Reeve of Veils (Inheritance Book 4)

by Amelia Faulkner

  It was Laurence.

  “You raped me,” Laurence said.

  Mikey shook his head. “It wasn’t like that, man! You know it wasn’t!”

  “Because I didn’t say no?” Laurence’s hands ran down Mikey’s chest and then tugged his fly down. They popped his button and massaged his cock through his briefs. “Because I agreed to it?”

  He groaned at the expert touch, and his breath caught as Laurence tugged cotton aside and wrapped fingers around his hardening shaft. “You couldn’t pay,” he groaned.

  “Yeah.” Laurence writhed down him, eyes almost black in the darkness as he gazed up at Mikey. “C’mon, man. I don’t have twenty bucks. Can’t you spot me just this once?”

  “That’s a bargain,” Mikey insisted. “That doesn’t make it rape! You wanted smack and you couldn’t fucking pay!”

  “What about when you don’t wanna go to jail?”

  It wasn’t Laurence any more.

  It was Officer Brown.

  Mikey swallowed.

  Brown had one hand on his own cock and the other on Mikey’s. “Yeah, you’re gonna take it like the little bitch you are,” Brown breathed. “Doesn’t make it rape, kid. It’s just business. Hell, you were the one who offered it up.”

  “What if—” He licked his lips quickly. “What if I changed my mind?”

  Brown grunted at him. “What if you did? You really wanna go to jail for this?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I should. Maybe I deserve it.”

  Brown laughed and flipped him over onto his front. He stuck his hands between Mikey’s ass cheeks like he was digging for fucking gold, and Mikey cried out in pain. “You deserve it. You just ain’t gonna get it. They’d leave your ass gaping like a yawning hippo in there, boy.”

  “It’s impossible to rape a guy,” Max said.

  Mikey blinked tears from his eyes. Brown was gone. Wherever he’d been was gone. They were sitting on the grass in Balboa Park. Max, Candice, Laurence, they were all here, just like they used to be. Fifteen and dumb.

  “What?” Candice laughed and took a drag off her joint. “Why?”

  Max shrugged. “If he gets an erection, he’s enjoying it, so it’s not rape.”

  Laurence pushed his golden curls away from his face and squinted up at the sun. “What about girls?”

  Max shrugged. “Same thing. If they have an orgasm, it isn’t rape.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Laurence turned his squint on Max.

  Mikey shrugged. “Makes sense, right? Like, I know the moment I get hard I wanna cum. If I get to blow my wad, what does it matter who with?”

  Laurence sucked on his joint and blew smoke up into the air. “Huh,” was all he said.

  “What if, like…” Candice took another hit. “What if you’ve got something they want and they’ve got what you want.”

  “That’s just prostitution,” Max said. “It’s business.”

  “I’m a whore,” Laurence said.

  Mikey blinked and the world changed again. Laurence’s mouth was around his cock because he knew Mikey wouldn’t hand the heroin over until he’d paid for it.

  Except Laurence also stood by Mikey’s side, eyeing the other Laurence who was giving a lackluster but functional blow job.

  Mikey stared at the Laurence by his side.

  “You made me this,” Laurence said. He sneered at Mikey. “You got me hooked on that shit and then you made me suck you off whenever I didn’t have the cash for it. Do you even know how many times we did this?”

  He struggled to concentrate while that hot mouth worked him over. “Uhh…”

  “You think ‘cause you fucked my mouth and not my ass it wasn’t rape?” Laurence drew closer. “Or do you think it’s because I didn’t say no? Oh, wait, I bet it’s because you never put a single bruise on me, right? You never broke any of my bones. You never assaulted me in the goddamn street. You weren’t a stranger, you were my friend. We were just fooling around together, right?” He snapped his fingers. “No, I got it. It’s just business, right?”

  Mikey’s hips jerked. Tears formed in his eyes. “I never hurt you!”

  Laurence’s hand closed around his throat, and his teeth flashed in the dark. “Asshole,” he spat. “Hurting me is all you ever did.”

