“No indeed,” Leith said. “We’re here to enjoy ourselves and talk a bit of business.”
“Yes, I’m very keen to merge our empires, and I don’t care how it happens. If it has to be over your dead body, then so be it,” Norton said baldly.
“You—” Stanwell began, his hand diving into his jacket before Leith halted him with an upraised finger.
“No harm,” Leith said. “Eric’s just being honest. Why don’t you pop down and see what’s holding up the show?”
Stanwell looked at his boss, clearly reluctant to leave. Leith lifted one eyebrow and the enforcer went to do his master’s bidding without a word of argument. The burly nightclub owner put his arm around Eric’s shoulders and turned him toward the “stage” area. Eric took in the comfortable chairs and cocktail tables arranged in a circle around an enormous mattress scattered with dozens of pillows as Leith led him to the seat with the best view and called for drinks.
“I’ve an eye for beauty,” Eric said as he downed a shot of neat whisky and continued to speak smoothly. “And I’ve heard that your clubs set a high standard for attractive talent. I’m very much looking forward to the proof.”
“You wouldn’t be dead for quids, I promise you. Most beautiful boys you ever perved. Now, tell me a bit about this scheme of yours.”
“GET a room,” Stanwell said as he entered the dressing room, startling Russ and Jarold apart.
“We’re in a room,” Jarold pointed out.
“Ooh, clever,” Stanwell said. “Now get your arses upstairs.”
“Jarold’s not part of the package,” Russ said. “He’s leaving.”
“Why so aggro today, boy? You’re usually smooth as cream.”
“I’m just saving everyone some bother. Jarold’s no pro.”
Stanwell rolled his eyes. “That’s hardly news, and you know what the boss says: some fruit is sweeter when it’s green.”
“Your boss really says that?” Jarold gave Russ a dubious look. Mr. Leith had impressed him as a singularly humorless man who only spoke when giving orders or a ration of shit.
“Come on,” Stanwell said. “Stop mucking about. The boss sent me to bring the two of you upstairs.” He gave Russ a shove. “You can tell him why the Yank has to leave.”
Russ sighed. He didn’t like the way this was going, but he knew better than to argue with Stanwell. “Let’s go, Jarold,” he said.
Hastings opened the door of the party room for them. “You took your time,” he said to Russ. “You’d better make the boss happy.”
“Have I ever failed to deliver in style? Oh, but I forgot; you wouldn’t know would you? You’re still waiting in the queue.”
“Piss off, pillow-biter,” Hastings said, locking the door behind them.
Russ went directly to Leith, towing Jarold along in his wake. “Hey, boss,” he said. “Been a bit of a mix up. Jazza’s not ready for this scene.”
“That’s too bad,” Leith said without a flicker of expression. “Now we’ll have to improvise. Eric, I’ve heard some interesting rumors about your minder. Does he really have a willie like two beer cans stacked end to end?”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Norton said. “It’s about the size of the average electric torch, I’d say.”
“Strewth!” Leith whistled. “Well, since we’ve lost one half of the act, perhaps Barrett would agree to… fill in. You don’t mind, do you, Russ?”
“You’re gonna let that gorilla fuck Russ?” Jarold blurted out, and quickly added, “No offense.”
“None taken,” Barrett growled as Jarold turned to Leith.
“Give me a chance,” Jarold said. “I admit, I never made love with another man before today, but I don’t think I was that bad at it.”
“Jazza, don’t,” Russ hissed.
“If the alternative is you getting the business end of that guy,” Jarold nodded at Barrett, “I’ll fuck you on the main stage of the Opera House on an opening night.”
Russ shook his head, but before he could speak, Leith pre-empted him. “Let the lad speak for himself, Russ-o. He sounds keen to have a go.”
“I’d rather do this without an audience,” Jarold said. “But if keeps Russ out of trouble….”
“Mate,” Leith laughed. “Nothing can do that, but if the two of you give us a good show, I’ll forget what Russ owes me.”
“Mister, you’ve got a deal,” Jarold said.
“Jazza,” Russ began before giving it up as futile. “Jason… Mr. Leith, please don’t let him go through with this.”
