Two Good Men [Hell's Delight: Unbridled 3] (Siren Pubishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) Read online

  Hell’s Delight: Unbridled 3

  Two Good Men

  Everyone's just looking for two good men.

  Aspiring animal orthotist Dodge Hendy is shocked and yet oddly thrilled by what he sees through Kingsize Taylor’s window. The recently divorced, bicurious Dodge is open to newcomers. When King comes to the hotel to apologize to Dodge, they stumble across two dead bodies that cry out for their assistance. They can’t leave this case unsolved.

  Rodeo star Kingsize Taylor is swept away by Dodge’s untouched beauty. King is ready to settle down and create a home with another man but is skittish about Dodge’s ten-year-old son, Ryan. He’s never been monogamous with anyone who had a kid before.

  The plot thickens when they follow the main suspect to the gay rodeo. Dodge, like the suspicious fumigator, is deathly afraid of being outed in a politically correct world. But in his journeys with King through the underbelly of bawdy night clubs and forensics labs, Dodge realizes he’s found the man everyone looks for.

  Genre: Alternative (M/M, Gay), Contemporary, Romantic Suspense

  Length: 38,264 words

  TWO GOOD MEN

  Hell's Delight: Unbridled 3

  Karen Mercury

  

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  TWO GOOD MEN

  Copyright © 2017 by Karen Mercury

  ISBN: 978-1-64010-345-0

  First Publication: May 2017

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All art and logo copyright © 2017 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

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  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Karen’s lives near Napa, California where she shoots archery, collects minerals, plays with her not-so-little Newfoundland pup, and writes smexy romance novels.

  For all titles by Karen Mercury, please visit

  www.bookstrand.com/karen-mercury

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Landmarks

  Cover

  TWO GOOD MEN

  Hell's Delight: Unbridled 3

  KAREN MERCURY

  Copyright © 2017

  Chapter One

  Dodge

  I drove through the gates of Hardscrabble Ranch using the passcode Kingsize “King” Taylor had given me. I was feeling pretty good about myself, about my prosthesis. Using 3D technology, I had fabricated a custom three-quarter plastic leg for this gelding, Firewater. Now I was supposed to see King, the owner of the horse. I was overjoyed to do my first job for the ranch.

  Two-story yellow ranch house. This must be it. I was going to pick up King at his house here, then we’d ride to the stables to fit Firewater with the prosthetic. I figured he’d just hop in the passenger door, so I left the leg in the truck and leaped up the few steps to the front porch.

  I paused just short of knocking on the door, because I heard something inside.

  A whapping, like a whipping or beating, something smacking bare flesh.

  And some guy crying out in anguish.

  What in the name of a mirrored Rolls Royce is going on around there? Had someone taken King hostage and was torturing him? Instead of showing my hand and knocking, I smartly went around to some blind-covered windows where the slats had not been screwed down tight. Peeking through, I did indeed see a nearly-naked guy dangling from cuffs on ceiling chains. At the time, it didn’t really occur to me to wonder how someone had broken in and taken all the time to install this ceiling chain. Also, to ensure comfort for the victim by using what I found out later were called “suspension cuffs,” special leather cuffs that help prevent shoulder dislocation.

  All I saw was a cut, jacked sadist whacking the guy’s creamy white ass with what looked like a ping-pong paddle.

  And the poor victim, eyes tightly screwed up, crying in agony.

  His rounded ass was paddled a vivid red. Strangely, his penis stood out proudly, stiffly, his balls full of cream. Well, maybe it was exciting to be spanked. I wouldn’t know. I’d just gotten out of a very sexually dull and unadventurous marriage. I’d been more angered when Cindy had taken off with some salt-of-the-earth auto mechanic who obviously had more going on in that department than me. For the first time ever, I saw Cindy’s eyes full of sexual fervor when she thought of that jackoff. She’d never looked like that at me.

  But now I had to do something. Kingsize Taylor was being beaten by this professional sadist—I could tell that by the crisscross harness that latticed his hairless chest, the grim set of his handsome jaw, the long blond hair pulled back in a tight man bun. This guy was a pro all the way, and he’d broken in just to manhandle this poor cowman, maybe torture him into telling him where the money was hidden.

  My eyes did linger on the tormentor’s package. Tight chaps were snapped around his muscular thighs just for looks, because he didn’t look like a cowman at all with that ink around his bare hip, some picture of—oh, I guessed it was a skull wearing a ten-gallon hat, pistols crossed beneath it. That’s what led me to glance at his full package. I was already looking at his tattoo. It was no big deal to lower my gaze a couple inches and see—admire, really—his long, thick cock cradled in those faded jeans, nearly popping the metal buttons of the fly.

  It turned him on to spank King.

