by Jo Raven
I rub at my chest and the strange ache there. “If there is anything to be found, if we didn’t make all this up and there is a safety box in that club that contains incriminating evidence against this man… then we have to let the police handle it.”
“The police don’t believe us,” Sydney says, her pretty mouth downturned.
“… maybe they will believe us now?” West mutters, grabbing the remote and turning up the volume on the TV. “What is the motherfucker doing now?”
Chapter Forty-Seven
West
“Oh my God…” Sydney is watching the screen, eyes huge and face pallid. “What did he do to Kash?”
Whatever this guy is doing, this uncle of Kash’s, it’s backfiring. He said his nephew is back, and failed to produce him when reporters showed up asking for a picture and interview. He apparently didn’t realize that the tabloids jumped on his small announcement that Kash was back.
We hadn’t, either, until now. Nate grabs his laptop and brings up searches with article after article from the past few days wondering about Kash, his inheritance, talking about his murdered family, and asking for photos of the grown-up prince of the casinos.
And now his uncle, in what looks like a desperate move, says that Kash actually is missing, and that he’ll continue managing the casino chain as Kash’s guardian until Kash is found or declared dead.
“Holy shit,” Nate hisses, scrambling forward, eyes on the TV. “What is that bastard doing? What changed?”
“He took Kash. I bet he did.” Syd’s lips tremble. “That must be what changed.”
“Kash disappeared months ago,” I argue. “Around the time Andrei said he welcomed his nephew home from Europe. No, something else happened. Something that put him on edge.”
“But like what?”
“Fuck if I know.” My head is pounding. It’s been pounding all night, and now it has to be almost dawn. I rearrange the glasses on the coffee table, itching to tidy up and clean and fix it all. “Some change in his plans? I hope it’s all gone wrong for him.”
“Keeping control of the casino chain doesn’t sound like anything’s gone wrong.”
“Let’s go to bed.” Sydney gets up and stretches, all pale skin and curves, and despite my exhaustion I look, and my dick starts to harden inside my jeans. “I’m beat. We can decide what to do tomorrow.”
“If there’s any chance we can nail this guy and throw him behind bars…” Nate turns off the TV and gets up, too. “Coming, West?”
“In a minute.”
He gives me a long look, then nods and departs with Sydney. I listen to the sounds of them in the bathroom, his low voice teasing her, her chime of light laughter.
It’s good to hear it, feel it in my bones that despite all the dark shit happening my people are still here, together, doing okay.
Even if I’m on the edge of a cliff, the end of my tether, and about to crash. I just fucking need… I need…
Fuck if I know what. What could help me. There’s a voice in my head whispering over and over that I need to clean and put everything in its place, wash the floor three times, clean the counters three times, do everything… and maybe then things will be okay.
I feel as if I have a drill sergeant inside my head, hollering orders, forcing me to obey. The voice had grown fainter for a while, the urge weaker, but now it’s back.
My strings tug and I get up, lurching like a drunk. I need to do this or I won’t get any rest. I’ve been struggling with it since the afternoon.
Since he showed up and reminded me of everything I’ve tried to bury, the memory that haunts me.
I grab a sponge and the cleaning product from under the kitchen sink, get on the floor and start scrubbing. So much dirt. So much filth.
How could he know?
Who else knows?
What if everyone finds out… about me. What a worthless piece of shit I am. How I fuck everything up. How everyone around me dies.
Kash… if Kash is dead, too… then that’s it. I’m done. It’s on me. If he hadn’t come to check on me, he’d be here now, alive and well.
I fucked up, fucked him up.
My hands sting from the bleach in the product. I flex my fingers, breathing out with the burn. It’s good. I need it. It lets me suck in air.
Pouring more product on the sponge, I switch hands and scrub and scrub. Paying attention to the grime between the tiles. To the corners. Under the table. Where the floor meets the wall.
