Page 20

chapter twenty

The ride to the agency is spent mostly in reflective silence. Miles is driving, and I’m riding shotgun. Behind us, my mother and Mal are holding hands, Mal constantly assuring her that everything is still okay. Can everything still be okay when our family’s patriarch is slowly decomposing in the bed of Miles’ truck? Tatum and Scotty are back there with my father and the late Pastor Collins, lying down underneath the truck’s bed cover for some dumbass reason. There’s more than enough space in the back seat. Truth be told, I’m pretty sure Scotty just wants to go through their wallets, and Tatum doesn’t want his biffle (whatever that means) to be back there alone. Sure, they could have simply driven their car to the agency instead, but where’s the fun in that? That was Scotty’s reasoning, at least. Stupid reasoning, but reasoning nonetheless.

I’ve got my hand resting on Miles’ center console. Miles usually just rests his hand beside mine, pinkie brushing the side of my hand to remind me that Father Daddy is there. Today, he’s gripping the steering wheel at ten and two like if he takes his hands off the wheel, we’ll all crash and die and be sent straight to Hell.

Around halfway to the agency, Miles’ hand slips into mine, and he gives it a squeeze. I look over at him, my heart heavy with emotion. I open my mouth to thank him, silenced when a siren sounds behind us.

Miles’ entire body stiffens, and my mom wails in the back seat.

“Oh for the love of—we do not have time to fall apart right now,” Mal says to my mom and Miles. “Miles, pull over. JoyAnna, I need you to put a pin in your emotional breakdown. Darren, catch chlamydia.”

I gape at her. “My father just died.”

She shrugs. “What is it the twink in the truck bed keeps saying? Too bad, so sad?” I roll my eyes and face ahead, but she reaches forward and squeezes my shoulder. “I’m only joking,” she whispers. “Just trying to lift your spirits a little.”

I don’t know who this new Mallory Brooks is, but I think I prefer the version of her I’ve hated for years. At least then, I knew where I stood. Now, I have no idea. “Gonna fuck your husband. Gonna steal him from you.”

She snorts a laugh. “I don’t understand this homewrecker kink you’ve got going on, but I’m not a fan of it. As I’ve said—multiple times—you can’t steal what’s already been thrown away.”

“Gonna throw you away,” I mutter under my breath. “Maybe I’ll throw you into the incinerator with—”

There’s a knock on the window, and when I look over, one of our congregants, Officer Sparks, is smiling widely at us. He's a handsome man with quite the delightful bubble butt. I may have stared at it a time or two. My dad caught me each time, and, strangely enough, he seemed to take even more offense to the fact that I was lusting over a Black man than he did to my coming out as gay. I guess homophobia takes a back seat when race comes into play. Fucking bigot.

“Actually, I was hoping you could pop your cover in the back. I’ve been behind you for a few miles, and the lid keeps popping up and down. At first, I thought it just wasn’t latched properly, but I think I saw somebody looking out at me from the darkness. It was creepy as all get-out. I just want to take a look and make sure you ain’t got a stowaway on board.”

Miles looks at me, his eyes flooded with panic. “Did you hear that, Dare? Brother Sparks thinks someone might have snuck in the truck bed. Isn’t that ridiculous?” His gaze is pleading with me, because my poor pastor hasn’t flat-out lied to anyone in his whole life. Well, he lied about his sexual orientation, but that was mostly just a lie by omission.

I lean forward and wave at Brother Sparks. “Good morning, sir. It’s a beautiful day the Lord has made, am I right?”

Brother Sparks is probably the only congregant who isn’t constantly shooting me dirty looks during church, and I think part of that is down to the fact that Andy Sparks is a little fruity, just like me. He joined the church a few years ago, and he’s never had a woman at his side. It’s surprising to me, because he’s a goddamn snack if I’ve ever seen one. Olive skin. Dark black hair. He’s got these lashes that go on for days like he’s used half a tube of mascara on them. And those lips. Jesus. Purple and pillowy, like I could rest against them and take a nap.

