Survivor Trilogy Box Set

by T. M. Smith

  Nodding, Shannon handed him a bottle of water and a couple of aspirin. “Yes, had we driven it would have taken forever. We do live in Dallas.” Completely entranced with the ethereal blond, Mannie shrieked when Blair grabbed him by the arm, pulling him to his feet. When in the hell had the man stood?

  Every ounce of apprehension, pain, and fear ebbed away when he was wrapped safely in the arms of his lover. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here and he hurt you again.” The sadness in Blair’s voice wrecked him much more than anything his Grandfather could have done.

  Leaning back, he cupped Blair’s cheek. “Baby, this is not on you, okay? He was going to find out I wasn’t dead or missing eventually, but this”—Mannie pointed at his stinging cheek—“is not your fault.”

  “But I promised you…”

  “Stop.” Mannie spoke sternly. “I need you here with me right now, Blair, not blaming yourself for something out of your control.” Slowly, the guilt in his boyfriend’s eyes bled away, and Blair attempted a half-assed smile.

  Before he could say any more, the door swung open and Rand came into the apartment, talking on his cell. “Yes, Agent Landers is bringing him in now, and there will be charges. I know it’s a tightrope, but being a judge doesn’t give him the right to assault anyone, period. And he’s not even in his damn state.” Shannon came around the table, placing a protective arm around Mannie’s shoulders.

  “Got it, be there soon.” Rand ended the call and shoved his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “Officers Moore and Knight are meeting Rory at DPD headquarters since this is a sensitive issue that should be handled more delicately than I’d like. You okay, Shan?” The big, burly detective held his arms open, and Shannon quickly stepped into his space, sighing. He’d spent some time with Shannon at Frank and Taylor’s wedding, some of it good, some of it not so much when discussing their mutual pain and suffering, more formally known as Bruce and Tuan.

  “You okay, babe?” Blair fingered a lock of his hair, placing it behind Mannie’s ear. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  “Let’s don’t.” Rand stopped him. “We need pictures, Cummings, if he’s going to press charges.”

  Suddenly all eyes in the room were on him. “You are pressing charges, right, Mannie?” Shannon extricated himself from Rand’s arms and moved over to stand beside Mannie.

  Was he? He should—oh, fuck yeah, he should. Judge Tullor needed to be held accountable for his actions, needed to learn that his grandson was no longer his personal punching bag or verbal shower curtain, catching all the vitriol and heaps of abuse that flew from his mouth like venom. But Grandpa Dickhead’s threat of repercussions, and calling Blair out by title and name—it worried Mannie to think that Blair could face some type of retribution simply because they loved each other. Standing there in the home he was making with Blair, two people he barely knew by his side willing to go to the mat for him, gave Mannie the courage to do what needed to be done. “Yes, I am.”

  Chapter 27

  Blair

  Leaning against the wall in the corner of the office he shared with Con and Rory, Blair bounced a tennis ball off Con’s desk, catching it before tossing it again. Rand had sent him away when he tried to follow Mannie into the interrogation room, and it had thoroughly pissed him off. Not at Rand, no, he realized that the detective was doing his job and with him being Mannie’s lover that being involved in the case as anything other than a loving, supporting partner would be a very bad idea. Still, looking at his watch only served to make him angrier. Going on two fucking hours and Mannie was still in the lion’s den. Frank and Caleb were running point with the arrest that didn’t involve handcuffs and a jail cell—how nice for Grandpa Fucktwat. Instead, Judge Dredd was in the Chief of Police’s office, sipping a glass of bourbon and barking orders at anyone that would listen.

  First, pictures of Mannie’s injuries had been taken. Then he’d been checked out by a physician’s assistant Shannon knew just to be safe. Shannon taught the PA’s daughter in one of his classes, and she was more than happy to come by the station to set both Blair’s and Shannon’s minds at ease. Mannie’s cheek was ten shades of black-and-blue and swollen, his lip busted and bloody. “Fucking piece of shit.” He threw the ball at the whiteboard, knocking it back a few feet.

  “Tell us how you really feel.” Rory yawned as he came into the room, two cups of steaming coffee. Blair took the one he was handed, thanking his partner. Taking a seat on the edge of his desk, Rory looked damn near dead on his feet.

