“I’m sorry. I got pissed off and then I panicked and I . . .” Jack sighed. “I didn’t know how to say any of this.”
“And here I thought my family was a train wreck.”
Jack chuckled. He felt lighter than he had in days, and now all he wanted to do was spend the rest of the night reconnecting and making up for lost time. “Yeah, mine is fucking crazy.”
“Oh no, so is mine.” Ryan looked at his watch. “But we’re gonna have to save that story for another time. I gotta get to the club and start getting ready.”
It was barely quarter till. “How long does it take you?” Jack asked, standing.
“Honestly? I like to have at least two hours.”
Jack stared at him, agog. Two hours? He didn’t think there was that much makeup in the world.
Ryan chuckled. “But in a pinch, I can do my makeup in about forty-five minutes. That’s only in extreme cases, though. Cuz then I don’t get to put a lot of effort into much else.”
Jack nodded. It still didn’t make any sense to him, but he’d keep his mouth shut.
Ryan smiled at him again. “Walk me there?”
“Absolutely.” As they left the bar, Jack breathed a sigh of relief. It was nice to have an easygoing conversation after a week of nothing but strain. He wanted to reach out and take Ryan’s hand. But he resisted the urge. Just in case anyone from the office happened to be out and about. That was one scandal they didn’t need right now.
Besides, he was perfectly fine with how things were for the moment. Walking and talking and laughing and joking. He felt right in a way he hadn’t in a long time, and he didn’t want to give it up for anything. So whatever he had to do to push past his barrier, he’d do it, if that was what Ryan needed him to do. For now, as they walked in the rear door of Neon Trees, Jack would hang in the crowd and enjoy the show. And, God willing, the aftershow, because he was beyond backed-up.
He just hoped Ryan wouldn’t mind staying dressed a little while longer.
The blood from his severed jugular spurted in my face; every pump of his slowing heart sent another jet, though they got less and less. After a moment, he crumpled to the ground, lifeless eyes staring at the sky, the ghost of his final words on his lips. I growled, low in my throat and gripped my cock through my jeans. God, I wanted to stroke one out right here, right now, but it was too risky. Instead, I pulled a rag from my back pocket and wiped the gore first from my face and then from my knife. I scrubbed the inside of my shirt over my skin to try to get rid of any left behind.
I slipped my phone from my pocket and checked my face in the camera. It was still a little red, but the night was dark. No moon out casting that eerie glow. I could keep to the shadows. And I needed to get a nut. But I also wanted to kill again.
Tucking the knife away, I slipped out of the alleyway and joined the flow of people. They had no clue what had just happened only a few feet from them; that made me hornier, for some reason. I didn’t know where I was going, but my feet seemed to be carrying me somewhere, so I followed their lead, sizing up the people around me as I went.
The guy next to me could probably kick my ass. The scowl on his face said he wasn’t to be fucked with. The woman ahead of me looked like she carried weapons in her purse. A dozen people I checked as I walked, but none of them made my pulse jump the way the bitch walking out of the club earlier tonight had. I’d known it had been a man; it had been painfully obvious even under the ten pounds of makeup. I’d found my next victim. My mouth had practically been watering as I’d followed him, chatted him up, and when he’d realized that he was going to die . . . God, the look on his face had been better than Christmas.
Maybe I had a type.
I blinked myself back to reality and, for a moment, didn’t know where I was. I looked around for a few seconds before my eyes adjusted and saw the headstones in the darkness. Of course. I was back at the cemetery where the first one was buried.
I’d been here during the funeral too. And no one had even noticed me.
Oh well. Since I’d come all this way, I might as well make the most of it.
Ryan emptied the bag of imitation rhinestones into his bowl. He ran a thumb over the ceramic surface and smiled. The bowl was one of the first things his drag mother Justine had ever given him. “Nobody likes a messy queen,” she’d said. “So make sure you always keep your materials together. Especially when you get on that RuPaul show.”