“You don’t have to get out of the truck, Pastor,” he says with a smile. “Just pop the cover from inside and I’ll check it out.” He turns to walk away, but Miles throws open the door and practically leaps from the cabin.

“Wait! Andy, you can’t!”

Ah, hell. Here we go.

Figuring this might be my last moment as a free man, I choose to spend it with the man I love. I hop out of the truck and head toward the back, taking my place at Miles’ side.

“Andy, please,” Miles shouts. “There’s nothing you need to see in there.” There’s no denying it; Miles is panicking. I see it. Brother Sparks sees it. Hell, it’s so obvious even my dad’s corpse could probably see it.

“Have you had anything to drink today, Pastor?” For some ungodly reason, Brother Sparks unholsters his gun and grips the handle before looking at me. “Are you okay, Darren? You seem a little nervous.” He keeps darting his eyes back and forth between me and Miles, and each time our eyes meet, he looks concerned for me. “Has he kidnapped you, Darren?”

Miles’ jaw hits the floor. “Excuse me?”

“It’s okay, buddy,” he tells me, ignoring Miles. “Just . . . just come over here. Stand behind me, baby.”

Baby?

Fucking baby?

Miles growls.

“For God’s sake,” I groan. “We’re fine, Brother Sparks. I’m fine.”

The officer’s jaw tenses as he jerks his head in Miles’ direction. “Then why don’t you want me looking in here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, son. Now, if you’ll excuse us—”

“Open the trunk.”

Miles pauses, sighing in resignation. I’ve never seen him look so defeated. He shares a mournful look with me, mouthing that he’s sorry.

Brother Sparks lifts his gun and aims it at the truck before shouting, “I said, open the trunk.”

“Technically,” I say, lifting a finger in the air like I’m Einstein or something. “It’s a truck bed, but—”

Whatever I plan on saying flies out the metaphorical window when Brother Sparks turns toward Miles and shouts, “Stop resisting!” like a goddamn lunatic.

“No. That’s enough of that.” I extend my arm, presenting him the bed of the truck. Fuck it. We’ve already had two deaths today, maybe we’ll make it three. “By all means.”

Miles sighs as he steps forward and lifts the lid. His eyes are closed like he thinks if he doesn’t look at the dead body, none of this is real. Luckily, it seems God must agree, because Scotty and Tatum have come through in spectacular fashion. Well, spectacular may not be the right word. Sordid? Perhaps. Absolute unhinged? You betcha. Spectacular? Not so much.

There, lying on an unrolled blue tarp, Scotty is knelt over my deceased father’s face, shielding it from view. His hips are rolling like he’s fucking Dad’s mouth through his cutoff hazmat suit. Looking over his shoulder, he glares at Brother Sparks.

“Do you mind? I’m trying to get my freak on, you nosy bastard.”

Brother Sparks gapes at him, and I’m pretty sure I can hear his racing heart from here. I can certainly see the tent in his pants from here. Beside Scotty, Tatum’s lying back, Facetiming his husband as he strokes his cock. At the back of the truck, Pastor Collins’ body rests sideways, covered with an old black tarp that was already in Miles’ truck. It looks like a line of firewood that’s been covered up for unknown reasons.

Tatum licks his lip as he stares at his phone. “My hole is so empty, Daddy. Need you to fill it up.”

“Little one,” his husband breathes through the phone. “Come for me.” A few seconds later, Tatum explodes, shooting quite possibly the largest load I’ve ever seen.

Tatum and Scotty are two of the most deranged individuals I’ve ever met. I love that about them.

“I caught them having intimate relations in the baptismal pool at church,” Miles lies. “I gave them a choice. I call the cops and report them for breaking and entering, or they can come to gay conversion camp. I’m taking them to camp now.”

“Straight is great,” Tatum says, still stroking his softening shaft.

“Straight is great,” Scotty agrees, still thrusting his crotch against my deceased father’s face.

