By Jack Llawayllynn
Chapter 29: The Grifter and the Gifted
Sin didn't return to the motel until he was sure that Corban would have already left for his day of business. Still though there was obvious evidence of Corban's unfailing nature for efficiency. Already there was a new piece of furniture added to the large suite. O'Neal had said that he would order up a cot for Sin to sleep on but as usual, Corban's idea of a simple cot was not what the normal person would have envisioned. Though just a bit more narrow than a twin size bed would have been this "cot" was obviously special ordered to fit Sin's height. No worries about his feet dangling off the end of it. It was draped in an ensemble of royal purple velvet, from the ruffled cases over the plump set of pillows to the thick comforter itself. Another monstrosity. Sin sighed and shook his head as he crossed to it and sat down. It sank comfortably. Sin dug under the blanket and sheets to examine the extremely expensive body forming mattress beneath. This so called "cot" would probably be even more comfortable to sleep upon than even Corban's own bed. Without bothering to remove anything more than his jacket Sin stretched out on top of the covers and fell almost instantly asleep.
The ringing of his cell phone woke him several hours later. Sin was expecting it to be O'Neal and answered a little grumpily but he sat up straighter and changed his tone when he found not Corban but Mr. Weaver on the other end of the conversation.
"I didn't mean to wake you Mr. Synn," Weaver said, though his voice held a note of disapproval as if he thought perhaps Sin were nursing an extreme hang-over.
"It's no problem," Sin said blandly, neither trying to make excuses or explanations of why he was napping in the middle of the day. "How can I help you?"
"My son tells me you offered to give him some lessons with the bow and arrow set I bought for him. I was wondering if perhaps you could stop by and maybe talk to me more about it."
Sin, quite perceptive to inflictions and word patterns knew immediately that the lessons were not the only thing Weaver wanted to talk about. In fact it might not be the real reason behind the request at all. Nonetheless Sin had told the boy that his father could contact him about lessons.
"I'll be glad to come by. When would you like me to be there?"
"Can you be here in say, two hours?"
Sin glanced at the digital clock across the room on Corban's bedside table. "Yes, I can be there."
"That would be great. See you in two hours then." Weaver disconnected without waiting for another response or saying a polite goodbye, another sign that he was displeased about something. Sin sighed and went to shower and change. He figured he best stop by a shop somewhere and pick up a bow set for himself, for show if nothing else. He would at least appear to be clueless that there was something more behind the request than had been on the surface of it.
* * * * *
Sin arrived about ten minutes early. Better to be a little early than a little late when dealing with someone who was already pissed at you. Mr. Weaver was standing in the yard with a young man who appeared to be arguing with him. Sin placed his helmet on his bike and stayed where he was, not wanting to intrude. It gave him time to indulge in his curiosity anyway. The young man had immediately struck a cord with Sin. He was tall and lithe, black hair long and braided down his back. His profile showed the straight nose and high cheekbones of a Native American. Sin could see a lot of himself when was about that age in the kid. He was somewhere between eighteen and twenty-two. He was also extremely belligerent, it showed in the high tilt of his head, the squareness of his shoulders, the fisted hands and the foul language pouring out of his mouth. Sin shook his head silently. He remembered being a young hothead all too well. Sin turned his back, the better to exclude himself from the scene. His eyes fell on Weaver's truck and then to the black motorcycle parked near it. Sin hadn't been able to see it from the driveway as he approached but now he could see it clearly. It was obviously much older than his own but had been kept in excellent condition. The owner had shown it some love, that was for sure. Sin took a step toward the bike, wanting to get a better look at it when he heard the unmistakable sound of flesh slapping flesh. Sin whirled on his heel and took in the scene in a flash. The boy had slapped Weaver! Weaver had a fist drawn back, ready to knock the kid's block off.
"Whoa, whoa!" Sin yelled, his long legs carrying him quickly into the fray. "What the hell is going on here?"
"This little punk is about to get the beating of his life!" Weaver growled.
"Deservedly so, probably but just how old is this little punk?" Sin asked calmly, standing between them.
"Shit!" Weaver spat and dropped his hand to his side. "Seventeen I think. Still a fucking minor."
"Come on old man, give me your best shot!" the kid taunted. "I won't squeal on you hitting a minor. I can take your old wrinkled ass with one hand behind my back. And your whore of a daughter too!"
