shoot you?”
“Cochise stepped in.”
Axel shook his head, a faint smile forming. “My point is, are you sure he’s going to welcome you back? Doesn’t sound like that first time went so great.”
“He liked me.” Clint scoffed. “I didn’t like him, but I guess he found me charming.” His mouth twitched. “’Cause you know I just ooze charm.”
Axel’s smile stretched slightly. “I think so. How do you think you trapped me?”
Clint chuckled. “I don’t think it was my charm.”
Shrugging, Axel sipped his coffee. “I don’t know, you were pretty charming there at the start.”
“Yeah,” Clint chuffed. “That’s what I was.
” Axel’s memories of their first few encounters shed a better light on it than Clint’s did.
Though Axel had no regrets about how things had gone down, Clint did.
But it was in the past, and though he often wished he could go back and do things differently, there was no changing what had been done.
Truth be told, even if it were possible, he didn’t think Axel would allow it.
He watched the lab pup, doing its best to comfort Axel, and Clint was convinced that Jonah had played a pivotal role in winning Axel’s heart. Gifting the pup to Axel had been a turning point for them, whether Clint acknowledged it at the time or not.
Shifting back to Lazarus, Axel said, “Maybe try a different negotiation tactic this time?” He raised his eyes as he took a sip of coffee. “Hm?”
“I’m not going there to negotiate,” Clint’s voice dropped to a growl, and Jonah’s tail, gently swishing, went still as the pup’s deep brown eyes rolled toward the cowboy. “If he sent the shooters, he can kiss his ass goodbye.”
Axel shifted anxiously, his hand subconsciously pressing against the soft fur at the nape of Jonah’s neck. “He isn’t just one man. You’re entering his domain. Even if he’s at fault, how are you going to deal with him?”
“Last time, he met us at a remote location,” Clint said. “He brought only his right-hand man with him. Lord.”
‘You call him Lord?’
‘Seems fitting—since he brought me back to life.’
The two men had history—a story. But who didn’t? Clint didn’t give two shits how Lord brought “Lazarus” back to life. If Lazarus was the direct cause of those boys’ deaths, Clint would retract that life. And if Lord got in the way, he would recant his as well.
Lord was two lubed fingers deep in Lazarus’s ass—about to be three—when a sudden knock on the door interrupted the moment. Lazarus tensed, his inner muscles squeezing Lord’s sizeable fingers.
“Boss?” came a man’s voice through the door.
Lazarus looked over his shoulder at Lord, who remained in position, his digits shifting slightly inside him as he gave his boss’s prostate a quick stroke. Lazarus’s lower stomach clenched along with his jaw, and his cock stretched longer between his thighs, dripping wetness onto the bed.
“What is it, Porter?” Lazarus growled, his eyes boring into Lord, commanding him to continue. Lazarus’s face pinched, a spasm twitching his left eye, as a slick third finger entered his ass. He inched his knees further apart, allowing Lord to go deeper.
“We have a problem, boss,” Porter’s voice was slightly muffled through the door.
Lazarus released a slow, hissing breath. His fingers balled the sheets into fists, his eyes pinching, as Lord’s large fingers pumped his ass wetly, stroking his prostate with each inward thrust. His teeth clenched, grinding out his words, “What problem, Porter?”
Lord grabbed his cock with his free hand and stroked it downward, milking clear juice from the tip, as he plunged his fingers deeper in.
Fuck. Lazarus breathed deeply, a quiver running through his tense muscles as his skin grew tacky with sweat.
His hips rocked slightly, riding Lord’s fingers as the man squeezed his cock with only his thumb and index finger, wringing his swollen shaft from root to tip until Lazarus let out a quiet, guttural sound that rumbled through his chest and up his throat.
“A problem with the Sanitini enforcers,” Porter said.
The cowboy? Egyptian? Lazarus wasn’t the cowboy’s favorite person, but they’d had no issues since their last encounter.
Lord ignored the proposed problem and ran his fingers in and out of Lazarus’s ass, which had grown tense with Porter’s news, clenching the man’s digits.
Lord stroked his cock with a controlled rhythm and pushed his fingers extra-deep, rubbing the pads of his fingertips round and round the sensitive walnut-sized gland deep inside his boss.
Lazarus grunted, and his hips jerked involuntarily. A jolt of ecstasy shot down his shaft, thickening his cock. A generous droplet of precum dribbled from the tip.
“What kind of trouble?” Lazarus swallowed, his throat tight, as heat flushed his body. He pushed against Lord’s fingers and rolled his hips slightly, stroking his dick through the “ring” of Lord’s thumb and forefinger.
Porter hesitated. “It requires some explaining, boss.”
“How imminent is this trouble?” Lazarus asked tightly, his breath beginning to puff up his throat. “Are they here?”
“No,” Porter said. “But they might be on their way.”
Lazarus clenched his jaw harder as Lord thrust his fingers deeper, faster, his hand bumping his ass.
His body rocked back and forth, slamming his ass on Lord’s fingers.
The slick lube made an audible, wet, sucking sound.
He absently wondered if Porter could hear.
If so, the image in his head wouldn’t be the right one.
His men weren’t aware of his and Lord’s “extracurricular” activities.
He doubted most of them knew he preferred cock, since they only ever saw him with women.
At the mention of their imminent arrival, Lord faltered. Their last encounter with the Sanitini enforcers had been tense, to say the least. Lazarus shot Lord another look over his shoulder, and the man increased the pace again.
“Let me know when they arrive,” Lazarus said with a huff of breath. “And be hospitable. They’re our guests.”
“Yes, boss.” Porter’s footsteps faded away down the hall.
Lazarus groaned and dropped his head forward, focusing on Lord’s large fingers slipping in and out of his ass, a hard shudder running through him.
“That get you off, boss?” Lord finally spoke, his voice low and deep.
“What?” Lazarus insistently rode his fingers, making demands with his body. Lord obeyed, giving it to him harder.
“Doing business while getting finger-fucked by your underboss.” There was amusement in Lord’s voice.
Gritting his teeth, Lazarus hissed, “Yes.”
Lord grunted with a slight laugh, then released his cock, sliding his slick fingers from his ass. “Ready?”