Levi gave him a wary look. “Like what?”
“You trust me with your life, but you don’t trust me to make you a drink?”
Levi lifted his hands in surrender and sat back on his stool.
Dominic moved away so Levi wouldn’t be able to see what he was doing. He mixed bourbon, sweet vermouth, and Campari with ice, strained it into an Old Fashioned glass, and deftly stripped the fruit of an orange slice away from the peel before twisting the peel into a corkscrew and dropping it into the drink. Then he set the glass down in front of Levi.
He expected Levi to press him again about the drink’s identity, but Levi just lifted the glass and took a small sip. Dominic watched in fascination as Levi licked a stray droplet off his lower lip.
Levi was silent for a moment, thoughtful, and then a slow smile spread across his face. “It’s amazing,” he said, and took a second, longer sip. “What is it?”
“A Boulevardier. Same as a Negroni, but with bourbon instead of gin.”
It was a full-flavored, bittersweet cocktail, really more suited to autumn than spring, but it was always a hit with those who had a taste for bourbon. Levi seemed to be enjoying it, anyway, and he didn’t strike Dominic as the type of person to pretend to like something he didn’t just to spare someone’s feelings.
Dominic was called away by a new group of people arriving at the bar. When he got back to Levi, the glass was empty, drained to the last drop. Levi tapped the rim, indicating that he wanted another.
“You are set on getting drunk tonight,” Dominic said as he mixed the second drink. “Is the case really going that badly?”
It was a stupid question; he of all people knew how rough the road had been. But Levi just shrugged and accepted the glass.
“It’s not the case. Or at least, it’s not just the case.” He took such a deep gulp of his drink that Dominic raised an eyebrow. “It’s my boyfriend.”
“Ah.” Dominic maintained a professional, blank expression, trying not to let on how wildly curious he was. He was familiar with Stanton Barclay—hell, so was everyone else in Las Vegas, if not the entire United States—but the man was remarkably discreet for a billionaire. He kept his personal life to himself and his relationship with Levi well out of the limelight.
“He wants to get married.”
“Which is . . . a bad thing?”
“I don’t know.” Levi traced his fingers through the condensation on the bar, studying the pattern as if it were the most mesmerizing thing he’d ever seen. “I’ve always known he wanted to get married someday; he talks about it all the time. But I think he’s considering proposing now, and the timing couldn’t be worse. We’ve done nothing but fight for weeks—months, really.”
“About what?”
“Everything. Nothing. Sometimes I think . . . we might not be right for each other.” Levi hesitated, then added, “He’s not my bashert.”
Dominic leaned against the bar on his forearms. He didn’t miss Levi’s eyes flicking up to observe the way his shoulders and biceps strained against the tight sleeves of his black fitted tee. “What’s that?”
“It’s Yiddish,” Levi said after an inappropriately long pause. “It has a meaning like ‘destiny’ or ‘meant to be.’ You can really apply it to anything, but it’s mostly used to mean ‘soulmate.’”
“You believe in soulmates?” Dominic asked, surprised. He couldn’t reconcile that romantic notion with the practical, matter-of-fact man sitting in front of him.
“I believe that people can complement each other so well that they’re like two halves of one whole, yes. Not necessarily that there’s only one match in the entire world for each person. But either way, Stanton and I aren’t like that. He knows exactly why I became a cop, why I’d never be satisfied doing anything else, but he still wants me to give it up. Be someone I’m not.”
Levi plucked the orange peel out of his glass and fiddled with it, scraping his thumbnail against the rind.
“Aren’t I doing the same thing, though? Trying to change him? I want him to be the kind of person who can accept their partner being in danger on a regular basis, and that’ll never be him. It’s not fair for me to expect that.” He finished his drink and dropped the peel into the empty glass. “Can I just have a double of whatever bourbon this is, please? Neat.”
Dominic cleared away the glass and replaced it with the requested double bourbon. He left Levi to drink in peace for a while as he made his rounds, closing out a couple of tabs and mixing a few cocktails. By the time he circled back around to Levi, that third glass was as bare as the last two.
