Chapter Seventeen
Now…
I’m not gonna lie… But I’m sorta scared.
Seriously, I might pee in my panties.
We knew coming back here would be dangerous. It was the hard truth we had to wrap our heads around when deciding to return, to help. Which we definitely did.
I’d say Lex and I showed up in the nick of time. We arrived just when things were about to get hectic. Swooped in to save the day, like two super-sexy supervillains.
But just because we came in all badass, stealing the governor’s parking spot, sneaking into the mansion and getting access to its servers so my precious brainiac fiancé could do his thing, doesn’t mean we’re out of the woods.
Technically, that’s exactly where we are. In the woods. Strapped with heavy artillery and awaiting the cavalry of the rest of our troops to show up from the prison and help our asses out. ‘Cause we fuckin need it.
Listen, ya gurl ain’t no soldier. I’m a high-priced sex worker. A spoiled rich boy from Manhattan who enjoys setting fires and getting dicked down by large men. Reformed, of course.
Still, that is the extent of my abilities.
I’m not saying there isn’t skill in that. Wanna know the best places to eat sashimi and get day-drunk, then rail lines of blow while getting railed through a glory hole that’s the perfect height to make sure it hits just right?
I’m your gal.
Maybe I should get into tourism?
Anyway, when it comes to war; fighting honest to God battles by popping off rounds while making sure you don’t get shot yourself… Yea, I’m more than a little out of my league.
If they want to utilize my skills, I could set the woods on fire!
That said, because my folks were rich, white Americans, I am familiar with guns. I’ve taken shooting lessons—my father insisted it was important that I learn how to exercise my Second Amendment right, whatever the hell that means—with both pistols and rifles. So I’d say I know my way around a gun.
But as I’ve reminded Velle already, shooting targets is not at all the same as firing guns at real human people, while you’re being shot at.
All he keeps saying is, “Just don’t shoot any of us, and you’ll be fine.”
It’s not really a comfort. Although I do perform well under pressure. High-adrenaline situations make me sharp as fuck.
I just need to keep reminding myself that my only job is to protect Lexington. At all and any cost, no matter what else happens. He is my only responsibility. Especially because he’s not as well-versed in being a gun-totin’ ‘Merican as I apparently am.
He’s a sweet, nerdy little genius muffin. Let’s face it, if it weren’t for Lex’s device, we wouldn’t have been able to get Byron, Trevel, and Simon out of the mansion, or get the inmates and hostages out of the prison.
We’re all in agreement that protecting my man’s big, juicy brain is also a tippity top priority.
All joking aside, I am afraid of going to battle to defend my family.
It’s just a fact. But the bottom line is that we came here for this exact purpose.
And in all honesty, the state of things right now isn’t even as treacherous as we were expecting.
I mean, it’s close… But it helps knowing that all of our homies are still breathing.
And the gang’s officially back together!
It feels like summer camp. If the camp counselors were huge, tatted Alpha-holes, the cabins were crumbling old stone structures from the seventeenth goddamn century.
Stale Twinkies instead of s’mores. Shooting AKs and M-16s at the cartel instead of archery or fencing.
And instead of panty raids… No, actually, that part is pretty accurate.
But the punishment for getting caught isn’t extra cleaning duty. It’s getting tortured, or fed to sharks.
Oh my God, I smell meta fanfic! It would be so perfect! Dr. Love as the nurse, Dash in his little boat… Byron getting in fights, and lots of raw-dogging each other up against trees.
That’s it. If we make it out of here alive, I’m totally writing it.
Despite the good times rolling in my head, shit is tense right now.
We have mere minutes before The Ivory’s army of cartel soldiers descends upon our little hideout, and we really need Peters to mobilize the troops in the prison and get their asses to us before that happens.
Otherwise, we’re literal sitting cucks. I mean ducks.
Not to mention, we have this stolen toy in our midst…
Angel Alvarez just finished telling us the story of how he knows Manuel Blanco. And yea… It’s a doozy. But I’m still crazy curious about what came after that.
From all of his training, disguising, and lurking on the island for months, how did he still wind up as The Ivory’s prisoner?
There’s more to the story, that’s for sure. I’d bet my beautiful new tattoo gun Tauren bought me on it.
“Hey,” Dash whispers, creeping over to me and Lex like the little pink-haired sketchball he is. “Does that Angel kid look familiar to you guys?”
“Not really,” Lex replies quietly, his tone growing more shivery by the moment.
He’s worried, and I don’t blame him. I’m just trying to comfort him as much as possible.