  The orgasm wracked his body just as he sobbed himself awake, and he cried out as his cock spat into the bedsheets. Tears trickled down his face and he lay panting in the dark, queasy and warm all at once.

  “Jesus,” he whimpered. “What the fuck.”

  Mikey sat up slowly. At first he tried gripping the sheets to himself, but it just smooshed the wet patch against his stomach, and that made him grimace with disgust. The pain in Laurence’s glare kept flashing into his vision, and he threw himself out of bed to get away from it.

  Where the fuck was he? There was soft carpet under his bare toes. The bedsheets weren’t scratchy or stiff.

  Hotel.

  Palomar.

  Frederick.

  He shuddered as he took a breath. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, but the tiny glow of light around the curtain edges weren’t enough for him to navigate an unfamiliar hotel room by, so he fumbled for the switch on the hanging bedside lights and screwed his eyes shut as he flicked them on.

  What a fucking wreck.

  He shivered as the wetness on his crotch cooled under the persistent blow of the A/C, and forced his eyes open a crack so he could get to the bathroom. It wasn’t as huge as Frederick’s, but it was still too good for a guy like Mikey, and stepping into it made him feel sick.

  But not as sick as Laurence’s words echoing in his head.

  Mikey pushed on toward the shower and smacked at the controls until hot water rained down on him, and then he leaned against the tile and sobbed wretchedly.

  He felt… Dirty. There wasn’t any other word he could think of for it. Sick. Violated. He wasn’t a rapist!

  Rapists were monsters. He wasn’t a monster. It was just business.

  “You do this to people.”

  Mikey retched, but nothing came up. All that happened was the movement made his wet body slide down the tiles until his ass landed against the floor, so he curled his arms around his knees and sobbed even harder against them.

  He’d been making excuses. All this time he’d told himself the lies they’d first heard as kids, repeating them over and over because that’s all they heard from TV, from the news, from movies, from other kids just as dumb as themselves, and even when they got older they never got any wiser. And he’d hurt people, and people had hurt him, and they all just went on in this endless cycle.

  “You don’t even put it to any good use.”

  Jesus, Frederick knew, didn’t he? He’d always known. That was why he’d gone on about consent like he had.

  Frederick knew what Mikey had done.

  “You’re a user who yearns to be used.”

  What the fuck did Frederick want, really? Because it couldn’t be Mikey, it shouldn’t be Mikey. He didn’t deserve to live like this, in a fancy hotel with stupid expensive food and a guy who let him use his credit card without even caring how much Mikey spent on it.

  He’d been so jealous of Laurence, so angry that Laurence was seeing some rich guy when Mikey still lived in the gutter, but Mikey wasn’t entitled to feel that way at all. What an asshole he’d been, walking all the way here thinking the world owed him something better than the life he had.

  Frederick was right. God help him, the guy was right. Mikey was a user. Just because he never took drugs didn’t make that any less true. He just used people, instead. He got them hooked on shit that could kill them and then he used them. Mostly for money. Sometimes for sex. Never for anything real or valuable or meaningful.

  He was a pathetic, shitty excuse for a human being, and Frederick saw right through him.

  And now what was he doing? He was crying in the shower like he’d been the victim. Like he was the one who deserved pity. He cried like a baby until t
here was nothing left in him when he had no right to feel sorry for himself. His throat was sore and his eyes ached. He shivered even though the water was hot. And finally, just when he thought he might be ready to move, he began to retch again. Except this time his gut took the hint and gave him something to throw up.

  The reek of it made his eyes sting. His mouth tasted of ass. He tipped back to let the water in and wash his mouth out, then spat it down and stared as it mingled with gross and spiraled toward the drain.

  Mikey grabbed soap and gave himself a quick once-over with it. Enough to get the stink out and the cum off his skin. Then he turned the water off and forced himself to leave the shower. But there was no way he was getting back into bed.

  There were things waiting for him there that he didn’t want to see again. Not yet, not so soon. He didn’t know if he could cope with another dream like that, or whether it’d drive him insane by morning, so he wrapped himself in a towel and snuck out of the bedroom.

