Cock and Balls (Handcuffs and Lace) by Mia Watts (12 page)

“Do exactly what you’re told. Understood? Stay down when we get to the car, and I’ll try to lose them before we make a call for the pickup. And no matter what, Hank, don’t talk to me.”

Hank nodded. He’d fucked up. He wasn’t about to do it again.

Chapter Ten

Monty’s mind swirled with self-condemnation. His boss and the president had trusted him to make the public situation better, calmer. Instead, he’d taken Hank to a private location, fucked him and treated the whole think like a fantasy vacation.

The plane ride back to Washington D.C. was quiet, thank God. Hank didn’t utter a word. Unfortunately, that didn’t help. If Hank had gone off spewing egotistical remarks or filled the air with mockery, Monty could have allowed his own anger to boil over. But he didn’t. Hank stayed quiet. It was so uncharacteristic that its very difference from his normal behavior was an apology of its own. Maybe.

When would he stop giving Hank the benefit of the doubt? The jackass had called the press, for fuck’s sake. Called them and made sure to deliver a spectacle that there’d be no way of pulling from every paper in the country. No, this time, it was personal. He hadn’t just disgraced his father and made a joke of Monty, he’d fucking ruined Monty’s credibility, his job,
outted
him. Granted, Monty was already outted, but Hank didn’t know that. He hadn’t bothered to find out first.

As soon as they landed, Monty grabbed Hank’s upper arm and steered him toward the exit. He shoved him into the limo, and they made a straight shot for the White House.

“I’m sorry,” Hank said after they’d been on the road five minutes.

Monty turned a stony glare on him. His jaw felt like lead, and he had no interest in cracking it to comment on the sincerity of that apology, even if Hank looked earnest.

“I am,” Hank whispered, his voice carrying easily in the confines of the car.

“Save it,” Monty answered, finally.

“What can I do to make it up to you?”

Monty looked at him in disbelief. “Are you fucking insane? You can’t make up for this shit. You didn’t just destroy your father, you destroyed me—like the spoiled, self-indulgent brat you are. You can’t wave a magic wand and pretend it didn’t happen.”

Once Monty opened his mouth and let the anger out, it seemed impossible to stop.

“What did you
think
was going to happen, huh? What did you think my superiors were going to say when they found out I was fucking the president’s son?”

Hank’s eyes flashed. “C’mon. It takes two to fuck. I didn’t force you into it.”

“No,” Monty relented grudgingly. “But I trusted you to keep it to yourself.”

“So you wanted to spend whatever time was given to us, screwing around with me and then what? You were going to dump me?”

Monty stared hard at the other man, wondering if he’d actually detected hurt in Hank’s words.

“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” Monty admitted.

“Neither had I,” Hank bit out.

“Really? Because it seemed thought out. You’d had to have planned a note, bribe money and the final setup. You saw them coming to shore, and you stuck with your plan. Are you sure you didn’t know what you were doing?” Monty challenged.

“I knew I wanted you. I knew I wanted out of there, and I wanted Dad’s plan to micromanage me to backfire.”

“And what about me? If you thought you wanted more than a holiday fuck, I doubt you’d have concocted a plan sure to get me fired and embarrassed.”

Hank sighed. “I
didn’t
think.”

“No shit. The only one who benefitted from that little scene was you.”

“Are you going to lose your job?”

“Very likely.” Monty chose to look out the window. Gazing at Hank had him softening—almost believing the apology when he shouldn’t.

“I’ll make sure they don’t.”

“Don’t do me any favors. I think you’ve done enough,” Monty answered. “In fact, don’t say a word. The last thing I need is for you to pull strings for as payment for fucking.”

“That’s not how I feel.”

Monty snorted. “Who are you kidding, Junior? You don’t have feelings, remember? Except the blazing hatred for your father, which proves just how much you
do
care about him. You’re desperate for his attention, and you just found a sure-fire way to get it. Good job.”

