The Clive I’d first come face-to-face with, the Clive I’d assumed he was all day long, would have sat there stone-faced and glanced at his watch. But there was clearly more to him than the hard ass lawyer who nobody tried to fuck with at QFindr. I’d known that when he’d frst revealed his past with Michael, but seeing him on the verge of tears had still been a shock.
Despite all that—I understood. If all the babbling about love and soul mates and life-long partners had twisted my guts, it must have been a knife through the heart for him as he sat across the aisle from his ex and his ex’s husband.
Even with Raymond’s boyfriend potentially on my tail, I paused by the foyer and looked around the dimly lit loft. Amongst the candlelit clusters of silver clothed tables, the perfectly lit clusters of flowers, and the mingling smiling guests, there was no sign of Clive. I’d last seen him go upstairs with his ex, but I’d turned away to give him privacy and had immediately become distracted by Raymond and Stephanie standing with Angel. They’d been talking and laughing as if they didn’t have one single care in the whole goddamn world, and bitterness had soured my stomach.
My bitterness had also caused me to lose track of my only reason for being here. Where the hell was Clive?
“Hey!”
The blond had followed me. Raymond’s boyfriend.
As cute as he was in his old school looking vest, tie, and button down, I did nothing to hide my confused scowl. “Why are you following me? Do you have a security concern?”
His mouth quirked. “Um. No. But, I did want to try to talk to you for a sec?”
“About…”
“I just wanted to meet you,” he said, with an embarrassed smile. “I’m David, and I’m—”
“Raymond’s man. I know.”
David cocked his head. “I was going to say a friend of Stephanie’s.”
Way to sound like a jealous lunatic, Quinones. I kept glaring down at him instead of trying to cover for the fact that my only association for him had been to the man he went to bed with. “What does you being her friend have to do with me?”
One of David’s eyebrows shot up in the sassiest brow arch I’d ever seen in my life. He needed to win an award for a side eye that strong. “She’d mentioned that she wished she could find a way to include you more when we all hang out, so I thought I’d make the first move and show you that you’re welcome.”
What planet was this guy from? Was he playing a prank on me? Maybe the pig’s blood was coming next so I could wild out and put an end to this shitshow. “If you live with Raymond Rodriguez, I’m not welcome. So, let’s just end it there.”
There was no surprise in his face at the words. Dude didn’t even bat an eyelash. Which meant, he’d been filled in. Which meant… I wasn’t forgotten.
Why the fuck did that exhilarate me a little bit?
“The past is the past,” David said, proving he was completely oblivious to the real world. “Raymond wouldn’t riot if you showed up to watch the fight.”
“Yeah? Well I might.” I took a step back. “I appreciate your effort, though.”
“Uh-huh. You look super appreciative.” David rolled his eyes. “Well, if you change your mind, I just wanted you to know you’re welcome at the house. Or even to hang out any other time.”
“Thanks.” I wanted to know if Raymond had actually said I was “welcome”. I wanted to know so badly that it was on the extreme side of pathetic, but I wasn’t going to lower myself to the floor and ask. “I need to find my client.”
“Do you mean Clive? If so, I saw him leave like twenty minutes ago.”
Twenty minutes ago.
To some people that would sound like barely a blip.
To me? His bodyguard? It may as well have been a lifetime if it meant Clive returning to Whitestone by himself.
I turned without another word and ran to the door.
Cross Island, ch 12
Chapter Twelve
Victor
Horns blasted at me as I sped along the Cross Island Parkway like a demon, weaving in and out of lanes and cutting people off in a mad dash to make it back to Whitestone before Clive. The world outside my car was a sea of blurred lights and darkness, blending together with shouted curses and angry honks.
A cop stopping me seemed inevitable, but every time I slowed down my adrenaline would spike again and off I’d go.
