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Franklin sat in stunned silence. 'Elizabeth alive . . . and working with Gustav to kill Riley and Nathan.' His wood-paneled office seemed to close in around him, the smell of the old leather-bound books stifling him, instead of calming him, as they usually did. 'This entire situation with Elizabeth has taken on a life of its own,' he grumbled to himself. 'I don't like giving the FBI, the attorneys, police, anyone such control, especially after all the revelations about Elizabeth and Gustav, but . . .' Franklin shook his head. 'I have no choice.' He reluctantly unfolded a clenched fist, as he gazed thoughtfully through his office windows, out over the garden, and tried to control both his churning stomach and the chaos of his thoughts. 'The FBI are a lot like Elizabeth,' he thought. 'They have their own agenda, and I am merely a bit player, used to achieve their ends.' He rubbed his eyes. 'One can only hope their goals involve my welfare.' "Elizabeth here!" he repeated aloud, not quite believing the woman's luck. He let his breath and anxiety trickle out through his nostrils. 'I should have known things would get complicated. Nothing involving my dear ex-wife has ever been simple. At least the divorce has been granted. My will has been changed, and the house has been stripped of her belongings. I thought I was making progress in removing as much evidence of her as possible from my life . . . now this. 'Well, I'd best get to work obtaining some hulking brutes to guard the property. The sooner they're on the job, the sooner the Agency can send over their own hulking brutes to guard me.' Franklin sank back into the chair. 'Why wouldn't they also supply the guards for the house and grounds? The FBI knows something they're not telling me. Are they hoping to use the informer to get more evidence against Gustav? And, where does Elizabeth fit into the picture?' Franklin heaved himself out of the chair, feeling incredibly weary. Both Rolf, Franklin's Personal Secretary, and Elsie, one of the home's servants, were sitting in the adjoining room, awaiting his return. When he opened the door, Elsie sprang to her feet, the picture of the attentive servant, and asked if he would still like to be served coffee. "I've just made a fresh pot, so it'll be good n'hot," she told him. Franklin nodded and sighed, as he tiredly sank into a chair, opposite Rolf, and rubbed his forehead, trying to think, while waiting for the maid to finish. 'Could Elsie be the bad apple in the Pruitt household? She's been with me for years. Heavens, she was practically a mother to Riley and Nathan. I can't imagine her giving information to Gustav and his henchmen. Besides, what sort of information would she have that Gustav would want? Still . . . she lives here, unlike the other servants. She manages everything. She's in a position to know of almost everything I do. 'Somehow, though, I can't imagine her as an informer. Damn! I never even read books or watched television shows where this sort of thing happens. Now I'm living it, and I don't have a clue how to look out after myself.' "Sir?" Rolf asked, sitting on the edge of his seat, his back straight, as he balanced his coffee cup and saucer on his lap. "Have you received bad news?" Franklin raised the steaming cup of coffee to his lips, sipped, and inhaled what might have been his first breath of the day. He speculatively looked at his most trusted friend. 'Could he be the informer?' Franklin wondered.' He wanted to throw up his arms in frustration. 'It could be anyone! This place is full of people,' he told himself, before returning his attention to his Personal Secretary. "Whether I've received bad news or good, would totally depend on one's point of view, my friend. From where I'm sitting, though, it is definitely bad news." A helpless puff of a laugh escaped his lips, before he plunged on. "That was the FBI on the line, informing me that Elizabeth did not die in Berlin, as we had been told, but is in Atlanta, and has made it known to her cronies in the Winton Law Firm that she wants me dead." Despite himself, Franklin chuckled. "The Agency got this information through a wire tap on the Winton Firm's telephone lines. I bet ol' Gustav will be apoplectic with rage, when he learns." Rolf lowered his eyes and bowed his head. He set his coffee on the side table and slowly sat back, absorbing the news. "Because you and she are at odds?" He paused. "Dead? Isn't that extreme . . . even for her?" Franklin grimly shrugged. "What do you propose to do to foil her plans? I assume the FBI proposed a plan of action. What may I do to help?" "I've just finished making arrangements, through a personal friend, to hire three reliable men to guard my person. As soon as they arrive, I will introduce you, so you can add them to the company payroll." He took another sip of coffee, wondering if he'd said too much. When he looked up, he saw Rolf watching him, and a rueful smile lit his eyes. "I'm sorry. There're just so many things happening, and, now, with Nathan gone, I have no one with whom I may speak freely." "I'm always available, sir." "Yes, I know, and I thank you. You're a good man. Right now, though, I believe I have done enough talking. It's time to take action. I would like you to contract with a good security company to provide personnel to patrol the grounds of the house. I do not want them in the house, though. There are entirely too many people roaming about, as it is." While Rolf made notes, Franklin lapsed into silence, his coffee forgotten. 