The highwaymen a dark mm.., p.1
The Highwaymen: A Dark MM Romance, page 1
Legal and Copyright Notices:
THE HIGHWAYMEN
© L Eveland 2024
All rights reserved.
No portion of this may be reproduced or shared without the author’s express written consent except in brief review quotations.
NO GENERATIVE AI TRAINING USE. L Eveland expressly forbids using The Highwaymen in any manner for purposes of training artificial intelligence technologies to generate text, including without limitation, technologies capable of generating works in the same style or genre as The Highwaymen. L Eveland reserves all rights to license uses of The Highwaymen for generative AI training and development of machine language learning models.
No AI was used in the creation of this book or its cover. This author supports living human artists.
Cover by: Miblart
Contents
Dedication
Content Warning
1. One
2. Two
3. Three
4. Four
5. Five
6. Six
7. Seven
8. Eight
9. Nine
10. Ten
11. Eleven
12. Twelve
13. Thirteen
14. Fourteen
15. Fifteen
16. Sixteen
17. Seventeen
18. Epilogue
From the Author
This book is dedicated to the creative writing professor who told me I needed to “tone it down” and that no one wanted to read “a gay romance with Tarantino-esque levels of ultra-violence.”
Well, I wanted to read one, Susan. That’s why I wrote this. Thanks for the F.
The Highwaymen is a dark MM romance between two possessive serial killers.
It contains scenes of dubious consent, kidnapping, murder, somnophilia, exhibitionism, animal cruelty, and violence. Lots of gory, bloody violence.
Seriously. Don’t read this if you are bothered by blood and guts.
Some scenes might be triggering to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
The Heartz Travel Stop outside Amarillo was one of the worst I’d ever stopped at. The big neon sign soared high in the sky, lights flickering over diesel prices long out of date. A billboard twenty miles back advertised the place had clean showers and hot food, but both had been tepid.
I sat in the dingy café, sipping my gritty coffee, peering out at the dirty parking lot where lines and lines of semi-trucks were parked. I’d left my ride, the Proud Mary, parked on the far end of the lot, far from all the other rigs. I liked my privacy and thought the parking lot might make for a nice stopover. I’d since changed my mind and decided to move on for the night, just as soon as I finished my coffee.
And picked up some entertainment for the ride.
The passenger side door of one of the trucks opened and an attractive looking young man climbed out. Waves of chestnut hair fell around his neck and shoulders, brushed back in a way that reminded me of a seventies heartthrob. He wore a sweat stained white tank top, cargo shorts, and sandals. Couldn’t have been more than twenty-two, twenty-three. Young to be working the lot, and good looking, too. Too good looking to need the cash. This boy was no lot lizard trolling for cash to feed his meth habit, and yet he’d climbed out of two different cabs in the last forty-five minutes.
Like the last one, the truck he’d just climbed out of rumbled to life as soon as he was clear of it and trundled out of the parking lot. Weird. What had the kid done to scare off the pair of truckers? Nothing good, I hoped.
But it wasn’t my problem. Not yet, anyway.
I finished my coffee and dropped a tip on the table before I hit the toilet one last time. The kid was leaning against the wall near the front door when I came out, smoke trailing up from a cigarette. Well, that’d make anybody kick him out of their cab. Smoking was a nasty habit.
I paused just outside the door and opened the pack of Pall Mall reds I’d bought inside. Then I patted myself down in search of a lighter.
A flame sparked in front of me, offered by the young man.
I glanced over at him as I tucked a cigarette between my lips. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing.”
I leaned in and lit my cigarette, letting the familiar rush of nicotine smooth the jagged edges of me into something more blunt. “You’re a little young to be out here working the lot, aren’t you?”
“Inflation didn’t ask for my birth certificate,” he replied with a smirk.
I gave the kid a quick once over. He was even more attractive up close, exactly the kind of man I’d normally pick up. He fit the profile with his dark hair, dark eyes, and cash-only business leanings. Problem was, this kid had a familiar spark of darkness in him, one I knew better than to trust.
