by Ts McKinney
“Sage is fine. He got sick and ran to the bathroom,” Colton said.
“Why? What’s happening?”
Landry felt Brookes nudge his back, gently propelling them forward and closer to his group of friends. Immediately his eyes landed on the glossy picture displayed on the bar. It was a picture of a young man, once beautiful, lying on the beach, his throat slashed from ear to ear. Eyes were wide open and empty. A young life lost forever. Like Sage, Landry felt his gut tighten as his Cuban sandwich threatened to make a reappearance. Only the firm touch of Brookes’ hand against his lower back kept him settled. Without even realizing it, he leaned against the other man’s strength.
“Landry,” Detective Matthews said as he extended his hand. “Good to see you again, son. I hate it’s under these circumstances but…well, we really don’t have a choice.” He shook Landry’s hand and then his eyes settled on the stranger in their midst—Brookes. “And who might you be?”
“Jericho Brookes.” Brookes extended his hand and gave the detective a firm handshake. All the while, though, he kept his eyes on Landry, watching him closely. “What’s going on?”
Before the detective could answer, Rory spoke up. “There was a murder on the island last night. They found one of Hemingway’s flyers in the guy’s hand. Shit,” he muttered to sum it up. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
“None of us recognized him,” Colton added. Landry could see how Colton was trying to use his body to block Jagger from having to see the photo, but Jagger was having none of it. He wasn’t looking at the picture, but he also wasn’t allowing Colton to intervene and pull the protection thing that Colton loved to do whenever Jagger was involved. “Do you know him, Landry?” Colton asked him.
“Don’t look at that,” Brookes growled, tugging Landry against him and tilting his head in the other direction. “He was at the club last night. I noticed him,” Brookes said. “He hung out at the bar most of the night, just watching everything but never got his nerve up to participate in any of the scenes.”
Landry struggled out of Brookes’ embrace. “Stop it! I don’t need you pulling a Colton on me,” he reprimanded, causing Colton to mumble a curse word under his breath. “I’m perfectly fine.” Turning to the detective, Landry said, “Brookes is right. I did notice him at the club last night. I felt sorry for him because he looked like he wanted to play but never made the move. I’ve noticed him around the island before, so I’m pretty sure he’s a local.” Landry studied and chewed his bottom lip. “I think his name might be Baker, or something like that.” Landry looked away from the picture. He might not have known the kid, but his heart was already bleeding for him. Youth and innocence lost to a predator—that was something he could understand.
“You think his death is somehow connected to the club?” Brookes asked. The Dom had a strange expression on his face as his gaze focused on the horrific picture in front of him. His muscles were tight and his expression even tighter. There was an edge to him that hadn’t been present before—something none of them had witnessed around him. The fun-loving yet alpha personality had vanished.
“We think the flyer was placed in his hand after he was murdered, so I’m leaning heavily toward there being some kind of connection.” Turning his attention back to Landry, he asked, “Were there any kind of protests or grumbling around the island about you opening a BDSM club? I hadn’t heard anything, but I could have missed it.”
“No. Nothing. Everybody was either excited or, those who don’t agree with the lifestyle, were at least tolerant.” That was one of the many beauties to the Keys—people didn’t judge alternate lifestyles. They might not participate but they didn’t condemn those that did. It was one of the many reasons why Landry loved the island.
“You own the club by yourself, Landry?” Detective Matthews asked. His eyes were darting between Colton and Rory. He knew they were some of the money on the island and he clearly wanted to know how much they were involved with the club and, potentially, with the murder. Both of them had excellent reputations among the island natives, but that certainly didn’t rule them out when a murder was involved. Matthews didn’t care who the hell you were—he only wanted the murderer caught…and caught fast.
“Yes, just me.” Landry frowned. “Why? Do you think I had something to do with this?”
“Of course not, Landry, but I have to ask the questions. You know this.” The detective took a deep breath. “Where were you about four am this morning?” He was fidgeting with the small tablet he was holding, like he was embarrassed to have to ask Landry…but he knew he had no other choice.
