Survivor Trilogy Box Set

by T. M. Smith

“No, I just…are you sure he’s okay?” There was genuine concern not only in the big, brooding man’s voice, but Rory could see the unease in the depths of Rand’s eyes. “Are you okay, Landers?”

  Blinking, Rory nodded, rolling his shoulders to ease some of the tension. “Yeah, just worried about Shan. Let’s put our heads together and…” A picture on the refrigerator caught his eye and he stood, walking over and sliding the photo out from under the magnet, turning and setting the photograph on the table beside the one Connie had removed from the file. It was a depiction of Shannon and Taylor, probably three or four years ago, taken in front of the clock tower on campus in Austin. Shannon still had a boyish look to him back then, very much like each and every one of the images tucked away in the file sitting on the table in front of Connie.

  She set the photo of the missing person on top of the picture from the fridge, covering Taylor. The stranger and Shannon, now side-by-side, could easily be mistaken for brothers. Connie gasped, “Ay, dios mío.”

  “Holy shit,” Rand agreed.

  “Didn’t you tell me that Shannon was from Washington, partner?” Connie looked up at him, eyes questioning.

  All he could do was nod; no words would come. Was this why Shannon always clammed up or quickly changed the subject any time Rory tried to talk to him about his past? Was the young man that so resembled him a relative? There had always been a part of himself that Shannon kept locked away, hidden. A distant longing mixed with regret and pain in his blue eyes when Rory would try to dig deeper, learn more. When he and Shannon had first started dating, Taylor had questioned Rory, asking what his intentions were, saying that Shannon’s life had been difficult until he’d moved to Texas and giving Rory the “I’ll kick your ass if you hurt him!” spiel. What in the hell had his lover been mixed up in?

  Rand grabbed the two images, holding them side-by-side. “Son of a bitch, they’re damn near twins. I can’t believe we missed this.” Rand’s hand brushed his when he reached for the pictures, and Rory suppressed his reaction to the man’s touch, feeling like the biggest piece of shit on the planet. The man he loved was in the other room wracked with grief; what the fuck was wrong with him?

  “Babe, what’s going on?” All three of them jumped. Shannon was halfway across the room, coming toward them, the blanket Rory had tucked under his arms draped over his shoulders.

  Connie snatched the pictures from Rand, shoving them into the file and dragging a takeout box over to cover it up. “Hey, you feeling better, sweetie?” she asked.

  “Not really.” Shannon shook his head.

  Rory went around the table and pulled Shannon close as soon as he was in arm’s reach. He couldn’t say how long they stood there holding on to one another, each drawing strength from the other. The sound of a throat clearing pulled them apart, but Rory’s focus was still on the man in front of him. “What are you hiding from us, Shan?” Eyes darting from Rory to the kitchen and back to him, Shannon opened his mouth, but no words came out. Reaching up, he wiped a tear away with his thumb, cupping Shannon’s face in his hands. “Baby, please, talk to me. There is nothing you can say that will change the way I feel about you. I love you, Shan, and you’re safe with me, I promise.” He hadn’t meant to make such a declaration now, with Connie and Rand standing behind him. Was he putting his emotions into words, or trying to drown his reaction moments ago? No, he truly loved this man; saying it out loud felt right.

  Sniffling, Shannon gave him a watery smile. “Really?” Chuckling, Rory nodded. Shannon leaned into him, their foreheads touching and whispered, “I love you too,” before kissing him softly, just a press of lips to his. When he pulled back and looked up into Shannon’s eyes the naked, raw clarity he saw damn near floored him. A myriad of emotions swam in the blue pools: love, devotion, trust, and awe. There was still a glimmer of uncertainty floating just beneath the surface though, a sliver of fear breaking the waves. When Shannon dropped his arms and moved past him, Rory fought the urge to grab him and drag him into the bedroom. Protective instincts kicking in, he wanted to close the door on the world, lock it, and throw away the key. Whatever pain consumed his lover’s past ran deep, bubbling under the skin, festering like a wound that never completely healed—instead leaving a jagged, ugly scar as a permanent reminder of a time Shannon likely wanted to forget but was never quite able to bury.

