Cross Island

by Santino Hassell

  Cross Island, ch 1

  Chapter One

  Clive

  “Whose bright idea was it to throw a party?”

  The best thing about being known as the person who always speaks their mind was the part of relationships—whether friendly or professional—when people stopped being surprised by it. Caleb Stone didn’t blink at my curt demand. He pushed the up button for the elevator and offered a small shrug.

  “Oli wanted to do it.”

  “For what purpose? I don’t like other people. I barely like either of you.”

  The corner of Caleb’s mouth quirked up in a private smile that he didn’t bother to explain. He didn’t have to. He was endlessly endeared by my unceasing curmudgeon qualities. He also knew I was completely full of shit. Out of the millions of people jampacked in the borders of New York City, the QFindr founders—him, his fiancé Oli, and his half-brother Aiden—were the only ones I would bestow the title of ‘friend’ upon.

  It seemed as absurd as the party. The three of them were completely connected whereas when they’d tapped me for a position, I’d been little more than a distant acquaintance. At the time, I’d been in-house counsel for a hedge fund. My life had been full of people I barely knew, or cared to know, and I’d handled lawsuits that had made my soul wither and fade. Now, I was General Counsel for QFindr—a queer social media platform that was growing larger and larger every day. When they’d hired me, they’d been working out of the lower floor of a pub. Now, they had offices in different cities, the company had gone public, and it was worth multiple fortunes.

  Even so, besides the founders, I felt nothing for the other employees at QFindr. I didn’t give a fuck about being their friend. Even if I’d just spent the past several months working to legally destroy the man who’d dared to threaten them, it didn’t mean I wanted to talk to them.

  “Clive,” Caleb said softly. “They’re grateful for you.”

  “I did my job.”

  “Yes, and this time around your job was to hold a homophobe accountable for targeting our employees and exposing our private information to an army of maniacal trolls. And you did it.”

  I shook my head, knowing they didn’t see me as a modern-day folk hero. Last spring, QFindr’s former IT manager—Travis Gills—had been fired after being exposed as a bigot who posted hate speech online. His revenge? To dox QFindr employees by publicly exposing everything from email addresses to home addresses, and igniting a situation that had turned the staff and its founders into nervous wrecks for months.

  The worst part, and the part that had spread the most terror, were that the threats had come to fruition on more than one occasion in terms of stalking, harassment, vandalism and the assault of Meredith Stone—Caleb’s sister, and the QF brand ambassador.

  “I got him in the civil suit, but I don’t think your employees are satisfied with him only being held financially accountable. They wanted a criminal indictment.”

  “But you can’t control that.”

  “Believe me, I fucking know.”

  I knew, and yet it still grated on me. Even with a connection to the DA, and indictments for multiple counts of reckless endangerment and making private information public, the evidence we’d had connecting his online posts to the people who’d used the information to attack Caleb’s sister, send repeated threats to staff, and vandalize various employee’s property hadn’t been enough for a grand jury. It’d been enough in civil court, but… people who’d been physically harmed or who’d been terrorized for half a year didn’t give a damn about that. They wanted him in prison.

  And I didn’t blame them. But that wasn’t on me.

  Caleb sighed just as the elevator appeared. We both stepped in before turning to face the reflective doors. I was pretty sure we were wearing the same suit, but mine was black on black on black with a gold tie, whereas he wore silver with a checked shirt. He always wore patterns. Maybe he thought it made him relatable.

  “Stop criticizing my shirt.”

  “I didn’t say a word,” I said.

  Caleb smiled again. “You didn’t have to. But not everyone is as slick and sophisticated as you.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  I kept a straight face for a second before laughing quietly. He nudged my shoulder, and we got off the elevator side-by-side.

  “Try to enjoy the food at least,” he was saying as we walked down the hallway leading to QF headquarters. “And you don’t have to stay for long. You were in court all day. Everyone will understand.”

