He sure didn’t have Cash down as an undercover on his bingo card.
What a goddamn idiot.
His old man was right, he was nothing more than a giant fucking pussy. He’d tossed away his long-standing values and obligations to his brotherhood because someone in the world was finally fucking nice to him.
All under a fake pretense.
A strategic federal plot to take him down. Make him feel good and wanted… And it worked. His jaw clamped shut, letting that pain take over his soul. He hurt so bad.
“Motherfucker!” he seethed.
He had violently fought the restraints binding his wrists and his legs, heedless of drawing blood in order to get away.
A fucking gag in his mouth? Even he knew that shit was illegal.
If he could get any part of his body free, he vowed to kick every one of these motherfuckers’ asses.
Reasonable thought trickled around the edges of his rage. Instinct had him turning his head, looking at each agent inside this room, committing their images to memory. They’d regret this day, guaranteed. There were now five men in this small living room behind him.
A living room he fucking owned.
“Goddammit,” he roared, struggling to get free.
The one agent who he hadn’t sought was the same man who had deceived the hell out of him. That agent sat relaxed to the right of him as if he didn’t have a single care in the world. Stupid jerk.
As much as he tried to ignore Cash in his peripheral, he couldn’t. His heart pumped wildly. How the fuck could he have been so damn oblivious?
Dev stared down at the designs in the rug underneath his booted feet. His chest heaved in and out with every breath. He had to get control of himself.
How could that full of joy, scrawny kid be the same man sitting emotionlessly beside him?
Memories of taking that gorgeous ass over and over again refused to be squelched. How sick was he to still want that motherfucker?
He’d never gotten his fill. He craved Cash’s touch.
Now he’d never know that feeling again.
The bitterness inside his soul mocked him where he sat. He struggled to contain his emotions. The passion Cash stirred within him sheltered a part of him that absolutely refused to believe this was the end.
Stupid fucking feelings.
The strong fingers squeezing the breath from him in short intervals. Cash wanting to please him, but also worrying about his safety… He’d believed Cash when he said he didn’t normally do those things. The way Cash fucked him repeatedly, especially in the beginning, spoke of long droughts in the bedroom. Only extreme desire had someone recovering that quickly…
Dev settled back into the strong metal chair they’d wrangled him into. He hadn’t made it easy on them. He dropped his head, chin to chest, closing his eyes. Why was he thinking about these things right now?
Maybe because he loathed himself. He’d fallen hard and fast for his pretty boy. Cash had held him in his arms, listening as Dev spoke about nothing of consequence. His life was falling down around him, and he’d felt ten feet tall with Cash. No mountain too high to conquer. The pretty boy had given him strength and courage to continue to fight another day.
If right this minute Cash put his arms around Dev and told him it was all going to be okay, he’d believe him.
What a needy pussy he’d become. His lip tucked between his teeth as his head fumed. He forced his brain to think of a way out of this. They had to know he’d let them kill him before he ever gave away a club secret.
But what the fuck did he even know any more about the club dealings?
Think.
“Goddammit.”
If he could roll back time, he’d go all the way back to his youth and leave Cash lying gutted on the street.
