by Elle Keaton
Sacha wasn’t superstitious, didn’t believe in God—had seen way too much bad shit happen to good people for that—but it was impossible to contemplate recent incidents in his life without wondering if maybe he should be paying a little more attention. Falling off the fire escape in Kansas City had brought him to Skagit. Falling off the ladder the other morning had led him to Seth (who, remarkably, had not run screaming in the other direction).
It seemed the universe was trying to tell him something, and if Sacha sat on his ass watching the world go by instead of participating, he was not going to hear it. He needed to take his own advice to Cameron, modify it a little, but the core message—actions spoke louder than words—held true.
If he was going to change his life, keep changing his life, both metaphorically and for real, he needed to quit using the Warrick as an excuse to avoid seeing people he might know. Which meant Mae-Lin was right, he was hiding. Groaning quietly at the realization, he leaned on the bartop, his head in his hands, pulling the hair at the back of his head. He hated it when Mae-Lin was right.
Being in the military during DADT, and then a US Marshal, had fed his innate tendency toward hiding. Maybe some guys felt safe enough being more open, but he never had. The wall he’d built around himself was so high and deep he wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to break it down, but he was damn well going to try.
Straightening from the bar, Sacha squared his shoulders. He could do this. Deep breath. He had Seth’s cell number. Tomorrow he would call, and they would have coffee, and maybe Sacha wouldn’t make an ass of himself.
A face appeared in his memory, one that haunted him with some regularity even all these years after he’d come to the States. Sacha had been the one to find him, bloody and lifeless; if he’d ever known the boy’s name, it had been forgotten over the intervening years. In the filthy alley, Sacha wouldn’t have recognized him if not for the bits of clothing clinging to his remains. Sacha’d seen him around—he hadn’t been too much older than Sacha—laughing with other boys and older men before disappearing behind a shop or down an alley. The strange boy had been untouchably beautiful, until he was dead.
Sacha himself had been an outcast, left at a state orphanage in Bosnia when he was a toddler—a family with too many mouths to feed, maybe, or a single mother; he didn’t know the reason. When the orphanage closed its doors a few years later, Sacha found his way to the streets of Sarajevo and eventually to a missionary group that brought him and several other children to the United States. A long, strange trip indeed.
He’d never forgotten the lesson, though, about who it was acceptable to be with. That boy had been careless, gone with someone dangerous, and it had cost him the most precious thing he had to give. Even apart from that boy, there had been the anti-gay graffiti, the daily rants blaring from radios and TVs.
A shuffling noise caught his attention, and he raised his eyes to the mirror fixed against the backbar. Behind him a familiar figure stood, eyebrows bunched in confusion, squinting at him. The fucking universe. He’d met Joey James back in December when he’d been finishing up his undercover assignment.
“Oh my God. It is you.”
He twisted around on the bar stool to face the young man standing behind him.
“I thought it was you, and then I thought it couldn’t be. But I looked again and I knew it had to be you. I can’t believe you’re here. What are you doing here?”
Joey was irritating and tenacious, but Sacha respected his bravery and smarts. He hadn’t told him, but it was true. Joey was the reason Sacha didn’t have worse nightmares about the young trafficking victims he had been trying to save.
Before he could say anything, Joey launched himself at Sacha, embracing him in a full-body hug, somehow ending up mostly in Sacha’s lap. Boundaries were not Joey’s strong suit.
“You’re ruining my reputation, kid,” Sacha growled as he hugged Joey back. Nearly a foot shorter than Sacha, Joey was a lot of energy packed into a small body. Sacha wondered how his boyfriend managed, although being big enough and Nordic enough to pass for Thor probably helped. The two of them were clearly very well suited for each other.
“Ppphhft, your reputation. Come sit with us. I want to hear all about it all. Why you are here… wait, are you—” Joey’s voice dropped to a loud whisper, “—undercover?”
“Well, if I was, you just blew it.” Joey’s eyes widened and a horrified expression crossed his face. Sacha took pity on him. “I’m not, though. Actually, I retired from the Marshals.”