There was no guarantee that Clive had gone home or that I’d be able to stop something if I drove fast enough, but logic didn’t calm me down. My brain defaulted to the same crippling worries I’d had as a kid, and I could only think of everything that could have gone wrong. Of what had gone wrong the last time I’d let someone walk out even while knowing there were people out there waiting to hurt him.
Clive could have gone for a walk back in Manhattan, and got grabbed or attacked since everyone’s attendance at the wedding had been all over the gossip columns. I’d searched the area around the loft, driving around in a panic, and had seen no signs of him.
The worst-case scenario that kept replaying in my head on a constant loop was the idea of him returning to the house alone for the first time in weeks, and the stalker having returned. What if the guy chose now to act because it was the first time I wasn’t present? What if my absence was the thing that pushed him to make a move? What if Clive was drunk, and completely caught off guard? The idea of him being attacked without seeing it coming made me gasp for breath.
History was repeating itself.
I was lightheaded by the time I made it to his neighborhood, and with it just enough to know I was on the cusp of a full-blown panic attack. It didn’t help that the past was coming back to me in all of its horrifying glory. Instead of Clive being caught unawares, it was Shawn.
Shawn had been blindsided by anger when he’d torn out of the apartment to hunt down Raymond. He’d stormed right past a bunch of dudes he’d had beef with, so caught up in his own head that he’d been unaware of the threat. They’d shot him in the back multiple times and walked away.
Witnesses had said he’d never seen it coming. His life had ended likely while he’d still been fixated on confronting Raymond. And I’d coming running behind him a few minutes too late, when his body had still been warm and his blood had soaked the street. The city hadn’t even come out to pressure wash it. Sometimes, when I walked by, I swore I could still see the stain.
I inhaled deeply, fingers gripping the wheel so tight my knuckles went white.
Was this what it felt like to have a panic attack?
What kind of fucking bodyguard had panic attacks?
Not once, in the past two years of working security, had this level of fear completely taken hold of me. Not during a robbery at a jewelry store, not when I’d been assigned security at events where there was a high incident probability, and not at QFindr even after the harassment had begun.
This was different, and it was a mess.
I parked in front of his house, tires squealing as I hit the curb. There was no sign of anyone across the street or anywhere else. The eerie silence of the neighborhood was something I still hadn’t gotten over in a month. I’d grown up with noise—shouts outside, music, cars, distant laughter or arguing. Here, there was just silence and darkness for blocks.
It peaked my paranoia, and I jogged up the stairs to Clive’s house. After letting myself in, I found it completely still. No low music playing, no tap of keys on the keyboard, and no warble of pundits on television.
“Clive?” I called, looking around. “Where you at?”
The silence in the house was damning. The worst case scenarios and morbid mental images flooded my head, haunting me as I tore from room to room. He wasn’t downstairs, his office was untouched, and my bedroom shut and dark the way I’d left it. I went to his bedroom last and hesitated before throwing the door open.
There was always a chance he was home but sleeping off too much champagne. If I barged in, he’d think I’d lost my mind. In the weeks since I’d been in his ho
me, I’d never stepped foot inside his bedroom. I didn’t even know what it looked like even though I could often hear his movements through the wall. Some of those movements, especially late at night when I was too wound up or on edge to sleep, had caused my imagination to run wild.
I knocked and took a deep breath. No response. I knocked again.
“Clive? You in there, man?”
There was no rustle of covers and no sound of footsteps on the creaky floor. I opened the door and stepped inside, my eyes sweeping the space. It was so Clive-like that I would have smiled in different circumstances. There was a gray rug on the dark brown hardwood floor, a platform bed covered in silver and dark blue bedding, elegant modern art on the walls, and a leather chair in the corner by a window covered by long curtains. Understated and expensive. So sophisticated I felt like an intruder looking around.
I stopped halfway into the room, and my eyes fell on a dark fabric at the foot of the bed. The expensive suit he’d worn tonight was there, tangled and half falling on the floor. He’d been here. He’d been here and for some reason, he’d disregarded his clothing in a rush. That, more than anything, sent my heart into my throat.
