Three the Hard Way Page 8

  “Hey.” Tag tugged a blanket up over Justice’s shoulders. “Maybe you should rest—”

  “I’m sorry, Tag,” Justice whispered. “I’m so sorry about Madrid. I didn’t know.”

  “It’s okay. You couldn’t have known Itor’d grabbed me.”

  For some reason, Justice shook his head. “Madrid . . . you could have died.”

  “It’s okay,” he repeated. “Don’t blame yourself. Fuck, Justice, if anyone needs to apologize, it’s me. I should have gone to ACRO with you. You were right. If I’d done it, our moms would have been safe. They’re dead because of me—”

  Suddenly, Justice jacked into a sit and had one hand fisted in Tag’s shirt. Justice’s eyes were glassy, but his expression was as intense and angry as Tag’d ever seen it.

  “I was wrong,” he growled. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “But you believe it.”

  “I did, once. I was angry for a long time. But now . . . I know you weren’t ready for ACRO. It wouldn’t have been a good fit, and we’d have been driven apart anyway.” He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, those gorgeous blues were cast in shadow. “I said what I said because I was trying to punish you for choosing a normal life over me and ACRO. And I think I was trying to punish you for . . . for loving Ian.”

  Taggart had more apologizing to do, but Justice was flagging, his eyes going unfocused again as he fell back down on the mattress.

  “Ian’s here to help me.”

  “He could be lying.”

  “He’s not. He told me about something called a P-128S chip that Itor planted inside his shoulder to track him. He didn’t have to tell me about it. He didn’t have to ask me to destroy it. But he did, and now Itor’s going to know he’s not playing their game. They’ll kill him for that, Justice. He put his life on the line for me.”

  “P-128S chip . . .” Justice scowled. “Sounds familiar. You destroyed it?”

  “It was his idea.”

  Justice snorted softly. “So everything’s all great in Taggart-loves-Ian land?”

  “Not by a long shot. He lied and fucked me over hard. But I believe he regrets it, and I believe he came here to help.”

  “You didn’t deny that you love him.”

  Because that would be a lie. Tag looked down at his feet. Swallowed. Inhaled. Swallowed again. “I love you, Justice. Always have. I didn’t think I’d love anyone again after you, but somehow I fell for him. I don’t expect you to like him, but will you at least try to not be a dick to him? He’s here to help. Give him a chance.”

  Justice yawned, and his eyes drifted closed. “You gonna tell him the same thing?”

  “Yes.” For all the good it would do. He didn’t know if these two would ever get along.

  “Fuck.” Justice’s eyes remained closed, and his fists, once clenched, relaxed as the meds finally won out over his will. “Don’t wanna lose you again. Can’t lose you again.”

  Oh, and here was the worst stage of intoxication: the heartfelt confessions and declarations of love you regretted when you woke up the next day.

  Which made what Tag said next even worse, because he didn’t have the excuse of being drunk or drugged.

  “Justice,” he whispered. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

  Thankfully, he doubted Justice heard.

  By the time Ian had dug through all the prepper’s boxes of medical supplies and came back up from the basement with the saline bag, Justice had drifted off to sleep again.

  Must be nice. Not that Ian begrudged an injured guy sleep, but damn, Ian felt like he could snooze for a week. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until just now, when it seemed as if every muscle was protesting the climb up the stairs from the basement. Even his head was starting to hurt.

  He shook it off and sank onto the mattress next to Justice and prepped the back of the guy’s hand for the IV.

  “You look like shit,” Tag said, and yeah, that was helpful.

  “It’s been a long day.”

  “You sure what I did to the chip isn’t affecting you?”

  Strangely, the area surrounding the chip felt fine. There was only a little residual soreness, and Ian figured that would be gone by morning. “I’m sure. How was Justice while I was downstairs?”

  As he threaded the line into Justice’s vein, Tag reported, “He woke up and talked to me for a while, but he seemed pretty out of it.”

  “Yeah, he’s a little shocky. That’s to be expected. This should help. As long as he woke up and was semilucid, he’s okay to sleep another hour. We’ll keep waking him through the night.”

