Leopard's Spots 2: Oscar (3 page)

Still, it paled in comparison to the other thing he dreamt of, also not a fictional thing but a memory from not very long ago. It was the worst of all of his nightmares, dreams and, memories. There was no way he could describe the sickening fear that dragged him from sleep, bringing him to wakefulness to find himself sitting up, jaw aching from a scream he couldn’t let loose. And there was always the taste of blood, so pungent and overpowering. He would get up and brush his teeth and gargle to no avail. Once he woke from memories of ripping out Albert Tavares’ throat, the taste of the dead shifter’s blood lingered for hours.

“Enough,” Oscar rasped, needing the sound of his voice to chase him out of his thoughts.

He stepped into the shower and turned the knobs on, not caring if he froze at first. He did, and it took every ounce of his willpower to stand still under the icy stream until it warmed. It wasn’t penance; he just needed to be more manly, or whatever.

After that, Oscar tried to block out any unpleasant thoughts of the past. He’d told himself a thousand times that he’d had no choice when it had come to killing Albert, and he hadn’t. Albert would have killed Lyndon, Oscar’s brother-in-law and Albert’s half-brother. There’d been no other option. There was no use for what-if’s.

But, he could think about Josiah. Oscar never would have admitted it at the time, but being manhandled by the big bouncer had turned him on something fierce. He’d had to really fight to keep from popping wood. When Josiah had been pressed against him…well, it had been the most erotic experience of Oscar’s life. Then again, he hadn’t really had any erotic experiences that didn’t involve his own hand.

The fact that Josiah was a shifter, too, was a bonus.
Maybe
. Oscar wasn’t sure. He hadn’t even known there were other kinds of shifters until his brother Levi had met Lyndon, a cougar shifter. But what kind of shifter was Josiah? He sure hadn’t smelt like a leopard or a cougar.

And the way Josiah had called him kitten? Normally such a pet name would have infuriated Oscar, but Josiah had kind of purred when he’d said it. His voice had thickened, deepened—warmed, even—until it had sounded like the verbal approximation of melted dark chocolate, Oscar’s favourite food in the world.

Mmm, chocolate and sex. Definitely better than thinking about other things.

Oscar let the memory of Josiah’s voice replay in his head, and not surprisingly his cock sprung to rigidness almost instantly. He reached for the little bottle of conditioner set out by the hotel staff as he brought up Josiah’s features, his thickly muscled chest and arms, and that strong, stubborn jaw. Slightly thin lips, wet and dark from kisses…

“Ungh, yeah,” Oscar panted as he fisted his cock. He reached down and cupped his balls with his other hand. “Ohhhh…” Normally Oscar could draw out his pleasure, but thinking about Josiah was shorting out his control. His nipples grew hard and achy, and he couldn’t keep a steady rhythm as he jerked off. He tugged on his balls to try to push back his rapidly approaching climax, but the sound of the hotel room door being slammed shut strangled his orgasm like nothing else could have.

Oscar wanted to weep as he jerked his hands away from his parts. With his sensitive hearing, every move his dad made in the outer room sounded pretty damn loud to him. That being the case, he sure didn’t want his dad to hear him slapping his stick in return. The very idea was even more traumatising than being accosted in the club earlier.

It didn’t take him long to finish cleaning up, as it seemed like every sound he heard coming from the main room spurred him on to hurry up. Oscar towelled off half-assedly then brushed his teeth. A close inspection of his face showed no signs of manly facial hair in need of shaving. He flipped his reflection off before wrapping the towel around his hips and walking out of the bathroom.

Henry, his dad, looked up from the newspaper he was reading at the small table. He frowned and set down the burger he’d been holding. Oscar’s skin burned and he knew what was coming. He’d seen himself in the stupid mirror.

“Have you lost more weight, son?” Henry enquired as he stared at Oscar’s chest. “You’re looking like you could use a month of your grandma’s meals.”

“I’m fine,” Oscar muttered, wishing like hell he’d thought to bring his clothes into the bathroom. At least he could fix that mistake. He grabbed his duffle bag and turned back towards the bathroom.

“Oz.”

Oscar closed his eyes and tried not to let his shoulders droop. He supposed there was an upside to being aware of the feeling of defeat. It was a familiar sensation, so he knew he wasn’t totally lost in some delusional haze. He cringed inwardly when he heard his father rise and walk over.

