by Daya Daniels
RYKER
LEANING AGAINST THE WALL, I take a few puffs of my cigarette.
I’ve been waiting here for at least an hour.
I suppose I have the option to go inside but I don’t want to just yet.
I’m patient.
The Murray Hill neighborhood is quiet this time of the night.
The streets are tree-lined and on both sides are brownstones for blocks. Across the street a group of kids tumble out of the grocery store with bags and boxes in their hands.
I chuckle a bit observing their interaction.
It used to be me on a Friday stumbling out of whatever liquor store hazily trying to decide what spot to hit up to get some blow for the night.
Fuck.
I can’t say my mouth doesn’t water for it and my brain doesn’t crave it.
It does.
It most definitely does.
But as of lately, I’ve been craving something else.
The streetlight above me flickers.
I take a few more puffs of the cigarette and flick it off to land in the water trickling down the street that flows into the drain.
After eating a delectable dinner tonight of shrimp scampi, courtesy of our chef, Gelda, I had the pleasure of listening to Francis blabber on and on and on about new acquisitions and a possible plot of land in Short Hills that his company Benediction is thinking about developing, maybe putting a hotel there or some crap.
I tried my best not to scrape my silverware but did it every now and again just to irritate the fuck out of him. I kept my head low and focused on the pink shrimp in my plate while Bella requested glass after glass of white wine until she was practically slobbering in her plate when dinner was done.
Why I’m required to eat with them every night is beyond me. It’s been tradition since I was a boy. And this isn’t your typical pizza dinner at home in front of the TV while watching Monday night football. This is dress up with Bella wearing one of her fancy frocks and my father still in his bespoke suit that he’d worn to work that day.
I show up in whatever I have on, sometimes even my pajamas…like normal people do and sit through their boorish conversations.
I hate my parents.
Wait, wait, wait. I guess I love my mother, but I hate her too.
But, Francis, I hate him. Like really, really hate him.
In his presence, you shrink down to nothing while he suffocates you with the pungent aroma of French toast mixed in with a bit of cedar. Francis has smelled that way since I was a child. Eventually, I figured out it’s from the cigars he constantly smokes. It leaves a trail everywhere. Just standing next to him will have you smelling like a smoke stack, of course and fiending for breakfast somewhere.
Anyways, Francis controls the purse strings—mine and Bella’s.
If you defy Francis Barnaby Benedict you’d find yourself of no fixed abode faster than you can even dream up what it’s probably like to live in a homeless shelter for the night.
He’s a big stupid bully.
But, I guess that’s how and why he’s always gotten what he wants out of life.
I know Francis loves me though. He tells me all the time. But the words don’t have the same meaning they do as when Griffon says them. When Francis says them, they’re empty words, devoid of any compassion and genuine concern for my wellbeing.
A little laugh gets stuck in my throat.
Francis is a king in this city, in this family, in this life.
He does what he wants.
He stomps all over who he pleases.
He takes and takes and takes when and what he chooses.
I flex my fingers at my sides.
He instills fear in every man he meets, including me.
Yeah, I admit it.
I’m terrified of my father…always have been.
But every king falls, eventually.
And when they do, another is there to take his place.
One
fucking
day.
Boots hitting the ground jerk me out of my wet dream. A silhouette approaches and when it rounds the corner, I push off the wall.
“Oh fuck,” Griffon mutters backing away in a flash. His eyes jerk from me to the sign on the building and then back to me. “What are you stalking me now?”
I put my hands up in surrender. “No, Griffon, I just wanted to talk.”
Laughing, he runs a hand over his jaw. “Talk about what, Ryker?”
He steps close, backs away, then steps close. “You went through my things.” His face is pained. “Then you took my private thoughts and read them to a room full of strangers, Ryker! That is a massive privacy violation.”
I inhale. “I’m sorry, Griffon, but your words are beautiful and when I read them I knew they were meant for me.” I spear my fingers into my hair. “And I was pissed this morning that you called me a liar.”
He stares at me blankly. “Because you are.” He marches toward the double doors a few feet away.
I swear beneath my breath and follow him. My hands are clammy and my stomach feels all sorts of fucked up. I’m ruining this. I truly am. I know it. I suck at this love shit…as much as I want it. As much as I need it. “After you finish work, let’s go and grab something to eat.” I’m practically begging now.
Griffon swings around when I reach for his shirt sleeve, immediately missing his warmth. “How do you know I work here anyways?” His eyes narrow.
My eyes flicker over to the gold plate nailed to the façade of the building. The structure itself wouldn’t lead anyone to believe there’s anything inside this place considering the first two floors don’t even have windows.
It reads: Benedict #609.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” He shifts his stance and folds his arms across his chest. “I don’t know why I didn’t notice this before.” He exhales. “It’s the first time I’ve been back to work since being at Spero.”
I put my hands together in prayer. “Please, Griffon, one bite to eat, wherever you want to go in this city, on me.” I pout. “I owe it to you, don’t you think?”
He glares at me. “Yeah, you do.”
“Okay, good.”
His eyes linger on me a little longer than I think he intends for them to.
