Speechless (Pier 70 #3) (3 page)

Nope, they were all better off if Hudson focused his desires elsewhere.

As he was sitting at his desk, feet propped up, tossing the wrench high in the air and catching it, Hudson heard Teague’s cell phone ring.

“’Lo?”

Hudson rolled his eyes.

“Hell yeah, man. I’ll meet you at the club tonight. What time?” Teague’s tone was far more cheerful than two minutes ago, when he’d been cursing a blue streak.

Hudson dropped his feet to the floor but kept his ass planted in his chair.

Not your business.

Not your business.

Not your—

“Cool.”
Pause.
“Yeah.”
Pause.
“Fuck yeah. I’m game.”
Pause.
“Threesome, baby. Haven’t done that in a while.”
Pause.
“Hey, I got a better idea. Why don’t y’all come over to my place.”
Pause.
“Yeah. Got my own digs now. Nice little apartment by the lake.” Teague chuckled. “You bring the condoms; I’ll get the beer.”

Oh, fuck no.

Every muscle in Hudson’s body tensed from the effort it took to stay seated. This wasn’t his business; he had no right to interfere, yet…

There was no way in hell he was going to sit back, knowing that Teague and his gang-bang buddies were getting their freak on. Ever since that damn kiss they’d shared on the cruise ship, Hudson had been lucky Teague hadn’t brought any guys around. When he thought about some asshole putting his hands (or other various body parts) on Teague, he got pissed off.
Insanely
pissed off.

And the mere thought of actually knowing it was happening right across the hall from him…

Nope. No way.

“Cool, man. See you tonight.”

No, not cool. Not fucking cool at all.

Sitting up straight, Hudson clenched the wrench in his hand until it was painful. He wasn’t sure he was capable of letting Teague go through with this.

Actually, he was fucking positive he couldn’t.

Shit.

Two

AT FIVE O’CLOCK, Teague cut out for the day. After cleaning up his tools, he headed up to his apartment, took a quick shower, then hopped in his truck and headed to the beer store. Ever since he’d talked to Jason—one of his past fuck-buddies—on the phone, he’d been trying to psych himself up for tonight, trying to get into the partying mood, but he was having a difficult time, which was doing little to help his attitude.

Seriously, a month ago, he would’ve been all over going out and getting fucked by some stranger because it was how he’d learned to cope with all the shit in his life. No, perhaps it wasn’t the safe way to process his emotions, but he honestly didn’t give a flying fuck. He was safe, first and foremost. Hell, he should own stock in Trojan for how many condoms he’d bought over the years. In fact, he was regularly tested, because even though he couldn’t seem to stop his destructive behavior, he wasn’t a fucking idiot.

And quite frankly, sex was the perfect outlet. It had a way of calming him down for a bit. Who didn’t enjoy a fucking orgasm or two? It was all in good fun. A few beers, a few laughs, a fantastic blow job… The perfect ending to a shitty week.

If he could just relax, that was.

Now, he needed to loosen up, take a breather, and chill. It was one night with two guys he’d known for a long time. They were safe and familiar, so why he was still debating whether he should call them back and cancel, he didn’t know.

He forced his shoulders to relax, then took a deep breath. Once Jason and Benny got there, he doubted he’d have much of an issue getting in the spirit of things. After all, his dick was in desperate need of attention, and the one thing he’d learned over the years … sex was a surefire way to get your mind off shit for a little while.

And sex with
two
guys… Yep. It increased the chances of him actually getting off, which was a definite plus. Teague damn sure didn’t mind being sandwiched between two hot men who wanted nothing more than to make him blow his load. It was a win-win situation.

Tonight wouldn’t be an exception.

When he got to the beer store, he grabbed a case, then snatched a bottle of whiskey for good measure. Being good and wasted was the way he wanted this night to end. Maybe by morning, he wouldn’t remember anything that happened.

Shaking his head as he loaded the booze in the passenger seat of his truck, he ignored his subconscious, which had become a real pain in the ass lately. That little voice in his head that whispered what a bad idea this was could go fuck itself. Teague hadn’t been with a guy in … at least two months. No, wait. Make it three.

Not that he would admit that to anyone.

And he needed to get laid. A hell of a lot more often than four times a year, that was for damn sure. At the rate he was going, that was about all he would get.

Which was why he fully intended to change that tonight.