“If you’re going to proposition me, don’t waste your time,” I said. “I ain’t interested tonight.”
“Good thing I’m off the clock, then.” He took another inhale of his cigarette before tapping off the long column of ash. “Honestly, this place sucks. I was thinking of moving on.”
“Where to?”
He shrugged. “Where you headed?”
I looked over at him, the cigarette dangling from between my lips. “Thanks for the light,” I said and affixed my cap before walking off toward my rig.
As I walked across the dimly lit parking lot, my boots crunched on the gravel with each step. Proud Mary waited for me, her chrome gleaming under the flickering overhead lights. I climbed up into the cab and settled into the well-worn driver's seat, the leather creaking beneath me.
I turned the key, and the engine roared to life, a familiar deep rumble that I could feel in my bones. The dashboard lit up, the needles on the gauges jumping to attention. I adjusted the mirrors, catching a glimpse of my own reflection - a grizzled, weather-beaten face, hard eyes that had seen too much. My hands, rough and calloused, gripped the steering wheel, ready to put this shithole in my rearview mirror.
But something stopped me. Call it intuition, or maybe just a gut feeling, but I couldn't shake the image of that young man from my mind - the way his chestnut hair had gleamed under the flickering neon lights, the spark of mischief in his dark eyes, the casual nonchalance with which he'd leaned against the wall and smoked his cigarette. There was a story there, I was sure of it. A story I suddenly found myself wanting to hear.
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, torn. I had a schedule to keep, miles to cover before I could rest my head. But the open road would always be there, waiting for me. This opportunity, on the other hand...
Almost before I knew what I was doing, I found myself putting the truck in gear and slowly drove across the lot. As I approached the spot where the kid was still smoking, surprise lit up his face. I rolled down the passenger side window and leaned across the cab.
“Get in,” I said gruffly.
He hesitated for a moment, eyeing me warily. But then he flicked his cigarette to the ground, grabbed the dingy backpack sitting on the ground beside him, and climbed up into the cab, settling into the passenger seat.
“Where are we going?” he asked as I pulled out.
“Los Angeles.”
He whistled. “Never been there. Is it nice?”
“You ever seen that tv show about the devil? Lucifer?”
“Yeah? Is it like that?” He turned toward me, dark eyes gleaming in the low light.
“Not a fucking bit,” I replied, and he laughed.
We rode in silence for a while, the only sound the rumble of the engine and the whir of the tires on the pavement. I kept my eyes on the road, but I could feel the kid's gaze on me, studying me.
“So, what's your name?” he asked finally, breaking the silence.
I snorted. “You ask all your Johns for their names?”
“You’re not a John, and I’m just trying to be friendly.” He shrugged. “Los Angeles is a long drive. Figured it doesn’t hurt to have a little conversation.”
I glanced over at him. “Stuart,” I said. “Friends call me Stu.”
“I'm Jamie,” he replied, flashing me a grin. “Nice to meet you, Stu.”
I grunted in response, focusing on the road ahead. The highway stretched out before us, an endless ribbon of asphalt cutting through the desolate desert landscape.
“So, what’s your story, Stu?” Jamie asked, propping his feet up on the dashboard. “You don't seem like the type to be picking up hitchhikers.”
“Is there a type?”
He shrugged again. “Kinda. Most guys I ride with are of a certain sort. They’re usually real nice. Sweet almost. I get the occasional perv who thinks he can get handsy for free, but most guys are just guys, you know?”
“And I’m not, huh?”
“Nah, you’re different. Don’t know how yet, but I can feel it.”
I sighed. “Guess I'm just a sucker for a pretty face.”
He laughed at that, a warm, rich sound that filled the cab. “Well, lucky me then.”
We lapsed back into silence, the miles ticking by. I found myself stealing glances at Jamie, taking in the way the moonlight played across his features, the way his lips curved into a slight smile as he stared out the window.
