His Dirty Secret: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance

by Aiden Bates

  He called an Uber, which brought him back to the shop. Once there, he got rid of his coveralls and grabbed his bike. He had a shortlist of places he could go to find Jamie and Anthony, and he was already behind schedule. If he missed this chance, he might not have another opportunity to talk to Anthony.

  He had to go out and find his man.

  13

  Anthony sat down at the bar and ordered a club soda. The bartender looked at him a little funny, and Anthony didn’t blame him. These guys didn’t exactly get paid to serve people soft drinks, and they didn’t get tipped much for them, either.

  He gave the man an apologetic smile and leaned in close. “I’m meeting a good friend of mine here. He drinks like a fish, but here’s the thing.

  “I ate something last night that didn’t agree with me, right? I’m a little dehydrated. If I order vodka tonics for myself, and you charge me for vodka tonics but bring me club soda, I would be hugely grateful.”

  The bartender wrinkled his nose. “Can’t you just tell your friend you’re not feeling up to drinking?”

  “Not if I ever want to live it down. Come on, do me a solid, would you? It’s not like you won’t be getting paid for it." Anthony smiled and let his eyes gleam, just a little.

  The bartender rolled his eyes and sighed, but he agreed to Anthony’s little charade. He had little reason not to, since it meant he got to charge for full price drinks. “Let that be the last time you eat gas station sushi, my friend.”

  Anthony huffed out a little laugh. “You know it. I learned my lesson." Could dating a married man who’d done time for murder be considered “gas station sushi?" Maybe, on a cosmic level anyway.

  Jamie showed up a little bit later. If anyone looked like he needed a drink, it was Jamie. His mouth was screwed up tight in repressed fury, and he had his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

  He looked like he’d aged ten years overnight. Anthony didn’t have to fake his concern as he ushered Jamie to a seat and ordered him his first drink of the night.

  Anthony got him a Manhattan, because they were a favorite of his, and because they had plenty of booze in them. Jamie needed the pick me up.

  Anthony needed to get his best friend drunk enough to loosen his lips, but he wanted to help him lighten whatever load he was carrying, too. He wasn’t above killing two birds with one stone.

  He didn’t ask any questions until after Jamie finished his first drink, which he did in about ten minutes of complete silence. “Rough day?”

  Jamie made a face and signaled to the bartender for another. “You have no idea. Tommy’s been pretty much a mess since Ryan left. Not that he wasn’t a mess before, but this makes him look like Dudley Freaking Do Right.

  “You’d think he’d be better, now that Ryan’s back, but no. He’s ten times worse! He won’t go see him, won’t be in the same place with him, and who can blame him, right?”

  The bartender dropped off another Manhattan. “I mean, it’s Ryan’s fault Tommy’s like this. If I were Tommy, I wouldn’t want to be within a hundred miles of Ryan’s seedy ass.”

  Anthony hadn’t thought it would be so easy to turn the subject to what he wanted. He’d dragged Jamie out here tonight specifically to get him talking about Ryan and what he’d gone to jail for, but he’d expected to have to pour more than one cocktail down Jamie’s throat to make it happen. If Jamie wanted to be the one to bring it up, though, Anthony would happily save his cash.

  Not that Jamie’s words made any sense at all. Last time Anthony had checked, Tommy made his own choices. They might be bad choices nine times out of ten, but they were choices. No one held a gun to his head.

  And Ryan hadn’t been around to force Tommy to drink, or to keep him from getting help. “How is Ryan responsible for Tommy’s … you know, Tommy-ness?”

  Jamie snorted, then slumped. “He just is. You don’t need to worry about the details. They’re not important anymore, and Ryan’s not your problem anyway. He’s just a briefly terrible life choice you made, but you’re over him by now.”

  Anthony didn’t answer that. He’d always gotten more emotionally attached in relationships than Jamie had. He’d try not to take the whole over him by now thing personally. “I’m just curious, you know? Since it’s obviously got you pretty upset.”

  Jamie curled his lip. “Well, yeah, I’m upset. Tommy showed up so drunk he couldn’t even hold himself up. Fell down on my couch, puked on himself, shat himself — he’s an absolute gibbering wreck.

