Guarding January

by Sean Michael

  “Here. The sitting room. Bathroom. The door in the garage.”

  “Okay, go into the bathroom and lock the door. I’ll check the sitting room and the garage first. Then I’ll go out and lock the door behind me again. Once it’s clear, I’ll call you on your cell, okay?”

  “Stay here. Don’t go. What if it’s scary?”

  “I need to make sure they didn’t get up here before you hit the locks.” He reached out and touched Jeff’s shoulder. The alarm would have alerted the cops, but Rye knew it would take them at least a few minutes, and anything could happen between now and when they showed up. “I need to check these rooms, and we’ll let the police deal with the intruder after that, okay?”

  “Okay. Okay, be careful. I like you.”

  He gave Jeff a grin in the dark. “I like you too. Now into the bathroom and lock the door like we practiced. And don’t open it unless it’s me and I say Ollie Ollie Oxen Free.”

  “Okay.” Jeff moved silently, locking himself in.

  Satisfied after hearing the lock, Rye slipped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him as silently as Jeff had done.

  The sitting room was clear, as were the stairs down to the garage and the garage itself. His app told him the break-in had occurred in the living room, and it looked like they’d gotten Jeff’s private area locked down before anyone could make their way in farther.

  After hoofing it back up the stairs, Rye called 911 and reported the break-in, just in case the automatic notice hadn’t gone through, or hadn’t been taken seriously. He let the operator know that he and Jeff were safe in rooms locked away from the rest of the house and they’d stay there until they got an all clear on his cell phone.

  By the time he’d confirmed his number with the operator, he was back at the bathroom.

  Knocking gently, he called out, “Ollie Ollie Oxen Free.”

  The door flew open and Jeff came out, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. You hit the locks soon enough, and we’re safe.” He opened his arms, and Jeff came to him, letting Rye hold him close.

  Jeff squeezed him, held on tight.

  This from the man who didn’t shake hands.

  Rye leaned against the wall and held on, breathing slowly. He was still on alert, but the initial rush of adrenaline was beginning to fade.

  The sirens came, and he sighed and backed off. “They’ll want to see you too.”

  “Okay. I’ll get dressed.”

  “Okay. No makeup, though. They’ll respond to you better without it.”

  Jeff gave him a bittersweet smile. “Just remember, I’m LJ. Only LJ.”

  “Okay, sir.” He would remember that far more than LJ. Jeff wasn’t LJ to him anymore.

  In fact, Lord January was nothing to him.

  Jeff, though…. He was beginning to care an awful lot for Jeff.

  Jeff pulled on a sweater, made sure the safety was on his gun, and waited for the cops to call with the all clear.

  The knock on the door downstairs was huge. “Sir? Police! Open up.”

  He checked his phone. No missed call. He’d been pretty clear with the operator.

  Jeff looked at him, eyes wide, and then the phone rang.

  “Sir? Sir, the intruder has been arrested, and the police are knocking.”

  “Thank you. We’ll let them in.”

  Rye held his hand out to Jeff. “They’ve arrested the intruder. It’s safe to go down.”

  Jeff took his hand, and they went together to the stairs, at which point he put Jeff behind him as he unlocked and opened the door. He kept his gun to his side, but he was ready.

  There were two uniforms standing there, faces serious. He handed over his driver’s license, and one of the cops examined it, checked his phone, then nodded.

  The second cop addressed him as he took back his ID. “Sir. We apprehended the guy, but there’s some damage, and the press is already gathering.”

  Jeff’s heat disappeared from behind him.

  Jesus Christ.

  “We can deal with the damage, and I know there isn’t anything you can do about the press.” He assumed they knew better than to try to climb over the gate, which was no doubt what the perp had done.

  “Can you tell me about the perp? Was he armed?” How dangerous had been his intent?

  “Looks like a fan. Broke in, cut his arms up and bled everywhere.”

  That was fucking gross. Rye was going to have to call someone in to disinfect the whole place. How could Jeff live like this? Oh, right. The drugs.