When he pulled into the parking lot of the marina a little while later, Teague noticed they had already closed the office for the evening. There was only one other vehicle in the parking lot, and that was Hudson’s beefed-up, black Chevy truck. That meant Hudson was home. Probably. The guy didn’t go out much. Not that he’d seen in the couple of months since he’d moved into the apartment across from Hudson, anyway.

Of course, Hudson could’ve gone out with one of the many guys who had been stopping by to visit lately. Teague didn’t know who they were or what they were to Hudson, nor did he care. He’d made a point not to get into Hudson’s business. The fact that Teague didn’t know much sign language helped to keep him in the dark, as well. The guys who did stop by to visit Hudson usually spoke ASL, rather than talking to Hudson, although everyone knew Hudson could hear. Not that it bothered him. He didn’t give a shit if they wanted to cut him out of the conversation. In fact, he preferred it. Because he wanted to remain oblivious, unlike Dare, Cam, and Roan, Teague hadn’t embraced the whole sign language thing.

And he didn’t intend to.

It took him two trips to get the beer up to his apartment. He shoved one of the twelve packs in the refrigerator, left the other on the floor beside it, and grabbed the bottle of whiskey before planting his ass on the couch.

As he cracked open the bottle, he took a deep breath for what felt like the first time that day.

This was where he could find a little solace.

Ever since Roan had decided he needed to move in with his drug-addicted sister, the apartment Roan had been living in had been available. Since Teague had been living with friends—sleeping on couches or sometimes the floor, even in his truck from time to time—ever since he graduated from high school, he’d jumped on the opportunity when Cam had offered the place to him.

He’d never had a place of his own. In fact, he’d never had a bedroom of his own. Not one that he remembered, anyway. When he was placed with foster families, he always shared a room with one of the other kids, which had sucked because the only thing he’d ever wanted in life was to have a place to call his own.

His single mother had taken her own life, setting the dominoes in motion by leaving him with nothing and no one at the age of three. She’d even been so kind as to do so when he would find her—something he had apparently blocked out, according to the stories he’d been told. What the fuck a three-year-old was supposed to do when his mother was dead on her bed, he had yet to figure out. From the details that had been shared with him, it had taken two days before her boss at the grocery store she had worked for finally showed up to check on her. Teague had been living off crackers and water from the sink in the bathroom, or so they’d said.

From that point forward, he’d been a ward of the state. The longest he’d stayed with one family was two years, right after he had been taken into the system. Of course, he didn’t remember that. Being in foster care, Teague had been passed around from one family to the next, no one capable of taking care of a wild, out-of-control kid like him. He’d hated school and had started rebelling at an early age, which pretty much made him unlovable. To put it simply, he’d been unwanted.

Sure, he’d probably made it more difficult by acting out, but he didn’t feel bad about that. He’d been dealt a shitty hand; why should he have to make nice with everyone else? Fuck them.

He was sure there was some psychiatrist somewhere who would say that he used sex to feel close to people, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. He didn’t want to feel close to people. He wanted to get his dick sucked and his ass fucked. It wasn’t sexy, it wasn’t intimate. It was a means to an end. There was no psychological bullshit attached to his motives. If anything, Teague didn’t want love at all. He’d survived all these years without it; he damn sure didn’t need it now.

However, he had established a great friendship with the three guys who owned Pier 70. If it weren’t for them, he didn’t know where he’d be today. Cam Strickland had given Teague a job when he was sixteen years old, letting him help out in the repair shop, and over time, he’d proven himself. So much so that four years ago, Cam had offered him a stake in the business. Him. A broke-ass twenty-one-year-old with a high school diploma and a beat-up old truck that got him from point A to point B, was now part owner of one of the most successful marinas in the area. He hadn’t had a dime to contribute, but Cam said that wasn’t the reason they wanted to bring him on board. It’d been the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him. Ever.

Which was the very reason that Pier 70 was the only thing that mattered to him. He would do anything for the three people who had taken a chance on him, and the business they all held near and dear. No matter what happened, Teague would never let them down. That was his only motive in life.

A knock sounded on the door, and he took another long swig on the bottle in his hand before pushing to his feet.

It was time to get this party started, and time to stop thinking about all the bullshit.

HUDSON HIT THE button on the remote to change the channel. He continued to click past all the nonsense, finally settling on baseball. He turned it up another notch, trying to drown out the noise coming from across the hall.

