Anti-Hero (Wild Heart Ranch Book 4)

I’ve flown this jet dozens of times. I am confident in this aircraft and in my flying skills. That said, I completely understand Ant’s look of concern when I climb into the captain’s chair before realizing I haven’t gone through my checklist.

It’s a simple order of operations error, but one I’ve never made before. Not willing to take a chance with Ant’s life, I triple-check everything. To his credit, Ant stays quiet and doesn’t give me any shit.

I finally get us in the air in one piece without blowing up the plane, and soon enough, we’re winging our way to Teterboro. Luca was dead serious about wanting us to make it in time for poker night, which he made clear when he borrowed his good buddy’s helicopter and pilot to take us from Teterboro to the rooftop adjacent to his building. Can’t have us getting delayed by New York traffic, it seems.

About a half-hour into the flight from Louisiana, my blood pressure finally crawls out of the rafters and I feel like myself again. Ant, however, remains quiet.

“You okay?” I ask. “You normally would’ve given me shit about the checklist situation by now.”

He raises a shoulder. “Flying isn’t always my favorite.”

“Really? You seemed okay on the way to New Orleans.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, my pilot seemed a little more focused back then.”

I chuckle, knowing I deserve that. “It’s totally okay if you don’t want to fly up front with me. It won’t hurt my feelings if you move to the back.”

Actually, it would hurt my feelings, but I’m ignoring that for now.

He shakes his head. “No, I’m less afraid when I sit next to you. I don’t think I understood how much I relied on you being you. So when you act all weird and distracted, it really freaks me out. Especially midair,” he cracks.

I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean by me being me?”

Holding back a smirk, he broadens his narrow shoulders and—badly—imitates my accent. “I’m Erik. I’m Norwegian. I’m tall. I’m overprotective. They call me the Quiet One. Except for when I get to know you, and then I roast you every chance I get.”

God, he’s so fucking adorable.

No, he’s not.

Yes, he is.

Your little body’s so tight around my big cock, baby.

Shut up, Bash.

Painfully refocusing on the present moment, I raise my brow, giving him my best Viking glare. “That is the worst Norwegian accent I have ever heard. Al menos puedes hablar español con un lindo acento.”

Ant snorts and then loses it entirely.

“What?” I say, suddenly self-conscious.

“For one, you said I—as in me, Ant—can speak Spanish with a pretty accent.”

I close one eye and think. “Puedo. I should have said puedo hablar.” He keeps laughing, so I nudge him. “And for two?”

Still crowing, he answers, “For two, you sounded like a Norwegian robot trying to speak Spanish from Spain. We’re in the US, buddy. No need to put on a lisp.”

“Fuck off,” I grumble, rechecking the altimeter.

He leans across the console and puts his head on my shoulder. “Poor Erik is so flustered. What has your Nordic panties in a twist, my friend?”

I love the way he plays with me while still needing the assurance of physical touch. I can’t tell if I want to push his face into my crotch or delicately lift his chin for a kiss, but both options make my cock hard.

I roll my eyes, refocusing on his question. “You gutted a man today and then walked into the cabin drenched in his blood, like some gruesome Sweeney Todd imitation. It fucked with my head.”

As did seeing him naked and stroking his hard cock, which was not at all a turn-on.

Ahem.

“I don’t know what a Sweeney Todd is, but did it really bother you?”

“Sweeney Todd is a play about a barber who kills people with razors. And, yeah, it bothered me.”

“Why?”

I stare at him incredulously. “Just a little over a year ago, you were this tiny, frightened kid looking up at me with these big, terrified eyes, and now, you’re this micro-adult with several kills under your belt and a big fucking revenge list. So I’ve got a lot of conflicting feelings. I promise, though, you are safe on this flight. I would never put you in danger.”

He nods, looking at his hands in his lap. “I know.”

I frown at the change. “What just happened? Are you sure you’re okay? We don’t have to go to New York tonight. I can find a place to land, and we can try again in the morning.”

