Texas and Tarantulas (16 page)

“Jeeee—” Trent moaned. “Sus! You’re holding me so tight.”

He worked his hips in short movements until it was buried fully in Mahon’s ass. “Mahon.” Trent appeared to want to say more. He didn’t. He started fucking Mahon, a few gentle thrusts at first, then harder, much harder.

Mahon had all of two second’s warning that he was coming. He let go of his cock and jerked Trent down on top of him. Mahon curled up and found that sweet spot he’d bitten days ago. Without hesitation, he bit, as cum spurted from his cock.

Trent shouted, leaning into the bite, rutting almost violently into Mahon. His spunk warmed Mahon’s ass, marking him inside while Mahon marked Trent with his teeth.

“God, Mahon. You’re gonna kill me. Too good.” Trent sprawled on him. His cock slipped from Mahon’s hole. “Ungh.”

Mahon clenched, trying to keep from leaking on the couch. “Um, Trent? I should…I should get up now before there’s a mess.”

“M’kay.” Trent rolled to the left.

Mahon rolled to the right. His feet barely hit the floor before he was up and walking to the bathroom. “Be right back. I’m going to shower, if that’s okay.” He could use the showerhead to get most of the cum out of him, not that he was eager to get rid of a part of Trent.

Trent was waiting for him with a stiff dick when Mahon returned.

It looked like Mahon had showered too soon. He couldn’t have been happier about it, either.

Chapter Twelve

It was Saturday morning and Trent was dreading the weekend. Bill was bringing his boyfriend, some guy named Eric, with him to look for tracks. Luck had been on the Jaceks’ side so far, and Bill hadn’t found anything but the occasional tarantula. Even those sightings were rare now that their mating season had ended.

Except for the ones that came up on the porches at night, drawn by the bugs that flew to the porch light. That was tarantula heaven, right there. It was also why Trent wouldn’t have a bug zapper on his porches, front or back. His pot plants might get chewed up by some bug looking to chill, but Trent wasn’t going to interfere with nature’s food chain if he could help it.

Mahon didn’t agree with him on the subject.

“Just wait until you see a herd of tarantulas migrating,” Trent told him. “You’ll think its Armageddon.”

“It will be—for them,” Mahon had vowed. “I’ll have plenty of targets to practice my shooting.”

“That’s just plain mean.” Trent thought it was kind of funny, except for the poor critters that would get blasted away. He’d just have to watch for migrating ones and scare ’em off.

Trent fixed him and Mahon a hearty breakfast. They’d considered staying with Joe and Diego in the big house, doing the whole safety in numbers thing, but Trent wanted to be in his own home. He’d spent too much time in Joe’s lately.

“I’m going to run out to my camper and grab some more clothes.”

Trent pointed at the shotgun. “Take it with you—and the phone.” He’d put Mahon on his plan. That was an at least two-year commitment on his part. Not quite a lifetime. It was still a promise. He’d told Mahon they’d upgrade his line as soon as Mahon was eligible.

Judging by the way Mahon had glowed with happiness, Trent assumed he got the point.

Trent wanted him there, always. He’d have signed a hundred year contract if such a thing had been available. Someday he’d find the right words—well, but he knew what the right ones were. How could three little words be so damned scary?

Trent was struck with the realization that he couldn’t remember telling his mother he loved her in the days right before she’d left. Had he told her? His mind flashed to that image again, the one of his dad shoveling. It seemed that more details popped out at him. The cooler temperature of the air, his own shaky breaths, his father’s grunts every time the shovel struck dirt.

His father looking right at the bushes Trent had thought he was concealed by.

He blinked then shook his head, trying to clear the images away. Instead they continued—his dad watching him with eyes that turned red and crazed as he yelled and ran toward Trent, swinging the shovel.

Okay, now he knew he was making shit up in his head. That last part wasn’t possible. His dad wouldn’t have had weird glowy eyes. At the age of seven, Trent wouldn’t have been able to outrun his dad, either. If that had been real, his dad would have easily caught him and killed him.

Trent set the table. Mahon should have been back already. It was possible he was outside talking with Joe or Diego if they’d headed over— No. They had to stay at the big house, waiting on idjit and his boyfriend to arrive.