  “I was getting ready to come over here, and there’s Tommy, crying and apologizing and all that shit. It’s all he could say, over and over. ‘I’m sorry,’ like a glitchy MP3 file.”

  Anthony sipped from his club soda to try to hide his impatience. He felt bad for Tommy, kind of. He still felt like Tommy made his own choices, but addiction was a hell of a motivator.

  It took a lot of will to kick booze, and Tommy didn’t have it. He never had. At the same time, Anthony had his priorities.

  He loved the Roscoe family, warts and all, but he had his own problems to deal with. He needed to focus on those problems first, especially since Roscoe family problems weren’t his to deal with. Part of taking care of his issues meant finding out exactly what he’d gotten himself into here.

  Ryan wasn’t talking. Ryan wasn’t honest or forthcoming about anything, so Anthony wasn’t going to waste his time there again. If he had a pile of cash to throw around, Anthony might consider going through a private investigator or something, but that wasn’t an option either.

  All he could do was press Jamie. Jamie was almost as forthcoming as his brother, which left Anthony with one resource. Getting him drunk was underhanded, downright shady, but Anthony had passed the point of conscience by now.

  “That sounds horrible.” He made a face and nudged Jamie’s drink toward him, a subtle hint to drink more. “But wait — if he was so bad off, how are you here? Aren’t you afraid he’ll choke on his own barf or something?”

  Jamie smirked. “Yeah, you’d think that. No, I went down to that dump Ryan’s living in. I put his ass in the car, I drove him back to my place, and I made him sit there with Tommy.”

  He twirled his glass around for a minute. “Tommy’s his mess. He needs to be the one to clean it up.

  “I mean, yeah, I’m pissed that I’m going to have to get a new couch. And I should make Ryan replace it, you know? But really, what’s got me the most pissed off is all the potential Tommy had, all down the drain with a bottle of vodka.”

  Anthony sipped from his drink again, and ordered another one for Jamie. “You don’t think Tommy’s got a little bit of responsibility for himself there?”

  Jamie shook his head. He didn’t have to think about it. “Nah. I know you’ve got some kind of soft spot for Ryan, but trust me. It’s wasted, just like everything else he touches.”

  He bit the inside of his cheek. “Ryan was always an awful influence on Tommy, you know? It’s no surprise that Tommy just fell apart when Ryan left.”

  “It’s not like Ryan could have stayed.” Anthony leaned forward, just a little. “He was arrested. He was sent to prison!”

  Jamie scoffed. “He pled guilty. It would have taken some doing, but Mom could have gotten him out of it. He could have knuckled under, cleaned himself up, and done right by us. Done right by the rest of the family, done right by me, done right by Tommy.

  “Instead, he left Tommy to try to cope with everything on his own.” He shook his head and chugged back half of his drink. “Piece of work, my brother.”

  “And what exactly was Tommy trying to cope with? I forget.” Anthony struggled to keep a disinterested tone to his voice.

  Jamie didn’t fall for it. He might be on his third Manhattan, but he wasn’t following Anthony’s subtle prompt. “Nah, that was before your time. And it’s best if you don’t know. The more people around here who can forget about it, the better off everyone will be.” He massaged his temples. “I wish I could forget.”

&nbs
p; Anthony bit back a curse. Thwarted again! He would have an easier time getting answers out of a brick wall. “It must have been pretty terrible, to leave Tommy in such a state. And ten years in prison seems like a long time.”

  “Well, you know. It wouldn’t have been so long, but that temper of his kept flaring up. You know, back when it happened, I thought to myself, Not Ryan. Ryan wouldn’t have done this.

  “And now I know better. Ryan’s capable of almost anything. You’re lucky to be rid of him.” He knocked back more of his drink. He’d had enough that Anthony would be swaying in his seat by now, but Jamie was just staring morosely into his glass.

  A strange man walked up and shoved himself in between Anthony and Jamie. He had a powerful upper body, although he wasn’t very tall. His hair was short, his mustache was thick and bushy.

  “Hey there. I noticed you from across the bar, and I think we could be good together.” Mustache Guy had a thick Texas accent, one Anthony suspected was probably fake. He turned to face Anthony. “Let me buy you a drink.”

  Anthony forced himself to give a tiny, tight smile. “Thanks, but I’m in the middle of a conversation. Maybe another time.”