I’ll leave. Go away before I fuck up Nate’s and Syd’s lives, too. they’re good for each other. They’ll be fine together. I shouldn’t have come here, with them, in the first place. I shouldn’t have—
“West. West!” Hands grab my wrists, pull my hands away from the floor. “Goddamn, man,” Nate whispers, “what the hell happened?”
I try to yank my hands away, but his grip is like fucking steel. “Fuck off.”
“No can do. Get up.”
“I can’t, Nate. I can’t…”
“Why not? What will happen if you stop?”
“Bad… bad things. Please.”
“West.” He crouches down beside me, his hands still gripping mine. “Let’s talk about this. What will happen if you don’t clean the kitchen floor tonight?”
“Bad things. Just… let go.” My breathing is all weird, my voice a croak.
He just stares at me. “I promise you nothing bad will happen. The kitchen floor is so clean I see my reflection in it, and we’re fine, West. We’ll be fine. I don’t know what flipped your switch today, but burning your hand and knees with bleach and spending the night on the floor won’t fix anything.”
I’m shaking hard now. Breaking the ritual terrifies me. My tired mind is spinning in endless loops, freezing my limbs, caging me.
“I need to finish here.” I’m fucking desperate for the reprieve I’ll get when I finish cleaning. Although lately even that doesn’t help. “I need to clean—”
“Look, I’ve got you.” He tugs on my hands. “Everything will be fine, I promise.”
“Kash is gone.” I have to swallow past the knot in my throat—a knot of fear, a knot of panic. “My family is gone. I cause bad things.”
“Bullshit, dude. You cause good things.” The fierceness of the words catches me by surprise.
I’m staring at him when Sydney comes in. “Nate? What’s going on? West?”
“Come on, bed.” Nate drags me upright, and then Sydney drapes herself at my side, and I let them, the combination of her scent and his strength calming me down. “We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.”
But what the hell is there to say?
My thoughts are in a rut, running over the same over and over—need to clean, need to wash, need to fix or bad things will happen.
Bad things, fucking bad things.
So I don’t expect to sleep tonight—well, what’s left of tonight. My teeth are chattering, my hands shaking, my mouth tastes like metal and the thought of talking to Nate and Syd about why I need to do this, why I’m such a mess today, and always… it makes me wanna puke.
But they don’t ask anything. They drag me to bed, take off my shoes, my clothes, run their fingers through my hair, glide them over my skin, and though at first I can barely stand it and flinch away, I start to relax in degrees.
They are safety, home, peace. Good things. They are the best things in my life.
They put me between them, Nate at my back and Sydney pressed to my chest, and next thing I know, sunlight is streaking through the window and it’s morning.
Sydney comes to me as I brew coffee strong enough to wake the dead and throws her arms around me. “Love you, West,” she whispers, squeezing me against her soft tits, her face buried in my chest, and drags a smile out of me, because yeah, my girl loves me.
The best. She’s the best.
She leaves for work, distracted and saying she has to run some errands, and I’m left alone to finish the coffee and drink it in an attempt to clear my mi
nd.
I don’t see Nate as we both hurry to get ready for work, but I should know he’s like a dog with a bone and won’t let last night slide. Won’t let me slide.
Which is good.
And bad, because hell, I sort of knew one day I’d have to come clean and tell him everything, but I also thought I had more time.
Time to confess, or time to leave and spare them the goddamn mess that is Weston Black.
My new morning job is at a music store. It’s a quiet morning and yet it goes by in a blur. Then I’m heading to my afternoon job at the burger joint, practically dragging my feet, the long night catching up with me.
By the end of my shift I’m kinda sleepwalking, so when I see Nate outside, I rub at my eyes and tell myself to wake up.
He’s there, though, waiting for me to finish, grab my jacket and go. My breathing goes choppy under his scrutiny. I shove my hands in my pant pockets and walk beside him to the bus stop.
“So…” Nate eyes me sidelong as we approach the stop. “I said we’d talk.”
Yeah.
Dammit.
An old lady with a Pekinese and a gigantic purse is scowling at us.