He put his shoe, a simple, sleek boot with a five-inch heel, on the table in front of him and leaned in with the glue. A lot of queens would probably have someone else do this for them, but he actually liked making all his own stuff. The art of taking and combining things to create something entirely new calmed him. Maybe it was the time it took, or being forced to focus so he didn’t fuck it up. It didn’t matter. Costuming was one of the best parts of doing drag for him, and he didn’t understand queens who hated it.
He secured the first stone to the shoe and already he’d started to slip into his zone. Part of his mind zeroed in on the task at hand, but the bit that was already creating and dreaming began to wander.
After he and Jack had their talk and Sheila finished her show, the two of them had headed to Jack’s apartment, and Ryan had felt almost peaceful. Being around Jack for the past couple weeks had been easy, most of the time. Ryan hadn’t had to try too hard, or kiss anyone’s ass, or try to be anyone he wasn’t. The only real problem was having to dress up to fuck. Ryan had to spend twice as long on his wigs, now, because they kept getting messed up during sex and then he had to restyle them.
He’d never had such a relaxing relationship (Though it definitely wasn’t a romantic one. Not yet, anyway.) before and it felt strange. Almost as though the sky was bound to come crashing down on their heads, and they were treading water, waiting.
But other than that, they were golden.
His phone rang, and he fished it out of his pocket, expecting it to be Jack. But no, Justine’s face smiled up at him, and he couldn’t help but grin as he answered it. “Bitch, I’ve been trying to call you for four days! Where the hell have you been?”
Justine cleared her throat, and the sound was deeper than Ryan was used to. “Hey, kid.”
He rarely heard that voice, anymore. It was a man’s voice, heavy with emotion. Which meant that he was talking to Danny. The drag persona had been caged, and that could only mean bad news.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s about Valentine.”
Ryan blinked. How could it get worse than being murdered and thrown in a dumpster? “What about her?”
Danny heaved a sigh. “Someone vandalized her headstone last night.”
Ryan shook his head. He hadn’t heard that right. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me. Somebody went to the cemetery last night. They found Tim’s grave and they went to town on it.”
“How?”
“Spray-painted over it. Wrote ‘Faggots burn in hell.’ And then took a shit right in front of it.”
That piqued Ryan’s interest. Maybe that could be used for DNA and the police would catch whoever did this. He wiped away a tear. “How’d you find out?”
“Because I came to put down some more flowers and saw it.”
“You’re there now?”
“Yes.”
“I’m on my way,” he said, getting up.
“No. I don’t want you seeing this, kid. The police are heading here, already. I just wanted you to hear it from me and not on the news.”
“Who would do something like this?” Ryan sniffled. Hadn’t Tim suffered enough?
“The same kind of monster who killed her. But don’t worry. The cops are going to find out who did it.”
“How? They’re probably miles away by now!”
Danny was silent for a moment. “I have faith. I have to. Otherwise I have to accept that none of us are safe. And I’m not ready to do that, yet.”
That was a scary thought. What if it had been the same person
? And what if they decided to kill again? But no. Ryan shook the thought away. Serial killers were one in a hundred. And there were better places to start a spree than here. “I understand. Thanks for calling.”
“Yeah,” Danny said, and disconnected.
Ryan hated this world. Why couldn’t people just leave them be? They weren’t doing anything to anyone. He stared down at the rhinestone-covered boot on his desk. The thought of finishing it sickened him. For the first time in six years, he wanted nothing to do with performing in drag. But Valentine would have kicked his ass if he gave up because of someone else. Even if that someone had slaughtered her. So he dredged his way through and finished it, stopping every so often to wipe away tears.
The boots turned out more killer than he could have imagined, but his mind still wasn’t clear. If anything, it raced even faster. His heart thundered and his blood pounded in his veins. He needed a distraction. Something to make him think about literally anything else.
Jack picked up on the third ring. “Hey.”
