Scorched Edges (19 page)

“I know.” Marty sighed. “I can’t believe how much has changed in just a few short months.

“For the better, I hope.”

“Of course.” Marty laid across Beau’s chest, a better position for kissing. “I have you. I have lots of new friends. I’ve discovered a kinky streak a mile wide.” That brought on a fit of giggles.

“What? Why is that funny?”

“I did a bit of research into arousal. Sometime in the mid-80s, a Boston University scientist did a bit of experimenting. Apparently, men are more likely to get an erection under duress. He told men who had no problem achieving or maintaining an erection that if they didn’t get in the mood, they would receive an electric shock. The tangible effect was that the threat of shock increased sexual arousal. That’s why when you threaten me with all kinds of mean Dommy things, it turns me on.”

“Good to know. We haven’t tried electrostim. Yet. I think we should confirm his results, don’t you?”

“Isn’t it enough that you’re making me hard just by talking about it?”

“You’re the one who always wants categorical proof, Marty.”

“Sir. I think you should gag me. Every time I open my mouth I come out with something really dumb.”

Beau flipped Marty onto his back and straddled him. “How about I just stuff your mouth with my cock for now?”

“That should work, Sir.” Marty smiled, then parted his lips.

Also available from Pride Publishing:

Wyverns: Deathtrap

L.M. Somerton

Excerpt

Chapter One

“Rogue! Get your ass into the kitchen. Now!”

Hatchet’s dulcet tones ripped through Rogue’s relaxed state of mind and put him on edge in an instant. He took a few deep breaths and removed his booted feet from the low table they were propped on. He returned his attention to the computer balanced on his lap, immediately getting drawn back in to the article he’d been reading.

“Rogue!”

What the fuck… There truly is no peace for the wicked.
Rogue chuckled.
But there’s no denying that I am wicked, so maybe I deserve it.

He snapped the lid of his computer shut and levered himself up from the battered but soporifically comfortable sofa and glanced toward the kitchen door.

No smoke, flames or explosions…it can’t be that bad.

He rolled his shoulders then stretched, easing a few kinks from his lower back. Desert riding could be a bitch and the suspension on his Harley was not the most forgiving piece of motorcycle design. Not that he would trade the bike for another model. Not in this existence. Maybe in the afterlife bikes would have cushion-soft suspension as standard. He mused on that idea as he strolled toward the kitchen. Of course, as he was likely heading for the down escalator to somewhere steamy rather than up to a fluffy cloud, he’d probably end up spending eternity on a flaming saddle or something equally uncomfortable.

The kitchen door was similar to one that might be found in a diner. It swung both ways on its hinges to allow easy passage with plates and trays, an absolute necessity for hungry, impatient men carrying food and beer. Rogue gave it a careful push and there was no resistance.

That’s a good sign. No dead bodies blocking the doorway.

He drew a deep breath and stepped through into the room where The Wyverns ate most of their meals. A scrubbed wooden table surrounded by eight chairs occupied the center of the room and appeared intact. No debris littered the tiled floor.

“Thank fuck. What took you so long?” Hatchet emerged from the narrow gap to the side of the massive refrigerator and glared at him.

Rogue quirked an eyebrow and gave his bald, tattooed friend a quizzical look.

“What’s the big emergency? You only came in here to make coffee. I was beginning to think you’d headed to South America to get fresh beans, you were taking so long.”

“Sarcastic fucker.” Hatchet ran a hand over his smooth skull. “The problem is that hell-spawn you call a sub…boyfriend…whatever the fuck he is. He won’t let me into the storeroom to get new filters or coffee.”

“He won’t let you…” Rogue shook his head. “Hatch, he’s half your size. You can intimidate gun runners, drug smugglers and ninety percent of local law enforcement, but you can’t get past Orlando?” He sighed. “Where is the brat?”

“Where do you think?”