I could refuse to tell him. But it has to do with him. Better if he knows, and besides… he’s a part of me. He’s… a boyfriend? I can’t define our relationship. Me, and Nate, we date Syd and are sort of attracted to each other, too, but…
It doesn’t matter. Definitions, and words don’t matter, not in this. He’s important to me. So I say it fast, like pulling off a Band-Aid.
“Your dad happened to see me at work yesterday. Now he knows where I work.”
Nate blinks, cocks his head to the side. “What did you just say? My dad?”
“Yeah. By chance, I guess. Came to get a burger.”
Nate’s face is losing color fast. “My dad. God fuck, West. What did he do to you?”
“Nothing. I swear to God, man.”
“West.” He grips my arm so hard I wince. “Tell me the truth.”
“Look, he didn’t threaten me or anything. Didn’t touch me. And hey, I’ll quit. It won’t be a problem.”
“No. No, I’ll file a report against him. I will. I’ve put you all in danger. Is this what got you all twisted up last night?”
I shrug. “Yeah.”
“Dammit, West, you’re a fucking bad liar.”
We’re catching the bus since Syd has the car today, and it’s already arriving. I just don’t know how to avoid spilling my guts out with everyone watching. How not to break apart telling him.
But he’s silent as we board the bus, his eyes boring a hole through me. The ride is tense, the air charged. We trek home afterward, and it’s not until we enter and the door slams at our backs that he turns on me and corners me.
Literally pushes me into the corner, braces his hands by my face and leans in so close I think he might kiss me.
But he doesn’t.
He breathes in and out, eyes closing. “Just… please tell me, West. Tell me what he did. Why you were so shaken. I can’t fucking bear it that he did this to you. I need to know so I can do something about it.”
“There’s nothing you can do.” I scrub a hand down my face. “Look, I’m… I’m scared shitless, okay? Scared he’ll find you, and that I’ll lose you, too, like I keep losing everyone. Cuz it’s all my fault, Nate. All my fucking fault.”
“What are you talking about?” He moves a hand to my shoulder and shakes me roughly, and I wish he’d shake me until it all made sense. “The people you lost, that wasn’t through any fault of yours. It just happened.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“Then tell me.”
I shove at him. Predictably, he doesn’t move. My breathing’s getting shallow again. “I can’t, Nate, I can’t—”
“The hell you can’t. It’s me, man. You know everything about me, every single fucking thing, all of my fuck-ups, all my sick nightmares. You know I’m filthy in and out, but you touch me. You’re here.”
That cuts through the gathering haze in my brain. “Don’t you ever say that, Nate. You’re the best guy I know.”
He shakes his head, so close I can see the flecks of green in the amber of his eyes. “Whatever. As long as you’re staying. I want you to stay. And I want you to tell me what is going on.”
I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly bone-dry. “Nate…”
“You’re not gonna tell me, are you?” He leans in, his breath feathering hot on my cheek. “What do I have to do to finally make you fucking trust me, man?”
Fuck. I’m fucking this up already.
Can’t tell him how it’s all my fault, always my fault, how I’m certain everyone who looks at me sees the stain on me, the reason I can’t be accepted, can’t be loved.
“You need to see someone, man,” he says, his hand sliding up from my shoulder to my neck, curling around it, warm and callused. “Talk about this. It will help.”
“I can’t.” The refusal is automatic. I fucking can’t.
“At least to me. Talk to me.”
“You don’t get it, Nate.” I push harder at his chest, the restless energy and fear inside me needing an outlet, and he stumbles back a step. “I’m… broken machinery. A song on repeat. Nothing is ever right. It needs fixing, everything needs fixing. I need fixing. All the goddamn time.”
He puts his hand over mine, over his thumping heart, his eyes meeting mine, determined. “I need fixing, too, but that’s how we are. That’s who we are. It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not the same.”
