by R. Cayden
And just like every night for the past weeks, he was only a second away from kissing the hot stranger when his attention wandered, and he turned his eyes to Raiden, glaring from the other side of the room.
Sighing, Lawrence gently pushed the man away. “Sorry,” he shouted over the music. “Not interested.”
What did it mean, that Lawrence suddenly got more of a thrill from watching his bodyguard staring at him than he did from pressing close to an actual warm body? Because outside of that Dixon guy he had run into on the street, no one had aroused Lawrence’s interest lately. Things had only gotten more intense since Raiden fought off the men who tried to jump Lawrence, and the idea of parting ways with his bodyguard, and maybe finding security who didn’t give him an instant erection, was somehow even worse than the possibility of keeping him employed and spending the months ahead trapped in permanent sexual frustration.
Lawrence rubbed his hand up his bare chest and went back to staring at Raiden. He tweaked his nipple until it was hard, then turned in a slow circle, swaying his hips and bouncing his butt.
And still, all Raiden did was stare, his eyes like two white-hot coals across the club.
Lawrence jumped off his podium, then pushed his way through the crowd. He’d been sweating bullets and needed a water and a cocktail to recover, but when he spotted the line at the bar, he pivoted toward the exit instead and slammed the door open to a back alley.
“If it isn’t Lawrence.”
The man from the walk, Dixon, stood in the dim light. Just like the last couple of times, he had on a slim-fitting suit—this evening it was black with a black collared shirt underneath. He stood perfectly straight, his phone dangling from one hand and a casual, confident smile pulling up his lips.
Lawrence glanced around, then rubbed his eyes. “Did I take some drug that I forgot about? What the hell are you doing here?”
Dixon frowned. “I could ask the same of you.”
Fishing in his jacket, Lawrence pulled out a joint. “I came out for a refreshment. The line at the bar was too long for my liking.” He didn’t say the other part: that he was intentionally trying to give his bodyguard a hard time. Although knowing that Raiden was likely rushing around inside, searching desperately for him, did give Lawrence a naughty thrill.
Dixon materialized a Zippo lighter, then extended it Lawrence’s way with a flick. “Fortune favors us, I suppose.”
Lawrence sucked in the sweet smoke, then exhaled to the side. “If fortune favored me, you would have ended up in my bed the other weekend.”
Laughing, Dixon shoved the lighter back in his pocket. “So you say.” Lawrence offered the joint, but he shook his head. “Just the occasional cocktail or beer for me, thanks.”
Lawrence shrugged, then went back to smoking. He eyed Dixon, studying his tight beard and the refined, poised way he held himself. He was reminded of the people he went to boarding school with, but Dixon was different somehow, too. Like there was something real about him, beneath the polished surface.
“I’d ask you to get me a cocktail,” Lawrence pouted, “but I’m worried you would disappear again.”
Dixon gestured to the alley. “And break the magic of this moment? How could I? The bricks walls and the stale air, the muddy puddles on the concrete and the scuttering noises I hear from the trash? It’s all just too perfect a picture, don’t you think?”
Lawrence stepped forward, then tugged lightly on Dixon’s jacket. “So then what are you doing out here, huh?”
“Just praying I would run into you again,” he teased with a wink.
After craving a distraction from Raiden all night, Lawrence wasn’t about to let an opportunity pass by. He tugged Dixon forward, catching him off guard, then smashed their lips together for a kiss. It was electric, like the pleasurable burn of Dixon’s beard on his skin. And for one heartbeat, then two, Dixon kissed right back, groaning softly as their bodies wriggled close.
Dixon tore his lips away, then stumbled back. “Fuck,” he gasped. “I’m really not supposed to do that.”
“Supposed to?” Lawrence pouted. The kiss had lit him alive with desire, and he stepped forward again, eager for more, the joint still burning between his fingers. “You’re a grown man. You can do whatever the hell you want.”
That, Lawrence realized later, was the moment it all fell apart. He perked up on his toes, eager to taste Dixon again, and at that moment, the burning end of his joint hit the tender spot between Lawrence’s fingers. He yelped, startled, and jerked his arm, sending his open hand flying straight at Dixon’s face. At the same moment, the door to the alley swung open with a bang.
