“FOUND me a place yet?” Lucky issued his challenge at breakfast in front of all the men.
“Not yet. But I’m looking.” Stephan looked like hell was more like it, with his bleary eyes and dark circles.
Lucky got the same answer the next day. Stephan stopped showing up at breakfast. Worked for Lucky. But without money or access to his US accounts that wouldn’t tip his hand, and no income coming in, he couldn’t exactly find a place on his own. And moving in with Bo might get someone killed. So much for the “partnership” if he stayed broke. Dependent is right where Stephan wanted him to be.
On Saturday, he stepped out of the house to find Bo waiting. Creepy Cruz was nowhere in sight.
“Your watch dog off chasing his tail?”
“It’s our day off. I came to get you.” Bo leaned against the still-pinging Harley, tanned arms folded across his chest and eyes hidden behind dark shades. All thighs should look so good in denim. He’d taken time to trim his facial scruff. Worn jeans didn’t conceal his ample package.
Time to pause and savor the image.
Those jeans would look mighty fine bunched around Bo’s ankles. Bo, leaning over the bike seat while Lucky pounded into him from behind. Damn. Lucky feasted his eyes on a wet dream come to life, and all Bo got for scenery was…a shrimp of an ex-con named Lucky.
“Nice watch,” Bo grumbled when Lucky approached.
“This old thing?” Yeah, best not dwell too much on the watch Stephan insisted he wear today. No doubt containing a tracker of some sort. He’d once worn Victor’s gift proudly. Now it felt more like a shackle. “I got it from a street vendor in Tijuana.” First stray dog he spotted got a fancy new collar.
“You’ve never been to Tijuana.”
“Details, details.” Lucky stopped by the bike. “You gonna let me drive?”
“Did you get a license?”
“As a matter of fact…”
“Do you know where we’re going?”
“Well, no.”
“You have the keys?” Bo jangled a key ring before Lucky’s nose.
Lucky made a grab, but Bo snatched the keys away, lips pulled back to show his gleaming teeth. Without another word, Bo slipped onto the driver’s seat and fired up the bike. Oh, well, another battle lost. Lucky donned his shades, hopped on the bike, and held on. Bo had taken a bit of effort with his appearance today, and even dabbed on cologne. Nice.
Wind in his hair, sun kissing his face, Lucky relaxed against the backrest. Years ago, he’d ridden without a helmet, back in the days when he’d thought himself indestructible. Nothing compared to being helmetless, though he’d known too many people who’d exchanged their lives for the freedom. Now, without the helmet, he felt naked, exposed, especially since his dirty blond hair made him stand out in these parts.
Bo seemed to fit in anywhere. Drop him in the middle of a drug-smuggling biker gang, he’d become Sergeant at Arms. Toss him into a park with a group of coworkers for a picnic, and ten minutes later they’d be oohing and aahing over his potato salad.
And down here where gringos were regarded with suspicion, thanks to Stephan and folks like him, Bo spoke Spanish and lugged cases along with the lowest man on the totem pole. “Sí, Señor Cooper.” If only Bo could work his magic on Stephan without tangling himself up in the spider’s web.
They drove in the direction of the factory. Once out of sight of the house, Bo rested his free hand on Lucky’s thigh, a familiar gesture from rides gone by. At a crossroads, he veered right instead of left.
He slowed to a stop in front of a rundown garage on the edge of a small town, vaguely reminiscent of the place they’d busted a few months ago, where Bo had worked as a mechanic for Mateo Reyes. Nothing as fancy as a garage door opener here. Bo hopped off and opened the padlock on the bay door, raised the metal panel, then motioned Lucky forward.
Oh goody, he got to drive for a full twenty feet. But yeah, leaving the Harley outside in this neighborhood likely meant later finding a husk, stripped down for parts.
The garage bay held the distinct aroma of old oil and decades of car exhaust. Lucky breathed deeply. Ah. Home.
Bo stepped outside and closed the door. The lock clicked into place. He reappeared through a side door.
“It’s not much, but it’s home.” He paused, hand behind him still gripping the door handle. Before Lucky’s eyes, Cy Cooper’s cockiness bled away. One side of Bo’s mouth lifted, quivered a bit, then dropped again, along with his troubled gaze. “Damn, but I’ve missed being able to hold you without worrying who might be watching.”
He was in Lucky’s arms in an instant. With nearly crushing force, he pulled Lucky to his chest, tipped Lucky’s head back, and plundered his mouth. He tasted of green tea. Yes, definitely home.
Bo, in his arms. Lucky latched on. If a man with a gun suddenly appeared, they’d both be dead, ‘cause damned if he would let go.
