by R. Cayden
But the men, apparently, didn’t care about Lawrence’s requests. He was supposed to be their payload, some rich kid in weird fashion who wouldn’t put up a fight, but the treasure chest was empty. And so the man shook Lawrence, and shook him again, and again, until Lawrence finally emptied his stomach all over the three of them.
Blech.
A fist slammed across his cheek; then another pounded into his side. Lawrence grunted, then wheezed with pain, his breath drawn tight. He felt a thud against his back and fell to the pavement, concrete scraping him like fire.
Fear and anger swirled like the night. He scolded himself, insisted that this was what he deserved. He wasn’t good for anything more than what was in his wallet anyway, and without that, he might as well take a boot to his back.
A minute passed. Two. Lawrence pushed his face off the pavement, saw that the men had left, and then dry heaved a little more. He found his wallet and the contents strewn across the sidewalk, and he did his best to wipe the vomit off of himself with some leaves.
Everything hurt, but he kicked himself in the ass and stumbled home as fast as he could manage anyway.
He loved that shirt, and gutter water and blood could really ruin satin.
“You can’t keep having these things happen, Lawrence,” Mayer said, clearly alarmed. She was holding her Bloody Mary in the air, a piece of celery sticking to the side. In a yellow dress and with a thin floral necklace hanging across her chest, she should have looked bright and happy, but her peachy face was scrunched with concern.
“Stop scowling at me,” Lawrence grumbled, pushing his French toast around the plate. “It’s bad for my hangover.”
“She’s right,” Tyler added. “If I don’t hear from you on Monday, I’m always convinced you got yourself killed over the weekend.”
One of Tyler’s arms was slung over his boyfriend Derrick’s shoulders, and Derrick nodded along. They both wore the same denim shirt, buttoned up to the neck, although Tyler had paired his with thin purple suspenders, and Derrick had pinned on a big purple clematis.
“It’s true,” Derrick affirmed. “And we all remember the time you disappeared for two days with that strange man on his boat.”
The waiter appeared to refill their coffees, and Lawrence sat there, fuming to himself in silence. Sure, going on a boat with a total stranger had been a questionable idea, but the man hadn’t actually wanted anything more than lots of sex, which happened to be the exact thing Lawrence was also looking for. He became a bit indignant about it, and once the waiter wandered away, he angrily shook a little packet of creamer at his friends.
“You know, it’s not my damn fault I got mugged again last night. A person should be allowed to walk down the street, or get on a boat, or do any other damn thing without getting attacked.”
“Absolutely,” Mayer agreed, wagging a piece of bacon back at him. “And we certainly love our darling Lawrence, swinging from the chandeliers and making everyone laugh. But the fact is, lately, you haven’t been very successful walking down the street, or dancing at the club, or doing just about any other thing without getting yourself into trouble.”
“Except the boat!” Derrick chirped up. “Lawrence is right. The boat sounded like it was a great experience.”
“Thank you, Derrick,” Lawrence said with a smug smile, then kissed the back of his friend’s hand.
“Don’t try to distract us with flattery,” Tyler said. “This is serious! You’ve been mugged five times this year, Lawrence.”
It was six, but Lawrence wasn’t about to correct. “I only remember four,” he answered.
He pulled himself up in the chair, then took in a deep breath. Fresh Eggs, their favorite brunch spot, was filled as usual for a weekend, with twenty-somethings in carefully selected spring fashion, but the group had a standing reservation at a little table in the back every Sunday where they could talk more easily. He reminded himself that, more often than not, the advice his friends tried to push on him ended up being correct, although he was quite often loathe to admit it.
“So what?” he asked. “You think I should party less?”
“No,” Mayer answered. “We think you should get a bodyguard.”