Sin spun easily on his heel and laid the kid out with a punch to the jaw. "Smart ass little shit, ain't he?" Sin asked conversationally as he turned back to Weaver. Mr. Weaver was staring down at the prone boy in shock.
"Why did you do that?"
"So you wouldn't. Didn't think you'd hold back with him calling your daughter a whore."
"Well, now if he runs of and jaws to the cops they can't get you for it. I don't care how old he is. What was all that about anyway?"
"I hired him to help out with the horses but I caught him with Lori in the barn. He had his hand up her shirt."
"Was she fighting him?"
Weaver turned an ugly shade of red. "No."
"Ah well, he still had no reason to call her a whore. He'll learn soon enough that if he ever wants to get past second base calling a girl a whore won't get him there."
Weaver's eyes flashed again he look as if he'd like to send a punch Sin's way but the boy on the ground was stirring and Sin leaned down to heft him to his feet. The boy swayed drunkenly a moment but the hate that flared in his eyes was steady enough.
"You'll pay for that you fucking breed!" the boy snarled at him.
"We'll discuss that if you ever have the balls to come collect. Now get the fuck off the property. You aren't wanted here anymore."
The boy cast him another glare of loathing and stumbled over to the old motorcycle, revving it loud and hard before kicking it into gear, spraying Weaver's pickup with gravel.
"Never should have hired that little piece of shit," Weaver grumbled. "I was just trying to give him a chance to earn a respectable living for a change."
"It isn't all his fault you know. Your daughter may be holding a candle for him."
Weaver glared over at Sin but Sin's face remained bland.
"Which, by the way, brings me to the real reason I called you here. Are you after my girls? You do know that they are both underage right?"
Sin laughed. "You know I spend my time with O'Neal Corban. What makes you think I'm after one of the girls?"
"These," Weaver said and produced the pendants from his pocket. "Denise saw the girls wearing them, discovered the maker's mark and did some research. These are worth far more than my truck. What kind of gift is that to give a sixteen year old girl?"
"I didn't pay that much. It was a mix-up at the jewelry store. Call them if you don't believe me. I saw them, thought the girls would like them."
"They do. They cried when I took them away. They can keep the little gold chains but not these. They are worth too much and are not appropriate gifts. Someone might even try to rob the girls over these nasty little things if they recognized them for what they are."
"Hadn't thought of that," Sin admitted and scooped the pendants from Weaver's hand. "I'll return them. Now, if that's all you wanted of me..."
"No, actually, I needed to get a better feel for what you really are before allowing you near my boy."
"I'm a fag and I don't do children. Is that what you were trying to find out Mr. Weaver?" Sin asked bluntly, snarling in his teeth.
"Yes actually. I don't like to mince words and I'm glad to find that you don't either. One or both of the girls will accompany you while you teach the boy to use the bow and arrow. If you didn't lie to the boy."
"I didn't. I'll teach him what I can while I am still in town. I may be heading out to England soon. I haven't made up my mind yet."
Weaver nodded. "Well, I appreciate you taking the time. That punk that just left, you watch out for him. He might really be dangerous. His father is on death row for murdering three men who pissed him off. His mother is in jail for dealing meth. I had hoped to turn him around."
Sin grunted. "Only the harsh realities of life will turn him around, or make him worse, much worse."
"His name is John Gooddeer. Watch your back. He'll be gunning for it."
Sin laughed. "Ah the west. Folks be gunnin' for folks all around I take it?" he asked mockingly.
Weaver glowered at him. "I don't much like you."
Sin slapped the older man on the shoulder. "That's alright. The more I get to know you the more I like you. No nonsense. Hate me if you will but show it. I don't need false polite smiles."
"Ok, maybe I might learn to like you, fag or no fag." Weaver said chuckling as he went to fetch his son and one of the girls for Sin to begin giving lessons on archery.
* * * * *
The little boy's name was Roy, and Sin was pleased to find him an apt pupil but was much less pleased to find that he was to be chaperoned by not one, but both teenage girls. They chattered and popped their chewing gum and chattered some more until they totally broke both Roy's concentration and Sin's temper. He sent them up the hill and told them to sit there, within sight but beyond the range of sound except when they shouted down from time to time. By the time an hour had passed Sin had the boy hitting the target at least once out of every four tries.
