The Mudpie by A.J. Llewellyn

Author:A.J. Llewellyn [Llewellyn, A.J.]
Language: nld
Format: epub
Tags: erotic MM, Romance MM
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

“I feel guilty about my job,” Mitchell said—a total non sequitur.

It derailed Whip a little. Hadn’t he been about to explain things? What had made

Mitchell mention his job all of a sudden? When Mitchell’s house phone rang, Whip just

rolled his eyes. Apparently, nothing was going to go as planned.

Mitchell got up and checked the readout on the kitchen bench top. He made a face. “It’s

Larry Parker. I should take it. Bet he’s gonna bawl me out for doing practically nothing the

last couple of days.”

Mitchell’s eyes widened after what must have been only the first few words. He put

Larry on loudspeaker so Whip could hear.

Larry apparently loved the job Mitchell was doing. He adored the PR stunt of Whip

dining in a soup kitchen . PR stunt. Right. Nevertheless, intentional or not, apparently it was

all over the Internet.

“You’re unorthodox, Dykins!” Larry boomed down the phone. “I was a little worried

about hiring you. I thought you’d be a real stuffed shirt, but I’m glad you proved me wrong.

And getting into the ring in that underground fight was a stroke of genius.” He paused.

“Genius! Listen, keep doing what you’re doing. I can’t believe they raised a hundred

thousand dollars last night for crippled children. You’re makin’ me look good, dude. What

other ideas you got on the boil?”

Mitchell looked dazed. “Nothing’s locked in yet, but I’ll keep you updated.”

“Awesome. I expect to see you at our weekly brainstorming session at noon.”

Whip and Mitchell eyed the wall clock. It was just after nine in the morning. Mitchell

ended the call and returned to the table. “I can’t believe it. He thinks I’m doing a great job.”

“You are.” Whip grinned at him. “For now. I think things are gonna get a little hairy so

we need to be in sync. I’ll keep the explanation brief, but I still think we need help.” He took

a deep breath. “You know by now that your uncle was a great wrestling champion. He had

a gift, a unique ability to make mud imprison his opponents. I’ve never experienced

anything like it, before or since…until last night.”

Mitchell stared at him.

Whip sipped his coffee. “Look, he called the trick sleeping mud because it could render

an opponent into a catatonic state within minutes. He had power over it and never used

mud to maim—as he said, only to contain. The problem is that two years ago after teaching

me and a couple of other…disciples…he cherished how to combat the mud, he had a fight

and the opponent died. It was horrible. I will never forget his screams. When they pulled

‘Malicious’ Mick Kerrigan out of the mudpit, his head and shoulders were missing. Just

gone.”

“Oh, my God.” Mitchell’s sudden hand movement sent his coffee flying.

They scrambled to clean up the liquid from the table and floor, Whip continuing his

story.

“It was a Mongolian death worm that killed him. It was hidden in the dirt. Some say

they are a myth, but I saw that thing. I saw it balloon to several feet to kill Mick. Your uncle

was horrified. He said he would never conjure up such a vicious creature to beat an

opponent.

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