Sam rolled his eyes. “Thanks, that makes me feel tons better.” Silence fell. When they reached the entrance to the subdivision, Sam said, “You really kill people? Like shoot them and push them off buildings kind of kill?”
“I do not use a gun or building. Just knife.”
Sam stared at his feet. “You don’t seem that way. You know, like you’d do something like that.”
“Appearances. They are deceiving. Your eyes tell you what the person wants you to see.”
“So, you’re not really an old man who needs a cane.”
Marcel chuckled. Sam laughed too. Marcel said, “No, I am old man.” He lifted his cane a moment. “And I have cane.”
Yeah. That’s what Sam thought. There was no way Marcel killed people. But he hadn’t always been old. Maybe he meant when he was younger. That still made him a criminal.
And someone dangerous.
“You have nothing to worry about, Sam Waters. You are good boy. You do not break Rules.” And Marcel said rules like it meant something other than a list of requirements.
Sam should have been afraid, but for some strange reason, he believed what Marcel said. He wouldn’t hurt him. Marcel stopped, and Sam realized they were in front of his house.
It hadn’t seemed like they’d walked that fast. Maybe Sam had just lost time?
He tugged his backpack higher onto his shoulders. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
“If I do not fall and break hip.”
“You’re not gonna fall.”
Marcel smiled before he walked away.
There was a knock at the door, and Jacob put down the book he read. He paused at the plate glass window and made a gap in the curtain. Ben stood with the bottle of aloe in his hand. Jacob unlocked the deadbolt and opened it.
“Uh, hi. I uh—” Ben held up the bottle. “—brought this back.” He held it out, and Jacob took it.
“Thanks.”
Ben’s gaze flicked around until it landed on the door, then he was watching his feet. Tragedy broke apart the green of Ben’s eyes. Jacob started to reach for him.
What was he doing? Ben had made it clear where he had Jacob on his list of decent people.
“Can…” Ben ran a hand through his hair. “Can we talk?”
Jacob leaned against the doorjamb. Ben’s gaze landed on Jacob’s bare chest, then Ben jerked a little, cleared his throat, and dropped his stare to the ground.
“About what?”
“Um…” Ben took a breath. “Uh…” He rubbed his hand, then held it out. The burn mark glowed red.
Jacob opened the door and let Ben in.
Ben paced for a moment then sat on the bed, standing almost as quickly as he’d parked himself. Every so often, he would flex the fingers of his branded hand.
Marcel had offered to protect Ben. Jacob didn’t know why it surprised him to see the mark.
“I want to apologize,” Ben said. “For the things I said. What I called you.”
“A whore.”
Ben winced. “Yeah. Yeah, that. It was unfair. I’m sorry.”
“Are you sorry because you really feel guilty or because you’ve got the same mark on your hand?”
Ben almost touched the brand but seemed to think better of it.
Jacob set the bottle of aloe on the bedside table, then made himself comfortable on the bed.
“I shouldn’t have said those things.” Ben started to walk over but stopped suddenly and turned. “I was mad. Scared. Mostly mad.” There was something else too, and for a moment, he thought Ben might tell him. Instead, he went back to trying not to touch the brand.
Jacob tucked his hands behind his head and leaned against the headboard. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I’m not gay.”
Jacob laughed. “Okay. Glad we got that out of the way.”
“No, I mean…What if Marcel wants me to have sex with him?”
It was the man’s prerogative. Jacob was the only one who had to remain exclusive. He stared at his bare feet. What if Marcel did want to have sex with Ben? What if he decided he liked him better? Jacob curled his hands into fists.
“I’m scared.” Ben’s voice trembled. “I’m scared of him. I’m scared at what he’ll make me do.”
The expression on Ben’s face reminded Jacob of some of the fresh meat Frankie would haul in. Jailbait who’d wound up on the street. No experience, or very little experience. He seemed to take great pleasure in breaking them in. Or just plain breaking them.
