The Artifact of Foex (23 page)

And if it came to killing... well, Chet would
keep his eyes open. He’d be ready to do whatever was needed. Before
this week, he’d never imagined himself murdering another human
being, not even in his own defense. Yet hadn’t Journey said it
herself? “You do things in war that it normally wouldn’t occur to
you to do.” This was a kind of war, too, and if Journey could kill
a man, so could Chet.

The cab door opened and Rhiys stuck his head
inside. “Good, you’re ready to go,” he murmured, undoing his belt
buckle and letting down his pants.

Though he’d resolved to keep quiet, Chet
groaned involuntarily as the man clambered on top, his weight and
smell pressing down on him. Chet closed his eyes tight. It didn’t
help as much as he’d hoped. Rhiys grunted as he pushed himself
inside Chet’s ass. The head of his cock was hard to take—it was too
blunt. Chet wished Rhiys could shape down the way Journey could, or
at least take his time. Rhiys fucked him without hesitation or
compassion. Chet gritted his teeth and bore the unclean touch. He
wasn’t hard at all, he realized. Being fucked by Rhiys wasn’t
arousing; it was to be endured.

At least Rhiys came quickly. “Sweet Chet," he
whispered in his ear, licking it.

Chet grimaced and tried to turn away.
Survival sure isn’t pretty,
he thought, straining under
the weight. Rhiys grabbed his hair and hauled his head back, then
proceeded to lick his ear out thoroughly, nibbling on the lobe.
Chet closed his eyes again, enduring both the man’s tongue and dick
still lodged inside him.

After a time Rhiys rose, dressed and started
up the truck again. Still no threats or attempts on Chet’s life.
Good enough,
he thought muzzily. He dozed on the bed as
the sun set. After a while, he felt the truck slow and make several
turns. The engine cut. Chet sat up, blinking sleepily. Rhiys had
stopped at a gas station and diner, dusk deepening into night.

“Come on, let’s have dinner. Since you’re
whoring your sweet ass to me, I’m buying.” Rhiys grinned at
him.

Chet didn’t know how he’d be able to eat, but
once the food arrived, he found he had an appetite. The meal almost
felt normal, sane, as if the world hadn’t turned upside down. Yet
when they were returning to the truck, Rhiys grabbed Chet’s belt in
a proprietary manner, as if he owned him.

“There are kids here! Families,” Chet hissed,
his face going red. The parking lot wasn’t
that
dark.
Though there was no one directly in their path, he could hear their
conversations and smell their cigarettes.

“You want to protect those people in the
hold? Then your ass is mine.”

“Yes, we’ve already established that.” Chet
bit his tongue against a more sardonic response. “I just don’t want
to be reported for indecency.”

The argument seemed to hold water until they
climbed into the cab, when Rhiys grabbed him with a move akin to
wrestling, his touch savage. “Take off your pants. I’m going to
fuck you right here where everyone can see.”

Did he have a choice? Chet decided yes, he
did, but almost every path he could conceivably take would lead to
the police, exactly what he didn’t want. Nevertheless, Chet’s eyes
narrowed. “You can fuck me in your bed.”

“Shy, are you?”

“Yeah, I am.”

Chet moved toward the back of the cab, and to
his surprise, Rhiys let him. Rhiys climbed in behind, and Chet let
him take off his pants.
Abyss, he gave in to my demands, so
give the man what he wants
. It was almost sexy to spread
himself over Rhiys’s lap; he even helped insert himself. Chet
relaxed. Being fucked like this was gentle compared to other
positions. He glanced at the forward windshield and smiled. They
weren’t under a street light, and it would be too dark to see
inside the cab. He felt protected and safe from the public eye.

Despite the danger, he was in control. Very
nearly in control, anyway.