Of all the things I knew about Clive, it was that he respected the items he spent money on. He treated his house—every appliance and piece of furniture—with care. His clothes were no exception. Him balling up his clothes and tossing them was out of character.
But why?
Had someone startled him? Come up behind him while he was changing? Had someone been in the house?
I spun around, intent on checking the security footage, and froze.
Clive was standing in the doorway, covered in sweat, and wearing a pair of running pants, a hoodie, and his red running sneakers. He looked me over, raised an eyebrow, and opened his mouth to speak. I was in his face before he could get a word out.
“Where the fuck were you?”
Clive’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
I pointed at him. “Are you fucking stupid? You take off, drunk, by yourself? Then come back here for the first time alone and go running?”
“Victor,” he said, voice low and steady. “Get your finger out of my face. Now.”
“Anything could have happened to you,” I shouted, stepping closer. “That motherfucker could have been out there, could have seen you alone for the first time in mad long, and thought now’s the chance to make a move. Do you get that?”
“Victor—”
I grabbed the front of his hoodie, curling my hands around it. “You think you’re fucking invincible. That’s your problem. You think bad shit doesn’t happen, but guess what?” I shook him, shouting so loud my voice probably carried out the window. “It does. Bad shit always fucking happens.”
Clive reached up to bring the hold I had on him, grabbed my jacket, and reversed our positions in one movement. He kicked the door shut and pushed me up against it as I glared and panted with his body pressed to mine.
“You need to calm down,” he said softly. “Right now.”
“Get your fucking hands off me.”
Clive leaned in closer, until I could smell his sweat and feel the hard press of his chest against my own. “You put your hands on me first, Victor. I will keep you right here in this position until I know you’re calm.”
I breathed hard, glaring at him fiercely, and was too far gone to be embarrassed. All I could do was look at his face, his wide lips and dark eyes, the way his hair curled when damp, and picture him dead.
Clive’s brow puckered. “What is with you?”
“You don’t get it,” I grit out. “You don’t fucking understand, and I can’t deal with this kind of shit.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?
I raised my arm to shove him away from me, but the look on his face stopped me. There was more than irritation causing him to stare at me with an intensity that rattled my bones and caused my heart to pound. I forgot what I was going to say and what I was going to do. He pushed my arm down and planted his own hands against the door on either side of my face, and I didn’t attempt to move away.
“Stop moving,” he said, so I stopped. “And calm yourself down.”
With anyone else, a “calm down” would have blown my fuse and catapulted my temper. With him? I took a long deep breath with my head tilted against the door, obeying the directive without a second thought. When a glimmer of a satisfaction showed in his eyes, my dick twitched.
This was getting out of hand.
I knew the connection we’d started to form had been odd. On the outside, we had nothing in common, and I was a glorified babysitter for a man who thought he could take care of himself. Regardless of that, and for as unflinchingly isolated as I’d kept myself for the past four years, he was the first person I could say without a doubt… felt like a friend. He wasn’t just a client. He wasn’t just the QFindr attorney. He was someone I wanted to know for the long run.
But this power he had over me? I didn’t get it. I couldn’t stop it. And I didn’t know that I wanted to. My mouth and throat suddenly felt dry as dust. I swallowed and licked my lips. His gaze flickered to follow the movement.
“What did you mean?” he asked finally. “You can’t deal with what anymore?”
“You not giving a shit,” I said, voice scraping out low and husky. “You not listening to me. Not letting me do my job.”
“Is this your job?” Clive asked, leaning in closer to me. “To come into my bedroom without permission, then scream at me like I’m a lost child in a supermarket? To have a whole meltdown?”
I flinched. “No.”
“Then what are you doing, Victor?”
