Chapter Six
Liam
When I find Brennan Doyle at Belle Argo Executive Links, one of the private courses here in town, he’s still playing his first hole.
“I thought this place closed at seven.” By the time I finished searching Ravi’s room and got the call back from Sal about Brennan’s location, dusk was bleeding into the sky. Now, it’s past the time when most decent people would be turning in for the night.
Brennan Doyle, whose neck tattoo makes a liar out of the neatly pressed khakis and golf shirt he’s wearing, gives me a shit-eating grin.
“For other people, sure. You gotta be willing to tip well,” he says. “And you gotta know the right people.”
When he nods his head at the person playing with him, I realize he looks familiar. Ty Danes. The fucking county prosecutor. Of course.
No wonder Brennan Doyle never sees the inside of a cell.
All my intentions of going into this calm fly out the window when I blurt, “What the hell do you think you’re doing putting a kid up for auction like a piece of meat, you sick bastard?”
Brennan lowers the driver he’d been about to swing and cuts his gaze over to Ty. “I am definitely not putting a child up for auction,” he says slowly. “I am facilitating a charity auction in which the prize is a twenty-four-hour-long date with a legal adult, and there is no expectation of sex.”
Jesus, that’s rich. Like throwing out the word charity makes dirty old men bidding for the kid’s innocence any less disgusting. I’m itching to break this guy’s fucking face.
“A charity auction? Are you fucking high? What’s the charity? You?”
Brennan’s grin raises my hackles. It’s sharp and smug and has a heavy dose of I-know-something-you-don’t-know. He probably does. That’s why I’m here.
Still, I’d like to take a chunk out of his flesh or break his kneecap for that smarmy, self-congratulating look of his.
Not to mention his ridiculous fucking baby face.
Brennan Doyle is a couple of years older than I am, but he’s got the look of a man half his age.
Can’t even see any stubble from here. Surely that would justify shooting both kneecaps.
Brennan plants his driver in the grass, leaning on it like a cane. “It’s an education fund. A private education fund. Proceeds go to the young man being auctioned.” The way he leans heavily on the word “man” doesn’t help my mood.
Before I know it, I’ve drawn my gun, barrel aimed at Doyle’s smug face.
“I’d be careful if I were you, Mr. Masters.
” He gestures to the two caddies off to the side, one of whom is obviously security.
He’s taller and leaner than Brennan and more heavily tattooed.
He’s got a golf bag over one shoulder and one hand holding the pistol that’s aimed my way.
The other caddy is a lanky redhead who looks barely able to handle the thirty or so pounds of weight in the golf bag he’s carrying.
But he’s also pointing a gun in my direction.
Brennan Doyle’s not only selling kids. He’s also arming them. Big fucking surprise.
This is what I get for charging in here without clearing my head. Ravi drives me so fucking crazy I can’t see straight. With the odds against me and the course exit half a mile from this tee, my only move is to holster my weapon.
I study Brennan, debating how to proceed. It’s impossible to live in Belle Argo without knowing who he is, but our interactions until now have been minimal. Thank fuck.
“How much would it take for you to call it off?”
“More than you’ve got.” Brennan laughs, making me want to shoot him anyway and damn the consequences.
Piece of shit.
“How the hell would you know how much money I have?” My general wardrobe may be a T-shirt and tactical pants, making me look like nobody special, but my company is doing well.
Only three years after retiring from the military, I’ve got nearly a dozen employees, and we make a premium by taking on investigation cases, search and rescue, and even the occasional hit that’s too hot for anyone else to handle.
“Seriously?” The look I get from Brennan suggests he genuinely doesn’t understand my question.
“I know your line of work, Liam Masters, so I know I don’t need to tell you how many sickos are willing to pay for an innocent kid on the black market.
Now you take a young man like Ravi, all legal and shit, but also super naive, with big anime kitten eyes and the physical stature of someone who’s not yet old enough to drive?
What the hell do you think is going to happen? ”
“You disgusting piece of shit.” Reducing Ravi to a cartoon fantasy for pedophiles? My gun may be back in its holster, but I haven’t taken my hand off the grip. I should empty my clip into him for that line alone. “They’re going to tear him apart like a pack of rabid dogs.”
The thought compresses my lungs. I try not to picture the kind of damage the wrong buyer could do. I’ve seen too much not to.
“They’ll pry open their bank accounts like it’s a goddamn fire sale.” He raises one speculative eyebrow. “You know, you don’t give the young man enough credit.”
No, I do. I give him exactly enough credit. I know what he’s capable of. And that’s the problem.
“Your text said he could be a millionaire. I can pay you a million.”