After another five minutes, Trent picked up his shotgun. On impulse, he palmed a fillet knife, sliding it up the sleeve of his shirt. He’d have to be careful not to accidentally slice his wrist open.

Though he had no reason to be, Trent was edgy. He peered out of the window, looking through a gap between the blinds and window frame. Nothing seemed off outside, from what he could see.

He still felt itchy between his shoulder blades.

Trent eased the door open. Mahon’s camper wasn’t but five yards away. The door to it wasn’t completely closed.

Trent decided paranoia was better than death. His instincts were screaming at him. He ran for the truck, intending to use it as shelter. Something large whistled past him, just missing his neck or shoulder.

He flung himself behind the truck and saw what the projectile had been.
A tranquilizer dart! Fuck!
Trent went to grab his phone and found his pocket empty. He also pricked his wrist with the knife, not severely, just enough to get his attention.

Trent took the knife out and tucked it in the back of his belt. He’d rather get stabbed in the ass then his legs or arms.

He stretched out on the ground and used the scope to search for feet or other body parts that would tell him where his attacker was hiding. Obviously off to the right, since the dart had come from that direction. He saw nothing except scrub and the occasional tree. That didn’t mean someone wasn’t hiding behind the shed—or behind Mahon’s trailer. For that matter, Mahon could be unconscious in the trailer.

Or he could be dead.

Trent might have left his phone inside, however he had his keys in his pocket, and the key ring held not only his keys, but Mahon’s, which was great considering his window hadn’t been replaced yet. So he took them out. He was going to run over whoever the fuck had dared to mess with him and Mahon. He also needed to alert Joe and Diego to the intrusion. Trent sighed when it dawned on him that he had left the extra bullets in the trailer. He got up and peeked in the truck. Yup, he had some in there.

Trent pointed the shotgun up and away from him. Math wasn’t his strong suit, neither was physics, but he thought he had it right since he wanted the bullets to come down somewhere people wouldn’t be. He fired off three shots, unlocked the truck then got in, quickly locking it again. The fillet knife was quickly becoming a hindrance. He pulled it out and tossed it on the floorboard.

Trent slid over to the driver’s side and shoved the keys in the ignition. Nothing happened when he turned it. Dread pooled in his gut. Mahon’s truck was old, but he maintained it perfectly. “You never, ever fuck with a Texan’s truck, asshole. I’d kill you twice if I could.” Sure Mahon wasn’t a native Texan. He was still Trent’s—it amounted to the same damn thing.

It took a solid minute of slow breathing for him to calm down. Running out there like an idiot would only get him killed. That’s what Mahon had been tasked to do—kill him. It only stood to reason his replacements were ordered to do the same.

Trent stared off to the right. He waited, keeping his weapon in his lap. If whoever was after him had one as well, he’d be in deep shit soon. Hopefully they didn’t want to draw attention their way. The dart gun hadn’t made much noise.

Trent’s shotgun had—and Joe wasn’t on his way. There was no dust blowing down the road. Joe lived close enough to hear the shots being fired.

It could be that Bill and his boyfriend are there. Joe wouldn’t let that keep him.

Trent cursed. “Goddamn it!” He’d seen Bill hauling shit to and from his car, hadn’t he? And one of those things Bill carried around was a tranquilizer gun.

Trent grabbed the knife and the gun, and burst out of the truck like it’d spat him out. He hit the ground running. “You cowardly piece of shit, get out here! I swear to God I’m going to rip you apart! I won’t even use my gun!”

He ran for Mahon’s camper.
He’s not in there. Mahon isn’t in there. Don’t go inside.
Trent’s guts cramped and he veered off sharply to the left, running behind the camper instead of into it. A
thunk
told him he’d avoided being hit again. If that tranquilizer dart had enough shit in it to knock out a bear, it’d probably kill a human.

If it was Bill doing this, why had he waited? He’d had opportunities aplenty to take them out individually. It didn’t make sense.

His boyfriend—Trent almost whooped out loud when he thought he had it all figured out now. Bill had been used and might very well be dead. It was a possibility. Then again, Bill could be alive and in on it all. Trent could only trust Joe, Diego and Mahon. Everyone else was a suspect.

And he wasn’t safe behind the camper. All his stalker had to do was move a dozen feet or so to the right and he’d have Trent in sight.