“Please?” Leith’s eyebrows rose toward his hairline. “This is getting interesting. Someone correct me if I’m mistaken, but I don’t believe Russ has ever said please to me before.” The big man stood and leaned toward his biggest earner. “You know, mate, I’m beginning to think you’re a bit soft where this Yank’s concerned.”
Russ stood his ground. “What have you been smoking? You know I don’t give a fuck. You want to watch us screw? Then why don’t you have a seat and let me do what I do best?”
Leith broke the tense moment with a chuckle as he glanced down at Norton. “Was I lying?” he asked.
The crime boss shook his head. “He’s a beauty… and spunky too.”
Russ took hold of Jarold’s arm and pulled him over to the bed. “You’re being very stupid,” he said, his voice pitched low. “You’ve no idea what you’ve got yourself into.”
“Do I get three guesses?” Jarold gave the mattress a significant glance.
Russ tightened his grip on the other man’s arm. “Stop it. Why do Americans always behave as if they’re in a film? This is real, Jarold. If Leith says cut, Hastings will come over here with a blade and start carving. Am I getting through to you?”
“Just because I make jokes doesn’t mean I’m oblivious. A four-year-old could see these guys aren’t kidders, but something made me come after you, in spite of every argument I could come up with against seeing you again. That’s gotta mean something. Right?”
“It means you’re a randy git who’s had his first taste of something different and you want more…. Hey, I’m just taking the piss,” Russ said at the stricken look in Jarold’s eyes. “The jokes aren’t too funny when they hurt, are they?”
“Point taken. It’s just my way of whistling past the cemetery.”
“Let’s both pray we don’t end up there. I’m not sure about Stanwell, but Hastings has killed before, and I wager he’s aching for an excuse to do it again.”
Jarold looked over his shoulder at the handsome man by the door. Hastings stared back, his gaze as bright blue and inhuman as a Siberian husky’s. A tingle of uneasiness wriggled down Jarold’s spine as the hired thug’s sensual mouth curved in a smile. Jarold turned back to Russ. “I see what you mean. Just tell me what to do.”
“Can you take us back in time?”
Jarold shook his head. “Not one of my super powers, but thanks for keeping it light.”
“Fuck off,” Russ smiled.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
“Daft bugger,” Russ said under his breath as he pulled Jarold into his arms.
Jarold closed his eyes and tried to transport himself back to Russ’s apartment as he felt soft lips on his. He needn’t have worried about getting aroused with an audience; as soon as Russ’s mouth touched his, he felt the same sweet fire in his veins that had melted him the first time. It begged the question: was it possible to be gay without knowing it, or was it only Russ that had this effect on him? Whatever it was, there was no denying that it was powerful. Two seconds into the gradually deepening kiss, Jarold forgot that he was kissing a man, forgot that he was being watched; even his name had been deleted from memory. Thinking wasn’t really a requirement for what he wanted to do; he just needed to feel. Since meeting Russ, Jarold was able to achieve a long-sought goal: the ability to let go of everything and just be.
“First-rate,” Eric Norton said to Leith, his eyes never leaving the two boys locked in an
ardent embrace. “You don’t disappoint. I’ve always thought you were too stupid to be anything more than muscle, but I’m beginning to believe you deserve your new reputation. If you were willing….” Norton broke off in the middle of his sentence as Russ pushed Jarold’s red T-shirt up to his armpits, thumbing the hard nipples as he licked his way down Jarold’s neck. Eric cleared his throat. “What are the rules on audience participation?” he asked.
Jason Leith smiled like a shark scenting blood in the water. “That’s how the show usually ends, but if you want to join in, I think I can make an exception. Were you thinking of making it a tricky trio? Or is it just one of the lads you fancy?”
Eric stopped breathing for a second when Jarold pushed Russ’s trousers down, revealing the firm, tanned cheeks and the rosy column of flesh already hard and leaking. “Lovely,” he said, under his breath. “Just lovely.” He didn’t say anything else for a while after Jarold sank to his knees in front of Russ.
Russ looked down at Jarold. “You sure you want to do this, amateur? We could go straight to the screwing and get it over with.”
“If I do it wrong, just grab me by the ears and correct me,” Jarold said, rubbing his nose against the velvety shaft. “I want to.”