  “Like I want to kill the bastard.”

  Sighing, Rory more fell into his chair than sat in it. “If anyone hears you say that in regard to Judge Tullor, or any judge for that matter, you’ll be sitting in a cell, facing—”

  “What, you want me to lie?” Blair cut Rory off with a shout, pacing the small space between the three desks, angrier than he could ever remember being. “That pompous windbag is down in the Chief of D’s office sipping a cocktail and likely lining up an army of imbeciles to try and make Mannie go back to Seattle with him.” Would he do it? Could he? Mannie had come so far in their short time together. The gun-shy, feral young man no longer cowered in the corner or jumped at the slightest sound. But was he far enough removed from his past and his toxic bloodline to put up a fight to stay with Blair?

  Exhaling an exaggerated breath, Rory shrugged. “I know you love him, and you want to protect him. Believe me, Blair, I know better than anyone aside from Rand and you how fucking important it is to protect the man you love from the demons of his past. But you have worked long and hard to get where you are in the Bureau. All I’m asking is that you consider the big picture before you say or do something you might regret.”

  Sighing, Blair all but collapsed into a chair, unable to form adequate words, just nodding. His desk phone rang, and he sprung to his feet. “Hello.…Yes, okay.”

  “What?” Rory stood.

  “The duty sergeant is bringing Mannie down to us.” Blair was already halfway out the door, his heart rate finally slowing when he saw Mannie at the end of the hall. Even with a bruised cheek and busted lip, hair an unruly mess, Mannie was still the most beautiful thing Blair had ever seen.

  Blinking back tears, Mannie reached for him, eyes glowing with nothing but love and acceptance. “I was so scared, Blair, when I opened the door and he was there. And then I thought about all the shit he put me through. Him, my parents, Bruce, all of it, but you know what calmed me down, gave me the strength to tell him no?”

  Shaking his head, Blair eagerly anticipated Mannie’s response. “You, Blair,” he whispered, taking Blair’s face in his hands. “You, Tony, Sharon, Zoe, and Petey. Rory, Rand, and Shannon. Taylor and Frank. Our life here in Dallas, just, all of you, my family of choice. You gave me the strength I needed to tell that miserable man to fuck off.” Laughing almost hysterically, Mannie moved closer, resting his forehead against Blair’s. “I love you, Blair. More than I ever thought I could love anyone, I love you.” The kiss they shared was soft, delicate, and pure.

  An unmistakable sound pulled Blair away from his lover—goddamn desk phones. Fingers laced together, he led Mannie back into his office, only catching the tail end of Rory’s conversation. Rand sat on the corner of Rory’s desk, Shannon in Rory’s lap.

  “Wait, when did you two…” Blair couldn’t remember seeing either of the men in the hall. How had they gotten past him?

  Snorting, Rand rolled his eyes. “I could have walked past you in the hall buck-ass naked and you would have been none the wiser.”

  “Oh, shut your face, you brute,” Shannon admonished his brooding detective, winking at the man as he pushed past him. “Don’t let him make you second-guess yourself, Blair. Right now Mannie should be the only thing on your mind, okay?”

  “Jesus Christ, fuck the kid gloves. Your father will be here tomorrow, Mannie. Grandpa Dickwad called him as soon as he got to the station to tell him that you were, in fact, alive and well and in Dallas.” Rand stood, turning to face the
m. “And while I am hopeful you are aware, let me remind you that you are an adult and regardless of DNA, there is no one that can tell you what to do with your life.”

  Before Mannie could respond, there was a soft rap of knuckles on the doorframe. Turning, Blair eyed Officer Caleb Knight skeptically. The despondent look in the man’s green eyes did nothing to calm Blair’s already frazzled nerves. “Your Grandfather would like a word, Mannie.”

  Everyone in the room spoke at once. Shouts, curse words, and some pretty dangerous threats were thrown out into the universe, anger and hatred on full display. Blair wrapped his arms around Mannie, pulling him close. “You don’t owe that bastard a damn thing.”

  It damn near broke his heart when Mannie pulled away, giving him a sad smile. “I have to end this, Blair.” Kissing him softly, Mannie turned and followed Caleb down the hall.