  “Fine by me.” Tag moved to lean against the wall and watched him finish setting up the IV.

  Ian turned Justice’s hand over, and his fingers fell open, revealing the long, thin mark on his palm. The one that was identical to Tag’s.

  A sour feeling swirled in Ian’s belly. Tag and Justice had so much history between them, so many stories Ian couldn’t touch. He’d never been one to give in to jealousy, but this time, he couldn’t help it. The marks on Justice and Taggart’s palms were physical evidence that their relationship went beyond simple memories.

  “You never told me about the scar,” he blurted, knowing how petty it sounded but not caring.

  Tag shrugged. “Never asked.”

  God, Tag hadn’t changed a bit. Ian didn’t know whether to be angry or grateful. “And I guess we don’t have to now, right?”

  “Really? You want to pretend we had a relationship where we talked about things?”

  “We fucking did, Taggart. Don’t shit on that memory.”

  “I’m not the one who did that first.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Ian pushed off the mattress and headed toward the door.

  Taggart called after him, “Ian . . . we were kids.”

  Ian paused, hand on the doorjamb. “Pretty serious scar for kids.”

  “Well, now that you know Justice, you see that he’s a pretty serious guy.”

  “He can be intense, yes. But so can you.”

  “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

  Ian didn’t answer him one way or the other, mainly because he knew it would annoy Taggart . . . but also because he knew he couldn’t stay and listen to anything more about Tag and Justice’s love for each other.

  Justice was beautiful when he was sleeping.

  Tag watched him from the corner chair in the bedroom, a bottle of bourbon nearly touching the floor as it dangled from his fingers. For the first time since Justice arrived at the cabin, he looked like he had before that day four years ago when Itor had destroyed their lives. Gone was the steely-eyed, guarded agent who could so easily have shot Ian and tossed him out for the wolves, just as he’d said. Now, in deep slumber, Justice looked peaceful. Relaxed. And even with the bandages, he looked sexy as hell.

  Taggart could still remember the first time he’d thought of Justice in that way. At least, the first time he’d admitted to himself that he was attracted to the other boy.

  They’d been seventeen, and Justice was sleeping over because his mom was helping out a friend, and they’d needed his room for a few nights. Tag and Justice had slept in the same room often enough, and it wasn’t a big deal for the two of them to share a bed when they had to.

  Fine. Great. No problem. But although Justice had known he was gay for most of his life, Taggart had been a little slow on the uptake. He’d been athletic, a total jock who attracted the cheerleaders, and he’d been happy to take what they offered.

  Then that morning . . . Jesus, he could still see it in his mind, as clear as it’d been all those years ago.

  The sun had been on the horizon, its hazy rays peeking through the dusty slats of his bedroom blinds. The mattress had been jiggling in a slow, rhythmic bounce and his first, sleep-fogged thought had been that they were experiencing a mild earthquake.

  We’re not even in frigging California.

  Taggart managed to peel his eyes open to see if
Justice was awake and feeling the same thing. And yeah, the other boy was awake. His head was kicked back into the pillow, his face contorted in what Tag first thought was agony.

  Instantly alert, Tag swept his gaze lower, sure the guy was suffering from some horrible illness. But holy shit . . . he got real clear on what was happening a heartbeat later.

  One of Justice’s big hands rested on his bare stomach, and the other was beneath the blankets, moving up and down. The impressive tent at his groin grew larger as he worked his cock, and Taggart’s mouth went so dry he thought he might choke.

  He knew he shouldn’t watch. Knew he should close his eyes and go back to sleep. But watching Justice jerk off was somehow the biggest turn-on of his teenaged life. And he’d seen his share of girly magazines and pornos. Not to mention that just last weekend, Heidi Cummings had given him his first blowjob in the back of her daddy’s Chevy, and watching her blonde head bob on his dick had set him off embarrassingly fast.

  Now, watching Justice was threatening to make him come all over himself with no physical stimulation at all.