'Lack of trust can only lead to madness. Everyone becomes suspect, until a person can't trust themselves. Yet, misplaced trust can be almost as bad. I was too trusting of Elizabeth and Gustav, and look at what it got me. Now, I don't trust anyone, other than Nathan and Riley . . . and they're not here.' "Damn!" Franklin spat, causing Rolf to jump, and Elsie to step back into the hallway in which she stood, a steaming pot of coffee in her hands. "Why couldn't the woman have had the decency to stay dead?" * * * Gustav Winton rocked back in his big, leather, desk chair. The informer he'd planted in Pruitt House was, for some reason, calling on his cell phone. "Why are you calling my cell number?" he asked, irritated at the break in routine. 'I am the boss,' he liked to tell himself. 'I tell people what to do, and they do it.' He had, most definitely, not instructed anyone to call him on his cell phone. He'd barely finished the thought when the words he heard made him bellow. "WHAT!? A wire tap? For how long? Do you know what they overheard?" 'Damn!' his mind reeled. 'I should have anticipated that move. If I'd been thinking, instead of dealing with Liz, I would have. Damn her! Damn her to the hottest hell. "What else?" He listened intently. Sometimes the most important information came from the smallest details. "So," he exhaled. "Ol' Franklin really doesn't know where the boys are . . . or even if they're together," he added, after being given another morsel of information. Sometimes it was like pulling teeth to get the informer at the Pruitt's to provide any information, causing him to wonder how much he wasn't being told. 'I better never learn things are being held back,' he thought to himself. 'Or, that I've been lied to.' It had been a lucrative arrangement, both for the Winton firm . . . and the traitor, though it had taken some arm twisting, and a bit of blackmail on the firm's part, to get the information flowing. And, the information had been flowing, for years. Now, though, with funds suddenly becoming scarce, having such a person on the payroll might not be feasible much longer. The thought didn't bother Gustav. After all, the person's life was forfeit the moment they passed on the first bit of inside information about Franklin Pruitt. 'Such a person is just another tool, like a cell phone,' Gustav thought. 'When they outlive their usefulness, you get rid of them.' Of course, it was easier to get rid of a cell phone than a human being, but, given enough incentive, and placing money in the right hands, it could be done. Gustav smiled, as a plan formed. "Listen," he said, using his best car salesman voice. "I have a deal for you." He grinned at the breathless reaction to his words. "I'll give you one last assignment. It's a big one, but, once you've completed it, you'll be rewarded well, and will be free of us. We will ask nothing more of you. You'll never hear from us again." 'Of course, you'll also be dead,' he thought to himself, 'but that is such a trivial point I don't believe I'll even mention it.' "Now, this is all you have to do." * * * A shaft of pale light penetrated the leafy canopy, caressing Corey's shoulders and chest, highlighting the rippling muscles beneath his tight, butter-yellow polo shirt. The sight of his small nipples, standing firm beneath the fabric, and the thought of how Corey would react to having them toyed with, sent an erotic tingle through Jonah, centered on his groin. Corey's tan contrasted with the yellow shirt, which was neatly tucked into a pair of low-slung jeans. The denim fabric cupped his butt cheeks and groin in a tight grip, while the muscles of his legs visibly flexed with each step he took. The sense of sexual excitement Jonah felt, watching his lover, was like heat off a pavement at high noon. Totally oblivious to the turmoil he was causing, Corey paused, and turned toward Jonah, the sunlight spotlighting him like an actor on a stage. He shaded his eyes and squinted, then stepped out of the light, breaking the spell and causing Jonah to smile, both at the illusion, as well as his lover's expression. "Why are you laughing?" Corey asked, his dimples showing, as he brightly smiled, eager to hear any new joke or story. "I'm not laughing." "Your eyes are laughing. I can tell." "I was thinking you look like a movie star, or something, dressed like you are, with your sexy-as-hell dimples, and sunglasses resting on top of your head instead of where they're supposed to be. You just want everyone to see your sparkly eyes, I'll bet," Jonah teased. "Of course, I'm not mentioning all the other awesome bits which are also on display." Corey quickly looked toward his own crotch. "I'm not walking around in public, unzipped, am I?" He thought a moment, then barked a laugh. "Why should I care? I've done more daring things in public than that . . . most of 'em with you, if I recall. You've corrupted me . . . a poor . . . innocent . . . country boy," he said, playing up his accent. He ignored Jonah's snort of amusement, as he leaned closer, studying his lover, then craning his neck to the side, trying to see if Jonah might be hiding something behind his back. "Are you hiding something from me? "The last time you looked at me like that was on my birthday, just before you handed me that monster double-headed dildo, and suggested we both get nekkid and try it out, to see if it fit. Y'know, I've aways wondered if they have some sort of try-before-you-buy rooms in those adult pleasure palaces. Can't you imagine the sign?" he asked, a mischievous look causing his eyes to sparkle. He held both hands up, as if framing the sign he was describing. "'No dildo sold untried.'" He nodded as he smiled. "Nice slogan, huh?" He looked closer. "No dildo?" Jonah shook his head. "Nothing exciting?" There was another shake, as the corner of Jonah's lips twitched. Corey squirmed, shook his hips from side-to-side, and held up his arms, as he looked to the sky. "Glory-be! Who needs another piece of fake flesh? Just thinking about bein' nekkid with you'n ol' Bruno