  They’d understand that I was an ass, but I had no problem with this reality. Most people already knew their place when it came to me. They were staff. I was the lawyer. My job had little to do with them, and I spent very little time in the office. I wasn’t friendly. I was ice fucking cold. And even though I was openly gay, and had engaged in a fling here or there with someone associated with the company, I was seen as untouchable. And that was just fine.

  There were two security guards outside the glass doors leading into the offices, and I frowned. “We’re still doing this?”

  Caleb stepped inside and held the door for me. “Yes, for a while. I don’t feel comfortable getting rid of security just yet. Not six months ago two men used the information that man exposed to assault my sister. I will take precaution for a while.”

  “Caleb…”

  How did I explain how much he was overreacting? I understood bullies and I understood internet trolls. They were brave until one of their own was dragged out into the street and made an example of, and that was exactly what I’d just done to Travis Gills, their leader.

  But as far as I was concerned, it was over now. The very high-profile case had been fast and brutal, and Gills’ life and career were effectively ruined. He’d received no jail time, but the restitution was deep. I’d gotten him for all the millions in his trust fund, and likely some of his parents’ money as well after they’d settled. Whispers among the city’s elite was that Travis had been disowned.

  “Caleb,” I said again, stopping him just before we bypassed the reception area. “No one is going to try it with you again. This case was reported on by major media. I crucified that piece of garbage in front of the world. That has to scare even the lowliest of the trolls.”

  Caleb frowned. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

  “Because you’re a worrier.”

  “I am, because I’ve never for a second felt the confidence that you walk around casually exuding.” Caleb put a hand on my arm. “That confidence is starting to scare me.”

  I shook him off. “How so?”

  “Clive. You think no one will seek revenge for what just happened? If anything, you are the most vulnerable among us right now because it’s your face and your quotes being touted online as the white knight who got the homophobic troll for millions.” He took a deep breath, and I knew what was coming. “Please reconsider your stance on having a personal guard.”

  “Not a chance.”

  I swept by him without pausing to listen to the hand wringing. As much as I loved Caleb, I rarely had patience for his level of overthinking. That was saying a lot for me. It was my job to think about every angle, and every possible response to those angles. My mind was so occupied that I didn’t have time to be anxious over things that didn’t require it. Like me having a bodyguard.

  The thought did cause me to scan the room for the other armed guards, just to see where they were stationed and whether Caleb had scaled back. Besides the two relatively non-descript men who’d stood by the door, I saw Chester—the head of security—talking with Oli, and Stavros lingering in a corner by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Another quick scan showed there was another guard by the hallway leading to the bathrooms and the emergency e
xit door. He was… different.

  Same dark suit, same neutral expression that gave serious ‘don’t talk to me’ vibes (it amused me to think Kenneth Stone, the man who controlled their contracts and who also happened to be Caleb’s borderline sociopathic father, required them to learn the look as part of training), but there was more to this gentleman. He was younger. A lot younger. Maybe twenty-five at the most. He was also uniquely gorgeous—golden brown skin, rich dark eyes wreathed by heavy lashes that seemed permanently heavy-lidded, a pleasing mouth, and features that were nearly delicate. But the beauty was contrasted by a roughness that caught my attention for longer than I’d anticipated. One of his high cheekbones was marred by a deep scar from an obvious slashing, and another thick scar bisected his full lips. And for as professional as he looked in the suit, tattoos crept up from beneath the neck of his shirt collar and out of the cuffs and onto his hands.

  This guy screamed trouble. Not security.

  Just as the thought crossed my mind, those bottomless eyes slid over to me. They narrowed, and hostile defensiveness radiated from him like a furnace.

  “That’s Victor.”

  I kept myself from startling even when my heart leapt into my throat. “Goddamn it, Oli,” I muttered. “Don’t come up on me in the middle of intense staring contests.”

  Oli snorted and crossed his arms over his chest, joining me in my contemplation of Victor. He’d swept that magnetic gaze away as soon as Oli had taken up the space beside me. Now, he glared into space.

