It was too late and the best Jag could do was stay hidden and count on a chance to flee while Frank was dealing with Dex and the stranger.
His heart near-stopped when the door to Dex’s room burst wide open and hit the lattice in front of Jag’s face.
“What the fuck?” Frank roared, entering with his thick arms wide.
The eyes of Dex’s lover went wide when he unsucked himself from the cock, and he grabbed the sheet in panic to cover himself, leaving Dex naked.
“Who is this?” the man asked Dex, who raised his arms.
“Chill, he’s not my boyfriend or something!”
Frank snarled. “I’m his uncle, you fuck, and this is my house. Get the fuck out if you like your nose where it is!”
That was all the motivation the stranger needed to dash for the clothes scattered on the floor.
“Put something on! The last thing I wanna see right now is your dick!” Frank yelled, and Jag held his breath when his older friend opened the closet, revealing his presence.
Jag attempted to push himself between the jeans hanging off the rail above him, but to no avail. Frank stared at him in shocked silence, like a bear finding a wolf cub instead of one of her own.
Frank’s chest expanded, his face darkened, and he ducked forward, dragging Jag out by the arm. When his dusky skin gained a reddish hue, he looked like a monster about to consume Jag’s face. “What the fuck? You’re perving on my nephew?”
The world spun as the rough wood rubbed against Jag’s palms, but he glanced up, desperate to defend himself. “He invited me,” he said helplessly as the stranger paused mid-buttoning his pants and moved his gaze to Dex, pale as a sheet.
“You… you what? Are you fucking filming this or something?” he roared, looking around with eyes wide as satellite dishes.
Naked, Dex put his hands up, but at least his erection was going down. “No, I just—”
The guy shook his head and grabbed his shoes. “You’re fucked in the head! I should have known it by the ink on your neck. Never call me again!” he yelled and rushed out, but the distraction didn’t make Frank’s grip any looser on Jag’s arm.
Dex covered himself with the sheet and hissed in exasperation. “Your rules are bullshit, Frank! I can’t live like this!”
“The rules are in place because you can’t fucking take care of yourself! You literally brought a junkie home once because he told you he had an eleven-inch-dick, and then he robbed us,” Frank growled.
Dex scowled. “That was two years ago. I was young and stu—”
“You’re still young and stupid!” Frank shook Jag while he spoke. “And what is this fuckery about?”
Dex scowled. “So Jag can have a man at the junkyard and I can’t?”
Jag’s head boiled, and there was only one way to deal with this when Frank’s attention zeroed in on him.
Run.
He slid out of the loose top he was wearing and left it in Frank’s hand, bolting for the window. Blood thudded in his ears, dulling Frank’s roar, but within the blink of an eye Jag was out of the house and running off.
Frank’s anger would eventually simmer down, but Jag would have to remain in hiding for the next few days. This was exactly why he’d chosen to keep the location of his den secret. Frank wasn’t the kind of man who used a firearm willy-nilly, but as Jag sped through the cleared area around the house, toward the safety of the junk mounds, he could almost hear his father’s rifle and the bullets it had sent after him when he’d fled the family homestead.
Even though he’d gotten caught up in the moment with Dex promising to show him tricks, Jag was now thinking that it had been unnecessary. What tricks did two stags need when—to be fair, stags didn’t rut with each other, but that wasn’t the point.
It was a shame he didn’t get his hands on any treats, but they had lots of dry goods so it wouldn’t be an issue. And who knew? With Dane being so keen on hunting, maybe he’d soon manage to hunt down his first rabbit? Jag would make a feast out of it to reward Dane’s efforts.
He’d built his home far from Frank’s and ran the whole distance, itching to find comfort in the warm arms painted over with permanent color. They’d have to lie low in the upcoming days, and that meant more kissing, more loving, more walks at sunrise, before the remaining inhabitants of the junkyard started their days.
By the time he reached the homestead and walked down the slope behind their shower, the ill mood had lifted from his shoulders. He headed for the shack, which they’d secured with extra reinforcement, to prevent accidents like the one that destroyed the original den.