gets my insides twitching. The three of us . . . Bruno, you, and I have spent some pleasant evenings together, haven't we?" "Before all this talk about . . . Bruno . . . you were about to tell me something, right?" Jonah coaxed. "Maybe now would be a good time . . ." Corey seemed to deflate, dropping his arms to his side, each movement a play of light and shadow, highlighting his muscular body. "Yeah, but it's not as exciting as talkin' 'bout double-headed dildos plugging us both, and squirming around with our butts rubbing against each other's, as we fuck ourselves." Corey playfully fanned himself. "Geez, it's getting hot out here, don't'cha think?" "Nevertheless," Jonah murmured, gesturing for them to continue walking down the gravel path, toward home. "Loosen up!" Corey urged. "Laugh a little, tease me, be outrageous! I want the two of us to get nekkid and make love outside," he added, then held up both hands in surrender to Jonah's look of exasperation. "Ahem," he cleared his throat, gathering his scattered thoughts. "I still think you need to laugh more often than you do. Well," he took a deep breath, then plunged on. "I did a lot of thinking on the way home the other night," he finally said, as he and Jonah resumed their interrupted walk. "Anything to keep my mind off that freakin' storm." "Oh?" "Yeah. It was raining, something awful. You wouldn't have believed the . . ." "The longer you take to tell your story, the longer it'll be before we can meet Bruno." "Oh. Okay." Corey grinned and reached for Jonah's hand. "I think you're right, about giving my mother, father, and myself another chance. I knew it was the right thing to do when I realized how much I hoped both of them are still living, so we can at least have a chance to try and settle things. If I really didn't care, I wouldn't have had that thought. Still, I had to do some serious thinking before tellin' you about it all. D'you think you could come with me, sort'a to give me moral support n'stuff?" "You're darn right I'm going to go with you! I'm not going to let you go running off to the wilds of the back country without takin' me along. I've never been out'a the State y'know? This is my chance to see the world!" Corey snorted, and held out a warning hand. "Don't get too excited. My hometown would never be considered a stop on the world tour." Jonah brushed aside that minor detail, and continued rambling, captivated by the idea of . . . seeing the world. "The closest I've gotten to seeing anything exciting is when I look at that monster picture of the City Lucas has got hanging on his living room wall. Imagine, you'n Owen actually lived there! Totally awesome," he said, in wonder, slowly shaking his head. "All those buildings, and snow. It's like something out of a story." "Well, don't expect anything anywhere near that spectacular. We're talkin' 'bout Hillsboro. It's smaller'n Riverton! I have to admit that it is beautiful, especially in the autumn, when the forest's ablaze with color. Most likely, we'll be too early for that. Normally, though, there are mists, and dripping leaves, and mud, and . . . well, you get the idea. Seriously, even then, it's beautiful, in a soggy sort of way." Corey turned to Jonah with a look of boyish embarrassment. "One of my favorite things was the smell of wood smoke, hanging in the cool, foggy morning air." "Like in that painting of yours? The one with the forest and the red bird?" Jonah asked. Corey grinned, his dimples flashing, pleased Jonah would remember his childish attempt at painting. "And cold!" he continued, "at least in the winter. Wet and cold. Quite a combination. It was a good thing I dried out before that first winter at college. Otherwise, I would have been frozen, stiff as a board." He turned an inquiring look on Jonah. "Have you ever tried to thaw out a frozen wanger? To get mine unstuck, I needed the help of a couple . . ." His voice trailed off, and he grinned sheepishly. "Anyhow, back to that storm. I was stuck out there in the freakin' night, miles, and miles, and miles, from civilization. Did I mention miles?" Jonah nodded, succumbing to one of Corey's stories. "Yeah . . . miles." Corey shook his head, in remembered anxiety. "I was all alone, with lightning flashing all over. Sort'a looked like a scene from one of those monster storms in the movies, or something. Really intense stuff. Geez, I wanted you with me, somethin' fierce." "I didn't know you're afraid of the dark," Jonah teased, reaching out to tweak one of Corey's nipples. "I'm not . . . normally," Corey said, brushing the hand away, with a grin. "However, this time, the dark was combined with bein' out in the middle of the back of beyond, with the wind, the rain, the thunder, the lightning, n'all, and me sweatin' and wonderin' if a tornado was gonna drop out of the sky and carry me away, along with Lucas' new pickup. All that stuff made the dark . . . not too cool. "Oh, oh . . . and I began thinking about all those late-night horror movies I watched at college, when I should'a been studying." Corey shuddered, his accent becoming stronger, as the story progressed. "I tell you! I just knew I was gonna meet some ghoulish thing which was gonna rush me, climb up onto the hood of the truck, mash the rotting flesh of its face against the windshield, and ask if it could hitch a ride to the closest cemetery." He shook his head and shuddered. "Ugh!" Jonah laughed. Corey turned to his partner. "Don't you laugh! I happen to have a very vivid imagination!" Jonah nudged his partner with his hip. "Tell me about it! . . . Bruuuuno," he teased. Corey grinned. "We'll have to discuss Bruno, and my active imagination, later. To get back to your question about why I wanna go visit my folks. After I got back to Riverton, I sat almost all day, surrounded by the mementos I have