Dixon effortlessly caught Lawrence by the wrist, his grip firm and gentle. Before Lawrence could turn to the door, though, the world flipped upside down. Something pushed him from behind, sending him to the side, and when he looked up, Raiden had Dixon thrown up against the brick wall.
“Raiden!” Lawrence yelped.
“My friend, I fear there must be some misunderstanding,” Dixon said quickly, then spun, taking Raiden by the arm and pivoting to toss him against the wall instead. “I prefer this position.”
Raiden roared and kicked himself off the wall, knocking both of them to the concrete. All of Lawrence’s muscles tightened into one big knot as he watched, trying to sputter out some explanation, anything to make them stop. There was a rage in Raiden’s eyes that shook him, and Dixon’s glare carried a heavy threat with it. The two men scrambled to their feet, and instantly, Raiden plowed ahead again, throwing punches that Dixon dodged by swerving and ducking as he danced backward.
Lawrence was dizzy and confused. He couldn’t believe what he was staring at.
Were they fighting over him?
“Raiden!” he called out again. “Stop!”
Raiden turned, his eyes wide as he met Lawrence’s gaze, and in that brief moment, Dixon dropped to his knee and kicked the back of Raiden’s legs, knocking him down.
Raiden landed on his back with a grunt. “I’ll fucking kill you!” he roared, then jumped to his feet, but Lawrence managed to throw himself between the men before he could make another move.
“Wait,” he gasped. “It’s not what it looked like! He wasn’t hurting me!”
Raiden stood in a fighter’s pose, his brow tightened as he shifted his weight from side to side. The light behind him cast a shadow over the alley, and Lawrence could see the fire in his expression. On Lawrence’s other side, Dixon straightened his suit and brushed dirt off his pants, inspecting himself so casually it was like nothing had happened at all.
“What the hell is this guy doing shoving you around in an alley, then?”
Dixon frowned, then popped his wrists out of his jacket sleeves. “Maybe the better question is what the hell are you doing shoving me around in an alley? This suit is Tom Ford, you know.”
Raiden growled low.
“It’s my fault,” Lawrence said quickly. “I was smoking a joint, and I guess I was trying to flirt, but then I burned myself. He was just catching my hand before I hit him in the face—it’s really fine!” He turned, then laid his hand on Dixon’s arm. “I met him last week. His name is Dixon.”
Raiden snarled, burning his gaze straight into Dixon’s eyes. He didn’t look calmed down. In fact, he looked angrier, as though Lawrence flirting with Dixon made him jealous in a way all the strangers on the dance floor didn’t.
“If only Lawrence here had someone to look out for him,” Dixon said dryly, shooting Raiden a stink eye back. “God knows what will happen to him when he’s out wandering the city, all alone.”
Raiden threatened Dixon by lunging forward, still glaring. “God knows what could happen to you after my fist wanders all over your face.”
“As lovely as this alley soiree is,” Dixon answered quickly, “I know when it’s time to make my exit.” He nodded to Raiden, then to Lawrence. “Gentlemen.”
“Wait,” Lawrence said. “You don’t have to leave.” An idea started forming, taking
shape in a cloud of weed smoke and confusion. “Let me make it up to you first. To both of you.”
Raiden and Dixon turned. They both raised an eyebrow at the same time, which almost made Lawrence giggle. “What are you talking about?” Raiden asked, his voice lighter as he addressed Lawrence directly.
“It’s my fault that this happened in the first place. I knew you would be looking for me, Raiden, and I’m the one that almost hit Dixon. I got you both in this situation. Let’s get out of here. I’ll buy a round to smooth it over.”
“What?” Raiden asked, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m not going to—”
“I’d be delighted!” Dixon answered brightly. “A very nice offer, Lawrence. This is all just a misunderstanding, as you say, and nothing like a friendly cocktail to get past a misunderstanding.”
Raiden looked as though someone had just grabbed his lunch out of his hands and thrown it on the ground. “You want me to go out for drinks with him?”