"Practice, that's the main thing. Hopefully your dad will find another tutor for you but until then practice, practice, practice." Sin told the boy gently.
"But I like you. I don't want a different teacher."
Sin felt a strange warmth in his gut. He'd never spent time around kids, hadn't realized they could touch a person so with their innocence and eagerness to learn. Sin ruffled the boy's hair.
"I'd stay if I could but I can't. I have a family of my own that I have to return to."
"Nuh-uh" the boy muttered looking down. "Dad says you are a queer and that means you can't have a family of your own."
"Queer isn't a nice word," Sin said firmly. "It's true I won't have kids of my own but I do have a brother, a sister-in-law, a niece and a father. They are my family." Sin felt the words slither up his throat like a serpent, the truth he'd been denying to himself just slithering out, uncontrolled. Shit, he'd treated them like shit and they were his family for fuck's sake! Why had he done it?
"Steph says you have a boyfriend. Does that make him family too or is it like their boyfriends, a different one every weekend?"
"I had a boyfriend, as you put it, and yes, he was part of my family too." Sin swallowed hard. Damnation, from the mouths of babes indeed.
"Is he dead? Is that why he's not your family anymore?" Roy looked at Sin with pity in his eyes. Pity for fuck's sake! Anger was beginning to boil low in Sin's belly. Not anger at the child, anger at himself.
"No," Sin said, keeping his voice flat as he lined up an arrow and let it fly, "he's not dead. And no, there isn't a new one every weekend. We are just apart right now." The arrow thunked into the bulls-eye.
"Will you get married to him?" Roy asked as Sin notched another arrow. This one went wild and missed by a long shot.
"I...I don't know," Sin mumbled and stalked off to retrieve his arrows. "Lesson's over for today," he barked over his shoulder. Married, shit. It wasn't even legal in the state where he and Matt had lived for gays to marry but marry they had. Sin hadn't really looked at it that way before. Hell, he'd collared Matt. In their realm that was as close to a marriage as they could have gotten and Matt damn sure protected that collar worse than a woman with a wedding band. Sin could see it from Matt's angle now and he didn't like what he saw. As far as Matt was concerned Sin was the husband that had gone out to buy beer and just never returned. Worse, he'd given him to Stan in the process. Sin felt like shit. The realization of his own selfishness rose up in him like a fresh bee sting, and it continued to swell. His throat grew tight and it was hard to swallow. If only he could turn back the clock, do it differently, but it was too late. Far too late.
Sin walked with the kids back to the house, the girls once again taking up a constant stream of chatter that prevented him from being able to think in a straight line. He was relieved when they all clamored up the steps, Roy with them, to go tell their mother all about the archery lessons. Mr. Weaver came out onto the porch and shook Sin's hand.
"Sounds like they all had a good time," Weaver said, nodding his chin at his retreating children.
"Yep. Listen, I won't be coming back. You should hire someone to teach the lad though. He's got a good eye, a natural talent. Better archery now than football later. Less trips to the hospital."
Weaver chuckled. "You sound like you speak from experience."
"I do," Sin agreed. "He'll enjoy bow hunting when he's older and put meat on the table besides."
"How much do I owe you for the lesson?" Weaver was reaching for his wallet.
"Nothing. You returned the pendants and I'm sure the jeweler who made the mistake will be grateful. I'll be going now." Sin tipped his hat and turned to leave.
"Thanks again," Weaver said but his tone could easily have been substituted for "good riddance".
* * * * *
O'Neal Corban went into spasms of delight when Sin returned the two small fairy pendants to him. "What about the fourth one? You don't really want that one do you?" Corban pressed.
"I've no idea what I'd do with it," Sin admitted honestly. Though he found it a beautiful piece of art it did not really fit into his own collection. He retrieved it from the closet and handed it to over to O'Neal.
"Printice will be thrilled to have these back," Corban gushed. "Of course he's letting me keep my own but I'll be delivering the other three to him personally when I'm in England. I simply can't wait to meet the man. He's an absolute artistic genius!"
