Kent sat in his room, his eyes
locked on his phone. He hadn’t heard back from his guys, and that made him
nervous. The fact that he had heard police sirens early made it worse.
Something had gone sideways. He could just feel it. This was all about to blow
up in his face.
Why had he trusted those three to do
his dirty work for him? They were morons who were two steps below apes. All
they knew how to do was hit shit. Well, and fuck. They knew had to fuck real
well, and right now they were fucking him well and good, and Kent wasn’t
enjoying it.
The phone rang, and Petra’s number
popped up. He answered on the second ring.
“What happened?” Kent could hear the
panic in his voice, and it made him sick.
“I couldn’t tell you. Something
weird blew up, and Morris is dead.” Petra’s speech was rapid fire.
“One of those fuckers killed him?”
“I doubt it. His body was all messed
up. Looked like he had been mummified.”
Mummified? What the fuck was going
on? Was Petra screwing with him? It wasn’t funny. He was freaked out enough,
and he didn’t need some no brain thug cracking jokes at his expense.
“Don’t you bullshit me…”
“I’m telling you the truth! I don’t
know how it happened, but Morris was turned to fucking tanned leather.” Petra
paused. “Listen, Voigt and I are coming over, and…”
Kent cut him off. “No, you listen.
You two need to stay far away from this house for a good, long while. I’ll meet
the two of you tomorrow. Somewhere public. Just keep your heads down and your
fucking mouths shut.” He bit his lip. “And watch Voigt. He’s still a good old
boy, believes in right and wrong and all that shit. Make sure he doesn’t talk.”
“Do you want me to… you know?” Petra
lowered his voice.
“No!” Kent nearly shouted. “Keep him
alive, but calm. Got it?”
“Got it.” Petra hung up.
“You little shit.” Luther Stanton’s
voice made Kent spin around.
“Daddy!” Kent blurted out his common
greeting without thinking.
Luther didn’t look like he was in
the mood to play “Daddy” tonight though. His face was bright red with rage, and
his jaw was clenched.
“What did you do?” Luther advanced
on him. “What the fuck did you do?”
“I… I tried to take care of it!”
Kent took a step back, and felt the back of his legs collide with the edge of
his bed. He lost his balance, and fell back. “You told me to take care of it.”
“And you fucked it up, just like a
knew you would.” He loomed over Kent, fire burning in his eyes. “And you fucked
up my backup plan.”
Kent was about to say something, to
beg for forgiveness. Luther didn’t give him the chance. His hand came down
quickly, cracking across Kent’s face, whipping his head to the side. The pain
was intense, but familiar. Luther had hit Kent before plenty of times, and just
as hard. Kent knew how to calm him down.
Carefully, Kent rolled onto his
belly, then pulled his knees towards his chest, lifting his ass in the air. He
could hear Luther suck in breath. Slowly he began to pull his punts down,
exposing his round, firm butt cheeks.
Luther was an angry man, but he
thought with his dick first. It didn’t take much to get him off track.
“Please, Daddy,” Kent whimpered. “Please
punish me for what I did.”
Kent could hear Luther’s belt buckle
clacking, followed by the sound of his pants hitting the floor.
Kent had won, just like he always
did.
As Luther road him, Kent’s mind
drifted. He thought of how exactly he was going to fix things. Apparently he
had fucked things up royally, and that could be bad for him. As mean as Luther
could be, life on the streets, or worse, prison, could be even worse. He needed
to fix this. Brute force wasn’t the answer. That was absolutely clear. No, he
needed to take a different approach, and he needed to do it quickly. First, he
had to deal with Petra and Voigt. Petra could keep his mouth shut, but Voigt…
Voigt was the wild card.
He felt Luther grab his hair and
yank his head back.
“Keep your head in the game, boy.”
His voice was a harsh rasp. “Don’t you like it when Daddy punishes you?”
“Yes, Daddy.” He purred out the
words, and felt his stomach lurch as he did so.
Luther made him sick, but he also
made him comfortable. Eugene wasn’t much better, and was a whole lot harder to
control. Even with all the shit he had to put up with, his life in Luther’s
house, as Luther’s “son” was one hundred times better than his life working the
streets.
Eugene… now Eugene was someone that
Kent could spare. He, like Voigt, was a wild card. Sure, he was tied up with
the pictures and everything, but none of the evidence led back to him. Not
clearly. A plan started to form in Kent’s mind.
As Luther pumped away, and Kent
plotted.
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