He exchanged it for a tall water. “I’m not giving you another drink until you finish this.”
Levi scowled at him but didn’t argue.
Dominic had never seen Levi under the influence, so he didn’t know what kind of drunk he’d be—maudlin, angry, giddy—or how much bourbon it would take to get him there. The alcohol was clearly affecting him, though; his eyes were glassy, his cheeks flushed. He had one elbow on the bar, his chin propped on his hand.
“Have you always been a big guy?” Levi’s ogling of Dominic’s body was a lot less subtle now than it had been half an hour ago.
Dominic, who was used to comments and questions about his size, just shrugged. “Pretty much, yeah. I was always one of the biggest kids in my class, anyway.”
“Probably some kind of sports star, too,” Levi mumbled, addressing his water glass. “Football?”
“Wrestling. Never really saw the appeal of football.”
Levi looked up at him with a wide-eyed, incredulous expression. “You expect me to believe you’re not into football at all?”
Dominic sighed. It wasn’t that he didn’t get it. His body was hypermasculine in a stereotypical way, and while that attracted some people and repelled others, it always gave rise to certain assumptions. He didn’t blame Levi for that, any more than he blamed women who crossed the street to avoid walking past him at night. But he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of frustration.
“Oh, I used to be really into it,” he said lightly. “Not just football, either. Basketball, baseball, hockey—hell, even golf. I followed any sport you could possibly lay a bet on. It was the money I was interested in, though, not the sports themselves.”
Levi tilted his head, puzzled.
“I’m a compulsive gambler.” Dominic kept his tone nonchalant, as if it was no big deal, though of course it was the exact opposite. But Levi had shared something difficult with him, and he was willing to return the gesture. “In recovery for a few years now, though it’s not something you ever finish recovering from.”
Straightening up, Levi dropped his hand to the bar. “You’re a compulsive gambler living in Las Vegas? Isn’t that like someone trying to stay sober while living above a bar?”
“I grew up in this city. My entire family lives here. If I moved away, the lack of a support system could be as dangerous as the environment is here. I decided to stay. I just avoid my triggers as much as I can—like professional sports.”
Levi stared at him. Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, Dominic gave his water glass a nudge. Levi picked it up, drank the rest of the water in one long swallow, and set it back down, wiping his hand across his mouth. “I keep going back and forth with myself on whether you have balls of steel or you’re just insane.”
A grin broke across Dominic’s face. “I’m choosing to take that as a compliment,” he said as he poured another double bourbon.
Levi smiled and toasted him with the glass.
A new couple joined the small crowd at the bar, but Dominic was reluctant to end their conversation. He caught his fellow bartender Amanda’s eye and pleaded silently with her to help him out. Though at first she seemed set to be annoyed, she took a second look at Levi and drew her own conclusions, giving Dominic a discreet thumbs-up as she moved over to the newcomers.
Well, it didn’t do any harm to let her think whatever she wanted. He turned back to Levi. “You must have bee
n an athlete in school yourself, right? I’m thinking . . .” Definitely not a team sport. No, something solo that would capitalize on Levi’s lean strength and agility. “Swimming? Track?”
Levi laughed abruptly, choking on his bourbon. Bemused, Dominic handed him a few cocktail napkins to wipe his mouth.
“God, no. This . . .” Levi waved a hand at his own body. “This is a much more recent development. I was nothing but skin and bones growing up. Couldn’t play sports to save my life. And let me tell you, ‘skinny gay Jew’ is not the part you want to find yourself playing in high school.”
Dominic winced. Levi saw it and shook his head.
“I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I had good friends, a great family. I did well in school. Yeah, there were bullies, but other kids had it a lot worse.” He sipped his bourbon; he was drinking this one a lot slower than the first three. “I used to fantasize about becoming a cop—a detective, like in the stories I read. But I knew it was silly for someone like me.”
“So what happened? Obviously something changed.”
Levi didn’t answer right away. He was swaying on his stool a little, his eyes unfocused—Dominic would have to cut him off soon, if he didn’t do it himself.
