Paying The Piper - 22. Chapter 22

The rain was falling heavily everywhere in Farther's Run that night. Braden listened to it as well. Occasionally, he felt a drop of water bounce off his nose or his cheek. Wherever he was, the roof was leaking.

Again, he tested his bonds. They held fast. Not that he could have done anything had they been loose. His arms had long since fallen asleep. His legs were in a similar state, bound at the ankles. His head ached and he could taste residual blood in his mouth.

He cursed fate for always shitting on him. He cursed the lying bitch that had accused him of raping her all those years ago. He cursed Quent for being…Quent. But mostly, he cursed himself for allowing that murdering bastard to get the upper hand and knock him over the head. Which was how he had ended up trussed up like a prize pig.

Footsteps approached. A door opened and a shaft of light fell over him. Braden squinted and tried to back away. He wasn’t fast enough. A steel-tipped boot flew out of the dark and kicked him in the stomach. The air left his lungs with a loud whoosh. Nausea bloomed. After a few seconds, he was able to draw in a long gasping breath. It was enough air to start him retching and gagging.

The boot struck again. This time, Braden heard his ribs crack.

"Fucking sick bastard," he wheezed when he was finally able to pull some air into his lungs. "Why not just kill me and get it over with!"

The boots appeared in front of his face. "I’m not a murderer, Braden."

Braden laughed bitterly, but the only sound that emerged from his brutalized lungs was a high-pitched whistle. The boots stepped closer. "Do you think that’s funny?"

"Yes," Braden managed to say. "I think it’s the funniest God damned thing I’ve ever heard! You killed Cynthia, you sick fuck. You’ll kill me too." His last words were cut short by a weak hacking cough that brought blood to his lips. Braden spat it on the boots.

"I set Cynthia free."

Braden closed his eyes.

"Are you listening to me, Braden? I gave her wings. She’s soaring above us – right now – with the angels. She’s beautiful and she’s pure again." Braden didn’t respond, and eventually the boots retreated, scraping and thumping across the floor as they went. Braden gave a shaky sigh of relief and tried to focus on not exacerbating the agonizing pain in his chest.

A beam of light touched his closed eyelids and Braden risked cracking his eyes open a fraction. Cynthia’s murderer was standing in the open doorway, staring up at the stars. He was chanting softly. Despite himself, Braden strained his ears to hear. When the low melodious voice raised a fraction, and Braden heard what he had been listening for, he went numb with horror. Primal fear rose up in him. A child’s fear. The fear he'd felt when he believed in the bogeyman in his closet and the monster under his bed. Most horrifying of all, Braden realized, was that this monster didn’t hide under the bed. He wasn’t imaginary. He walked among the people of Farther's Run every day. But not tonight. Tonight he was standing under the stars, blood and spit on his boots, chanting, "Cynthia…Cynthia…pure once more…pure once more."

Braden closed his eyes and prayed.

**********

Drew coaxed Cale up and into the hallway. He smiled when he saw how dazed the other man was. It wasn’t until they reached the bedroom that Cale spoke.

"I’m sorry."

Drew turned from throwing laundry off the bed. "For what?"

Cale gulped and motioned toward Drew. "You didn’t…."

Drew smiled and reached out to pull Cale toward him. "Gonna remedy that right now." He cupped Cale’s face and kissed him, and Cale returned the favor enthusiastically. Drew chuckled as Cale began pulling at his t-shirt. He leaned in close and whispered, "Can’t wait to feel you around me." Cale’s hands faltered and Drew felt the other man’s cock jump where it was nestled against his thigh. "Like that idea?" he asked with a smile.

Cale resumed pulling at Drew’s shirt. "What do you think?"

"Not scared?"

Cale hesitated before shaking his head. "Not scared."

"Good."

Between the two, they managed to strip Drew quickly. They tumbled onto the bed in a tangle of arms and legs. Cale reached out and tentatively grasped Drew’s hips, stroking his hands over them softly. Drew smiled into Cale’s neck and nipped at his collarbone.

Cale yelped. Before he could speak, Drew kissed him roughly. When he pulled back, he rested their foreheads together. "I’m not going to break, Cale," he said. He waited until he was sure he had been understood. When Cale nodded, Drew resumed nibbling on his neck.