Sin sat on his cot to remove his boots, amused at O'Neal's enthusiasm. Stranger still was that O'Neal had not demanded his customary kiss as soon as Sin had walked through the door. He was much too taken with the return of the fairies to give Sin much notice at all, much to Sin's relief. Nor did Corban make his usual nightly advances toward Sin after Sin had showered and Sin went thankfully to sleep on his ultra comfortable cot totally unmolested by the older man's advances. Sin suspected that O'Neal had transferred his passions elsewhere, onto one Printice Allen to be exact. Sin was fine with that. He was more than tired of Corban O'Neal. In fact, he intended to start making plans to remove himself from the man's company as soon as possible. He didn't anticipate any problems involved with this, as Corban was so obviously now obsessed with the jewelry maker.
As Sin closed his eyes for sleep his mind turned instead to his family. He examined each of his living relatives behind his closed eyes, turning over his feelings for each. Aunt Sylvia, a strange, eccentric old lady who could push his buttons in a flash but for whom he had to admit, though reluctantly, that he loved. His newly found father. Not a man to be liked but one to be admired in the end. Anyone who could survive a gunshot wound such as the man had taken had to be admired for his will to live. Nathaniel, his brother, an honest man, hard working, a family man who loved his wife and child with a depth that was clearly visible. Respectable, loyal, protective of his family. What was there NOT to like about Nathaniel other than the fact that Sin was jealous of his twin. Sin had no room for jealousies now, not there. He had to let it go. Mary and Fawn, two beautiful ladies, a sister-in-law and a niece. How he wished he had behaved himself on the day he had met them! He had shamed himself in that regard and would have to face that and make it right. And last but most definitely not least was Matt. God how he missed Matt! He loved him, deeply, purely, painfully. No matter what it took he HAD to get Matt back. He couldn't keep on living in a husk of a soul without his soul mate. Yes, Matt was his soul mate. They HAD to be together. He didn't know how he'd ever gain Matt's forgiveness but there had to be a way. That's all there was to it. Feeling more at peace with himself than he had in months Sin finally fell asleep and had no night terrors, no nightmares, only the sweet dreams of reunions.
It was the sweet dreams that woke him and anger flooded him in their wake. Anger because he had intentionally let himself forget, for that one night, what he had seen in the newspaper. Andy. He rose dour and irritable to find O'Neal Corban in one of his usual chipper morning moods. What miffed him even more was that O'Neal's good mood seemed to have nothing at all to do with Sin personally. The man hardly even looked at him, more or less lusted after him. Something was definitely up with that. Sin narrowed his eyes as he glared over at Corban who was sitting up in bed chuckling, well, giggling really, over something he was reading from the screen of the laptop computer that rested across O'Neal's legs.
"I can't wait to get to England!" O'Neal announced suddenly, out of the blue, totally unaware of Sin's scrutiny.
"What's so great about it? I hear it rains all the time. Doubt your old bones will enjoy the weather," Sin grumbled.
"It's not the outside weather I'm concerned with," Corban chuckled but then blushed up suddenly, at last looking at Sin over the top of the lap desk.
"Oh?" Sin asked, brow raised with that dangerous glint he got in his eye when irked.
O'Neal sighed and snapped the computer closed. "Look son, I don't think it would be a good idea for you to travel to England with me after all. We've had a good run, or at least I have, but I'm tired of you now. You don't respond to me, you're always muttering either evil kill threats or sweet nothings to your invisible Matt in your sleep, you've punched a hole in my lovely wall and tried to choke the life out of the coverlet and me. I think I'd rather cut my loses and move on to someone new before you end up hurting me badly, intentionally or otherwise."
Sin's other brow had risen through this speech in surprise and now they both plummeted into a glare. O'Neal Corban was dumping him. That old fart was actually dumping him. Sin would have laughed except he didn't find it funny. He found it rather insulting actually. His pride was stung.
"Wasn't planning on going to England with you anyway," Sin growled and stormed across the room to the bathroom. He hoped a shower would erase some of the feelings swirling around inside. He had let Corban use him as a cheap whore but he still felt like a cheap whore even after he stepped out of the shower. Hell, he'd been dumped by a perverted old prune. What the hell had he been thinking when he'd hooked up with O'Neal anyway? Nothing. He hadn't been thinking a damn thing worth remembering.