Lawrence shrugged his shoulders. Raiden had just come bursting to his rescue again, and it felt good to have someone protecting him, but he couldn’t stop himself from pushing his bodyguard’s buttons, too. All of his usual flirtations were falling flat, and for some reason, Dixon seemed to provoke something out of Raiden. “I suppose you could call it a night, if you don’t want to join us.”
Raiden’s jaw tightened. He looked back and forth between Lawrence and Dixon like he was trying to solve an equation, then rubbed the heel of his palm against his forehead.
“Fine,” he said. “It’s not like I’ve got anything else going on.”
CASH
At a quiet basement cocktail bar down the street, Cash should have been pumping Lawrence for information. This gig and Reed’s resources provided his best shot yet at infiltrating Horizon Zed, but Cash, uncharacteristically, felt like drawing things out a little longer instead.
Maybe he had left himself get a little too lonely. Outside of other mercenaries like Fox, he didn’t really have any friends to speak of. It came with the territory. When you devoted your life to seeking impossible justice, there wasn’t really a lot of spare time for chitchat.
But sitting in the big red booth at the back of the bar, one dim lamp hanging above them, Cash realized he was actually enjoying himself. There was something kind of hot about the way Raiden and Lawrence kept glancing at each other, with Lawrence slowly scooting across the booth and Raiden shoving his big body further and further into the corner, even as he draped his arm over the back of the seat, right above Lawrence’s shoulders.
Or maybe he just needed to get laid more often. That was entirely possible too, considering how desperate he was to get right in the middle of those two men.
The waitress arrived with their drinks: a tall beer for Raiden, a vodka tonic for Lawrence, and a Manhattan for Cash. Lawrence slipped her a couple of bills, then raised his glass in the air. “To an evening without any black eyes,” he said cheerfully.
Cash snorted. Raiden threw a serious fucking punch, and he came far too close for comfort to smashing Cash’s nose. But he ignored his aching back, and the bruises the concrete surely left, and raised his glass anyway. “No black eyes,” he agreed with a smile. “Just sparkling smiles for you, sweetheart.”
Raiden tensed with a growl when he called Lawrence a sweetheart but raised his own glass anyway. Cash straightened his back, ready to flirt with Lawrence a bit more, if only just to keep antagonizing the bodyguard. But then he remembered the research he’d pulled on the guy, and his sympathies kicked back into gear.
“You from around here, Raiden?” he asked, knowing damn well the answer.
“Pennsylvania. Why do you ask?”
“Just small talk,” Cash answered. “You know, favorite movies? Childhood pets? That sort of thing.”
“Legally Blonde and a beagle named Roxanne,” Lawrence chimed in.
“North by Northwest and a cat named Elma,” Cash replied, and they both turned to Raiden.
He took a drink of his beer. “Charlie’s Angels,” he said flatly. “And a bunch of hamsters.”
“See?” Cash teased. “That’s not so hard.” Cash had even given his honest answer, as he found he tended to do when talking to Lawrence. Sure, it felt a little odd to use a fake name and lie about his purpose, but something urged him to be as honest as possible anyway. “And Charlie’s Angels, hey? You looking to join an elite private force? With a punch like yours, you could probably pull it off.”
“Who says I’m not already part of an elite private force?”
That wouldn’t actually characterize Raiden and his friends, considering they didn’t get beyond robbing local criminals and corrupt, minor politicians. But then again, Cash fancied himself a bit of a hero sometimes, so he wasn’t one to judge.
“Raiden is a member of Kaiser Security,” Lawrence said with some pride, resting his hand on his bodyguard’s bicep.
Cash felt a pang of jealousy at their touch, which he shook away. “A family company?” he asked. “Are you one of the Kaisers?”
“Not exactly,” Raiden answered. “My father died years ago. But Kaiser treats each other like family, in our own way.”
“Sorry about your father,” Cash said quickly, scolding himself for having missed that information.
“Like I said, years ago,” Raiden answered. “And we didn’t come here to talk about my father’s heart attack, or the shitty town I grew up in.”