from my childhood, and decided that if my folks were as unimportant to me as I've claimed, there would have been no reason for me to hang onto that stuff since I left home. The fact that I did hang on to everything, means something. It took you and your brother to make me acknowledge it." Corey ran a fingertip over his lover's lips. "Especially you, you handsome devil." He pulled Jonah closer. "Y'know, talkin' 'bout Bruno, n'all, I've sort'a got this itch, which needs scratching, and the only thing I know of, that can reach it, is this," he said, rubbing his fingertips over Jonah's crotch. "Why don't we jog on home so you can give this itch of mine a real slooooow scratching, okay?" * * * In a rare display of emotion, Gustav Winton leaned back and barked a laugh, as he spun his chair from side-to-side. The visitor to his office, one of two men he'd entrusted with all the details of the firm's dealings with the Pruitt family, looked on, wondering what his boss could possibly find so amusing in the circumstances the firm was facing. "No, I'm not losing my grip on sanity," Gustav smiled, motioning for his friend to not look so worried. "The recent call from dear Liz has been one of the few bright spots in a series of disasters. You see," he said, trying not to laugh. "Our dear Mrs. Pruitt has instructed me to implement Plan A." He waited for a reaction. "But . . . really?" the attorney, Bryant Mitchell, asked, his eyes wide. "She really intends to go through with it? I mean, she's wanting her own children to be killed . . ." The man shook his head in disbelief, then focused on his boss. "What can you possibly find so amusing in that?" he asked. "Do you actually intend . . ." he began, giving his boss a worried look. Gustav airily waved the question aside. "I have no intention of implementing Plan A. Those boys have done nothing to me, or to the firm. Liz has a grievance with them, and she wants us to carry out her dirty work. It's not going to happen. Plan A was never anything more than a means of collecting a hefty fee from that gullible ol' broad." The younger man sank back into his chair, relieved. "What I find so humorous," Gustav continued, "is that I'm going to use the money our dear client is providing us to kill her children, to take care of her. She has ruined me, and my firm, and she will pay." Gustav's laugh was filled with menace. "I don't believe anything could be more appropriate than for her to pay to hire her own killers." Gustav rubbed his hands together. "Oh, I love it. I absolutely love the irony of it all!" * * * "Don't you guys ever quit?" Nathan asked, when the moaning and groaning on the bed quieted. He stood at the top of the stairway and watched his brother roll off Bailey, then sprawl, naked, at his lover's side, spread legs bent at the knees, displaying his shrinking penis and hefty nuts. "I mean, how many times has it been today? If you're not fucking, like crazed bunnies, you're running around the house with erections wishing you were in bed fucking. I can't turn around without seeing you guys slobbering all over each other's face, or fooling with each other's dick. "How'd you ever manage to graduate from school?" he asked his brother, as Bailey rolled to his stomach and draped an arm over Riley's chest, with a satisfied sigh, and a slight squirm, as he rubbed his cock against the bed sheets. "Bailey's got a great ass, doesn't he?" Riley asked his brother. "Seen one, y'seen 'em all," Nathan groused. "Now, answer my question." Riley laughed. "My dear brother. I have seen hundreds of asses, and I am willing to swear that they are most definitely not all alike! Yours, for instance, is stellar, just as is Bailey's." "Hmm, thanks," Bailey mumbled, sounding half asleep. "Now, to answer your question, I didn't know Bailey until I'd already graduated. And, it's only been twice today. However, I did have quite a bit of experience before I met the Gen'rl, here. Now, I'm putting it to use, teaching this man everything I know." Bailey jumped as Riley slapped his butt. Then, instead of complaining, as Nathan would have expected, raised his ass, as if begging for more. Nathan snorted, watching as Riley tenderly caressed Bailey's white butt. "Two times today, plus three times yesterday, and who knows how many the day before that," Nathan added. "And, those are only the times I'm aware of!" He crossed his arms and sank back in his seat, wearing a frown. "I'm jealous! I've never had my dick inside anything, or anyone, so it's sort'a hard on the nerves . . . hearing and watching you guys go at it, so often." Riley raised his head off the pillow, to better see his brother, who was now sitting, slouched on one of the bedroom chairs, with crossed arms, watching him through narrowed eyes. "Inside anything?" he asked, in a request for clarification. All he got was an airy wave of his brother's hand, dismissing the question. "I hardly ever had sex at all until I met Riley," Bailey added. "Well . . . there was Corey . . ." "The same Corey as with the sequins?" Nathan chuckled, as he stretched his legs out in front of himself, for some reason, hoping his brother would notice his thick penis, which curved over his nuts, creating a prominent bulge in the crotch of his extremely distressed shorts. 'There's practically nothing left of 'em,' Nathan thought, then grinned. 'I'll have to start going around the house with no underwear.' The thought caused him to pause. 