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“No doubt. Hang around and I might let you play with him later.” Peter slid into the seat next to Connor and put the single malt down on the table in front of him as the other guy sauntered off.
Peter sighed and looked down. “You might want to do up your fly,” he said softly as he wiped his thumb across Connor’s mouth, removing the last vestiges of his precum, and wiped it against his jeans. Doyle blushed and began to tremble as his fingers failed to cooperate and a decidedly green pallor crept over his skin. “Drink. Now.” Peter snapped; and, too shocked to do anything else, Connor downed the scotch in one hit.
“Thanks,” Connor whispered.
“Kay, Ray, got enough?” Peter asked through his own com link.
“Yeah, the knife was a nice touch; enough to pick him up on, he talked about Nick and drugs and sacrifice. We’ve got probable and his cronies left the bar with a boy. We’ve got them all in sight.”
“Good.” Peter sighed and slumped back against the worn leather.
“Hang on, we’ve got a problem,” Ray spoke. “Shit, the alarm at Connor’s house has just gone off and you’ve got a black van parked out the front with your buddy inside. Looks like he’s going to make a grab tonight.”
Connor’s eyes flitted shut and the trembling grew stronger. Instinctively Peter leaned in close, his body heat giving comfort, when the situation could not.
“Lovely; okay, we’ve got a safe route and a couple of boys in here will give backup. Bring the van around and park it on Hudson at the top end; should give us a three minute start.”
“Be there in five. Can you hang that long?”
“We’ll try; the fun part is getting Connor out of here in one piece.”
“You want backup?”
“Not yet; but the vultures are circling.” Peter closed the connection. “Remember what I said about trust, Connor?” Peter whispered. Connor nodded. “Time to put it to the test. Follow the lead, okay?”
Peter grabbed Connor’s hair at the back of the neck. The shock, along with what he’d already been through, made him slump like a kitten in the strong grip. His eyes fluttered shut. “You haven’t answered me yet, boy!” Peter thundered loud enough for the approaching men to stay their step and listen.
“You left me.”
“I left you alone for a week. You don’t have the right to go out to play, not unless you want me to cut you loose. Is that what you want? Leave your ass here for the boys to play with?” Peter pushed his face close, more intimidating then Denisoff could ever have been, and Connor felt the first course of hot tears spill down his cheeks.
“No, master; please, no. I’m sorry,” Connor begged softly.
“How sorry?” Peter snarled.
“I’ll be good, do whatever you want; I didn’t think you wanted me anymore.” Connor’s voice was pitiful.
“Really?” Peter stood up, pulling Connor up by the hair. “And since when do I give you leave to think?”
Connor’s legs failed him as he fell into the strong grip and Peter dragged him up against his chest. Lips sought his; and, after a moment of gentle and loving exploration, Peter nipped him hard enough to draw blood that spilt down his chin and the tears barely stemmed were drawn again.
“Please,” Connor begged again, totally out of character and out of breath; and the sickening pallor to his skin made Peter worry. The man was terrified and it was taking him all the rest of his strength to give in and let Peter take control.
“Yes, you will.” Peter stepped back and, with a hard shove, sent him headfirst through the crowd and to the side door.
He heard a few chuckles around him and another voice that pitied him with a ‘poor bastard’. And then the cold night air slapped him hard across the face and the deafening din was shut firmly behind the double steel door. Connor slumped against the wall, his stomach in his throat, as he felt the bile rise. Giving him no time to recover his senses, Peter pulled him up and towards the bike. The big guy, Connor racked his addled brain, Jack; yes, Jack, the one Peter nearly put through the table, met them at the bike and instinctively Connor stepped behind Peter, unable to do more than pray.
“Hey, Jack, you okay?” Peter smiled and the big guy smiled back.
“Yeah, you got a nasty grip and my boy will be asking all sorts of questions if I bruise.” Jack smiled. “He okay?”
“No, we’ve got a tail; wanna play tag?” Peter hopped onto the bike and motioned for Connor to get on behind him.
Sure,” Jack nodded. “You going to Macey’s?”
“Heading that way; black van, top of Hudson.”
“Yeah, I saw Denisoff; you get him this time, Peter. I liked Nicky too, remember?”
“Yes,” Peter grabbed him by the front of the leather jacket and kissed him gently on the lips, “I remember.” Jack dropped onto his Harley and both engines fired at the same moment.
Connor, for his part, was quiet and curled into Peter’s back, his hands clutching with a grim determination through the leather around his waist. Peter looked back into haunted, dark eyes and the tears that still flowed freely.
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