Cale took the words to heart. He slid his hands down and over Drew’s back and clutched his ass hard. Drew made a sound of encouragement. "That’s it," he said.

Emboldened, Cale caught Drew with his arms and legs and flipped them. When he had Drew under him, he straddled his hips. Drew’s heart skipped as he felt his new lover take the initiative. He lay passively while Cale explored his body - licking, sucking, kissing. After a very short time, however, his control broke.

Growling, he flipped them back over. He settled himself between Cale’s legs. "Are you sure?" he asked breathlessly.

Cale nodded and thrust his hips up, rubbing his renewed erection against Drew’s. "Any day now would be good."

"Fuck," Drew whispered. He leaned over Cale and fumbled in the nightstand drawer.

Cale quirked his eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

Drew smiled and shook his head. "Trust me."

"I do." He didn’t say a word when lube and a condom landed on the mattress next to him.

Drew took his time preparing Cale. He stayed cradled against him, teasing his mouth with fleeting kisses while he opened him. Cale rode through the discomfort in record time, pushing back onto Drew’s fingers - testing the other man’s resolve to move slowly.

"God. Enough," Cale gasped after several minutes. His passion had returned ten-fold and his body was demanding release.

Drew’s hand stilled. "You sure?" he asked in a rough voice.

"Would you stop being such a gentleman, please?"

Drew didn’t ask twice. He slipped between Cale’s legs, pushed them wide and entered him slowly. He bit his lip when the need to thrust threatened to overwhelm him. Overcome, Cale dropped his head back onto the pillow. He groaned. Drew stopped immediately.

Cale’s eyes snapped open. "I swear to God, Marcus. You stop and I’ll-"

Drew moved forward again and Cale’s voice abruptly cut off. "I hear you," Drew said. Taking a deep breath, he slid fully into Cale in one smooth movement. "Holy fuck," he whispered. He dropped his head onto Cale’s chest and fought for control. When he was reasonably sure he wasn’t going to come right away, he looked up. "Keep your eyes on me," he ordered.

Cale clutched at Drew harder. He nodded.

Drew began to move. It was perfect. Tight and hot and a hundred times better than his fantasies. In his dreams, though, he had fucked Cale for hours. In reality, he doubted he’d last three minutes. Not wanting to leave his lover behind, Drew guided Cale’s hand to his cock. "Touch yourself," he whispered.

Cale obeyed. He set a rhythm to match Drew’s and soon they were both racing toward their climax. Cale’s eyes didn’t waver even as the pace turned frenzied. He kept their gazes locked as orgasm hit for the second time that night.

Drew felt Cale succumb. The pulsing warmth between them, Cale’s hoarse cry and the contractions of his body nudged Drew over the edge. He flew. Outside, the rain slackened and stopped.

**********

Quent woke to the ringing of his cell phone. Again. He groped along the table until he found it. His clock read 8:00 a.m.

"Quent."

"Quent, it’s Elizabeth. Don’t hang up."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because…you hate me."

"That’s right. I’d almost forgotten. Goodbye."

"Wait!" she squealed. "It’s Cale."

Quent swore. The woman really knew his weaknesses. "What about him?"

Her voice wavered. "He didn’t come home last night."

"Can you blame him?" Quent asked sarcastically.

There was a long pause. "No."

Quent climbed out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. "Is that all?"

Elizabeth sighed. "No. Quent, he said he’d be back last night."

Quent flushed the toilet. He suspected Elizabeth heard it. He hoped so, anyway. "Sometimes he stays the night in the city. The weather was bad yesterday evening," he told her.

"I know. That’s what I figured." She started to cry. Quent rolled his eyes and went in search of coffee.

"But?" he barked as rattled around the kitchen.

"I called the office. They said he did leave to come home last night. And he’s not answering his cell phone."

Quent swore under his breath. Cale was missing. And he was out of coffee.

"Quent?"

"I’ll call you when I find him." He snapped his phone shut. Despite his nonchalance with Elizabeth, he wasted no time. He dressed hastily and went in search of his wayward friend.