“I was attacked,” Levi said, and Dominic immediately regretted asking. “It happened while I was in college. A group of guys jumped me in the parking lot of a gay bar and beat the shit out of me. I woke up in the hospital—I still don’t know how I got there.”
“Jesus,” said Dominic. His stomach turned over.
Levi gazed into his glass as he spoke, his voice quiet. “The way the cops acted when they came to take my statement was almost worse. They just . . . didn’t care. At all. They didn’t say it out loud, but it was like they thought I deserved it. Maybe because I was gay, or maybe because I was too weak to defend myself. I’m not sure. But it was like being victimized all over again.”
He paused there to drain his glass and pushed it back toward Dominic.
“I’ve never been so angry in my entire life.” There was a hint of a slur in his speech now. “I walked around for weeks suffocating in my own rage. I hated those cops, the guys who’d jumped me, myself for being so fucking helpless. I couldn’t focus on anything. My grades slipped. I lashed out at everyone around me.”
Dominic had heard words like these before, from fellow veterans who’d had trouble adjusting to civilian life after time spent in combat—that sense of having a hair-trigger temper, ready to snap at the slightest provocation, drowning in an impotent fury that was all the worse for having no easy outlet.
That hadn’t been Dominic’s experience at all. There had been no anger for him, only . . . emptiness. A loss of purpose. In the end, that had proven more dangerous for him than anger would have.
“Our rabbi’s wife was Israeli; she’d served in the IDF.” Levi hadn’t looked at Dominic’s face once since he’d started telling his story. “She’s the one who suggested I try Krav Maga. And it was the only thing that helped—not just because it made me stronger and taught me how to protect myself, but because it gave me a way to channel all that rage without losing my self-control.”
Dominic debated whether or not to give Levi another drink. He was drunk—too drunk, or he wouldn’t be telling Dominic any of this. One more might be one too many. On the other hand, Levi looked so haunted that it was painful to witness.
Dominic poured one more bourbon, just a single this time.
Picking up the glass, Levi said, “That rage never went away, though. It changed every single thing about my life. I had to leave New Jersey because I couldn’t stand to be around the reminders of what had happened. I joined the LVMPD because the thought that other people might experience what I did drove me insane. It’s almost impossible for me to trust anyone. And even all these years later, no matter how happy I am, there’s always a small part of me that’s so fucking angry all the time.” He tossed back the shot. “I think that’s why I killed Dale Slater.”
Dominic’s mouth fell open. Levi’s hand shook where it was clenched around the glass.
This, then, was the real reason Levi had come here. Not because the case was stressing him out, or because he was fighting with his boyfriend—he’d come to get stupid drunk and spill his guts to someone he didn’t know well because he was ashamed of himself. Boy, had Dominic been there before.
“I wasn’t cool and calm when I pulled the trigger,” Levi continued, before Dominic could muster a response. “I was furious.”
“Of course you were,” Dominic said. “He was threatening a child’s life. Any human being would be furious in the same position—it’s instinct.”
Levi finally met his eyes, and there was a storm of emotion there, fear and shame and desperation all mixed up together. “When the Seven of Spades called me, they asked if I enjoyed killing him.”
“Did you?”.
Levi didn’t flinch from the question. “I don’t know. I didn’t get off on it. It definitely didn’t make me happy. But there was a split second as he went down when I felt . . . satisfied.”
“I think that’s understandable—”
“No. It’s fucked up. And when I fought those men the other night, I did enjoy it.” Levi was definitely slurring now, breathing hard and stumbling over his own words. “It excited me. It turned me on. The only thing I wanted afterward was for someone to hold me down and fuck me until I screamed.”
Dominic’s eyes went wide even as his cock twitched in his jeans. He ignored it, prying the glass out of Levi’s fingers.
“Okay,” he said, “that’s enough for you.”
“There’s something wrong with me,” Levi whispered.
