Page 83 of Naughty Dreams
He retrieved his phone and dialed the number he had in mind.
“Where do you need me, and who do we have to kill? PleaseGod, tell me there’s someone I have to kill.”
The greeting gave him a startled smile, a welcome balm to his roiling gut. Roy cleared his husky throat. “You can’t already be bored with that psychotic Mistress of yours.”
“No. But I have figured out what Hell is. It’s a backyard full of weeds. Where do all the little fuckers come from?” He heard a grunt, and a sound like a spade stabbing into the earth to excise an offender. “Cyn didn’t appreciate my suggestion that we cover it all in concrete and put in a pool. She eviscerated me for pulling up yellow flowers she said weren’t weeds. Even though the yellow flowers she had me pull yesterday were. Dandelions versus mums. A yellow flower is a yellow flower, am I right? Fuckme.”
Even though Mick was grousing, what Roy heard in his voice was the closest thing to contentment he’d heard from him in years. His and Cyn’s bond had helped him manage his darkness, spawned by the world he’d inhabited for way too long as an undercover agent to stop human trafficking.
Mick had explained it to Roy in a weird but memorable way. “Cyn says worms can regenerate their tails and some of their internal organs, depending on where the cut happens. So her opinion is the soul can be re-grown the same way.”
Roy might use the comparison to convince DJ of it.
Mick was a protective alpha sub masochist who needed pain as much as he needed to care for the woman who provided it. Cyn was a Dominant sadist who loved Mick so fiercely she’d decapitate anyone who gave him a hangnail. All while she claimed the exclusive right to dish out the high levels of pain he needed. They were meant for one another.
“Sorry to interrupt your twisted version of domestic bliss,” Roy said. “But I need help.”
He could almost see the transformation the portentous words brought to his friend. When Mick stood up and walked away from the weeds, his demeanor would change, his eyes becoming cold and body gripped by that tensile energy that said he was ready. If Cyn was nearby, she would notice and be on alert.
“You never ask me for help, Roy.”
“Yeah. DJ James is my current client.”
“Fuck. The plane.” Mick didn’t say anything else. He wouldn’t tell Roy stupid shit, like it wasn’t his fault, or how sorry he was. Those things didn’t mean anything, to either of them.
“The plane was the work of a stalker,” Roy said. “The current working theory is an explosive device detonated upon landing to make it look like an accident.”
“That’s sophisticated shit. Are you sure?”
“The bastard called DJ afterward to take credit, but they won’t rule in his favor until they’ve verified. G’s source only gave us the high-level theory, but I’d bet my right nut it’s correct.”
Mick was silent for a beat. “Okay, tell me more.”
“He’s not your garden variety obsessive stalker. He has above average intelligence and a lot of patience. I’ll send you everything I’ve handed over to the FBI, but I don’t have access to their investigation or the NTSB’s, and I really want the details.”
“I can get that. What’s your end game here? Help the FBI catch him, or cut him up? New Orleans has a lot of hungry gators, if you recall.”
“More tempting than I can describe, but if he isn’t killed during capture, I’ll settle for him never seeing the outside of a prison. As soon as I can make it happen, we’re going to drop off the radar. Cash only, random road trip, low profile. If he can’t find DJ, he might lose his shit and tip his hand. His end game is making this kid his personal toy.”
“And then killing him, when he doesn’t live up to his expectations. Which is going to be Cyn’s justified homicide defense when I deadhead the wrong plant. Is the client cooperating, or is he a diva?”
“As much as he can cooperate while grieving this hard. No, he’s not a diva. But even when he’s not seeking attention, attention finds him, because that’s how he is. He gets noticed.”
A pause. “Are you noticing him?”
Roy managed a humorless half chuckle. No surprise Mick picked up on it. “I am. He matters, Mick.”
“You said never with a client.” There was no criticism in Mick’s tone.
“Yeah, well… You know how Murphy is.”
“One of us really needs to find that prick and deal with him. But sometimes he gives us what we want, even if at a really inconvenient time.” Mick paused. “Okay, shoot me whatever info will help me dig. Cyn wants to talk to you.”
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Cyn’s sultry voice was like heated massage oil, poured over a man’s privates. It made him willing to endure anything to keep hearing it, even if she spiked it with acid to remind him he served her needs, not his.
“G and Warren are watching my back while I handle what DJ needs from me.”
“Good. We’re fond of you. Even if you refuse to try being a submissive for a day.”