  Clearly the perimeter alarm had been useless. He was going to have to look into that. Then he was going to have a serious talk with Jeff about beefing up their security measures, making the place less accessible through the barring of the windows and doors.

  “Thanks, I appreciate the heads-up. Will you have a patrol car go by every half hour or so?” It would keep the press from getting overly enthusiastic about trying anything.

  “Absolutely. Can someone come down and see if anything is missing?”

  “I’ll do it. Give me a minute, please.”

  The officer nodded, and Rye closed the door, locked it again, then went up to find Jeff.

  Jeff met him halfway, totally in Lord January mode, white makeup, black eyes and lips, hair slicked down, and wearing skin-tight jeans and a silk blouse.

  Rye shook his head. “I don’t want you going down there.” Jeff didn’t need to see what that freak had done.

  Flashes happened in the bushes near the garage. Fuck. Fucking leeches.

  “Lock yourself in the bathroom, and I’ll tell them to get off the property or I’ll have them arrested. I have to let the cops know if anything was stolen too. Then I’ll be back up. Same code words as before, okay?”

  Jeff didn’t answer, just lifted his head and nodded.

  “I’ll wait here until I hear the lock on the bathroom door.” He took Jeff’s hand and squeezed it. “You’re safe.”

  “Thank you.” Jeff’s eyes were… wrong.

  Really wrong.

  “Hold up. What the fuck?” Frowning, he took Jeff’s chin and tilted it up so he could get a better look. The man looked like a demon.

  “Contacts, Rye. Black contacts.”

  Oh, man. Fucking scary. “Christ, that’s spooky. For real.”

  “Yeah. January is a spooky fucker.”

  “Yeah, you can say that again.” He was about to ask how Jeff had gotten all… January, but there was a knock on the door at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Sir?”

  “Coming. Go on, Jeff. I won’t go until I hear the bathroom door lock.”

  “Okay.” Jeff sashayed into the bathroom and closed the door.

  Rye shook his head and waited for that click. Then he went out to deal with… well, everything.

  JEFF STARED at himself in the long mirror, at his pale face, the way his hips pointed, his black eyes.

  “I hate you.”

  For a second, in the dark, he thought January smiled.

  Jeff chewed on his bottom lip, then grabbed his phone and texted Donna. Someone broke into the house. Press here.

  Call 911.

  We did. Rye downstairs.

  You’re safe?

  Yes. Worried. Tired.

  Sad. He was sad. January was going to come back.

  Do you need to call me?

  Yeah.

  His phone rang immediately, and he answered it. “Donna.”

  “Hey, honey.”

  “I’m so… I’ve been spoiled. It’s been a good week.”

  “He’s taking good care of you, huh?”

  “I’m trying to swim.” He liked swimming, even.

  “Right now?” He could hear the note in her voice that said she was teasing.

  “Yep. Glub, glub. There will have to be meetings soon, huh? Rehearsals?”

  “I’ve been dealing with the meetings for you. And you’ve got a few more weeks before the rehearsals start, time to get strong. I’m s
ending Rye with you, okay? He’s there to help you, honey.”

  “I’m so scared, Donna.”

  “What are you scared of, honey?”

  “I can’t be January without the drugs.” And that was that.

  “Of course you can.”

  He sat on the lid of the toilet, rocking himself, biting his bottom lip until he tasted blood. “Will you come see me now?”

  “I’m in London, honey, but I’ll be in the city next week.”

  A knock on the door had him jumping. “Ollie Ollie Oxen Free.”

  “Rye is back.” He lifted his head. “Coming.” He opened the door, offering Rye a smile. “You’ll come next week? Promise?”

  “I swear,” Donna promised.

  “Who was on the phone?” Rye asked after he hung up. “Wait, is that blood?” Rye took his chin and tilted his head, frowning.

  “Donna. Blood?”

  “On your lips. Were you hurt?” Rye’s thumb landed on his lower lip, tugging on it.