Here it comes, the good-intentioned prying and yada yada yada.

His dad cupped the back of his neck and tugged until Oscar grudgingly turned around. He wasn’t trying to be a moody jerk, but he was so tired of everyone treating him like he was going to break. Or go crazy and hurt someone.

“I’ve always been skinny,” he grumbled, just before his dad hauled him in for a hug. Oscar returned it with one arm, trying to keep his towel up with his other hand.

“It’s not just that and you know it, Oscar.” Henry didn’t let him go, and he kept his hand on the back of Oscar’s neck, a comforting and familiar gesture to him. “You’ve lost weight. You’re quieter. You’ve always been more likely to think than speak, but ever since…since Albert, you’ve been withdrawn.” He stepped back.

Oscar looked up at him automatically as his dad continued speaking. The sincerity and concern in Henry’s expression made it especially difficult for Oscar to meet his father’s gaze, considering what he’d been up to earlier.

“I know you’re sick and tired of us being worried, son, but when you…”

When his dad hesitated, Oscar figured he was trying to find a way to talk about Oscar taking Albert’s life in a tactful way. But there was nothing tactful about having killed someone, no matter the reason. Oscar took pity on his dad and said it for him. “I killed a man, Dad.”

Henry grimaced and shook his head, but he couldn’t very well argue the point and Oscar knew it. After all, it was the truth.

“I know I didn’t have any other choice, not if Lyndon was going to live. Albert was going to kill him, and all because of a stupid will leaving all of their father’s money to the sole surviving offspring.”

The idea of it turned Oscar’s stomach, but he refused to let his dad see how sick it made him feel. “I didn’t do it because I wanted to, but because I had to. I couldn’t stop Albert any other way. I know these things, Dad. I do.” And yet he still felt the weight of the burden, guilt and remorse and the dread that something dark had been unleashed inside him. He was fucking scared of what he’d done, but no one else needed to know it.

But his dad had this look, the one that said he understood, and he saw far more than one would wish, and Oscar couldn’t stand it. For the first time that he could remember, he pulled away from his dad.

“I need to get dressed.” He felt his dad’s gaze on him like a laser burning into his skin, probably notching each knob of his spine.

It’s okay, maybe he’ll focus on how skinny I am instead of wanting to talk about Albert. At least he doesn’t seem to know I went out.

Oscar almost snorted. Albert was part of the reason they were in San Antonio, and Lyndon was the other part. Well, all of Oscar’s family was the reason, not just Lyndon. But it was Lyndon’s dad who was a psycho nutjob.

Oscar started to close the bathroom door, but his dad was right on his heels. “Oscar, you know this is Cole Tavares’ fault. He sicced his kids on each other. Last one standing inherits a fortune. And yes, you did what you had to, but even knowing that doesn’t mean you don’t feel the burden of what you’ve done.” Henry cupped Oscar’s neck again and pulled him back into a tight embrace. “If you weren’t bothered by it, I’d be more worried than I am now. I wish I could carry this for you.”

Oscar didn’t know why he kept struggling—internally at least—against the comfort his dad and the rest of his family kept offering. He’d stopped protesting, but only out loud. Inside he was a fucking mess. Granted he’d always been kind of screwed up one way or another. He didn’t look a thing like any of his siblings, he’d managed to permanently disfigure himself, he’d always been a target for bullies. On and on it went. Oscar knew each of his faults so well he could see them listed on the backs of his eyelids.

His dad, always perceptive, began rubbing small circles on Oscar’s back, chasing away some of the tension knotting his muscles. “You saved Lyndon’s life, probably Levi’s too, and who knows who else’s. Albert might have come after more of the family. He wasn’t right in the head. How he could be Lyndon’s brother, half or otherwise, is beyond me.”

“I dunno,” Oscar mumbled against his dad’s chest. Slowly, so slowly, his dad was pushing back the guilt that haunted Oscar. He worried about Lyndon, about Levi, about all of his family. But Lyndon hadn’t even known his father or half-siblings. Cole Tavares had almost killed Lyndon once himself a long time ago, but that hardly counted as knowing the asshole.

Or maybe it did, because Tavares was definitely a twisted kitty. He had to be to try to murder his own son. He’d also come up with his sick version of survival of the fittest, pitting his offspring against each other and promising to leave his wealth only to the last survivor.