He shakes his head. “I’m looking forward to seeing Hopper again and meeting the rest of your friends in New York. You and Charlie talk about them all the time, so I can’t wait.”

“But…”

He takes a big breath. “But…New Orleans got in my head a lot more than I thought he would. Like, thinking about it now, I’m glad you stepped in when you did. I did need your help, and you didn’t even give me shit about it, so thank you.”

The air in the cabin suddenly seems a little thin, the engine especially loud. I grab his wrist and look him in the eyes. “I would never let you get hurt, Ant.”

His smile is sweet, a contrast to the way he looked earlier. I chuckle at the memory.

“What?” he asks, pushing my shoulder.

“Hey, don’t push me while I’m flying.”

“Whatever,” he snarks, pushing me again. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“I’m not laughing at you. Well…” I tap my chin. “I might be laughing at you a little bit.”

He sends me his adorable little snarl, and I laugh even harder before answering him as truthfully as I can.

“I have never seen so much blood on someone who wasn’t dying. You looked like something out of my nightmares.”

More like out of your wet dreams, Bash.

Ant throws his head back with laughter. “That was so much fun.”

“Really? I was a little worried, given what happened at his house in the Garden District.”

Ant shivers. “That was the worst. I do appreciate you helping me though. I freaked out because it felt like I was right back there. The work we did in the colonias, seeing those little kids, made me realize I’d been that small and young too. The work we do is mostly good for me, but there are times when I’m reminded how awful it was. With New Orleans, I remember—”

He cuts himself off and looks at me, then shakes his head, his eyes going back to his hands.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, but you don’t have to hold back either.”

He shakes his head. “I can practically see your blood pressure rising whenever I talk about it.”

“That’s because I want to kill whoever put their hands on you.”

Ant gives me jazz hands. “Betcha feel good about our little killing spree now.”

“Eh. Ask me how I feel at the end of it.”

He chuckles and then shakes his head. “I don’t need or want to talk about the specifics. I think you understand that much. For me, it was in the kitchen. When he put his hands on me, it was as if I was right back to that first night. Like no time had passed.”

I flit my eyes to his, my heart squeezing in my chest. “Yeah?”

When he nods, I cup the back of his neck and lean across the console to kiss his temple. I love the way he leans into it like he needs it. More specifically, like he needs it from me.

Seriously, Bash. Pull yourself together.

Letting go of his neck, I gently take his hand. When he begins to speak, his voice is so thin and quiet that I have to strain to hear him over the vibrating engine noise.

“Maybe I was super sheltered as a little kid, but I didn’t understand right away what was happening that first night. Back in his kitchen, that’s what I remembered—the awful moment I fully understood what he was going to do to me. Worse, I realized the people who’d taken me meant for people to do that to me over and over again. So after that night, after I recovered, I decided no one would ever be able to hurt me, regardless of what they did to my body.”

I swallow hard. “You were one hell of a brave kid.”

Ant shakes his head. “Not brave. Forced into protecting myself in a way no kid should have to. I split myself in two after that night. No one was coming to save me, so I had to create a persona. That’s who they did things to, not me. Only, today, I…” He shivers.

“Today you what?” I ask gently.

He squares his narrow shoulders and juts out his chin, his eyes finding mine. “Today, I felt like it did happen to me. A lot of my therapy with Hedy has been reconnecting with my body, so when he touched me, I suddenly had an acute understanding of how badly I’d been hurt.”

Not knowing what to say, I take some deep breaths, and he follows suit.

After a few quiet moments, I ask, “How did it feel when you found out Javier had been looking for you this whole time?”

He shudders as he inhales sharply.

“Sorry, you don’t have to—”

He stills me with a gesture and a pained smile.

“It hurt because he spent so much of his life looking for me. Worse, he didn’t find me until after I was already safe. Like, there were times when I was safe, and he was still out there looking for me. Don’t get me wrong. I know the Hernández family loves me. I just still need a little time to integrate that information.”

I dip my chin. “I hear what you’re saying. I hope you can believe your uncle when he says it was an honor to look for you. That he doesn’t feel like he wasted time or any part of his life.”