“I wish we were alone,” Russ whispered as Jarold rolled back his pierced foreskin and took him in his mouth.
Tentatively, Jarold swirled his tongue around the head of Russ’s shaft, trying the things Russ had done to him that pleased him so much. Russ cradled Jarold’s skull in his long fingers, not attempting to guide him, just reveling in the feelings and the texture of Jarold’s springy hair, his velvet earlobes, and the silky skin of his nape. Jarold immersed himself in the warm ocean of sensual pleasure, submerging until all he could hear was Russ’s panting breath, all he could taste was the tang of musky salt, in a lightless realm where touch replaced sight, and he could sense his partner’s needs through his fingertips, on his tongue, with every inch of his skin. He didn’t know why making love with Russ transported him to this oasis of perfect physical harmony, but once there, he wanted to stay forever.
“Leave off, mate,” Russ said. He pulled his spit-shiny arousal from Jarold’s mouth, drawing a gleaming strand of saliva that connected them for a moment. “That’s going a bit too well. Are you sure you’ve never sucked a cock before? You all right?” he asked, looking down into the other young man’s cloudy eyes. “You look a bit lost.”
Jarold put his arms around Russ’s waist, laying his cheek against the Australian’s belly, licking at the smooth skin. “I’m fine; I’m good. What’s the hold up?”
“You’re doing too good a job, sport, and I want to have something left for you. Let’s get on the bed and I’ll return the favor.”
Jarold answered by sliding up Russ’s body to claim his lips with fierce ardor. “Let’s fuck,” he breathed urgently into the other man’s mouth.
“Wouldn’t say no,” Russ murmured.
Jarold swept the Australian up and deposited him on the mattress. He caught Russ on the first bounce, bearing him down on his back as he nuzzled at Russ’s neck. Russ busied himself getting Jarold’s pants down to his knees and stroking the ready rod that sprang free. The hard length of flesh struck Russ’s abs with an audible smack that made both boys break into breathless giggles. The snickers stretched out into moans as Russ took hold of both shafts and pumped them together. Jarold’s hips rocked forward in an instinctive desire to thrust, rubbing the undersides of their cocks together. Dipping his head, he brought his lips to Russ’s so their tongues could mimic their cocks. Neither was willing to end the tantalizing foreplay just yet and there were no complaints from the audience.
Eric Norton cupped his erection beneath the screen of the table, squeezing it subtly. “Fuck me, but that’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen with these old eyes.”
“Are you ready to join the action then?”
“What do you reckon?” Eric answered, never taking his eyes from the bed.
“Russ,” Leith called out. “Change partners, mate. Mr. Norton fancies you.”
“No,” Norton said. “I want the other one.”
Chapter Five
That’s Not a Knife
RUSS disentangled himself and pulled up his pants. “Jazza’s not on the menu,” he said.
Eric stood, slipping off his suit jacket. “When I was a guest at Long Bay,” he said in a conversational tone, “the other inmates fed me boys like Jazza for dessert.”
“Then maybe you should go back there,” Russ said.
Leith stood, glowering at his disrespectful employee. “Get your arse over here,” he said.
Russ remained standing between Eric and the bed. “Not bloody likely.”
“What the fuck’re you doing, mate?” Hugh asked Russ. “You know what I’ll have to do if you keep giving the boss cheek.”
“Do what you have to,” Russ said. “And so will I.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Leith said. “Get out of the road.”
“You should listen to your boss,” Eric smirked at Russ.
“Fuck you, dickhead. Jazza, are you dressed?”
“Yeah.”
“We’re leaving,” Russ said to the room. “No drama, but it’s time to go.”
“Whatever you say,” Jarold answered, zipping his fly.
“I like your philosophy,” Eric said to the American. “I hope it doesn’t apply only to your friend there.”
“No worries,” Leith said. “Just give the lads time to sort things out.”
Stanwell and Hastings moved forward, but stopped when they saw that Russ and Jarold weren’t giving in without a fight. Shaking his head at the waste of time, Stanwell drew his Glock and pointed it at Russ.
“Come on,” the enforcer said. “Sit down and have a drink. Let Mr. Norton have his fun, and I’m sure the boss will make it worth your while.”