'Why would I want to do that?' Before he could explore that train of thought, Bailey answered. "Yeah, him." "Sequins?" Riley asked. "You had to be there," Bailey shrugged the question off, accompanied by Nathan's soft bark of amusement. "We have sex because there's nothing else to do," Bailey added, wriggling closer to Riley, his voice muffled, as he burrowed into the pillows. "So . . . you guys fuck . . . and I have the pleasure of listening. D'you have any idea how frustrated I'm feeling?" Bailey propped himself up on his elbows and heaved a tired sigh. "I'm sorry, Nathan, but your brother's just finished with me, and I don't have enough energy or . . . ahem . . . juice, to plug you." "What?!" Nathan laughed, caught somewhere between being turned on at the thought, and repulsed by the idea of allowing someone inside him. "You liked watching me while I showered. Are you turned on by seeing us naked, and listening to us while we have sex? Is that why you refuse to strip-off?" Riley asked, as he studied his brother. "You've never been shy when we were hanging out with Father, back home, even when you were hard. In fact, you sort'a liked to show it off . . . just like when you noticed the first hair around your cock, or, better yet, the first time you shot-off. Hell, Nathan, you came running into my room to show me your slimy hand and still-dripping dick. If you weren't bothered by Father seeing you erect, or those other things, you shouldn't be bothered by Bailey seeing it. You've got nothing to be embarrassed about, if that's what you're afraid of." "You really are a very sexy guy," Bailey added, as he threw a leg over his partner, causing his ass cheeks to part, displaying a glistening hole. "Aw geez," Nathan mumbled, confused by his feelings, yet unable to tear his eyes away from Bailey's butthole. 'That's my brother's jiz, oozing from that hole!' "I don't know what I'm feeling," he answered. "I'm sort'a all messed up. I get hard, watching you guys prance around, or when I listen to you pound one another. At the same time, I don't know why I'm hard. I can't say as I like the idea of someone sticking anything up my butt." "Why don't you go beat-off? Maybe you'll feel better after you shoot a load," Riley suggested. "Maybe you'll go to sleep," Bailey hinted. "It's what I'd be doing if there wasn't so much conversation going on." "I've already masturbated a few times today." When Riley snorted, Nathan huffed. "Well, like Bailey said, there's nothing to do around here! We've been told to stay at home, but if I have to hang around here, listening to you guys grunt and groan, and jacking myself off, 'til I'm worn raw, I'm gonna go bonkers! After all, I'm in a new city. I want to get out and see some of it." He lowered his voice, "and give my dick a chance to heal." "Got a firm grip?" Bailey asked, sounding half asleep. "Yeah, I guess." "Not as tight as Riley's asshole, I bet," Bailey said, around a yawn. "Sliding into that is like . . ." "Okay, Gen'rl." "What? . . . You wanted me to be less stodgy." "He was stodgy?" Nathan laughed. "Stodgy people don't run up and down the stairs . . . naked . . . only a couple steps ahead of my brother, who's also naked, squealing, 'You can have me if you can catch me!'" Nathan laughed. "You don't run very fast, Bailey." "What makes you think I didn't want to be caught? Now, as agreeable as this conversation is, I've been drained dry, and pumped full, and I need to get some sleep. G'night, Nathan." "Does this mean I should leave? This is the end of the stimulating repartee?" "Why don't you ever use big words like that?" Bailey mumbled, trying to snuggle closer to Riley. A moment later, his breathing slowed, and he was asleep. "I can't sleep," Nathan grumbled, in a lower voice. "I dream about Mother, bursting through the door of the apartment, in full combat gear, waving a machine gun about. Her face is painted in a camouflage pattern . . ." "Artfully applied, no doubt," Riley murmured, dryly. "With red lipstick." "Yeah. Then she guns us both down, while Bailey's sitting at the dining table reading the morning paper." "It's just a dream, Nathan. Mother can't know where we are. Besides . . ." "Yeah?" "Bailey would never read the morning paper at the dining table." * * * Gustav Winton studied the two men sitting opposite him, across the desk. They were average men. One could meet either of them at a party and be unable to describe them only a few moments later; just the type of men he wanted. Now that I've put her in touch with someone who'll be able to plant some people in the security personnel Franklin's hiring, ol' Liz will be off my back, and will be hounding someone else. 'It's payback time,' he told himself. 'I've put up with Elizabeth's whining and unreasonable demands for close to thirty years. She's singlehandedly ruined my business, and now she wants me to arrange a few murders for her. It was one thing to theoretically plan to have her sons killed, but quite another to carry it out. I don't know those boys. They've never done anything to me, and as far as I'm concerned, if Elizabeth wants them dead, that's good enough reason for me to wish for the opposite. I will do nothing to aid her plan. 'My plans are entirely different. Elizabeth has been an annoyance I've had to tolerate, for years, primarily because she was the source of a substantial portion of the company's yearly income. Now she no longer has her husband as a source of money, and has gone way beyond being a mere annoyance. I intend for all the insults, all the slights, all the unreasonable demands, and name calling, to come back and haunt her. Just like her father, before her, she has stepped on too many toes, and stabbed too many people in the back, to not suffer their wrath. 'All those people, though, believe her to be dead. So . . . since none of the people she's stepped on, know she's alive, it is up to me to exact vengeance, both for myself, and all those who hate her. It is also my right! She was not able to control that husband of hers, and because of that, my firm may cease to exist. Once the authorities have a chance to analyze all the documents they've taken from me, there's no telling what will happen. One thing, for sure, is that none of it will be good. 