With a ferocity that bordered on violence, Bo plunged his tongue into Lucky’s mouth, one hand on the back of Lucky’s head. Lucky answered stroke for stroke. Outside the door a thousand challenges screamed their names, but here, now, nothing else mattered but the sweet slide of Bo’s hand under Lucky’s shirt, skimming the fabric up and off his body. Lucky’s boots proved a challenge and stayed on. Two pair of shades fell to the floor, along with Lucky’s doubts.
Bo attacked Lucky’s jeans, dropping the fabric and himself to the floor. He engulfed Lucky’s cock in the welcome heat of his mouth. His whiskers rasped against Lucky’s skin, and he stared up, the picture of lust and decadence.
Oh, dear Lord! Lucky grabbed at the short strands of Bo’s hair to keep himself upright. His knees refused to hold his weight.
Bo slid down Lucky’s cock, his lips coming within a hair’s breadth of Lucky’s groin. Familiar tension built inside. Lucky groaned at the loss when Bo withdrew. A moment later Bo returned, releasing a moan of his own.
“I missed this,” Lucky said. I missed you, I nearly lost my mind without you.
What did Bo’s “Hmmmph” mean? Oh. He seized Lucky’s ass with both hands and plunged deeper, holding Lucky in his throat while he swallowed. Fuck!
No way in hell could Lucky last.
“That can’t be comfortable.” It took all of his willpower to drag Bo up off the floor. The concrete couldn’t be good for his knees. Bo sealed their mouths together and, pushing and pulling, danced them toward the back of the garage. With his jeans around his ankles, Lucky barely avoided hitting the floor. With some blind fumbling he managed to open a door, and they stepped into what had probably once been a storage room, now converted into a living area.
A single bed took up a good portion of the space. One minute Lucky gazed down at white sheets, the next he stared at peeling paint hanging from the ceiling. Bo’s pounce blocked the view. For a moment their gazes locked. Bo descended. The bliss of mouth on mouth lost none of its fire for its slow exploration. Lucky slid his tongue against his lover’s in a scorching tango as hot as the arid land outside. Damn! Category Five Hurricane Bo. Lucky’s favorite storm.
“Mmmm…” Lucky toed at his laced up boots without breaking their lip lock, then tried again, then again. Damned things wouldn’t budge.
Bo pulled away. “Allow me.” With deft fingers, he untied, unlaced, and removed the boots. They thunked when they hit the floor. Lucky’s jeans and boxers landed on top of the pile a moment later.
Lucky ran his fingers over Bo’s shoulders and tasted the saltiness of Bo’s neck. Skimmed his hands over taut muscle. Hiked a leg over Bo’s thighs. The smile on Bo’s face put the sun to shame a second before he reclaimed Lucky’s mouth.
Weeks of pent up need begged Lucky to flip Bo over and drive home. He swiped his tongue against his lover’s.
Bo had other ideas. Language lessons weren’t needed to recognize the package Bo retrieved from under the bed. The squish of lube against Lucky’s hole announced the man’s intentions.
Lucky relaxed, accepting the fingers breaching him. Bo’s lips curled upward. Lucky rocked against Bo’s hand, urging him on, but Bo wouldn’t be hurried. With excruciating slowness, he worked Lucky open.
Lucky let loose a grunt when Bo found his gland. Bo grinned and repeated the gesture. “Get on with it,” Lucky growled. Wait. Was that ripping sound a condom pack? What the hell?
Bo lined up his cock and slowly sank in, pausing every few seconds to back out and plunge a little deeper. The tease. At last, he sank in completely. Full. Lucky slowly exhaled, forcing his body not to fight. The initial sharp bite lessened. Time for more.
He bucked up, impaling himself completely before withdrawing. Bo wrapped his arms around Lucky, braced his weight on his elbows, and shoved.
Hot damn! They established a rhythm, their squeezed-together abs giving Lucky’s cock a stroking. The bed shook, squealed, and threatened to collapse. Cheap-assed piece of shit. Let it fall—they’d screw on the floor.
In, out, Bo advanced and retreated, building the flames deep inside. “Ah, ah, ah,” Lucky exhaled with each forceful thrust.
He cupped Bo’s ass to feel the muscles flex. “Yeah, that’s right. Oh, yeah, right there.”
Wrapping his arms about Bo’s back, he bucked up to get what he needed. Sweat-slicked skin against his palms, harsh breathing, the slick/slide of their bodies joining. “Harder!” Lucky moaned. Harder, faster.
Forget who they were or pretended to be. Forget they were so far from home. He poured what words couldn’t express into a kiss.
He clenched around Bo, desperate to wipe everything away but this moment, this…“Oh my God!”
Electricity shot through him, consuming him, nerve endings exploding. Bo cried out and collapsed onto Lucky’s chest.