  He picked his way carefully down the stairs and curled up on the huge, cozy couch, then rested his cheek against he back of it and stared out at the city at night.

  From up here, the twinkling lights looked beautiful.

  25

  FREDERICK

  Michael was asleep on the sofa, which Frederick had to admit to himself was somewhat unexpected.

  He dressed himself and emerged from his bedroom once more, yet the American was still there, shivering in the chill and propped against the back of the sofa in what looked to be an incredibly uncomfortable position. His towel was barely covering anything at all, which was a pleasing sight, but Frederick had to sift through memories to find out what had happened.

  Michael’s succession of nightmares was glorious. Given time to get away from his old life and start something new, his brain had quickly begun the task of showing him truths he’d long kept buried, and Frederick allowed himself the smallest of smiles before he settled on the edge of the seat and reached out to gently shake Michael awake.

  “Shh. It’s all right. Gently.”

  Michael blinked his eyes open. It took him a moment to remember where he was and who he was with, and once he realized he was mostly naked he grabbed onto his towel and pulled it up a little.

  “There you are.” Frederick used a frown to convey sympathy. He didn’t feel sympathetic in the slightest, but it was best if Michael not know that. “Bad night, hm?” He withdrew his hand. “We’ll find a counselor for you once we’re in England. You have some things to work through.”

  Michael groaned as he peeled his face off the couch and sat upright. His legs were splayed across the cushions, so he pulled them together to try and look a bit less like he’d been abandoned there. He grimaced, rubbed at his neck, and croaked, “you knew.”

  “Of course.” Frederick stood and wandered toward the kitchen.

  He’s dressed. Sun’s up. Have I made him late for his stuff?

  “No.” He answered Michael’s unspoken question as he poured coffee. “I’m not late. I let you sleep as much as I could, but I do have to go soon.” He emerged carrying a single cup, and offered it to Michael as he sat once more.

  Michael took it from him and hugged it for warmth.

  “Your bodyguards should arrive in a few minutes. I shall be back by lunchtime. If you head out, be sure to do everything they advise. It is their job to protect you, but their job is made easier by you making yourself easier to protect. Don’t dart off down alleyways, don’t disobey them if they tell you to step somewhere or do something.”

  Michael grunted and sipped his coffee. “Sounds like prison.”

  “All life is a prison, dear boy. All we do is hope one day to be the ones paying our own jailers.” He grinned like a wolf.

  “Were you always this cynical?”

  “Try being an optimist when you know what everyone around you thinks.” He shrugged and stood again. “Get tested, Michael. I won’t abide any further delay in this.”

  “Because you wanna fuck me?”

  Michael regretted it the moment it came out of his mouth, fragments of his nightmare slamming against his waking mind, all too easily for Frederick to detect.

  It’s just business.

  I’m a whore.

  He reached down to take the cup from Michael’s hands almost before the boy began to choke on it, and held it as Michael coughed his lungs out.

  “Because,” he said dryly, “fucking is off the table until we know where we stand. My brain only has one body to walk around in, so I prefer to keep it in top condition. It’s too valuable a brain to lose to something so easily avoided.” He held out the coffee and waited for Michael to take it back.

  Michael shivered and took deep, ragged breaths before he reclaimed his cup. “Am I entertaining you right now? Are you enjoying the new toy?”

  “Oh, yes,” he purred. “Very much so. Now drink up, get breakfast inside you, put some clothes on, and get yourself tested. Do some shopping too, if you feel the urge. Keep away from trouble, and I’ll see you later.”

  He felt Michael trying to bore holes through the back of his skull as he headed for the door. The man’s thoughts were a jumble of arousal and fear, which appeared to be his default state. Keeping Michael off-balance proved immensely entertaining.

  How the fuck can he go from holding me with such care in the shower to being so callous now?

  And why does that make me so fucking hard?

  Frederick strode to the door and collected his things. He slipped phone and wallet into the pockets of his slacks, then cast a look toward Michael. “Because,” he said calmly, “this is who I am.”

  He left Michael in stunned silence and whistled cheerfully to himself as he headed to the elevators.