  “Be careful with your staring,” Oli said, pointing his martini glass at me. “He’s on edge one thousand percent of the time.”

  “Why?”

  “No idea. Not my business.”

  I nodded, not looking away even though Victor’s jaw was clenched so tight I was surprised it didn’t crack. “What’s his background?”

  Oli snorted. “Will you laugh when I say I don’t know? Caleb’s dad vetted him, and his vetting is no joke. Vic’s been working security in the offices for the past couple of months. He’s quiet and polite, and scares the shit out of people. Works for me.”

  “He reminds me of Raymond Rodriguez,” I noted idly, studying the fall of Victor’s silky dark hair and the attitude tattooed across that pretty boy face. “But meaner.”

  “Oof. Don’t say that around Ray’s crowd.” Oli drained his glass. “Vic grew up in their neighborhood, and saying there’s bad blood is downplaying it. He’s basically an outcast despite being Stephanie’s brother.”

  Stephanie’s brother? That explained the good looks. Good genes apparently ran in their family.

  “But, more importantly,” Oli continued. “I came to give you a heads up about another Rodriguez. Michael’s here.”

  I went still, attention still fixed on Victor even as my heartbeat tripled in my chest. It slammed against my ribcage, trying to escape, and goosebumps spread. Four years since we’d broken up—no, since I’d ended things—and Michael’s name still had this effect on me. I was starting to think this godawful heartbroken feeling of loss and regret would never go away. It would haunt me until I died.

  “Where?”

  My voice sounded strange, lower and hoarser. Oli put a hand on my shoulder.

  “He’s with his husband.”

  My stomach turned to lead. Nunzio Medici. No, he was Nunzio Rodriguez now. They were married. Living together in a condo in Mt. Vernon—just north of the Bronx. I was always half expecting to hear they’d adopted a couple of kids. Such a perfect gay power couple, just as they were always meant to be.

  “Clive, relax.”

  “I’m relaxed.”

  Oli set his glass down on the tray of a passing waiter. “You’re wearing your back off face, handsome. Take a deep breath.”

  My first reaction was to sneer at him for the trite advice, but when I inhaled deeply it helped. My pulse calmed, and the tingles dancing along my body settled down. Even so, the intriguing bodyguard was forgotten as I searched the office for my ex-lover. I found him so quickly that it was utterly pathetic.

  When we’d first met and started dating, my body had magnetized to Michael’s. Wherever he went, my horrifically needy self had tried to follow. I’d often had to fight the natural urge to place myself near this person who I’d so intensely desired and loved. Sometimes it’d seemed like I could pick him out of a crowd based on his energy or pheromones or whatever the hell. It was sickening that I could still do that after being broken up for four long years.

  It was equally disgusting that my body still reacted to him just the same. Then, because I was a masochist, I found myself cataloging all the things that had changed about him since the last time I’d caught a glimpse and promptly fled. His dark brown hair was a little longer, and I pictured myself brushing it behind his ears. I got an eyeful of his stubble, and wondered if he was still only shaving once or twice a week. He looked good in the soft black sweater he wore. Even better in the straight-leg jeans that hugged the curve of his ass.

  I missed that ass. I missed being inside of it. Of his low urgent pleas for me to fuck him harder. Faster. The way his macho bullshit gave way to the purest kind of need.

  “Cut it out, Baptiste.”

  Oli muttering my last name jerked from the low-grade fog of desire that had begun descending on me.

  “What?” I asked gruffly.

  “You were glaring.”

  Huh. Was that what it’d looked like? Better than it being obvious I was eyefucking a married man. A married man who thought I’d cheated on him once upon a time before falling into his current husband’s arms. Funny, that had always been my plan. Hilarious how I now despised myself for setting it into motion.

  “I should go,” I said. “There’s no reason for me to be here.”

  Oli rolled his eyes. “Shut your slut mouth. You’re staying. Don’t be a dick about it.”

