by Lynn Lorenz
All in all, Mitchell could see what had drawn Sammi to Donovan. His wealth must have seemed like heaven to Sammi, who’d had so little. Donovan was clearly worldly and seductive, and that must have appealed to Sammi. And the man oozed power. Sammi had been a moth to a bright light in the darkness.
How hadn’t Sammi seen the monster hidden beneath? Sammi was so young and in his own way, innocent. No, more naïve.
But Donovan couldn’t hide the hardness of his expression and coldness of his eyes from Mitchell. Mitchell could see the calculations Donovan made as the tightness around his mouth grew tighter and his cheeks tinted with the barest touch of pink.
Donovan was a very dangerous man. And he was very pissed.
“Sammi. Sweetheart. I’m so glad you’ve returned, although I’m not happy that I had to waste so much time and effort to find you.” He approached Sammi, almost in a glide, and faced him.
Sammi didn’t move a muscle, just stood still as Donovan stepped up, casting a shadow over Sammi’s smaller body. Until Donovan had stood next to Sammi, Mitchell hadn’t realized how big the man was. He wasn’t bulky, but tall, and filled in, not lanky, somewhere between Mitchell and, say, Brian.
Mitchell might have beaten Donovan in a fist fight, maybe, but Sammi, unless he knew karate or something like that, would have been outsized and outweighed against Donovan. And neither he nor Sammi could stand up against Moretti and his gun, so fighting their way out of this wasn’t an option. Mitchell doubted the odds had been any better for Sammi before he ran away.
Reaching out a finger, Donovan stroked Sammi’s cheek. Mitchell’s abs clenched as he watched Donovan touch Sammi. He fought the urge to strike out and knock his hand from Sammi.
Donovan swung around and faced Mitchell, his frown no longer restrained.
“As for you, Mr. Collins, I’m very unhappy with you. I asked for Sammi’s return and you denied me. I don’t like being denied what’s mine.”
Somehow Mitchell’s tongue unglued.
“You talk like you have some sort of right to Sammi. He’s not your property to buy and sell. He doesn’t want to stay with you any longer, don’t you get it?”
Moretti moved to Mitchell’s side, but the gun was holstered. He didn’t stand a chance against all three men, because Bert still lounged near the elevators.
Donovan laughed. “I see Sammi has been up to his old tricks, haven’t you, sweetheart?” He walked behind Sammi. Reaching over Sammi’s shoulder, Donovan cupped Sammi’s chin. “That was very naughty of you.” He ran his tongue over Sammi’s cheek, his cold stare leveled at Mitchell. “I suppose you met in a bar. That’s usually where Sammi picks up his marks.”
Mitchell flicked his gaze to Sammi.
Donovan smiled. “Yes, well. Then, he told you what you wanted to do to him and I’m sure you wanted to do many things to my little Sammi.” Another caress of his hand on Sammi’s cheek. Mitchell couldn’t stand it, but Sammi didn’t flinch, didn’t react to it at all.
“So we met in a bar, so what?” Mitchell shrugged.
“He used you, Collins, just like he used the other men he stayed with the other nights since he’d run away from me.”
“What are you talking about?” Mitchell got a sick feeling in the pit of his gut.
“That’s what he does, Collins. He used those other men, just like he used you. To hide from me, because he knew I’d find him and make him come home.”
Mitchell faced Sammi.
Sammi swallowed. “Yes, I used you to hide from Donovan.”
“Damn it, Sammi.” Mitchell ran his hand over his face. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were in trouble? I still would have protected you, no matter what.”
Donovan laughed. “That’s so noble of you, Collins. Really. But wasted on our little boy-toy.”
Mitchell frowned and glared at Donovan. “Don’t call him that. He’s not a toy.”
“Oh, but he is. He’s a very good toy. Has the most extraordinary abilities when it comes to sex. I’m sure you’ve felt them? Did he know what you wanted or was thinking? Did he do all the right things to please you? Sammi knows how to use his powers. Did you know Sammi’s been a whore since he was sixteen? He worked the streets until I found him and brought him here when he was twenty.”
Mitchell’s glare deepened. It didn’t matter what Donovan said, even if it was the truth.
“You don’t believe me?” Donovan chuckled. “You’re a whore, aren’t you, Sammi?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Say it, Sammi.”