Ant opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “The things Javier learned on the road still haunt him, but he uses what he learned to help others. He’s a damn good operative, and we are lucky to have him. As for integrating, when I say you’re brave, I think of that too. Allowing yourself to love your family after believing for so long they’d been the ones to sell and abandon you? That’s really fucking brave, and you can’t tell me any different.”

“Well, then you’re brave too.”

“That’s me. A big damn hero.”

He pushes my shoulder again. “I’m serious, Erik. I remember when I got into the truck. You turned around to check on me.”

I nod. “I wanted to see the kid—man, really—who did what they had to do to survive. That thing you did with your voice? I don’t ever wanna hear it again, but I am certain it made you safer. It allowed you to tuck away the real you, which means you’re still you.”

“How do you know that?”

“I see how you are with Gael. You two seem like cousins who grew up together and have this secret language, this way of sharing whole conversations with just a look. You didn’t lose your connection and I wonder if you know how special that is.”

He shrugs. “I always was a little bit stubborn.”

I laugh. “A little bit? Okay.”

“Whatever. You’re stubborn too. We never talk about your history, but Anja called your mom a cunt. Which means you had to be smart and get out at some point as well.”

I nod, thinking back to the day I left.

He narrows his eyes. “Hey. No fair. You know my tragic story. What’s yours?”

“It’s not a story I like retelling, but if anyone would understand, you would.”

His smile is encouraging, so I take a deep breath and tell him about my last day in Norway.

ÅLESUND IS OFTEN CALLED Norway’s most beautiful city, but all I feel here is cold. More specifically, this conversation with my mother has turned my entire life into a deep freeze.

“Mama, please believe me. I know who I am. I am gay,” I tell her in Norwegian.

“No. You are not gay. We do not believe in gay in this house. I don’t care how liberal Norway has become. You are not gay here.”

“I am gay. I am gay here. I am gay everywhere I go.”

“Well, then you will not be gay in my house,” she says. “Aksel, tell him.”

I look to my father, a hard man, and wish I’d been born to a different Bash brother. My cousins live in the United States with my father’s brother, Georg, and his wife, Anja. Both of my cousins are queer, and their parents are so supportive. I wonder how Georg got all the kindness and my father got all the bastard.

At no point have I ever felt my parents’ pride. They often speak proudly of their big, strong son in public while ripping me apart in private. Making sure I don’t think too much of myself. Like the time my mother found porn on my computer and made me watch it in front of her.

“Oh, you think you’re handsome,” my mom says if she ever catches me looking in the mirror. “Well, you are not handsome. You are too tall. Too stretched out. Look at this hair. Why do you have to wear your hair long like that? Proper boys don’t have long hair.”

She claims she does it to keep my ego in check, but my parents both make sure I don’t have much of one to begin with.

My father likes to let his fists do the talking, and frankly, I prefer his fists over my mother’s cutting words. Still, I learned early on that being quiet and not doing anything to upset him is important for my survival. My father has shown me plenty of ways to hurt someone without leaving a mark. He would have been an excellent interrogator.

“Fine. If you’re old enough to know you’re gay, then you’re old enough to get the fuck out of my house.”

I blink back tears. I will never let them see how they’ve upset me. It’s not that this is some big surprise—I knew this day would come, and I knew this would be the result.

Maybe that’s why I’ve already packed the soft leather overnight bag they gave me last Christmas. Maybe that’s why I waited until Nava, the cat I’d grown up with, died last month. Maybe that’s why I’ve been hoarding money from my work on the fishing boat. Maybe that’s why I’m no longer on my parents’ phone plan. I had to buy a shitty phone and pay way too much for the scarce minutes, but this shitty phone will get me where I need to go.

I hope.

I grab my bag and shove my laptop into it, then grab a few warm pieces of clothing and say goodbye to my plants. Two minutes later, I walk out of the apartment I grew up in, through the hallway, down the stairs, never once looking back.