The limo pulled up at the gate fifteen minutes later. Long enough to have Monty wincing over his last words to Hank and angry at himself for caring. He knew the kid had feelings. He’d opened up enough at the shore to let Monty see the pain caused by his father’s apparent apathy. Yet second guessing his own part in Hank’s supposed feelings would get him nowhere but stupid. It was Monty’s own fault for thinking the guy was worth getting to know personally. His own fault for letting his guard down long enough to care that Hank worked through his issues, and his own fault for letting the kid get under his skin.

Monty could pretend all he wanted that he’d been used, but he wasn’t an idiot. He’d known what getting caught would do to his career, and that was the real reason he was pissed. He’d known, and he’d done it anyway. He was just as guilty for screwing over the presidency as Hank was. Just as guilty for putting his job on the line. What had Hank said? It takes two to fuck. Yeah, it did, and Monty had truly fucked himself over, with a little help from a blond, gray-eyed temptation with irresistible dimples and polish.

Right now, he didn’t want to think about Hank’s side of the story. Hank’s side of the story had tipped the pile-o-shit-ometer off its teetering balance to dump on Monty’s head. He didn’t have even a fighting chance to get out of this one unscathed.

Monty took a deep, fortifying, breath as he got out of the limo and held the door for the presidential son. He didn’t meet the blond’s eyes when he stood for a moment before continuing into the White House. Both men were followed by a contingent of Secret Service—which sucked because now Monty knew exactly how much trouble he was in. They didn’t even trust him to escort Hank to the security office.

But it wasn’t Monty’s boss that sent for them. It was the president. Considering that Monty knew how little time he had to deal with things like this, Monty knew that taking a chunk out of the leader’s day didn’t bode well for him either.

They were brought from the on-site security office to the president’s private quarters and taken to the living room. The president appeared haggard, slumped in a chair across from the couch.

“Have a seat,” President McClaren said solemnly.

Monty and Hank both sat. Hank on the couch, Monty opting for another chair adjacent to the president.

“I trusted you to look after my son.” Disappointment dripped from McClaren’s voice as he addressed Monty. “We set up the Plan B, and I put you on it because I knew that of all the Secret Service guys, you wouldn’t let me down.”

Monty winced, but he had no defense so he didn’t say a word. He could feel Hank’s eyes move between the president and Monty. If he looked up and saw a smug smile, Monty would kick his ass—after he kissed the damn grin off his face, so help him—so he didn’t glance at him. His attention fixed to McClaren, senior.

The president ran a hand through his hair, and Monty was reminded of how infrequently the man did that, which already showed how upset he was. Then the president sighed.

“You were technically off the clock. Technically, I can’t fire you even though your behavior should always represent my office, because you were on private property and off the radar.” The president’s eyes seemed sad. “Why
my
son, Montegue? Of all the men you could pick to mess around with, why did you choose my son when you were on an unofficial mission to protect the integrity of this office?”

“Sir, I have no excuse for my behavior.”

“You knew what Hank was like. You know the antics he pulls. Did you stop to think for one second that he was using you?”

Monty almost glanced at the younger man, who’d stiffened suddenly. “Yes, sir. I did briefly, but we were alone.” He paused to collect his embarrassment as he finished the confession. “And I believed his sincerity.”

McClaren shook his head. “He had your number, I’m guessing. It wouldn’t be the first time that he convinced someone to behave out of character, but it’s
you
, Montegue. I can’t fire you, but I won’t let this go.”

“Yes, sir.” Monty waited for his sentencing.

“You’ll be removed from my service.”

Monty winced. “Yes, sir. I understand, and I’m sorry for letting you down.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” McClaren cut him off from anything else he might have said. “If you manage to work your way back up into service of the president, it won’t be during my term. I don’t know all the ins and outs of the Secret Service, but I can promise you that.”

“Dad, they’ll fire him. You know they will,” Hank spoke up suddenly.

“No, I’ll make sure that won’t happen. I can’t say it’ll be an easy road for you, Montegue. It’ll set you back in your career, but it won’t blow it out of the water. That’s the only concession I’m willing to offer you.”

“Yes, sir,” Monty answered. “Thank you.”

“Leave now. I believe your supervisor wants a word with you.”

Monty nodded, rose and left. He took the corridors away from the private wing, escorted by another agent. God, this was going to suck, but it was no less than he deserved. If anything, McClaren had been lenient with him.