“Marcel won’t hurt you.” At least not the way Jacob was sure Ben thought.
Jacob sat up and patted the edge of the bed. Ben sat. The heat radiating from him called to Jacob.
Ben rubbed his face, then rested his elbows on his knees. And just like those scared kids Frankie hooked, Ben looked lost.
“How many girlfriends have you had?”
Ben seemed caught off guard by the question. “A few.”
“Were they serious?”
“If that’s your way of asking if I had sex with them, yeah.” Jacob moved to the edge of the bed. Now he sat right next to Ben. He scooted away a few inches.
“It’s not that I have anything against being gay, it’s just…” Ben folded and unfolded his hands. “I thought about it a few times.”
“Having sex with a man?”
Ben nodded.
“Thinking about it doesn’t make you gay.”
Ben nodded again. “I used to know a guy. He went to the same college as me. Told his parents he was gay after he started dating a guy. They kicked him out.”
“Happens a lot.” Way more than Jacob liked to think about. Mostly because of the memories.
“Is that what happened to you?”
“Pretty much.”
“How old were you?”
“Just turned fourteen.”
The color bled from Ben’s face. “Is that why you…you know.”
“Turned tricks?”
“Yeah.”
“No. I started turning tricks after this guy I was with got me addicted to heroin. You can’t fight back when you’re too stoned to walk.”
“How did you…?” Ben looked away. “I’m sorry. It’s not any of my business.”
Jacob shrugged. “Frankie had a temper. One day he lost his shit and decided I’d make a good punching bag.” How long had it been since Jacob really thought about that day? Sure, it passed through his mind on occasion. But this was the first time he’d felt the need to say anything. He never had to tell Marcel, because the man just knew.
“Frankie left me in the ditch outside our apartment. That’s where Marcel found me.”
“No one helped you?”
“In that part of town, no one helps anyone. They’re too scared too.”
“I’m sorry. I…”
Jacob shrugged.
“I just…” Ben closed his eyes for a moment. “I just don’t know what to do.”
There was so much in Ben’s voice, all of it also familiar. How many times had Jacob wanted to comfort the boys Frankie brought to the apartment? He never did because the first time he tried, Frankie had locked him in a closet for three days.
But Marcel wasn’t Frankie, and he wouldn’t hurt Jacob for doing what was simply a humane reaction. Jacob took Ben’s hand. His sweaty palm clung to Jacob’s, but the contact sent a prickle up his arm in cooling lines teasing Jacob’s senses. He was about to let go when Ben glanced up. He tightened his grip, and Jacob lost his nerve to pull away from this one small comfort.
“You don’t have to know what to do. Marcel will tell you.”
Ben’s face crumbled.
“Jesus, Ben. It’s better than dying.”
“I know. I know, it’s just…” He looked up. “Does it hurt?”
It was wrong, but Jacob laughed. “I’m sorry.” He covered his mouth but couldn’t stop.
Ben pulled his hand away. “I’m not trying to be funny.”
“I know—” Of course, that’s what a straight guy wo
uld be worried about. “I shouldn’t laugh…but…”
A little bit of a smile broke through Ben. “I guess it was kinda dumb.”
“No, not dumb, just—” Jacob waved a hand. “You ever do anal on any of your girlfriends?”
Crimson filled Ben’s cheeks. “No.”
“Because you didn’t want to or they wouldn’t let you?”
The blush darkened. “I only asked the second one. She screamed at me. After that, I never asked anyone else.”
Jacob wasn’t surprised. “It could hurt. Depends on how rough the person is and how experienced you are.”
“How rough is Marcel?”
“For me, very.”
Ben’s expression sobered.
“But that’s me.”
“What will keep him from doing the same to me?”
“He’ll know.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“He’ll read you. He’ll know. Trust him.” Jacob could no longer see life without trusting Marcel. He was the foundation for everything he’d become. Jacob wasn’t perfect, he still had a lot of battles, but he was stronger than he’d ever been.