“Okay, now you are required to come sit with us.” Joey disentangled himself enough to point at a table across the bar where three other men were watching with amusement. One of them was Joey’s boyfriend, Buck Swanfeldt. Another was Adam Klay, a local fed who had assisted with the Matveev case. Adam cocked his head, indicating the open chair next to him.
Fuck, he was going to do this.
The third man at the table was introduced as Nate Richardson, an agent who worked for Adam. Nate was around Adam’s age, maybe younger, bright red hair and an astounding amount of freckles. He’d recently joined Adam’s team from the east coast. He seemed on edge, and soon after Joey dragged Sacha over he made excuses to leave. Sacha wanted to beg him to stay; as soon as Nate left, Joey would begin his relentless questioning.
“New guy.” Adam smirked, watching Nate leave. “I make him nervous, but he bravely joined us for an impromptu happy hour. Although I don’t know why the fuck I am hanging out with these two.”
Sacha respected Adam. He had good instincts and wasn’t as much of a tool as most of the feebs Sacha had had the misfortune to work with. Adam was shorter than Sacha, but he was built, heavily muscled, still looked like the football player he had been in high school. He was also the son of a prominent local artist who had passed away last fall.
“Because your boyfriend is on a business trip and you are sad and lonely. And we are the only people who will put up with your cranky ass.”
“There’s that,” Adam muttered.
Joey leaned across the table toward Sacha. “Okay, why are you here? Here, here. You do know the Loft is a gay bar, right?”
“Joey, you don’t ask people that,” his much-smarter boyfriend interjected, eyebrows raised almost to his hairline.
Joey didn’t take his eyes off Sacha, narrowing them as if he was threatening. “I disagree. Sacha won’t tell us unless we ask.”
“Unless you ask. Normal people don’t ask that kind of stuff.” Buck rolled his eyes at his boyfriend.
“Fine, I’m not normal. Well?” Joey tapped his index finger impatiently on the table. Sacha shook his head in disbelief.
Adam watched the exchange with amusement, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. Doing nothing to rescue Sacha from the interrogation. Asshole.
“You know, I could have been hungry.” Joey glared, and Sacha continued, “But I still came in when I saw the rainbow sticker.” He interrupted himself. “I need another beer.” If he was going to do this, he was only going to do it once, and there was no way he was getting through it without alcohol. “This story is longer than gay or straight, or whatever.”
“You stay here.” Joey practically bolted to the bar in search of a beer for Sacha. When he returned moments later, Sacha took a long drink before continuing. Pondering life changes, about being open about who he was. That, even though he hadn’t known this group of men very long, they were people he trusted. He felt like he owed it to himself to be completely open, to tell the entire story. Anything else would smack of avoidance.
“It’s not like I recently discovered I’m gay. But I was born in what was then Yugoslavia, which was not known for its progressive politics.” The boy’s battered face came to the forefront of his memory again. “When I came here I was placed with a conservative Christian family. They weren’t horrible, but their attitude didn’t help, plus I was already different enough. I never considered coming out. Then I was in the army during DADT and,
as you know, a US Marshal.”
Adam was nodding as Sacha spoke. “I’m a little younger, but law enforcement hasn’t changed overnight. My team is lucky to have a great leader. For the life of me, I do not understand why who we fuck affects our day jobs.”
“Don’t interrupt, I want to know the rest. You left without saying goodbye!” Joey legitimately looked upset that Sacha had left Skagit without contacting him.
“Aw, did you miss me?” This earned Sacha another glare from Joey and a quiet chuckle from Buck.
Taking another sip of his beer, he continued, “Yeah, anyway, getting shot and losing my spleen wasn’t so much fun. Then some other things happened after I returned to the Marshals service that made me take a long, hard look at my life. Long story short, I retired and decided to move here.”
“And do what? Where are you living? What are you doing?”
“I’m surveying the best locations in the county for shallow graves so when I get tired of all the questions I know where to hide the body,” Sacha grumbled. The other three men burst into laughter, and Sacha noticed a glimmer on Joey’s left hand. “Wait, what’s with the ring?”