Four in the morning? Hell, where was he supposed to be? He was in bed fast asleep. He and Brookes had finished their scene around three in the morning and he’d headed straight home, feeling deliciously satisfied for the first time in his adult life.
“He was at home. With me,” Riley answered quickly. “He came home about twenty minutes after three and we both went to bed. Nobody left the house until around nine the next morning.”
Riley wasn’t exactly an island native—he’d only recently taken up residence at Landry’s cottage until he found a place of his own, but he’d visited often enough that Matthews felt like he knew him pretty well…and considered him to be as harmless as the rest of the group in front of him. Well, except for Brookes—Matthews didn’t have a clue who this man was or where he came from. He made a mental note to rectify that issue as soon as he left the club.
Landry heard Brookes growl when Riley said they went to bed. Obviously, he was assuming it was together. Clearly that earthy, masculine growl made his tummy do funny things. “Separately,” he piped in really quickly…really loudly. “We went to bed separately,” he finished weakly when he noticed every eye in the room on him.
Detective Matthews frowned like he might be caught up in the twilight zone. Finally, he turned to Jagger and said, “I’m going to review the guest list you gave me and see if anything stands out. Send me over a copy of the security cameras this evening.” He shoved the picture back into the file folder in his hand. “If any of you think of anything that might help, give me a yell. I left my business card with Jagger.”
Colton and Jagger walked the detective to the door, mumbling quietly as they crossed the room. Landry stared at the empty spot on the bar where the picture had just been sitting. Fuck, somebody had been murdered. Somebody that had been in his club last night. Somebody’s son or brother…or lover. Whoever it was, they’d been loved and now they’d been taken away.
Sage had returned and sat at the bar, visibly shaking with uncontrollable shivers. The poor kid was as pale as Casper the ghost. “Why don’t you go lie down in my office a few minutes, Sage,” Landry told him. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“I talked to him several times last night. He…he was friendly – real shy, but friendly. He wanted to participate in a scene but he couldn’t get his courage up. He promised to come back tonight and try again.” With every word that passed Sage’s lips, he turned an ugly green shade. He was going to hurl again. “I didn’t even recognize the picture until Brookes said what he did. He looked so…so…”
“To the bathroom, Sage,” Brookes said. His voice was a steady calm that seemed to ease some of Sage’s anxiety. “Come with me and I’ll get a wet rag for you. Then you need to do what Landry suggested and lie down for a few minutes.” He turned to look at Landry. “Do you think you should plan on issuing any kind of statement to the public?”
“Shit,” Landry whispered. “I don’t think so. Why would I? Shit, I don’t know what to do.” He was more than prepared to run his business but he didn’t have a fucking clue how to deal with a murder. A fucking murder! A kid was murdered last night after leaving his club!
“Do what you think is best, kitten. It’s your call and I’m sure everybody here will support your decision.” With that, Brookes turned and herded Sage toward the men’s room. Colton and Jagger made their way back to the bar and Riley and Rory were watching him, wait
ing on his decision.
“We really don’t know if there is a connection to the club, Landry. He could’ve been holding the flyer when it happened. I think we’re all assuming there’s a connection when one might not even exist,” Rory suggested. Then he frowned. “On the other hand, there might be a connection.” He raced his fingers through his hair again in a nervous gesture. “Hell, I don’t think you need to issue any kind of statement. I seriously doubt the police will even mention the flyer – they usually hold that stuff back to try and set people up. Don’t they? I don’t really have a clue, but I’ve watched enough detective shows to at least make an educated guess. We should’ve asked Matthews while he was here. Shit, what if there is a connection?” His eyes immediately darted around until they landed on Riley. The man didn’t need his protection and certainly wouldn’t welcome it, but Rory silently vowed the Kentucky beauty was going to get it…whether he wanted it or not. Things between them weren’t decided yet. Hell, they still fought about practically everything, from where to eat lunch to what the best sunscreen was to, of course, who was going to bottom in the bedroom. Fuck it, if he had it all to do over again, he’d given himself to Riley that first night. Unfortunately, there was no going back and his damned pride was keeping him from going forward.
