Wicklow’s Odyssey“Wicklow,” Rhoades said his name as he almost neverdid. “Pr

Wicklow’s Odyssey“Wicklow,” Rhoades said his name as he almost neverdid. “Private, you do not have to….” He trailed off there, his accent somewherebetween North and South.Wicklow tossed his head, the only thing he could do withthose eyes on his back except try to guess if Rhoades would still think himhandsome after seeing the marks and bruises that Wicklow had earned in histwenty-one years. But Rhoades did not speak to tell him, and Wicklow found hedid not want to ask. He could not even turn to look.Rhoades spoke roughly. “I would never make you.”Rhoades made life or death decisions every day. TellingWicklow to play the part of a paid cocksucker shouldn’t have been anythingcompared to that.“I’ll be believable, won’t I?” Wicklow asked with afrustrated noise that did not drown out the whisper of denial from Rhoades.Wicklow brushed his hair from his eyes. “I have seen people looking, seen menlooking. Seen you,” he told Rhoades, as softly as Rhoades ever was, and droppedhis shirt over his pistol. He would have to leave the gun behind, which was thelast thing he wanted, but he reminded himself of the blade in his boot and letit go. “I’ve seen them looking most of my life. Never wanted it, but there it is.”“Private.” Rhoades was probably averting his eyes now,something Wicklow would have laughed at if he’d seen anyone else doing it. AsLouis had intimated, Wicklow was a good piece. Only to Rhoades was Wicklowanything more. That was probably why his presence tangled Wicklow’s guts andcalmed him at the same time.Wicklow let out a breath and scowled at the floor. “I don’tmind as much when it’s you.” -- source link

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