  “I have to tell you about my life, my past in Washington. Why I left and…it’s hard for me to think about it, much less talk about it. But if my story can help you guys figure out what’s going on there with all the missing teenagers, well, I don’t have a choice but to do what I can to try and stop this from happening to anyone else.” It would seem now that Shannon had decided to open up he couldn’t stop talking, his words coming out in a rush without pause and with little hesitation.

  “Tell me, Shannon.” Rand’s voice moved closer to them until he was right behind Rory. “Why do you think whatever it is you’re going to tell us has something to do with the disappearances and deaths in Washington and Oregon?” Thankfully, Rand used the words “disappearances” and “deaths” instead of “missing persons” and “murdered.” Still, Rory saw the impact those two little words inflicted on his lover’s face when he grimaced. There was something else, something more in Shannon’s eyes—in the way they darted up, focusing on the person behind him, on Rand. It was barely perceptible…there in one instant, gone in the next, baby blues staring back at Rory lovingly.

  Shannon sucked in a deep breath, slowly releasing each molecule of oxygen before he answered Rand’s question. Knowing what Shannon was going to say and actually hearing him say the words were two entirely different things, so when he did, Rory had to lock his legs in order to remain upright, the blow like a punch to the gut. “Because it could have been me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Shannon 2009

  Pulling air into his lungs, Shannon fought to breathe—in, out, in, out. He couldn’t see much more than shapes, couldn’t focus his eyes on any one thing, and his head throbbed. Before he could get his legs under him, another blow came, a foot connecting with his ribs. He swore he could hear them crack, and though he knew it would only make Bruce angrier than he already was, he cried out in pain; it was an innate reaction anyone with a heartbeat would have. Long, nimble fingers fisted his hair, jerking him up onto his knees and the rush of pain was so severe, he damn near passed out. As it was, he choked back the bile in his throat, certain Bruce would beat him to a pulp if he threw up on his thousand-dollar loafers.

  “Why, Shannon? Why? Don’t I give you everything you need? Why would you try to leave me?” Bruce shouted, holding him in place by the hair while striking him with the other hand. Black dots littered his vision, and he prayed for peace. How that peace was delivered, he couldn’t care less. Death would even be welcome as long as the pain went away.

  “They didn’t love you, didn’t care for you, and they couldn’t take care of you, not like I do.” Bruce was referring to his parents. Of course he would automatically assume Shannon was going back to them. “I give you security, love, and my trust.…And you betray me. I should let you go like the others, but there’s something about you, Shannon.” He leaned down, his lips mere inches from Shannon’s, whiskey-soaked breath making his stomach flip. “I’ve invested too much in you, my darling. You belong to me. Do you understand? You’re mine!”

  The fingers that were in his hair were around his neck so fast that it shocked him. Bruce stood, jerking Shannon to his feet and slamming him against the wall, knocking the breath out of him again. Hand tightening around his throat, he clawed at Bruce’s arm to no avail, stars dancing behind his eyes. “If you ever try to leave again, I’ll kill you. Do you hear me, Shannon? I’ll fucking break you and scatter your remains in the Columbia River.”

  Just as Shannon was losing consciousness, Bruce released him and took a step back. He fell to his knees, coughing and gasping for breath, watching the pair of thousand-dollar shoes walk across the living ro
om and disappear down the hallway. He didn’t know how long he lay in a heap on the floor in the entryway, crying and praying, wondering if God was even listening. Hearing heavy footsteps coming toward him, he cringed. Tuan grabbed him by the arm, jerking him to his feet, half dragging him down the hall. “Come on, you little piece of shit,” he spat, shoving Shannon into the guest room, slamming the door and locking it from the outside.

  Dragging his limp body, wracked with pain and fatigue, across the floor, he leaned back against the bed and considered his options. He needed to know exactly how Bruce had figured out what he was up to—he’d been certain he was careful in concealing his plan to leave. Fuck, his head was pounding, the pain to the point of nausea. Taking a few deep breaths, he managed to peel his ass off the floor and limp over to the dresser. After the last time he was locked in this same room for a week, he got smart and tucked away a few gems in case of emergencies. And this sure as hell was an emergency. He’d taped a small pill case to the top of one of the drawers with ibuprofen, hydrocodone, and promethazine in it. It took maximum effort just to pull the plastic case free of the tape. Stumbling into the bathroom, he tossed one of each tablet into his mouth, sucking water from the faucet to wash them down then managed to drag his battered body back to the bed.

