Had Victor caught up to the guy? Had they fought? Did the guy have a weapon? All of a sudden, I wished I’d followed. Yeah, Victor was my bodyguard, but who the hell was guarding him?
“I told you to get in the house.”
I turned around, heart in my throat, and glared at Victor hard. He must have sprinted back to the house. He was flushed under the street dim light from my porch, and slightly out of breath. His broad chest was moving quickly.
“You could have been hurt,” I said disgustedly. “I should have gone with you.”
Incredulity crossed his face. “Let’s go.”
I wanted to argue, but now wasn’t the time or place. He obviously hadn’t caught up to my stalker, and we didn’t need to hash out the logistics of his stupidity out on the street. With grit teeth and a pissed off expression, I jogged up the stairs and let us inside.
Victor flipped the locks, bolted the door, and armed the security system he’d recently installed. I was biting my tongue as he stood with his back to me, still facing the door, and clearly strung tight with his own irritation.
“What happened?” I asked after a beat. “Did he get away?”
“Yeah, he got away.” Victor turned to me. “Cut through yards to the point of me not knowing which way he went, which means he’s scouted this neighborhood and has routes picked out or hiding spaces I don’t know about just yet.”
That sent a shiver down my spine. “How do we handle that?”
“I get permission to do some recon in your neighbors’ yards. There’s nothing more we can do unless he gets sloppy and shows himself again.”
My frustration returned. I wasn’t used to sitting on my hands and waiting for someone to act. My life, my entire career, banked on me acting preemptively to stop a problem before it could start. In this situation, all I could do was wait for the asshole to make a mistake.
“Look, Victor—"
“No. You look. And listen.” He took a deep breath and balled his hands. “Do you not know how this whole bodyguard thing works? I told you to get inside, and you followed me. You stay out there in the goddamn dark while I run off, making sure you’re vulnerable—”
“Vulnerable?” I took a step toward him and threw out my hands. “Look at me, Victor. We’re nearly the same size. Whatever you can do, I can do just as well.”
“Motherfucker, you could be an American Ninja Warrior, and it still wouldn’t matter,” he shouted. “You are a client. I am your bodyguard. You do what I say when I say it, or—”
“Or what?” I was in his face now, but I couldn’t back down. “You’ll leave? Go ahead. I didn’t want this, and I can handle it on my own.”
“Yeah, you can handle it,” Victor said mockingly. “With your earphones in for your late-night jogs along deserted stretches of road by the river, and your later night hookups with total strangers who can cut your throat once they have you naked in their beds.” At the sight of my sneer, he moved in until we were eye-to-eye and only a couple of inches apart. “I get that you don’t take this seriously and you’re just humoring the QFindr people, but you need to get real, man. That guy out there? He’s watching you every night. I don’t always see him, but I can feel it. I’ve called my boss as soon as I realized what was happening, and he said to file a police report, but they won’t do shit until he pulls something other than leaving a note. So, all you’ve got is me, and I’m one person, so if something happens to you—”
“And what about you?” I demanded. “You ran after him with zero back-up. What if he had a weapon? You’re my bodyguard, but you’re not invincible. He could have hurt you, and I would have had no idea how to help you or find you until it was too late.”
Victor’s brows crashed together. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
“Yes, asshole. Do you think I enjoy the idea of a twenty-four-year-old kid risking his life—”
“I’m not a kid.”
I pursed my lips and struggled to find the patience for him constantly interrupting me. “Victor. My point is that I trust your capabilities. I would rather you be my back-up, so at least we’re together if something goes down. There is no way in hell I can stand by and let you potentially be hurt because of me.”
Victor released a soft laugh. “My dude, you’re a badass lawyer who’s black and gay and slapping down trust fund shitheads who have nothing better to do than harass people. You’re a motherfucking force to be reckoned with, and your life is way more valuable than mine.”
The matter-of-fact statement just about tore my tiny heart in half. He was the epitome of toughness with his scowl, the scars and tattoos, and the hard edges of his Queens accent, but he was broken inside. He thought nobody cared about him, so he didn’t care about himself.
