Trade In and Up Chapter 3

 

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Unedited Free Written Story

Adult Content. If under 18 leave the site.

M/M Content. Some BDSM may apply to the story at some point and time.

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Chapter 3

Pop. Pop. Pop. Bang. The van rocked as the metal rattled and bowed in on me. Seemed like it at least. Sounded as if War War Three was taking place outside me. Longer the firestorm raged the less hope I had for Special Agent Preston Clarkson returning. No matter how determined he seemed about being my rescuer, I knew better. Many had said the same over the years. None achieved it. Me and John had to run each time. In the end, we left the Marshalls and went at it on our own. We did good until we visited the clubs or bought some bondage equipment for our home. Not sure why that always tipped Julian off, but it was the only link we could figure out. We tried to avoid doing so, but our desire to express our true emotions for each other won out in the end. We both knew it would catch up with us one day. Guess that day had came.

The driver side door was jerked open just as the passage side did. Special Agent Preston Clarkson jumped inside the passenger side, holding the left side of his forearm as another man wearing a tight black shirt with blood soaked blond hair.

“Get us out of here, Jackson.” Special Agent Preston Clarkson glanced back at me. “Sit down and hold onto the bar above your head.”

I’d barely gotten on the bench before Jackson had gunned the van and pebble like sounds bounced off the outside of the van.

“What is going on?”

“Tell you later, boy.”

Fuck the boy shit. There was a time and place for it and it wasn’t now. Not to mention he wasn’t my Master. “Now, or I’m taking my chances by jumping out the this back door.” Not that I would survive it, but I was starting to believe I might not survive with him. Second thought, what proof did I have that he was FBI. I’d only heard a gun fight from hell take place outside the van. Only had his word of who he was. No identification had been given. Yes, sirens had been heard, but I’d not seen any coppers. Damn it, why did I listen to him. “I want to see a badge.”

“Now you want proof.” Jackson huffed. “Fucking unbelievable. We just saved you ass and you don’t even thank us.”

“Shut it, Jackson.” Special Agent Preston Clarkson pointed at the bag sliding from left to right each curve we took. “Catch the bag. Give me the cause inside and look inside the front pocket. You will see my credentials.”

I scooted to the edge of the bench and waited until Jackson took the next curve and snagged the bag. Tossing him the cause and then opened the front pocket, tugging free a zip lock baggie. Before I even I opened it, a shinny gold badge shined through it. Didn’t set my mind at ease though. Why did he keep it so close to him? What if someone philftered through his stuff. Not like Julian’s men were loyal to anyone other than Mr. Julian. Definitely not each other. Keeping his Federal Identification on him did not seem wise. I opened the bag and pulled out the wallet like ID, studying it. Not sure why. Not like I could tell if it was fake or not. I put all of it back in the baggie and inside the pocket of the bag.

“Satisfied?”

“Nope.”

“Fucking God. I’m going to kill him myself.”

The car sped up as he swirled around another curved.

“You going to kill us all if you don’t slow the fuck down.” Special Agent Preston Clarkson said in that voice that sent shivers down my spine. Any other time, I would have loved to bow at his feet and offered my service to him. Me and John loved each other, but we enjoyed playing with others. I loved to put on a show for John and John loved to watch other dominate me. Fuck. John was dead.

My free hand flew over my chest as a sob ripped through me. My chin pressed against where there should be a huge hole, but all there was a salt watered wet shirt. Why had that goon brought me back to life. I should have died right alongside John. It was my right to go with my Master. I had no one to take care of me. To care for. To serve. To live for. I might as well give myself up to Mr. Julian and let him kill me. Send me to be with John.

“Stop this van. Let me out.”

“What? Hell no.” Special Agent Preston Clarkson clambered through the small opening between the seats and stumbled back to the bench, sitting beside me. His arm went around me, tugging me against him. “Why would you want us to do that, Boy.”

“I’m not your boy.”

“Not yet.”