Lawrence almost choked on his coffee. He checked his lilac-printed T-shirt to make sure he hadn’t spilled anything, then shook his head. “A bodyguard? Seriously? Like I’m going to walk around all night with some man looking over my shoulder? How would I even do that? Would he be there when I was dancing? Would he be there when I snuck off into the bathroom for a little treat? Or when I found some hottie to drag back to my condo?” He snorted, then smeared syrup across the plate with a bite of French toast, impaled on his fork. “How embarrassing. No way.”
“Lawrence, beautiful,” Tyler cooed. “Come on. You’re thinking about this all wrong. What type of people have nightlife security? Only like, major pop stars, young royalty, daughters of presidents and prime ministers.”
“You’ll look mysterious and impossibly cool,” Derrick added.
“And maybe they’ll stop you from waking up in a literal dumpster every morning.”
“Once,” Lawrence hissed. “And it was filled with cardboard and packing peanuts, not like, eggshells and coffee grounds.”
“We all know what it was filled with, darling,” Tyler said lightly. “But it was still a dumpster.”
Lawrence frowned. He took a drink from his Bloody Mary, then a drink from his coffee, then a drink from his orange juice, and then a drink from his ice water.
At twenty-three years old, he really would rather not need a damn babysitter. But for as much as he loved availing himself of the many rare pleasures that came through New York City nightlife, he had to admit, he’d been winding up in the dumpster a lot more often than the boat lately.
What did it matter, anyway? It wasn’t like Lawrence had much else going on. His father was mega-wealthy, and now that Lawrence was done with school, he had stumbled into a new career that consisted entirely of going to family dinner once every other week. In exchange for his muted presence, Lawrence’s miserable family would continue to provide him with a generous trust fund and a sham job at his father’s corporation, and Lawrence would be able to keep living his “preferred lifestyle,” as his grandmother so eloquently referred to it, all implications intended.
He wasn’t a political celebrity or a silver screen star. In fact, Little League baseball umpires had more power and authority than Lawrence did. But would it really hurt, if he had a bodyguard standing fifteen feet away?
Maybe, if he’d had someone around the night before, his face wouldn’t be so scratched up right then, and there wouldn’t be a boot print-shaped bruise on his back.
“Fine,” Lawrence sighed. “You win again. I’ll hire a bodyguard.”
Tyler, Derrick, and Mayer cheered, and almost immediately, the gossip moved on to the next topic. Stories and jokes flying, Lawrence leaned back in his chair.
He could be a mess sometimes, but at least his friends kept him from falling apart.
Raiden
Raiden only knew one way to really keep himself from falling apart, and that was to punch the hell out of something.
He came at the punching bag with a double jab, then another, followed by a right hook. He started throwing crosses, then went to pounding wildly with right and left hooks while bouncing from side to side. His muscles burned until they sang, and the adrenaline surging through his veins washed away his frustrations until there was only the fight left. He threw a few last jabs, then fell against the punching bag with a gasp, swinging with its weight.
“There you go,” Declan barked. They were in a workout area he had set up in the back of his business, Kaiser Security. “You feeling better?”
Raiden grunted, then pushed the punching bag away. “A little bit.” He landed a few more blows, then stuck out his hand to accept the water Declan offered. The older man had opened the business about a year earlier, and Raiden was a new recruit, still learning
some of the basics. He was eager to pick some things up, though and not just because Declan looked intimidating as fuck with his wave of silver hair and faded tattoos.
Raiden gulped the water, then went to pulling off his hand wraps. Declan had only given him a couple jobs, easy gigs at a few small concerts. Still, Raiden had been feeling cocky about how good he was at the security game, considering his previous career experience had more to do with grand theft auto. But then he’d picked up another weekend gig, this time standing by the front door at a dinner party for stuck-up assholes. He was supposed to spend the whole evening just chilling outside this big brick mansion while SUVs rolled up and dropped off people who ignored him.
Kaiser Security had rented him a tux and everything.
The job should have been cake, but then some spoiled teen had noticed the flames tattooed on his wrist and started asking him annoying questions, making Raiden’s eye twitch.