  Lying there, staring up at the ceiling, he was rewarded with a few minutes of clarity as the drugs started to set in, the pain slowly fading to a dull ache. He decided to stop fighting, to stop resisting Bruce’s perverted need to control every little thing. If he lulled the man into a false sense of supremacy, then he would be rewarded with a minuscule amount of freedom. And when that happened, he’d find a way to escape. Because one thing was certain; if he stayed, eventually Bruce would follow through on his threat to kill him.

  ***

  Shannon woke gradually, shifting and rolling over onto his back. The room was dark and quiet, and he was alone. He could hear voices from somewhere in the apartment, and he strained to make out what they were saying but with the closed door, the words weren’t much more than murmurs. Seeing that file on Blair’s desk brought everything that happened in Washington rushing back, the memories drowning him, the pain in the bones that had been broken but never set right making his skin feel too tight. He could still hear Bruce’s voice in his head, the words that almost terrified him enough to stop fighting, almost…“I should let you go like the others, but there’s something about you, Shannon.”

  God, he was tired. Physically, mentally, and emotionally, he was so tired of keeping the past bottled up inside him. No one knew the truth of what he’d survived aside from the person that inflicted the pain, the one that kept him in his cage, and his best friend, Taylor. It was time to be honest with Rory and stop avoiding the man’s questions about his past. Shannon’s biggest fear was being rejected by Rory for what Bruce had done to him and if that happened, it might just finally break him. He’d fallen in love with the spry FBI agent that made him laugh, made him smile, made him breakfast in bed after making love to him for hours then holding Shannon tight in his arms as they both drifted off to sleep. Rory Landers made him want to belong to someone again, made him let down his guard, made him feel safe.

  And then there were the other three people that inadvertently would learn just how fucking stupid he was: Blair, Connie, and Rand. What would the detective with the unnerving, but warm brown eyes think of Shannon once he learned the truth? It bothered him—the possibility of Rand Davis looking at him with pity, and he was confused as hell as to exactly why it bothered him. What if he’d met Rand first instead of Rory? Would the ruggedly handsome former military man have gotten under his skin the way Rory had? A small voice in his head whispered, He already has, but he wasn’t so sure. There were striking similarities between Rand and Bruce that made Shannon wary to get too close to the detective. Both men were stern and commanding, polished and handsome with deep, dark brown eyes—almost identical physically, with strong features and an aura of superiority wrapped up in a tailored suit. But while Bruce used his stature and award-winning smile to pull Shannon in like prey, Rand used the same attributes to put Shannon at ease. There was so much about that man that piqued his curiosity. Interested or not, he had a boyfriend and that was who he should be thinking about. Rory. That’s who I want.

  Sitting up he waited a few seconds before standing, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders and slowly walking across his bedroom. His limbs were sluggish and heavy, the few scant feet between the bed and the door dragging out like a march through the desert. Pulling the door open, he blinked a couple of times, giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the light, following the three distinct voices he could hear. Rory, Gonzales, and Rand were huddled together in the kitchen, the file that tore his world apart on the table in front of them. He called out and Rory immediately came over to him, wrapping him up in the warmth of his arms. Jesus, but he loved this man. Oddly, that thought, knowing that he’d allowed someone beyond the barriers he’d erected around himself didn’t scare the shit out of him as he’d long since feared it would.

  What truly terrified him was speaking the words, giving them a voice, and not having the love reciprocated. So, when Rory said those three little words first, Shannon trusted the truth that was evident in Rory’s tone. Most people would have missed the flash of sadness he’d seen in Rand’s eyes, but Shannon wasn’t most people. Looking over his shoulder every minute of every day, living in fear, made him more aware of his surroundings, especially of the people in his life after what he’d lived through. When he told them he was ready to jerk open the door to the past, Connie looked contemplative while Rand simply watched him with his all-knowing, unnerving gaze. Seeing trepidation in Rory’s usually vibrant green eyes made him grimace; he hated being the cause of uncertainty in his lover’s mind.