Brother Sparks blinks at them, then at Miles. Slowly, he slides the gun into its holster and takes a step back. “I want to forget everything I just saw. I want it wiped from my memory.”

When he turns to walk away, I resist the urge to call out to tell him if he comes with us, our mad scientist leader, Ms. Broussard, could probably make that happen. Then, another closeted queer man would be brought into the fold, and that’s just far too many queer men to seem believable for such a small town in Texas. I know they say only steers and queers come from the Lone Star state, but surely there’s a limit.

I guess Miles isn’t done with the officer yet, because he glares at the back of his head and shouts, “Don’t walk away from me, son,” in a commanding tone, stopping Brother Sparks in his tracks. He slowly turns to face us, his skin white as a ghost. “You just pointed a gun at one of your brothers in Christ, Andy.” He takes a few steps forward. “On your knees.”

Brother Sparks looks at me for support, but I just shrug my shoulders, because whatever Father Daddy is playing at, I haven’t the slightest. Slowly, Brother Sparks lowers himself to his knees, looking up at his pastor.

“Pray. You beg God’s forgiveness for almost killing Brother Matthews. I want you to beg and plead for mercy. Both from God and from me, because after what you just pulled, I’m not sure which of us you should be more afraid of.”

Brother Sparks slams his eyes shut and raises his arms to the sky in surrender. His words are mumbled and strung together on a frantic string. I’m not sure what the hell he’s saying, but tears are pouring down his cheeks by the end. Looking up, he stares at Miles like he’s seeking permission to continue. Miles nods and motions toward the police car.

“You’re not welcome in church, Andy. Not for a few weeks at least. God might forgive you, but I can’t stand the sight of you at the moment. Now, go do your job, and the next time you think of pulling your gun on anyone, I want you to think ‘there but for the grace of God go I,’ because if I catch wind of it, I’ll point one back at you.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he whispers in a submissive tone, batting his delicious lashes. It’s weird, because he was just Billy Badass a second ago, and now he almost reminds me of . . . well, me. “Please forgive me.”

Miles shares a look of confusion at me, and I just shrug, because I don’t know what the fuck is going on. Miles takes a step forward and pats Andy on the head. “Good boy,” he praises.

To both our surprise, he takes Miles’ hand and brings it to cup his cheek, holding it there, looking touch-starved. “Please don’t make me stay away from church, Pastor Brooks. It’s the only place I feel at home.”

Miles looks at me as if he’s asking permission, and I don’t know what he needs permission for, but I give him a nod anyway. Turning his attention back to Andy, Miles sweetly says, “Oh, you sweet little guy. Of course you can come back. I’m sorry I raised my voice. You just scared me when you aimed a gun at my boy. You can’t go aiming guns willy-nilly. Okay, son?”

He nods emphatically, preening. “Yes, sir. I don’t even like this stupid job. Wish I could just quit and just sit around being cute. It’s scary and I hate it every day.”

“I’m proud of you for being so brave,” Miles tells him, and I think I kind of am, too, because I’m pretty sure this is the real Andy Sparks, and the fact he can put on a mask of confidence so well is kind of inspiring. “I hope you won’t have to be brave on your own for too long. Now, go share His light with your actions, son.” Andy lets out a soft purr before realizing he’s just done so, and reality must hit, because he jolts up, clearing his throat and dusting the dirt from his shins.

“Yes. Well, good afternoon, gentlemen.”

As he walks away, I stare up at Miles. “Mark my words. That man needs a daddy.”

Daddy must notice me staring at Andy’s ass, because the next thing I hear is Miles’ growl, and then the sound of him slamming the truck bed cover down, banging Scotty’s head in the process.

“I’m telling Daddy, and he’s gonna kick your ass!” Scotty screams, but Miles ignores it.

“Get in the truck,” he orders.

“Why are you so hostile all of a sudden? You can’t be mad at me for almost going to jail, Miles. You’re the one who killed my dad.”

