Allie shakes his head and plays at exasperated, then rolls his eyes and sighs while he pockets the thing. “Whatever, dude.”
The same chime of satisfaction pings in my brain, and it’s that small dose of my favorite drug that keeps my smile from turning into a grimace as I watch him walk out the door with Matthew.
Chapter Ten
‡
I can’t say I’m surprised Hart’s symbol I’ve made for him pops up on my cell screen a few days later. I’d been hoping he’d call but worried he wouldn’t. He’s had more time to think about the fact that my life is kink and he doesn’t think he’s into “that, uh, stuff,” and it wasn’t while I was distracting him with the head of his life.
Absurd. Thinking about it makes me roll my eyes, but it’s best to leave people some space around these things, let them come to you instead of reeling them in like a fish on a hook. Especially a man like Hart.
I answer the phone as I would for anyone else, confident he won’t be wasted at…the watch India gave me for my birthday last year says quarter after eleven. Which means, much as I’d like to take the time to chat with Allie, no can do. I’ve got a client in an hour, and I have to go to them. Fuck do I hate driving out to Silicon Valley. Maybe I’ll have Matthew drive me…
“What can I do for you, Hart?”
“You can mind your own goddamn business you manipulative, meddling son of a bitch.”
Ah. Perhaps I’ve miscalculated. I lean back in my office chair, crossing an ankle over a knee and rubbing the bridge of my nose.
“First, I’m rather attached to my mother, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t disparage her. She’s quite lovely. I’m sure you’d like her if you met her.”
Yes, she and Hart would get along well. Once he got past the Chanel suit she’d probably be wearing and the perfectly coiffed hair and manicured nails, anyway. Likely both would give me crap until I turned into a twitchy pile of gelatin, and then they’d love me up until I forgave them. Note to self: never let those two into the same room. Although judging by how ticked off Hart sounds, it’s unlikely I’ll be finding myself in the same room as him anytime soon, if ever again.
“Second, I’ll cop to the manipulative, but I prefer the term managing. Sounds less…evil. I can assure you my intentions are entirely magnanimous. Third, meddling makes me sound like someone’s nosey grandmother. Might we go with officious instead?”
There’s silence on the other end, and I wonder briefly if he’s hung up on me. Then there’s a low grumble, and I think not. “I’m not looking for a fucking vocabulary lesson, you goddamn walking thesaurus.”
Even though he can’t see me, I try to limit the smile breaking over my face because surely he’d be able to hear it in my speech. “Then you called because?”
“I got a call this morning. From Loch Security.”
“Oh?”
“Fuck your oh, Walter.”
I have to pinch my nose shut so I don’t snort. He couldn’t sound more like India if he’d met her, taken lessons, and practiced an imitation for hours. Though the “Walter” piques me. I’ve told him to call me Rey.
“They offered me a job. Out of the blue. For four times as much money as I ever made in the military, plus benefits. Why did they do that?”
“A friend of mine works there.” By “works there,” I mean owns it and several other security companies. Details. “She’s always looking for good people. I thought of you.”
“I don’t need—” He huffs out a violent breath like he’s trying to control his temper. I want to tell him he doesn’t need to. He can rage at me all he likes. In fact, I’d like him to. I want to see every inch of him, every ugly, violent, crass impulse. Until I don’t. Then I’d ask him to stop and he would. I can handle him no matter what he has to throw at me. “I don’t need your help. I don’t need your charity. I don’t take handouts.”
“I’d hardly call this a handout. It’s not as though you’d be sitting in an office doing nothing all day.”
Though I’d prefer that, knowing he’s safe. Not out on the street, toting a gun, being paid to step in between some Hollywood star and danger. And they do attract the crazies—oh yes, they do.
“I don’t care. I need to do these things on my own. If the best I can get is a few weeks on a construction site, that’s what I’m going to do. I’d rather sleep in my truck by making an honest living than live like a king because some guy who wants to tie me up and all kinds of other weird shit got me a job.”
“I didn’t make those calls because I want to fuck you, Hart—”
“Calls?” he splutters. “More than one?”
“Yes. Several. I wanted…I wanted to help. It was easy for me to do something kind for you.”
“That’s why you can’t. Don’t you understand? I’ve had to rely on other people’s good opinions to live before, and I don’t want to do it again.” That catches me up. What does that mean? I suppose that’s true for all of us to some extent, but it sounds as if Hart’s been under the weight of that more than most people.
Has he been thinking more about what it would mean to submit to me? If he has… Yes, I can see how being at another person’s mercy for so much would be disconcerting. Some people find relief and comfort in it, and some, like Hart, would feel hemmed in, overwhelmed, subjugated. That’s not what I want from him at all. I’d like a chance to explain all, that but before I can get one, he bites out, “So you can take your good intentions and shove them.”
Then there’s a click. Goodbye, Allie.
Chapter Eleven
‡
“Yeah?”
“Do you always answer the phone like that?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Rey Walter, Hart. I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“If it’s another job—”
I cut off the rest of his sentence, but I still hear it echo in my head: then you can fuck off. “It’s not. I have to travel, and I’d like you to accompany me.”
“Why?”