“I need you. Like right now.”
“What’s the matter?”
“My mouth is empty. And you’re still at home asking me questions.”
“I’m on my way.”
Ryan managed a small smile. At least sex worked for him. But now that he’d made the call and Jack was on his way, Ryan didn’t want to get dressed up. And that would almost certainly be a deal breaker. Even after all this time.
It had only been a couple weeks since their conversation at Icefire, but they’d hooked up countless times over the last month and a half, and still the drag had to come out. Ryan hated that, but it was either get dressed up and get some dick, or stay as he was and keep thinking about Valentine and having mini-breakdowns every fifteen minutes. So he got up and headed off to the drag closet, shoes in one hand and materials in the other.
By the time Jack got there twenty minutes later, Ryan was in the quickest drag he’d ever done. But he didn’t feel the elation that usually came with getting done up. Instead, it was something like dread, and as he dropped to his knees and went to work, it felt more like a chore than anything.
The sex was good; Jack didn’t know how to do it any other way. But Ryan’s brain wouldn’t let him enjoy it as much as he wanted to. When they were done and cleaned up, Ryan sat on the edge of his bed with his chin in his hand, chewing his bottom lip.
“What’s the matter?” Jack asked, pulling his shirt on. Ryan looked up and lost his breath for a second. The way the sunlight hit Jack cast him in an almost angelic glow, and fuck if he wasn’t more gorgeous than usual. Ryan blinked, trying to break the trance he was slipping into. Maybe if he turned away, he’d be able to speak.
“How do you really feel about me?” Ryan asked, eyes trained on a photo on his dresser behind Jack.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean . . . what is this? What are we? Is this a friends-with-benefits type situation? Are we friends at all? Is it just fucking? Are you my boyfriend? What’s going on?”
“Whoa, where is all this coming from?”
Ryan suddenly felt stupid. This wasn’t the right time to bring this up, but he’d already opened the can of worms, now. He couldn’t close it again. “It’s coming from me wanting to know. It’s getting really fucking irritating having to get dressed up every time I want to get some dick.”
“Hold on, you called me. I didn’t ask to come over here.”
“But you came! I called because I was upset. And then I realized I was gonna have to put on a dress and a wig and I didn’t want to do it anymore, but you were already on the way.”
“So why didn’t you say something when I got here?”
“Because I didn’t want to be that . . . asshole,” Ryan said lamely. He curled his tongue in his mouth. Tears built behind his eyes, but he wouldn’t give in to them.
Jack knelt in front of him. “You wouldn’t have been an asshole. The same way you’re ambushing me with this now, you could have told me when I walked through the door and we . . . could have talked or something.”
Their eyes met and Ryan forced himself not to look away. “I really like you. But this morning got super hard for a minute. And that’s when I called you. I called you over here so you could fuck me and make me forget for a little while. I just didn’t think before about what it was going to entail.”
Jack dropped his gaze. “I’m working on it. I promise you I am. I just . . . I need time.”
“But how much? I don’t know how long I can keep feeling like I have to do this if I want to have sex with you.”
“I don’t know . . .” Jack stood up, scratching his head. “Maybe we should cool off a bit. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Because you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, and I don’t want you to think you do. I’m not that kind of guy. And the truth is, I like you too.”
“Then go on a date with me.” Ryan’s mouth said it before his brain could process the thought, and he regretted it almost immediately.
Jack blinked, his lips parted. “A . . .” He cleared his throat. “A what?”
Ryan swallowed. It took him a second to draw the breath to speak again but he had to. “I want you to go on a date with me. Doesn’t have to be fancy, but I want to do it.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that . . .” Jack said, running a hand through his hair. “Is it a deal breaker if I don’t?”
Ryan’s heart sank. So this was just sex. Once again he’d let himself fall for someone who didn’t feel the same, and fuck if he didn’t seem like the dumbest person on the planet. Again. When would he learn? “No,” he said, avoiding Jack’s eyes. “No, of course not.” But he didn’t know if he meant that. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat and failed.