Hatchet gestured in the direction of the storeroom door on the opposite side of the kitchen. The door was open, but Rogue couldn’t see Orlando. He edged to the far side of the table and was met with the sight of a perfect ass, snugly wrapped in leather, sticking into the air. Orlando was on his knees, scrubbing the storeroom floor more vigorously than Rogue thought necessary, though the action did make the young man’s rear jiggle in quite an entertaining way. Orlando was also singing. Badly. Wires trailed from beneath tousled black hair.

Letting him use my iPod was a big mistake—even I don’t massacre Green Day that much.

Rogue glanced around the kitchen. He grinned then grabbed a spatula from the draining board. He got into a good position and planted a firm smack across Orlando’s butt. The spatula made a great snapping sound as plastic hit leather.

“What the hell! I warned you, Hatchet.” Orlando swiveled on his knees. In one hand he held a scrubbing brush, in the other a meat cleaver. “One more muddy, ape-sized boot print on my clean floor from you, you corn dog with eyebrows, and I’ll…”

The scrubbing brush flew through the air. Rogue didn’t manage to duck quickly enough and the missile caught his shoulder.

“Throw that cleaver and I’ll tie you to a chair and let Hatchet do whatever the hell he wants with you,” Rogue growled as he rubbed the sore spot.

“Oh…hey, Rogue.” Orlando finally paid some attention. He scrambled to his feet and yanked the buds from his ears. “Is there a problem?”

I have no idea how he can look so fucking innocent when he’s clutching a lethal weapon.
“Put the cleaver down, brat.”

“Oh…sure.” Orlando laid the implement on a shelf and turned back to face Rogue. He gazed up at him through his lashes and smiled sweetly.

“Scrubbing the floor in here is supposed to be a punishment. How have you managed to turn that into yet another excuse to be a pain in the ass?”

“Who me? I’m devastated.” Orlando’s voice oozed sarcasm.

Rogue examined his sub. Orlando’s hair was sticking up in all directions and there were traces of soapsuds on the dark strands. A smear of dirt streaked one cheek. He wore a primrose yellow T-shirt adorned with a giant pink daisy, and his tightest black leather trousers. The shirt appeared to be a size too small and a strip of skin showed beneath the hem. Bright yellow Converse sneakers completed the ensemble.

“Hatchet was supposed to be making coffee. For me. It’s never a good idea to deny me caffeine, Orlando, you should know that by now.”

Orlando pouted. His bottom lip jutted out and trembled.

Rogue was not fooled. “Don’t even try it. That doesn’t work on me.”

Orlando stuck his hands on his hips. “Why not? It works on Teddy and Bull. Even Crow sometimes, if Shelton is in the room.”

“I’m immune. You should come with a fucking warning label.”

“It took me two hours to clean this floor, and then Snow Dome over there stomped all over it.”

Rogue hid his smile. Orlando had an endless supply of derogatory names for Hatchet, most of which related to his bald head. He suspected that Orlando actually had a soft spot for The Wyverns’ second in command, but there was no way in hell he would ever admit to it. The fact that Hatchet had not yet broken Orlando in half betrayed Hatchet’s affection for Orlando too. Orlando was spiky, stubborn and irreverent—all qualities that Hatchet understood. That didn’t stop the pair of them engaging in all-out war most of the time.

“If you hadn’t misbehaved at breakfast, you wouldn’t have had to clean the floor at all. Are you intentionally trying to rile me into giving you another punishment?”

“I didn’t deliberately put salt in Crow’s coffee this morning—it was a genuine mistake. I thought it was sugar,” Orlando protested.

“Of course you didn’t. Just like you didn’t fall about laughing when Crow spat his coffee all over the table.”

“Well, I… Why don’t you just spank me?”

“Because you enjoy it,” Rogue replied.

Hatchet came and stood next to Rogue. “I’ll spank the little shit for you. I can guarantee it won’t be any fun for him, though it’ll improve my mood no end.”

Orlando’s eyes widened. He threw himself at Rogue and wrapped both arms around Rogue’s waist. “No! You wouldn’t let him, Sir.”