“I usually bring Matthew but he’s otherwise engaged, and my other choice of travelling companion is indisposed.”
“So I’m your third choice?”
“Not at all. You’re simply the person I thought least likely to say yes given how our last phone call ended. But since I’m running out of options, I thought I’d give it the old college try. What do you say?”
“You’re sure this isn’t a job? You’re not trying to hire me for your weekend rent boy or something?”
“If I wanted a rent boy, I would get one.” It would be far less troublesome than this. “This is a business trip for me, not you. I have a meeting with a client who I find…challenging, and I like to have a familiar face to come back to after my sessions. You’ll be my guest. Nothing will be required of you. This isn’t some quid pro quo. I hope there will be sex involved and, if you’re comfortable with it, perhaps some of ‘that, uh, stuff.’”
It’s nearly inaudible, but I do hear a snort on the other end of the call. Good, he was supposed to laugh. “You’re under no obligation whatsoever. If at any time you’d like to leave, I’ll arrange for you to be on the next flight back to the Bay Area, Scout’s honor.”
“When do we leave?”
I figured he would’ve at least asked where we’re headed and for how long. His lack of questions sets me on edge. What exactly is he running away from? As he’s told me, it’s none of my fucking business, so I’ll keep my nose out of it for now.
“Tomorrow morning. I’ll pick you up at nine. We’ll be gone for three days. Pack for warm weather.”
“Yes, sir.”
His words give me a thrill. He’ll be saying them a lot while we’re away, and I’ll need every single syllable.
*
Allie slides into the town car after tossing a weekend bag in the back. He looks virile and rough in the jeans that hug his ass just so and the Henley that clings to the muscles of his shoulders and chest.
“So where a
re we going?”
I stow my phone in my pocket and give him a sidelong look. “Good morning, Hart.”
His response is grudging, but he gives it to me. “Good morning, sir.”
“Better. And to answer your question, we’re headed to fabulous Las Vegas.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Vegas guy.”
“I don’t gamble if that’s what you mean. But gambling attracts a lot of people with deep pockets. If you’d like to keep them happy, you’ve got to have the finer things in life on hand. World-class dining, shopping, accommodations—it’s all there. That’s the part I find pleasure in. Besides, my client requested it. He’s coming from Asia, and he enjoys the high-stakes tables.”
Everything Kenji does is high-stakes. He’s one of the most hardcore players I know. It takes quite a bit to shock me, but he’s one of the few people who can. I think he takes it as a personal challenge. He likes to goad me. It’s one of the reasons I like to bring someone with me on these trips, a warm, compliant body to come back to after I’ve flexed every control muscle I have. It’s tiring, being around him. The man is smart, meticulously careful, and I’m honestly flattered he considers me a voice of reason. Plus, he pays well.
“I’ve never been,” Allie says, looking down at his hands.
“Then we’ll make sure you see some of the sights. Do remember this is a business trip for me, so everything can be expensed. I don’t want any arguments about paying for anything.”
His fingers curl into fists on his thighs, the dark skin of his hands lightening around his knuckles. “Yes, sir.”
I coax him into telling me some of the things he’d like to see while we’re there, and I make mental notes on the things to arrange for him to do while I’m with Kenji and his latest slave.
Pulling into the airfield, I can tell Hart’s surprised. “I thought we were going to the airport?”
“I prefer to travel on my own schedule when possible. It’s easier this way.”
He follows me out of the car, and I have to beckon for him to follow me instead of retrieving his bag from the trunk.
“Don’t worry about it. The driver will get it.”
Truthfully, I frequently fly commercial. I’m not entirely impractical. But it’s going to be a difficult few days so I’ll take my pleasure where I can. And my pleasure includes Allie on his knees sucking me off at thirty thousand feet.
I greet the crew as we climb up the small set of stairs and onto the plane. It’s quite well done on the inside, all cream leather seats and walnut inlay. You’d barely know you were on a plane if not for the awkwardly rounded ceiling and subtle seatbelts and other safety equipment stashed around the space.
I gesture him toward two seats on either side of a low table.
“You look dazed, Hart. Is this your first time on a plane?”
He shakes his head, not meeting my gaze because he’s still taking in his surroundings. “No. It’s my first time on a private plane.”
“It’s a nice way to travel. Now come sit so Leanne can bring our breakfast. I’m starving.”
He does as he’s bid, folding his big body into the seat. Luckily it’s wide and plush, actually able to accommodate his breadth. How does the man even fit into a coach seat? If he’ll let me have my way, he won’t fly coach for the foreseeable future.
Leanne brings coffee and orange juice, a bowl of fruit, and a basket of pastries. Allie devours two muffins and heaps melon balls, grapes, and strawberry slices onto his plate. The man eat likes a horse, and for some reason it delights me.
We finish up our breakfast as the pilot informs us we’re ready to go and Leanne clears everything away. I settle back in my seat and close my eyes. It’s not that I mind flying, but you’ve got to be crazy to enjoy the sensations of takeoff and landing. When the plane’s leveled off and I don’t feel so much as though I’ve been launched out of a slingshot, I turn to Allie.
