Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Max
Tired of you secretly following me around. Just do it openly, next time.
Draven
I’ll be at the beer fest tomorrow in town.
Fuck. Of course you already know I’ll be working there.
I like knowing where you are.
That should freak me out. Why doesn’t it?
Because you like me.
For fuck’s sake. Stop.
Can’t. Sorry.
It was so hot tonight, Draven. I couldn’t…
I know. Don’t worry. Next time you’ll have my mouth.
I want that. And I really wish I didn’t want you.
You already have me.
With each passing text message, it became completely obvious.
It wasn’t out of my system.
It hadn’t only happened because he’d triggered some sort of people-getting-caught kink I had inside me.
The more I thought about it, the less it felt like nothing.
Draven was no longer something I could ignore.
Chapter 8
Draven
“There you go, son,” the hardware store owner said as he loaded the final batch of wood planks into the bed of my truck. His nametag said Amos, he was probably in his fifties, and his skin was so tan and weathered it almost matched the shade of the wood. “That should keep you busy for at least a couple of days.”
“I hope so.”
I’d already told Amos that I didn’t need help bringing the wood to the truck.
Told him I didn’t need help putting it in the truck.
Told him I didn’t need a ten percent off coupon to the Red Fox diner or the bottle of water he’d offered me in the store, either.
But he hadn’t taken no for an answer, helping me load all the wood onto a rolling steel cart and then putting half of it into my vehicle while I took on the rest.
We were outside Bestens Supply, the hardware store on Laurel Ave, a block down from the Hard Spot Saloon. It was early evening, and the sun had just set behind the mountains, the sky cast in a dusky orange glow. People were buzzing around like bees outside a hive, setting up food stalls and tents for the Bestens Beer Fest.
It was a nighttime street fair, sure to promise plenty of crowds.
And crowds set off alarm bells in my head.
Stalker alarm bells.
Max, as far as I could tell, still had no sense of self-preservation.
I thought he might start to listen to my advice about personal security, too. But instead, he’d kept saying that his online followers were harmless, and he certainly hadn’t been following my requests to install a security system.
He kept posting shirtless videos online, even after Rex67—Reggie Sandlefield—had amped up his frequent inappropriate messages.
Max also wouldn’t listen when I told him to stop posting locations on his pictures and videos. Earlier tonight, he’d posted about the Bestens Beer Fest with a caption and location tag:
Come see us tonight at the BBF!
That’s Bestens Beer Fest.
I’ll be slinging cocktails, and if the music is right, maybe I’ll be ditching my shirt as the night goes on.
See you there, Cocktail Bros.
-Max “The Mixer” Burnett
Last night I’d gone to the Hard Spot. Max hadn’t been bartending, and I’d gathered that info, too, finally piecing together what his work schedule was like.
Last night I sat and talked with Kane, the owner of the Hard Spot, for over two hours, and the most shocking thing was that I liked him and he liked me, too. He’d been preparing for tonight’s beer fest.
So far, I couldn’t exactly say I was the biggest fan of Bestens, Tennessee, but…
People were being nice to me.
Not Max, of course.
Max was a different story.
But everyone else in town seemed to treat me with a kindness that kept catching me off guard.
Something that I hadn’t experienced in a long time. Maybe ever.
It made me uncomfortable, like I was getting gifts I’d never asked for, unsure how to respond in turn. I’d only become a true villain in my hometown over the past year, the incident with Devvy Franklin, as well as another… unfortunate event that happened at my property and made half the town want to burn me at the stake.
But in my own family?
I’d been a black sheep for my whole life, as far as I could remember. To Dad, especially, who’d never wanted me.
A darker thought crossed my mind.
Maybe I have been a villain to everyone at home, for longer than I ever knew.
I’d always been known as that Lyons kid. The bad seed, the bad apple. In school I’d been the boy everyone’s parents wanted them to avoid, and later on, I’d been worse.
Not that it stopped certain people from coming to my parties, time after time.
There were men who couldn’t look at me in public but would beg for my cock at my house later that night. There were women who would strut around town with their boyfriends in the day but end up naked in the middle of my living room, railed on each end by strangers a week later.