  A fine sheen of sweat glistened on Justice’s chest as his muscles clenched and his body strained under the onslaught of pleasure. What would he do if Tag reached over and . . . and what? Helped? His buddy had everything under control. Besides, Taggart had never been with a guy, and when and if he decided to test those waters, he wouldn’t choose Justice as his first. He couldn’t risk their friendship. He might not have a lot of life experience, but he’d learned enough from his mother to know that truly good friends were the family you chose for yourself, and they were few and far between.

  But that didn’t stop him from having to bite his tongue to suppress a groan as Justice’s body arched and his strokes came faster. His lips parted as he began to pant, and damn, Taggart wanted to taste that mouth, to dive inside it and kiss the shit out of his friend as Justice came.

  Justice shoved his free hand under the covers and lifted them as his climax took him, and Tag’s mouth watered—honest-to-God watered—as cum shot from the tip of his cock to his sweat-drenched abs and chest.

  Taggart’s own cock was rock hard and throbbing, his balls tight with the need to blow. Somehow, he remained silent and still, keeping his breathing controlled and steady, until Justice swung off the bed, his underwear and sleep pants tugged down in front, and dashed off to the bathroom.

  With a sigh of relief, Tag palmed his cock, and in five strokes, he was there. The orgasm hit him so hard he saw stars. Quickly, he grabbed a sock off the floor, cleaned himself up, and was eyes closed and faking sleep before Justice even shut off the water.

  That image had become Taggart’s masturbation fantasy of choice for years, even long after he and Justice parted ways. Hell, he’d gone to that place in his head as recently as last year, after Ian had destroyed him.

  So yeah, Justice had always been there, taking up real estate where he didn’t belong. And that pissed off Tag more than anything else.

  The guy had always been in his head and heart. And now he was in his bed, too. How was he supposed to deal with that?

  “He’ll be okay, you know.”

  Tag looked up to see Ian standing in the doorway, one shoulder braced against the frame, his stockinged feet crossed at the ankles. They hadn’t spoken since the strained conversation earlier. He’d wanted to give Ian some space, sure, but frankly, Tag hadn’t wanted to talk. Not when his brain was still processing everything that’d happened in the last twenty-four hours.

  “Yeah, I know he’ll be okay,” Tag said. “Justice has always been a tough bastard.”

  “Then why the bedside vigil?”

  Tag eyed Ian as he took a swig from the bottle. God, the guy was good-looking. “It’s what we do. I got pneumonia when I was eleven, and he was there, day and night. When he broke his leg when he was fourteen, I didn’t leave his side until he could walk on his own.”

  He’d even bypassed nurses, doctors, and security in those first few hours after Justice had arrived at the hospital, because fuck if anyone was keeping him away from his friend. Not family, they’d said? Screw that. Family had nothing to do with blood.

  He glanced away from Ian before he did something stupid, like take his hand and pull him down on top of him. Not for sex, but for comfort.

  “I hate that you have that kind of history with him.”

  Tag blinked. “What?”

  “It’s that jealousy thing again. You’ve got twenty-six years of history with him, and I can’t compete with that.”

  He watched the steady rise and fall of Justice’s chest. How many times had he laid his head on that chest and just listened to his strong heartbeat? “It doesn’t have to be a competition.”

  “Doesn’t it?” Ian murmured. “You have to choose one of us. Or have you already made that decision?”

  Panic tightened his rib cage, squeezing his heart so hard he felt actual pain. He couldn’t make a decision. Not again. He’d been cornered into a choice before—Justice and ACRO or nothing at all, and he’d chosen poorly. Clearly, his judgment was suspect.

  “I don’t know what to do, Ian. I’d rather ride out on my snow machine and meet Itor by myself than lose one of you.” He gave a bitter snort. “You’re right. I do run when things get real.”

  “And this is as real as it gets.” Ian scrubbed his hand over his face, and it didn’t escape Tag’s notice that his fingers were trembling. “I don’t want to lose you, Tag. I’ll do anything. I’ll share you with him if I have to. I can learn to like him. He is kinda hot.”

  Tag had a feeling that last bit was thrown in to test his jealousy factor . . . and oddly enough, he didn’t feel jealous at all. These were the two loves of his life in this room, and if anything, this felt right.

  Which was so wrong.