Monty had barely entered the security office when he was asked to turn over his I.D. badge.

* * * *

Hank heard the door to the private suite close.

“He didn’t know I’d called the paparazzi,” Hank said.

“He should know everything. Every contingency should’ve been accounted for and shot down,” McClaren told him quietly. “He may have been on an official leave of absence, but he’s not off the hook and neither are you.”

“He’s one man, Dad. How was he supposed to keep his eyes on me and do things like pick up supplies? You had to know there would be moments I’d be out of sight. If you were so worried about me acting out, you should’ve sent a second agent.”

A muscle in McClaren’s jaw ticked. “It’s everyone’s fault but your own, isn’t it? You take no responsibility for your actions even now when a man almost loses his job because of what you did to get back at me. I would’ve been within my rights to fire him off all service and see that he never takes a position in this city again.”

“You’re right,” Hank admitted quietly.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re right.”

McClaren eyed him uncertainly. “I’m waiting to hear you elaborate on this one. I can’t wait to see how you twist this around.”

Hank scooted to the edge of the couch. He rested his elbows on his thighs and folded his hands. “No twisting. I-I screwed up.”

McClaren held his silence seeming to expect the other shoe to drop. He didn’t look as if he believed Hank. Hank didn’t blame him. He’d spent the last couple years angry at his father for not giving him or Hank’s mother attention, letting them sort it out as a single parent unit, and the last few months making the president’s life hell after her death. Hank still wasn’t sure he could forgive his father, but he believed Monty too. He believed Monty had seen the Hank’s father fall apart, that the mighty President McClaren had cried when he heard that his wife had died.

It meant letting go of that splinter of hate he had for the man because in the back of his mind Hank knew his mother would’ve insisted his dad leave for Paris. It rang of truth, and besides that, Monty’s sincerity had been there. If Hank trusted nothing else, he trusted his memory of his mother and the truth he’d seen in Monty’s eyes.

“I’ve been angry at you for so long,” Hank said, finally breathing the words he’d kept pent up. Maybe if he said them out loud, his father would finally admit his errors too. Maybe. “You’d stand at the podium talking about family values—made that your running game for the presidency. I got so mad because Mom and I were living that family without you.”

“Who do you think encouraged me every step of the way? She knew when she got sick that it would take a toll, and she knew that some of the battle she had to take on would be without me beside her.” President McClaren closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, he seemed to have aged another ten years. “I miss her too. I love her too. Your mother knew what we were getting into.”

“I don’t think so. I think she was resolved to accept the cards she’d been dealt, but she missed you. We missed you,” Hank stressed. He wouldn’t have admitted that much, but his conversation with Monty about how badly his dad had been hurting entered his mind. It was for that reason alone he shared as much as he did about his feelings, the loneliness and pain. “I just let my resentment get out of control. I sank to a level I shouldn’t have.”

“Changing tactics to guilt?” McClaren asked.

“No, Dad. I’m just tired of living my life to spite you. I don’t know your motives now any better than I did back then. I just know that I can’t be this hate-filled person I’ve been for the last couple years. Especially how I got after Mom’s death.”

“I miss her.” McClaren’s face seemed to crumble. “She was the love of my life, and she’s gone.”

“You still left us at the end.”

“I didn’t want to. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to get on that plane and take off for Paris?”

“No, Dad. I don’t. It looked pretty easy from where I sat beside her bed, holding her hand as her life slipped away.” Hank winced. He’d grown so accustomed to getting in a dig at every opportunity that the last one had slipped out despite his best intentions.

McClaren dropped his face into his hands. His shoulders weakened, and there was a hitch to his breathing that Hank hadn’t heard before. A lump had formed in Hank’s throat as well.

“I’m sorry, Dad. That came out wrong.”

Whether or not he heard Hank, McClaren appeared lost in his thoughts. “Your mother and I—this was a dream for us. It wasn’t how we started off thinking life would be, but it’s what we found together. We rode the wave all the way to the presidency, and when the diagnosis came in, she still supported it. She loved our life together,” McClaren stressed, sitting upright. “It came with the cameras and media. She knew that, and she supported my run anyway.”