“So, what's your story?” I asked, throwing his own question back at him. “What's a good-looking kid like you doing out here working the lot?”
Jamie shrugged, picking at a loose thread on his shorts. “Just trying to get by, you know? It's not like there are a lot of opt
“Guys like you?”
He gave me a sideways glance. “You know what I mean.”
“Afraid I don’t.”
Jamie sighed, his expression turning serious. “Guys who are on their own. No family, no prospects. The kind of guys who are just trying to survive day to day, doing whatever it takes.”
There was a heaviness to his words that made me wonder what he'd seen.
“That why you were hopping from cab to cab back there?” I asked. “Just trying to survive?”
He was quiet for a moment, staring out at the dark landscape flashing by. “Something like that,” he said finally. “Let's just say those truckers and I had a…disagreement about payment.”
I raised an eyebrow. “They stiff you?”
Jamie let out a bitter laugh. “More like they wanted something not on the menu. Had to bail before things got ugly.” He folded his arms. “I’m strictly mouth and hands only at work. I don’t do butt stuff with clients, no matter how much they’re willing to pay. Too fucking risky.”
I felt a flare of anger at the thought of someone trying to take advantage of the kid like that. But I tamped it down, keeping my expression neutral. “Sounds like you handled it.”
“I always do.” There was a hard edge to his voice now. “I know how to handle myself.”
“I don't doubt it.”
We fell silent again, each lost in our own thoughts as the miles rolled by. The desert gave way to scrubland, the landscape dotted with the occasional cactus or tumbleweed.
As the first hints of dawn began to lighten the eastern sky, I pulled off at a rest stop. The Proud Mary needed fuel, and frankly, so did I.
I hopped out of the cab and stretched, my muscles stiff from hours behind the wheel. Jamie climbed out the passenger side, his hair adorably mussed from sleep. He'd dozed off a couple hours back, his head lolling against the window.
“I'm gonna hit the head and grab some coffee,” I said, jabbing a thumb toward the small brick building housing the restrooms and vending machines. “You want anything?”
Jamie shook his head. “I'm good. Might grab a smoke, though.”
I nodded and headed off, the gravel crunching beneath my boots.
In the dingy restroom, I splashed cold water on my face, trying to shake off the cobwebs of fatigue. As I looked at my reflection in the spotted mirror, I couldn't help but wonder what the hell I was doing. Picking up some kid young enough to be my son? It wasn't like me. But then again, maybe that's exactly why I did it.
I dried my hands and face on a scratchy paper towel and headed to the coffee station, where I filled a big Styrofoam cup full of the darkest brew I could find. As I stirred in enough sugar to make it palatable, I found my gaze drawn to the window, to the sight of Jamie leaning against the Proud Mary, smoke curling from his lips as he stared out at the lightening sky.
There was something about him, something that tugged at me in a way I hadn't felt in a long time. It wasn't just that he was attractive, though he certainly was that. It was the darkness I sensed in him, the shadows that lurked behind those pretty brown eyes. It called to something in me, something primal and dangerous that I thought I'd left behind a long time ago.
I took a sip of the burnt, bitter coffee and let my mind wander to dangerous places. I pictured my hands around that slender throat, squeezing until the light faded from those captivating eyes. I imagined the way his body would shudder in the throes of death, his eyes rolling back, lips blue, the choked, desperate sounds he’d make.
And damn me to hell, but the thought made my dick twitch in my jeans.
I adjusted myself, grateful for the loose fit of my worn Levi's. It had been too damn long since I'd dirtied my hands, since I'd felt that rush of power that came from holding a life in my grasp and choosing to end it.
Out in the lot, Jamie finished his cigarette and flicked the butt away, the orange ember arcing through the predawn gloom. He turned and caught me watching him through the window, a slow smile spreading across his face. Then he turned and sashayed around to the front of the truck, where I couldn’t see him.