  He lacked Caleb’s tact, and I loved him for it. A smirk wobbled onto my face. “Can we do a toast to my amazing lawyer skills so I can get the fuck out of here?”

  “Yes. Give me five minutes.”

  Oli walked away, Calvin Klein model chic in tight black pants and a dark blue sweater that fit him like a second skin. He greeted and smiled, schmoozing his way across the office. The stereotype about computer nerds having no people skills did not fit at QFindr. Oli was the resident programming genius, and he was the most socially competent person I’d ever met. I let his easy charm distract me just enough for my Rodriguez antenna to fritz.

  It worked. For now.

  Cross Island, ch 2

  Chapter Two

  Clive

  I grabbed a glass of champagne from one of the waiters and went to stand in the shadowed corner near the tattooed guard. He didn’t glance my way, and I was fine with it. My proximity to him was strategic. He was farther away from the crowd, near an exit I could quickly duck out of after the toast, and seemed to be emitting a forcefield that kept people the hell away from him. It was beneficial to me. I did him a solid by not saying one word, but flicked my gaze at him from time to time to distract myself from Michael.

  I’d been wrong about my assumption that Victor was staring into space. On the contrary, he was focused on a specific person. That person being Michael’s younger brother, Raymond. I looked between them slowly, analyzing Victor’s clenched jaw and narrowed eyes then Raymond’s casual slouch on a couch as he stared at his phone. He was oblivious to the intense gaze aimed his way, which would have been funny if it wasn’t so bizarre.

  Michael wandered closer to his brother and tugged his long ponytail. It was such a simple show of affection, and yet my gut knotted up again. They exchanged words I couldn’t hear over the music, then Raymond released a loud booming laugh. Michael smiled down at him fondly. They clearly had a lovely relationship. A close one. And yet all of that had been kept in the dark since our entire relationship had played out in the closet.

  I’d heard about the slacker little brother who was living off Michael’s mother for
years, but I’d never been allowed to meet him. I’d never been allowed to meet his mother, either. I had no idea how Raymond had transformed from an immature pothead to a man going to both school and work while taking over the mortgage on their childhood home.

  Raymond looked over his shoulder and beckoned to his boyfriend. Nearby, Victor inhaled sharply. This time, I didn’t try to hide the fact that I was watching him, and he stiffened.

  “No worries,” I said dryly. “I’m not a huge Rodriguez fan, so I won’t be reporting in about you glaring.”

  Victor’s visage remained stone cold. I could smell the distrust on him like a familiar cologne. If I was him, I’d be wondering why this strange man in a bespoke suit was speaking to me. Whether it was a trick. Or a test.

  “You don’t have to worry, Victor,” I said, looking at Raymond and Michael again. Raymond’s adorable blond boyfriend had plopped onto his lap, and he was grinning up at Michael as well. “Not everyone can digest all that organic, well packaged queer perfection. I won’t tattle about it not being your bag.”

  I received no response, but I didn’t expect one. I didn’t even know why I was talking to him. We were strangers. It was possible he was homophobic. Nothing connected us other than the fact that, like him, I did not fit in with this group. It was especially telling that nobody had once looked in my direction despite this gathering allegedly being thrown together in my honor.

  Maybe I wouldn’t wait for that little speech after all.

  Another waiter passed, and I grabbed a second drink. Martinis were my weakness, and I knew I’d be feeling this one. I downed it and discarded the glass just as Oli reappeared with two more in hand.

  “Changed my mind. I’m not—”

  “This will be quick and painless,” he interrupted right before clearing his throat and projecting his voice. “Can I have everybody’s attention for a moment?”

  I groaned in disgust and took one of his drinks. At least he hadn’t brought them over as props to tap on the glass. I was not ready for that level of absurdity. The alcohol didn’t help, although I could already feel my senses dulling. I didn’t react with as much scorn as I could have when Caleb and Aiden came closer to stand on either side of me. Were they flanking me for support or to prevent me from leaving in the middle of this speech?