“Has he mentioned the possibility of unblocking me on social media?” Harry asks for the nine-millionth time since he kidnapped us. “Was it the username that scared him off?”
“What was your username?” I ask, as if I don’t already know it by heart.
“ClitMasterHarold,” Harold says, reaching down and flicking the outline of his girthy penis. “I bet Ezra would like to touch my clit.”
“I bet if you ever put Ezra’s name in your mouth again, there’s going to be a problem.”
“I just want him to love me. Why won’t he love me?” He narrows his eyes when he looks at me. “It’s because I’m bisexual, isn’t it? Is he a biphobic bigot?”
“Are you a homophobic hillbilly?” I counter.
He shrugs, nodding. “I try to keep my internalized homophobia in check, but sometimes it slips out.” He licks his lips. “The same way Ezra slips out of his underwear, flashing that fucking ass like a cock-hungry faggot.”
Nope. We won’t be doing that, so I cold-cock the son of a bitch, sending him flying off the bed and sliding across the floor.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Harold says. “You really, really shouldn’t have done that.” Standing, he walks back over and leans as close as he can get. “Ezra is obsessed with Johnny’s ass. He talks about it on OnlyFans all the time. Maybe it’s time I see what the fuss is about.”
I growl at him. This low, humming sound that seems to rattle him a little. “No one touches Johnny.”
“Then bring me Ezra.”
“I already told you seventy fuckin’ times, I don’t know where he is. I don’t even know if my boy is alive.”
“He’s alive,” Johnny says fiercely, squeezingmy wrist. “Our boy is okay.”
“You don’t seem to know much at all,” Harold observes, and I don’t argue back, because he’s got a point. “Look at you, losing your boy. As Daddies, Littles need to be protected. Cared for.”
“Well, Ezra’s more of a middle than a little, but he ain’t big on age play.”
“My point being,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “As his Daddy, you have one responsibility. Caring for his safety. You have completely dropped the ball. He’s God knows where, because you couldn’t keep track of the man we love!”
“The manwelove?” I shout.
“If I was his Daddy, I would’ve taken him into my arms and told him everything would be alright. Some Daddy you are.”
“Sometimes you can say a whole lot more by moving your mouth a whole lot less.”
“My mouth is about to be moving a lot more. Around Johnny’s cock.”
When I notice Harry’s eyes glued to Johnny’s bulge, I know it’s now or never. I can’t risk him touching my boy in places my boy doesn’t want him to touch.
Fuck it.
I guess today’s the day a motherfucker dies.
This guy is crazy. I don’t know how long we’ve been here, or how long he’s planning on keeping us, but I know he wants our boy. Our Ezra. Tough shit, he ain’t ever getting Little Dick.
Bubba says it’s almost time for us to make our move, but he still ain’t told me what that move is. We’ve beenhere for days or weeks, or maybe even months, and each day away from our family—from the home we’ve created—feels like forever. I just want to go home.
Bubba don’t seem scared very often, but he seems scared right now. Something must have happened earlier. I know they were whispering to each other, what if he threatened to kill Bubba? Or what if he threatened to kill me? I don’t know the guy from Adam, so I don’t know what the hell he’s capable of. He stalked our car, thinking we were Ezra, only to dig us out of an embankment and drag our unconscious asses here.
For the last ten minutes, he’s been muttering to himself about fated mates. I don’t know what the fuck that means, but it don’t sound good.
“You,” he growls, and his eyes are aimed right at me. “You’ll be first.”
The room is thick with tension, the kind that makes your skin prickle and your heartbeat thump in your ears. I glance at the cracked window, weighing the odds of making a break for it, but the lunatic’s got his eyes on both of us, and besides, Bubba told me no matter what I do, I can’t make a run for it unless he tells me it’s okay. He’s smart like that, always seeing the bigger picture. Not like me, all erratic and impulsive by nature. Bubba’s on the other side of the bed, and his eyes are on mine with a knowingness in them. When Clitmaster Harold turns to grab a syringe from the small, black medicine bag he carries around on his hip, Bubba quickly shakes his head at me, motioning for me to stay still, probably. I’m tired of waiting, but I trust Bubba with my life, so I nod.
Time seems to crawl, every second stretching longer as the tension builds. My palms are slick with sweat, and I try to steady my breathing, forcing myself to stay calm and listen for any hint of an opportunity. Bubba’s subtle signals keep me grounded, reminding me that losingmy cool could mean the end for both of us. All I can do is wait and hope Bubba’s got a plan brewing, even as the crazy bastard paces the room, muttering threats under his breath.