Now Albert, one of Cole’s kids, was dead, and someone Oscar and his family suspected of being another one of Cole Tavares’ kids had been seen and scented lurking around the family property in Colorado. Oscar’s mom had run the male cougar off, chased him almost all the way to Holton before the cougar had shifted into a naked man and jumped in a truck. It was shortly thereafter that Henry had decided to hunt down Cole Tavares and convince him to stop his sick game.

Personally, Oscar didn’t think it was going to work. Any man fucked up enough to set his kids against each other, to have them kill one another off—Well, someone who would do such a thing obviously wasn’t any kind of rational man. But Henry was determined to try, and Oscar had begged then demanded he come along.

If it came to someone having to be killed, he didn’t want anyone else in his family to have to do it. Oscar figured his hands were already stained with death, his soul marred from it. Better that he be the one to take Cole Tavares’ life, or the life of any of his offspring, who were determined to kill Lyndon. What was more guilt added to the pile of it he already carried?

He just had to make sure his dad didn’t catch on or else Oscar would find himself being shipped back home in no time.

It’d taken Oscar forever to crash the night before. For one thing, his dad snored like it was an Olympic event and he was vying for the gold. How the hell his mom ever got any sleep, Oscar hadn’t a clue. But besides the noise, he’d seen Josiah every damn time he’d started to drift off, like his subconscious was just waiting for him to relax a little, then images of the sexy man flooded his mind. Josiah was just too close to everything Oscar had ever fantasised about in a man. So while Henry had snored away, Oscar had lain wide awake, his dick hard and sweat beading his upper lip because it
hurt
not to touch himself. He’d been scared that if he did doze off he’d end up coming in his pyjamas.

He hadn’t, though, instead sinking into an exhausted sleep only to be roused by his dad pulling off his covers and popping Oscar on the butt. As far as awakenings went, it was a pretty rude but effective one. Oscar screeched, or maybe he didn’t and that was just something shooting up from his ass and exploding in his head.

“Jesus Christ!” Oscar flailed, somehow managing to tangle himself up in his own sleep pants as he tried to flop onto his back. Fortunately he realised he had morning wood just as he rolled onto his hip. With a muttered curse, he hitched up his leg to help hide his erection. “What’d I ever do to you?” he asked as he gave his dad a baleful look.

Henry snickered and swatted him again, but a lot gentler. “You were just sleeping and you had this smirk like you were dreaming about stirring up trouble. I figured there were probably lots of times in your childhood when you could have used a swat and didn’t get one.” He winked and walked over to the desk. He rifled through some receipts then tucked his wallet into his back pocket. “I’m going to run down to that taco place we saw yesterday, the pink one. As busy as it was, it ought to be good. What kind of tacos do you want?”

Oscar didn’t consider himself an epicurean, but he did love Mexican food, especially breakfast tacos. His stomach growled and he licked his lips in anticipation of the coming meal. “Uh, a couple carne asada and a couple chorizo and egg?” He’d had chorizo before and loved the spicy flavour of the sausage, but he’d only heard of carne asada on a cooking show Levi had been watching a while back. “And hot sauce,” he added right before his dad left.

The second the door shut, Oscar was kicking off his pyjama bottoms. As much as he’d have liked to lie in bed and beat off, he couldn’t. The room would smell like spunk afterwards. He got up and hurried to the bathroom. Once he had the shower started, he stripped off his shirt. The water wasn’t quite warm enough for him yet, so he took a moment to fondle his balls. He followed that with a tweak to his nipples and warmth bloomed in his lower region. It wasn’t going to take him long to come at all.

Oscar stepped in the shower and turned his back to the spray. He spread a dollop of conditioner over his dick and he was good to go. He fisted his shaft loosely at first and shuddered when he stroked his entire length.

“Yeah,” he whispered. He closed his eyes for a second, just long enough to picture Josiah’s face, his body, those thick, bulging muscular arms. Oscar opened his eyes and whimpered as he plucked one nipple. He tightened his grip on his dick and pumped harder, faster. He began thrusting into his hand.

“Uhn, yeah, take it, take,” Oscar rasped, imagining he was fucking Josiah’s mouth. He tried to picture the guy’s ass but he hadn’t really seen it. That was okay, he had plenty of fantasy material to work with.