Are you a pyromaniac? Don’t you wish you were inside the party instead of standing out here like a loser? You think you’re tough, don’t you? But you look like a big dumb dog in that tux.
And then the brat had started poking Raiden, right in the chest, and his vision had turned red.
As far as Raiden was concerned, he should have gotten a medal for not laying the jackass out flat right there. The sneer in his voice alone was obnoxious enough to warrant it. Instead, he’d managed to hold his shit together. He just gritted his teeth until the kid went back inside, and then, about two seconds later, he finally lost it. He kicked the brick wall as hard as he could, and when he kicked it again, the pain that jolted up his leg sent him over the edge, and Raiden roared and cursed a storm loud enough to disturb the host’s birthday toast over the dinner table.
“Raiden, you still with me, buddy?” Declan asked, snapping his fingers in Raiden’s face.
“Sorry. Just catching my breath.”
Declan patted him on the back, and the two started walking to the front of the business. There were a few offices set up and a big conference room, all professional-looking with glass walls and a few potted plants. Declan gestured into his office, a big room with a black leather couch and a squat oak desk and with maps pinned all over the wall.
“Take a seat,” Declan said, gesturing to the couch. “Just try not to get it too sweaty.”
Raiden sat on the edge of the cushion and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “If you’re going to fire me for the dinner party, why’d you make me work out first?”
“I’m not going to fire you,” Declan grunted as he sat at his desk. “You’re good at this, when you can keep your temper under control. And you’re my nephew’s best friend. You know that means something to me, Raiden.”
“I know,” Raiden said with a nod. Gray had started working for Declan first, but he fell in love with his client, and the two of them ran away together. They were off on a romantic adventure and didn’t seem like they’d be back anytime soon. “And thanks for giving me and Horatio the work.”
Declan grunted. “It’s like I told Gray. The three of you were on a fast track to getting yourselves in some serious trouble. You might convince yourself that you’re stealing from the bad people, but it doesn’t do the world any good if Robin Hood just ends up in jail.”
Raiden nodded. He’d heard the lectures from Declan a few times already, and anyway, since Gray had taken off, he and Horatio had been a couple of loose cannons. They weren’t getting shit done, and the money with Kaiser Security was solid and steady. “I hear you, Declan. I hear you. Any idea if you’ll have more work from me?”
“As a matter of fact, I got a gig that might be perfect. I was thinking about it after the dinner party. Not every job requires the same kind of guard, you know?” He tugged open the desk drawer, then rummaged around inside for a second before pulling out an envelope and tossing it to Raiden. “What do you think of Manhattan?”
“Manhattan?” Raiden opened the envelope and pulled out a contract for a security gig. “Who needs protecting in Manhattan?” His mind lit up with ideas. Gray had watched over a celebrity, and that seemed pretty cool, but everyone from the Yakuza to the NBA had offices in Manhattan. And Declan was such a badass. Gray felt kind of flattered that the older man needed him for a special gig.
“Protecting might be a strong word,” Declan said with a chuckle.
Raiden scanned the document, catching clauses about nightclubs, alcohol consumption, and keeping a proper distance from a dance floor. “Wait, what the hell is this?”
“You know how some people just can’t hold their liquor? Well, Lawrence here needs someone to follow him around to all the gay clubs and make sure he doesn’t pass out in the wrong alley, so to speak.”
Raiden blinked. His heart had finally stopped racing from the workout, and his brain slowly processed what Declan was saying. “You want me to babysit some spoiled kid?”
Declan started to laugh, a chuckle rumbling out of his chest. Raiden sat there for a solid minute, frowning while the older man chuckled at him with tears in his eyes. When he finally finished, he slapped the desk, then sighed happily, as though he’d just told himself a really good joke. “What do you say? You up for it? We’ve got a small apartment you can use, and you’ll have your days to yourself. It’s not going to be exciting. Don’t think you’ll have any high speed car chases or gunfights. But if you can keep your cool and manage to go six months without losing your temper, I’ll put someone else on the case and bring you back into the big boy jobs.”