I stared into his eyes until he looked away, but I grabbed his chin and forced him to meet my gaze. His hardness was present and accounted for, but there was vulnerability in his expression that chipped at me. He knew he was caught, that I was seeing just how torn apart he was inside, and he didn’t want to talk about it.
Too fucking bad.
“Do you live for you or other people, Victor?”
He scoffed. “What, are you a therapist? You want me to lay on a couch and call you Mr. Baptiste?”
“Not unless you’re calling me that while begging for my dick.” I raised an eyebrow at the heavy way he swallowed and the way he swiped his tongue over his lower lip. “Do you see any friends gagging to hang out with me? Any men besides random Grindr hookups who just want to get used by the daddy in the dark suit because they know they’ll never see me again?”
Victor shook his head slowly.
“Right,” I said, trying not to be affected by his dilated eyes. The way I could smell his cologne and sweat from sprinting through the streets. The aggressive adrenaline that had his body taut. “I’m just as alone as you. I don’t know the details of went down between you and Raymond, or what he did or didn’t do to you, but I was in love with his brother.” Saying it was like speaking through a mouthful of nails, each one dragging at the roof of my mouth. “Michael was the first man I’d ever said those three words to, and he disregarded them and threw them back in my face in a thousand tiny ways over a period of two years.” I laughed humorlessly and turned to the living room, walking to my bar. This conversation called for a serious drink. “Let’s make a deal. If I tell you the whole of what happened between me and Michael, will you tell me what happened with you and Raymond?”
“Why do you want to talk about this? Because you think I need to bond?”
“I know you need to bond.” I grabbed a bottle of bourbon and poured a drink for myself. None for him unless he asked. “You’re as isolated as I am, and we have a lot in common. I’m not one to make connections or attempt the pointlessness of friendship on a regular basis, but we could at least try to make something of the situation we’ve found ourselves in.”
“Or we could just ignore each other, and these topics, and let me get my job done,” he said.
“Yeah, that’s an option. And it’s one I’ll respect if you tell me right now that you have zero interest in us getting to know each other better for the entire duration of this assignment.” I took a slow sip of bourbon, eyes on him. “Is that what you want, Victor?”
He started to speak, a ‘no’ forming on that pretty mouth of his, before shutting it with a frustrated frown. After an apparent internal struggle, he shook his head sharply. “Nah, that’s not what I want.”
“Good.” I took another sip, then nodded at the couch. “Sit yourself down and let’s talk. It’s time we share our stories of resentment for the Rodriguez men.”
***
Victor
I sat down on his sleek rectangular couch and felt like a beast. It seemed small and flimsy beneath me. I wasn’t a huge motherfucker, but I was pretty stacked. Working out had been the one thing I’d had to do in Chicago, and I’d done it almost every day. Everything about me clashed with his sophisticated apartment, an
d him inviting me to sit down was like him inviting me officially into his home besides the job factor.
Clive had the nerve to sit down in the rounded swivel chair in the corner, one knee crossed over the other as he held his glass, deadass looking like a model even though he was still sweaty from fucking. He was the only person on the planet who could pull this off. I was sure of it.
“This is weird,” I said. “Also, you really don’t need to be drinking. You want your reflexes to be sharp.”
“That’s what you’re here for, bodyguard.” Clive sipped his booze and studied me. “I’ll be real with you—it’s in my nature to ask questions, and I have a ton for you. Will you answer, or should I leave you alone?”
I definitely didn’t want him to leave me alone. Him paying attention to me was one of the best things to happen since the first time another guy had let me touch him. Although, that hadn’t ended well.
“We can take turns,” I said.
“What if I have more questions than you?”
“I’ll make shit up.”
Clive smirked. “Fine. I’ll start. How long have you known that you’re gay?”
“I thought this was about Ray,” I said with a scowl. “We really don’t need to talk about my busted ass sexuality and how much I used to hate what I am.”
