Wrong Way Home - Taken (Criminal Delights 1)

When Taron looked up and saw the deer-in-the-headlights expression on Colin’s face, he kneeled over McGraw’s body, and as the man tried to rise, Taron grabbed his head and twisted it with a final snap. He didn’t want Colin thinking the murder was just his doing.

McGraw went limp, and the homestead was once again peaceful, with the only sounds coming from the forest and the gentle hum of the nearby pickup.

Colin took a deep breath and stepped back, taking his hands off the murder weapon as if it burned him. His legs gave under him, and he landed on his ass, watching the fresh corpse from between his spread legs.

“Shit,” was all he said, going from flushed to so pale Taron worried he might faint.

Taron was still dizzy when he got up but shielded Colin from the gruesome sight.

Colin drew in a sharp breath and looked up with a forlorn expression. He’d mentioned that he’d seen dead people, but it was a different thing to see someone who was already dead than witness their violent demise. Or be the cause of it for that matter. He raised his hand to Taron, wordlessly asking for help.

Taron kneeled by his side, and when Colin struggled to move, he picked him up, wary of the blood dripping down Colin’s arm. As soon as the gunshot wound came into view, Taron wished he could have killed McGraw all over again.

Colin cuddled up to him, as if touch was exactly the thing he needed. “I killed him,” he whispered, staring toward the lifeless body that Taron wanted as far away from him as possible.

He walked to the open door to the house with Colin in his arms. He wished to soothe his lover, but words wouldn’t come out even as he tried to whisper, so he settled for a kiss.

The smell of gasoline hit him before they even entered the house and Taron stopped on the porch with a scowl. Colin stiffened in his arms, and pointed at two canisters right beside the wicker chair.

“Where are the cats?” he asked, twisting in Taron’s arms as he tried to stand on his own again.

Taron snarled. No matter how much he loved his pets, Colin’s wound was a priority, but the stubborn boy wouldn’t listen and limped inside, so Taron followed his lead. The cabin stank of gasoline and once the lamp was on, the dark stains on the floor were a clear indicator of where the fuel had been spilled. There was no cat to be seen, so all must have hidden somewhere upon McGraw’s arrival, but when Colin limped toward a little nest built for Missi and her kittens out of an old basket, he found all of them were cooped up inside, under a gray blanket stained with gasoline.

Colin rubbed his face, his teeth pulling over his pretty lips. “No. I take everything back. I will not be agonizing over this bastard’s unworthy life,” he said, and only the presence of the kittens must have prevented him from slamming his hand on the closet right next to the basket, because he halted halfway through the movement.

The kittens shivered by their mother, releasing tiny noises of distress. Taron couldn’t believe what McGraw had wanted to do. Colin’s reaction was something new, though. Colin wasn’t exactly a Sunday church boy, but hearing from him that he understood some people didn’t deserve to live filled Taron with pride.

he signed when Colin glanced over his shoulder.

For a moment, Colin contemplated this, his throat working. “What will we do with the body? This can’t be traced back here.”

Taron swallowed. It wasn’t convenient, to say the least, but Colin needed help, and Taron never again wanted for Colin to think he didn’t care. The issue of trusting Colin to not go to the cops about the murder and kidnapping was long buried as well.

Colin met his gaze, breathing more evenly now, though he kept blinking, as if there was sand under his eyelids. “No. It’s too risky. You can’t afford a decent lawyer.”

Taron swallowed and looked away at that blow.

Colin’s chest started working faster, and he grabbed Taron’s forearm with the healthy hand. “No. They might start digging and find out about his brother. This is,” he swallowed hard and stared at the blood-soaked sleeve, “It’s a flesh wound.”

Taron stalled.

Colin took a deep breath and tentatively pulled up the sleeve, revealing red-stained flesh and a ragged wound left by the bullet. “Can you see two holes or is the bullet still inside?” he inquired, taking a deep breath and presenting his arm to Taron. It was a relief to see both the entry and exit wound, and as Colin moved all his fingers with little issue, his body gradually relaxed.