When the other three men had found out what happened, they’d taken their masks off as well, which sealed Clover’s fate. But whatever that would be, he still needed to find out.
The black-eyed scorpion of a human being called Drake eyed Clover in silence, playing with a curved knife in a silent promise of delivering painful death, were Clover to attempt another escape. “We could just dump him somewhere. We’re in the middle of a desert. No one would find him,” he said, barely opening his mouth and making no attempts to correct his lisp.
Clover wasn’t sure whether Drake was putting it up for discussion, or saying those things as a threat. He didn’t like it either way and backed into Tank, who felt so sturdy Clover could just about imagine Tank wasn’t his captor but someone to ensure his safety.
The auburn-haired guy who’d so far been the nicest of them all, called Boar for reasons beyond Clover’s understanding, glared at them from the driver’s seat. “Jesus, Drake! Give the boy a break. Why would he rat us out after we saved him from getting trafficked? Let’s just talk things through with him and be done with it by tomorrow.”
“Where are you from?” Tank asked, teasing Clover’s ear with his hot breath. They were so close that if Clover didn’t know the real reason for it, he would have assumed the guy was making a move on him. “When did they take you?”
“I refuse to answer until I know who you are,” Clover said, despite knowing these people could make him talk. They’d killed two people in that house, including Riggs. And then they casually blew up the building before packing up.
The other man at the front, Pyro, snorted. “Feisty for a kid half Tank’s size.”
This one really scared Clover. While stocky, rather than huge like Tank, he looked like an alien with the blue braid-mohawk and shaved eyebrows. But where he lacked hair above his eyes, twin tattoos of hot-rod like flames licked their way halfway up Pyro’s forehead. They were a poisonous green color, too.
“I’m not a kid. I’m nineteen,” Clover said.
Boar nudged Pyro with his elbow, grinning, and whispered all too loudly. The movement drew Clover’s eyes to the fat fists, and he noticed the two sets of letters on his knuckles. One spelled his own nickname, the other—Boar’s. Were those two family? A couple? Surely they couldn’t be brothers.
“Told you he’s legal.”
Clover’s face went aflame, and he looked their way, at a loss over what that meant, but the van stopped, and the opportunity to ask questions was gone.
“Right. Let’s get on with this,” Tank said, pulling at Clover’s shoulder to bring him closer to the doors at the back of the van. Drake held them open, revealing a small ranch-style house in the middle of nowhere. At first, Clover feared they’d just pass him on to someone like Riggs, but all the lights were off, and when Pyro produced a set of keys to open the door, it became clear it was their place.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Boar said, following Pyro inside.
Clover groaned when Tank picked him up. “Would be more comfortable if I could actually walk on my own.” He frowned at Tank. “Or is this fun for you?”
Tank shrugged and placed Clover back on his own feet, which left him to continue inside in the awkward position, both feet and chest bare. It didn’t help that he’d hurt his foot out in the desert. “Suit yourself, but I don’t mind a bit of weigh lifting, since our job tonight was much easier than expected.”
Job. So they were… mercenaries? Contract killers?
He inhaled softly and looked at the ends of his long white strands swiping the sand in the uncomfortable position. Each movement was a struggle, and when he glanced at Drake between his legs, the dark glare made him huff and try harder. But as he reached the steps leading inside and stomped on his own hair, Tank had enough.
He hauled Clover over his shoulder and carried him inside. Focusing became that bit harder when the thick fingers dug into the flesh of Clover’s thighs, but he still made the effort and took in the simple yet neat living room with leather seating, a TV, and a large table in the back, close to an outdated open-plan kitchen where Boar handed Pyro a beer and pulled the shorter man in for a kiss.
Clover did a double take, blinking a few times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things, but nope, Pyro grinned and squeezed Boar’s ass.
The hand on Clover’s thigh felt much hotter than before.
“Get a room,” Drake said, but passed his two companions on the way to the coffee machine, keeping more distance than necessary. So there were straight guys who had no issues with gay people, but it was hardly ever this casual, especially among hyper masculine guys like those four.