  “I was biting.”

  Rye tsked him and wiped the blood off, gaze on his mouth.

  “Is the house broken?” Jeff asked.

  “A window’s shattered, and there’s some vandalism. I’m leaving a message with the regular service for a cleaning crew to com first thing in the morning.” Rye was on the phone for only a moment, then his arm came around Jeff’s shoulders. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

  “I… I need to shower. I’m dirty.” And he was going to lose it. He blinked at Rye, who winced.

  “Can you take out the contacts?”

  “What? Oh yeah. Sure.” He eased them out and put them in their containers.

  Nodding, Rye pulled him close and held him. “You’re safe now. And now you know I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “I knew that.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I’m going to cry. I need a shower.”

  “I hate leaving you alone like this.”

  “I’m okay. I just—” He pulled away, tugging at the tight, restrictive clothes.

  “You need to get out of his skin.” Rye helped, getting buttons and zippers for him that his fingers just couldn’t seem to make work.

  “Yes. Yes.” God, Rye understood.

  The only part of him that was warm was where Rye’s fingers brushed against his skin.

  They moved into the shower together, Rye still touching him, holding him. “Let me get the makeup off.”

  “Please.”

  Rye tilted Jeff’s head back into the spray, hands following the flow of the water.

  The pomade was washed from his hair, the makeup from his face. Rye’s hands were gentle, careful.

  “Are you my friend?”

  “Not like all those people who call themselves your friend. I care about you.”

  “Those people just want something from me.”

  “I want something for you.”

  Jeff nodded, and they headed out of the shower. Rye wrapped him in a towel. Then he was picked up, and Rye carried him to his bed, laid him down, and tucked the covers around him.

  “I…. Can you….” He lifted the edge of the covers. “Just tonight?”

  Rye nodded and pulled off his sopping-wet clothes before slipping on a dry pair of jeans. Then he slipped in with Jeff, putting an arm around his shoulders and bringing him in against the solid body.

  “Thank you.” He settled, the steady rhythm of Rye’s heart easing him into sleep.

  RYE WOKE with an armful of naked, warm boy, and a raging hard-on pushing painfully against the zipper of his jeans.

  Man, he should have taken the damn jeans off and just slept in his underwear. It wouldn’t have been very professional, though. Of course, neither was having a raging hard-on for his client. Still, Jeff wasn’t like most clients and required a different level of security, of intimacy.

  Jeff was sleeping hard, face relaxed, body snuggled against him. It had been fucking terrifying last night, seeing Jeff turned into LJ. Hell, it hadn’t even been LJ. That had been Lord January.

  He’d already figured the tour was going to be a nightmare of trying to keep Jeff safe and clean; now he knew for sure it would be.

  He stroked a lock of ebony hair from Jeff’s face, the touch earning him a smile. The man trusted him, and beyond Ms. Heard and Jeff’s sponsor, Rye knew that was rare.

  That trust would make things easier.

  Rye figured he was going to have to play the part of the evil bodyguard who didn’t let Lord January do anything, who kept the man’s fans away from him, while January sneered and complained about him. He could live with that, as long as he knew that the real man behind that persona trusted and liked him.

  Jeff’s eyes opened, slowly. They were dark, but a dark green rather than black. “Morning.”

  He smiled, ignoring how his cock tried to throb, at those big eyes so close. “Hey. How did you sleep?”

  “Good, barring the whole weird breaking-glass thing. That sucked.”

  “Yeah, that really did. I’m going to implement a number of options to make the place even less accessible. Cameras on the fencing, and barbed wire at the top to discourage people climbing it to break in.” Maybe some loud-assed alarms that went off if anyone breached the house itself, given that the damn perimeter alarm was either a piece of crap or badly installed. He’d have someone check it out as well.

  “Now that they know I’m here for sure, the groupies will come.”

  That was already happening. “Yeah, I’ll say. The press has shown up now too. I’m not sure how statements and stuff work. Are they likely to back off if Lord January goes out there and flips the bird at them and tells them to fuck off?”