“I’m a whore.” No emotion came out in Sammi’s tone of voice. He spoke like a robot and it sickened Mitchell.
“And the only thing he’s good for is fucking.” Donovan twisted his lips.
“That’s not true, you son of a bitch! Sammi. It’s not true. You’re more than what he tells you.”
“Sammi belongs to me, Collins. He’s mine.”
“How can you say that? You don’t own him.” Mitchell clenched his fists and Moretti took a step closer, his hand on his gun.
“I do own him. From the top of his head to the tip of his perfect cock, I own him.” Donovan stepped behind Sammi again. Once he wrapped his arms around Sammi, he tugged Sammi’s T-shirt up to expose his belly and chest, and with the other hand, he teased Sammi’s nipple with a flick of his finger. It pebbled in response.
Sammi didn’t flinch.
“See? Sammi is trained to respond to sexual stimulation, no matter who it is. Oh, Sammi hates me, I promise you. But watch.” His hand dipped down Sammi’s belly and flicked open the button of his jeans. “He reacts. Like a trained dog.”
Donovan ran his hand over Sammi’s crotch. As Sammi’s cock hardened, Mitchell jerked his head away and swallowed. He didn’t want to see this…manipulation of Sammi and his emotions. It was so wrong, to treat a person this way.
What had Donovan done to Sammi?
Sammi closed his eyes and he moaned. Damn, it was just like the sweet sounds he’d made when they’d made love. Mitchell couldn’t stand it. The anger coiled in him and the burst out.
“Stop it! Don’t touch him!”
“He’s mine, Collins. Take my advice. Forget about him. Sammi’s nothing but trouble for you.” Donovan gave Moretti a tilt of his head and Moretti stepped up to Mitchell.
He didn’t see the gorilla swing. Moretti buried his fist deep in Mitchell’s stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. Mitchell groaned and doubled over as he clutched his belly.
Sammi echoed Mitchell’s groan, his gaze flicking to Mitchell, bent over.
“I won’t leave without Sammi.” Mitchell grunted as he struggled to drag air back in his lungs.
Moretti grabbed the back of Mitchell’s shirt and brought his knee up hard into Mitchell’s gut. Mitchell’s feet left the floor for a second, then he crumpled to the ground on one knee, bent over and gasping as pain radiated through his belly and chest. He’d been hit before in college, playing football, but this was different. The big, bald bastard had a fist of steel.
Sammi groaned again and swayed as if he were going to faint, but Donovan caught him, his big fist encircling his upper arms to steady him.
Moretti laughed. “I’ve been waiting for this, you fucking faggot.”
“I’m not a faggot,” Mitchell bit out as he tried to stand. He hated that word and he used that anger to get to his feet.
Moretti hit him again, this time a punch to the chin, as soon as he got upright, and knocked him flat onto his back. Mitchell sprawled on the floor, stars shooting behind his eyelids.
“Give it up, Collins. Sammi is mine. Would you believe him if he told you?”
Mitchell rolled on his side and blinked up at Sammi in Donovan’s arms.
“He’d never say that.” He closed his eyes and opened himself to Sammi. There was nothing. It was gone. An emptiness unlike anything he’d ever known filled his mind. His connection, his bond with Sammi had been broken.
“Sammi. I can’t feel you.”
Sammi’s eyes closed.
“Tell me you don’t love me, Sammi. Tell me and I’ll go.” Mitchell rose to his hands and knees.
Sammi’s eyes flickered, then opened. “I’m sorry, but I don’t love you. I used you to hide from Donovan, and that was wrong. I see that now.” He turned his head and lowered his voice as he spoke to Donovan. “If you let him go, don’t hurt him, I won’t give you any trouble anymore.”
Donovan’s eyes gleamed. “That’s much better.” He snapped his fingers. “Get him up, Moretti.”
Moretti grabbed Mitchell by the front of his clothes and pulled him to his feet. Mitchell had to grab hold of Moretti’s wrist to steady himself.
“Just one more, boss.” Moretti’s arm cranked back and he slugged Mitchell in the face.
