Page 9 of Casual Felonies (Wildlings #1)

ANDERS AND OMAR

Pointing at the asshole tied to the ancient camping chair, Anders clucks his tongue as he looks through the man’s things. “We are definitely scheduling a situational awareness refresher with the Wildlings. Did you see how close this sick fuck got to our son?”

The husbands are standing in the man’s creepy squatter’s cabin in the woods off Red Bud Trail, rotted boards creaking beneath their feet as they wonder where the hell they went wrong.

Omar shakes his head, disappointment etched into his handsome features as he opens the plastic bins that stand in for kitchen cabinets. “Rami had zero awareness of the dangers around him.”

After tracing Orange Bow Tie—OBT, according to Maya—to the Pecan Street Festival, Anders and Omar discreetly pulled him off the street half a block from where Rami had been standing, distracted by the pottery he’d found in a booth crowded with greenery and artistry.

To be fair to their son, that was Rami’s version of heaven .

“Seriously, how many plants does our son need?” Omar asks. “The penthouse already looks like a plant nursery.”

Anders pokes through the ancient chest next to OBT’s bed. “I dunno. I kinda like the way they’ve styled the place. Like, modern hacienda meets plant girlie meets?—”

When his beloved fails to continue, Omar turns from the plastic bins. Anders’ expression is dangerous as he stalks up to OBT.

“What the fuck is this?” he asks, holding up a syringe with his gloved hand.

The man’s eyes widen, and he tries to talk, but his words are muffled by the orange bow tie—found in the pile of dirty clothes at the foot of his bed and now stuffed in his mouth. He struggles, attempting to turn the chair over, but it’s too squat.

The fathers work more diligently. The syringe, filled with a creamy liquid, is not the most terrifying thing they discover in this man’s shitty little hovel. There’s a length of rope, a gag, several sharp instruments, and a roll of plastic sheeting in an ancient, peeling IKEA wardrobe.

Clearly intent on causing their son grievous harm.

The fathers’ team in Wimberley would later find an online forum on the Hell_AI app where the man had written in great detail what he wanted to do to their son. He’d been obsessed with Rami Bash for the better part of a year, following him on all social media, tracing his steps for months .

Tsk, tsk.

Omar, also gloved up, plucks the syringe from his beloved’s fingertips, shaking his head. “Habibi, this man planned on incapacitating our son to inflict maximum pain and suffering. Whatever shall we do with him?”

Anders works his jaw as he picks up the rope, weighing it in his hands. “We could do to him what he intended to do to our son. ”

After taking on a thoughtful look, Omar shakes his head.

“I suspect this one lacks the imagination to properly torture someone.” Patting the man’s cheek, Omar explains, “My husband has mastered the art of psychological warfare. You are in the hands of a genius. Truly.” Turning back to Anders, he asks, “When was the last time you gave your imagination free rein?”

Anders pauses. “Well god damn ,” he drawls. “I guess it’s been a while.” He thinks about it for a moment, then his eyes light up. “Did we bring that collapsible tripod?”

Omar smiles. “Of course. The tripod is in my go-bag.”

Anders gleefully skips to the bag and rummages until he finds what he’s looking for. “I’ve gotta call Hop!”

“Fantastic idea. You know how he loves to watch.”

With a shoulder shimmy, Anders hums to himself as he sets up the tripod, updates from the Wimberley office filling his screen. This younger team really is very quick.

OBT’s eyes track the phone as Anders pulls up the video chat.

“Anders, my brother!” A tattooed man with a rough Mafia-infused accent appears on the screen. He takes in the decaying cabin and smiles.

It is not a comforting smile.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

“Hop, buddy! Remember that guy who’s been following Rami?”

“Orange Bow Tie?”

“Yes!” Anders pans the camera to show Hop—full name Hopper Hughes—the bound man, along with the tools he has stashed in his cabin. He points out the man’s makeshift gag, and Hopper giggles.

“Can you believe this asshole was following Rami around the Pecan Street Festival?” Omar asks.

“That wasn’t very nice of him,” Hopper answers, then takes on a serious expression. “Was Rami aware of him? ”

The dads share a disappointed look. “No, but we’re working on that.”

“I’m happy to come down there if the Wildlings need a refresher.”

Omar chews at his lower lip, then nods. “Honestly, Hop, I think you’d be the best one for it.”

“Anyway,” Anders says, returning to the main show, “Omar says I can use my imagination, and I figured you’d want to watch. You know, to take notes.”