Russ didn’t move until he heard Hastings cough deliberately. He turned to see the other thug pressing the muzzle of his Beretta to the side of Jarold’s head. Guy smiled at Russ. “You look tired. Take Hugh’s advice and have a seat.”
Stanwell grabbed Russ’s elbows from behind and hustled the struggling young man to a chair. Slinging Russ into the seat, he had his big gun pointed at Russ’s face when Russ bounced back up. “Be smart, boy,” Stanwell said.
Norton’s bodyguard hung back, keeping an eye on his charge while monitoring the rest of the room. When Eric dropped his trousers, Barrett moved closer to the bed. Hastings forced Jarold back onto the mattress, but the American was having some trouble working the fastening of his jeans. His hands were shaking so badly, he couldn’t get the metal button through the hole. Everyone’s eyes were focused on Jarold’s fly as the tension grew.
Russ saw the glance that passed between Leith and Stanwell. Stanwell slipped a silencer from his jacket pocket, warning Russ with his eyes as he screwed it onto the muzzle of the Glock. Leith moved into Barrett’s line of sight, drawing the bodyguard’s eyes as Stanwell turned and fired. It was a difficult shot, and he missed the first time. Paint chips and plaster dust exploded from the wall behind Norton’s head as Hastings lunged across the bed. Barrett dropped, reaching out to cover Norton, but not quickly enough. As Hastings dove in front of Jarold, Stanwell’s bullet caught him in the right shoulder and slammed him backward. Hastings snaked an arm around Norton’s neck as his victim drew the knife hidden in his boot.
“He’s got a knife,” Leith warned his man as Norton reversed grip and slammed the dagger into his attacker’s thigh.
Hastings yanked it free. “That’s not a knife,” he quoted, as a blade twice the size of Norton’s slid from a forearm sheath into his hand. “This is a knife.” Dragging Norton’s head back, Guy drew the sharp steel across his throat.
Jarold snapped out of his trance as hot liquid sprayed his face. He blinked, his eyelids a shutter that captured the image and burned it into his memory. Scrambling away from the dying crime boss and the grinning killer, Jarold sl
id off the bed and nearly went to the floor as his knees gave way. He looked up and saw Russ fighting with Stanwell for possession of the Glock as Leith moved in to make sure Barrett and Norton were dead. Jarold didn’t stop to think; he launched himself at Stanwell’s back, hitting him like a dead weight. The thug staggered, lurching forward as Russ yanked hard on his gun hand. The Glock went off as the back of Russ’s knees hit a chair, and he sat down suddenly. Still operating on autopilot, Jarold grabbed the hot barrel and twisted the weapon from the other man’s grip.
“Stop it!” Jarold shouted as Stanwell got his hands around Russ’s neck and the two men began to throttle one another. When nothing happened, Jarold put the gun to the back of Stanwell’s head and tried again. “Stop it. Let him go.”
“Fuck off,” Stanwell wheezed, not the least bit intimidated by the weapon that trembled against his scalp.
“Sh—shoot ’im,” Russ managed to choke out.
Jarold nearly froze again. The Glock shook in his hand as adrenaline blasted through his system like pharmaceutical grade cocaine. What little spit he had left tasted like copper pennies and his skin felt at least one size too small. Shoot him?
“No,” Jarold said in a small but distinct voice, and the receding world rushed back in a barrage of color, sound, and motion. Jarold was terribly aware of several things at once: Hastings dropping Norton’s exsanguinated corpse to the red-soaked sheets, Leith rising from his crouch beside Barrett’s body with a blood-stained knife in his hand, and Stanwell’s fingers sinking into the flesh of Russ’s throat as he strangled him. Russ’s dark gaze focused on Jarold’s, not pleading, not demanding, but simply making a connection in case this was goodbye.
“No,” Jarold said again, raising the heavy gun and slamming it into Stanwell’s temple. Stanwell fell sideways, and Russ broke the man’s grip on his windpipe. Rolling to floor together, the two continued to grapple. Steeling himself, Jarold drew back his foot and kicked Russ’s attacker in the ribs as hard as he could. Sensing movement behind him, he turned, and saw Leith coming at him. The big man stopped when the muzzle swung in his direction. “Call your guy off,” Jarold said.
The Raw Prawn Page 4