“You don’t have to, but you totally blindsided me and that doesn’t happen a lot.” He tilted his glass towards me. “Will you answer?”
I didn’t have a choice if I wanted him to tell me about himself, and I wanted to know everything starting with his relationship with Michael, and more importantly—why he was so lax about his own safety. The question of whether he was cocky or destructive wasn’t something I could answer without more information.
“Yeah, I’ll answer.” I slid down the couch, letting my knees touch the coffee table, and blew out a slow breath. “I knew I liked guys since I was little, but I realized I was actually gay in high school. Even though I could mess around with girls, I only ever caught feelings for guys. Like, even when I fucked with girls, I used to think about guys so I could get hard. And I had to keep thinking about a dude so I could come.”
“Huh.” Clive was obviously itching to ask a follow-up, but he jerked his chin at me. “Go.”
“How’d you meet Michael?”
“Mutual friends,” he said quickly. “Historically, even when attracted to someone, I don’t go out of my way to interact with them about anything other than sex. I barely spend time with friendly acquaintances.”
“Is there anyone you’d actually call, y’know, a real friend?”
“It’s not your turn to ask a question, Victor.”
My entire body reacted to the way he said my name, in a low smooth purr like he knew it got to me. Maybe he did. It’s not like the way I shifted on the couch, overly aware of my slumped posture and how I was basically jutting my crotch in his direction, was subtle. Over the past couple of weeks, the combination of his sharply worded orders and low deep voice had caused my dick to stir on more than one occasion.
I cleared my throat. “Your turn.”
“Did your fixation on Raymond begin when you were in high school?”
I’d known this was coming, but it still caused my guts to clench up. I’d just hung up on my sister for implying this, and here I was about to spill the details to Clive. The only person I’d ever told any of this to. The only living person, anyway.
“Nah. It started in junior high. He was my sister’s good friend and a few years older, so he’d be around a lot.” Always around, especially since our parents had been nonexistent. He’d slept over often enough for me to have developed some seriously creepy kid habits. Like peeking in on him curled up next to her just so I could watch him sleep. Standing closer than necessary whenever he was in the same room. Getting hard when I knew he was pissing, because it meant his dick was out. God, I’d been a strange thirsty child. “When I was older, when I fucked with girls, I’d think about him. Every time. Especially if they had long hair. It only worked sometimes because…”
“Because you preferred to imagine him fucking you?” Clive asked, matter-of-fact. His eyes were slightly narrowed, dark and magnetic and burning into me. “And you sucking him?”
Not just fucking and sucking—I’d imagined it brutal. Him being so impatient for me that he’d railed me so hard my knees would buckle and it would hurt. Fantasy-me would still beg fantasy-him for more. I rubbed my damp palms along my pants. “Yeah.”
Clive finished the rest of his drink and set it loudly onto the side table. “You get two questions.”
“Yeah, right.” I chewed the corner of my lip without breaking his stare. “If you were in love with Michael, why’s he with Nunzio?”
“Because he wasn’t in love with me.” It seemed that Clive would leave it there. One blunt statement meant one blunt answer. Technically, he’d fulfilled his end of the bargain. But he started talking again. “Nunzio was a constant presence in our relationship. Michael was closeted, so it was Nunzio who saw his family and went to functions. It was him who went to holiday gatherings. Him who supported Michael when his mother passed. And it was him who was the shoulder Michael constantly cried on after the funeral. In many ways, they had a far more intimate relationship than Michael and I did.”
If it singed me, the confession had to burn him. I’d barely been able to handle Raymond sleeping with my sister when I’d been closeted and not on his radar in any way, shape, or form. If we’d been together and he was spending most of his time with another dude? The old me would have destroyed them both. I’d have torn the entire world down.
“Were they fucking?” I asked bluntly.
