Page 2 of Broken Highway (Cult Boys #1)

SEVEN

The first lie Silas ever told was that it tasted good. Sticky and sweet like the icing on a cinnamon bun. A hundred men later and I know that’s never true. I wipe my lips with the back of my hand as man number one-hundred-and-one buttons his jeans.

His beard is short and stubbly, with a few days’ growth. If only he applied the same effort to his lower parts. I pick a hair from my teeth and shake it onto the floor.

He stares ahead, out the fogged window. “What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere, anyway?”

“It’s great for business. An unlimited sea of lost souls just looking for release, and most happen to have wives back home.” I drop my gaze to the wedding ring on his pudgy finger. “You truckers aren’t looking for something real and don’t mind paying for it.”

“You really should be careful out here,” he says deadpan, all about business. Straight men like him get so horny that they don’t care who’s sucking their dick until they come, and then they get weird.

“I’m not worried.”

“You should be. You have no idea who anybody is until it’s too late.” He rubs a thumb over my cheek. “I’d hate to see your beautiful face on the news.”

I laugh. “If you see this mug on the news, it won’t be because I was murdered.”

“I’m being serious.” He drops his touch to the side of my throat, lingering on a pause that feels like it could end with him choking me with his strong, muscular hand.

I pull away from him and hold out a hand. “And I’m impatient. Fifty dollars.”

He retrieves his wallet from his jeans and passes me a fifty-dollar bill. “Best fifty dollars I did ever spend, kid.”

I rip the money out of his hand. “Don’t fucking do that. Don’t call me a kid.”

“Well, you’re not a man.”

“And what are you?” It’s a rhetorical question I’m not interested in hearing his response to. I push open the truck door, jump down onto the pavement, and slam the door behind me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him watching as I depart down a train of rigs pulled to the side of the roadway. There’s an eerie quietness in the air. All that can be heard are the faintest echo of truck radios humming and hacking coughs coming from inside one of the trucks.

There’s a chill too, but it beats the fucking heat of the day.

There’s a calmness in the night that can’t be found in the brutal duress of daylight.

Back home, it was always said that evil thrived in the night when the demons would come out and claim the souls of the innocent.

The wicked move in the shadows, and the damned walk the earth, preying on the weak and unfortunate.

We were never allowed to be weak, but what did that mean?

The fuck if I know. Questions weren’t answered with answers.

They were answered with more questions. A thirst for knowledge was the most dangerous thing the young could possess.

A thirst for cock—well, that was even worse.

I’ve been thirsty since I was old enough to get an erection.

From the very first time I laid eyes on my own hard cock, I was infatuated with the idea of putting my mouth on one.

Every morning, I would wake up and practice my stretching in hopes that it would be the day I could finally bend enough to suck my own dick. That day never came, but Silas did.

Silas was brought onto the compound by a mother on the run from an abusive marriage.

They integrated into the church with ease, but there was always something bubbling under the surface.

Silas had a propensity for violence and a hunger for lust, and I was the only one that could sate him.

He could never get enough of my mouth. Said it was a cure for the rage that threatened to devour him.

His mother became a staunch believer, but the only thing Silas ever believed in was the comfort he found in me. First in my mouth and then in my ass. I was his in the same way the devotees of the Sinless Children were God’s. He found solace in me, and I found solace in swallowing his loads.

And then we were caught in the temple at midnight.

Everything changed.

I was the temptee, and he the tempted.

He sought absolution in the arms of Magnus and became what we both despised.

A match was lit that night that began a slow burn of depravity that erupted in a violent explosion of pent-up anger that forced me to flee the home I’ve always known.

And now I’m a whore, sucking off strangers for cash.

It’s not the worst job in the world.

In fact, I kind of fucking love it.

As I walk past an idling blue rig, I’m drawn to a grizzly man with one arm hanging over a rolled-down window.

His gaze follows me, trailing from my eyes to my ass.

He begins to whistle in notes too high for his demeanor, a haunting melody of desire.

It’s a catcall, but not one I’ve ever heard.

Something flickers in my gut, prodding me to run.

But money is money.

And cock is cock.

I search both directions to make sure nobody is watching, not that it matters much.