'However, if I am going to suffer, Elizabeth will do the same, then . . . she . . . will . . . die.' A delicious tingle of anticipation made him smile. "That's right, gentlemen," he said, continuing his conversation with the two hired killers. "You are being paid to kill Elizabeth Pruitt. However," he held up a finger, as if making a point. "You are not to do so at the first opportunity." When one of the men frowned in puzzlement, Gustav explained. "I want her to suffer. I want her to know that she's being stalked, and that, if you should so choose, you could kill her anytime you wish. Play with her fears, as a cat would its prey. I want her to be frightened, always looking over her shoulder. Keep her in your sights. Terrorize her. Then, when the time comes, let her know who hired you. Oh . . ." Gustav laughed. "Before you shoot her, ask her if she'd like to fix her make-up?" Gustav rubbed his hands together in glee. "Yes, that'll be perfect. Then, dump her carcass in a ditch someplace, with the rest of the rubbish." * * * "I'm hooooome," Lucas called, from the bottom of the stairway. "Where's the welcoming committee, the parade . . . my naked lovers?" "LUCAS!!" Owen called, bursting out of their apartment, dressed in a pair of brief underwear, his expression incandescent. He flew down the stairway and picked up Lucas in a massive hug, as they kissed. "Welcome home!" They kissed again. "I've missed you." Another kiss. He held Lucas at arms' length, drinking him in like water, then drew him close. "Ohhh, it feels good to hold you." He rubbed his fingertips over Lucas' unshaven jaw, and smiled. "Mmm, whiskers. I like it!" Owen held Lucas close, resting his head on his lover's shoulders. "It feels so good to hold you." As he and Owen hugged, Lucas inhaled deeply the faint scent of bath soap lingering about his lover's shower-warmed skin. He nuzzled Owen's ear and still-damp hair, loving the close, concentrated aroma of the man in his arms. A sense of tranquility settled over him as their kisses went from frantic to sensual and lingering. 'Oh, Owen,' he thought, not willing to trust his voice. 'Being away from you for the first time has taught me that I love you more than I would have thought possible. You are life to me. You are what it means to be in love.' "Ugh, Ow-en," he grunted. "Mind the ribs. I know how strong you are; you don't have to demonstrate." "Oh geez, sorry!" Owen abruptly released Lucas, grinning sheepishly, just as Sam burst through the building's lobby doors. "Lucas!" He seemed to fly across the room, before wrapping his arms around the slender man, as they kissed. "I was over at Art's getting a haircut, when I saw you pull up," he explained, between the first kiss, and the second. "Art didn't like me jumping out'a the chair before he was finished with me. I had to promise that I'd come back so he could finish." They kissed again, then Sam laughed. "I think I might have left the barber's bib, or cape, or whatever they call it, in the middle of the street, I was in such a hurry to get over here. Oh, I'm glad you're back. Owen n'I get lost in that big ol' bed, without you." Outside the open doors, Art watched the welcome home celebration, smiled, and shook his head in wonder, as he bent to pick up the red barber's cape, lying in the middle of Main Street. 'I'm sure glad Maxine's not here to see this.' * * * Nicky Saunders faced his parents across the dinner table. It'd been over a week since he and his father had sat with Owen and listened to him speak of his fears. "Dad," Nicky said. "Is Owen going to be okay? I didn't understand a bunch of what you guys were saying, so . . . I don't know." "I hope he'll be okay, Nicky. He's hurting a lot. You and I should be proud, though, that he felt safe enough to talk to us about what's troubling him." "His Dad hurt him pretty bad, huh? Owen's a big guy. How could anyone hurt him so much?" "Nicky," Peg Saunders, his mother said. "Owen used to be a small boy, just like you. He wasn't always strong like he is today. And, you have to understand that there are other types of hurts than the kind you get from a spanking. Owen hurts up here," she said, touching her son's forehead. "He's been hurt so bad by his father, he's afraid of almost everyone. He laughs a lot, but he's only covering up the stuff which hurts him." "His father was not a nice man, Nicky," Will Saunders continued. "Owen's mama did her best to keep Owen, Jonah, and their sisters from being yelled at . . . and stuff, but there was only so much she could do." "So that's why he was cryin' n'stuff, the other day, 'cause his father yelled and treated him bad? Is that why he didn't want to yell at Miss Maxine when she was callin' him names n'all? 'Cause of what his Dad did to him?" Peg smiled. "Yes, sweetie. That's part of it. Besides, just because Maxine was calling Owen names, did not make it right for him to do the same to her." Nicky thought a moment. "That's what he told me. If he started yelling at her," he said, "he'd be no better than her . . . or, his Dad, I guess. "What can we do to help him?" "We're doing it, sweetheart," Peg said. "We're doing it by being kind to him, and letting him talk, and cry, whenever he needs to." "Is it okay if I hug him and tell him things'll be okay?" "Of course, Nicky, but just being his friend is best, and you're one of the best friends Owen's ever had." * * * "Ladies and gentlemen," Lucas chuckled, from where he lay between his two lovers. "The just completed double-play performance was brought to you through the miracle of testosterone." "Is that what I smell?" Sam snickered, in a low voice. "That, and sweat," Owen answered, as he burrowed his face in one of Lucas' armpits. "And sperm," he added, in a muffled voice. Sam lowered