By the time he extricated himself from the welcoming committee, Sacha had been invited to the social event of the following year. Buck and Joey were getting married, and the entire population of Skagit was descending on Maureen James’s house in the spring to watch the event. Sacha had, in fact, not been invited but commanded to attend.
Adam had laughed before admitting that he and his boyfriend were attending as well. His phone buzzed and the screen flashed at the same time, and the laughing ended as Adam’s expression turned serious. “I’ve got to take this, duty calls.”
Sacha left along with Adam, gladly escaping to the peace and quiet of the Warrick.
Eight
Sacha
Warmth cocooned Sacha. Cool hands soothed his overheated skin. They were big hands, ones that could hold him down and do what they wanted. But they didn’t; they felt safe, soft, gentle, skimming across his pecs to lightly tweak a nipple. No one had ever touched him there, and the action sent a jolt of lust directly to his rapidly hardening dick as if there was a direct conduit between them no teacher had bothered to tell him about in sex ed.
He moaned under the attention. His body yearned. Yearned so much. Weight pressed against his back, but he didn’t panic; it felt right and good for the weight to be there. One strong hand continued to roam across his chest, the other still playing with that nipple. He needed it to touch his other nipple. He tried saying the words, but he was overcome with pleasure, speechless. He jutted his hips forward, silently begging for attention.
If he could form words he would demand more and harder, but he couldn’t. Instead he offered his cock, needing touch, caress, the pressure of a hand to find him, dripping and desperate, to stroke him and rub his erection until he came. The hand finally moved down, gripping him briefly before moving farther, taking him in hand.
He was surrounded by heat and fresh sheets. Visceral desire crashed against his carefully maintained barriers, a wave on a rising tide. He moaned again when hot breath warmed the back of his neck. Was that the wet tip of a tongue? One hand on his nipple, leaving the other throbbing with want; the second hand gently rolling his balls, occasionally changing it up to massage his perineum, which had him begging for more—but he couldn’t think about that, couldn’t go there, because teeth bit down on his earlobe and Sacha came, bucking into his own hand, covers and bedding tangling around his legs, trapping him. All the things he’d fantasized about broke through—broke him, leaving him a sweaty, sticky, hot, fucked-up mess after the most fucking incredible dream he’d ever had.
Sacha bolted upright, wisps of the dream disintegrating as he became aware of his surroundings. The sleeping bag was tangled around his hips, and he’d come all over his stomach. His breathing was ragged, chest heaving like he’d run a marathon. The digital clock was glowing an overly bright 4:45 a.m. He dug around in his duffel for hand wipes and did the best he could to clean himself up. The box was half-empty by the time he finished.
The twenty-four-hour gym opened at five a.m.—which he didn’t understand, but he was thankful they were open at all. The locker room was blissfully empty. Sacha took one of the stalls at the very end of the shower room. If he quietly jerked himself off to the image of Seth completely naked with a raging erection all for Sacha, dribbling precome and begging for Sacha to do something, no one was going to judge him but himself. This time of the morning was too early for judgment.
The dream stayed with him long after his come washed down the drain.
He made the drive to the gym three mornings in a row. It was embarrassing that at his age he couldn’t stop thinking, or dreaming, about another man he hadn’t actually touched yet. He kept putting off calling or texting Seth, not because he didn’t want to but because he didn’t want to fumble the call. And, going for the win, he had a bad case of nerves making him feel about fourteen years old.
Sacha was also… unsuccessfully trying not to worry about his foster brother. Since Mae-Lin’s phone call he had tried to get ahold of Parker again. There had been no further response to his emails or phone calls, only the single text after his first call. As far as Sacha could tell, Parker hadn’t updated any of his social media accounts either. Sacha was giving him another day to hide and lick his wounds before calling some old law enforcement acquaintances… assuming he hadn’t burnt those bridges and the forest around them when he left Kansas City.
An email had pinged his inbox yesterday, no subject but a link and an already filled virtual shopping cart. Wonderful. He dropped an unholy amount of money on Mae-Lin’s birthday gift. A pair of fancy shoes, for fuck’s sake, but he’d felt his savings balance plummet when he clicked on the “Place order now” button.