  He’d bet Lord January got away with a lot of bad behavior with the press and such because of his persona.

  “I’m never seen during the day, so I have a little leeway.”

  “So we have time to decide how to handle it, I guess.”

  “I’ll go out in the yard after dark, make an appearance, then schedule some sort of public outing in a week or two.”

  “Have you ever wanted to just chuck it all away?”

  “Lots of times, but the guys in the band depend on me, Donna, my tour manager, my driver. There’s dozens of them, from the social media girl to the publicist. It’s a machine.” So straightforward, so sure. There was no hope in Jeff’s voice.

  “Ever thought of changing your image?”

  Surely not all the fans were there just for the… stuff. Some had to be in it for the singing.

  “Not really. Eventually the age will catch up with me and plastic surgery won’t do it. This isn’t forever. My star will fall.”

  “You’re a good singer, though. And you write songs and stuff. There’s got to be more to your career than just the vampire stuff.”

  Jeff chuckled and sat up, grabbed the remote, and turned the television on, along with the laptop. In a few seconds, there was Lord January, big as life, writhing and snarling on stage. The words were husky, pure sex, but somehow cold, inhuman.

  It was fascinating and repulsive all at once.

  “Do you think I’m a good singer, Rye?”

  “I have to admit that’s not my kind of music. Why don’t you sing me something less… uh, goth?”

  “Life is what it is, my friend. There’s no altering that.” Jeff slipped from the bed, wrapping himself in layer after layer of too-large clothes. “I assume I should stay up here until a cleaning crew comes?”

  Rye was a little disappointed Jeff wouldn’t sing him something—the guy played all sorts of nongoth music on the guitar. He put that aside, though. He wasn’t here to get sung to.

  “Indeed. I’ll go make you a milkshake.” It was nasty downstairs, and he didn’t want Jeff seeing it. People were seriously fucked up. This had been a random fan—he had the man’s photo and name on his phone now, sent by the cops, and it wasn’t any of the names from his credible threats list. Even so, he would be careful.

  “Can you bring me my ac
oustic guitar, please?”

  “You got it.”

  He headed downstairs to the kitchen. The cleaners showed up while he was making a couple of milkshakes, and he let them in. Then he headed back upstairs, detouring into the studio to grab Jeff’s guitar.

  Jeff was waiting, sitting cross-legged in the center of the bed, typing on his laptop.

  Rye handed over the guitar and set their milkshakes down on the bedside table. “Have a few sips of the shake before you start.”

  “What kind is it?”

  “Cherry.” He was going to have to put more frozen fruit on the shopping list for Brigitte.

  Grabbing his, he ignored the sudden desire to sit on the bed with Jeff and went to the chair he’d begun to think of as his. He silently told himself off—just because Jeff had needed him close in the aftermath of the break-in didn’t make it more than just that.

  Hell, Jeff wasn’t even his type. Jeff was skinny and pale and emotional. Still, there was something about the kid and those big, green eyes….

  He cleared his throat and downed some of his milkshake.

  Jeff sipped a little, just a bit, then put it aside and started playing his guitar.

  He didn’t like the crap that Lord January did, but just Jeff and his guitar? He could listen to this all day.

  Softly, Jeff began to sing to him, voice gentle, low, unique, and wonderful.

  Oh damn. He put his milkshake and his tablet down and just listened. He didn’t know anything about markets or music, but he knew when something was honest and real.

  One song slid into another, then another and another.

  He hardly even noticed the passage of time, simply entranced by Jeff’s voice. How come he was playing Lord January when he could do this?

  Finally, though, Jeff’s voice cracked, and he knew it was time. Rest. Food. Now.

  Standing, Rye clapped. “Yes, I think you’re a good singer, Jeff.”

  Jeff pinked and rolled his eyes, but there was a smile there, a real, warm smile.

  “How about you finish up that milkshake, and I’ll go see if the cleaning crew is done yet.”