Lucky awoke with a start some time later to find Bo standing over him, a plate in each hand giving off the heavenly scent of adobo and cilantro. “I walked to the cantina down the street to get us lunch. A hot plate and canned chili isn’t good enough for company.” He sat the plates on the wooden box he used for an end table, and dug into a dorm-sized refrigerator for two beers.
They sat on the bed to eat. “You never told me what happened with Walter.” Bo rolled a tortilla around grilled veggies.
“We haven’t been alone much.” And telling someone else made the betrayal more real, particularly if Bo believed as Lucky did.
“We may not be now, but we’re as close as we’re gonna get, and I haven’t seen any signs yet of bugs or cameras. Plant them in this neighborhood, and they’ll be stolen, along with anything else not nailed down.”
Lucky took a bite of tamale, more to stall for time than to fill his belly. He washed down his mouthful with Corona. “I found a picture of Victor and Walter at a restaurant, taken about thirty years ago.” No need mentioning the note: Be careful who you trust.
“So? Maybe it was an innocent lunch. It’s a small world, you know. Who sent it?”
“In all the time I’ve known the man, he’s never once mentioned having met Victor.” And Walter damned well should have. “I don’t know where it came from. I thought Stephan at first, but he would have bragged. Besides, there’s more.”
“Like what?”
“Walter said he hadn’t made any deals with Victor, but a news article showed him walking behind Victor on the courthouse steps. Victor was laughing, like he wasn’t worried at all.” The image burned into Lucky’s mind, his former lover acting like he didn’t have a prison sentence hanging over his head.
“Has it occurred to you that maybe Walter was in court for a different reason and happened to be using the steps at the same time?” Bo sopped up his plate with a piece of tortilla.
Honestly? No. “But—”
“But nothing. I don’t like the hold he has over me anymore than you did, but he’s fair, he’s honest, and he gave me a second chance when no one else would. Right now we need him. When all this is over, you have to sit down and talk to him, tell him what you’ve found out, and see how he acts. I think you know the man better than you’re letting on.” Bo dropped his fork onto his plate with a clink.
“You’re not supposed to talk sense to me, you’re supposed to be on my side.” Yeah, so Lucky pouted. Big deal.
Bo silently scolded Lucky with a raised brow and narrowed eyes. Pretty damned effective.
“Hey! I was gonna talk to him about the picture when I found out about the courthouse thing. I didn’t wait around. As soon as I got home, someone brained me, and here I am.”
“He really does care about you, you know that, right?” Bo might as well have learned his brow-raised scrutiny from Walter himself.
But did the boss care for Lucky the man, the agent, or the link to Victor?
“I’m sure Johnson misses you. I think she’s grown attached.”
First Alejandro Garcia grinning every chance he got, now Johnson? “Folks need to quit.” Why the hell grow attached to Lucky? He made a reputation of being grouchy, opinionated, and in general not very nice. How Bo put up with him was anyone’s guess.
“Walter would be proud of us, but he’d want us to be careful. If we’re in danger, I think he’d tell us to head for the border.”
Lucky didn’t run with his tail tucked between his legs. Ever. He might make an exception this time, for Bo’s sake.
“I want inside the factory, but all I get to see is the infirmary and loading docks.” Bo rose and busied himself washing his plate in a tiny sink.
“I toured the lab, but not the factory floor.” And only because Stephan wanted to impress Lucky.
Bo leaned against the sink and stared out a tiny window. “I’d love a shot at their records. Who sells them raw materials, their customer list. Maybe after you win Stephan’s trust, he’ll give you access.”
The price would be too high. “Maybe.” What had Lucky told Bo of his former association with Stephan? No need to rile the man unnecessarily. Particularly if Lucky resorted to desperate measures to keep Bo safe.
“At the restaurant, he referred to you as his partner. Is that true?” Bo didn’t turn around. Maybe he didn’t want to see the truth in Lucky’s eyes.
“That’s what he says, though I don’t know why. He also wants Nestor Sauceda as a partner, and thinks I can get the guy to cooperate.”
Bo whistled low and turned around. “I’ve heard of Sauceda. Powerful man. Head of one of the oldest crime families in these parts.”
Lucky nodded. “He was a friend of Victor’s. I don’t know why Stephan thinks I can win him over. I’m not exactly known for my charm.”
“No. And that’s probably why he wants you. A man like Nestor sees through bullshit, and has no time for smooth lies. If he’s dealing with you, he knows exactly what he’s getting. You say what you think and mean what you say.”
“Most people just say I’m a rude asshole.”