He growls again, waiting for Brother Sparks to drive off before marching over, grabbing me by the shoulders, and slamming me against the side of the truck. His nose is inches from mine, our breaths mixing and mingling delightfully like coffee and cream.

“If you ever look at another man’s butt again, I’ll wear your ass out. Do you hear me?” I don’t know where the hell this part of Miles has been hiding, but I kind of want to see him more often. The rage simmering just beneath the surface. Possession pouring from his eyes. Lust wrapped around his half-hard cock, now straining against his slacks. He grips the neck of my shirt and pulls me even closer. “I already killed one man for you. Don’t think I won’t do it again.”

“Jesus, Miles,” I breathe.

“Mine,” he growls. “All mine. Say it.”

Holy fucking shit. I’ve never been harder in all my life.

“Yours, Father Daddy. Always yours. Only yours.”

He swallows thickly before releasing the grip he’s got on my shirt. His cheeks are a little redder than before. “Good boy. Now, get in the truck, and let’s get this over with.” He clears his throat and looks away. “When we get home, we’re going to my room. Well, our room, I guess.”

I whimper. Fucking whimper.

“Cut that out. I’m trying to scold you, and you’re just standing there looking adorable.”

Fuck the dead bodies in the bed of the truck. Fuck Mal as she consoles my mom. Fuck my mom, for that matter. Don’t need any of them, just Daddy. I lunge forward and claim him with a deep kiss. It’s not as gentle as the ones before, and once our lips lock, it’s like his body works on raw instinct. He presses me even closer against the truck, grinding his bulge against me.

“I want you to fuck me again,” I whisper. “I want you inside of me. Please?”

His pupils dilate until all I see are two large black balls with just the slightest hint of brown around them. “Keep talking like that and we ain’t gonna make it home.”

I lick his bottom lip. “Is that a promise?”

“It’s a guarantee.”

“Miles, Miles, Miles. What on Earth am I going to do with you?” Meadows doesn’t look happy, but his happy face looks like his angry face, so it’s always anyone’s guess what he’s really feeling.

When we first arrived, Scotty and Tatum rushed in to grab Meadows. Thankfully, another assassin was on hand to help cart Dad’s body inside. Ms. Broussard was with them, eyeing us up and down in her ugly white lab coat. I don’t know why she insists on wearing one. Considering she only sees one or two people per day at work, and both interactions essentially consist of pleasantries and wishes for a good morning, it’s a ridiculous ensemble when coupled with her perfectly styled Marcel wave hairdo. She looks like she’s auditioning for 1920’s Grey’s Anatomy , and it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen. As expected, she didn’t speak to me, because she never does. She simply whirled around and marched inside, hiding away in her robotics room at the deepest portion of the agency’s underground compound.

A few minutes later, Dad and the pastor’s bodies were downstairs, being prepared for cremation, and we were ushered into Meadows’ office. I assumed he would fire me right out of the gate, but that didn’t happen. He just launched into a dumbass lecture no one asked for.

“I leave you alone for a day, and this happens?” he continues, aiming his disappointed glare at Miles.

“He was trying to hurt my boy,” Miles says, placing an arm in front of my chest like he’s trying to shield me from Meadows. It’s a ridiculous thing to do, considering we’re sitting side by side on the other side of Meadows’ desk. “No one hurts Darren.”

Meadows smirks. “I knew I liked you. Maybe once this is all over, you’ll join Darren and the rest of us at the agency.”

“Maybe I’d rather eat a Bible page by page.”

“Maybe I’ll burn your church to the ground if you don’t.”

I roll my eyes. “Maybe the ‘maybe I’ portion of banter needs to end, and maybe it needs to end now. For God’s sake. Can we just toss him into the oven and get this over with?” I pause, because . . . “Wait. I’m not fired?”

Meadows blinks at me. “Why would you be fired?”

“Gee,” I say, tapping the side of my head. “I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact you recorded Miles and me in bed together for God knows how long, and then outed him in a viral video.”

He shrugs. “I was pissed. He just left you there in the pew. You were crying.” His eyes narrow. “You’re too pretty to cry, Matthews.”