  “Come on, Shan. Let’s go in the living room.” Rory smiled and took his hand, walking over to the plush love seat in the corner and gently pushing him down. “You hungry?”

  “Not really.” Shannon shook his head. “But a cup of that cinnamon plum tea would be great.” He shivered, his body alerting his brain that he was cold. Rory grabbed the plush throw off the back of the couch and draped it over his legs before heading into the kitchen. Rand took a seat on the couch across from him, pulling a small notepad and a pen from his jacket pocket. Connie smiled and winked at him, kicking Rand’s legs out of the way so she could sit beside him on the couch. The two exchanged playful banter, obviously egging each other on, and Shannon rolled his eyes. If the detective were straight and the tough-as-nails FBI agent liked boys instead of girls, the two of them would make the most beautiful babies. With her olive-toned skin and black, wavy hair, Rand’s height, usually mischievous brown eyes, and that adorable dimple in his chin, the kid would be gorgeous. Their eyes met and held for a few long moments, the usually confident man the first to look away, blinking and ducking his head.

  Shannon had no time to process that as Rory came around the corner with a mug in each hand, using his elbow to flip the kitchen light off. “Here you go, babe.” He handed Shannon one of the mugs, lifting the blanket and sliding onto the love seat beside him. With Rory next to him, Shannon felt like he could take on the world.

  “Okay, Shannon. Tell us what you think your connection is to the Columbia River Killer case,” Rand prompted.

  Lacing his fingers with Rory’s, Shannon drew strength from him. This was it, the moment of truth. A niggle of doubt left him uncertain, hesitant. Pushing those thoughts to the far recesses of his mind, he replayed Rory’s words of love and commitment and they gave him the boost of confidence he needed. “Well, I can’t be certain I am connected, but there is a striking resemblance between me and those photos in that file I found on Blair’s desk.” Where should he start? When his parents decided to pretend they didn’t have a son? Or when he strolled into the lion’s den, voluntarily?

  “My parents were either comfortably numb or raising the roof off the house as far back as I can remember. As I
got older, I learned to fend for myself and avoid them as much as possible, especially after I told them I was gay. When I was fifteen I met someone, an older guy that said all the right things and spun a web of deceit that I fell into. He was so kind and gentle, at first. He made promises that I can look back on now and recognize as bullshit. But at the time, I was so young and stupid and starved for love and attention—and Bruce gave me that, in spades.” Shannon sipped some of the delicious tea, appreciating the fact that no one spoke; they all sat back and let him take the wheel.

  “I decided to skip school one day and instead spent the afternoon at one of the local record stores. When I left, Bruce was out front in his town car, his driver, Tuan, holding the door open for me, and I climbed in. I didn’t go home that night. In fact, I never went home again. I stayed in the guest room for a while—he told me it was safer at his place, told me that he would protect me, that I mattered to him, unlike my folks. Again, young and stupid and I believed him. The relationship evolved gradually, I think. Sometimes when I look back and try to recall the specifics it’s hazy, but I do know that it was awhile before I was in his bed.”

  “Whoa, time out.” Rand made a T with his hands and Shannon giggled despite the severity of the situation; he couldn’t help it. “Exactly how old was this Bruce guy?”

  “Thirty-three.”

  Connie choked on her beer, sputtering and spitting it all over the coffee table. “Are you fucking serious?” Rand barked. Shannon nodded. All the while the two of them were tripping over their tongues, Rory stayed quiet and calm. His breathing had hitched when he heard how old Bruce was, and he’d gripped Shan’s hand tighter, but no outburst from him.

  “Ay, Dios mío!” Gonzales went off on a tirade, Spanish curses flying around the room.

  Rand’s eyes had gone dark, fist clenching the pen so tight Shannon thought surely it would snap in half. “Tell me, Shannon. Did your parents ever look for you, file a report, cops come knocking on the door of a middle-aged man that was tucking a fucking teenager into his bed every night?” The deep baritone and low growl in Rand’s tone didn’t frighten Shannon the way it would have in the past.