Fifteen – Sterling
I knew I was in Washington, D.C., but not the exact location. I also knew that my father was being gathered up, as was Tucker, as the agents working my case had informed me. It was common procedure to protect the family of witnesses, even down to scooping up mistresses, if need be. The orientation center was massive, capable of holding several families without anyone seeing the others in the program, or so I’d been told. I didn’t care about anyone else who was in here, I just wanted to see Tucker and my father, to make sure they were safe. I had no idea how quickly the warrants for the Bianchi’s would be issued, but I had to assume it would be quickly. I paced the small, drab apartment I’d been housed in, my mind spinning with details.
My new life, my new identity, was already being manufactured as the case against the team, the governor, the owner, and the Bianchi’s was being built. I’d been interviewed for hours and hours. I’d been granted immunity from prosecution in exchange for what I knew. I knew plenty. I’d been throwing games for years. My home had already been searched, my tech was now in the hands of the Feds, and I’d sung like a fucking canary for hours on end. I’d sang myself hoarse. And it had freed me in ways that I’d never thought possible. Yeah, I was probably never going to play football again, because that would be like taping a bullseye to my back, but that was okay. Mostly. If Tucker were with me, I could handle it.
I made another pass around the cramped living room filled with tan furniture, then stopped at the window, which I was sure was darkened so people couldn’t see in but those who were living here could see out, and watched the traffic below. There were no monuments or famous buildings to see; that, too, was on purpose, I was sure. Anonymity. It was all about blending in, now. How that would work since I was a famous athlete, I didn’t have a clue, but I’d been promised that I’d be hidden and hidden well. We’d see. I’d have to leave the damn country to truly be unknown.
A sharp knock jarred me from my worries. I hurried to the door, unlocked the deadbolt, and threw it open. There was Tucker, looking windblown and harried, but incredibly beautiful. He cried out my name, then launched himself at me. I gathered him close, burying my nose in his hair, as I breathed in his scent. The Marshal’s with him gave us a moment or two before clearing their throats.
“Sorry, come in.” I coughed, taking Tucker’s hand in mine. His palm was damp. Nerves, obviously, and some fear. I was feeling the same things still. “Is my father coming up?” I asked as I peeked out at the stairs leading from the street to my new home.
“He refused to come,” the blond Marshal informed me. My mouth dropped open.
“Can he do that?”
“We can’t force anyone to enter the program. He was advised of the risks and told the Marshal’s that contacted him that God would protect him.”
Wow, just…okay. “That man has incredible faith,” I muttered, squeezing Tucker’s clammy hand.
“Personally, I’ll stick with putting my faith in the big dudes with the guns,” Tuckers mumbled under his breath. I smiled. Perhaps the first smile in over twenty-four hours. Lord above, the man was good for me. He eased my weary soul.
“Why don’t we have a seat?” Blond agent waved at the tacky sofa. Clinging to Tucker, we sat side-by-side, his beaten-up tartan bag on his lap. He held it close as if it contained all he owned, which given what was going on, it probably did. Guilt began to nip at my heels like a bad dog. I’d done this to him. Pulled him out of his life and thrown him right smack dab into a dangerous situation. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Okay.” I replied. What was a few more?
“Where are your top three places in the US?” Brunette Marshal asked. I looked at Tucker. He lifted a shoulder. “Uhm, Atlanta, Boston, and maybe Manhattan?”
They jotted down my answers, then asked more and more, and still more. This time, Tucker was interrogated at length, as well. What did he know? How much? Did he have any ties to the Bianchi family? How? When? Why? Times? Dates? Names?
The longer the questioning went on, the tenser Tucker became. “Maybe I should have a lawyer. I did things that aren’t legal, you know, vice kind of stuff,” he said, his hand slick with sweat now.
“We’re not interested in your history of prostitution, Mr. Cameron. That’s inconsequential and will not be held against you in return for any information you give us,” the blond one replied coolly.
“They’re interested in bigger fish than you, baby,” I whispered to Tucker.
His eyes darted to me, then to the Marshal’s with their phones out and recording. What felt like hours dragged past. When Marshal’s Mahaney and Rust were out of questions, they stood in unison. Tucker and I looked up at them, our fingers still meshed.
“We’d like you to think on what names you’d like to use. You can keep your first name or initial if you like to make the transition easier. We’ll work on your new backstories over the next few weeks, as well as having you practice signing your new names. All of your banking information will be changed once your new names and addresses are finalized. You’ll also be receiving new social security cards, licenses, birth certificates.”
“I don’t even have a green card,” Tucker announced.
“Immigration isn’t a concern anymore, Mr. Cameron. We’ve already settled things with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police who manage the Canadian witness protection program. Since the illegal fingers of the Bianchi family hand reach across the border in several international business ventures, your fellow countrymen were quite agreeable to placing you in our care with Mr. Vesco, in exchange for any information you provided us with. As soon as your new identities are established, you’ll be an American citizen. Please, think on your new names overnight. The sooner we know what you’re choosing, the sooner we can get your new identities created.”