“To moving on,” Cash said, raising the glass again. “Now if you’ll excuse me for just a moment…”
He exited the booth and hurried to the bathroom, his head spinning. Although he’d missed the information about Raiden’s father dying in his research, he hadn’t missed what town the guy grew up in. It wasn’t very different than his own hometown, with a factory owned by a Horizon Zed subsidiary right in the center and environmental pollution up the wazoo.
Cash locked the small bathroom door behind him and tried to gather himself. He’d been seeing Raiden as a foil, someone he could play with while he got closer to Lawrence. The bodyguard seemed to be only a minor adversary, at best. But, Cash wondered, did Raiden understand that Horizon Zed was most likely responsible for his father’s heart attack? Many people wouldn’t link the particulate matter in the air from that factory to a heart condition, but Cash knew better, and he knew the corporation went above and beyond to break the regulations meant to prevent such a thing.
Cash was well aware who he should blame for the death of his own parents. What did it mean if Raiden had faced the same loss?
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he frowned when he saw the name that popped up, “Grumpy No-Fun.”
“Hello, Reed,” he said, his voice loud in the tiny bathroom. “So lovely to hear from you this evening.”
“Cut the crap, Cash. You got anything for me on this job yet?”
“I told you, I’m spinning my web. It takes a little time to do these things right.”
Reed snorted. “I hired you because you’re fast, Cash, not because I like your style. The money behind this job is getting impatient. Got it?”
Cash sat back on the edge of the sink. He didn’t trust Reed, not at all, and he certainly wasn’t going to hand Lawrence over to him, not now that his affections were growing. “Next week,” he said. “Or maybe the next. I’ll deliver my first full report straight to your office, I promise.”
“Fast, Cash,” Reed barked. “Or else I’m pulling the trigger.”
The phone went dead. Cash sighed, then turned to the mirror to fix his hair. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another,” he muttered, then returned to the bar.
When he approached the table, Lawrence was bouncing in his seat and waving his hand in the air as he explained something to Raiden. Cash could tell that Raiden was trying to swallow a grin as he listened. The bodyguard had a damn good poker face for the most part, but considering how cute and pretty Lawrence looked when he was excited, Cash understood how it might be hard to keep things profes
sional.
“What did I miss?” he asked, returning to his drink.
“I’m just complaining about my family,” Lawrence answered. “There’s a family dinner coming up that I’ll be forced to attend.”
Cash straightened in his seat. “Is that so?”
“It’s no big deal,” he answered. “I usually just sit there quietly while my father’s guests ramble on about corporate politics.”
It was like Cash smelled blood, the way his whole body came alive at that information. “Corporate politics,” he said. “Oh my…”
“I wish I could bring a bodyguard,” Lawrence laughed, glancing up at Raiden. “But I don’t think boring conversation counts as a legitimate threat.”
“How about a date then?” Cash asked. “A dinner companion is allowed, yes?”
“What?” Raiden asked sharply.
Lawrence pursed his lips together in thought. “I haven’t thought about bringing a date in years.”
“And you’re a total stranger,” Raiden objected. “Lawrence doesn’t need to drag a total stranger to family dinner.”
“Tsk, tsk,” Cash objected, waggling his finger at Raiden just to annoy him. “I’m a wonderful dinner companion and quite respectable for parents, too. It sounds fun, and if it means I get another night with this beauty…” He winked at Lawrence. “Up for a little adventure?”
Lawrence considered it, then nodded. “Fuck it,” he laughed. “Why not?”
Raiden looked like he was about to lose his shit. Instead, he tightened his lips, then threw back the rest of his beer. “Just perfect,” he muttered to himself.
In another world, Cash would have felt bad for the guy. It was so obvious he had feelings for Lawrence. But despite developing a new sense of camaraderie, now that Cash knew what Raiden had lost to Horizon Zed, he felt even more determined to charge ahead.
After all, it wasn’t just his own family he was fighting for. It was Raiden’s family, too, and a million other families he didn’t even know. He was fighting for all of them, and if that meant spending a little more time with charming, pouty Lawrence, all the better.
