“You are just breathtaking,” Kerr said with wonder.
Appeased that at least the psycho had good taste, Ian nodded. “Thank you. Considering your own fair features, I appreciate the compliment.”
Kerr grinned and stared at Ian’s cock as if the thing would disappear. To Ian’s relief, he didn’t get the least bit hard.
“You’re well-endowed too. How lovely for Owen.”
Ian shrugged. “You do realize I’ve been looking for a sugar daddy for years, don’t you?”
“Oh?” Kerr wouldn’t fall for this. He couldn’t. But Ian had nowhere else to go with his playacting. Now to convince Kerr he’d switch teams without a care. “Caleb, you dick. Kerr is right here!” he sent as hard as he could.
Nothing.
“Tell me, darling,” Kerr tittered. “Is this where you convince me that I could make you happy and that Owen means nothing to you? That together, you and I can rule the world?”
“Okay, even for me that’s overly dramatic.” Ian shrugged and let the pretense drop. He immediately read Kerr and knew lying would get him nowhere. At least, not blatant lying. “Hey, it was worth a shot.”
Kerr seemed more interested. “So you admit you and Owen are a couple?”
“Sure. He’s madly in love with me.” Ian nodded. “I mean, look at this face, honey. And my body.” He did a pirouette and stuck out his ass. Kerr latched onto him like a magnet. “Did I mention I’m an A-plus cocksucker? Yes, I’m a gay man and proud of it.”
Kerr laughed. “Funny too.”
“Yes. Tell my boss that.”
“Owen?”
“No. He’s not my boss. Are you crazy?” All signs point to yes. “Dalton, pay attention. I’m naked, Kerr has a huge erection, and the camera is rolling. Um, time to step in, maybe?” “You never sleep with your employer, because when the relationship goes bad, as it usually does, then you’re out of a job too.”
“Intelligent as well. Ian Ryder, what can’t you do?”
Kerr took off his shirt and tossed it to the floor. He had enough muscle to make the possibility of taking him down difficult. Shove matches were not Ian’s style. He outthought, not outmuscled, his opponents.
“I’m guessing I can’t bribe my way out of this.” He motioned from him to Kerr.
“No, sorry.”
“Well, what if I told you about your father’s and brother’s deaths? What’s that worth?”
Kerr stopped moving. “What about them?”
Ian crossed his arms over his chest, too aware of his dick hanging free in the wind. Man, he’d never take being dressed for granted again. “Did you know Owen had them killed?”
“Of course.”
Ian narrowed his eyes. “But did you know how?” “Caleb, if you’re going to make a move, now’s the time.” Something had gone seriously wrong. Shit, shit, shit.
Kerr advanced and touched Ian’s chest. His small hands felt cold, clammy. Ian couldn’t suppress a shiver. He’d worried about rape when younger and on the streets, but he’d never let himself get this close to danger. And this was worse, because Kerr wanted to hurt not just Ian, but Owen as well.
“How?” Kerr wrapped one hand around Ian’s cock, the other around his throat, over the already tight collar.
Ian wanted to throw up. Instead, he kept his cool. “Owen did it himself,” he whispered.
Kerr stared at his mouth.
“With a thought,” Ian continued, then sneered. “You fucking shithead. Why do you think I let your men capture me? For a big bad villain, you’re not that smart.”
Kerr squeezed his neck and cock with equal pressure. And fuck, it hurt.
“How’s this for smart, you little queen?”
Ian didn’t want it to go like this, but he couldn’t break Kerr’s hold. A chain attached to his collar would have made a nice weapon. Too bad he didn’t have one. The pain in his groin made it impossible to concentrate on anything else.
“Hold on, Ian. Just a minute.” Dalton. Finally.
Ian felt a pressure on his mind, then a loosening as a bright light flashed in Kerr’s eyes. Kerr blinked.
“Wh-what?”
His grip lessened, and Ian threw himself back and watched Kerr stagger.
“No. No. Get out of my head. Stop it.” He gripped his hair and yanked. Chunks of hair and skin ripped out. Blood trickled from his nose, his ears, and even more disgusting, his eyes. “Owen! Fuck you. Leave me alone,” he screeched at the top of his lungs. He looked around him with wild desperation, and then he focused on the fire. “No!”
Kerr ran into it all the same, ramming himself headfirst into the flames.
The sight and smell of burned flesh made Ian sick, and he retched as Kerr screamed and flailed, burning to death as he watched. Expecting Kerr’s thugs to storm in to see what was happening, Ian stumbled to his feet and raced away from the fireplace.
“How many more?” Dalton asked, his voice distant.
“Three that I saw.” Yet no one arrived to help Kerr. No one responded to the screaming. “No one’s come in.”
“No one will. Sit tight, and we’ll be there in half an hour. Listen for the jet.”
They made it in twenty minutes. But they looked like hell. Ian had managed to lose the collar, thank God. He’d dressed in his own clothes again and wiped his prints from anything he might have touched in the off chance of an investigation. He’d also stepped over the bodies of Koffman, Fielder, Neever, and another guy and figured Owen must have gotten to them too.
When the cavalry arrived through the door, he turned to thank them, seeking his lover, needing his support. Keegan, Jack, and Dalton were there, dirty and bruised. No sign of Owen.
“Where’s Owen?” He started to panic. No way would Owen not be here to meet him unless he’d been hurt. “What the hell happened to you guys?” He stared at Dalton’s bruised forehead, thinking the guy looked about to pass out.
“We’re all good,” Dalton croaked. “Owen’s in the plane. He can’t move right now.”
“What happened?” Ian asked and ran past them, not waiting on an answer.
“Nothing Heather can’t fix,” Jack yelled.
Ian raced back behind the house to the small runway and hurried into the jet to see Owen lying in the back, his hand like hamburger, bloody and burned. He was also covered in soot, his clothes ragged. Ian threw himself to his knees and stroked his lover’s hair.
“Owen, baby. It’s over. We won.”
Owen didn’t stir, and Ian freaked. He started crying, breaking down. He’d finally found a man he could love, someone who knew and saw the real him. Only to lose him to a madman?
“Damn it, Ian.” Jack physically pulled him away and thrust him at someone else.
Ian couldn’t think straight. The trauma of the past twelve hours made his brain hurt. The kidnapping, the fear, the worry Owen might die…
“…be ready, honey. He looks terrible. Caleb’s hurt too, and I want you to check Ian. He’s irrational, even for him,” he heard Jack saying.
“Shut up, Jack.”
Dalton, defending him? A heavy arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him into a bench seat right next to Caleb. The plane took off before he could belt himself in, but Dalton held him tight.
“Don’t worry, buddy. Owen’s a fighter. He’ll be just fine.” Keegan grinned, but he looked pale.
They all looked terrible. Ian cried harder.
“Shit,” Dalton swore. “Don’t tell Owen I did this, okay?”
“Not a word,” Keegan answered.
“Ian?” Dalton’s voice was soft, caring.