“Get out of my way.” The words came out on a snarl.
“You have taken this too far, and your actions endanger us all. If I leave without you, you will never be able to come home.” Sadness mixed with the venom in Patrick’s voice. “Do you understand, Yvette? Your name will be crossed from the books.”
Which meant her family, her own flesh and blood, would turn her out. Worse than dying, where at least her name would remain known. Yvette’s entry into the world would be erased, and even the woman who gave her life and the man who sired her would purposely forget the day she’d been born.
She would cease to exist.
And clearly, her brother thought that was the worst fate to befall a person.
Not for Yvette.
She glared. “I’d rather be nothing than remembered as a coward.”
She turned.
“Your accounts will be closed. Your access to properties will be removed. You will not be able to utilize the planes, the cars, nothing. Do you understand, little sister? You will have nothing.”
Yvette didn’t try to hold back the sneer. “And you have nothing I need.” A lesson she’d learned from a very young age. No one could be trusted. Least of all, family. They were important. They were priceless. They were everything.
But trust?
Never.
And all a person could do was prepare as if any moment it would all be taken away because it could. Ivan had understood that, and he’d shared his knowledge with Yvette along with all the ways to assure what was yours remained yours.
Between the accounts he’d kept hidden from his House and left her, and the ones she’d managed to scatter across the globe on her own? Yvette had more than enough to live twice the lifestyle she’d become accustomed to.
Patrick searched her face, and Yvette gave him nothing to read before turning her back on him and walking out. She collected her coat at the door and stepped from the building.
Then sun replaced the rain, and bright fragments fell to the wet concrete, breaking apart in abstract shapes cut by passing clouds.
A few witnesses trickled out with her, blending back into the population of tourists and natives.
Yvette’s car sat across the street. The driver had a newspaper open and propped against the steering wheel.
If the Justices wouldn’t do their job and put Marcel down, Yvette would find another way to rid the world of the bastard.
He might be untouchable. His whores might be untouchable.
But others were not.
She headed to the crosswalk. Marcel stood by the curb, cane gripped in his right hand planted against the ground, shoring up the weight of his body. People moved around, flagging down the occasional taxies sweeping in to pick them up.
Yvette’s anger resurfaced. She walked over.
“This isn’t over.”
He didn’t look at her.
She stepped closer. “Did you hear me, dog? This isn’t finished.”
“No. I suppose it is not.” He continued to watch the cabs, the people, or maybe nothing at all.
“You will pay.”
He grunted.
“I will destroy you. I will destroy everyone around you.”
Marcel still didn’t acknowledge her. He didn’t even tense at the threat.
“Look at me, you son-of-a-bitch.”
He shifted his weight and slowly turned his head. In the sunlight, there were flecks of dark gold in the gray of his good eye.
“You are not as untouchable as you think you are.”
He tilted his head slightly. “No person is.” There was no threat to his tone, but Yvette couldn’t help but feel like it still was one.
“You’d better hope the Justices find you guilty. Their punishment will be swift, mine will not.” She may not be able to touch him, but there were more ways to kill a man than take his life. And Yvette knew every one of them.
They were the deity she worshipped.
Marcel grunted and turned away, raising a hand to a cab. It slowed, and he got in. Moving in short, stiff steps, easing himself down, balancing with his cane, until he could drop into the seat. His breath wheezed with the effort to shut the car door.
The cab sped away, leaving Yvette on the sidewalk, boiling in her rage.
6
“Will you stop.” Ben glared at Jacob.
Jacob stepped back. “I just wanted to help.”
“I can open my own door, thank you.” He searched his pockets. Then his expression crumbled, and he dropped his forehead to his door.
“Was your door key with your car keys?” Jacob was pretty sure he already knew the answer. And that meant Ben’s room key was at the bottom of the same lake as his car.
“I’ll get another from the super.”
“Or you could just stay in my room.”
“Jacob…”
“Sorry, sorry.” Jacob set Ben’s duffle bag by the door. There wasn’t much. His dirty clothes, the meds the hospital sent him home with, and a stack of rehab brochures.
Ben had wanted to toss them. Jacob had convinced him to wait until they were out of sight. He would never try getting high again, but when a person walked into a hospital OD’d, it was assumed it wasn’t their first time using.
Most of the time, they were right.
But like everything else about Ben, he didn’t have those kinds of scars in his life. Those kinds of mistakes. He’d made far better choices.
Ben sighed deep enough to lift and drop his shoulders. “It’s okay, it’s just…you act like I’m dying.”
Maybe because he almost had.
And that almost was another failure for Jacob to add to his ever-growing list. A tremor ran down his hands, and a fine sweat broke out over his skin, bringing with it a rush of trepidation on a wave of anxiety.
Jacob pushed back, but he wasn’t strong enough.
He was never strong enough.
The only way he’d ever beaten it in the past was because of Marcel.
“Hey.” Ben’s worried gaze skipped over Jacob’s face. “You okay?”