  Chapter 28

  Mannie

  Mannie had considered this outcome from the start. His grandfather was far too vindictive to simply walk away and let things go. No, the vile man had something up his sleeve. An ace in the hole, a last-ditch effort to get Mannie to bend to his will and return to Seattle. But there was nothing Grandpa Dickhead could use against him, not anymore. So he stepped away from Blair, away from the people in the small office with fluorescent lighting and tacky linoleum flooring, following Caleb Knight through a maze of halls until he stood before a door with a placard that read, “Chief of Detectives Cicily Cobb.” Taking a moment to school his features, Mannie inhaled a deep breath and pushed the door open.

  “Junior?” Skin crawling, Mannie pushed past the rush of memories associated with that condescending tone. “Well, don’t just stand there, boy. Come in and close the door.” Grandpa Dickhead spat the words out.

  “What do you want?” Mannie kicked the door closed—no sense wasting time on pleasantries. Eyes narrowed, the man he’d been named after stared at him with so much hatred and contempt, it was almost laughable. Why the fuck was the man even here? It was obvious from his body language alone that he would rather be anywhere else. What did he expect from Mannie?

  Draining the contents of the glass in his hand, Grandpa immediately grabbed the crystal decanter sitting on the bookshelf lining the entire wall of the office, filling it and quickly draining it again. “You…you think you can have fairy tales and happily ever after with that…man?” Words slurred, Grandpa Dickhead turned to face him, his features painted with hatred and contempt. “It’s wrong, unnatural, and I won’t allow you to shame our family name.”

  “And what, exactly, are you going to do about it? No one even knows I’m alive, not really. Just walk away, sir. Leave and pretend you never found me.” The truth of the words Mannie spoke gutted him. He’d long ago come to terms with the fact that his own father and grandfather would rather he be dead than gay. But in the midst of all this turmoil, his grandfather trying to squirm his way back into Mannie’s life had held a sliver of hope. Were his parents truly missing him, wanting him in their life? There was no way in hell that Grandpa Appearances would ever condone having a gay grandson; that ship had sailed long ago. But if Mannie could regain the love of one or both of his parents, shouldn’t he at least try? Somewhere out there he had a brother and a sister he’d never really gotten to know—twins, born so close to Mannie’s twelfth birthday. Their relationship had only begun to form when Bruce whisked him away to his castle of pain in the sky.

  “Who do you think you are?” Venom laced every syllable, punctuated with utter condemnation. “You do not presume to question me, boy!” Grandpa Dickhead slammed the glass tumbler on the desk. “You will do as you’re told and get on the plane with me tomorrow morning. Are we clear?”

  No, they were most certainly not clear. Judge Tullor needed a lesson in manners. Wait, that’s it, Mannie. You have to stop thinking of him, looking at him, as your grandfather. He doesn’t love you or want you in his life. All he wants is to control you and bend you to fit whatever he needs in that moment to boost his career. Mannie’s thoughts swarmed like a hive of bees seeking a new home, violent and all-consuming. “No, sir. I don’t think I will. You head on home to Seattle and forget you ever saw me. I don’t want to be a part of your life any more than you want me in it.”

  Head high, shoulders firm, Mannie turned his back on Judge Tullor, refusing to give him any sort of title that resembled family ever again. Reaching for the doorknob, the future he’d only dreamed of in sight, Mannie smiled, his heart damn near stopping when Grandpa Dickhead threatened not him, but Blair. “If you walk out that door, I will bury your agent. Do you hear me, Junior? I will destroy Special Agent Blair Cummings’s career with just one phone call. Test me, boy.”

  A wave of anxiety swept over Mannie’s body, and his limbs trembled. Was there something he held close to the collar that he could threaten Blair’s career with the Bureau? No, not possible. Blair was the epitome of salt of the earth; everything he did had a purpose or reason, no ill intent ever crossing his agent’s mind. Rolling his shoulders, Mannie turned to face his grandfather, determined to look aloof. “And just how do you plan on achieving that, sir?” Fucking hell and goddamn, why was he calling him “sir”? Some lessons were harder to forget, he supposed.

  Nostrils flared, Grandpa Dickhead snarled. “I am friends with the director, and he is very loyal to me. Trust me when I say I could snuff out the careers of your agent, his partners, and those two dimwitted cops that arrested me with a snap of my fingers.” Mannie rolled his eyes when Dickhead actually snapped his fingers.