Mitchell’s nose broke. Blood gushed and poured down his chin and neck and dripped onto his shirt. He bled like a stuck pig. The pain stunned him, but not enough to keep him from shouting at his attacker. “Fuck you!” He cradled his broken nose in his hands.
Sammi screamed and clutched his nose. Moretti turned to him. “What the fuck?”
Donovan straightened. “What’s going on? Did you hit him?”
Blood streamed from Sammi’s nose. He moaned, swayed on his feet, then collapsed.
A wave of pain hit Mitchell and he staggered as their bond returned and slammed into him like a Mack Truck with Moretti behind the wheel.
Moretti swung his head from Mitchell to Sammi and back. “Shit, no! You were right there. I never fucking touched him. He just started bleeding,”
Donovan’s gaze traveled between Mitchell and Sammi also and his eyes widened. The horror and fear in them were clear as day. Donovan understood what had happened between the two lovers.
“Son of a bitch!” He shook his head. “Moretti, whatever you do, don’t touch Collins—just get him out of here. Take him back to his house.” He turned to Mitchell. “Sammi told you he used you. Now forget about him.”
Moretti grabbed Mitchell as he started toward Sammi still lying on the floor. “Oh, no you don’t.” He swung him around, twisted his arm and marched him to the door. Sammi groaned at the same time as Mitchell.
“Get the elevator.” Bert rushed to open the door, checked the foyer, then called the elevator, his eyes wide.
At the door to the penthouse, Mitchell twisted around to get a last glimpse of Sammi. Donovan knelt next to him, holding a blood-soaked handkerchief to Sammi’s nose. Then, the door shut and they were in the foyer. Bert pressed the bell for the elevator over and over, as if that would make it come any faster. Moretti’s grip on Mitchell’s arm squeezed him like a vise.
What the hell had just happened? Mitchell could swear he had lost his bond with Sammi. There had been nothing, then it had come back in a rush. Bam! He closed his eyes and the world around him faded.
As the elevator dropped to the garage level he leaned back against the cool wall to steady himself. Everything hurt. Especially his heart. Sammi had admitted he didn’t love Mitchell and had just used him. It went against everything Mitchell had ever felt with Sammi, and he didn’t know if he believed it or not, but damn it, Mitchell’s heart felt as if it had been ripped from his chest. He wouldn’t believe it. How could he have been fooled so easily? How could they have been so close and he not know it was all a lie?
Maybe Donovan was right and Sammi was an expert at using men like Mitchell, lonely and hungry for love, but he didn’t want to believe it. It made a lie of everything that had passed between him and Sammi, and that thought almost broke him.
The doors opened and Moretti pushed Mitchell out. Mitchell stumbled, then caught himself. Moretti put a hand under his arm and moved him forward to the car.
Something wasn’t right. That last glimpse of Sammi lying on the floor pushed through Mitchell’s pain, as if he needed to remember something he was forgetting. It was just out of his reach, floating on the edge of his mind, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.
Sammi had collapsed at almost the same time as Mitchell, and Sammi’s nose was broken and bleeding, just like his. And Donovan had ordered Moretti to stop beating Mitchell.
How could that happen? Mitchell’s stomach did a flip as the truth came into focus.
Sammi and he were not just soul mates. They were more. Somehow, in some way that he couldn’t explain, their bodies and their lives were connected. Sammi had felt every blow Moretti had given Mitchell.
And if Mitchell knew that now, Sammi had known it before and had done what he did, and said what he’d said, in an effort to save Mitchell from Donovan.
Sammi had sacrificed himself to save Mitchell.
Chapter Thirteen
“Come on, Sammi. Stand up.” Donovan pulled on Sammi’s arm and helped him sit up.
His head spun as he righted himself, when all he wanted was to stay down on the floor. Blood dripped everywhere, including his shirt, and the handkerchief Sammi held to his nose was solid red.
“You’ve ruined the carpet, you know.”
“Sorry, sir.” Sammi swayed on his feet. The iron-tinged smell engulfed him and his stomach turned. Donovan helped him into the kitchen and pulled out a chair. Sammi fell into it. Donovan snatched the bloody cloth from him, tossed it into the sink and gave him a wad of paper towels to use.
He held it to his face until the flow of blood had lessened. The rapid throbbing pain from his nose slowed down to a steady beat. He wondered what Mitchell was feeling right now.
