The Full Ride

He Could Stop Traffic-2

“This doesn’t look like a coffee shop,” Karl said as he pulled into the parking lot of a small, weathered apartment complex. He had a vague recollection there’d been serious incidents at this location.

“You said you wanted to talk someplace private,” Tomás said. “My new apartment is here.”

I said “quiet,” not “private.” “Okay, but I don’t have much time.” Karl almost added, “And I need to spend it talking, not stuffing you full of d**k,” but watching Tomás rub the tattoo on his neck stopped his tongue.

Karl’s heart rate quickened as he watched Tomás’s ass while the boy walked up one flight of stairs and unlocked a dented door. The tidy studio apartment smelled clean. “Do you work on your own apartment in a jockstrap?”

“Practice makes perfect.”

“Anywhere to sit?”

“Just the mattress.”

Of course. “I’ll stand. Buddy, you mentioned the background-check obstacle. What if there was a way around that?”

“How?” Tomás asked.

“I won’t lie. The help needed is not something small and would never be asked for under other circumstances.”

Tomás handed Karl a glass of ice water. “What do you mean?”

“Something big triggered a need to hit a trafficking ring. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

Tomás shuddered. “El Sistema? Those guys give me the creeps.”

That wasn’t the response Karl had expected. “You actually know members of a trafficking ring?”

“Know of one or two, but not actually know them. There’s a guy who comes into KJ’s. He has the tattoo.”

What tattoo? The vice cops told him nothing. “KJ’s? The bar where you strip?”

“Where I dance, you mean.”

“Can you describe the tattoo?”

“A black capital letter E with a green and brown viper curled around it. Like it’s a letter S. It’s on his chest, but high enough you can see it when his shirt’s open.”

“Do you know his name? Where he can be found?”

“Not his real name. The guys call him Tiburón, which means shark. I think he used to wear a shark-tooth necklace.”

“Jeez, Tomás, you seriously are full of surprises.” Karl texted Corley’s office. If they already had this information, he’d be pissed.

“I was ninety-nine-percent sure when you said ‘talk someplace private,’ you didn’t mean talk.”

Karl looked up, his d**k stiffening again. “Oh, you have no idea. But the city needs help with El Sistema now. The fact you already know someone makes this…tougher.”

“What? Why tougher?”

“I wanted to ask for your help, but the more I think the department will go for it, the worse I feel. Even your…awful stoplight tattoo would help.”

“How?”

“Police can’t have visible tattoos, so no one would suspect you’re undercover. I was thinking you’d wear a wire and gather info, but you already have a connection. That makes this a rare opportunity, and I’d bet they’d want to, uh…”

“Use me as bait?”

“It’s too risky. You’re not trained.”

“So if it’s too risky, you must be here for something else.”

“Don’t get me revved up.” Karl received a text back. Yes, they’d heard rumors about a snake tattoo but had not confirmed them. Karl should call them with a description of Tiburón.

“You’re here for my ass.”

Karl swallowed. Yep. Bottom boys and their vanity. Might as well appeal to it. “Okay, it is about your ass.”

“Aha.”

“But it’s about the city needing that ass to get itself inside El Sistema.” As Karl pieced together that the city had more information than they’d given him, he wondered if the reason they’d considered his plan was his personal ability to find someone like Tomás. Someone expendable. Karl shook his head. “I have to come up with another idea in the next three hours. I need you to describe Tiburón. Then I should split.”

“So you’re going to take off without f*****g me because you don’t feel like admitting you want to own my hole, f**k it like a madman, then puff up your chest and walk out, never even thinking about me. Then maybe someday you’ll need my ass again and—hey!”

In one motion, Karl leapt on the mattress and roughly shoved Tomás’s legs skyward. With his right hand, he gripped the crotch of Tomás’s cotton shorts and pulled. Without a second’s resistance, they ripped off, and there was Tomás’s smooth, perfect hole. The shock of the assault had Tomás scrambling away for a moment, but now he remained still, his breathing hard, his d**k erect, and his eyes wild with need.

Karl growled, fingered Tomás’ hole, and whispered in his ear. “Why did you get that stoplight tattoo?”

“What? A friend told me to get it. That it would be good for me. I like it.”