Rhiys pumped Chet’s dick in his fist and
fingered his nipples through his shirt. Chet was undisputedly
aroused. He moaned, enjoying the feeling. Before being fucked by an
oily smuggler had been a bad thing, but now it was almost
tolerable. The guy accelerated the tempo of this fist pumping, and
Chet abruptly forgot the litany in his head. He threw his head back
and made little needy sounds. The dick inside him, the hands upon
him, everything made him light up like Elderbeth in a clear sky.
Chet came, spurting in Rhiys’s hand. Rhiys pushed him down into the
bed—Chet felt like he had no bones left in his body to fight. Not
that he wanted to fight. Chet fell to his stomach with a little
grunt, and Rhiys fucked him harder in the new position.

“Yeah, boy. Take it like a slut, boy. You’re
my whore tonight, you and your hot cock belong to me...”

The words washed over Chet. Fenimore wanted
to own him, this guy wanted to own him, the police wanted to cuff
him down and drag him away. Everyone wanted a piece. He grinned at
his own private joke.

Rhiys grunted and came, spurting deep into
Chet’s ass.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep,” Rhiys said after a
while. “Come to the front and keep me company. Oh, and your pants
stay off. I want your bare ass on this seat for the rest of the
night.”

What?
How long could he keep this
up? Chet shouldn’t be surprised at this point. “If my pants are
off, how will you concentrate on driving?”

“Pantheon, you got a mouth on you. If you’d
stick with me, kid, I’ll pummel those smart-alecky ways right out
of you, but not tonight. I got to make my schedule.”

They reached Fengfu an hour after dawn. Chet
was filthy, tired, his muscles sore, his ass exposed and wet, his
lips oily as abyss. Survival no longer had the shine it had held
earlier in the night; Chet held on doggedly nevertheless. Rhiys
pulled off at the correct exit and had Chet suck his dick one more
time. Chet honestly didn’t care if the man killed him. He swallowed
semen with dull exhaustion, no longer remotely aroused by the
act.

Rhiys zipped up his fly.“Good boy. Let’s let
your friends out of the back, and you can be on your way, eh?”

Really? My fears were for nothing?
Chet found his pants and shoes, dressing himself in jerky
movements. He let himself out of the cab and joined Fenimore, Knife
and Journey by the side of the road. They were rumpled and smelly
from uninterrupted hours in the cargo hold, but otherwise
unruffled. Rhiys drove away without saying goodbye. On the whole,
Chet preferred it that way.

“So, girl, did you have a good time?”
Fenimore asked Chet sunnily.

Chet didn’t even think about it. He curled up
his hand, pivoted and punched Fenimore on the face. Fenimore
dropped to his knees, obviously surprised. Chet yelped, shaking out
his hand.

“Great good Pantheon, that hurt,” Chet
hissed. He glared at Knife with unvoiced accusation.

Knife grunted. “Next time, curl your hand so
your thumb is outside your fist, like
this
.”

Chet watched the movement of her hand. “Yeah.
Next time.”

Fenimore picked himself off the ground and
began whistling a cheerful ditty. “Everyone ready? Let’s head back
to civilization!”

Chet had expected his parents to be home on a
weekend morning. What he had not counted on were his two older
brothers with their families. That meant two sisters-in-law and the
eleven assorted children between them. Pantheon help them, one of
his sisters-in-law was pregnant again. Chet could only be grateful
that none of his actual sisters were home. With the Flame still in
Nun costume, he didn’t want anyone taking a real close look at
them.

“Chet!” his mother cried out. “What are you
doing here? We thought you were doing that silly dig thing out in
Wetshul, burrowing in the earth like some common construction
worker.”

“Waste of time,” his father put in, stuffing
his mouth with sausage and whitefish. “I could put you to better
work here as mid-level management. You’d have fifteen employees
under you tomorrow morning.”

His brothers echoed this sentiment, adding
brotherly comments about his lack of intelligence and motivation.
The in-laws ignored the name calling and focused on the children,
who were running wild. Chet kept his still-oily mouth shut and
glanced at Knife, Journey and Fenimore. Journey’s eyes were wide
and fascinated, vague no more. It was hard to tell what Knife was
thinking behind the ugly visage, but Chet rather thought she was
taken aback by the noise and bustle of the family weekend
breakfast. Fenimore was truly taken aback. He looked appalled by
both the children and uproar.