Clive started to answer then stopped. It was the first time I’d seen anything but one hundred percent self-assurance from him. It killed me that it was a Rodriguez who was shaking his confidence. “I don’t think so, but I don’t know. I’ve always suspected… something was happening, but they would get so wasted it’s possible they were drunk and don’t remember. As bitter as I am towards Michael, I don’t see him as an intentional liar or cheater.” His lip curled. “I can’t say the same for Nunzio. To me, he was a scavenger. Waiting for my relationship to die so he could get the scraps.”
Damn. Nunzio had seen me around the block back in the day, and he’d always seemed like a stand-up dude to me. Went out of his way to ask how I was and show interest in my life besides my relationship to my sister. When he was older, and I was still a punk terrorizing everyone I hated at the park, he’d ignored my posturing bullshit to warn me not to throw my life away. I’d told him to fuck off but had secretly appreciated the effort.
I wasn’t about to correct Clive, though. Especially since the thing with Michael and Nunzio had possibly been the turning point for him becoming reckless as all hell.
“Your turn,” I said.
He nodded once, the anger smoothed from his face. “I know you used to fight Raymond a lot. Did you instigate it to cover the fact that you were in love with him?”
In love.
Pathetically, I couldn’t deny it. I had been.
“Yeah. I hated that I was obsessed, that he wanted my sister, and that I couldn’t stop wanting him. I thought if I caused some shit, it would go away, but it didn’t. So, I kept trying, and then he despised me, man. Like couldn’t stand the sight of me.” It had gotten worse after I’d fought him in front of his house. His mother had come out, looking frail and sick, and he’d been so distracted by her that I’d caught him off guard with a punch that had sent him to the ground. “He once told me hated me because his mom saw us getting into it.” I dropped my eyes and squeezed my hands together. It still hurt. “I felt so bad, man. I didn’t know his mom was sick. And I was just this piece of shit picking on him to prove a point.”
“Everyone says they hate people and things.”
“Nah, he meant it. He—” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Another time, at this party, he said he was waiting for the day someone blew my
brains out.”
Clive’s eyes widened. “Wow. That’s brutal.”
“I deserved it. And I knew it. I legit ran off, went up to my friend’s rooftop, and had a fucking breakdown. Cried like a bitch because I’d gotten my way and made him hate me, but I couldn’t stand the thought of it being true. Then my friend, Shawn, he found me like that… and I told him about… the gay thing. The Raymond thing.”
Clive leaned forward, forearms on his knees, and watched me intently. He didn’t ask a question, probably because he knew I would keep talking without the prompt. It was the first time I was talking about this since it’d happened, and all the words were rushing up my throat. It was a purge, and goddamn but it felt good.
“Shawn was really off,” I said frankly. “If people thought I was bad, he was worse. Violent and into all kinds of gang shit. I don’t even know half of the shit he did because he refused to tell me, which meant it was pretty bad. But he was my boy, had always had me and Steph’s backs, and let me live in his apartment so I was loyal to him. Even so, I always thought he’d flip on me if he knew about the gay thing, but he didn’t. I told him everything in this bullshit crying-ass meltdown, dared him to hit me, to kill me, to beat the shit out of me for being gay, and he…” A soft laugh tumbled out of me. “This crazy bastard said it sounded like I just needed some dick.”
“Did he offer his?” Clive asked, voice pitched low.
“Yeah. I was so hungry for something from someone that I sucked him off right there. Then after a while, he started fucking me. We didn’t kiss or date or any of that type of shit, but he… gave me what I wanted.” I dragged my thumb over my lower lip and waited for a reaction. When Clive gave me the same even expression, I pushed it. “He had me describe, in detail, what I wanted Ray to do to me, and then he’d do me hard and rough. I knew it was just a sex thing. I was a willing hole, and he’d pretend it didn’t happen after, but it was okay while it lasted.”
Clive’s eyes narrowed. Just a bit. “How does this story end, Victor?”
“Badly,” I said. “He got hung up on the fact that I was still fixated on Ray, so then he got fixated on Ray. The fighting got worse, and it basically wasn’t safe for a while for Ray or his friends to go to the park. He acted towards Ray the way he used to about Tonya back in the day.”
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