I hate the words and myself as soon as I’ve spoken. Bargaining for Ravi makes me no better than the rest of the sickos. But I’m doing it for his protection.
Brennan tsks. “Funny, I don’t remember texting that information to you.
” He gives his driver an experimental swing.
“For the record, I think it’s going to go higher.
Didn’t want to get the young man’s hopes up, but it will.
” He gives me a knowing look. “For some reason Ravi’s in a real hurry to get out of Belle Argo. ”
Fucker. Ravi hating me enough to run away? It hurts worse than any bullet I’ve taken.
We’ve butted heads more lately, but that seems extreme. Besides, Brennan is an instigator. He loves to stir up shit. He’s lying. He’d better be lying.
“Whatever you may think, Brennan, Ravi’s still a kid. It wasn’t that long ago that his parents were murdered. You know as well as I do how trauma messes with people’s heads. Among other things, it negatively impacts their decision-making.”
He laughs. “Unless you’re about to show me a court order letting me know the kid, as you call him, no longer has the legal right to make his own decisions, then this has all of jack and shit to do with you.
We both know that wouldn’t happen, because Ravi’s too fucking smart.
No judge in the world would hand you legal guardianship of him now.
You’ve got no say here. That’s probably eating you alive, isn’t it? ”
I stand there seething as he repositions his driver at the tee, frowns at it, and then holds it out to the taller, tattooed caddy. “Jalen, give me the Calloway, if you would, please.”
Please. Brennan Doyle, gentleman. I almost laugh.
Except I’m having some trouble shaking off his comment. You’ve got no say here. That’s probably eating you alive, isn’t it?
On the outside, I won’t dignify that with a response. Inside? He’s right. It’s burning in my veins like battery acid.
“You know… I have to say I’m surprised, Masters.” Brennan lines himself up and takes a swing. We all follow the path of the ball as it sails down the fairway.
I’ve had too many years in the field to be gullible enough to take his bait. But I chomp on it anyway, like the desperate man I am.
“Surprised at what, Doyle?”
“Surprised you haven’t fucked that kid yet yourself. He’s practically begging for it. If you did, then all of this—” He makes a motion that I assume is meant to indicate our conversation. “—would be a moot point.”
“Are you fucking crazy? I’m his guardian.”
Deep down where my shame lives, my body stirs. Peering cautiously from behind the part of me that’s horrified by the suggestion of fucking Ravi, something I’ve made every effort to suppress wakes up. There’s bile in my throat even as my cock thickens against my will.
Images fill my head. One of Ravi with his legs wrapped around another man at that party, his tongue down his throat. The veiny, realistic dildo under his pillow.
The night he turned eighteen comes back to me full force. The night he climbed into my bed. I don’t want you to be my friend or my parent, Liam. I don’t love you that way. I want more.
You’re not my parent, but you could be my daddy if you wanted.
“You’re fucking disgusting.” I’m scolding Doyle as much as myself.
Then, to twist the knife, I add, “I guess you can’t help seeing kids like him as nothing more than someone to use.
To sell. I guess he’s lucky you haven’t tried to use him yourself.
Rumor is, you like to sample your own merchandise. ”
Brennan gives me a grin that makes me want to tear his face off. “Because I’m not too stupid to recognize an opportunity, even if it’s standing in front of me all curious and horny as hell. And that kid—” He gives me a pointed look. “—is going to make us all a lot of fucking money.”
He slides the driver back over to his tattooed caddy and gives me his back. “You gonna join us for a game, Masters, or did you want to sling some more pointless bullshit?”
I assess the four men in front of me. I’m a quick shot. I could probably get a slug into Brennan Doyle before anybody else could react. If I did, it might do the trick. It might protect Ravi.
But Brennan said us. Ravi’s going to make “us all” a lot of money.
“Who’s us, Brennan?”
“What now?” He turns around, looking annoyed that I’m still here. He’s already dismissed my presence. Fuck him.
“You said he’s going to make us all a lot of money. Who’s us?”
“Oh Jesus, you’re full of shit. You know as well as I do these things aren’t a one-man operation. There’s me, there’s Rav, and then there’s everyone else involved. If you think I’m dumb enough to name names, you’re not the guy I thought you were, Masters.”
No, I didn’t think he’d name names. I’d also be negligent if I didn’t ask.
If I shoot Brennan Doyle now, I won’t be alive to find out. His security guard would shoot me in the next second. I’d be dead before I hit the ground.
If I’m dead, I can’t protect Ravi from whoever else is looking to make money on his sale. And protecting him is what I need to do.
That’s the mission.