“Listen to me. You’ve always been there for me. Always. You’re not any more damaged than I am. And you’re strong, West. So strong. In here.” He taps his hand over my chest. “But even the strongest among us need help sometimes.”
Something is choking me. It’s worse than ever, cutting off my airways.
Nate curses viciously, then his hold on me changes and he’s hauling me to the bedroom, flicking on the light as we enter. He pushes me down on the bed, then climbs on after me. Puts an arm around me, like we’ve always done, just holding me against him.
Letting me breathe. Letting me think. Turn over his words in my mind, allow them to sink in, take on meaning while his arm anchors me to him, keeping me from going under.
Then he lies back, pulling me on top of him and kissing the hell out of me. I dunno what we’re doing, but it’s good, and I kiss him back. His dick is hardening in his jeans, and mine responds, filling out, a mounting ache in my groin that’s taking my mind out of the maddening eddy it’s caught in, freeing it.
I’ve never done this with a guy—with Nate. We kissed before, jerked off together in the shower, but this feels more intimate, more real. Like he is turned on by me, not jacking off to a fantasy, not kissing me as an experiment.
Just me and him, rutting together and kissing hard enough to bruise. His arms around me are crushing my ribs, my hand on his neck is probably cutting off his air.
He thrusts his hard-on against mine, and I buck, caught in the fire building in my gut. We move faster, thrust harder, and one of us is groaning—or maybe both?—the sounds lost in the violent clash of lips and tongues and teeth.
His dick jumps, twitches, and he’s moaning, so low I feel it in my bones. Fuck, he’s coming, pressed to me, warm seeping through his jeans and into my flesh.
And it tightens the knot of arousal in my belly more, so much more that I can’t take it anymore. I break the kiss, and pant, my hips rolling, my hair falling in my eyes, dripping sweat. I’m almost there, the promise of relief just out of reach.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “That’s it, West.”
My balls tighten, my cock pulses and jerks. The pleasure is sharp and wrenching, drawing a gasp from my throat. I spill inside my pants, thrusting against Nate’s taut stomach, and I can’t seem to fucking stop.
He gathers me up against his side, his arm around me once more, and I slump, trying to catch my breath, my thoughts a messy sca
tter.
Sydney finds us like that when she enters sometime later. I’m half-dozing, my mind drifting, body lax, almost sprawled over Nate.
When I blink up at her, I see her brows go up in surprise as she takes us in. We probably have wet spots on the front of our pants. The air smells of cum.
Then her expression softens. “Got your message,” she tells Nate.
Message? What message?
“He’s better now,” Nate says quietly, and that’s when I notice the phone lying on the bed beside him. I was so zoned out, I didn’t even notice him texting.
“I’m okay,” I offer, my voice scratchy. Where I was a mass of nerves before, I’m boneless now.
“Miss me?” she asks sweetly, and a smile pulls at my mouth, out of my conscious control.
“Always,” I whisper.
“Sorry I was late. Gigi called, and we had coffee. She’s going through a tough time. But if I’d known you needed me…”
“Hey, I was here all this time,” Nate grumbles, but there’s a smile in his growly voice. “What am I, chopped liver?”
His arm is still draped around my shoulders, a reassuring weight, his body warm and firm at my side, and I want…
Not fucking sure what I want.
But Syd winks at me and starts to undress. First her shoes go, then her pants and sweater, leaving her in her panties and bra. She takes her hair down, shakes the copper curls loose over her shoulders, and the lethargy vanishes, replaced by arousal once more.
Nate’s hand moves up to tangle in my hair. He turns around to face me and he cups my jaw, gripping a bit too tight.
Still good.
Then he sets to undressing me, too, yanking my sweater and T-shirt over my head, then pulling down the zipper of my jeans.
I catch his hand, breathing hard. He gazes steadily back at me, then pulls his hand away and shifts so he can drag down my pants and briefs, then shoes and socks.
My dick bobs against my stomach, rock hard and aching. “What about you?” I mutter and reach for him, but he steps back and starts stripping.
