Page 212 of Captivated

A phone buzzed.

Walt glanced at his. “Hey, Donna says to check out the news on Channel 6.” He grabbed the remote and aimed it at the TV. Seven faces filled the screen, and across the bottom a rolling banner screamedPost Office Horror Attack: Seven Men Arrested After Assaulting Gay Couple.

“Motherfucker,” Zeeb growled. “It’s only makin’ the newsnow? This was twelve days ago. Andgay couple? Don’t they bother to check?”

“Course not,” Butch commented. “Why let the truth get in the way of a good story?”

Matt leaned in, his gaze narrowed. “Wait a sec.” He walked over to the TV and stabbed a finger at the screen. “I know that guy!”

“You probably saw him in town. They all drink at the bar,” Walt remarked.

Matt snorted. “Yeah, but none of the others sucked my dick.”

Zeeb gaped. “What the fuck? When was this?”

“About six months ago. I’d gone for a drink—and whatever else came my way. He was sitting in the bar with his buddies, drinking one shot after another. The bartender cut him off, he got belligerent, and they kicked him out. He made an awful lotof noise when he left, slamming the door, yelling… Then when I called it a night, I found him stumbling down the road. The way he was weaving he never would have made it. Didn’t want him dying, so I pulled over and offered him a ride.”

“Aw, no,” Zeeb exclaimed. “Tell me you didn’t let him blow you when he was drunk.”

Matt’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Fuck no. I know all about consent, man. I took him to his place, and he passed out in my truck. I helped him get into his apartment, and he was getting all handsy. So I pushed him into the bedroom, got him on the bed, and told him to sleep it off.” He shook his head. “Guy cupped his limp dick and asked me to get in bed with him. I said no. Then he ran to the bathroom and puked. I helped him get cleaned up and put him back into bed. It was about one in the morning, so I decided to crash on his chair in case he got sick again.”

“Then what happened?” Teague demanded.

“When I woke up at seven, he was on his knees in front of me, my dick down his throat.” Matt held his hands up. “I swear to you, he was stone cold sober. Then he wanted us to go back into the bedroom. He took off his clothes, got on the bed, and pulled his knees up to his chest and begged me to fuck him.”

“Which you did,” Butch concluded.

“Of course I did.” Matt rolled his eyes. “Not all of us look like you, all big and chiseled and hot. We’re lucky to get it once every few months. I don’t know about the rest of you, but getting laid is starting to be a once in a blue moon thing for me. He tried to tell me to be gentle, said it was his first time. So of course I was. But when I got three fingers in?” He snorted. “First time? Like fuck, it was. When we were done, he kissed me at the door, and asked if we could do it again some time.” He shrugged. “Last time I ever saw him.” Matt huffed. “I’ve heard of buyer’s remorse, but neverbottom’sremorse.”

Teague’s scowl deepened. “Okay, how’s this for a theory?” He pointed to the TV screen. “This guy blows Matt, gets fucked—and something happens to make him regret it. So when his buddies start mouthing off about Salvation—and let’s face it, any of those reasons we’ve mentioned would work, right?—he decides the best way to cover his tracks is to get in on the action and beat the living daylights out of Toby and Zeeb. Maybe he’s the one who instigated it.”

“Whichever way you look at it, that don’t change what happened.” Zeeb glared at the screen. “They’re probably gonna hire themselves some fancy lawyer an’ get off scot-free without a stain on their characters. Hell, they’ll be hailed as heroes in town.”

“By some, maybe.” Teague’s phone vibrated. He removed it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. “Hey, guys?” He smiled. “There’s an ambulance on its way. Toby’s coming home. I’d better go on up to the house.”

“When can we see him?” Zeeb hadn’t seen Toby since he’d peeked into his room before they’d discharged him.

“Let him get settled. The boss’ll tell us when we can visit. We don’t want to wear him out.” He left the bunkhouse.

Nate peered at his phone. “My dad’s messaged. He’s stopped for some coffee and to hit a restroom. ETA is four o’clock.”

“Your dad is all right,” Butch said warmly. “He’s a good guy.”

“Can I ask you something?” Walt gazed at Nate. “I know you took his surname, but did you ever think of changing your first name too? I mean, if it were me, I’d always associate my name with the guy who gave it to me, and I didn’t think you’d want to be reminded of your real dad.”

Nate sighed. “To him, I was always Nathaniel. In the camp, I was Nathaniel. And I wasn’t about to let them take everything from me. I had to hold on to something.” He took Zeeb’s hand. “It’s enough to be Nate.”

“I hope the storm holds off before the next guests arrive,” Butch muttered.

Zeeb glanced toward the window. “You sure about that? It looks pretty fine out there.”

Butch held his phone up. “The weather channel says different.”

Nate frowned. “I thought summer storms weren’t that frequent around here.”

“They’re not, but when we get one, it’s usually a doozy,” Zeeb admitted. He took a peek at Nate’s face. “I’ll make sure we’re someplace dry when—if—it hits. I know you’re not partial to storms.”

Nate bit his lip. “It’s just a little atmospheric discharge, as the weathermen like to say. A little discharge never hurt anyone, right?”

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