“No, there’s not,” Dominic said, so firmly that Levi gave a startled jerk. “You’re just human. There’s nothing weird or wrong about being aroused by winning a fight—it happens to a lot of people. And even if you did feel some satisfaction in killing Slater . . . Levi, look at yourself. Almost a month later, and it’s still ripping you up inside. If there was something wrong with you, it wouldn’t be hitting you this hard.”
“I keep waiting for it to go away.”
Dominic swallowed hard. “It won’t. It’ll get . . . less, over time. But it’ll stay with you for the rest of your life.”
Levi made as if to pull away from the bar, but Dominic took both his hands and pressed them against the sticky surface.
He waited until Levi made eye contact again. “That’s the way it should be. Sometimes killing is unavoidable, but it should never be casual. The day taking a human life becomes something you can just shrug off is the day you find a new line of work.”
They regarded each other in silence for a few long moments, Levi’s hands warm in Dominic’s own.
“I think I should go home,” Levi said. “Can you cash me out?”
“Sure.” Dominic released his hands and moved to the computer. “Want me to call you a cab?”
“No, thanks. I have the car service.”
While Levi fumbled around with his cell phone—dropping it twice—Dominic printed out his check and set it in front of him on a metal tray emblazoned with the Stingray logo. Levi managed to complete his call, then looked down at the check and blinked.
“This can’t be right.”
“I put half of it on my goodwill tab.”
“You shouldn’t—”
“No arguments,” said Dominic. “Call it a law enforcement discount.”
He ran Levi’s credit card and handed it back to him. It took Levi several minutes to get the card back in his wallet and scribble the tip and his signature; when he stood up, he wobbled sideways and caught himself on the edge of the bar.
“Whoa, hang on.” Dominic signaled to Amanda, who rolled her eyes but flapped a hand at him. Hurrying around the side of the bar, Dominic put an arm around Levi’s waist to steady him. “I’ll help you outside.”
Levi was so impaired that he was stymied by the challenge their height difference presented to slinging
an arm over Dominic’s shoulders. “I haven’t been this drunk in a long time,” he said. “Fuck, you’re ridiculously big.”
“I could just carry you outside, if you want.”
Levi shoved his shoulder, knocking himself over in the process without budging Dominic so much as an inch. Dominic caught him, and the two of them shuffled slowly out to the curb in front of the club.
Once they were standing still again, Dominic let go. Levi didn’t—he kept one hand on Dominic’s arm, as if he’d forgotten it was there.
Swaying on his feet, Levi said, “I’m sorry you had to listen to all of that. I wouldn’t normally . . .”
“Hey, it’s part of the bartender code. I just hope you don’t hate me tomorrow.”
Levi had told him intensely personal things tonight, things he certainly wouldn’t have said if he’d been sober. He might get angry with Dominic for having seen him so vulnerable.
“I won’t,” Levi said softly.
As he listed sideways, his grip on Dominic’s bicep tightened, and he braced his other hand on Dominic’s chest. Then he just left it there, smoothing it down Dominic’s sternum.
Dominic went very, very still. Was Levi even aware of what he was doing?
Levi looked up at him. “It’s a little disorienting, finding out that everything I’ve always assumed about you was wrong.”
“Tell me about it.” Dominic had thought Levi cold and aloof, unemotional, but nothing could be further from the truth. The past few days had proven how much was simmering under the surface; Levi had to keep himself strapped down so he didn’t boil over and burn everyone around him.
“I misjudged you.”
Before Dominic understood what was happening, Levi slid his hand up to grasp the nape of Dominic’s neck and pull him into a kiss.
Dominic gasped, but Levi was a forceful, passionate kisser, overwhelming him with a hungry mouth and greedy hands. For a few moments, Dominic responded without restraint, his own hands gripping Levi’s narrow hips while his tongue stroked into Levi’s mouth.
It was the taste of bourbon that brought him to his senses. “Levi, stop,” he said as he jerked back. He pulled Levi’s arms from around his neck and held him by the wrists, though he didn’t fool himself that Levi couldn’t disengage in a second, even drunk. “Stop. I’m not that guy.”
Kill Game Page 15