Shame flooded Sammi. Shame for how he’d slipped back into the creature Donovan had turned him into, a whimpering, weak excuse for a man. Shame for how he’d acted in front of Mitchell, how he’d responded to Donovan, when all he really wanted was to fight the man, push him away. But he hadn’t done that, he’d just let Donovan handle him.
And to make matters worse, Sammi had almost told Donovan that he’d pay for cleaning the carpet, but at least he’d had the sense to clamp his lips shut. He knew Donovan would take some sort of payment from him for the damage.
Donovan cursed as he stared down at his suit. “Fuck. This suit is ruined.” He glared at Sammi. “I need to get cleaned up, but first I’ll get you some ice for your nose. I hope your eyes don’t blacken.” He moved to the sink, found a clean dish towel then went to the freezer to fill the cloth with ice cubes.
“Me, too.” Sammi knew Donovan’s concern wasn’t for him, but for his client. No one wanted damaged goods unless they were a bargain, and Sammi was sure Donovan wasn’t selling him at rock-bottom prices.
“Here. Put this on your face.” He handed the ice pack to Sammi. “And for God’s sake, clean yourself up.” Donovan sneered at him as he pulled his tie loose and strode toward his bedroom.
For a moment, Sammi held the pack to his nose and leaned his head back until he was sure the bleeding had stopped. Then he rose and pulled off his shirt. He stood in the middle of the kitchen with the bloody shirt in his hand, unsure where to dispose of it. There was a garbage can under the sink, so he went to it and threw the shirt away. It had been one Brian had bought him and the thought popped into his head that he would apologize for wasting the shirt when next he saw Brian.
But he’d never see Brian, or Mitchell, again. Sammi sighed and went to the sink to wash up. He rinsed out the bloody cloth in the sink as best he could, then splashed cool water on his face.
The first splash braced him, and he shuddered, but he did it a few more times, until the water ran clear. His knees began to shake and he grabbed the edge of the sink and held on as the shudders racked his body.
He’d never see Mitchell again. He’d never go to his little job at the café. Never learn how to cook, or be a chef.
Sammi was a whore. It was all he’d ever been and all he’d ever be.
A voice inside his head spoke to him. “Stop it. Don’t listen to what they say about you. You’re better than that.”
It was Mitchell’s voice. Mitchell believed in him. Well, at least he had until today. Until he’d found out th
e truth. But Mitchell had promised he loved Sammi. And if he did, then maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for them.
Sammi had let the barrier drop when he’d seen and felt Mitchell being beaten. Their reconnection had been so powerful. He shouldn’t have done it. It had been a mistake and had put them both in danger.
If Mitchell thought there was any hope to save Sammi from Donovan, he’d come back. And if he did return, Sammi couldn’t guarantee anything he might do would save Mitchell.
Because once Donovan put Sammi in the closet, he wouldn’t even be able to save himself.
* * * *
“Bert, go back up and see to Donovan until I get back.” Moretti turned to his cohort and held out his hand so he couldn’t exit the elevator. “I got this fucker.”
Bert nodded, and as Moretti guided Mitchell out of the cabin, he disappeared as the doors slid shut.
They stood in the underground parking lot and stared at each other for a moment. Mitchell tried to look pissed-off and brave, but it was hard with his shirt rucked up and pressed against his still bleeding nose.
Moretti grabbed his elbow with one hand and tapped the other to indicate the gun under his jacket. “Don’t even think about trying to get away from me.”
Mitchell nodded. What chance did he have? His body still ached from the beating and there was no way could he run fast enough to escape the goon.
“Let’s go.” They headed toward the Mercedes.
When they got there, Moretti pushed Mitchell against the rear fender, then jerked open the front passenger door of the car. He pushed Mitchell into the seat, but Mitchell fell across it as his feet tangled together. Mitchell pulled his legs in just in time to avoid damage as Moretti slammed the door shut. He struggled to get his seat belt on.
Moretti, swearing up a blue streak, went around to the driver’s side, then got in and started the car. He threw it into gear and backed up. Then he slammed it into drive and sped through the garage, shooting out of the tunnel like a rocket. The car swerved onto Westheimer, wheels screaming. It was a wonder they didn’t hit anyone or another car.