“Yeah, no…” Jacob laughed a little, but it wasn’t a happy sound. He took a breath, steadying his voice enough to hopefully shore up the lie. “Yes. I’m okay.” He even managed to smile.
Nothing about Ben’s expression changed. He watched Jacob so long he was sure he’d break. Then he glanced past him in the direction of the check-in office.
“I’m going to go see about another key.”
Jacob nodded again. “Okay.”
“You sure you’re—”
“Yes. I’m fine.” Or at least he would be. “I guess… I guess I’ll see you later then.” He opened his door and went inside. Jacob waited until Ben’s shadow swept over the curtain before getting his cell phone off the dresser. Four days away, he expected it to be dead. He woke it up, and it beeped a low battery warning. He called Marcel.
The phone rang.
It kept ringing.
Voice mail did not pick up.
There was no way he’d gotten the wrong number, but he hung up and called again, checking the digits as he pushed the send button.
Again, the phone rang.
Marcel always answered. If not on the first call, the second. Had something happened to him?
How many times did Marcel remind Jacob he was an old man? Age brought a lot of unfair things; sudden death was one of them.
Jacob had refused to believe Marcel was anything but invulnerable. Now he was forced to realize all the ways he wasn’t.
Jacob ended the call and stuffed his phone in his pocket as he headed to the door.
He opened it, and Ben stood there with a fist raised about to knock.
He dropped his hand. “The super said—”
“I think something’s wrong with Marcel. He isn’t answering his phone.” Jacob swallowed against the wavering, threatening his voice.
“He’s not there.”
“I don’t know. He always answers. He always—”
“No, I mean, he isn’t there.”
The words were slow to process. “He’s not there?”
“Yeah, he came by the hospital while you were asleep. He said he had to make a trip out of the country.”
Jacob blinked several times. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“He said he would leave you a voice mail.”
Jacob checked his phone. There it was, waiting for him to listen. He dialed it. One ring and the recording picked up. Jacob closed his eyes, waiting for Marcel’s powerful voice to shore him up, to hold him together.
“I must take a trip. It may be a week. It may be more. I will call you when I return.” The line clicked.
Jacob stared at the screen until it blanked out.
No explanation. No reason. No…emotion.
Jacob didn’t even have the feeling of safety walling him in.
He leaned against the doorjamb. “You should have told me.” Jacob didn’t know why he said it because it really wasn’t Ben’s fault. Marcel should have been the one.
He should have cared enough to tell Jacob himself.
“Sorry. I just didn’t—” Ben closed his mouth and dropped his gaze. He scuffed the concrete with his foot. “I didn’t want to.”
“What?”
Ben winced. “I didn’t want to. I didn’t… He said he would, so I didn’t.”
“Why?”
The look Ben gave Jacob said more than words ever could. And Jacob wanted to be angry, but he wasn’t.
He put his cell back in his pocket. “What did the super say?”
“Huh?”
“The super. You went to go ask about a key.”
“Oh. Um. He said it would take a couple days to have one duplicated. Every motel in this country is probably on a keycard system, and this place uses honest-to-god metal keys.” Ben switched the duffle bag to his other hand. A blush colored his cheeks. “I don’t suppose the offer is still open to stay the night?”
“Sure.” Jacob stepped back, and Ben followed him in. He slowed as he approached the bed, its still rumpled sheets, still stained with cum. Just when Jacob thought Ben was about to stop, he went to the other bed and set his duffle down on the mattress.
Jacob shut the door.
Ben fiddled with his bag. Every so often, he would toss a hesitant look in Jacob’s direction. Something close to shame shadowed his expression. But Jacob was pretty sure it wasn’t shame Ben felt for himself.
“You think I’m stupid, don’t you?”
Ben jerked his head up. “What?”
“You think I’m stupid. For caring about Marcel.”
“No.”
“Yes, you do.” Jacob sat across from Ben on the edge of the other bed.
“No.” This time Ben met Jacob’s gaze. The fierceness in his eyes said he spoke the truth. Or at least he believed what he said.
Which meant even more to Jacob.
Ben ran a hand through his hair, then unceremoniously shoved his duffle onto the floor and plopped down in the spot it had occupied. “I don’t think you’re stupid. I just think…” He scrubbed his face with both hands and rested his elbows on his knees. For a very long time, he stared at Jacob over the tips of his fingers. “I think you deserve more.”
Not better.
More.
Jacob picked at a wrinkle in the sheets. “Why do you think I want more?”
“Are you saying you don’t?”
Was he?
The cell phone sat like a chunk of lead in Jacob’s pocket. He took it out but wasn’t sure why until the screen blinked on, and he was stuck staring at the list of made and missed calls.
Only two numbers appeared. One after the other, some two or three times, others once. If he scrolled back months—years—those numbers would never change.
And none of those calls lasted very long. A minute, three, if Jacob called, if it was Marcel, he almost always said the same thing. The time and day for Jacob to be at his house.
Never hello.
Never, how was your day?
Never…
Never I love you.
Little things Jacob had never given value.
Because it hadn’t mattered before.
Before what?
He met Ben’s gaze.