“Make us both coffee and bring it through to the living room. I’ll give some consideration to Hatchet’s offer. It might be entertaining to watch him tan your bare behind.” Rogue extracted himself from Orlando’s grip and headed for the door. “How’s your arm this morning, Hatch? Feeling strong?”

Hatchet followed him back to the living room and took a seat in one of the armchairs while Rogue resumed his spot on the couch.

“You’re an evil son of a bitch, aren’t you? You’d cut my throat if I ever so much as laid a finger on him.”

Rogue smirked. “But he doesn’t know that. He’s been pushing boundaries for weeks now. It’ll do him good to stew for a few minutes.”

“Pushing boundaries? He’s so far across the border he’s an illegal alien. Do you know what he said to me earlier? He said, ‘If I paint you pink and shove batteries up your ass, will you vibrate?’.”

Rogue chuckled. “Creative, if inaccurate. You don’t look like a dildo, Hatch.”

“He’s dangerously bored.”

“I know. I took him away from his job, his friends, his home…even his worthless family. It’s hardly surprising that it’s taking him time to adapt considering he didn’t ask for any of it. Life with The Wyverns is hardly a walk in the park…for any of us.”

Hatchet grunted his agreement. “And he doesn’t even know one end of a bike from the other.”

Rogue gave a pained sigh. “Tell me about it. After our road trip the other day he insisted there was a problem with the ‘metal tube thingummy’ on my Harley. I’m quoting here.”

“The exhaust?”

“I never got to the bottom of the problem. Something to do with too much vibration… Then he got distracted thinking
about
vibrations and I was forced to spend some time calming him down.”

“Such a chore.”

“It was exhausting.” Rogue grinned. Having Orlando in his bed had its compensations even if the young man was more high-maintenance than Teddy’s temperamental Triumph. Rogue kept him on a short leash and that was the way it would have to stay for a while at least. His smile faded. “It’s too soon to let him loose. Trap’s latest communications suggest that Arno Bellazi has discovered a few brain cells and suspects that it wasn’t the Russian mob that stole his counterfeit cash.”

“That was a work of genius. Paying for guns with the man’s own fake money… Just perfect.”

Rogue propped his feet back on the table and crossed them at the ankles. “It did feel satisfying. However…we always knew it might come back to bite us in the collective ass. We need to be ready and now is not the time for Orlando to be roaming around without protection, even it does mean chaining him up in the kitchen.”

“Again.” Hatchet sniggered. “I like him barefoot and tied to the sink.”

“I should dump this coffee in your lap.” Orlando shoved Rogue’s feet off the table then deposited a tray in their place. He unloaded two mugs and a plate of cookies.

“Orlando.” Hatchet sounded surprised. “Didn’t see you there.”

“Yes you fucking did. I’m taking these cookies away again. You don’t deserve them.”

“But I’ll need the energy to beat your ass.”

“Enough, you two,” Rogue interjected. “Much as I enjoy listening to the verbal sparring, I want to drink my coffee in peace. Orlando, put the cookies
down
.”

“He started it.” Orlando stuck his tongue out at Hatchet.

“And I’m finishing it,” Rogue said firmly. “You have the time it takes me to drink this coffee to get clean, naked and be waiting on our bed.”

Hatchet snorted into his drink. “Your ass is grass, sunshine.”

Orlando snarled but turned on his heel and stalked off in the direction of the bedrooms.

Hatchet grabbed a cookie and started to munch. “Mm, good. Oatmeal and raisin. We need a plan. If we don’t deal with Bellazi, we’re all going to be looking over our shoulders. We should take the initiative rather than sitting here waiting for the fight to come to us.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” Rogue wrapped both hands around his mug and blew on the hot liquid to cool it. “We’ll convene tonight. Can you get word to everyone?”

“Sure. Crow and Shelton drove the truck into town to get supplies. They’ll be back soon. Teddy’s patrolling the property. I asked him to test all the early warning alarms and he took lunch with him. I’ll radio him later and let him know. Artie and Bull are riding over to Tucson to collect those parts that have been on order for weeks. So long as they avoid trouble, they’ll be back tonight as well.”