  “RIGHT,” he said as he sat by Icky’s side. “It’s about time that dressing was changed, isn’t it?”

  Icky crinkled his nose and crossed his eyes trying to look up toward the bandage around his head. “Do you think?”

  Frederick shrugged. “Obviously I’m not a doctor, but I’m reasonably certain that changing dressings is a thing one should do from time to time. Shall I see if there are spares laying about?”

  “Mm. I think Laurence may have already done it.” Icky’s eyes uncrossed and he frowned at Frederick. “Can’t recall. Sorry.”

  Frederick sighed and patted Icky’s shoulder. “It’s quite all right. You aren’t supposed to be thinking.” He bit back his usual sarcasm. Now was not the time for brotherly banter. “Stay here.”

  He headed into the bathroom and rooted through cabinets in there. It seemed the most sensible place to keep any spare dressings the hospital may have dispatched Icky with, and he finally discovered them in a cupboard below the sink. Individually wrapped pieces of gauze, rolls of bandages, and a roll of sticky tape were all neatly lined up in a small plastic box. Frederick retrieved the whole box and bore it back to the bedroom.

  “Here we are,” he murmured. “Let me just wash my hands, then we can sort you out.”

  Icky eyed the box as though trying to remember where he’d seen it before. “Right-o,” he said.

  Frederick washed quickly, then returned to Icky’s side and began to unpick the tape which held his current bandage in place. “Not hurting, am I?”

  “No.”

  “Splendid.” He picked away at the tape until the end of the bandage came free, then he unwound until it was loose enough that he could ease the whole lot off. The gauze which had been held to the back of Icky’s head almost came loose, and Frederick pinched it before it could fall.

  Icky’s hair was parted along the line of a new scar at the back of his head. It looked quite nice, all things considered, already healing up. Still, Icky always had bounced back rather quickly from his various scrapes, and Laurence had confirmed that they both patched up with incredible speed. The man had a metabolism like a freight train. Nothing slowed it down.

  Frederick eyed the gauze.

  There was hardly a speck on it.

>   Damn it, Icky must have been right. Laurence had already changed the dressing, and while Father hadn’t specified an amount of blood, Frederick very much doubted that two or three dried flakes no larger than a flea really counted.

  What a tremendous ball-ache.

  He ditched bandage and gauze into the bathroom’s little trashcan, then returned to redress the wound.

  “There we go,” he said as he packed everything back into the box. “Good as new.”

  Icky squinted up at him. “Hardly.”

  “Oh, pish.” Frederick turned away with the box in his hands and acted as though he hadn’t just been dealt a significant blow. “You’ll bounce back, Icky. I’ve no doubt. Just a few more days now.”

  He replaced the box in the bathroom, washed his hands once more, and fixed an affable expression in place to await Laurence’s return.

  None of this added up. He needed more data.

  And Laurence was going to provide it.

  IT WAS the same rigmarole to begin with. Frederick didn’t want to do anything which Laurence might look back on in the future and see to be out of place, and that meant he couldn’t simply accost Laurence the moment he walked in through the front door. Laurence’s oracular abilities took a few minutes for him to use, so it was best to get him seated and looking somewhat pensive first.

  Frederick prepared tea and handed Laurence a cup when he came home. He waited for Laurence to go greet Icky and check that he was comfortable. And then he sat with his own tea and watched the sea until Laurence came out and sat with him.

  “He’ll bounce back,” he assured Laurence. “He always does.”

  “Yeah.” Laurence sighed. “He heals pretty fast. I just wish he didn’t have to, you know?”

  Frederick nodded and made a show of blowing on his tea before he sipped from it. “I know,” he agreed. “At least you get a little time off work, hm?”

  “Ha.” Laurence shook his head. “I just wish we knew what Wilson was up to while Quen’s out of action.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Let Icky recover. That has to be our primary objective.” He twitched his lips into a faint smile and leaned over to whisper, “you know he’s eavesdropping. Best not to discuss things he’d want to leap out of bed and put the world to rights over.”