“So we’re going to live in New York City, then?” I asked.
“No, not any of the places you named. There’s a possibility that you’ve mentioned wanting to live in those towns online or in conversation,” Marshal Rust informed me.
“Can we live somewhere with a beach?” I asked. Both men nodded. “Cool. I want to learn how to make coconut monkeys.”
The looks I got from Tucker and the Marshal’s was priceless. I locked the door, turned, and stared at Tucker hunched up on the sofa. He looked sad and tired. His shoulders were rounded, his head down, his bag still on his lap.
“You okay?” I enquired, sitting beside him, then draping my arm around his neck. He listed to the left, falling into me with a hearty groan.
“Sort of. No. Yeah. I’m not sure.” I pulled him into my side, snugging him tightly, the dark window allowing no starlight or moon glow to enter our new home. “I guess I’m just concussed or something from all the running and shit. I feel loopy.”
“That’s to be expected. I feel the same. I wish I could have come up with a different way to get myself out of the shit storm I was stuck in. Something that didn’t pull you into the mire with me, but I was out of options, or felt I was. Can you forgive me for ripping you away from your life?”
“Pfft, what life?” He slid his arms around me, wiggling around until his nose brushed my scruffy jawline. “I mean, yeah, I’m going to miss they guys at Gems, they were my chosen family. But other than that, my life was easy to walk away from.” He picked up his head and looked into my eyes. “When those Marshal’s showed up, I was ready. Whatever, wherever, however it worked, I was ready to come to you. What kind of life would I have had without you in it?”
“God as my witness, I love you so much.” I dropped my lips over his, licking into his mouth with ease, shivering as the taste of the man exploded on my tongue.
Fear and hunger morphed into a consuming need that overtook us both. Not knowing where we were going was terrifying, as was our lack of control over any aspect of our lives aside from picking new names. Yet we knew one thing, if we knew nothing else. We knew we’d have each other. It might be all we had, but that would be enough. We tugged at our clothes, pulling off shirts, pants, and underwear, touching and caressing each other with fingers and lips. He fell back onto the sofa, his skin pink from my rough whiskers, his chest heaving, his eyes beautiful pools of hot sapphire.
He reached for me, arching up as I shimmied over him and settled between his long, pale legs. My cock rubbed his balls, slipping down over his taint until the engorged head found his entrance. Tucker moaned and writhed, slipping his fingers around my neck, then pulling me down so he could lick at my mouth. We humped each other for several sweet moments until the need to feel him tight and hot around me got to be too strong.
“Bag…condoms…lube…hurry, Sterling, I’m close.” He had his cock in his hand, squeezing the base tightly. Fumbling like a green teen, I pawed in the bag, pushing clothes and what felt like a hard rubber dick aside. “Man, you’re so slow.”
“There’s too many clothes in here, baby.”
“Throw them on the floor,” he panted, his eyes hot and hooded, his dick weeping copious amounts of fluid. I wet my lips at the sight and began whipping clothes to the four corners. When I found a paper gown wrapped in a doctor’s lab coat, I held it up, my eyes wide, my ass resting on my heels. Tucker gave me that sultry wicked smile of his. “Oh, yeah, well, that was for us back in the hotel, but we never got to it.”
“Are you the doctor or the patient?”
I let the costumes slip to the floor and leaned over to the side to dig into his bag of wonders once again. My fingers brushed the box of condoms, then the small bottle of lube, and I yanked them free.
“I’m whatever you want me to be.”
I looked down at him spread out under me, his gaze thick with devotion. “I just want you to be mine.”
“That’s as easy wish to grant. I’ve been yours since the first time our eyes met. Hurry, now,” he whispered, his voice husky. I booted up and primed him with speed, stopping only to steal a slick kiss before hooking his ankles behind my neck. His eyes widened when I pressed in, then, as if in a dream, his eyelids fluttered down as I filled him.
We began moving, him lifting his ass from the sofa by pressing against my shoulders, me flicking my hips in a pace that quickened rapidly. Tucker blew apart first, his fist and mine pumping away at his dick. Globs of cum flew out, dotting his belly and chest. His body trembled, his ass clenched, and I drove in deep. Losing myself in the orgasm and the soft sounds of pleasure Tucker was making, I tumbled over the edge, falling gently back down to earth. I fell over him, cock pulsing in his ass, and licked at his chin, his whiskers rough on my tongue.
He whispered sweet little things to me as we lay there, sweat drying, breaths slowing. Rolling off and out of him, I wrapped him in my arms, uncaring of the seed smeared between us, caking in our pubic and chest hairs. I wanted – no, I needed – his mouth under mine. So I kissed him over and over, holding him close, swearing to God that I would protect him, always, as long as the good Lord blessed me with Tucker’s love. The money, the fame, the fans were unimportant. The safety and love of the man in my arms was all that mattered now. It was all that really, truly mattered, if one took an honest look at their life.