“Why do you say that?” Jagger asked. “I think it’s a pretty big jump to connect the two together without any other evidence.” Jagger was massaging Colton’s shoulders…right in front of everybody as he talked.
“Haven’s been on high alert for two weeks now,” Colton said quietly. “There’s been some mysterious cars traveling the road, watching the place. When we ran tags, license plates were always stolen. I’m seriously afraid there might be a connection between…well, between all of us and the murder.” He tugged Jagger against his side. “And I for one am not willing to risk what is mine.”
“I’m perfectly safe, Colton. Nobody wants me,” Jagger answered. The words that slipped from his mouth caused Colton’s face to darken with anger and Jagger noticed it immediately. “Hey! Calm down. I meant nobody wants to hurt me. I’m a boring person. I hardly think some stranger’s out there plotting and planning my demise. We need to worry about the rest of you guys. If there’s a connection to Haven, then wouldn’t it probably be an ex or angry parent coming after their family?”
“I can’t imagine there’d be a connection between this murder and what’s going on at Haven but at the same time, my head is telling me there is,” Rory said. He stroked his chin as he tried to assemble the puzzle inside his head.
Haven dealt with dangerous issues and for this very reason, there was strict protocol when dealing with security, but even with all their precautions and planning, the residents of Haven were always at risk – their backgrounds wouldn’t let it be any other way. What in the hell could be the connection between Haven and Hemingway, though? Landry rarely volunteered at the shelter – definitely not enough to warrant an attack against his club to get to somebody inside the shelter. Landry’s main role with Haven was helping to get kids off the street and into Haven, where they were safe. Having lived on the streets and having experienced the horror the runaways lived through every damned day, Landry usually had an immediate connection with the kids and could get closer to them than anybody else. No, it didn’t always work—he couldn’t save them all—but he’d brought several runaways to Haven. He smiled as he thought of the two young teenagers that had been with them for a while. Landry had worked for weeks on those boys and they’d all been ecstatic when it had finally paid off. Both boys were thriving in their new lives at Haven.
“What’s Haven?” Brookes asked as he walked back into the room…and straight into Landry’s personal space. He moved with lethal agility and went straight to what he obviously thought belonged to him. A hand reached up to caress Landry’s cheek and he whispered, “Are you okay, Landry? Do you feel like there might be something connecting the murder to your club?” He paused but not long enough to give Landry a chance to answer before he added, “Because if there’s a chance you might be in danger, you are shutting this shit down right now.”
Landry bristled. He might be interested in pursuing whatever this was with Brookes, but he sure the hell wasn’t prepared to allow another man to make decisions for him. He’d been making his own decisions since he was fifteen years old. Fine, he might not have been doing a fucking awesome job at it on every occasion but he’d survived the best way he knew how. He hadn’t made it this far just to toss the reins over to the first muscled Dom that made his head spin and body burn. Oh yeah, and sent him into subspace—there was that. Didn’t matter, he wasn’t giving up his freedom no matter how fucking good the Dom was.
Was he? What would it feel like to let somebody else take full control, to take away his worries? What would it feel like to know there was somebody out there protecting him?
“You don’t have a vote on shutting this shit down, Brookes,” he snapped irritably. “This club belongs to me and me only. I make the decisions.” There. He sounded just like a bully kid on the playground threatening to take his ball and go home if he didn’t get his way. Too bad. The club was his and nobody was going to tell him how to run it. Not Brookes. Especially not Brookes.
Brookes’ eyes narrowed. “I don’t give a fuck about this club, Landry. I’m talking about your fucking safety. Surely you can distinguish between the two?” Completely ignoring every man in the room except the only one that mattered to him, Brookes yanked Landry up against him and slammed their lips together. The kiss started with his usual display of dominance but it quickly molded itself into something different—something more intoxicating and powerful. Something that Landry always worked hard to avoid.