It felt bizarre to be home. Chet's mother had
put her finger right on it: he hadn’t expected to show up for a
long time with the dig of the century going on. He felt out of time
as a man who’d fallen into lucid mud.

The sensation was especially intense with
Fenimore and the Flame trailing him. His parent’s house somehow
made recent events more real, not just a dream he’d wake up from
any minute. Despite the pain and uncertainty of the last few days,
he felt proud of himself. He’d endured with newly acquired friends
and skill sets, yet he couldn’t help but feel this rise in self
esteem was a soap bubble about to burst. Chet always felt smaller
and insignificant at home, outshone by every other family member.
Abyss, even his sisters—the Nuns—were blazing extroverts. Not like
him. He’d been the odd guy out from the cradle on up.

Even so, he felt reasonably optimistic. Maybe
now that he was traveling in bad company—dastardly Flame and a
libertine courtier—he would have the spine to stand up to his
family.
Maybe
.

Chet cleared his throat.“Uh, I brought some
friends home.”

“We can see that, Chetling,” his mother said.
She hugged him and frowned, trying to straighten his hair. “I
swear, you seem to be covered in grease. There’s something matting
your hair, too.”

Semen,
Chet thought sourly. He
ducked away from his mother’s reflexive grooming. “Do you mind if I
go upstairs and take a shower? My friends wouldn’t mind having some
breakfast, if that’s okay.”

“There’s plenty, help yourselves," his father
said congenially.

One of Chet’s brothers, Brae, made eye
contact and smirked, then let loose a belch, purposefully winding
Chet up. Abyss, Chet hated how crass his brothers were. No one else
seemed to mind, though; his wife just sighed and the younger family
members giggled. More competitive burping followed. Chet ignored
them. He wasn’t anyone’s favorite uncle, and—though it kind of
hurt—he didn’t want to be. Sometimes he felt like Brae was training
the next generation to make fun of him, too.

Chet stayed long enough to make sure the
Flame received loaded plates and were seated at the table. The
Baikson family had servants but preferred to only be served
formally at supper. Or rather, his father preferred to eat
breakfast, “With everything hanging out," as he liked to put
it.

Fenimore followed Chet upstairs, presumably
to flee the Baikson circus. “Your family is insane. The house is
stately enough, but they act like peasants," he commented in
undertone.

“They’re my folks, okay?” Chet said, put
out.

“Well... I suppose they’re more like minor
hangers-on of the court, the type who’d ferry a commission to a
brothel owner or pilfer through a rival’s jewels. For a fee, of
course. I used to employ the type all the time.”

Chet supposed Fenimore was attempting to be
diplomatic. Too bad he was so lousy at it. “There’s nothing
minor
about my family.”

“My words sting, do they? The truth can be
hard to swallow, I know. Like swallowing my sweet jam.”

Chet wrinkled his nose, catching the
reference to semen without difficulty. He was getting better at
this. As for his family... Chet paused at the top of the grand
staircase and looked down at the noble foyer with its twenty-five
foot high ceiling and massive crystal chandelier. Seeing it not
only for everything it was, but everything it symbolized.

He lowered his voice and said, “Not at all. I
think you misunderstand the suffering my family has inflicted. My
father and brothers cheat and steal for a living, not just from a
few people but from millions. No one is safe, not even their own
employees. They’ve learned to be subtle about it, that’s all. Why
do you think my sisters chose to be Nuns? It wasn’t for the
eye-catching habits.”

Fenimore blinked. “Ah. Puffed-up hangers on,
then.”

Chet rolled his eyes. He was still pissed at
Fenimore, and didn’t intend to do anything but shower and get rid
of the icky, awful clothing that clung to him like rags. Being
arrested, dunked in a doedicu lake, rubbed against a ceros for five
hours, and fucked by an oily smuggler hadn’t done his clothing any
good.