I roll my eyes. “For fuck’s sake. If I needed some busted-up white knight to come in and save me, I would have asked. Outing people isn’t cool, Meadows. It’s fucking horrible, actually.”

“It’s his truth,” he says casually, like he’s just shooting the shit with an old pal. “There’s nothing wrong with living your truth.”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “How many of your friends and family know you let a bound man suck your cock multiple times daily?”

“I wouldn’t care if they knew.” To prove it, I guess, he lifts his hand and snaps his fingers three times. A bookshelf swivels open, revealing a small secret room where Pet is lounging on a bean bag, casually stroking his cock to what appears to be hidden camera footage of Meadows masturbating in the shower. “Pet? Baby, come over here to Daddy.”

Pet launches up, and it’s the few times I’ve seen him without his gimp mask. Well, ever since he became property of Meadows. I knew him before, back when he and Tatum were still kind of dating. Benito Blankenship is a cute guy, but before his imprisonment, he was a fucking asshole. He was cruel to his boyfriends, from what Tatum tells me. He’s always been a jerk to me though. I’m pretty sure it’s because I refused his advances at Manhole once.

“Daddy?” he says softly, kneeling in front of Meadows.

Meadows unzips his pants and pulls out his cock. Fuck. The thing is massive. Pet lunges down and takes it between his lips. As Meadows moans in pleasure, he pulls out his phone. “All the way to the base, baby.” Pet obliges, taking Meadows’ cock into his throat. Once his penis is sheathed away, Meadows snaps a picture and pats Pet’s head. “Good boy. Go play with your pretty cock in the room again, darling. Daddy will come get you in a minute.” Whining, Pet stands and returns, his hard cock oozing pre-cum all over the floor.

Meadows tinkers with his phone for a while, taking for-fucking-ever to do whatever the hell he’s doing. Finally, he nods and hands the phone to me. He’s uploaded the photo to Facebook with the caption, “I’m not gay, but I’m proud to do my part for Queers and Country. #ProudAlly #LetYourBroSuckYourSchlong #TasteTheRainbow #LetGoAndLetGod”

I want to vomit.

Meadows chuckles. “I guess the good thing is, now that the truth is out, I don’t have to keep pretending I’m planning to kill one of the people in your church.”

Miles’ eyes bulge. “What?”

I blink at Meadows. “Pretend?”

He smiles mischievously at me. “I meant what I said. I like you, Matthews. I like seeing you all lovestruck when you’re with your Daddy, and I was sick of the way he was dragging his feet. You’re a good boy, and you deserve to be loved, so I lied and said I was going to kill someone in the congregation so I could slip this guy the serum. I wanted you to be happy, and I won’t apologize for it.”

I’m dumbfounded. Actually dumbfounded and without words.

“Dare?”

I turn to look at Miles. “Yeah?”

“You were going to let him kill someone in the church?”

My cheeks go warm. “Maybe just a little.” Miles sighs and flings his hands up in exhausted frustration. “I know. I’m a bad, bad boy, sir. You can punish me later.”

Meadows stands and motions toward the door. Worried Daddy might pull me over his lap and spank me in front of Meadows, I launch up and follow behind. The agency’s walls are made of concrete, and they’ve been painted black. Little lights protrude from the walls, giving the whole place an unnecessarily creepy vibe. It’s just so unnecessary.

Meadows leads us toward the lower levels, and as we walk down the concrete hallway, Miles’ hand finds mine, and he intertwines our fingers. When I give his hand a squeeze, he returns it to me, even tighter. As I brush my thumb against the side of his hand, I look over to catch him blushing. He’s like a nervous virgin and seeing him like this—almost like an anxious teenager suffering from puppy love—makes up for all the bad stuff that’s happened today.

The longer the tunnel goes on, the more enthralled Miles becomes. He peeks into half-opened doors, ignoring Meadows’ many calls for us to keep up. Eventually, we reach another retractable wall. This one leads to an elevator that carries us to the bottom floor. Miles leads us past Ms. Broussard’s robotics room—a room I’ve been forbidden from ever entering, which, ugh, rude—toward the very end of our underground lair.