For some reason, Jacob took Ben’s hand again. There was no force in Ben’s grip, no command, no demand, simply compliance, an almost silent plea for more.
But more of what?
Again, he let go.
Ben stared at Jacob for a very long time. “You really do love him, don’t you?”
Pride made Jacob’s chest ache. “Yeah.”
Ben examined the mark on his hand and traced it with a finger. “Like father, like son, I guess.”
“Huh?” Jacob was sure he’d heard wrong.
“Apparently, Marcel put one of these on my dad’s hand.”
“Marcel has never branded anyone else but Alexa—” No. There was no way. But the look Ben gave him said it was exactly what Jacob feared. He got off the bed, walked over to the bathroom. “Your father was Alexander?”
“According to Marcel, yeah.” Ben gave Jacob a questioning look. “Did you know him?”
Alexander Ross.
The only man Marcel had ever loved. No wonder he wanted Ben. And with him, he would have no more use for Jacob. He tried to remind himself Marcel did not lie, he did not make false promises. But those promises had been before he met Ben and knew who he was.
Ben stood. “Are you okay?”
Jacob nodded, then shook his head. The cooling thrill that touching Ben had given him grew teeth. It chewed through Jacob’s chest and up his throat. His breath hitched. His eyes burned. He swallowed over and over against the tightness threatening to choke him.
“Jacob?” Ben took a step closer, and Jacob took a step back. “What’s wrong?”
Everything. Everything in Jacob’s world frayed. Threads unraveling. Stitches breaking. His pain leaked from behind his clenched teeth in small broken whimpers. Jacob held up a hand. It shook. “You need to go.”
“Tell me what’s wrong?”
“Please, you need to…just go. I’m not mad at you.” It was worse. Fear caged Jacob, so strong even jealousy couldn’t take hold. “Please, just for now. Go.”
Ben hesitated at the door. Jacob turned away. The door clicked open and then thumped shut.
Jacob picked up his cell with every intention of calling Marcel. But he couldn’t get his fingers to press the keys. Alexander had been Marcel’s world. Jacob couldn’t even hope to ever have a grain of that. And no matter how much he loved Marcel—loved him enough for both of them—Jacob would have been a liar to think he wouldn’t have given his soul for that single grain in return.
But he’d never have it. Especially now. Especially since Marcel had a second chance to get back some of what he’d lost.
3
Sam helped his mother clean the table. His sisters were already upstairs. Becka was about to turn sixteen and Patty fifteen. Both girls had hit a growth spurt and already towered over Sam. He hoped it wouldn’t take too long for him to hit his. But he had a feeling it was probably going to be disappointing when it did happen.
Becka yelled at Patty as she stormed out of Becka’s room and into hers. The door slammed.
They might be older than Sam, but they acted like infants.
He put the plates in the sink.
His mother grinned at him.
“What?”
“That look on your face.”
“What look?”
“Like you’re waiting for harpies to fly in and attack.”
Sam laughed. “Did you just call Becka and Patty, harpies?”
“They have their days.”
Holy cow, his own mother calling his sister’s harpies. More screaming came from upstairs.
His mother leaned out toward the flight of stairs. “Hey, up there. Cool your jets, or I’m grounding both of you.”
Another door slammed, then there was silence. Katie came down the stairs with a piece of paper as big as her. She walked over to where Sam was. “This is for you.”
“Me?” Sam took the drawing. Red and yellow blobs surrounded a blue blob and green blob. A separate orange blob floated overhead. Sam was pretty sure it was the sun. “It’s very…”
His mother narrowed a look at him.
“It’s wonderful.” Sam even managed to grin.
“Are you going to put it on your wall?”
“In my bedroom?”
“Yeah.”
His mother’s eyes narrowed more.
“Uh, yeah. As soon as I finish helping Mom with the dishes, I’ll hang it on my wall.” He held up the piece of paper.