God damn him. Even out of sight, the fucker was making my dick throb. One way or another, I had to have him.
I lit another cigarette and shoved the lighter in my pocket, never taking my eyes off the old man in the suit. He was bent over the hood of his rental car, sweat gathering on the back of his neck as he furiously texted someone. Something about the guy gave off the air of a lost lamb, someone who was so out of his element, he wasn’t even on the same planet anymore.
I glanced at the plates. You’re far from home, Nebraska. And traveling all alone.
The old man's fingers stumbled over the touchscreen, his brow furrowed in concentration. Poor sap probably didn't even realize the danger he was in. Out here in the middle of nowhere, a thousand miles from anyone who gave a damn about him. Easy pickings.
I took a long drag on my cigarette, the smoke curling around my face as I exhaled. In my mind's eye, I could see it all play out. I'd wait until he finished his frantic texting and climbed into that shiny rental Buick. Then I'd saunter over casual-like, maybe ask for directions or a light. Get him to roll down the window.
That's when I'd strike. My hand would shoot through the open window, switchblade flicking out from my sleeve. Before he even registered what was happening, I'd jam the blade into the side of his neck, piercing his carotid artery. Bright red blood would spurt out in powerful jets, splattering the beige interior, running in rivulets down his crisp white dress shirt.
His mouth would gape open in shock, eyes bulging. He'd gurgle and spasm, hands scrabbling uselessly at his ruined throat. I'd twist the knife and yank it free, unleashing a fresh geyser. Blood would pool on the car seat, soaking into the upholstery. The coppery scent would fill my nostrils.
God, it would feel so fucking good. It was making my dick hard just thinking about it.
I tore my eyes away from the old man and scanned the rundown truck stop, weighing my options. A quick fuck might take the edge off, let me think straight. The lot lizards usually hung out by the dumpsters behind the bathrooms, trolling for horny truckers, and no truck stop was complete without them. I could probably score a cheap blowjob, work out this insistent hard-on.
A heavyset woman in cutoff shorts and a halter top lingered by the men's room door, eyeing me with disinterest. Normally I wouldn't be desperate enough to stick my dick in whatever washed up skank was peddling her wares, but the pressure in my balls was getting difficult to ignore.
I was about to push off the wall and head her way, when the door of the rest stop convenience store swung open with a jangle of bells. Stu emerged, a plastic bag dangling from one meaty fist, a cigarette clamped between his teeth. Our eyes met, briefly dancing, before I turned back to stare at the man good and hard.
“See something you like?” Stu asked, coming up beside me. When I turned, he was eyeing me up and down, and he’d definitely noticed the bulge in my shorts.
I snorted. “Not particularly. But you know how it is. A man has needs.”
“That he does.” Stu sucked on his cigarette, staring appreciatively at the tent my dick was making in the shorts.
I smirked and grabbed my cock through my shorts, putting it on full display for him. “I normally charge if you want to watch, but seeing as how you’re giving me a ride…”
He shoved the bag at me. “Get in the damn truck.”
I snickered and climbed up into the cab.
As I settled into the passenger seat, Stu tossed the plastic bag between us and cranked the engine. It rumbled to life with a throaty growl. He threw it into gear and peeled out of the lot, tires spitting gravel.
I dug through the bag, curious about what provisions he had procured. Slim Jims, pork rinds, a couple cans of cheap beer. I cracked one open and took a swig. Piss-warm, but it would do.
“So what's your story, cowboy?” I asked, tearing open a Slim Jim. “Let me guess - a wife and two point five kids waiting for you back at the ranch?”
Stu snorted. “Hardly. I'm what you might call...unattached.”
“A lone wolf. I can respect that.” I tilted my head, studying him. Stu kept his eyes on the road, jaw set, one hand on the wheel. A man of few words. “Though I gotta say, you don't much look the part of a drifter. What's your game, Stu? Cause I doubt you're just out here haulin' freight and suckin' dick at rest stops for shits and giggles.”