For the past hour, Hudson had attempted to ignore the ruckus coming from Teague’s apartment. Between the music and the loud laughter, he’d been hell-bent on sitting on his couch and not going to put a stop to it. Despite what Teague thought about him, Hudson wasn’t an old man. He didn’t get his rocks off by being grumpy or interfering in other people’s lives.

What Teague did wasn’t his damn business, and he had somehow managed to talk himself out of interfering tonight although it had been touch and go there for a little while. If it hadn’t been for the hour he’d spent at the gym, followed by a cold shower and the pizza he’d devoured when he got home, he could’ve still been holding on to that irritation. Some people turned to drugs or alcohol to relieve stress; Hudson turned to weights. He didn’t drink. Maybe the occasional beer with his brother, but never more than that.

So, rather than go over there and tell the gang-bang boys to turn that shit down, he had turned on the television and tried to ignore them.

It was getting harder to do the louder they got.

As he watched the TV, trying to feign interest in a game with two teams he couldn’t care less about, he heard something crash across the hall, and he was immediately on his feet. Someone yelled, someone else laughed, and before he knew it, he was knocking on Teague’s door.

A young, attractive black guy pulled the door open. He was half-dressed, missing a shirt, with his jeans unbuttoned, showing off the bright red briefs beneath. In his hands, he was holding what appeared to be a broken bottle—likely the reason for the noise.

Knowing he shouldn’t, Hudson’s gaze swept the room, and he felt rage boil up inside him when he found Teague on the couch, his dick stuffed into some skinny white guy’s mouth. His hands balled into fists, and a tremor of unrestrained violence coursed just beneath his skin. Telling himself this wasn’t his business was no longer working. Not by a long shot.

“That’s it, Jason.” Teague groaned, his head falling back, his eyes closed. “Suck my dick… Oh, fuck, yes. Such a good cocksucker.” He pumped his hips, his dick tunneling in and out of the guy’s mouth while he held his head in place. It seemed oddly disconnected, as though Teague didn’t give a shit whose mouth his dick was in, as long as it was wet and warm. The fact that Teague was wearing a condom only added to the emotional detachment.

Interesting.

“What the fuck you want, man?” the punk kid in front of Hudson asked.

Hudson ripped his attention away from Teague and peered down at the other guy. He nodded toward the stereo and signed for him to turn it down.

“What the fuck, man? You stupid or what? I don’t know what this”—the asshole had the audacity to flail his hands around—“even means. You’re gonna have to use your words.” The kid slowly enunciated the next sentence, as though Hudson was ignorant. “You know, with … your … mouth.”

Hudson was tempted to knock the little shithead out, but he refrained. He’d heard every lame-ass insult he could hear in the thirty-five years he’d been on this Earth. They had started when he was in kindergarten, and strangely enough, there were even assholes who still tried to push his buttons with their stupidity to this day. The most recent … the little bitch in front of him.

“Come on, Benny!” Teague hollered, tightening his grip on the cocksucker’s hair. “Come put your mouth on my nuts. They ain’t gonna suck themselves.”

As Teague yelled, he turned and Hudson captured his gaze from across the room.

“What the fuck?” Teague glared at him. “Go the fuck home, Hudson. You ain’t invited to this party.”

Well, that explained a little bit. Teague was slurring his words, and there was an empty fifth of Crown sitting on the coffee table. Knowing Teague, he’d downed that shit all by himself.

Hudson shook his head. He wasn’t going anywhere. Not until they turned this shit down.

“Dude, this guy’s whack,” Benny, the little bitch, announced. “Can’t even talk. What kind of freak can’t talk?”

Never once did Hudson look away from Teague.

“Man, Benny, shut the fuck up. Get over here and suck me, you asshole.” Teague laughed, but Hudson didn’t hear any humor in his tone.

Benny never looked away from Hudson. “Not until the retard goes away.”

Funny how the guy felt ten feet tall and bulletproof with a little alcohol running through his veins. He didn’t know the first damn thing about Hudson, yet he’d already resorted to firing ignorant remarks. Being that Hudson was six two and this little punk was even shorter than Teague, he towered over him by roughly half a foot, outweighed him by probably thirty pounds of muscle to boot. He could’ve laid him out with a thump on the nose.