“Proclivities?” Linc all but growled, unable to stop his lip from curling.
The senator’s eyes glittered, his expression mimicking Linc’s. “Yes! See. That look right there. That disgust. I get it. I understand it. It enrages me too. That boy of mine will do anything to spite me, to make me look bad, even behaving like some… sodomite. It’s completely unnatural.” The man was pacing now, waving his arms like some fire and brimstone preacher. Linc knew the type. He’d spent the first ten years of his life in a tiny town in Mississippi and had been on the receiving end of more than one of these self-aggrandizing sermons. “It’s… it’s spiteful is what it is, repulsive, morally reprehensible, and God knows I’ve tried to reason with him, tried to get him the best therapists, got him enrolled in the best programs as soon as I saw what he was. Light of God Ministries has one of the best conversion programs out there. I put him in when he was just fourteen years old. Four years in a row they had him and still… still, he behaves that way.”
“What’s your point?” he asked between clenched teeth before begrudgingly adding, “Sir,” remembering he still represented Jackson.
“My point is, I understand your rage. I imagine a Marine like you finds a… deviant… like my son to be an abomination. He clearly makes you angry and I understand. I do. But any discipline you dole out must be out of sight. Even now, on house arrest, that beatnik wild child he cavorts around with could run to the papers and claim that he’s being abused by his father’s employee. You see how bad that would look for me, right? I just want one more term in office; I’ll deal with everything else after November.”
Linc’s head spun as he tried to grasp exactly what Monty Edgeworth was saying. Was he implying he was fine with him almost killing his son? Jesus. This man was a fucking monster. A monster paying him six figures. Six figures Linc desperately needed. He mentally shook himself. “Just so we’re clear, what is it you expect of me?”
The man gave him a broad grin and clapped him on the shoulder. “Discretion, soldier, as discussed. Discretion is key. No visible bruises, no life-threatening injuries. You were Special Forces. I’m sure they’ve taught you all the best techniques. Ways to… make an impression without causing any permanent damage or disfigurement. Without leaving behind any evidence.”
Linc’s blood wasn’t rushing, it was boiling. The only person Linc wanted to damage and disfigure was this smug piece of shit in front of him smiling while he detailed all the ways Linc could abuse his son. “You can’t be serious?” Linc heard himself say.
The senator held up both hands like a blackjack dealer signing off. “This isn’t a setup. Honestly, it couldn’t work out better for me. If the L.O.G. couldn’t save him, maybe a little military discipline can.” His voice dropped low. “Listen, if you’re worried about Wyatt telling anybody or going to the police, I promise he won’t. If those three summers taught him nothing else, it’s how to keep his mouth shut and protect the family. Thank God for small favors.”
Linc was grateful his shaking hands were in his pockets. He was ten seconds away from tossing a state senator off his own balcony, and the only thing keeping him from acting on his instincts were thoughts of his own father two hours away and the boy down the hall. If Linc left now, who knew who the man would hire next? Black market mercenaries? Linc was no saint, but Wyatt was much safer with him than anybody else. What if the next guard found Wyatt as reprehensible as Wyatt’s father? What if the previous guards had already abused him?
“I’m sorry for the bruises. I assure you, they won’t happen again,” Linc managed, forcing the words past his lips. Chewing ground glass would have been less painful. He promised himself when all of this was over and he had penned his resignation for Jackson, he was going to punch this guy squarely in his smug fucking mouth. Twice. At least.
“Don’t worry about it, son. These things happen. I think you might be just what my son needs.”
He turned to walk toward the door but turned back at the last minute. “Your father must be very proud. Thank you for your service.” And with a jaunty salute, he was gone.
Linc counted to thirty before he picked up the nearest object—a highball glass Wyatt had used for his orange juice—and hurled it against the wall with a shout. A bit of tension left him as it fractured, glass scattering across the floor. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted to rip the other man apart, wanted to torture him slowly. Linc knew the things that went on in those conversion programs. Every gay kid had heard the horror stories; some he knew had stories of their own. He couldn’t imagine what three straight summers would be like.
He needed to call Jackson. He needed to call Ellie. He reached for his cell phone before remembering it was now at the bottom of the swimming pool. Charlie. His eye throbbed a bit as if suddenly remembering the girl’s fist. She was a melodramatic psychopath, but at least she actually cared about Wyatt. That still left him without a cell phone. Shit.
He cleaned up the glass and tossed it in the garbage before brushing his teeth and snagging his wallet off the dresser. On his way out, he stopped to knock gently on Wyatt’s door. “He’s gone.” There was no response. “I need to go to the office and talk to my boss and then I need to replace my cell phone. Are you going to be okay here by yourself?” Still nothing.
He cracked Wyatt’s door open. The boy was on his stomach under the covers, a pillow on his head, only his right shoulder and left calf visible. He likely wasn’t sleeping, but Linc left him as he was.
Hopefully, he’d heard none of the conversations between Linc and the senator, though he imagined it was nothing the boy hadn’t heard a thousand times, possibly while on the wrong side of Monty’s fists.
He sighed and shook his head. “I’ll be back,” he said again before closing the door. Back in the kitchen, he spied Wyatt’s cell phone. It was unlocked. He keyed up Wyatt’s texts and found Charlie’s name, quickly tapping out a text.
Can you come back? I need you.
He held his breath as three dots danced, shoulders easing only when he saw her response.
On my way.
At least Wyatt wouldn’t be alone while Linc was gone. Not physically, anyway.
* * *
“The guy’s a cocksucker, man.”
Jackson huffed out a laugh from behind his desk, his deep, booming voice filling up the large office space. “All the best homophobes are.”
Linc dropped into the chair on the other side of the enormous desk. “I don’t think this guy’s in the closet. I think he’s just a sanctimonious prick. He stood there, with that fucking smirk on his face, asking me to beat the gay out of his son, but not to leave bruises.”
Jackson leaned forward, folding his hands on his desk, the snowy-white dress shirt rolled to the elbows drawing a sharp contrast to the ebony skin of his muscular forearms. Linc had forgotten how large the other man was, how intimidating he could be with his tattoos and shaved head. Even without a rifle in his hands, Jackson looked lethal, like he could tear a man apart. Civilian life looked good on him. He was seven years younger than Linc, but he had seen just as much time in the desert. Yet here the man was, running one of the most successful private security companies in the country.
“While we’re on the subject. You wanna tell me how that boy actually got those bruises around his neck?”
Linc rubbed his hands over his face. “Not really, no.”
Jackson opened his desk drawer, pulling out a bottle of whiskey. He opened it and took a sip before passing it to Linc. “I’m afraid I’m going to insist.”