“Whatever,” Hopper snorts. “I’ll be sure to call out suggestions. Don’t want you tickling his senses with your weak-sauce skills.”

Anders’ mouth drops open. “How very dare you.”

Hop throws his head back, laughing. “Nah, brother. Thanks for dialing me in. People up here have been too well-behaved for my liking. Haven’t been part of a good bloodletting in at least a month.”

Omar whistles softly. “Far too long, my friend.”

Liam, Hopper’s handsome husband, joins him on screen. “What’s happening, love?” he asks between sweet kisses along Hopper’s jawline. “Ooh, did Anders catch a good one?”

Hopper nods significantly. “Some dweeb thought he could hurt Rami.”

Liam gives a low whistle. “Who the fuck goes after a Wildling ?”

“An idiot,” Hopper provides. “A dead one at that.”

OBT goes whale-eyed as sweat pours from his hairline.

Anders twirls the wickedly sharp knife in his hand, contemplating. “Hey, Hop? You ever see me do the pain point thing with just the tips of my fingers?”

“Like Kill Bill ?”

“Eh, kinda. But my way keeps them alive.” He grins. “And it’s way more painful.”

“Nah, man. Can’t wait to watch you do your thing.” Hop tilts his head, then leans in, framing the scene with his hands. “Wait. The light in that space is perfect . I can practically smell the mold and rotting food. Do you mind if I grab my sketch pad?”

“Not at all, brother. We’ll finish getting him ready while you do that.”

Omar pulls the bow tie out of the man’s mouth, replacing it with the obscenely large gag before he can get a word in edgewise. The man’s muffled screams are effectively silenced, a fact Omar notes with an appraising smile.

“This is an excellent gag, Habibi. We should put this in your toolkit.”

“I’ll let Parker know. Good rope too.”

They work together to remove the man’s belt and clothing, then retie him to the chair with said rope. The quality genuinely is top notch, despite the squalor of the location.

“Fear not,” Omar explains warmly, pushing OBT’s hair out of his face. “The nudity is a matter of simple logistics, not prurience.”

Anders shudders as he lays out the plastic sheeting. “Yeah, I only get off on my husband’s perfect cock and the occasional— willing! —play partner.”

“Must you discuss my penis with a stranger, darling?”

“Must? No. It’s always completely voluntary,” Anders jokes. Looking up at OBT with a quizzical brow, he asks, “Hey, where do you buy your supplies?”

The man’s throat starts working, but the sound barely escapes his stuffed mouth.

Anders’ eyes twinkle as he nudges the man’s knee with the side of his fist. “Just kidding. Our friends in Wimberley are already looking at your bank statements, pulling the city cameras, the whole works. We’ll know before your heart gives out.”

Turning to Omar, he gestures at their less-than-desirable location.

“Don’t let the seediness fool you. They’ve already found half a million dollars in his retirement account.

I’m guessing this isn’t his permanent residence.

Either way, I think Safe Harbor is about to get another generous anonymous donation. ”

“Excellent, can’t wait to see what the team digs up next.” Omar rubs his chin. “ Oh . We should suggest Rami to our contact. He can assist with their next fundraising drive.”

Anders sends Omar a smirk as he pulls off his latex gloves.

“I love it. He doesn’t even have to know the recommendation came from us.

” Wrinkling his nose, he gestures to the room.

“You know, at some point, we have to let him in. Even though we don’t see any natural ability, it’s not fair that Maya knows more about us than he does. ”

Omar sighs. “You’re not wrong. He just doesn’t have the killer instinct.”

“Neither does Maya, my love.”

“True, but she’s not as squeamish as he is.” Omar taps his chin. “Though…maybe we just haven’t found his niche yet.” Winking at the bound man, he says, “But we can figure that out later.”

This was shaping up to be a fantastic evening, and if Anders didn’t dally too long, they might make a date night out of it.

Unable to help himself, Omar pulls his murderous, frustrating, perfect husband in for a deep, sensual kiss. Hopper, coming back into view with a sketch pad and charcoals in hand, lets out a wolf whistle.

“Oh shush,” Liam insists, placing a gentle peck on Hopper’s nose as he settles in. Hopper blushes, then returns the sentiment with a sweet kiss to Liam’s mouth.

OBT watches, dazed as the couples extend their make-out sessions.

Omar finally pulls away, nuzzling the side of Anders’ head. “We’ll take this up again at home.”

“Fuck yeah,” Anders murmurs and then— mm, one last kiss —puts on his game face. “Now step aside and watch the master work.”

Omar rolls his eyes. This man.