a good idea, your boy all laid out on display for the wolves?”
“I told him to make sure people saw his bruises.”
“Did you tell him to lay out on the bleachers like he’s waiting for somebody to draw him like one of their French girls?” Preacher asked, a drawl sliding into his voice.
“He’s taking some creative license,” Cy admitted as he forced the weight upwards, his arms burning with the effort. “Either way, it wouldn’t hurt if you spread the word that he’s…uh, spoken for?”
“Aw, will it be a June wedding?” Preacher cracked, a smile splitting his weathered face.
“Go fuck yourself,” Cy grunted before dropping the bar back into its holder, sitting up, and stretching.
Preacher snorted. “Just don’t ask me to officiate.”
Cy wiped himself with a towel before wrapping it around his neck and heading for the bleachers. Preacher followed. They sat far enough away from Nicky that they could still speak privately but close enough to where it looked like Cy was trying to keep an eye on his property.
Cy scanned the yard, relieved to see that most of the inmates were paying Nicky no mind. Most. But not all. Rogers was right. Nicky was definitely on Thor’s radar, even without branding Nicky as a child molester.
“Yeah, old boy definitely has a type,” Preacher said, eyeing Thor as he planted his elbows on the riser above them.
“Breathing?” Cy asked.
Preacher stared at the large skinhead. “If that.”
The thought of Thor getting his hands on Nicky was enough to send a shock of helplessness through Cy. He had earned a certain amount of status over the last twenty years, enough to keep Nicky safe from many of the inmates who understood boundaries. But guys like Thor, guys as comfortable on the inside as they were on the outside…there was no reasoning with them. None.
“What’s your deal with this kid, anyway? He’s not your kin… At least, I hope he ain’t with those bruises you’ve left behind. He put you behind bars. I don’t get the loyalty.”
Cy flushed, his gaze once more falling to Nicky’s bare chest, his bruises much more evident in the harsh California sun. “We went through hell together. His mom. My dad. They were toxic. My dad wasn’t bad to me. He didn’t beat me or nothing, but he was into some hard drugs, and he knew Nicky’s mom was a psychopath, but he still left me and Nicky with her for weeks at a time. Nicky got it the worst at first. He was so little. Then I realized what she was doing to him. When I stood up to her, she came after me, too. She knew I couldn’t fight back or my father would have whooped my ass, no matter how much she had it coming. What happened to me wasn’t his fault. He was seven years old.”
Besides, by that day in court, Cy knew what was going down. He saw Phoebe’s secretive smiles each time Dooley entered the courtroom, saw the way the sheriff looked at Nicky. Cy had never been mad at Nicky. He’d just been afraid for him.
“That’s a sad story, but he’s not a kid anymore. Shit, he got you put away for twenty years after you protected him from his psycho mom. You’ve done more than enough for him. If something happens to him, it’s not on you.”
Cy shook his head. But it was, though. There was no way to make Preacher understand. Shit, Cy didn’t understand. It wasn’t like he didn’t see that Nicky was a grown ass man. He’d had a job and a life on the outside. He had a five o’clock shadow, and he’d most definitely felt like a man when Cyrus had slid inside him the previous night. But that instinct was still there. Something about Nicky triggered a Pavlovian response in Cy. The need to protect him came as easy to Cy as breathing. It always had. Maybe it always would.
Protecting Nicky was in his DNA.
“Webster?”
The voice on the other end wasn’t Linc’s, but instead, his much younger husband’s, Wyatt. Webster was happy to hear it just the same. Any tie to the outside world right now seemed tenuous at best, and he just wanted to hold onto them. “Yeah, it’s me. I finally got my pin number.”
“Pin number? I can’t believe you’re actually in jail, bro. That blows.”
Tell me about it.
Before Webster could reply, Linc’s gravelly voice came from somewhere in the background. “Give me the phone, Wyatt.”
Webster gave a half smile at