The tip brushed his lips, and he fought the urge to back away, to bite the thing off. Always being used. Always belonging to someone else. Nothing more than a toy. In his mouth, his throat. The taste all wrong on his tongue.
He’d finally learned that sex could matter for more than currency or something to do because he was bored, that it could be about trust, deep concern. Love. He missed Devin. Missed the sex, sure, but missed the connection. No back-alley blow job could give it to him.
But no back-alley blow job would take it away, either.
He got to define himself. Not his stepmother or Boggs. Not some small-time dealer in Iowa. Joe fought back his disgust, his self-pity, and steeled himself to finish what he’d started.
Rip batted Joe’s hands away and pinned them over his head against the cool metal of the wall. He drilled in deep and kept it there, waiting, then he pulled back and started thrusting in earnest, banging Joe’s head against the metal. Belton stood next to them, his pants undone, hand around himself.
Joe concentrated on making his lips tight and his throat slack and tried to tune out Belton and the noise his own head made bouncing against the metal. He would get through this, get the nanotech back to Devin, get him well.
“Stop it!” Peter’s voice sounded shrill. “Stop it! Stop it! You’re hurting him!”
“Shut up, kid,” Rip said, lazy and detached. Then wide awake. “Oh, shit.” He released Joe’s wrists and backed away.
Through the gap that opened between Belton and Rip, Joe saw Peter aiming the rifle first at Rip, then at Belton. Belton’s arms were moving, and Joe hoped he was just refastening his pants, not drawing a weapon. Joe struggled to his feet, his head swimming. “Peter, wait.”
“He was hurting you,” Peter yelled. “I promised. I’ll protect the people I love!”
“He wasn’t hurting me. It’s okay. Please, Peter.” Joe took a cautious step forward, but raised his hands and stopped when Peter swung the rifle in his direction. He had to be so scared, so afraid of being powerless again, the way he’d been powerless to stop the men who’d killed his parents. “Thank you. Thank you for protecting me. I’m going to walk over to you where it’s safe, okay?”
Peter nodded and wiped the corner of his eye. The rifle shook in his hands.
Joe kept his pace steady and slow, maintaining eye contact the whole while. Goosebumps rose on his skin when he passed Rip and Belton, like he really was escaping a far more dangerous situation than a couple blow jobs for some hard-up, lonely guys. Or maybe it was the dawning realization that something that felt like a dirty job to him was a big, nasty something to a kid who’d never had to do it. He wanted to apologize to Peter, to Devin — God, he hadn’t even thought about how Devin might feel about what he’d just done. All he’d thought about was getting what he wanted.
But no, he was keeping his people safe, and there was no way in hell he was apologizing for that.
He reached Peter and carefully pried the rifle from his hands. “It’s all right. No one is going to hurt us.”
Peter crumpled into Joe and shook, sniffling and fisting Joe’s shirt. “I couldn’t let you down.”
Joe wrapped an arm around him and tried to support him as much as possible. A movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye, and he turned in time to see Belton pulling at something in his pocket. Joe popped the rifle and shot a hole in the ceiling.
Belton and Rip cowered, heads covered.
“Slide it over here, dumbass,” Joe said. “I’m tired, and I don’t feel like putting up with more nonsense.”
Belton slid the weapon across the floor. A VICE-shot, like the one that had been stolen from Joe at the Maze-On. The Lord giveth and He taketh away, but right now, Joe was feeling like he’d gotten more than he’d given.
“Stand up. Hands in the air.” Once the men complied, Joe slunk forward and grabbed the VICE-shot. He trained one weapon on Rip and the other on Belton. “Peter, buddy, go look at the shelves and read me the names of the medicines, will you?”
Having a job to do seemed to help Peter calm down. He and Joe ran through the medicines, and Joe had him grab the ones that would be most useful, mainly pain pills and antibiotics for Devin, just in case the nanotech couldn’t fix what was wrong.
When Peter pocketed two boxes of heavy-duty narcotics, Rip winced. “We need that stuff, you prick.”
Joe fired the VICE-shot so it hit the floor in a slow arc near Rip’s feet. He watched the worn hospital flooring blister and turn black. “You took everything from me. Now I’m taking some back. You’ll still have plenty to go on leeching off the people in this town.”
“What do you know, rich little daddy’s boy? You’re fine, but don’t talk to me about what I’m doing here when all you know is comfort. These people need the drugs; they sure as hell don’t have anything else.”
God, a fire burned in Joe’s belly. “I’m no daddy’s boy. I’m not even a citizen. I’m a poor Mexican prostitute, and you took five years of my earnings, every penny I’ve ever had, because you’re a greedy pig. When they look at me, people may always see a whore, and I may never be a citizen, but I know what’s important, and what’s right.”
“Boss,” Peter said, tugging at Joe’s shirt.
“Yeah?”
“I got everything. We’re ready.”
“Toss me the elevator key,” Joe said to Rip. “I’ll leave it down in the elevator. If you try to follow us, I’ll either shoot you or lock you in.”
Down the shaft, into the elevator, swipe a bike. Even Peter’s weight against Joe’s aching