  While Mannie was pretty fucking confident Grandpa was full of shit, there was the one percent, off chance that Dickhead spoke the truth. Could he play Russian roulette with Blair’s, Con’s, and Rory’s careers? Not to mention Frank, Caleb, and Rand? He would never. But he also knew that none of the aforementioned would want him to go back to his family either; they’d want Mannie to protect himself from Grandpa Dickhead.

  Who was this man? Once a person that Mannie looked up to with more adoration and love than anyone else, now he presented himself as no more than a bully. “Fuck you, asshole.” Mannie growled, fists clenched at his sides. “You don’t get to decide what I do with my life anymore. You lost that privilege long ago. And who I love is not up for debate, Grandpa, so you should get on your plane and fly your happy ass back home because there is nothing here for you.”

  The urge to laugh out loud was almost overpowering when Dickhead glared at him, eyes wide, fat cheeks bulging, the top button of his crisp, white button-down nearly popping under the pressure. Arms crossed over his chest, Mannie watched the myriad of emotions warring for dominance. Grandpa was furious but frightened as well. It was almost as if the man knew he no longer held power over anyone and was grasping at straws in an attempt to hold on to the dominion he’d wielded for so long. “I can end his career with one phone call, boy. Is that what you want?” Voice broken and anxious, Mannie knew Dickhead was only doing what he did best, threatening. There was no force or promise behind the words.

  “And yet, I think you’re full of shit.” Grandpa glared at him and if looks could kill, Blair would die a lonely man.

  Before Mannie could muster a response, the door to the office opened. A large man with jet-black hair, a five o’clock shadow, and intense amber eyes waltzed in, quickly taking up all the space in the room. “Howard.” Jesus Christ and goddamn; never, even in his own mind, had Mannie heard his grandfather’s name spoken with more disdain wrapped around every single letter.

  “Ah, Joseph, please come in. This is my grandson. He seems to have gotten mixed up with one of your agents and I’ve come to untwist him, bring him home to his family, where he belongs.” Grandpa Dickhead had completely regained his composure, hurling insults to anyone that would listen.

  “Is that so?” The big man moved around the room with more grace and fluidity than his large frame should have. “Because my agents are telling me an entirely different story.” Joseph tossed his coat onto the chair, lifting the e
mpty glass from the table. Mannie had to bite down on his bottom lip to stop from laughing when Joseph sniffed the glass, frowning before grabbing a clean one and filling it from the half-full decanter on the shelf.

  “Now you listen to me. This is a family matter, one you are better suited to keep your nose out of, Joseph.” His grandfather may as well have spoken through a snaked, forked tongue with all the venom he poured into his words when addressing the director of the FBI.

  Throwing his head back, the big man laughed. It was a rich, hearty laugh full of certainty and absolute glee. “Oh, my God. Really? You’re threatening me, Howard? Is that where we are?” Knocking the coat and briefcase on the desk onto the floor, Joseph took a seat in the large chair, sighing and emptying the glass of bourbon he’d only just poured.

  “Why, I never—” The director silenced Grandpa Dickhead with a wave of his hand.

  “Shut the fuck up, Howard, and listen to me very carefully. You are going to get on the jet waiting for you at Love Field and fly your bigoted ass back to Seattle. You will never try to contact Junior here again. If the boy wants to reach out, he will. If not, leave it the fuck alone. I will eagerly be awaiting a memo from the Supreme Court announcing your retirement.” Grandpa straightened, red-faced, mouth open to argue, but the director shut him down with a glare. “You will retire, Howard, effective immediately, or I will see to it that the five-inch-thick file I have on you finds its way into the hands of people that just might consider killing you for some of your indiscretions. Are we clear?”

  Seconds ticked by, marked by the hand on the clock on the wall. The tick, tick, tick sounding like a herd of elephants marching through the room. Even more red-faced and madder than Mannie could ever remember seeing him—which was saying a lot—Grandpa Dickhead nodded, his only acquiescence to the impossible situation the usually powerful man found himself in. A loud rap of knuckles on the other side of the door damn near made Mannie jump. “Sir.” A large, bald head peeked around the door. “Judge Tullor’s car is here.”