Crossing back to the bed where Lucky sat, Bo leaned down, putting them eye to eye. “Don’t kid yourself. There’s something solid and dependable about knowing where you stand with someone. And knowing they’ll tell you the truth, even if you don’t want to hear it. You’re also loyal to a fault to anyone who’s earned it.”
Lucky had good points? Could that be what Bo saw in him?
“Nestor would appreciate a man like you, especially after dealing with Stephan, who talks out of both side of his face.” A crease formed between Bo’s brows. “When are you supposed to meet with him, or have you already?”
“I haven’t, and Stephan just said Nestor acts on his own time.”
“Yeah, from what I’ve heard, that’s true. He’ll see you when he’s good and damned ready, and not a moment before.”
“How much longer do you reckon this will take before we get to go home?” Too damned long for Lucky’s tastes.
“I don’t know. I wish we could send a report to Walter. He knows where I am, but I haven’t been able to let him know you’re here. Have you?”
“No.” Especially not while Lucky didn’t know if Walter were friend or foe. He finished his meal slowly. Sooner or later, he’d have to return to Stephan. He’d put the moment off as long as he could.
Bo’s apartment, hardly deserving of the word, wasn’t much to look at, but seemed to serve the purpose. At odds with the rundown garage, neatly folded clothes sat on a low shelf, and assorted toiletries lined the cement block window sill. A window unit air conditioner kept the room livable, but barely.
The sink, floor drain, and exposed toilet took up one corner, a rickety table and hotplate another. Lucky’d seen bigger cells. He’d lived in bigger cells.
“Why are you living here? Aren’t there better places?”
“Yeah.” Bo took Lucky’s empty plate to the sink. Running water muffled his voice. “Cruz picked this for me. It’s a safe place to park the bike, and his grandmother owns it. Rent’s cheap, and no one around here answers to Stephan, though I can’t be too sure. But I can tap into a neighbors’ unsecured Internet connection. When it’s working.” He grinned and flopped back down on the bed. “Not that I dare send a report to Walter. No telling who might intercept. And I know good and damned well Stephan monitors the phone he gave me.”
What? Bo? Stealing Internet? “Who are you and what have you done with Bo?”
The grin fell. “We’ve had this conversation. Sometimes I’m Bo, sometimes I’m Cyrus, sometimes I’m a combination of both, and other times I don’t know who the hell I am.” Pain clouded his eyes. “When this is over, I’m not sure who I’ll be.”
Lucky feared the same thing. “Stephan promised me my own place but keeps making excuses, and it’s not like I can go to the bank and use my ATM card.”
“Is he bothering you?”
Damn, Bo got all growly for him. Nice. “He’s a pain in the ass, but nothing I can’t handle.” Best to keep the “kicking the son of a bitch out of bed” incident quiet.
“I don’t like you being there with him, but the closer you are, the more you’ll find out.”
Yeah, though lately Lucky hadn’t learned anything beyond how many guys Stephan rotated through his bedroom door—four. “He’s crazy, you know.”
“Without a doubt. But we need to stop him before he spreads the crazy too far. Yesterday when the doctors tested the men, they found no trace of the drug. Even after they’d just been dosed. Codopure is ready to ship.”
Oh fuck. “And he’s still testing?”
“It’s how he controls them. He’s not giving up that hold. Besides, the doctors are studying long-term effects. Like they give a happy damn.”
They stayed in bed for most of the day, alternately talking and napping. When shadows stretched across the walls, Bo took Lucky back to Stephan’s.
So easy. Just aim the bike north and keep going ‘til Welcome to Texas came into view. Lucky would bullshit their way over the border or call Walter in a pinch. They’d be back in Atlanta by tomorrow night.
And Stephan would still be here, packing crates of poison to follow Lucky to the good old US of A. No. Not on his watch. He swung his leg over the bike and gave Bo’s shoulder a quick squeeze. They exchanged a smile and Bo roared off into the evening.
Stephan was waiting inside the house. His scrunched face screamed of distaste, but he didn’t say anything when Lucky came creeping in.
Smart man.
That night Lucky once more jammed a chair under the doorknob and poured out his nightcap of orange juice and chloral hydrate. A workout. That’s what he needed. Burpees and side planks until he fell over served as poor substitutes for a quick fix in a bottle.
The doorknob rattled a few minutes after Lucky went to bed. He smiled. Lucky one, Stephan zero.
***
The next morning Stephan marched up to the guys milling around the factory loading dock waiting for Alejandro. What the hell was he doing here? The guys backed away. All but Bo.
“Hey, boss.” Somehow Bo, in full Cyrus mode, made “boss” into an insult.
Stephan reached into Bo’s holster and withdrew his gun. “You won’t be needing this.” He shot Lucky a triumphant smirk and stalked off.
Bastard.