  He craned his neck so he could look around Mustache Guy and back at Jamie, who was finally grinning. “So I got a fun visit from Ryan’s husband. At my house, actually.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Jamie recoiled. “You split up with the guy, and you still can’t get away from this cloud of horrible that follows him around, can you? This husband guy — we can’t find anything about him." He toyed with his glass.

  Mustache Guy scowled. “Come on, baby. One drink won’t hurt you.” He put his hand on Anthony’s.

  Anthony turned to look at Mustache Guy. What was with him? “Thanks, but no thanks. I came out to have a discussion with my friend. Maybe that guy at the other end of the bar will be more interested?”

  Mustache Guy put his hands on Anthony’s hips. “Come on, baby. A drink, a little dancing, that ought to get you on the same page as me pretty quick, what do you think?” He slid Anthony off of his bar stool and tried to pull him out onto the dance floor.

  Anthony shoved him away. He wasn’t a big guy, but he knew how to enforce his no. “Look, that’s not okay. I told you no, and I meant it. I’m not interested.”

  Mustache Guy grabbed onto Anthony’s shirt and wrenched it open, sending buttons flying all over the bar. “Little cock tease.” He grabbed onto Anthony’s hair with one hand and twisted a nipple with the other.

  He wasn’t gentle, and Anthony cried out in shock and pain. “I said you’re coming dancing. Now you’re going to give me what I want, right out there on the dance floor. Do you understand me?”

  Jamie pulled the guy’s hand off Anthony’s chest. “Look, buddy, that’s not acceptable behavior around here.” Anthony struggled against Mustache Guy’s grip, but he couldn’t disentangle the man’s hand from his hair.

  “It’s acceptable behavior to me.” Mustache Guy shoved Jamie away with his free hand and grabbed onto Anthony’s crotch. Everyone else in the place was staring, but no one had bothered to get involved.

  What the hell? Couldn’t they see what was happening? Were they going to just let Mustache Guy do whatever he wanted? No one cared.

  No one, that was, except for the dark blur that was running across the floor. Anthony had time to shout, once, and then the sound of bone on bone cut through the air. He jumped back and hid between Jamie and the bar as Mustache Guy was thrown onto the floor by an enraged Ryan Roscoe.

  How in the hell was Ryan here? Where had he come from, and how did he know where they even were?

  Anthony could only stare in shock as Ryan’s fists rose and fell in a rapid tattoo against Mustache Guy’s face. It should have been impressive. No one had ever stood up for Anthony like that. No one had needed to, either.

  As his shock turned to horror, Anthony had to hope no one would again. He was grateful to be rescued from whatever vile fate Mustache Guy had in mind, but Ryan was turning this guy’s face to putty under his unyielding fists. Blood flew everywhere as Ryan hit him, again and again.

  He’s a murderer. Peter’s voice echoed through his head, cruel little laugh and all.

  Jamie jumped in, grabbing his brother and dragging him off the attacker. Ryan was still spitting venom, and Anthony could see it was all Jamie could do to hold him back.

  Anthony had to intervene. He stepped in front of him and said, “Ryan, stop.”

  He didn’t need to speak. The fight ran out of Ryan as soon as he saw Anthony. Anthony could watch his shoulders relax, see his fists unclench. Unfortunately, watching Ryan’s fists unclench in real time didn’t make the blood on his hands disappear.

  Anthony looked into Ryan’s eyes. He didn’t see a murderer. He wasn’t sure what he saw, but he didn’t want to look away. His breath caught in his throat.

  Mustache guy staggered to his feet. “I’m going to call the cops on your ass!” he slurred. He turned and spat out a mouthful of blood and teeth. Unfortunately for Anthony, and for Ryan’s temper, both landed squarely on Anthony’s chest.

  Jamie didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Anthony and Ryan and shoved them toward the back of the bar. “Out, through the back door, both of you. I’ll clean this up and deal with you later.” He seemed remarkably sober for a guy who’d just downed three Manhattans in a short time.

  Ryan and Anthony escaped through the kitchen and out into a back alley. They ran to the street, where they leaned against the brick wall and rested in the cool night air.

  Ryan took several deep breaths. Then he bowed his head. “Anthony,” he said, “Jesus Christ. Are you okay? Did that ape hurt you?”