The damned kiss made Landry feel…cherished. Cherished wasn’t an acceptable emotion for someone like him, nor was this the time or place for those types of sweetest of sweet emotions. This club, his new life, was all about the darker side of sex. There was no making love, just fucking. He was good at the fucking stuff. Making love? Nope. Making love with someone led to things—things he wasn’t willing to offer up to anyone.
He refused to allow his heart to be broken. He refused to allow his heart to play. Love. Making love. Is that what Brookes wanted from him?
He quickly twisted out of Brookes’ arms. Shit. He felt it coming and tried to push it back into the dark corners of his mind. His breathing changed. The room blurred. Jagger was there in an instant.
“I’m here, Landry. Can you get to your office?” he asked in that same strong voice he’d used with the first panic attack. This side of Jagger was so powerful and Landry wanted that power.
Landry took a deep breath. Well, he tried to take a deep breath. Apparently deep breath taking was currently above his pay grade. No oxygen went to his starved lungs. His eyes were desperate when they raised to search for Jagger’s solid strength. His second panic attack in just as many days. This wouldn’t work.
“I’ve got this,” Brookes said as he gently moved Jagger to the side and focused all his attention on Landry. “Hey, kitten. Focus on me, okay,” he ordered softly. He easily lifted Landry onto the bar and then moved between his opened knees, nestling them as close together as possible. There was nothing sexual about the touch – only a gentleness that made the panic attack crash into him with the force of a tsunami. Both Brookes’ hands cupped the sides of Landry’s face as he tried to force him to give him all his attention. “What helps him?” He asked Jagger but his eyes never left Landry’s wild gaze.
“Count breaths,” Jagger answered quickly. His brows were crinkled with concern as he focused on Landry but he wouldn’t interfere with Brookes’ efforts unless Landry needed him. “Make him count with you.”
“What’s happening?” Colton hissed. “Is he okay? What the fuck?”
****
“Panic attack,” Jagger answered. When he saw Brookes had things under control with Landry, he started moving the rest of the guys away from the bar to give Brookes and Lan
dry as much space as possible. “Come over here. Give them room, okay,” he ordered. They were throwing questions right and left but allowed Jagger to move them away.
All the guys were troubled, but Colton looked the worst. “When did the panic attacks start up again? He’d been doing so well.” His gaze centered on Jagger. “How did you know about this and the rest of us didn’t?”
Colton was worried, not mad, so Jagger let the accusation in his lover’s eyes pass. Colton might come across as a badass alpha male, but Jagger knew his lover was the most sensitive of all of them. Sure, Jagger and Landry wore the sash for having the shittiest childhoods, but they’d both survived and in the survival process, they’d hardened themselves to certain things—like emotions. Colton hadn’t had that same luxury, so he wore his heart on his sleeve. His love and empathy were two of his most beautiful qualities and as it always did when he thought of Colton, Jagger’s heart soared.
“There’s been a recent trigger, I’d guess,” Jagger finally answered. “He had his first one yesterday. I…I think Brookes may be the trigger.” Jagger braced himself and prepared to put his body between them and Landry. He knew how protective they were of each other, so they’d be ready to rip Brookes to shreds without even giving him a chance. Hell, it’s exactly what he’d do if he hadn’t been in the same situation as Landry only a few months ago. Colton was his trigger. Colton was still his trigger, but in a much better way.
“Then get him the fuck out of here!” Rory practically roared. “Nobody hurts Landry.” Rory was ready to fight for their group…as always. The Cajun was as wild as he was loving.
“I didn’t say Brookes was a bad trigger, just that I thought he might be a trigger,” Jagger explained. When he could see not one of them understood what he’d just said, he added, “Colton was one of my triggers.”
“Uh oh. The triggers get to stay,” Colton added quickly. “Triggers, I assume, can be good, too?” He turned to Jagger with a cute puppy dog look on his face. “I’m a good trigger, right, Wildcat?”
