Memphis swung the passenger door open, and Preacher grabbed the handgun from where Memphis had dropped it on the seat, pointing it in the direction of the screaming men. “Release. Come.”
The boys immediately released the two men, but there was a yelp of pain a split second before they bounded up into the cabin of the truck. Preacher fired two shots toward the men just to keep them down, then pointed the truck down the long winding drive, grateful there wasn’t enough ice on the ground to cost them traction.
Memphis spun around, getting on his knees to look out the back window, scanning the darkness for any sign of the two men. Preacher didn’t blame him. There were too many variables. Did the men have a truck parked nearby? They had to have walked the long way down the drive. They would have heard an ATV. Preacher clicked the button for the gate well before they approached it, sailing through the opening and turning onto the gravel road.
Memphis only turned around once they were turning onto the main road into town, flopping back into the seat, chest heaving. The look he gave Preacher wasn’t fear so much as weariness. Luke hopped over the seat into the back, eyes bright, panting heavily. But Bo whined, pawing at his nose and licking at his side.
“Preacher, he’s bleeding.”
Memphis clicked the cabin light on and Preacher let him examine the dog’s injury. “How bad is it?”
Memphis made a sad noise. “He might need stitches. It looks like one of them had a knife.”
“Just keep him comfortable. We have to ditch my truck.”
Memphis looked startled. “What? Why?”
Preacher gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Because they’ve seen what I drive and we have no idea how they found us in the first place. It’s just better to be safe.”
They drove for an hour until they found a big box store open twenty-four hours, heading to the darkened parking lot at the back. They parked the truck, and Preacher tried handles until one gave. A mid-2000’s Toyota Camry.
Preacher looked for keys but none could be found.
“I’ve got this,” Memphis said, pulling Preacher from the driver’s seat. Preacher watched as Memphis reached underneath and began pulling wires.
“You know how to hotwire cars?”
“All of Tennessee Camden’s boys can hotwire a car. Even the queer one,” Memphis said, voice flat in a way that unnerved Preacher. Still, he focused on swapping the license plate on the Camry, just for a double measure of security. If the person reported the car stolen, they’d be looking for the wrong plate.
Once they were back on the road, Preacher finally looked at Memphis, who stared straight ahead, shoulders stiff. “You okay?” Memphis gave him an incredulous look. “Okay, stupid question. Are you physically hurt?”
Memphis shook his head.
After another half hour of driving, Preacher pulled into a convenience store chain frequented by long-haul truckers. “Stay with the boys. Keep the gun on you.”
Memphis didn’t respond. Damn these Camden boys and their selective mutism. The lighting inside the store was anemic at best, casting a yellow glow on everything it touched, but it was clean and well stocked and smelled like hot dogs and fried chicken.
Preacher didn’t waste any time. He grabbed a bunch of medical supplies, two prepaid cell phones, and as many groceries and drinks as he could carry, remembering at the last moment to grab dog food, too.
He couldn’t have been in the store for more than fifteen minutes, but Memphis hadn’t appeared to move a muscle while he’d been gone. He handed over the bags, which Memphis placed at his feet, then headed back down the road. He found a motel off the highway. It was shabby, near empty, and the balding man behind the counter stared balefully at Preacher when he said he’d forgotten his ID but took the added cash he’d offered.
It was only once they were in the room, door locked and stopper in place, that Preacher allowed himself to give Memphis his full attention. He cupped his face, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Talk to me.”
The world-weariness in Memphis’s eyes was a gut punch. “I don’t want to live like this.” His voice cracked, face crumpling a moment before he started sobbing. Memphis wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tight. It had only been a matter of time before he finally snapped. Preacher was shocked it had taken so long. This wasn’t sustainable. Nobody could live on the run, least of all Memphis, who had lived his whole life in a constant state of terror.
Memphis pushed away from him, sniffling and wiping his tears with the back of his hand. “Sorry. I’m good. Sorry,” he said again.
“Don’t be sorry. This is a lot. Why don’t you go take a shower while I patch up Bo?”
Memphis shook his head, going to sit on the queen bed where Bo lay on his side, not looking any worse for wear. Preacher sighed, kneeling beside the bed to take a look at the dog’s injury. The wound was shallow but probably would have required stitches had they taken him to a vet. Instead, Preacher shaved the area around the wound with cuticle scissors, cleaned it, and pinched it closed with steri-strips.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best he could do given the circumstances. He stood, taking Memphis’s hand and tugging. “Come on, let him rest. We’re going to take a shower, and then I’m going to call Cy and Jackson and tell them what happened. We need a new plan.”
Once under the weak shower spray, Preacher took his time soaping Memphis up and rinsing him off. Memphis just leaned heavily against him until Preacher began to soap himself, then Memphis turned, taking the small bar of soap and carefully giving Preacher the same attention Preacher had given him, then more so, massaging his balls and soaping his cock until Preacher was hard and breathless. “You don’t have to.”
Memphis kissed him, increasing his pace, and, God help him, Preacher wasn’t going to say no. He grabbed the soap and reciprocated, timing his strokes with Memphis until they both came quietly in the now chilly water.
Memphis didn’t make any move to step out of the stream. He still looked pale, his eyes dull, but when Preacher went to turn off the tap, Memphis wrapped his arms around him, resting his head on his chest, clinging to him.