Team Velle is solid. The guards have been training for months, many of them using their military or academy training.
Dash was a bank robber who used to get into shootouts all the time and carried a machine gun, slung over his shoulder like a purse.
Byron is a fuckin’ warrior. Felix Darcey has taken out more cartel men than the damn DEA at this point, slinking around the forest for weeks, withstanding extreme firepower with nothing more than a knife and his sheer unstoppable lunacy.
With the added manpower of the prisoners, we’ve got this on lock. I’m confident in this team. But until we start shooting, I’ll keep my hands, and lips, on my man, because I know nothing eases his anxious mind more than my neck kisses and butt squeezes.
“Actually, he does,” I tell Dash, with my fingers brushing tenderly up and down Lex’s nape. “I’ve definitely seen him before.”
“Well, we all probably have at one time or another,” Lex murmurs, distracted from his unease by this normal conversation. It’s good. Just gotta keep him talking. “He said he was in the prison for months, only, ya know… dressed like a girl.”
Dash doesn’t look appeased by this explanation, his contemplative gaze lingering on Angel, who’s a few feet away, talking to Felix and Lem. His eyes fling to us, darting away nervously when he sees Dash glaring at him.
“No, I mean I feel like I’ve seen him, not Ari,” I tell them. “Somewhere else…”
My mind swirls over this déjà vu I’ve also been having since we met the stunningly enigmatic Angel Alvarez.
“I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel like I’ve… met him,” Dash’s voice trails and he gulps visibly, a palpable air of distress around him.
Frowning, I elbow Lex. When he peeks at me, I nod in Dash’s direction. Of course, he instantly notices the way Dash is chewing on his lower lip, doing his twitchy hard-blink thing.
“Hey, wanna show me how to aim that thing?” Lex says to Dash, pointing to the AK-47 in his grip. “Honestly, I can’t even hold it right.”
He chuckles lightly, to which Dash glances at him and cracks a small smile.
I release a secret breath of relief. Crisis averted.
Smiling is a reflex right now, watching them chat and laugh back and forth. They’re just so cute together.
The inseparable besties were separated for a bit, but now they’re reunited and it feels so good.
No, but for real. Just watching their friendship makes me feel extra gay. Rainbows and penises everywhere.
It’s just so sweet, and genuine. I know I used to get jealous—okay, who are we kidding?
I’m still a jealous hoe. But I’m not jealous of Lex and Dash’s closeness anymore, mainly because I know I have Lexington Deon, wholly, truly, unde-fuckin-niably.
After everything we’ve been through, there’s nothing in this world strong enough to tear us apart.
Plus, it’s super obvious that Lex and Dash are platonic as fuck—aside from that one makeout sesh Dash doesn’t even remember.
And now is definitely not the time to bring that shit up, so everyone better just keep their lips zipped! I’m talking mostly to myself here. My lips are just as slutty as the rest of me.
Lex doing everything in his power to make sure Dash doesn’t fall into one of his stress-induced holes of schizophrenia psychosis is not only adorbz, but necessary. That’d be the last damn thing we need right now.
There’s enough hectic shit going on. We can’t have anyone losing their focus when our lives, and the lives of our family, are on the line.
Head in the fuckin game.
Shifting from the biffles to Genderfluid Barbie over there, my gaze narrows.
Hm… Dash feels like he recognizes Angel, but can’t quite remember how.
I wonder… if it’s the same sorta way he doesn’t remember what happened with him and Lex.
“Sup,” Byron sighs as he joins us for our brief intermission from active duty, thus distracting me from my internal fretting. “Getting Russian gun lessons?” He chuckles, but frowns when he notices that I’m smirking at him. “What’s your problem?”
“You have a boyfriend.” I beam. He rolls his eyes. “It’s so fetch, B! Way to blow the roof—and load—off of everyone’s expectations.” I pinch his cheeks while he smacks me away.
“God.” Lex shakes his head while Dash chuckles.
“That’s offensive, Warren,” Byron grumbles at me. “Are you saying my dating a guy is shocking?”
He gives me this smug look of satisfaction. Clearly very proud of his bisexuality.
“Uh, no. I’m saying you being in a serious relationship at all is shocking. Since, you know… you hate everyone,” I huff. His brows lift and he nods in agreement. “I was sure you’d be one of those dudes in his sixties still in immaculate shape, hitting up twinks on Grindr.” I cackle.
“Yea, I missed you.” He deadpans. But of course he’s grinning.