Everyone here is a stranger to each other.

I approach the truck, both hands stuffed in the pockets of my jeans.

Under the high-mast streetlight, I get a better look at him—middle-aged, with a beard that’s overgrown in various shades of gray, and his right arm is covered in faded tattoos underneath a ripped plaid shirt that’s rolled to the elbow.

Neither of us say a word. He nods to the left, gesturing for me to join him. We are engaged in a silent understanding as I circle the front of the rig. I’ve learned to hyperfocus on my surroundings, to always be alert, and to always have an exit strategy.

The hinges squeak when I open the passenger door.

I assume it’s not used much. The life of a trucker is a lonely one and there typically isn’t anyone riding shotgun.

As I climb on board, the door-activated light illuminates us both.

If anyone should peer inside, they’d be forgiven for thinking he was a father and I his son.

Guys like him? This is their fantasy. Older hands caressing the smooth, satin skin of a teenage twunk—I believe that’s the appropriate terminology.

New to this big gay world, but if I know one thing, it’s that he’s a bear.

Bears don’t scare me.

Men in suits and robes are what send a chill down my spine, like the echoes of cult hymns I can’t ever outrun.

The dome light dims, but even in the dark, I notice how he watches me with hunger in his eyes. He drops a hand to my thigh with a touch that’s uncharacteristically tender.

I shift in the seat, brushing my way toward him. “What’s your name, handsome?”

“R—Ray,” he chokes out, stumbling over his nerves. He swallows, collecting himself before continuing, “but I like when they call me Daddy.”

“Well then, Daddy, what do you like?” I reach for the drive shaft, cup my hand over the knob, and put on a display of stroking it. “I’ve been told I’ve got a mouth like a hoover.”

He parts my lips with his smoke-stained thumb.

Reeks of cigarettes but us whores make the best of what we’re given, and there’s no denying smoke at least smells better than human shit.

So, not the worst thing in the world but still pretty awful.

He pries my mouth open wider and massages my tongue with his thumb.

I play the part and lap him up, creating a vacuum of suction around his flesh.

His eyes dance in bliss as he watches a preview of what I’m going to do to his cock.

He slips free from my mouth, a change in pace and demeanor. He shifts his hand to the back of my head with a forceful grip as he unbuttons his belt with his other hand. No patience. No waiting. Just pure and unadulterated lust taking control of his entire being.

I grab him by the wrist but wear a perfectly fake smile in doing so.

Some guys are given the benefit of the doubt, and I let them pay for services after the deed is done.

Other guys pay up front. It’s all based on the vibe, and the vibe is not a good one.

Still, gas ain’t cheap in this economy and a boy’s gotta eat.

Worse case scenario is shit goes south, but again… I always have an escape plan.

“I seriously cannot wait to suck your cock like a good boy, but?—”

“You want the cash up front,” he says, cutting me off.

He retrieves a tattered wallet from a cubby, grabs a hundred-dollar bill, and hands it to me.

A generous payment when I typically charge fifty for a blowjob, but he’s too horny to negotiate.

I wad the money and stuff it into the front pocket of my jeans.

And then his firm grip is back on my neck, pulling me to him.

His lips crash against mine, dry and chapped.

And then wet. And then he’s moving to the right, the scruff of his beard scratching at my throat as he mouths his way to my ear.

He breaks away from me, his gaze shifting to the side and drowning in paranoia.

Steam paints the windows, obscuring the view outside, but it’s not enough .

He points to the back of the truck. “I have a bed in the back.”

I take a quick look between the two seats and notice the dim light behind a black curtain. My senses tingle. All seven or eight of them. However many the fuck there are. Every single one of them. Again, though, I always have that backup plan in my back pocket.

I duck between the seats, and he follows behind.

On the other side, there’s enough room to stand straight, with a twin-sized bed parked against the left wall.

Across from the bed is a small TV mounted to the wall.

It’s not the nicest sleeper cab I’ve seen, but can’t expect much in a rig that’s at least twenty years old.

When I turn to him, he shoves me backward with force. I land on the bed, lying on my back. As he approaches, towering over me, he peels the plaid shirt from his body, exposing a hairy, pale chest beneath.