I meet his pebble grays, and something tells me in that gaze that he’s about to change his mind. He’s terrified of me. I’ve hurt him. And he’s afraid I’ll do it again.
I won’t. I won’t. I won’t.
He shakes his head but before he gets a chance to refuse, I’m already flying in his direction, using my entire weight to nudge him into the wall and press a vicious kiss to his mouth.
He groans into my lips, almost refusing. I shove my hips into his and then slowly when he lets out a breath, his lips part. He allows my tongue to invade his mouth and my fingers to make his hair a mess.
I lose myself in the kiss. I fall far, far into the depths of him and I never want to crawl out. I’m desperate for him after all these weeks of being apart and being unable to explain why.
He whimpers. He moans. He grabs at every inch of clothing that covers me.
The gym bag he’s holding hits the ground with a thump.
Everything becomes wild and hungry and I want more, more, more!
He smells of sweat and soap and rage.
And I know I reek of despair.
When I open my eyes to peer into his face, a tear spills from his left eye.
My wet mouth twists just like my gut does with guilt.
Leaning in, I lick it away, allowing the salty taste of his tears to linger on my tongue. I press a kiss to his cheek and hold him close. “I’m sorry.”
He swallows.
I kiss him once more, savoring the taste of his mouth, loving how my kisses steal all his breath away and probably his sanity too.
It’s all fucking mine.
“I need you to love me, Griffon.”
“I do.” His eyes are downcast.
“And I love yo
u too, more than you can imagine.” I kiss his cheek.
“This is crazy, Ryker.” His long lashes flutter.
“I know.”
“You make me crazy.”
“I know.”
“You’re insane.”
A smirk tugs at my lips. Slowly, I press them against his. “I know.”
GRIFFON
A FEW HOURS LATER…
Echosmith’s “Cool Kids” blares in my ears. When the song ends, I wring out the mop and hang it over the pole in the corner of the locker room.
Grabbing a towel, I wipe the sweat from my face and stride across the room to the door. I pull the earbuds out of my ears and relax a bit when the sight of two dudes going at it in the ring comes into view.
This gym has been open for about a year now.
It’s owned by Xavier Benedict who had notoriously owned the nickname of “War Baby” around the New York City streets for being a feared underground fighter.
Xavier, who I usually call “Baby” apparently is also the first cousin of Ryker.
Who fucking knew.
The hot lights above me shine down making me feel hotter than I should considering I’m not the one bouncing around in the ring.
They punch. They kick. They grapple. They tumble to the floor of the ring after a hard BANG sounds out in the gym and then they go at it some more.
Baby sidles up next to me, giving me a smile like the sight of two men fighting turns him on. And truly, I believe it does. “I’m glad you’re out of rehab. I’m glad to have you back.” He pats me on the shoulder.
“Yeah, I’m glad to be back too.” He swipes his longish hair away from his eyes.
I find it hard to believe sometimes that this guy is a fighter at night and lawyer by day. He looks like an upper-class surfer boy who should possibly have a spliff bobbing from between his lips.
He might sit behind a desk all day but he’s a beast in the ring when he gets in there. I suppose that’s where he takes out his frustrations. Only he doesn’t fight any longer for kicks. He trains people, often for free. And the list of clientele grows longer each week. There’s an official waitlist for up to a year to be trained by this guy.
He flashes me with his shiny white caps. “I didn’t realize you know Ryker.”
I keep my groan low and leave out the part that I met him in rehab. But it’s likely, Baby already knows that tiny fact.
“Are you happy still with the cleaning job, man? I mean working in the office pays a little better but—”
“I’d have to interact with people.”
He bites his lip. “I see.”
“Yeah, I’ll keep the cleaning job. It pays well enough.”
When the doors swing open, Baby’s husband, Pierce Carlisle, strides in. He’s another dude from one of New York City’s finer families. And he has that tall, dark, and handsome sort of vibe going for himself. The type of face you’d never have the good luck of ever finding on Grindr and he’s super-smart.
Ryker had told me he works at the law firm where Pierce is partner a few days a week “interning.”
I laughed out loud.
I only wish I could afford to intern. Unfortunately, the side job I have has to pay me money otherwise it would be a waste of fucking time and I’d starve.
Ryker and Pierce talk a bit.
I glance over at Baby. “Thanks for covering Spero.”
He smiles. “Yeah, of course, any time. I like you, Griffon, and I know things are probably tough. You’re young. I know what it’s like to be young.”
“You sound like you’re making excuses for me…and the drugs.”
He twists around to face me directly. “No, I’m definitely not doing that. I know you struggle, Griffon. I do. We all have our struggles.” His eyes land on Ryker. I don’t know if he means for them to. “He’s a good kid but he comes from a family of assholes.”
I nod.
Baby’s brows arch. “Real fucking assholes.”
The stereo across the room blares with “Mr. Brightside” by The Killers.
Baby covers his mouth. “His father, Francis, is a monster.”
My brows knot.
“In fact, Ryker lived with my family for a little while as a boy because of it.” Baby frowns. “But, at least my father was kind to him then. He was just a kid.” He exhales. “But Francis is a bigger sonofabitch than my own father. And when I say ‘big,’ I mean it literally.” He cracks his neck, then looks deep in thought.