"Whatever," Sin said aloud in the bathroom to himself. "Doesn't matter." There was a heavy weight of depression pulling his soul down today though and as usual he chose to ignore it rather than face it. Somehow in the short time since he'd gone to bed and the time he had awakened his resolve had slipped away and now all he felt was doubt. Nathaniel and his family would never let him back into their small, neat home that had no room for a half crazed brother and Matt...well Matt had Andy. Sin simply had no idea where he would go from here. He had several more gigs lined up with Country Range and he'd see them through, then, he supposed, he'd just go back to drifting.
"Don't you have a gig at the bar tonight?" Corban asked Sin as he exited the bathroom with a towel slung around his hips as if reading Sin's mind.
"Yeah." Sin tossed the wet towel into a hamper and it didn't escape him that though O'Neal eyed his naked body for a moment the old man quickly lost interest in it, turning back to the now reopened laptop. "Good, that's good. I have a man coming out to hear you and the band, an agent. We'll be there tonight."
"Fuck your agent," Sin spat. "I'm already in a contract with another band."
Corban glanced up at that but seemed unfazed. "We can break the contract, no problem."
"You ever hear of Charles Debroy?" Sin asked nastily.
"Shit! Well maybe we can't break it. We'll see."
"No, I don't think we will. You and me are finished. That's plain enough. Bring your agent tonight though. The boys in Country Range deserve a chance."
O'Neal just nodded. "Alright"
Not once did he deny that he was finished with Sin.
* * * * *
It was just another ordinary gig night but there seemed to be something in the air that had Sin wired and on edge. He itched to return to his old style of singing, to scream his pain out in jagged and ragged roar to the thrum of heavy metal. Instead he was forced to bore his way through monotonous twangs and cheesy country ballads. Near the end of the set Sin noticed a man come into the bar and take a seat in a darkened corner. His heart had nearly leapt into his throat and he'd had to take a step back to chug a glass of water before he could do the next set. It was the man's build, the fluid way he moved, his height, the tilt of his head, all these things reminded Sin of Matt but no, this was just another dusty cowboy. Sin couldn't even get a decent look at the man's face under the shadow of the Stetson he wore. He had only the vague impression of a light beard and long fingered hands. Sin bit back a sigh of disappointment when the man left before the set ended. He had wanted to talk to the man at least, maybe in hopes of finding SOME sort resemblance to Matt that would comfort him instead of just leaving him deeply disturbed. Sin's eyes stayed on the back of the man's swaying duster even as the door began to close behind him then finally he turned his mind back to the tedium of the songs on his song list.
Sin left the bar in a lackluster mood, nearly dragging his feet. If it hadn't been for the fog of malaise that had settled around him he might have sensed the danger that lurked in the dark behind the bar. One minute he was reaching for his helmet the next he found himself sprawled in the dust, bursts of stars swimming in front of his eyes. Young John Gooddeer leaned over him and leered down into his face, the shattered remains of the beer bottle that he had used to hit Sin with still clutched in his fist.
"Next time you cross me breed, I'll slice your throat," the boy growled.
Sin was stunned but not incapacitated. His hand shot out and his fist connected with the boy's eye, sending him reeling. Sin was on his feet in a flash, fighting past the spinning lights that swam in his vision. The malaise evaporated beneath an onslaught of rage. He swung again at the kid but Gooddeer ducked and danced away. Sin had to give the kid credit, he was fast. Not fast enough though. Sin feinted left then drove his right fist into the kid's midsection. John Gooddeer folded over and wheezed. Sin hit him three more times in succession, eye, chin, gut. The kid lay sprawled at his feet moaning and spitting up blood.
"Don't ever test me again kid," Sin growled.
"Fucking faggot," Gooddeer hissed up at him. "I'll kill you next time."
"There won't be a next time and if there is I won't stop at kicking your ass. You'll find out just how much of a faggot I really am." Sin reached down, undid the top of the kid's jeans and jerked them down passed his hips. "I could fuck you right now, right here, you little shit, if I wanted to," Sin hissed and at the sight of the tight small buttocks he DID want to. Instead Sin gave him a kick in the ribs to drive his words home, turned, donned his helmet and sprayed Gooddeer with gravel as his motorcycle tore out of the parking lot into darkness.