  I could commiserate with poor King, though. What would it be like to dangle there helplessly? He could’ve kicked the sadist, I guess, but that just would’ve increased the beatings, for better or worse. As I watched, I must’ve been holding my breath, because soon I could hear what they were actually saying to each other.

  “I found out what you’ve been up to,” snarled the blond. His nipples stood out stiffly, clearly aroused by his torture. He had a syrupy Texas drawl. “You’ve been incredibly bad. You’ve gone against my rules.”

  “I didn’t mean to!” cried King. He obviously knew the bondage boss, and yes, one particularly sharp thwack seemed to bring a couple drops of semen spurting from the tip of his penis. But to allow someone to hurt you like this? Why? “I would never go against you, Master! You know that!”

  Master? Wow. Was it possible these adult men were playing some kind o
f mutually satisfying game? No way. I was riveted to the spot, my lower jaw hanging, practically creaking on its hinge. What had King been doing to cause such punishment? Herding the cows the wrong direction? Oh, wait, he was some kind of rodeo star, supposedly. Was this tormentor a rival, someone who wanted to put him out of the running in the bronc-busting competition?

  “But you did, boy.” Boy? They were the same age. What kind of strange scene was this? “You broke my cardinal rule.” Now his bare hand slapped King’s erection! King winced and grunted, but I didn’t note his hard-on flagging any.

  I knew I should run, do something about this horrifying event, but what? And I was rooted to the spot, galvanized with fascination. I was witnessing a crime, a sexual assault, and I was…turned on by it?

  Yes, my own fucking penis was ballooning to attention inside my loose cargo pants, my loose boxers! What the fuck? Was I some sort of secret masochist, enjoying the hell out of this nasty, deviant scene being played out in front of me? Shame washed over me, but still I didn’t tear myself away. I wanted to see what happened next. It reminded me of something that had happened to me in the locker room after playing in a college football game, and I wanted to know how it played out. Did the same thing happen that happened to me?

  “Yes!” gasped King. “I scened with someone else!”

  Another slap to the stiff prick. “Right. I saw you at the Bottoms Up with that One True Wayer. That jizzmonger in those assless chaps, that black bulldog mask. What was the fucking idea with that ballhead?”

  “I—I didn’t think you’d be there!” cried King. Shit, I was losing respect for this guy. Could he grovel a bit more? If he wanted to mess with some douche monster in latex assless chaps, then he should stand up for himself!

  With a shock, I realized that I suddenly knew it was a game. No one was assaulting anyone. These two men were all perfectly consensual in their twisted performance. King was enjoying being paddled by this buff sadist, who in turn was taking pleasure in watching the shuddering of the shapely ass, the bobbing of the hard-on. Holy motherfuck. Gay cowboys really did exist.

  They were not just a cinematic cliché. They were real, muscular, with chiseled features and twitching, clenched jaws. Blond gods with icicles sparkling in their irises, patchy facial hair to show their youth.

  And I was getting hot watching them.

  It seemed then that the blond sadist’s eyes flickered, and he saw me. Maybe I was wrong, but it shocked me into action.

  Gasping, I spun around and took several long strides back across the porch. I’d made it almost to my truck when my phone chimed at my waist. Without thinking twice, I answered it. I was a sheet metal worker. Guys called me night and day.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, ah, Dodge Hendy?”

  “That’s me.” I paused in the act of getting into the driver’s seat. Something was weird.

  “Howdy. Kingsize Taylor here.” His warm, syrupy Texas drawl had gooseflesh racing up and down my spine. “Sorry if I wasn’t ready for y’all. I, ah, got caught up in something.”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” I said politely. “I’m running late, too. I’m not even there yet.”

  I glanced up at the window and gasped audibly. Kingsize Taylor stared at me through the horizontal slats, sapphire eyes narrowed suspiciously at me. Holy motherfuck. Kingsize Taylor was the blond sadist with the crisscross chest harness. And he was still gripping his ass paddle.

  “Uh-huh,” agreed King. “I’m glad you’re still over yonder in your metallic bronze king cab Chevy Silverado truck, and haven’t reached my house yet.”

  I froze. I had to say something. “Oh. Ha-ha. Well, yeah, I just got to your house. Haven’t knocked on your door yet.” Now I had to pretend to be exiting the truck instead of getting into it, slamming the door hard. I couldn’t let on that I saw him in the window, his genuine faded leather cowboy chaps snapped around his bulging crotch, his toned abdominal muscles like icy moguls you could ski over.

  “I’ll be out front right quick.” He dropped the blinds, and in about ten seconds was striding onto the porch. He’d done away with the harness and paddle and was now shirtless in all his glory. That flimsy rag he held in his hand appeared to be a T-shirt so worn and frayed you could see his—yep, when he whipped it over his torso you could see his stiff nipples poking right through the fabric. Why bother with a shirt like that?

