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Category: Erotica/Group-Orgy Erotica/Gay Fiction
Description: Released from prison after four years for Wall Street fraud, golden boy Mitch Badham disappears before Clay Furst arrives to pick him up. Clay has a secret crush on the ex con and would do anything for him until the FBI arrives on the scene and tries to convince him to go undercover to save his friend.
eBook Publisher: loveyoudivine, 2011 2011
eBookwise Release Date: March 2011

2 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [39 KB]
Words: 6992
Reading time: 19-27 min.

The visitor's car park was sparsely occupied by the lovers and families of parolees who were getting out that day. There were shrieks of joy as well as tears until there was just me and an ostentatious limo with darkened windows waiting. I was impatient to be gone from the depressing atmosphere of the area and after two hours, I went to the gate to enquire. Prison personnel are obviously hired for their ability to obfuscate and irritate because it wasn't until I blew my cool that I got any answers and then they were accompanied by a threat of police action.

I strode angrily back to my car, cursing under my breath. It was just like Mitch. He'd been released the previous day on special instruction, from whom the warden would not divulge, and, as far as he knew, Mitch had been met at the gate and whisked away. All my costly preparation had obviously gone for nought as he had a grander benefactor than I could ever hope to be.

I kicked savagely at stones that littered my path, attempting to assuage my anger with that simple violent act. So it was I didn't see the person waiting for me at my vehicle until I was almost upon him.

"Mr. Furst?" he enquired. "Mr. Clayton Furst?"

"That's right." Out of habit, I gave him a cursory once over.

A young man, immaculately dressed in an expensive suit, his hair expertly coiffed, with not a strand out of place, his skin as smooth and flawless as the finest porcelain.

"Come this way."

It wasn't what he said as much as the manner in which he said it. This was not a request, but a demand. I followed him to the limousine parked a short distance away from my car. He opened the door and, without uttering a single word, insinuated I should get in. To say I was hesitant would be an understatement. I considered asking what it was all about, but his glare cowed me enough that I did his bidding.

The interior of the limo was dim, the sole light over the seat in which I was obviously expected to sit. I've never been one to do what was expected of me so I sat down next to the shadowy figure lounging in the back seat. Apart from that figure, the vehicle was empty.

It, I could not tell if it was male or female, leaned across to a control panel and switched on the light above me. I must confess I was trembling somewhat when I moved swiftly forward to click the light off before taking a chance pressing another button which lit up my fellow passenger. He cursed, for it was a he, and grabbed for the controls which I held out of his reach.

He thought better of wrestling me for it, sitting back in the plush leather seat in a show of relaxation that I wasn't buying.

"It doesn't pay to irritate the FBI," he said in a strong masculine voice.

"It doesn't pay to intimidate Clayton Furst, even if you are actually from the FBI."

He laughed, flipped open ID where I just had an opportunity to see his name was Beck McAlister before he snapped it shut and snatched the control back. He switched on the light to illuminate me but did not extinguish his own.