Dreamspinner Press Year Three Greatest Hits

by Jenna Hilary Sinclair

  “Jesus, Danny,” Miller whispered. “You couldn’t have saved him. Hinestroza would have killed him anyway, after you.”

  “You don’t know the first damn thing about it,” Danny spit out. “Hinestroza isn’t a liar. He never has been. If he says he’s going to do something, he does it. Whether it’s killing you for stealing or sparing you because someone else took your punishment. He doesn’t go back on his word, not ever.”

  “You didn’t kill him,” Miller repeated. “No one would have chosen to take his place.”

  “Bullshit,” Danny said. “What would you have done? Would you have let him die that way?”

  “I… shit, Danny, I don’t know.” Miller threw up his hands in frustration. “Probably.”

  “Well, that’s the difference between us then. Because my answer wasn’t ‘probably’, it was ‘yes’, a no-hesitation ‘yes’.” Danny’s voice broke and he sagged back against the wall.

  “I don’t believe that,” Miller said. “I think you agonized over your decision then, just like you’ve probably agonized over it every day since.” He stood up, moving toward Danny but still not touching him. “I know you, Danny. You’re not as hard as you pretend.”

  “You don’t know me,” Danny sneered. “You have no idea what I’m capable of. When we first started… this,” Danny motioned back and forth between their bodies, “I thought about using it to save myself. I considered it. Don’t fool yourself about the kind of man I am.”

  Anger flared inside Miller at Danny’s words, blindsided by the knowledge that Danny had teetered right on the edge of betraying him.

  But how’s that any different from what you’re doing to him right now, Miller? There are all types of betrayal. At least he didn’t go through with it… unlike you.

  “I’m still the same man you met in that interrogation room. The one you thought was a piece of shit. Nothing’s changed.” Danny’s voice was steady, but his eyes were broken.

  Miller took the final step, pressing against Danny, holding his face, forcing Danny to meet his gaze. He could feel the violence in Danny’s body, the urge to shove rising up beneath him. “Yes, it has. Everything’s changed,” Miller said, emphasizing each word. “Including you. Including me.”

  “No, we haven’t.” Danny pushed against Miller, sending him stumbling backward. “Look at us right now. Miller the FBI agent getting his answers, and Danny the criminal with a lifetime of bad deeds behind him. That’s all we’ll ever be.”

  Miller was not a talker; he’d always been uncomfortable with words, constantly struggling to find the right thing to say. But with Danny, conversation came easily. Miller felt heard when he spoke. But now that old insecurity, that inability to put together the right words, hit him hard at the exact moment when Danny needed him to fix what was broken between them—what Miller had broken when he’d diminished what they felt for each other, reduced Danny to a function of his job.

  “That’s not true. That’s not who we are when we’re together.” Miller’s voice was shaking, but he did not look away. “I’m sorry, Danny. For Ortiz. And for what I did. I… I got scared.”

  Every muscle in Danny’s body contracted, fighting Miller’s words, a sobbing moan escaping as his eyes tried to run where Miller could not reach them. “I should hate you,” he whispered. “I want to hate you.”

  “Danny,” Miller murmured, pulling Danny forward, enfolding him tightly in his arms. Danny grabbed on with all his strength, pressing himself against Miller’s body, his back heaving under Miller’s hands.

  Danny’s breath was hitching in his chest, and Miller pulled back a little. He ran his hand down Danny’s bare leg, pushing his fingers up under the edge of Danny’s boxer shorts to touch the scar on his thigh. Danny sucked in a breath, his hand coming down to shove Miller away.

  “How’d you get it?” Miller whispered.

  “Who wants to know?” Danny replied, his voice rusty with tears. “The FBI agent?”

  Miller closed his eyes. He wished he could go back and start the morning over, come at Danny in a gentler, more honest way. “No. Just me. Just Miller.”

  Danny looked past him, over his shoulder. “Madrigal did it… afterwards. With his trusty razor. It was a message from Hinestroza. A way of telling me not to fuck up like that again, bringing someone who couldn’t be trusted into the fold. And the scar was to remind me of what I’d done—that I’d chosen my life over Ortiz’s.”