“A friend? Stud pup, a light that’s always green stops no one. They just keep coming. Everyone gets that ass, and everyone knows it. Is that what your friend wanted to tell the world? Who is he?”

“He doesn’t matter.”

“Does everyone get this ass?”

“No. But I’ve never stopped you. You’ve f****d me every time I’ve seen you.”

Lust shot through Karl, and he rolled on top of Tomás. “We’re keeping the streak going.”

Tomás always had expensive micro-thin condoms with him. The delay while Tomás struggled with the wrapper made Karl tense with impatience. He lubed Tomás with feral urgency. But less than thirty seconds after he’d slipped on the condom, he was in heaven, sinking into Tomás’s warm, velvety smooth hole. Tomás whimpered and gasped, which made Karl smile. Tomás might not have been a prostitute, but the green light said it all. Just about everyone did get his ass, but Tomás still couldn’t help but moan with Karl’s every stroke. The fact that someone who received so much f*****g squirmed and struggled under Karl’s d**k, and that his hole felt so perfect and tight, filled Karl with pride and hunger. He began to slam in and out of Tomás’s mounds, rolling the younger man’s thighs farther back so he could watch his own c**k conquering that magnificent bubble ass, stabbing again and again. The sensation of warm pleasure surrounding his d**k rose to his gut and then to his temples. Tomás’s beautiful mouth, contorted with passion, his muscular body, and his warm, welcoming hole, soon had Karl light-headed with frenzy. He had no idea how long he’d been mercilessly pumping into Tomás, but when the younger man cried out “Eres bien verga” and bit down on a pillow to muffle his moans, Karl went out of his mind with ecstasy. The surge of his orgasm ripped through him, and he came deep inside Tomás with a series of growls. At the same time, Tomás’s head began to thrash back and forth, his teeth still gripping the pillow. He convulsed as he shot into his own hand.

“You said in Spanish I’m ‘good d**k,’ didn’t you?” asked Karl. “That’s nice to know because I’d forgotten how much I missed this.”

Tomás tapped his fingers against his ass, still hosting Karl’s c**k. “Missed this or missed me?”

Karl smiled and kissed Tomás on the forehead. “Both.”

As Tomás cleaned off, Karl took a minute to check his texts and discovered bad news. The necessary tracking device wasn’t available. His plan was shot. He closed his eyes in frustration. At least Tomás wouldn’t be put in danger.

“Buddy, I promise I’ll help you with a career with the force, but I can’t ask for assistance on this.”

“But my stoplight tattoo. I thought I’d be perfect.” Tomás grabbed Karl’s arm. “If I’m your best bet, I want in.” Tomás looked Karl in the eye. “In fact, why don’t you tell your bosses I’ll volunteer only if, when they’re reviewing my application, they remember my tarnished background helped them with this case?”

Karl inhaled. Tomás had a point. Besides, were there other options? For the judge’s son. For my cousin. But please, God, don’t let this boy get hurt.

“Okay.” Karl nodded toward the window. A tall man was heading toward his car. He’d been hoping someone would pass by to test the accuracy of Tomás’s descriptions before he got details on Tiburón.

“Have you seen that guy before?”

Tomás went to the window, not caring he was still nude. “No, don’t think so.”

Karl chuckled. “Stop flashing the neighbors. Give me a description of that man.”

Tomás raised his eyebrows. “He’s all right looking. He’s got the height and build for a good top, but he’s got nothing on you.”

Karl snorted. “That’s not what I—”

“—About six two. Maybe two hundred pounds. Big, wavy George Lucas hair, but light brown. Beige suit, white button-down shirt, solid dark tie—navy or black. Brown leather belt.”

“Uh, all right. Anything else?”

“Shoes had a heel so he’s closer to six foot or six one. No rings on his left hand. His black leather briefcase blocked my view of the right. No visible tattoos or scars. He got into a white Mazda Miata.”

“Christ, what was the plate number?”

“No idea, but it was New Mexico, not Texas, and had a Bush/Cheney ‘04 sticker, which tells you it’s not a new vehicle.”

“Guess those criminal justice classes worked.” He handed Tomás his notepad. “Write down a description of Tiburón for me.” It seemed more and more like Tomás would be the key to this op working.