his voice. "Lucas . . . um . . . those ladies you mentioned . . . ?" "Ewwww!" Owen groaned. "Ladies watching us? It'd be like Abigail and Mama sitting at the end of the bed . . ." "Giving you style points," Lucas laughed. "And for tongue-work," Sam laughed. "Owen gets . . . score of 8!" "I would have given him a 10, since he was using his tongue on me," Lucas objected. "Penetration . . ." Sam hesitated, as if waiting for the score. "A 9! Hooray!" he shouted, wiggling the body and causing the bed to shake. "Who are they comparing me to?" Owen groused. "I would have given myself a ten." Lucas patted his lover's shoulder. "Don't feel bad, Cowboy. I would have, too." "That's why I don't wanna have any ladies hanging around while we're havin' sex," Owen commented, glancing to the end of the bed, and the imagined audience. "They would'a given me a ten," Sam snorted. "A'course. You always did have a way with the ladies," Owen snorted. "They sneak a look at your crotch and see you've got a big dick. After that, you can't get rid of 'em." "Tell me about it." Sam grumbled. Lucas reached out to both lovers. "Guys! I'd give you both a ten, and, since I was the one on the receiving end of . . . things, I feel best qualified to give you both a score." "Owen's just touchy 'cause he and I both got to do you, and there he sits, with an asshole which is almost virginal. Get it, Owen? Almost? Chuckle, chuckle," Sam teased. Owen heaved himself over Lucas, and onto Sam, who yelped in surprise, as Owen landed on top of him. "No wonder you're . . . virginal," Sam howled. "It's a lot easier to get a guy to fuck you by asking . . . than by jumping on 'em." "Guys!" Lucas shouted. "You're loud enough to wake the dead! Besides, you're messing up the bed!" Both Sam and Owen paused, then, as one, jumped on Lucas. "You're the one messing up the bed!" Sam laughed, as he rolled over and pulled Lucas with him. "You're leaking!" Owen added his voice to Sam's, pointing to a wet spot on the bed. "I'm not sleeping in the middle t'night. I'd get all sticky."
"Ewww," Sam roared. "Something just dripped on me!" He pushed Lucas off, and onto his back, into the center of the enormous bed, where he was immediately attacked by Owen, who madly kissed him, and Sam, who began sucking his cock. When Sam finished with him, Lucas lay back, spent. "Enough play for t'night, guys . . . really. You've about worn me out, and no matter how much you try, I won't be able to cum again . . . for an hour, at least." "I'll wait," Sam murmured, from Lucas' left. "Same here," Owen yawned. "Though I might fall asleep first." "Since we ended up in bed before I had a chance to ask," Lucas began, "have you guys heard from Bailey? I wonder how he and Riley are doing." "I called a couple days ago," Owen responded, no longer ready to fall asleep. He draped an arm over Lucas' chest and linked fingers with Sam, on Lucas' opposite side. "Riley seems to be doing okay. He says he's happy to have his brother with him, though Nathan . . . that's his brother . . . is still getting used to living with a couple horny gay guys." Sam laughed. "Riley says Nathan's wearing himself raw, jacking off so much." "'The first time he stumbled on us having sex he 'bout dropped his jaw," Riley hooted, obviously teasing his brother, who shouted a comment, from the background." "'He probably thought I'd always be the top,' Riley laughed, as he was tellin' me all this. 'There I was, on my back with my feet in the air, with Bailey on top of me, when Nathan shows up. Bailey was doing his usual grunting and groaning, and poor Nathan didn't know what to think. He figured out, pretty quick, that we weren't in a wrestling match. I mean, how could we be? Bailey was on top!'" Sam laughed, recalling Bailey's shout of surprise, "'Hey, what's that supposed to mean? I can be rough n'tumble, if I choose.' "'Yeah, right.' Riley hooted. "'So, what'd the poor guy do?' I asked," Sam said, as he continued, with his story. "'He stayed and watched,' Bailey called, from the background. "He's been walking around with an erection, ever since.'" Sam laughed. All the while Riley was trying to talk on the phone, Bailey and Nathan were shouting comments. "'It was educational,' Nathan shouted. 'I'd never heard my big brother squeal before!'" Sam grinned, recalling Riley's outraged yell. "No one seems to be as subdued, 'cause of their mother's death, as I thought they'd be," Sam concluded. "I told 'em they could come here, if Nathan needs a change of scenery," Owen added. "I'd bet the three of us could show Nathan a thing or three, huh, Lucas?" "Well, if they show up, we'd better be on our best behavior. We don't want the poor guy scarred for life. I mean, Bailey and Riley might be about all he can take. Throwing us three into the mix, plus Jonah and Corey, and he might die of a perpetual hard-on." "I won't," Sam added. "Be on my best behavior, I mean. That's no fun. Besides, I never make promises I don't intend to keep. If he's got a perpetual boner, the five of us will just have to work hard to make it go down." "Down what?" Lucas laughed. "My throat, yours, Owen's, Jonah's, Corey's, Bailey's, and Riley's, if the two brothers are okay 'bout playing with one another, that is." "You've got it all planned out, don't you?" Owen asked, looking around Lucas, to Sam. "Yep. That's just lesson number one, a'course. Right now, I'm thinking You n'I might be able to coax another load out'a Lucas before we go to sleep. Wanna try?" Sam asked, propping himself up on an elbow, and looking over Lucas to see Owen's look of anticipation. * * * The conversation ceased, as Nathan answered the cell phone. "It's Dad," he told his brother and Bailey, a moment before answering. "Hey, Dad!" Nathan answered in a glad voice. "We're all here, safe and sound. I'm with Riley. He and