Raiden grunted. He felt like he was being punished, which he kind of was. And easy as it was for Declan to say, for Raiden, keeping his cool and not losing his temper was a lot more challenging.
He hadn’t always been a fighter, not exactly. It began when he was fourteen, and his mother started dating a new man who liked to push Raiden around, which didn’t seem to bother her. Raiden surprised even himself, though, when he hit a major growth spurt at fifteen and started fighting back, transforming in one summer from the scraggly and awkward gay kid into a pissed-off block of muscles. After that, it was like everywhere he went, someone wanted a piece of him, from the assholes at school who had a problem with him being gay to the bully at his first job, just begging for a fight after their shifts at the warehouse ended.
So Raiden had turned into a fighter, and he was damn good at it, too. By the time he was in his mid-twenties, he had trouble holding down a steady job, and on his bad nights, he’d go wandering the bars, just looking for a good fight to make him feel alive again. Until Gray had come around, in fact, that was about the only life Raiden knew.
Figured that Gray’s uncle would be the one to make him go straight.
“All right,” he answered Declan, then slid the contract back into the envelope. “I guess I’m your man.”
Lawrence
Lawrence realized that he had a lot of bad habits and addictive behaviors, but more than any of the others, he really needed to get his nervous drinking under control. Because the second Lawrence saw a hot man, he was absolutely overcome by an irresistible urge to swallow something.
“Vodka tonic,” he told the bartender, then turned to Raiden. “For you?”
“You got a pilsner?” His voice came out with a low rumble that made Lawrence quiver.
“Actually,” Lawrence called after the bartender, “make mine a double, please.”
Lawrence had an active and steady sex life. Hookups came along with his other hobbies, drinking and dancing, and while he rarely explored anything that lasted longer than a week or two, he had spent time with just about every type of guy he could imagine. It was like a game to him, another thing to keep him occupied and to numb his brain as the days passed by.
That’s how he knew that men like Raiden were rare. Because most men came and went before Lawrence bothered to learn their names, but for some reason, every fiber of his being reacted to his new bodyguard’s presence.
Raiden was tall, and there was a solid heft to his body, somethin
g Lawrence definitely appreciated. He was wearing a nondescript black shirt and a light gray jacket, probably selected to blend into the crowd as he watched over Lawrence, but his sleeves were rolled up, and Lawrence’s eyes trailed over the bright tattoos that crawled over his arm, flames and flowers and knives. His skin was a rich, beautiful brown, and when Lawrence glanced back up, Raiden’s brow cut a strong line above his eyes.
He looked weathered, like he’d seen some things, but it didn’t turn Lawrence away. It just made him want to reach out and coax something else from the man, and instantly, Lawrence decided it was his responsibility to show Raiden a good time while he was under Lawrence’s employment.
The bartender turned back with the drinks, and Lawrence shook his head, surprised by the strange feeling that he quickly chased away. As they found their seats at the bar, he took a large drink from his vodka, then another.
“Tell me about your typical night,” Raiden asked as he took his seat. “The contract was clear about my responsibilities, but I’d like to hear it from you.”
“Sure, let’s see. I usually start off with some dancing and take it from there. Is that what you mean?” Lawrence licked his tongue across his bottom lip and considered how hard to flirt. He didn’t want to have to hire a new bodyguard every few weeks, but then again, better to know now if Raiden could handle his personality.
Raiden narrowed his eyes. “I’m sure you’re not paying all this money so that I’ll sit around and watch you dancing, though.”
Lawrence laughed, although having Raiden watch him dance did sound pretty nice. “I’ve been mugged quite a few times, usually on the way home,” he explained. “I guess it will be easy to tell when that’s happening. I think all the information about that was in the intake form I filled out?”
Raiden nodded. “It was. And I’ll fight off any trouble. That’s easy. Kaiser Security will do follow-up that’s needed with local authorities, businesses, that kind of thing.”