  “Well, my nipple will most likely be bruised, and I’m going to have to replace this shirt, but I’m probably going to survive.” Anthony closed his eyes. He opened them again when he saw a vision of blood flying off of Ryan’s bloody knuckles. “What the hell was all of that?”

  An actual tear escaped from Ryan’s eye and cut a track down Ryan’s sweaty face. “I’m so fucking sorry. I — I came here because I wanted to talk, you know? I hadn’t managed to talk to you any other way, and I knew where you’d be.

  “And so I came here, and I saw that fucking monster on you. If you looked like you were into it, I’d have found a way to deal, but he was hurting you, and that’s my baby inside of you, and I just lost it.”

  Anthony snorted. “I don’t have to ask how you know about the baby, do I?” A wave of grief washed over him. That moment they’d shared didn’t matter. Hell, even the baby didn’t matter. Ryan could save him from ten thousand would-be rapists, but he’d still be a married man.

  Ryan reached out toward Anthony’s belly, like he was going to touch it. Anthony stepped back. He didn’t need his belly to be smeared with blood, thanks. “Is that the temper that landed you in prison?”

  Ryan let his hand fall, looking stricken. “What? No! I’m not like that. I’ve never been like that.”

  Leaning back against the building, he closed his eyes for a moment. “I can guess who told you I was, though.”

  He thumped his head softly against the bricks. “My family, they think I have this — this darkness in me. They don’t know … they don’t know the truth.”

  Anthony looked away. No one seemed to know the truth, but everyone was sure they had the whole story right. Who was Anthony supposed to trust?

  If it was just him, he could go with his gut, or his heart. Both of them were telling him to trust Ryan, but he had to consider what was best for his baby.

  Ryan stepped in closer. “I’d never been violent a day in my life, not until the moment the door closed behind me in Ely. Prison changes you. I have changed.

  “Living things that don’t change die, and I wasn’t ready to give up on life yet. Not then. But Anthony, I would rather die a thousand times than cause you any hurt.”

  Anthony had no idea what to say. His stomach churned, and for once it wasn’t from morning sickness. Anxiety
and adrenaline were dueling in his digestive system. His heart was tripping all over itself in his ribcage. He’d never felt so uncertain in his life.

  No, that wasn’t right. He felt certain of plenty of things. He felt certain that Ryan, whatever rage and fury had just exploded from him in the bar, was the same man he’d fallen in love with.

  He was sure Ryan had saved him from an awful fate in there. He was certain he loved this man in front of him.

  He wasn’t sure any of that cancelled out any of the things Ryan’s family said about him. He knew none of it changed the fact that Ryan was a married man.

  Footsteps echoed and both men turned around. Fortunately, the intruder was only Jamie, jogging down the fetid alley to join them. “I paid the bastard off,” he said, coming to a stop, “but we’d still better go. Someone else in there might have called the police, and we don’t need that in our lives.” He gave Ryan a pissy look. “Again.”

  “No, no we don’t.” Ryan frowned. “I’ll bring Anthony home.”

  “You’ll stay away from Anthony —”

  Anthony cleared his throat. “Right here, guys. Right here.” He put a hand on his chest. “I’m just saying. And why the hell would we be worried about them calling the cops? Mustache Guy tried to rape me, right there in the bar!” His body went cold as the enormity of what had just happened washed over him.

  “Who do you think the cops are going to be more interested in?” Jamie gave Anthony a pointed look. “An alleged attempted rape, when it’s your word against his, or a provable violent assault by a recently released violent criminal?”

  Something dangerous flashed in Ryan’s eyes, but he didn’t get a chance to say anything. Jamie’s phone rang. He answered it, but he didn’t say anything. His face went stormy. “Okay, thanks.” He hung up, and thunder flashed in his eyes.

  “That was Liam.” Jamie’s voice was barely-repressed fury. “He just got to my place. He had to call an ambulance. Apparently, Tommy tried to kill himself.” He pointed at Ryan. “This is your fault.”

  No one said a word as they trudged back to where Jamie had left the BMW. Jamie peeled out of the parking lot and headed toward the hospital at a speed that had Anthony gripping the passenger assist bar for dear life.