Page 2 of Magnum, Volume 1

I couldn’t help my smile. “Someone hasn’t been sharing all the fun details.”

Nickie grinned and shrugged. “Bud’s rule is that anyone who visits, we decide on how much they know. Beau has butler clothes he can wear when we have visitors, but I know you’ll be chill with him.”

It made sense to keep the info to people who visit, and the fact I was getting the skinny on him up front meant Nickie trusted me with it.

Nickie and I had worked together multiple times. One of our investigations led to a scammer who happened to be a Dom. We’d found out what club he attended and then joined. Nickie is way more of a masochist than me, so she’d hooked up with him for an intense scene. I managed to clone his phone while he was working Nickie over, and then I found someone who prefers focusing on high-protocol play rather than pain play. We’d left hours later, gone home to digest what we’d learned, and then written the story about how he was bilking retirees for millions. Since he’s a well-known financial influencer, we’d sold the story for a nice sum, with licensing so I could put it on my channel twenty-four hours after the news organization broke it, giving me a double payday. Asshole was still in prison, last I looked.

Nickie took me to the den, where Bud was sitting in a chair wearing only jeans, and I didn’t feel at all guilty about noticing his arms and abs. I can admire my friend’s husband as a work of art without wanting to be under him.

Besides, this man is a sadist, and no way am I interested in sex with one of those, but I was beyond happy my friend had found the perfect Dom for her… and the fact he’s a biker turned into a positive, because he’d kept Nickie alive when a Mexican cartel wanted her dead.

And now I hoped he could help me figure out how to stay alive, too.

Bud looked at me as if he was seeing inside my head, and asked, “Whiskey, rum, vodka, or something else?”

“Whiskey,” Nickie told him, and she walked to a cabinet, pulled a bottle of Whistlepig out, filled a shot glass, and handed it to me.

I stared at it, realized it would settle my nerves, and tossed it back. Seemed a shame to not take my time and enjoy the pig, but I appreciated that Nickie had one of my top favorite brands. The burn blazed a trail from my throat to my stomach, and I nodded when Nickie moved to fill it again, but I didn’t toss this one. I’d drink it slower.

A tall, thin man wearing only a steel cock cage entered, bearing a tray with a sandwich and orange juice.

He settled both on the table beside me, and rather than thanking him, I told Bud, “Thank you.” Basic protocol — the man who’d served me was Nickie’s slave or houseboy or whatever, but Bud is Nickie’s Dom, which means he gets the primary thanks.

“Eat while you tell us the problem,” Bud told me. “We’re all friends here, and Nickie tells me the codewords you gave tell her you’re in the worst possible trouble but are safe in this moment.”

- - - ❖ - - -

Several hours later, I was riding behind Bud on the largest of his motorcycles down a backroad near a lake I’d seen glimpses of through the trees. We’d been on the bike two and a half hours without stopping, and my hips were about to die, not to mention my lower back.

I’d expected mansplaining and stupid questions, but he’d believed me right off the bat, understood how much trouble I’d gotten myself into, and started making plans for how to keep me alive while I figure out how to bring these assholes down.

My car was in Bud’s huge garage, my phone was sealed in a second Faraday bag to make double-dog sure no signals escaped, and Bud had even driven out of the back of their property, coming out on another road, so if someone had followed me to Bud’s, or if they managed to via satellite later, they theoretically wouldn’t see me leaving on the back of a bike.

Nickie had helped me pack my suitcase into three duffels, which had fit into the many compartments on this huge-assed motorcycle, which Nickie had assured me was his most comfortable for long road trips.

I didn’t doubt her word on that, but damn, I couldn’t imagine how bad off I’d be if I was on one of the smaller bikes in his garage. And fuck, how many motorcycles did one person need? He’d had seventeen.

And we’d driven without technology at all. Bud’s phone was still in Atlanta. He’d put a burner into a blocking bag, in case he needed to contact someone, but other than the helmet microphones that let us talk to each other, there were no communication devices to phone home.

“They’re an hour behind us,” Bud told me as he pulled into either a private road or a long driveway, since I couldn’t see a house. “It’s only a little after nine here. No idea whether Magnum will be here or not, but if he isn’t, his security system will notify him we’re here, and he’ll likely show up within the hour. We can wait on the dock if he doesn’t come out to greet us.”

When we reached the house, I rethought my opinion of bikers. I’d assumed Nickie’s mansion was purchased from her many income streams as an author and reporter, but now I was looking at a similar sized house on a lake, and I knew real estate prices weren’t as crazy in the south as they were up north, but it was worth millions even without the lake, and that surely added to the price.

My hips and lower back screamed as Bud killed the engine, and a deep ache had settled into my shoulders and arms from hours of gripping him. I eased off the bike with a groan I didn’t intend to vocalize, every joint stiff and protesting.

I looked around, taking everything in, and realized this wasn’t merely the flashy showpiece I’d seen at first glance. Looking at the property more than the structures, I saw serenity. Sanctuary. Thick woods pressed against a lawn with little woodland trails someone had lined with colored, fluffy grasses. I could see homes a half-mile away across the lake, but there didn’t appear to be any nearby.

Whoever lived here valued privacy, and the knowledge the owner’s security system would alert him to intruders settled my nerves even more.

I hadn’t argued with Bud about there being a better place for me to hide out, but I’d been disappointed. Nickie and I make a good team, and Bud had been the one to keep her alive.

But I’d gone to him for help, and his offer was to stash me somewhere out of the way where no one would look — and I have a history with Nickie, so they might eventually look for me at Nickie’s house.

Motion caught my attention, and I looked toward the water and saw a man climbing onto the dock. A very naked man.

Even at fifty yards, the morning light carved his muscles into sharp relief. Broad shoulders, chiseled arms, and his chest and abdomen were cut deep enough I could see every ridge and valley ripple when he moved. He shook his head like a dog, flinging droplets out of his dark hair. It wasn’t terribly long, but it wasn’t short, either.

I focused on his cock, and even flaccid, it hung heavy and thick. Surely the width at the base was an optical illusion.