Karl picked up his phone. “When you’re done, get dressed. We need to get your ear pierced right now.” He ignored Tomás’s confused look as he left a message on Lieutenant Corley’s voicemail. “Lieutenant, I got the message we don’t have the device. El Paso PD has the test prototype. It needs to be on the next flight to Hobby.” He didn’t usually act this demanding with his superiors, but they had to know how much of this s**t-dangerous situation was made worse by them not listening to him time and again. Still, he softened his voice as he added, “Text me when I should head to the airport to pick it up. Thanks.”

* * * *

Academy training should last six months, but Karl had been foolish to hope the department would at least give Tomás a crash course in self-defense. The two-hour prep session focused only on mistakes that would endanger their case and safety protocols to ensure no “real” officer would be at risk. They showed him a photo of Jared, the judge’s son, but didn’t give the kid’s name or explain who he was. They wasted time emphasizing that the “earring” they were putting on Tomás cost a fortune.

No one bothered to wish him luck or warn him to be careful. Karl almost expected to hear, “Let the bad guys ream your ass until we feel like rescuing you.” HPD did not have someone else inside the ring, so what options would Tomás have? Karl’s stomach hurt with frustration.

Hours later, Karl sat hunched in the back of an unmarked car watching Tomás stand in front of the stripper bar. “When did they start making business suits specifically for slut boys?” Karl had wondered aloud in front of Tomás. When Tomás said he’d made the suit, Karl had said, “once again, you’re full of surprises.”

Tomás wore a tight-fitting black blazer, under which his tan, sculpture-perfect torso was bare except for a half-undone skinny tie. Tomás periodically took off the jacket, and Karl could see the form-fitting pants not only hugged his hips without a belt, but were tailored to reveal the top third of Tomás’s ass. He had a prop—a cheap overnight bag stuffed with clothes. He kept bending over, pretending to look in his bag but he was actually showing off his incredible rump. Did he need to do that? Even only hours after screwing him, the sight of those bare mounds had Karl imagining bending Tomás over and violating every public decency ordinance.

* * * *

Tomás’s ear hurt. He had to dig his fingernails into his palm to keep from fiddling with the device. He stood outside KJ’s, listening to the thumping music that accompanied each go-go boy. He was glad for the breeze that tempered the insufferable Houston heat. Finally, after nearly two hours, there was Tiburón, who looked him up and down.

“¿Cuánto para el culo, putito?” Tiburón said, stopping to grope and squeeze Tomás’s butt cheeks. He pressed the bulge of his pants into Tomás. “How much for, say…three hours?”

Tomás looked away. “I’m not sure. I don’t normally do this.” Even with the police watching, standing next to Tiburón unnerved him. The other dancers had been wary long before anyone knew he was connected to El Sistema. Tiburón was too young and handsome to need street hustlers. Tonight he was dressed a bit like Tomás. A blazer and dress pants, a white shirt with enough buttons open to reveal part of the Sistema tattoo.

“Sooner or later,” Tiburón said, nodding toward the bar, “everyone strutting on the stage in there winds up standing out here. So what happened?”

“The last person looking out for me in this town is gone.” Tomás said, looking down at his bag. “So no friends. One too many enemies. As soon as I get cash, me voy.”

Tiburón nodded slowly. “I can help.” He ran his index finger down Tomás’s torso and then rubbed the boy’s stomach in small circles. Tomás’s gut tightened in both heat and fear. “Let me get a quick drink, say hello to some people, and hit the ATM inside. Un minuto, chulo.”

Fifteen minutes later, a rusty gray van pulled up. Two men got out and grabbed Tomás. He barely struggled.

* * * *

The Vice Unit vehicle slowly slid onto the road. Karl told himself he didn’t mind. They weren’t trying to stop the van. In fact, they weren’t even the lead since two FBI task forces had been put on alert. What he did mind was deliberately letting the van reach its destination. Yes, that GPS earring made sure they tracked the van all the way down the Southwest Freeway to an area rife with crime, and of course, they had units in the area. But over the radio, Karl and the vice cops in the front seat heard they’d hit a snag. No one had expected a fortified bunker. As they sped down the freeway, all Karl could think about was what El Sistema’s men might have done to Tomás in the van and what they might be doing to him now.