When we enter the room, I’m taken aback. The incinerator is already roaring, and Dad’s body is laid out on the conveyor belt, ready to be burned. Pastor Collins’ body is already at the end of the conveyor belt, the inferno inside blazing his skin until it’s blackened. Fucking eww.

My mom is towering over Dad, glaring down at his lifeless frame. “I’m glad,” she tells Mal, who’s standing protectively at her side. “I’m glad he’s dead.”

Mal nods. “I know. And that’s okay.”

Mom shakes her head. “He’s probably up there with God already, doing his best to demean me before it’s my time. I bet he’s trying to get in good with Jesus, too, telling him all sorts of lies about me.” She pokes my father’s corpse in the chest. “Good luck with that. God don’t like ugly, and you’ve got the ugliest heart I’ve ever seen.”

With that, my mother whirls on her heel and marches out of the room with Mal following close behind. Meadows says he’ll give me a moment to say goodbye.

I try to open my mouth but nothing comes out. There are so many things I’ve wanted to tell my father. I’ve dreamed of telling him that I was a proud gay man, and nothing he could ever say or do would change that. That no matter what forms of conversion therapy he throws at me, my sexuality is innate, and it’s never going to change. My heart is racing a mile a minute, pleading with me to tell him that I hate him for the hate he’s always had for me. I hate him for turning my mother into a submissive wife, stealing her life away. I hate him for the homophobic, transphobic, and racist slander he’s spewed across the dinner table every day for the last twenty-some-odd years. I don’t tell him any of these things, I just stare at his body like a scared little boy.

“I’m not sorry for killing you, Brother Matthews. You were always kind to me, but I saw the way you looked at Darren. I saw how much hate festered in your heart.” Miles looks up, staring into my wet eyes with his. “I haven’t always protected him in the way he needed me to, but that ends today. I’ll protect him from here on out.” He bangs the side of his fist against what I’m assuming was meant to be the button for the conveyor belt beside the body, and not my dead father’s windpipe. “Crap. And I’m sorry for hitting you just now.” He slams his fist against the button. Looking at me, he gives me his trademark Father Daddy protective glare. “No one is ever going to hurt you again. Not as long as I’m around.”

“Miles,” I whisper.

He nods. “From here on out. Me and you, buddy. It’s me and you.”

My jaw trembles, and I have to look away. Unfortunately, when I do, I’m greeted with my father’s lifeless face. His eyes are closed, and for the briefest of moments, it almost looks like his chest rises and falls.

“Sweet Jesus,” Miles says, sounding horrified. “Is he . . .” Our eyes lock, and I feel just as panicked as he looks. “Dare? What do we do?” He eyes the button again and quickly smashes it, stopping the belt from moving. Dad isn’t stirring, thank God. Maybe our eyes are just playing tricks on us.

There’s a big green button at the end of the conveyor belt. Every muscle in my body is screaming out for me to press it, but I can’t move. I can’t even twitch a finger. If he’s still alive, that means there’s still a chance for him to hurt me. Still a chance for him to drag me out of this building, kicking and screaming, back to my childhood home.

“He’ll kill me,” I whisper to myself, not really meaning the words for Miles. “If he’s still alive, he’ll really kill me next time.” There isn’t a doubt in my mind.

“Darren?”

I look up at Father Daddy. “Yeah?”

“No. He won’t.” Once the words are out, with a shaky hand, Miles presses the button again. There’s a loud buzz, and as my father’s chest rises again, the belt begins to move. As flames wrap around my father’s head, Miles says, “No one is ever going to hurt you again.”

My knees go a little weak at the words, but he catches me before I fall. He always catches me. “Promise?”

Miles cups my cheek as the iron door closes and the flames roar to life, and he gives me a tender kiss as muffled screams escape the oven. “Mine.”