He wanted to cry. And scream. And vomit. But he couldn’t do any of that in front of Jack, so he turned away and tried to hide from the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. He needed to get some privacy so he could break down in peace, but if he kicked Jack out now, Jack would know the truth, and Ryan didn’t want to look weak. So he fought back the tears and forced himself to grow a pair, even if they were only pretend.
“I’ll do it,” Jack said.
Ryan spun around, eyes wide. “What?”
Jack closed his eyes. “I think a date is a bad idea. And I’m not totally sure that I’m ready for it, but I really like you. And I don’t want to lose you, and I feel like that’s what we’re heading toward.”
“Jack . . .”
“I’ll go on a date with you.”
“Really?” Ryan didn’t want Jack to feel obligated, but he was having a hard time trying to contain his excitement.
“If it’ll make you happy, yeah. Of course.”
“But . . . it’ll make you happy too . . . right?”
The corner of Jack’s mouth quirked up in a sad imitation of a smile. “I don’t know, yet. But the only way to find out is to try.”
“Only if you want to.”
Jack nodded slowly. “I want to.”
He didn’t look sure, but Ryan wasn’t going to press the issue any further. “How about Wednesday at eight? I don’t have a show, so the whole night would just be me and you.”
“That works.”
Ryan grinned. He couldn’t control himself, and he pulled Jack into a kiss. Warmth blossomed in his stomach, spread up to his chest, and fuck if he wasn’t getting horny again. He wanted to reward Jack, so he reached down and grabbed a handful. Jack moaned against his lips.
“You know what to do,” Jack growled. Ryan did, so he dropped to his knees for the second time that day and pulled Jack free.
Jack came slower that go round, so Ryan had time to let himself have fun; when they were done, his lips were swollen, but both men were satisfied.
It didn’t take Ryan long to get cleaned up and out of drag, and when he walked back into his bedroom, Jack was lying back on the bed, hands behind his head. Ryan flipped on the TV and flopped do
wn next to him.
“This is the second performer found and though police are withholding further details, concerned citizens are beginning to wonder if these performers are being targeted.”
Heart in his stomach, Ryan fumbled with the remote and clicked the Rewind button until the Breaking News banner flashed across the screen.
“Details are still coming in, but the body of a second drag performer has been found.”
“No,” Ryan whispered. This couldn’t be happening. Not again.
A picture of a man flashed across the screen, and Ryan had to swallow the vomit rising in his throat.
“Thirty-six-year-old Jason Ramos performed as Taylor Maid several nights a week in various clubs around the city, according to a source close to the deceased. His body was found in an alley with his throat slashed, similar to victim Valentine Heartbreak, who was discovered a few weeks ago.”
Ryan didn’t hear the rest of the report. He clamored for breath, but couldn’t draw any. There was no air left in the room. This was it. This was how it ended. He wouldn’t have to worry about being gutted by some psycho, because his bed would be his grave. The room grew darker around him. The air was getting thin.
Next thing he knew, he was staring up at Jack, whose horrified expression chilled his blood.
“Are you okay?” Jack asked.
“No,” Ryan said, trying to sit up, but Jack held him in place. “Another one of my friends is dead, so no, I am absolutely not okay.”
“That’s not how I meant it. I know you’re not okay okay.” Jack scrubbed a hand over his face. “But you passed out and rolled off the bed. Pretty sure you hit the floor headfirst, so I was trying to make sure you didn’t crack your fucking skull open.”
“Oh.” Ryan moved to touch his head but stopped halfway. He couldn’t remember anyone showing him that kind of affection before. To some it might have seemed minor, but to Ryan it was a big deal. “Yeah, I . . . I think I’m fine, thanks.” He felt around to make sure there were no bruises or sore spots. He didn’t seem to have any head injuries.
Anyone But You Page 7