Walking onto the street, I shield my eyes and look up at Town Mountain. I make my way to the staircase leading to the top and start running. There are about four hundred stairs, and by the time I get to the top, my lungs burn, I’m coughing, and the tears I managed to hold back in front of my mother flow freely down my face.

Catching my breath, I take in the city I used to love. The buildings, the mountains, the fjords. All my life, it’s been drilled into my head how unique and beautiful this place is…but if I have to share this town with my parents, I’ll die. Maybe not physically, but they will kill the very essence of me if I let them.

And I want to live.

ANT SHAKES his head as I go quiet. “I’m so sorry you had such awful parents. You didn’t deserve to be treated that way. I mean, how stupid are they? They’re totally missing out on being your parents. The loss is theirs, not yours.”

I smile. Not because he’s attempting to cheer me up but because he genuinely believes what he’s saying.

“Thank you,” I say, gripping his hand. “The worst parts are my mother’s words still rolling around in my head. I’m pretty good at ignoring, rephrasing, or challenging them, but there are days when it’s especially hard. It’s why I’ve never dated seriously,” I admit. “It’s just too messy in my head, and I don’t want to burden somebody else with my bullshit.”

Ant rolls his eyes before sending me his are you serious look.

“So someone like me should never fall in love? Never even try to have a healthy relationship? No kids for me?”

I scowl at the thought. “You can be anything you want, Ant. If you want to be in a relationship, you’ll be in a relationship. If you want kids, you’ll have kids.”

“Yeah, but according to you, I would be too much of a burden on someone else.”

“No, that’s how I feel about me.”

“Bit of a double standard there, don’t you think?” he asks, quirking his brow.

I open my mouth to respond, but he’s too quick. “Erik, you’re allowed to be whoever you want to be,” he says, throwing my words back into my face. “There are no exceptions to that rule, just so you know.”

“You can be awfully pushy sometimes, you know that?”

“You have no idea the things I’m capable of,” he says, huffing on his nails before buffing them on his shirt.

I gently cuff the back of his head, and he cracks up. The mood shifts, as does the subject matter. We spend the rest of the flight chatting, finding out more about one another. He even shares how flying is something he’s had to work on with Hedy.

“I’m not afraid of flying, not really. I got put on a lot of planes, and it was never to go to a better place. So the plane…”

“…was a signal it was about to get so much worse,” I finish for him.

“Exactly.”

I remember something from our first flight to the colonias. “One of those flights had taken you to Central Texas before, right?”

He nods. “To or from. I know I was in Texas, and the trees and hills looked the exact same. I wish I could remember more.”

“Was that when you were taken to Baytown before you were sold to the guy in Austin?”

His eyes widen. “You know, I think you’re right. Shit, I bet that was the flight I met Ginger on.”

“Ginger…” I ponder for a second why that name sounds familiar. Then it hits me. “She was the one who told us about you,” I say, remembering her strawberry-blonde hair and how she’d tearfully pleaded with us to find Ant “whatever it takes.”

He nods. “I sometimes think about reaching out to her, but I feel weird about it.”

“Really? Why? You know she works with Beckett, right?”

He scowls. “That hottie priest-slash-fuck buddy of yours?”

“Ex-fuck buddy, and yes. And you still haven’t answered my question. Why wouldn’t you want to see Ginger?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I don’t want to be this terrible reminder. I mean, Charlie let her know y’all found me, so…I dunno. I feel like maybe I should let it go, you know?”

“Hey,” I say, grabbing his hand. “You are too good a human to think you’re just some bad reminder to someone. I remember thinking you must’ve taken care of her because she wouldn’t let us leave without promising to find you.”

He dips his head. “I may have helped her a couple of times.”

“Then—and this is just my stupid opinion—you should reach out to her when we get home. I think she’d be thrilled to know how well you’re doing now.”

“Okay,” he answers thoughtfully. “I might.”

Knowing better than to push him on the subject, I switch gears. “Also, today’s issues aside, I hope flying with me helps replace those bad memories.”

“It does,” he says, smiling over at me.

God, I feel ten feet tall when he smiles at me like that.

As we land, I realize how difficult it will be to share him with the New York crew.