* * * * * *
Sin was in an extremely foul mood by the time he reached the hotel room he shared with O'Neal Corban. He was fed up with country music, fed up with Corban, fed up with little punks like Gooddeer, and fed up with cowboys. Most of all he was fed up with himself. He stalked into the room and glared over at Corban who once again was propped up in bed, cackling over his laptop computer. In all the time that Sin had been with O'Neal he'd never seen the man spend so much time on the internet. What was it that he had found there that was so damn entertaining? Fuck it, it didn't matter. He was sure it had nothing to do with him.
Sin undressed slowly, his head still spinning from the blow to the back of his skull. Usually O'Neal would have stopped whatever he was doing to watch Sin undress but not tonight. Tonight Corban didn't even notice him. That pissed Sin off more. Not that he wanted the man's attentions, god no, not tonight, but Sin was beginning to feel himself drifting away, as if he were becoming invisible. The empty hole left in his soul by Matt's absence was thickening, growing, swallowing him up. Soon he'd be nothing but a walking, mindless husk. He'd fucked up his life and he knew it. Leaving Matt had been the worst mistake in a very long list of fuckups that made up Sin's life story. He just didn't know how to fix it, or if it could even be fixed. He rolled into his cot thinking of Matt, thinking of Matt with Andy. Matt had moved on. There was really nothing left for Sin now. He'd ruined his chances with his brother, he'd pissed off Aunt Sylvia, he couldn't contact his father without risking those he cared for, Estaban and Drift were on the run because of him and Sin had no where left to go. He sighed deeply. Maybe, just maybe, he should end it all. No one would miss him now. Sin fell asleep wrapped in a blanket of depression and contemplating suicide.
* * * * *
Gunner followed Trev's small form down the dark staircase, questions spilling from him in a torrent. "What in the hell did you mean I was to be your heir?" he demanded for the fourth time. Trev remained silent. His only answer to any and all questions had been, "We'll talk downstairs."
Finally they reached the basement. Trev had Gunner close his eyes as Trev keyed a number into a keypad beside a steel door. Gunner grunted in exasperation but complied. When he heard the door swish open he opened his eyes and hurried to catch up with Trev. Trev lead him into a darkened studio, or what Gunner thought of as some type of studio, video monitors lining one wall. Gunner glanced over the monitors interested. Trev had already divulged his secret about video recording some of the exploits he saw in the club. Gunner hadn't been surprised. He had figured it must be something of the sort when Trev had burst in on him and Matt. In a corner he could see the dark form of a man crouching by the wall, the clink of chains coming to his ears.
"Who is that?" Gunner asked curiously.
"I don't know. He is whomever you chose him to be I suppose." Trev smiled one of his mysterious smiles.
"You're talking in riddles again. You said you would talk once we got downstairs. Well, we're in the basement. How much further down until you start talking straight, old man?" Gunner growled, tiring of Trev's games.
Trev laughed and slapped Gunner on the back. "I like you. You're smart, witty, got a mean streak a mile wide and just enough compassion to level it off."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"First things first. Come take a closer look will you?" Trev put a hand on Gunner's arm and steered him toward the crouching figure by the wall. He reached up and snapped on a light. The figure darted to the end of his chain as if trying to avoid the light. Trev hauled him back by the chain. Gunner could see now that he was a fit young man, his eyes a piercing blue. The boy crouched down at Trev's feet. "What do you think?"
"He's beautiful," Gunner said and bent to take the boy's chin in his hand, turning his head first one way then the other. The boy seemed to soak up the attention and crawled closer to Gunner then wrapped his arms around one of Gunner's legs. "Not all there though is he?"
"Hardly anyone home at all I'm afraid. His mind seems to come and go but he's most definitely trainable. I've been working with him."
"Finally taking another slave for yourself Trev?" Gunner asked as he stood, the boy still clinging to his leg.
"Oh no, he's not for me. He's for you. A gift."
"For me? What would I want with a retard?" The grip around Gunner's leg suddenly released and the boy crawled away to the end of his chain again.
"He's not a retard. He's just...different. See now, you've hurt his feelings. He understands every word you say, you know."
"No, I didn't. You said he wasn't all there."
"Well, I really don't know how much is there. That's for you to find out. Don't you like him at all?" Trev asked looking disappointed and worried.
