In The Mountains

Chapter 2: Help.

Chapter 2: Help.

“Help me," Paxton muttered to the huge boots near his head. He didn't know what else to do, and his brain wasn't offering other suggestions. His begging might've just been a death sentence for the stranger, but the words came out anyway. Some part of him whispered that he would never escape this alley.

“I can work with that," came the stranger's thick southern accent.

“Get out of here before you regret it," Mike snarled at the newcomer and reached for his gun. “This doesn't concern you."

Before the words were out of his mouth, the stranger swung his shotgun like he was about to set the weapon on his broad shoulders. The barrel of the gun slammed upside Mike's head. Paxton felt the weight of Mike slip off his thighs.

As Paxton rolled onto his back, he was just in time to see the stranger use the wooden butt of his gun to nail his would-be-murder in the head again. Mike clutched his handgun, but he didn't move fast enough.

“Welp now, I reckon he's out." The stranger had a thick southern accent like delicious warm honey pouring from his lips. He moved with purpose and was on Paxton in a heartbeat. Paxton tried to recoil from the huge man, but with his beefy hands, he lifted Paxton like he weighed nothing. Once the stranger got Paxton to his feet, he freed his hands from the belt.

Dizziness swamped Paxton as soon as he was fully upright. He staggered toward the side of the limo. Paxton fell toward the car as he tried to pull up his pants and put pressure on the bleeding wound near his temple.

The stranger surprised him by helping him close his pants and holding him steady. If Paxton didn't have to vomit, he would have laughed. This might be the first time in his life that a man had ever helped him zip his pants closed.

“Yer bleedin' mighty hard." The stranger tugged Paxton into his muscled arms and kept him from stumbling or falling back down to the pavement. Their eyes met, and Paxton stared into beautiful gray orbs fringed with thick black eyelashes. “We need to get ya to a doc."

“No." Paxton looked at the limo and then down the empty alley. Mr. Bentley took the dead driver, and there were probably no keys. What was he going to do now? If he went to a hospital, Keyon would find him, and then what would Paxton say to his employer? What if the client lied about what happened here? They could put all this on Paxton's shoulders like he was trying to escape. Keyon was as scary as Mr. Bentley. That old man might find Paxton in the hospital and finish him off.

“What's yer name, cowboy?" The stranger's question pulled Paxton out of his frantic thoughts.

“It's…" Paxton's eyes flipped to the man still holding him upright. His worn blue shirt had oil splattered on one side. The fabric hugged his massive chest. A loose tattered flannel was open like the shirt was missing buttons, and his camouflaged cargo shorts looked long past their prime. His strong hands were covered in black grime, and they left marks where they gripped Paxton's expensive suit. This guy was probably a homeless person and simply passing by, and Paxton didn't want this man's good deed punished. This stranger needed to get as far away from him as possible.

“I'm no one." Paxton tried to tug away from the hands gripping him firmly. The other man let him go, but when Paxton stumbled, the stranger was right back to holding him again.

“Yer scared of me? Ain't need to be. Honest."

Paxton raised his eyes to meet that of the curious stranger. The tall southerner was actually really sexy looking. Streaks of dirt marred his clear tan skin, but other than that, he was hot as hell. The man had a strong jaw and high cheekbones. Paxton stared into bright gray eyes surrounded by thick black eyelashes that any woman would envy. The man couldn't be more than twenty-five, and Paxton pictured all the horrible ways Keyon would cut his young life short. Keyon was the type who would enjoy cutting up a pretty face like this one.

“You should leave me here."

“Now that ain't right." He chuckled a deep husky sound and then wrapped his arm around Paxton's shoulders. “What's yer name, cowboy? I ain't gonna hurt ya."

“Paxton."

“Is that-there yer first name or yer last?"

“That's what I go by."

“I can work with that. This here yer limo?"

“No." Paxton shook his head. “I was only… I was…" His words faltered. What was he going to say? That he was a hooker getting screwed in an alley? f**k. He couldn't bring himself to say the words. At least not to this man.

“It's alright." Smoothly, the stranger started walking. “Follow me, cowboy." And without more conversation, Paxton followed. They came up to a camouflaged-painted truck parked on the edge of the Dollar Store parking lot. Dollar Store bags with containers of oil sat next to the open hood of the old pickup.

“She looks a little beat up, but she'll get us where we wanna go."

“I don't want to go to the hospital," Paxton repeated.

“I heard ya the first time." The man opened the door to his vehicle to expose worn black seats with a tear in the center. The truck, though old, was clean and smelled like soap and motor oil. His rescuer slipped his shotgun into a rack behind the headrests and then practically hauled Paxton upward like he didn't weigh more than a bag of potatoes.

Nodding with a grin, he set Paxton on the bench seat like he was a new purchase from the store. Right now, Paxton felt like nothing more than an item. He was tired, his head throbbed, and his body ached. In fact, if this guy wanted to hurt him, Paxton wasn't even sure he would put up a fight. However, as that thought entered his head, he dismissed it. Paxton was sure s*x wasn't on this man's mind. His guess? This was a backwoods hick mountain man who loved his bible, a cold beer, and a girl on a Saturday night. He didn't seem like the type to want a man for anything other than helping him drag a deer out of the forest.

After his savior closed the truck door, he picked up the bags and the oil containers before doing something with the engine. After he slammed the hood, he came around and quickly swung up and into the driver's seat.

Paxton leaned as far away as he could from the stranger as the man shook off his flannel shirt and then turned to him. Paxton tried to hide his appreciation of how attractive this guy was with less clothing. His eyes betrayed him as he scanned the man from head to toe. Quickly, he tossed his gaze to the floor. He didn't need to be saved just so a southern hick could beat him for being gay.

“My name's Tennessee."

Paxton's eyes lifted, and he held in his smile. Yes, this guy looked like a man named Tennessee.

“Is that yer first name or yer last?" Paxton quipped.

“Ya still got some sass in ya." Tennessee laughed. “My mama liked Tennessee Williams."

“Like the guy who wrote the play?"

“I think yer the first person I've ever met who knew who that was without me explainin' it." He chuckled again and then reached over with his flannel and pressed the fabric to Paxton's head.

Paxton found himself curious about this man, but instead of asking more questions, he let the stranger guide his hand to hold the fabric on the bleeding bump on his head.

Now that he was, for a second anyway, safe in the truck, Paxton set his head on the worn seat and relaxed his shoulders. First thing, he had to come up with a place to go. It struck him that he could run away for good, but he didn't have money or friends. His whole life was in servitude to Keyon since he entered that mansion all those years ago.

As Tennessee started the engine, Paxton waited for the guy to ask him where to drop him. Regular people would have a home or a person who cared about them. An average person would have a safe place to go after being beaten and almost raped. But not him.

Never him.

“Where to, Pax?"

There it was—the question Paxton expected. A sardonic smile crept across Paxton's lips. He liked the way Tennessee just nicknamed him like they were old friends. But they weren't old friends. They were simply two people who were passing like ships in a harbor.

He closed his eyes and, for a second, pictured that he had a real life and a friend like this. For a brief moment, he wished that the last five years had never happened. What if his parents didn't kick him out for being gay? What if he didn't get in trouble with the cops? What if he had a regular job? Maybe if things had gone his way, he would have a place to stay when someone asked where to.

“I have nowhere to go." Paxton cleared his throat. “Just drive for a while, and when you see a gas station, I'll get out there."

“Ya got nowhere to go? No one's lookin' for ya?"

“Yeah. I have no one. Just drive."

“I can work with that." Tennessee popped his truck into gear and started driving. In minutes Paxton fell asleep next to the stranger he wished was his friend.