“My truck, my rules. You want a ride? You pay to play.” He unzipped with the other hand. His cotton-covered dick bulged between the rows of teeth.
Bile hit the back of my throat.I can’t. Not like this.“Forget it.” I tried to rise from my cramped position. “No deal.”
“You don’t make the deals.” He grabbed the back of my head and forced me downward.
“Fuck you!” My dad had been bad for me in so many ways, but he’d taught me to fight. I slammed my forehead right into his crotch. Bad angle, but he yelped and let go.
I flung myself back and up. Not far enough. He got hold of my coat-hem and yanked. “Gonna be sorry you did that.”
I punched him right in the eye, then a second one to his throat.Hit the soft bits.
He shrieked, falling back enough for me to wrench free and open the door, my pack tumbling out behind me. His grab missed me as I scrambled out.
“Assault! Gonna call the cops!” he bellowed as I dropped to hands and knees on the gravel shoulder, connecting with the strap of my pack by blind luck. “Gonna rape your ass in jail.”
I turned and ran the way I’d come, pack in hand, glancing over my shoulder as the rev of his engine warned me he was backing up. Aiming my way. I threw myself into the ditch, and he screeched to a halt. For a second, I wondered if he’d come after me on foot. I was pretty sure I could outrun him. Mostly sure.
As he sat idling, a couple of cars passed, slowing way down to eye the van on the shoulder. A moment later, the passenger door slammed shut and he peeled away, spraying gravel. I crouched in the ditch, hands on my knees, breathing hard.
Fuck.
If he called the cops, I’d be screwed. No money, no address, hitching? My dad used to pick up guys like that. Sometimes he’d throw them in jail, get them charged a fine they couldn’t pay. I didn’t know what happened after that. Sometimes, if he was in a different mood, he’d drive them to the edge of town and shove them out. He’d boast about it, rubbing his knuckles in a way that made me wonder what he did before he left them.
California cops might not be like Dad, but they might. The driver might press assault charges, and I was pretty sure I’d marked his face. Or if they ran my ID, there might be some Colorado charge in there, some fabricated thing Dad dreamed up to haul me back. I couldn’t risk the cops.
So no hitching.
No escape.
An SUV and a couple more pickups went past as I crouched there, my breaths slowing, the cold seeping down my neck. For a second, as a semi approached, I imagined bolting for the road. Standing there facing death as the huge truck bore down on me. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth as the wind of its passing buffeted me.
I wasn’t that bad off yet. Dad hadn’t raised no quitter— I cut that thought off. Joe. Joe had taught me to stand on my two feet when a horse was bucking at the end of a lead line and be cool, be calm, not put someone else at risk. I might die, but I’d never force a truck driver to kill me. God, that’d be awful.
A flash of red and blue lights down the road made me dive deeper into the ditch. I lay flat, holding still, as the patrol car passed, siren wailing. Probably nothing to do with me. That van driver wouldn’t want his cop brother-in-law to find out he asked a gay man to suck his dick. But…
I needed to get away from the road. I still had Tilly within walking distance. The ranch was still back there. I wasn’t starving yet, and I could work. Maybe I could do some work forthe Star & Bar for free, make them realize I wasn’t a waste of space. Maybe I could be useful enough to be worth gas money, although when I thought of heading to San Francisco, my stomach lurched.
Pushing to my feet, I slung the pack over my shoulder and took up a fast jog. The next quarter mile of road had no cover except the ditch, but after that the trees returned. I could make my way back out of sight alongside the county road. Once safely back inside Tilly, I’d plot my next move. I wasn’t defeated yet.
Chapter 4
Seth
I turned away from Austin’s lonely figure trudging off down the drive and bent to pet the old dog. “Come on, Patch. That bunkhouse fridge won’t clean itself out.”
For the next hour, while I sorted the fridge contents into stuff worth moving to the house and stuff to throw out, wiped the shelves and bins, then left it unplugged and defrosting, I didn’t think about Austin. Other than to think I could’ve had him do this job and paid him a few bucks, if I’d been quicker on my feet. Out of my own pocket, of course. Too late now.
Most of the stuff in the fridge was condiments, among them a cracked jar of jam. Patch whined as I dropped it in the trash, so I gave him a tiny swipe of sweet peaches off the end of my finger. “Be grateful, kiddo. You’re not supposed to have snacks.”
I mopped up the melting ice in the freezer, crossed “bunkhouse fridge” off the miscellaneous chores list, and moved on to the next thing.
That night, though, I couldn’t sleep. I’d jerked off in the shower, like usual, but my release was sharper and stronger than it’d been in a long time. I’d trained myself to think about porn stars, about athletes, men I could never have in real life. Real life was far too fucking messy. But this time, when I came, a vision of black hair and wide blue eyes flashed through me, and my climax hit so hard I had to lean on the shower wall to catch my breath.
I pretended it was a momentary lapse, but then in bed, memories I thought I’d finally put to sleep rose to haunt me. Miguel, laughing, his tanned hands gesturing as his teeth flashed white in his wide grin. Zachary, flat on his back on a stretcher, the way he was the last time I saw him. A litany of the good, bad, and fucking ugly in my past.
There were reasons I kept sex to my own hand, or occasional trips far away from the Star & Bar. Being attracted and distracted had made me screw up once, had cost Zachary and the ranch more than I could ever repay. I wasn’t taking that chance again—
Time to get my mind off that track.When I pushed the blanket to my hips to get up and do something useful, my cabin was so fucking cold I shuddered. Keeping the heat low at night saved money, but the frigid air coming off the window made getting up lose its appeal. I huddled back down under the covers and dozed fitfully.