  The desire to murder another human being had never been so wild in Miller’s blood. He wanted five minutes alone in a room with Madrigal and Hinestroza, wanted to make them both suffer the way they’d made Danny suffer all these years.

  Miller slid down Danny’s body onto his knees, pushing up Danny’s shorts with his hands to expose the thin, white line. He ran his fingers across it slowly, Danny trembling under his touch. Miller lowered his head and licked the scar with the tip of his tongue, light and soft.

  “Miller,” Danny sighed, his voice weary and sad. He pushed out and away, trying to escape. “Don’t… please.”

  “It’s okay. It doesn’t have to mean what he wanted it to mean. We can change it, make it something different. Just like we did with the snake on your back.”

  “There’s no changing it. There’s no making it better.” Danny pulled his leg out from under Miller. “It’s a piece of who I am. You can’t erase all the ugly parts of me, the parts that don’t fit who you want me to be.”

  Miller stood, tucking his hands into his pockets. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.” Never had he been this crushed by sadness, not even when his mother died—it felt like a steel vice around his chest, smothering him with sorrow.

  “Don’t fucking lie to me. I can always tell when you’re lying.”

  Danny was right—of course he was. Hadn’t Miller wished, more than once, that he could feel for Rachel what he felt for Danny? That Rachel could be the first person he thought of when he woke up in the morning and the last person he wanted to touch before he fell asleep at night? Or that at least Danny could be a different kind of man, one who was upstanding and honest, a man who hadn’t spent most of his life in the shadows?

  “I don’t know what to say,” Miller admitted, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I’m so fucking confused. About you and me and us. I don’t even know who I am anymore. Or what it is I really want.”

  Danny refused to look at him, his jaw closed and hard, eyes on the floor.

  “Danny….” Miller spoke through tears gathering heavy and thick in his throat. Even without the possibility of a future together, the idea of it ending this way between them brought pain he could not bear. Danny responded to the ache in his voice automatically, his gaze coming up to land on Miller’s, anger in a losing battle with compassion, one hand reaching out. Miller marveled at his own selfishness, seeking comfort and reassurance from the person he had just wounded, taking for himself what Danny probably could not afford to give.

  But Miller claimed it anyway, let himself be drawn close with Danny’s whispered, “Come here.” Danny ran his thumb under Miller’s eye, kissed him softly, the way he had the very first time.

  They held each other for a quiet moment, and then Danny’s hands moved down Miller’s torso, slipping between their bodies to tug gently at his waistband. Miller scrabbled at the buttons on his shirt, wanting to rid himself of his clothes, the markers of his job. There was an urgency as they came together, a desire to erase the memories of the morning, but there was a somberness, too, a recognition of what this meant for both of them.

  When they were stripped bare, Danny lay back on the bed and Miller crawled up beside him. They pressed together, Danny’s back to Miller’s front, not moving, just holding. Miller could feel Danny’s heart beating under his hand, Danny’s dark hair sliding against his cheek.

  Miller leaned forward to kiss the hollow where Danny’s neck and shoulder met, his mouth tracing along the bone, then behind, dipping down to meet the serpent’s tongue with his own. Danny
was shuddering against him, his breath coming faster as Miller reached around and took Danny in his hand, wetness leaking out onto his fingers.

  Danny tipped his head backward until their mouths met, Miller’s tongue tender on Danny’s, consolation for all the harsh words they’d hurled at each other. Danny bit Miller’s chin lightly, smiling against his skin. “I miss the stubble,” he whispered.

  “I’ll let it grow.”

  Danny started to turn over, but Miller held him still. “No, this way. Just like this.” He rolled away and grabbed lotion from the bedside table, coming back to spoon against Danny’s body as he smoothed it on. Danny drew his top leg up toward his chest when Miller positioned himself, rubbing against him, sliding in just a little then backing away, over and over until Danny was moaning low in his throat, pushing back against Miller, his face flushed.

  Miller thrust forward slowly, and Danny opened up for him, drawing him in deeper. He wondered if he would ever get used to how good it felt to be inside Danny, how they fit together in all the right ways, their bodies not concerned with doubts or divisions or what tomorrow might bring, the union of their flesh the only topic on the agenda.