  He shoved to his feet. “I can’t talk about this right now.” He started to push past Ian, but the guy grabbed him, spun him, and put his back to the wall.

  “We don’t have to talk,” Ian growled. “But I have to do this.”

  He slanted his mouth over Tag’s. Somehow, Ian always knew what Tag wanted, and right now, he wanted comfort. Human contact. Reassurance that he wasn’t alone in being confused but still in love.

  And so did Ian.

  Tag’s tongue slipped between Ian’s lips, and that fast, the temperature in the room shot up ten degrees. Ian’s hands gripped his shoulders so hard that sweet pain shot through both Tag’s arms.

  “You know what made me fall for you?” Ian whispered against Tag’s mouth. “Life.”

  “What?”

  Ian spoke as he kissed his way along Tag’s jaw. “I didn’t feel alive until I met you. And you . . . you are life. I’ve never met anyone who just wanted to be normal. To have a life where you take the day off to rent jet skis or go to a concert in the park at dusk.”

  Tag smiled, the memories of their days at the beach and concerts seeming so distant, given the cold, the snow, and the fact that Christmas was just days away. “That’s why I fell for you, Ian . . . Oh, yeah, right there . . .”

  Ian’s hands had dropped to his ass, his mouth to his throat, and his erection was cozying up to Tag’s. “I felt safe with you. Needed. Things I hadn’t felt since Justice. You were full of life. You still can be—”

  Ian cut him off with a brutal kiss, as if it was the last one they’d ever share. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

  “I need you,” he murmured against Ian’s lips.

  Ian’s hands found his fly, ripped it open, and then Tag’s cock was in Ian’s fist. “I’m so going to fuck you.”

  No. He wasn’t ready for that. And weirdly, the fact that he hadn’t fucked Justice yesterday played a role in his hesitation. He couldn’t give himself to one man but not the other. Besides—

  With a growl, he yanked Ian out of the bedroom and into the living room. “You fucked me when you betrayed me to Itor,” he said. He didn’t mean to be cruel; if anything, he needed closure on that. “My turn.”


  He spun Ian around and slammed him forward over the back of the couch. Roughly, he jerked Ian’s jeans and long johns down, leaving them tangled around his feet so he couldn’t move. As he straightened, he smoothed his hands up Ian’s long, muscular legs until he reached that sweet ass.

  Spreading his cheeks with his thumbs, Tag pressed the flat of his tongue against Ian’s balls and licked upward, over his puckered hole and through the deep valley, all the way to the small of Ian’s back. Ian mumbled something, but Tag didn’t catch it, didn’t care. All that mattered was burying himself balls-deep inside the only man besides Justice he’d ever loved.

  He gave himself a couple of strokes, and then cursed. “Hold on. Condom.”

  Ian’s hand came around and gripped Tag’s hip before he could move. “Don’t need one. Pac-1 injection.”

  Tag’s sex-logged brain didn’t process that for a second, but, right . . . at Itor, he’d also been injected with the combined contraceptive/anti-STD drug all of the super-agent types used.

  It was the one thing Tag could thank Itor for, he supposed.

  But there was still the matter of lube . . .

  Three feet away, on the counter, was a crock of butter. That’ll do.

  Keeping one hand on Ian’s back, Tag stretched for the crock, knocked the lid off, and dipped a finger inside.

  “Hurry, Tag,” Ian said, his tone just shy of begging.

  It took Tag two seconds to coat his erection and guide it to Ian’s waiting entrance. He wasn’t going to last once he was inside Ian, so he took the entry slow and easy for as long as he could stand it.

  He watched the head disappear, Ian’s tight ass drawing him in. “Damn,” he breathed. “I forgot how . . . good you feel.”

  Ian moaned and pushed back in response, taking Taggart deep. Silky heat surrounded him as Ian clenched and rotated his hips, demanding more. Hell, yes, after a year of missing this firm ass, he was going to get more.

  He pulled back, nearly withdrawing, before punching his hips forward in a single, powerful thrust. Ian shouted in pleasure, just as Tag knew he would. Ian had always liked taking it a little rough, and Tag liked giving it to him.