“It’s upside down.” Katie tugged on the picture. Sam let her have it, and she flipped it over and handed it back. “I was gonna make the pond blue, but I didn’t want to make it the same color as the weird guy next door.”
“You drew a picture of Marcel?”
Katie pointed to the green blob. “And this is you. You’re helping him grow flowers. And that’s his pond. You said he was building a pond.”
Sam’s mom smiled. Sam couldn’t help but smile too.
“Yeah, I guess I did. It’s very nice. The blue figure looks just like Marcel. I should have recognized him.”
Katie beamed.
“Um, can you do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Will you take this upstairs and put it in your room till I can clear a spot on my wall?”
“Okay.”
Sam handed the drawing back to Katie, and she held it over her head with both hands.
“And get your pajamas on and brush your teeth.” Sam’s mother gave his sister a stern look.
“Okay.”
“Brush your teeth, missy, I mean it.”
Katie disappeared upstairs.
“I’m proud of you.” His mom walked back over and turned on the hot water. Sam got the soap from under the sink and handed it to her. “So, how are things at school?”
Sam examined the rooster-shaped cookie jar on the counter. He didn’t know why his mom had it there. She never put cookies in it.
“Sam?”
“Uh, okay.” He ran a thumb over the flecks in the granite countertop.
His mother took Sam by the chin and made him look at her. “I’ll ask you again. How are things at school?”
Sam tried to meet her gaze. “I, uh, I got an A on my chemistry test.”
His mother didn’t look impressed.
“I got a standing ovation.”
“For the chemistry test?”
“No, for breaking Todd’s knee.”
His mother laughed, then covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, that was a parenting fail.”
It was, but it was still funny. “Apparently, he picks on most of the other kids in Chem Three.”
“And they gave you a standing ovation?”
“Well, they sort of chanted my name, then they clapped.”
His mother laughed again. Sam put the rest of the dishes into the sink and turned off the water. Mounds of bubble
s made peaks and valleys.
“How are things with Joe?”
“Why do we wash the dishes before we put them in the dishwasher?”
“So they’ll get clean.”
“Yeah, but dishwashers today are really advanced. It would get the dishes clean all by itself.”
“Because I like washing the dishes in the sink.”
Sam snorted. “No one likes to wash dishes. Leaves your hands all wrinkle and—”
“Sam.”
It was only his name, but her tone said it all.
Sam sighed big enough to lift his shoulders. “He still hates me.”
“Hates you?”
Sam hadn’t meant to say that. “He’s just not talking to me.”
“That doesn’t mean he hates you.”
Oh, Sam was pretty confident Joe hated him. “You’re probably right.”
“You never said what you two fought about.”
Sam picked up the sponge, and his mother took it from him. “I wash the dishes, remember? Now, will you tell me what you two fought about?”
“It’s private. And it wasn’t really an argument.” No, he just shoved Sam off his feet and walked away.
“Have you tried talking to him about it?”
“Uh, no.”
“It might help. If you want, I could call his mother and—”
“Mom. No. Please.”
She picked up a plate and dunked it in the water. After it was rinsed, she handed it to Sam. He set in the rack inside the dishwasher.
After a couple of dishes, she said, “You gonna finish telling me about school?” She tilted her head, and her lips became a thin line. She knew. Sam was sure of it.
“Marcel told you, didn’t he?”
“No. Mrs. Spencer, who lives near the road, saw you out her kitchen window. She said Karl had a bat. Is that true?”
Sam put the next plate in the rack.
“Sam.”
“Yes.”
His mother’s face hardened. “Those boys are going to jail.”
“Mom.”
“No, no buts. I don’t care if the school knows, and I don’t care if it embarrasses you—” She hiccupped, and tears shone in her eyes. “I will not stand by and let some son of a—” She snapped her mouth shut. “Some bully beat you up. He could have killed you, Sam.”
He couldn’t argue.
His mom attacked another plate.
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