I only stare at him, thinking that when I’d first arrived here tonight, Ryker and Baby had disappeared into the office and were talking for quite a while about God knows what.
Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” fills this gym and it’s already onto the one-minute rift that just makes you want to erupt into head banging and doing the air guitar like you’re eight years old again standing in front of your bedroom mirror rocking out.
Touching his cheek, Baby keeps an eye on the two men in the ring. “Get off the ropes!” His chest puffs up. “Get off the goddamn ropes! Move your feet. If you don’t move your feet you’re going to get knocked the fuck out!”
I flinch at his volume.
I meet Ryker’s eyes across the room.
He smiles.
I do too.
“I wasted time, and now time doth waste me.” Baby mumbles the words.
My head swings in his direction. “It’s from Act 5, Scene 5.”
He gifts me with a clever smile. “You know it?”
“Yes, I do.”
He breathes. “I’ve never told you this story, Griffon, or anyone for that matter. It’s too painful to think about or to relive. But my father used to beat me when I was a kid, badly. The aggression began when he began to suspect that I was gay. And then when I mustered up the courage to tell my parents then that I was in fact gay, it began a full-on beatdown fest.” He takes a deep breath. “He used to kick the shit out of me. It’s why I learned to fight.” He gazes over to Pierce. “Anyways, I fell in love with that sexy guy over there who told me my father is in fact gay himself and has always been.”
The surprise on my face must look ridiculous, then it turns to pure confusion. “So, I’m sorry, I guess I’m trying to understand…He used to beat you because you’re gay but he himself is gay?”
“Yeah.”
“I—I—I don’t know what to say…”
“It’s some crazy shit, believe me.” He laughs a bit. “I always thought he was cheating on my mother, but with women. I wouldn’t have imagined in a million years that my father is gay on the downlow. But it’s the truth.”
“And you still haven’t confronted him?”
“No, but I will soon.” He smiles. “Very soon.” And then it dies right on his face. “I don’t know what Ryker will do about his father, that asshole, my uncle Francis, but his time of sitting on the throne will soon be over too.”
I keep his gaze.
What needs to happen soon?
“It’s good to see you again, Griffon.” Pierce now stands in front of me. He reaches out and offers me his hand.
I shake it firmly, hoping he can’t smell the bleach which lingers on my clothes.
“How are things?” Pierce asks, releasing his grip.
“Things are good.” I nod, my gaze swinging over to Ryker.
“Your friend?”
“Um, yes, yeah, we just sort of met.”
He gives me a long look. “He’s a good kid. He certainly has a promising career in law if he can clean himself up permanently. I’d say after he finishes his degree, he should be headed straight to law school. But in the meantime, he seems content just dallying at NYU. I’ve told him so.”
I laugh a bit.
Pierce smiles.
Baby does the same.
These two men at first glance are such an odd couple but they make sense together. Both scream alpha with maybe a little beta thrown in there somewhere. I don’t know who tames the other if at all.
“We should have
dinner sometime,” Pierce offers. “At the penthouse.”
My brows lift, and I almost want to bark out a laugh.
The penthouse?
Baby nods. “Yes, I think that’s a great idea.”
“Next week?” Pierce checks his Omega. “A clean dinner—no alcohol of course.”
Baby smiles. “It’s bad for the body anyways. I stopped drinking it long ago and I’ve already told Ryker the cigarettes need to stop too.”
“Yeah.” I rub my jaw, knowing I’m guilty of smoking a cigarette or two myself.
Baby gestures in Ryker’s direction. “I always ask him time and time again when he’s out of rehab why on earth he chooses to still smoke and he always says the same thing.”
My eyes narrow.
Baby smiles. “Ryker says it’s the only thing he has left.”
“I see,” I whisper.
Pierce positions his fingers in my direction like he’s about to pull a trigger, a clever smile on his handsome features. “But, now Ryker has you.” He shoots me right in the chest with the imaginary gun.
Baby laughs.
I prevent the strange chuckle dying to escape my throat from leaving me.
Yeah, now Ryker has me.
RYKER
I DON’T KNOW WHAT time it is, but the gym is empty and most of the lights are off. “Knocked Up” by Kings of Leon rains down from the speakers above us. Griffon has just finished dusting Baby’s office. He’d cleaned out the supply closet and had taken out most of the trash. Now, he’s wiping down the shelves.
My eyes land on the three trash bags just outside the room on the floor.
They’re large.
I sit on the bench with my chin on my hand just watching him, finding it hard to believe that after a long school day which has him awake at seven o’clock in the morning and ends at around five, Griffon comes here to clean until after twelve o’clock at night.
He wipes the sweat from his brow and checks his watch. “We might have to take a ring check on that dinner. I’m almost done but by the time I’m finished, it’s going to be really late.”
With a huff, I stand, march across the room and pick up the trash bags.
I meet Griffon’s grays then haul everything outside to the dumpster. I use the two minutes I have out there to light up one, smoke it quickly and then I’m back, waiting for him.