  Miller propped himself up on one elbow, fighting to keep his eyes open; he wanted to see the way Danny’s face went soft and peaceful with each thrust, his tongue catching between his teeth as he moved with Miller, rocking his hips. Miller was struck by the sudden wish that Danny would call him ‘baby’, the way he had that night against the door, but he couldn’t bring himself to voice the desire.

  Danny turned to look at Miller, holding his eyes as Miller slid forward, groaning as he sank deep, and clenching hot and firm around him. Danny’s unwavering gaze left Miller feeling exposed and unveiled, the depth of his emotion for Danny rising up in him with unstoppable force, making him almost sick with longing, wrenching words from his mouth.

  “Danny, I—it’s more than this for me,” Miller said urgently, their lips almost touching, desperate for Danny to hear beyond his words. He clutched Danny’s hip, fingers sinking into his skin. “It’s more than just this.”

  Danny stopped moving, pulling Miller’s hand up to his mouth to kiss his knuckles, run his tongue along Miller’s palm. “I know,” he whispered. The tears that Danny had been holding back all morning were overflowing now, running down the sides of his face to form uneven pools on the dingy, white sheets.

  Miller exhaled a trembling breath and caught Danny’s tears in his hand. They made love silently except for their low moans and the sounds of their bodies joining together. Miller thrust steady and strong, wanting to make it good for Danny, wanting him to feel loved. Danny came quietly with a deep wavering sigh, spilling over into his own hand. Miller wasn’t far behind, his own tears wetting Danny’s collarbone as he fell forward, his body shaking against Danny’s warm skin.

  Even through his grief, Danny offered what Miller needed, reaching a gentle hand up to stroke his hair, murmuring, “Shhh… Miller. It’s all right,” into his ear. And Miller knew that, deserving or not, he had been forgiven.

  DANNY’S CLOTHES no longer fit him; they belonged to a man twenty pounds heavier and a whole lifetime younger. Fifteen months in Marion had shed Danny of a lot of things, the least important of which was weight.

  “Hey, Butler, time to go.” The guard motioned him forward, snickering at the way Danny’s jeans rode low on his hips, one wrong move away from forming a puddle around his ankles.

  Danny kept a hand hovering near his waistband just in case, the other clutching a plastic grocery sack filled with his prison loot—two letters from his mother, heavy with recriminations and “how could you do this to us, Danny?”s, a half-filled tube of toothpaste, and twenty-one dollars, the sum total of his prison account.

  “See ya around, Butler,” the guard said as Danny eased out into the bright freedom. His brief trips to the yard hadn’t prepared him for the sun again, the way it burned hot circles into his closed eyelids and left shimmering imprints behind to mar his vision.

  “Thanks,” Danny muttered. He felt scared suddenly, although escaping from this place had been the single thought on his mind during every day he’d spent inside. He wasn’t sure where to go or what to do; he couldn’t afford even a bus ticket back to Texas.

  He had heard nothing from Hinestroza since the day he was arrested, sold out by a dealer busted with the cocaine he’d just picked up from Danny. The Feds had leaned hard on Danny, offered him deals too good to be true, and tossed out threats like confetti. But he didn’t give in, refusing to name a single name. His case had landed on the desk of an over-worked public defender, weary and cynical. She’d washed her hands of him when he wouldn’t take a plea.

  “Danny!” a voice called from across the street, where a stocky man in dark sunglasses slouched against a black car.

  “Yeah?” Danny asked, not moving any closer.

  “Get in. I’m giving you a ride.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Just get in the car. We’re not gonna talk about it out here.”

  Danny hesitated, looking up and down the street. The man took a few steps in his direction. “Mr. Hinestroza sent me,” he said under his breath.

  Danny crossed to the car and got into the backseat, sliding across the soft leather with a satisfied sigh. “Mr. Hinestroza’s here?” he asked, addressing the driver’s thick neck.

  “No. He’s in Dallas.”

  “You’re driving me all the way to Texas?”