More like before who?
And why would Ben change things?
And was it really Ben who’d changed them? Or had he simply disrupted the flow, forcing Jacob to grab for rocks in the river of Marcel sweeping him away?
Showing him there was land beyond the water’s edge. There might be opportunities. There might be chances Jacob had never considered taking because it had just been easier to drown.
Ben had asked Jacob if things had been different, would Jacob want to be with him?
No, that wasn’t what Ben had asked.
Would Jacob have wanted to date him?
A concept so foreign, the fact Jacob had never really dated, didn’t dawn on him until thinking back to the question.
Yes, no, maybe it didn’t matter since things weren’t different, Jacob hadn’t thought beyond the moment.
He hadn’t even thought beyond the question.
Things might not have been different, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t be.
Because Jacob could make them different.
“Do you think when you feel better, you’d be up to going…you know, out? Like on a date?”
Confusion creased Ben’s expression. “A date?”
“Yeah.”
For a long moment there was only silence between them, and the normal sounds of people sharing a building separated by thin walls, then the corner of Ben’s mouth curled up. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Jacob was sure he would too.
For the fourth time in a week, temperatures were closer to spring than winter. An event that wasn’t too uncommon in the south.
For the first time in Sam’s life, he was actually grateful for it. Because it meant he and Roshan could take the long way home.
And the long way home meant a trip to the pond where he’d catch frogs and Roshan would watch. They’d both be late, but the risk of a B on Sam’s next test was worth it.
Hell, even a C would have been worth it.
Who needed advanced biology anyhow? He was a ninth-grader. He had three years to worry about senior-level classes.
Until then?
Sam slid his backpack off on the high part of the hill. Roshan set his books down next to him and slipped off one of his shoes.
“What are you doing?”
Roshan smiled, and Sam was pretty sure something in his chest caught fire.
Or at least suffered a short.
“I’m going to help you.” Roshan shrugged. “I mean, if you don’t mind?”
“You sure?”
Roshan had barely gotten close enough to the water to step in the mud. Now he wanted to wade in.
“Yeah.”
“What about your…” His clothes. Those soft pretty colored Kurta pajamas he wore. But today Roshan wore jeans instead of the airy material.
How had Sam not noticed that?
Roshan followed Sam’s gaze. “My uncle gave them to me.”
And like an idiot, all Sam could do was blink.
“I told him about the pond, and he said I should wear jeans: they were easier to clean.”
“He didn’t mind?”
“No.”
“But I thought your parents would be mad?”
“And I don’t live with them.”
No, he lived with his grandparents for reasons Sam shoved out of his mind.
“Okay.” Sam took off his shoes and socks and started down the hill. Roshan did the same, then followed him with tentative steps, testing the ground. Close to the bank, his toes sank into the marshy earth with a loud squelch.
He made a face, some cross between horror and surprise.
Sam burst out laughing.
“It’s squishy,” Roshan said like an expl
anation, “and cold.” He took another step, and it resulted in an equally loud squish of mud.
Then his foot jerked forward, and he slid. Roshan flailed his arms in an attempt to keep his balance.
Sam grabbed his elbow.
Roshan locked his hold onto Sam’s shoulder, and Sam had to dig his feet into the slop to keep from sliding himself. “It’s slippery, so dig your toes into the ground.”
Roshan went from staring at his muddy feet to looking at Sam.
“Huh?”
“Your toes.” Sam opened and closed his, causing the mud to squirt from between his toes.
Roshan snorted a laugh, and Sam wound up laughing too. Then Roshan lost his balance again, toppling forward right against Sam’s chest.
Sam skidded, nearly taking them both to the ground before he was able to lock his toes onto roots and reeds trapped in the muck.
“Sorry.” Roshan’s apology ghosted Sam’s lips.
“It’s okay.” He levered Roshan back, and he got his balance again. But for some reason, even when he was upright, Sam didn’t let go. “Remember, toes.”
Even as Sam said it, he wasn’t sure he could have told Roshan where toes were exactly. No, there was only Roshan’s chiseled features, his rich golden skin, his full lips.
“Maybe I should just sit on the dock and watch.”
Sam jerked his attention off of Roshan’s mouth. “I’ll sit with you.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” Catching creatures would be nothing compared to sitting there with Roshan.
He took a step back.
“You got it?” Sam didn’t really want to let him go.
“Yeah, I think so.”
The dock was only a couple yards away. And the ground leveled out, dropping off steep before reaching the water.
Which was why Sam took the hill down. It beat jumping off a four-foot drop and sinking up to your knees. Sam turned, but instead of walking, Roshan leaned forward, pressing his lips to Sam’s
And they were just as soft as Sam had imagined.
No, softer. And when Roshan pulled away, the bit of spice permeating his skin left behind a warm tingle.
Sam touched his mouth because it didn’t subside. Then again, maybe it was in his mind.
Roshan’s cheeks pinked. Then his smile fell along with the blush. “I’m sorry. I thought…” Real worry filled his eyes.
SICARII: Part III Page 10