Trent scooted around to the back of the camper. He hated that his feet were visible.

They’re a target
. Trent ran just as another dart hit the dirt. “Fucking coward!”

“Just having some fun,” an unfamiliar voice called out. “You use your gun to murder us. I’m using this one to amuse myself.”

Trent had a bead on the direction as he positioned himself beside his truck. Busted window or not, the tires would help shield his lower anatomy. “I didn’t come starting shit on your home, motherfucker, so don’t even compare us to each other.”

“But you took something that was—is—mine.”

Trent wished he could tell what breed of shifter he was talking to by voice alone. If he was a wolf shifter, then he’d almost certainly know it was Diego’s former alpha. If he was a bear, then one of the fuckers who’d trained Mahon would be his best bet.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Trent was going to kill him.

“No questions about your brother?”

Trent’s spine tingled. That question made him think it was a wolf shifter taunting him. “You’re gonna make a nice rug.” Trent stuck the knife in the ground before he jabbed himself with it.

“I think
you
will make a nice rug,” the son of a bitch said. “Or dinner. Either way.”

Trent didn’t reply, preferring to let the bastard believe whatever he wanted. He pictured the layout of the land around his trailer and knew immediately where his would-be killer was. Not behind the shed, but past that, where a copse of mesquite and oaks stood. The shed was too close.

Where was Mahon? If he wasn’t in the camper—Trent peered under the truck, around the tires, for as long as he dared. He didn’t see any drag marks.

Had Mahon gone outside and sensed that something was wrong? It would be like him to try to flush out the enemy. That didn’t answer the question of his whereabouts.

“You’re being quiet for such a loud man. I’ve heard stories about you. It’ll be my pleasure to silence you for good.”

Trent laughed at him. “Do you know how asinine you sound? Like a B-movie villain. No, make that a D-movie villain. Jeez. Every porn star I’ve watched would deliver those lines better.” There were some very talented porn stars out there that Trent would bet could act circles around some of the famous Hollywood hunks. Those weren’t the porn stars he was comparing the idiot to.

“Do you know who I am yet?”

Trent tugged the knife out of the dirt. He counted to three then came up on his toes, shotgun in place.

And he unloaded it right where he was certain that voice was coming from. Once he emptied the shotgun, he ran for Mahon’s truck again. This time he grabbed the box of shells instead of just five. He loaded the weapon and dropped the box of bullets down his shirt. With it tucked into his pants, the bullets wouldn’t be going anywhere.

On the other hand, if he got shot in the gut, he’d also be blown to pieces.
Beats suffering like I would with a gut shot.
Trent almost made it to his trailer before something hit it. There was a loud
bang
and black smoke rolled out from the backside of it.

Trent kept running. If he lost his home, he’d deal with it. He couldn’t lose any of his people. They weren’t replaceable.

He should have told Mahon he loved him.

Trent cleared the side of his trailer and saw that the whole thing was burning from the back porch on. The wind brought the smoke toward him. Trent ducked and ran again. He was going to get to those trees.

There were no more taunts, which made him think he’d at least nicked the cocky motherfucker he’d been verbally sparring with. He hoped that he hadn’t killed him, because if he had, then someone else had torched Trent’s home. Killing one shifter was easier than taking out two or more of them.

Trent veered right and hoped the smoke helped disguise his approach. It surely covered his scent, since the wind was blowing his way.

Someone screeched and Trent grinned, knowing it hadn’t been Mahon. That was a shriek of terror. Maybe the tarantulas hadn’t all given up on mating.

He took advantage of the distraction and leaped over a fallen limb. He narrowly missed a cactus. Then he saw them. Mahon was down, with at least two darts in him. Trent didn’t give the other fucker a chance. He dropped the knife, aimed the shotgun and fired.

The tranq gun fell a second before the body did. A very big body, bigger even than Mahon. The man had looked nothing like Mahon, either. He’d been older, for one thing.

And Trent’s knees wobbled when he thought about the fact that he’d just shot a human being. No, not a human, a shifter in human form. There was a little bit of a difference there. He’d killed them in animal form. He couldn’t berate himself for taking out one standing on two legs. Protecting his family and lover took priority.