I’ve never found blood play entertaining while hooking up, but imagining the taste of Sully’s bleeding lip has a primal appeal.
“Are you popping a stiffy?” Ramiel asks from his hacker spot. He seems to be enjoying the relaxing moment, lying down on his chaise lounge, drinking from a shiny, rainbow-colored tumbler,while on the six computer screens in front of him, numbers and letters scroll down.
“Shut up, Rami!” Michael replies.
Raphael’s mouth lets go of his husband’s finger with a pop. “When you talk like that, my dick gets hard, babe, and you know what you like me to…”
“No!” Michael shouts, putting his hand over his husband’s mouth. “We talked about this! How many times do I have to repeat myself, you troglodyte! No sex talk in front of your family.”
“That’s a batty rule! I want to know,” Lori says, for some reason.
I look around and find Uriel standing in what looks like a shooting range area. Hunter is there too, talking to Ferdinand, the old butler, showing him a Glock 9mm with an ivory handle.
The shooting area is quite big. There’s the one inside with silhouette targets, a long counter with four partitions and shelves displaying various firearms; it continues outside in the backyard with moving targets.Finally, something interesting, I think as I walk out. Outdoor ranges offer more space and freedom, doesn’t matter the weather.
“Pool,” Uriel shouts. A clay disk appears from the left, flying rapidly into the air before getting pulverized by his twelve-gauge shotgun and disappearing over the forest trees.
Hunter and Ramiel whistle at him as they make their way toward a line of cans on top of a wooden crate.
“Wait, Grizzly!” I hear Ramiel say, before he goes and envelops his boyfriend in his arms. “Hug-o-meter recharge. Ding ding ding! Full.”
Without letting him go, Hunter raises his arm toward the wooden crate. The shots start, and one by one, the cans drop to the ground. Not bad for a PI.
“Why don’t you give it a try?” Uriel smirks at me. “Or are you afraid to lose again?”
I never lose. “You lost to me last time.”
I went along when he took a donor a month ago. The fucker tried to escape, but my bow stopped him, while his bullet just slowed him down.
My brother makes a tsk sound, then waves his hand at a long, plastic container on the table behind him, gesturing for me to open it. I give it a wary look before flipping the latches and slowly lifting the lid. Inside, there’s a bow, the latest Carbon Air Stealth SE. It has True Carbon Technology riser, Flex Rod cable-containment system with RollerGlide, a Vibracheck-tipped string stop, and Vibracheck limb dampeners. It’s a little too showy for me, but still a real beauty.
My fingers brush gently on the cold arching lines as I feel the familiar itch. The urge to shoot and hear the point split open the target, it’s such a fucking thrill. It makes my dick hard.
“Sari got it for you,” Michael lets me know as he drops into one of the chairs in the safe area with a sated smile. Raphael quickly pulls him off and onto his lap after sitting his own ass down.
“He researched for hours. It should have less shock, vibration, and noise during the shot,” Michael adds, wrapping his hands around his husband’s neck.
“Since when do you know about bows?” Raphael questions him.
“Since I helped Sari.”
“I helped, too. Chose the color,” Lori states proudly, still alive, skipping toward Hunter and Ramiel for his turn with the empty cans. I suddenly understand why the bow is cherry red.
My brother’s boyfriend keeps trying to get close to me. He texts me every other day, invites me to their lake house for lunches and dinners, and lets me know when Uriel has a donor session or when they go out for a coffee. He treats me like a member of the…team. If behind his behavior there’s a rational motivation, he must know that at dangerous times there’s strength in numbers. If it’s just an emotional response, I don’t really understand it. Is that part of the evil-having-a-house thing?
I wrap my fingers around the bow grip, which is built into the handle, and lift, enjoying the lightness of the body. I move it up and down to get acquainted with the weight and size as much as I can.
There are five arrows in the box, split limbs, highly preloaded, made of titanium, which reduces the overall weight. I take them all and leave the wooden dock to find soft soil to stick them into—point ends down.
I grab one by my thumb and index finger and place it on the arrow rest, sliding it along until I nock it on the string. I drive my hand all the way back, stretching the string, my shoulders are relaxed, elbow parallel to the ground. I take my time until my eyes find the tree with green and brown leaves that remind me of Sully’s eyes. I release my breath, reach my anchor point, and let go.
I anticipate the excessive vibration of the bow and adjust accordingly. Bullseye. I don’t take a moment to enjoy my work, but rapidly grab another one, and in the next five seconds, I shoot all of the arrows.
“Fucking hell!” Lori exclaims as I eventually relax the arm holding the bow.
“What the fuck was your target, Robin Hood?” Ramiel teases me, squinting his eyes at the forest.
“A tree, around forty yards away,” Raphael responds for me.