"As I said, he's beautiful but what is the point of empty beauty?"
"I'm not empty!" the boy suddenly shouted. "You are supposed to want me. I am supposed to be yours!"
"Obviously," Trev drawled sarcastically. "Do you want him or not?"
Gunner grabbed the chain and hauled the boy back over, lifting him to his feet to admire the perfect six pack belly and smooth tight chest. He ran his hand down and stroked the boy's long soft cock. "How about I give him a try and let you know what I think?"
"Okay, here's a 110 key card for you," Trev said shaking his head. "I really thought you'd jump right on a fine piece of steak like that. There is a catch though."
"What's that?" Gunner asked suspiciously.
"If you decide to keep him then you are in debt to me. You will give me your word that you will remain totally loyal to me, keep any secret I tell you and follow in my footsteps."
"I'm not sure what you mean by follow in your footsteps."
"I'll train you. No, no, I don't want sex from you. I've told you that before. Is it a deal?"
"Only if I decide to keep him."
"We'll see," Gunner said taking a blank creeper collar that Trev offered him and buckling it around the kid's throat.
"Keep a tight hold on your leash. When the boys upstairs see that they'll want it and want it bad." Trev warned as he produced a key and bent to unchain the boy.
Gunner nodded and looped the leash twice around his fist then began the long climb up the stairs after Trev let them out of the room. Heads definitely turned in the main room, brows went up. All noticed the blank creeper collar. Several men rose as if to approach but Gunner turned quickly into the Shop. Gunner purchased his usual, whips, electric prod, blood suite and ball gag. When he emerged from the shop he found several men waiting for him.
"I want him next," said one in a tutu. "Don't mark him up too badly Gunner. If you aren't gonna collar him I want him."
"I want him first!" said another.
"I'll take him off your hands Gunner."
"I'll pay you for him."
One man didn't even speak up, just started running his hands over the kid's body. Gunner let the coil of the whip in his hand drop, holding only the handle. He flicked his wrist and the whip cracked loudly against the floor. "Back it up boys or the next lash will be to someone's face," Gunner growled and they all pouted but backed away.
"Just don't ruin him!" one spat out and the others all concurred. Gunner tightened his fist on the leash. He had to admit that the boy looked spectacular under the muted lighting of the main room. It cast shadows in all the right places and made the boy's pouty lips look so inviting that Gunner himself could hardly wait to part them with his cock. Gunner led the boy upstairs to one of the rooms he had used for one of his sessions with Matt. But Matt had been days ago and Gunner's balls ached for a good release.
Gunner started with the whip, lashing the boy's body slowly and steadily and happily watching as the kid's dick grew and grew. The boy moaned and jerked with each lash but he also began to pump his hips as if he fucking an invisible ass. Gunner found this amusing but also wildly erotic, his own cock straining to get some ass. Finally he could stand it no more and laid the whip aside. He grabbed the kid around the waist and plunged in.
"Oh god!" Gunner moaned. "Is this kid a virgin or what?"
Downstairs Trev was smiling once more and nodding to himself as he watched through his hidden camera. No way Gunner was gonna give that kid up now, not after he'd tried the merchandise. Trev had known he'd be like a drug to Gunner and he'd been right. Gunner was pumping away ecstatically and hadn't even remembered to use the electrical prod.
Gunner came in a gush, the boy sobbing and rocking back against him. They collapsed together in a heap. Finally Gunner pulled out and flipped the kid over. No need to try to get the kid off though, he had already cum and filled his condom. Gunner smiled, pleased. The kid had enjoyed every second of it. He was damn near perfect. Well, okay, he was perfect. Gunner cleaned the kid up and dressed him in a blood suite. The boy looked so beautiful in white that Gunner decided to let him wear no other color, ever. He took him straight back down to the Shop and had a collar and leash made for him, both in brilliant white leather, Gunner's name burned into the leather in black. Groans could be heard throughout the main room as Gunner left the shop. The boy was a Creeper no longer and Gunner had christened him with the name "Dart". Gunner and Dart looked like a photograph and its negative, one dark as the devil, the other a bloodied angel of light. It was worth any promise that Trev asked Gunner to make to keep this boy, to own him. Gunner grinned and began the trek to the basement to seal his bargain with Trev.