Carefully backing down the ladder, Sacha used his T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. He was going to have to invest in a fan, or AC. He cringed at the prospect of going out in public again; running into Joey and the gang had been awkward enough. This personal-growth shit wasn’t for cowards. Maybe he could order an AC unit online, a big one with enough BTUs to cool the entire building.
A noise jolted him from a waking fantasy involving huge amounts of cool air blowing across his sweaty body. An indistinct figure was outlined on the other side of his front door. Groaning, he pulled his dirty shirt back over his head. It was probably another neighbor interrupting his work for a building tour who then would stand around expecting Sacha to fucking chat.
Worse, when he opened the door, it was the guy from the Chamber of Commerce again. Sacha had kind of hoped after the guy left his card the other day he was done pestering him. He hadn’t exactly kept his card. It went in the recycling as soon as Mr. Chamber of Commerce’s ass had left the building.
“Is there something you needed?” Sacha asked. He hoped his voice transmitted his lack of enthusiasm at the interruption.
The man seemed unfazed by Sacha’s manner. “Christopher Meyer from the Skagit Chamber of Commerce. Checking in on you again.” Could the guy not tell how little had changed since the last time he’d been by?
“Well, I’m still in the process of tearing out the old before I decide what to do with the new.” How was that for a non-answer? And, weirdly, it resonated personally: Sacha himself was a bit like the Warrick. Fuck, this self-reflection shit was ambushing his brain.
Meyer eyed him warily but continued, “We can provide you with contact names in City Hall to help you with the permit process if you need. We have a network of small business owners who specialize in all aspects of the remodeling process. If you come to our meetings, you will meet other people like yourself.” Sacha tuned his words out; obviously the guy wasn’t going to take a hint and leave. Instead he looked at him carefully, comparing this man to Seth. Testing himself.
Meyer was good-looking, he supposed, and he did have a nice ass. Average height, blond hair cut in businessman style. Unlike Seth’
s unruly hair, which, regardless of his attempt to control it, had been slipping out of a hairband and falling nearly to his shoulders when they had met. Sacha had liked Seth’s hair a lot. The suit did nothing for Sacha, either. He’d seen enough of those to last him a lifetime.
There was no spark, nothing about Meyer that made Sacha curious to know more about him. Nothing that would have Sacha waking up in the middle of the night after some of the most erotic dreams of his life. Nothing worth changing his life for. Which was ridiculous, because for all of his replaying their meeting over and over, including Seth’s obvious excitement when he learned that Sacha owned the Warrick, there was no magic that would tell Sacha Seth was interested in him.
Except he didn’t think he’d imagined the reaction when he caught Seth falling off that ladder. Replaying the laughing brown eyes looking up into his own and supple lips in a wide smile was fast becoming a pastime. It was on a fucking repeating loop in his head.
“Mr. Bolic?” Meyer interrupted his train of thought.
“What?”
A file folder appeared in Meyer’s hand. Where had he pulled that from? “Here’s a brochure about our organization and a list of city numbers that could be helpful. The Chamber meets the first Tuesday of the month. Welcome aboard!” Sacha took the folder, and Meyer stuck out his hand for Sacha to shake. Reluctantly, Sacha took it. Meyer’s grasp was firm and slightly sweaty. Once Meyer was on his way out the door, Sacha wiped his hand on his shorts.
Had he agreed to attend a meeting? Sacha wasn’t sure. He’d kind of lost track of the conversation somewhere in the middle… thinking about Seth Culver’s hair.
Nine
Seth
Luckily for his bank account, the flyers Seth had posted were beginning to pay off. It had been a couple of weeks since he had first posted them around town, and people were starting to email. After one no-show asshole (Seth had even called again to confirm the evening before), his first actual appointment was easy. Mrs. Anderson, one of his friend Micah’s neighbors, needed her front yard refreshed. She was too frail to do the work herself any longer but missed the annuals she’d cheered herself up with over the years.