  “How else were you planning to get there?”

  It took them eleven hours to reach Dallas, driving almost without stopping except for short breaks for gas and food. The driver, who never told Danny his name, seemed content with silence. And for once, Danny didn’t mind. He slept almost the whole way, the first time in over a year he’d been able to close his eyes without fear. He woke only to eat, stuffing down sacks full of greasy hamburgers and too-salty French fries—trying desperately to fill up the hollow space carved out of him in prison.

  It was near sunset when they drove into downtown Dallas, the fading orange-pink of the sun reflecting off the glass skyscrapers. The driver pulled up in front of a swanky hotel, waving away the eager valet.

  “He’s in room 1215. He’s expecting you.” The driver leaned one arm on the seatback to peer at Danny over the top of his sunglasses.

  Danny scooted his way out of the car, his body screaming in protest after being bent in half for so long. He felt like an idiot carrying his plastic bag through the lobby, but didn’t want to leave it behind.

  The elevator was mirrored on three sides, affording Danny a too-close view of his gaunt frame, the deep purple circles under his eyes giving him a haunted look. He licked his palm and smoothed down his hair the best he could, cringing when he caught a whiff of himself. He definitely needed a shower.

  He knocked on the dark wood-paneled door of room 1215. He heard the shushing sound of feet on carpet and the door swung inward, Madrigal grinning at him from the other side.

  “Hi, Danny.”

  Danny brushed past him into the room, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling when their bodies shared the same space. He could never see the man without his thigh throbbing, the reminder always performing its intended job.

  “Danny.” Hinestroza was standing against the windows, the early evening light blooming behind him, casting his face into shadow.

  “Mr. Hinestroza.” Danny supposed he should be worried, but knew that if Hinestroza meant him harm, it would have come to him in prison.

  Hinestroza moved forward, stopping inches from Danny’s chest, his dark eyes pulling at Danny’s—drinking in his secrets, sipping Danny’s pain like wine.

  “You’ve had a hard time, Danny,” he said. “But you’re out now. And I’m very proud of you.” He enfolded Danny in his arms, hugging him with strong, thumping pats against his back.

  It took Danny a moment to react, to put his own arms around Hinestroza. They had known each other for more than five yea
rs, and until today had not so much as shaken hands. What started as a tentative laying of arms across Hinestroza’s back became a comforting embrace. It had been a long time since anyone had touched Danny without violence or indifference. Had been so long since anyone cared whether he was alive or dead.

  Danny squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing past the urge to cry. He let Hinestroza go reluctantly and took an awkward step backward, swiping self-consciously at his nose.

  “Why don’t you take a shower? Then we can go to dinner. Talk.”

  “Okay,” Danny nodded. “But I don’t have anything else to wear.”

  “I picked up some shit from your apartment,” Madrigal interjected. “Doesn’t look like it’s your size anymore, though. You look like hell, Danny,” he added with a wink.

  “Shut your mouth,” Hinestroza commanded, snapping his fingers with a warning pop. Danny couldn’t bite back the smile coaxed from his lips as he watched Madrigal’s face grow dark with embarrassment.

  “You were at my apartment?” Danny asked belatedly.

  “I sent Madrigal there to get you a change of clothes.”

  “But I thought… with prison and everything, I thought I wouldn’t have an apartment anymore.”

  “I paid for it while you were away. It’s exactly how you left it.” Hinestroza patted Danny’s cheek, the way his own father never had. “You do for me, Danny, and I do for you. That’s the way it works.”

  How was it possible to loathe and love someone all at the same time? To know they were responsible for the cesspool of your life and yet live for their approval? To know they were capable of the most evil acts and still find the humanity buried underneath? It wasn’t only fear that kept Danny bound to Hinestroza. It would have been less painful if it were. But there was loyalty, too, a fierce need in Danny to make Hinestroza proud. It shamed Danny to know it, but didn’t diminish the yearning.

  “Go on. Get cleaned up.” Hinestroza smiled his cold smile, but there was a flare of admiration in his eyes, just for Danny. “We’re going to a nice restaurant. You need some real food.”