“We’ve got about an hour and a half, Hart. Tell me about yourself.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Where you’re from, for starters.”
“I grew up in Philadelphia.”
“I spent quite a bit of time in Philadelphia when I was in college.” And as a kid, but I don’t tend to talk about that much. “What neighborhood?”
Allie grins at me, flashing those brilliant white teeth, and shakes his head. “No neighborhood you ever spent time in.”
Maybe true, but probably not as true as he thinks. “Tell me where anyway.”
“Nicetown.”
He shifts in his seat, and I can imagine how this must make him feel, talking about his modest beginnings amongst this over-the-top demonstration of wealth. I’m almost sorry I brought it up, but I want to know. Besides, he should get to taste the finer things in life. He should especially. The silver spoon will actually taste like something to him, not just what he’s had to suck on for his whole life.
“When did you leave?”
“When I joined up.”
“Is that where you got your tattoos?”
He nods, looking down at his arms as if he can see the ink through the taut fabric of the sleeves. “The ones I didn’t get while I was in a gang.”
The thought of his skin getting punctured by some hack artist in some seedy room makes me distinctly uncomfortable.
“If you feel the need to get more, please let me give you some names of places that will do it properly. Beautiful work too. No more butchers. It’s dangerous.”
He makes a face, and I can see the cocky adolescent he must have been. “Don’t be a dick. You think I didn’t worry about that? Hep C? HIV? Fuck you.”
As soon as he says it, I understand, and I wish I would’ve thought of it before the words came out of my mouth. Yes, sometimes I enjoy being a condescending prick, but only when I do it on purpose. This was completely unintentional assholery, and I won’t make excuses. I hold up my hands to placate him. “I apologize. You had a choice to make, right? Getting that ink was a safer choice than not. In the same position, I would’ve done the same thing. I’m sorry.”
He clenches his jaw and breathes out his nose, but I think he’s forgiven me for my reeking-of-privilege misstep.
“What about you? Did you grow up like this?” He gestures to the interior of the plane with his thumb, and the expression on his face tells me he doesn’t think much of it.
“I did.” Private planes, luxe hotels, expensive cars, well-appointed yachts…yes, I grew up with all of that. “My mother’s family is quite wealthy.”
“Not your father’s?”
“No. My father was a police officer.”
“Seriously?”
I nod, the memory of my father picking me up after school one day for one of our rare afternoons together coming to mind. He always looked so big and imposing in his navy blue uniform, his gun and his nightstick swinging from his hip. Then he’d slide his sunglasses up and smile at me, and he wasn’t a cop anymore. He was just my dad.
“One of New York’s finest. That’s how he met my mother. She got mugged, and he took the report.”
“Let me guess: they fell in love, got married, had lots of babies, and lived happily ever after.”
That couldn’t be further from the truth. “Hardly. Well, except the falling in love part. They saw each other secretly for a while because my grandparents wouldn’t have approved and dating someone you met on the job is frowned upon. My mother got pregnant, and that was pretty much the end of it. Her parents sent her away until I arrived. I’m sure they tried to pressure her into giving me up, but she didn’t. But this is supposed to be about you, not me.”
“Am I not allowed to ask questions?”
“Of course you are. Always. I just don’t think I’m particularly interesting.”
“And I am?”
I nod. “Fascinating, in fact.”
“Why?”
“I find your ability to change faces incredible. I saw you at the bar, and you were one person. T
hen I see you talk to your sister, and you changed. Your body language, your posture, your vocabulary. I can’t imagine you don’t have other sides I haven’t seen yet.”
“It’s called code-switching,” he mumbles, looking at his hands. “We all know how to do it.”
“You’re quite adept. It’s impressive.”
“You going to ask me which one is real?”
“I suspect they’re all equally real given the circumstances. There may be some roles you feel more comfortable in, but they’re all shades of you, correct?”
“Yeah.”
“I get it. I have to do it too. We all wear different hats, Hart.”
“What hats do you wear? You still in the closet with your family?”
“No. They couldn’t have cared less that I’m gay. It was the whole being brown thing that offended them.”
You would’ve thought my grandparents would have gotten over it, but they never did. It pained them to the end to hear my whole name out loud.
“Reyes… It’s so ethnic,” I’d heard my grandmother whisper to one of her WASP-y friends at my college graduation party. The backs of my ears had gotten warm, and I’d wished I couldn’t hear her. “I don’t understand why Lillian couldn’t have stuck with the family name. He does look like a Humphrey, doesn’t he?”
Hart snorts. “That’s funny. Almost everyone I knew was brown, one shade or another. Being a fag is what would’ve gotten the shit beaten out of me.”
We laugh, even though it’s not funny. The world is such an incredibly fucked-up place.
“I suppose being a submissive wouldn’t have earned you any points either?”
“Definitely not.”
“It does with me.”
I press the call button for Leanne and ask we not be disturbed until I call for her again.
When she’s walked out of sight and eased the door to the back area of the plane closed, I point to the floor in front of me.
“Come here, on your feet.”
Allie presses out of his seat, and I get to admire the swell of his biceps as he does. All that power and it’s about to be mine.
The Cartographer (The Compass series Book 6) Page 10