  I affected a smile, putting my phone back into its holster. I hoped to hell I was sauntering casually toward King’s front steps. I was appalled on so many levels—that he knew I’d witnessed what he was doing in his front room, that he knew I was lying about just getting there, that I still had a visible hard-on. When I held out my hand for him to shake, his naked partner ambled across the foyer, rubbing his wrists, completely unconcerned that his ass was reddened by a spanking.

  I have to tell you. The whole thing was electric. My nipples stiffened, too, as if in recognition of King’s hard nubbins. I couldn’t wait to get away, but I couldn’t imagine forcing myself to do so.

  “You got the prosthetic?”

  “Sure do. Right in the back seat. Take a ride over to Firewater?”

  “Sho’ ’nuff. Just, ah, give me a second, aight?”

  “Aight,” I agreed, before noticing I was using a Texas twang, too.

  Chapter Two

  King

  “Now, I’m more than likely going to have to take this back to my shop and make adjustments. And you know you’re going to have to take it off every night to be cleaned.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. It was fascinating, what Dodge Hendy was doing. This guy was a freaking genius, like Balt Aquino had told me when Dodge had done the initial casting of Firewater’s limb. Firewater had been a rodeo roping horse until the accident. He’d been charged by a steer that ran back on the rope, which wrapped around his cannon. The steer had run off, almost slicing through the cannon bone. The leg had to be amputated, and we'd heard of Dodge Hendy, a newcomer to Hell’s Delight. Instead of hopping, Firewater would now gallop, although of course not as a rodeo animal. “You know, he would’ve been put down if it weren’t for you. I guess you know, horses can’t walk nearly as well as say a dog or goat with three limbs.”

  The guy was strapping the fake limb on with Velcro. It was fucking ingenious. “Yeah. Amputation like that is usually a death sentence. If it was amputated any higher up on the hock, I would’ve had to get creative. But I’ve done several like this. He’s only four years old. I think he can live to be twenty-five or thirty.”

  I folded my arms and took a step closer. This orthotist—I think that’s what we were supposed to call them—was one fascinating dude. The fact that he’d been spying on my scene with Adam only piqued my curiosity about him. “Where you from? I never heard of you before Balt told me you were coming.”

  “Modesto.” Firewater was raring to go. He knew this was the leg, the one that would help him run again. Dodge had to pat him to get him to hold tight until he was done. “I was just getting my orthotic business started when I, ah, I decided to move here. All right, boy. Let’s try it out.” He stood and the animal was off across the corral.

  Firewater walked for only a few steps. He was almost immediately trotting. Before I knew it, he’d busted into a right-lead canter, and I was laughing aloud. “He’s riding high!” I hollered. “He’s running like the dogs are after him.”

  Dodge was laughing out loud, too. “Look at him go! What in the name of a flaming spaghetti monster? I’m surprised it’s working out so well.”

  I laughed at Dodge’s colorful language. I even clapped him on the shoulder. He was cute as a possum when he was happy. His dark, soulful eyes danced with joy watching Firewater run. What would it be like to have a job that gave you such rewards? My job gave me accolades in the arena—I guess I even had buckle bunnies who gathered around after a rodeo—but it was different. It’s hard to describe, but personal accolades for staying in a saddle for eight seconds gets old after a while. Who was I benefi
ting, other than myself? I gained more ribbons and trophies and points, but for what? What would it be like to have a job where you actually helped people? Wouldn’t you feel good about your innermost self, as opposed to this exterior arrogance that sometimes felt shallow? I was twenty-six, and getting too old for rodeo.

  “He’s faster than thought or time!” I cried.

  Dodge’s face went blank, and he gave me copious side eye with one eyebrow cocked. “You know Shakespeare?”

  “What? No, my daddy used to say that.” I felt stupid. Had I been quoting Shakespeare this whole time and not even known it? I changed the subject. “So what brought you out here from Modesto? Lots of amputee animals?”

  He looked modest. “I never got a chance to get my actual business going. I’m in the sheet metal workers’ union, and they had a good job out here remodeling a landmark hotel downtown.”

  I smiled. “The Calaveras? That used to be a good place to listen to live music until they closed it for remodel. You moved here just for a job? When they think it’ll reopen?”

  “They think it’s a three-month job.” He shrugged. His thick, naturally wavy hair looked soft as goose down. I was suddenly itching to run my fingers through it, corny as it sounds. Why was I such a horndog? That was one thing that needed to change. “But my cousin has a big piece of property out Pepper Box Road. She’s letting me and my son stay there while we get established.”

  Son? Suddenly my lust evaporated. Kids were never in the equation for me, not even for a one-night stand. What would the kid do while we banged it out? Just so much baggage it wouldn’t fit in the overhead. No, thanks. “Oh. How old is he?”