Page 57 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

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. “Youjust 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.”

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