“I’m being unprofessional, and the worst fucking bodyguard.” I growled it out, but my heartbeat was steadying as he caged me against the door with his strong body. The smell and feel of him, his dark eyes holding mine, grounded me. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t hurt. He was here. “I’m being familiar. I’m too overprotective. Too emotionally involved. It’s why Tonya couldn’t be paired with Meredith, and why Chester wants more staff so she isn’t with Chris. She’s too overprotective of him because they’re friends. And we’re…”
Clive began nodding but not interrupting.
“I’m too attached to you,” I admitted grudgingly. “I haven’t had anyone give two fucks about me in the past four years, man. I didn’t expect us to become friends. I didn’t expect to like you this much.”
For a fraction of a second, Clive smiled. An actual honest to God smile without a hint of a sardonic asshole vibe. “I like you too, Victor. And as childish as this sounds, I’m enjoying the fact that we’re friends. We understand each other, right?”
“We do with somethings, but not when it comes to how reckless you are. Do you have any idea how fucking stupid—”
“Don’t talk to me like that.”
His stern tone cut through me, and I nodded slowly without looking away. “Sorry. But I’m saying, just look at the facts. You’ve had a guy watching you. A guy who has been knowing you’ve got a big tatted up dude shacked up with you, who shadows you everywhere. Then, one night, for the first time since he left you that shitty note—you come back alone. Then you go for a tipsy middle of the night run. You really don’t see… how that could have looked like a golden opportunity to a stalker?”
Clive’s mouth thinned for a second, but he only said, “I sobered up on the taxi ride home.”
“Really, man? You can’t even show that you understand what I’m getting at?”
“I understand very fucking well.” Clive pushed away from me and spun towards the window. He ripped open his hoody and tossed it into the corner, leaving him in nothing but tight running pants and a equally form-fitting Dri-Fit shirt. Every hard muscle was displayed by the clingy material. “Do you think I like acting like a goddamn fool? My mother would tear my ass up if she knew I was out going for jogs along the river with a stalker watching my house. She’s already cursed me out ten times for not relocating sinc
e this all started.”
Clive talking about his actual mother was so… normal, that I almost smiled. “I agree with her.”
“Oh, of course you do, but I don’t run away from problems. Do you understand that?” Clive peeled off the shirt, exposing muscular planes of smooth brown skin. “I’m not afraid of that asshole out there—”
“You were afraid for me. You thought that asshole could hurt me.”
“Because you were actively pursuing him and trying to confront him.” Clive turned towards me again. He looked so stunning, shirtless and sweaty and angry, that I stared at his pecs, his abs, his navel and the trace of dark hair leading down into skintight pants. “Most of these people are bullies. Losers with no lives who find something or someone to terrorize and fixate on because they have nothing else. I maintain that if I manage to lure him out and learn his identity, we could end this.”
“And I say if you try that shit, I am gone.” I stepped away from the door and moved closer to him. “This is a good job, with good benefits, but I’ll ask to be reassigned even if it means Kenneth Stone firing me.”
Clive appeared stunned. “So, you’re saying you’ll risk your job if I handle this—”
“I’ll risk my job if you risk your life,” I cut in. “Yeah. In a heartbeat. You’ll have to do it on someone else’s watch.”
The room lapsed into silence with both of us watching and waiting. Maybe he was at as much of a loss as I was. I couldn’t deny the idea of him being off balance because of me was a little heady. Part of me had expected him to tell me to get the fuck out of his house with my ultimatums and threats.
“I’m not Shawn,” Clive said finally. “And what happened to him was not your fault.”
“What the hell are you even talking about right now?”
“You know what I’m talking about.” Clive closed the space between us and caught my chin in his hand. He tilted my face up so we were eye-to-eye and spoke slowly and deliberately. “That whole scene you just made? That meltdown, as I callously described it?” His finger inched up to brush the thick scar tissue on my mouth. My lips parted even while I glared at him fiercely. “I think me being gone, and you running after me without finding me, took you back to South Jamaica, Shawn storming out to find Raymond, and him being murdered in the street as soon as he was out of your sight.”
Cross Island Page 12