Bailey aren't being frisky . . . at the moment. Bailey's got that look in his eyes, though," Nathan laughed, making a face in Bailey's direction. "So . . . what's new?" Riley watched, as his brother's smile faded, to be replaced by a look of distress. "What is it?" Riley flung himself out of his chair and crossed the room to his brother's side. Bailey joined him, only a step behind. "Is Father okay?" Riley asked, grabbing Bailey's hand. Nathan frowned, covering the microphone. "He's okay. I'll fill you in, in a moment." Riley sagged against Bailey. "Geez, Gen'rl, I don't think I can take another shock, so close on the heels of everything else." In the background, Nathan continued talking, while he paced back and forth in front of the apartment's windows, looking out onto the surrounding towers. "I keep thinking about Mother. Y'know, I could stand the woman almost as much as she could stand me, which is to say, hardly at all. We tolerated one another, and I thought we'd finally come to some sort of uneasy peace. I've been away at school for the last four years, and I guess I figured my absence might have . . . y'know . . . mellowed her, or something. Y'know, it took almost all of my first year at college to finally relax. I just knew she would show up unexpectedly, with no other goal than to turn my life upside down. "That's why I never let anyone, not Nathan, or Father, or anyone from back in Atlanta, know where I lived. I even had the University put a lock on my records, so nothing whatsoever would be published in the student directory about me, not even my name. I didn't want to give her any clue where I could be found." He huffed a soft laugh. "It was like I was a fugitive, or something, always on the run. I was always changing apartments, and cell phones, just in case. I even had my car registered in another state, hoping that might throw her off my trail, if she ever tried to look. School was more difficult. I couldn't shift from one school to another, like I did apartments. "I was accepted by a few, and led everyone in the family to believe I would be attending the University of Georgia, a proper Southern school. In reality, I never considered that place, just because it was so close to her. It's a great school, but I just knew she'd show up on my doorstep if I was so close to home." Both Riley and Bailey looked up as Nathan flopped onto one of the chairs. "Well, shit!" he shouted. He pounded the arm of the chair once, then stretched out his legs and leaned his head back against the cushion. "What!?" "It's Mother!" "Aw geez," Riley groaned. "You don't have to tell me . . . back from the dead. I'm right, aren't I?" Nathan nodded once. "Got it in one! Now, Father and the attorneys, and the FBI, all think that we are prime targets for her to take out her anger upon. Everyone agrees Dad'll be the first target, since he's in Atlanta, and she knows how to get at him. "Dad's told the FBI folks he doesn't know where we are, which is the truth. He's also told 'em he doubts we're together, or even if we're in the country. "We're supposed to change our phones, and anything else we can think of, which might help her track us down. Dad's done the same thing. In fact, he's been told not to call us, but to go through the attorneys, or whatever. So, that's the last call we'll be getting directly from him. The attorneys are even getting a court order to eliminate any record of my name from the flight records, showing me coming up here, or leaving the country, or whatever. I didn't know someone could do that sort'a thing. "Oh . . . they'll also be setting up accounts for us through your father," Nathan said, glancing at Bailey. "Dad says he and your father have become good buddies. I guess Dad's accounts didn't stay frozen . . . or else he had resources no one knew about." Riley stomped across the room, then turned back to the two men. "I knew something like this would happen. I just knew it! Here I was . . . just getting used to the fact that she was dead. Hell, I was even, sort'a feeling a little sorry for her, and now this!" He threw up his arms. "She will not rest until she has pursued Dad, Nathan, and me to the ends of the earth! She now has only one purpose in life, and that is to end ours." Bailey turned a wide-eyed look on Nathan, who nodded, and bowed his head in agreement. "Surely, you jest!" Bailey said, turning to Riley. Nathan snorted. "Does it look like I'm jesting, Gen'rl? Does it sound like it? When you got involved with me, I bet you never guessed you were gonna be hanging out with a hunted man, did you?" "A hunted man, and his equally hunted brother," Nathan added. "I told Owen that you are always full of surprises," Bailey nervously laughed. "I had no idea, though, precisely how many surprises, and how quickly they'd show up." He sobered, turning to Nathan. "Please, tell your brother and me that there is nothing else your father told you about your dear mother." "Nope, you got it all. He doesn't know much. Oh . . . he wants us to stay put, to go nowhere. The FBI has provided him with three bodyguards, and he's hired a bunch more, to handle outside the house, n'stuff. Imagine . . . bodyguards!" He shook his head. All three men flinched, as the cell phone on the table at Nathan's side chimed, signaling the arrival of a text message. He swiped his finger across the screen, and froze in place, as he read what was on the screen. "What?!" Riley shouted, jumping out of the chair and rushing to his brother's side. Nathan handed him the telephone, and it was Riley's turn to turn white. "Well?" Bailey joined the two brothers. "What's it say? Is it from your father?" Riley handed him the phone. The message was short, and to the point. "I know where you are, and I am going to kill you."
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