“You promised.”
“Boy, I said I'd take you to dinner. I did not say I would enjoy it.”
I was about to pout until Freda came to the table.
“Do you know how worried I was?” Freda fussed and was about to cuff me on the back of the head until Cowen cleared his throat.
When we were out together, he always put himself between me and other people. No one was ever given the opportunity to touch me. “I'm sorry. I just needed time to myself.” I'd told the lie enough that it came easily to me.
“I see you found yourself a young man while you were away.”
She started to hug me, and the sound of him making that sound in his throat grew louder. She didn't seem to pick up on it and gave me her usual embrace she reserved for regulars. I'd missed coming here. When my mother passed away, this had become the place where I could spend an hour or two just to feel less alone.
“Freda, Cowen, Cowen, Freda.”
“Your asshole boss?”
I shot a glance at him just in time to catch the lift of one of his heavy brows and the look he gave me promised punishment later.
“He's nicer than I first thought.” The lesson I'd get when we returned home flashed through my mind, and I shivered. It had nothing to do with fear.
“Your usual, what about you?” she asked him.
“Same.”
“Oh…kay. I'll be right back with drinks.” She picked up the menus and left us alone.
“Be nice, please.”
“In our long acquaintance, when have I shown that I was nice? Apparently, you always assumed I was an asshole.”
I tried to pick out the nuances in his tone which were absent or subtle. In this case, he gave nothing away. Freda returned with our drinks, and I nodded my thanks, then waited for her to leave again.
“You've been very nice to me.”
“I enjoy fucking my boy.”
I darted my gaze around the room to make sure no one was paying attention. I sometimes forgot Cowen didn't know how to deal with regular people. I brought my attention back to him, and he seemed completely unfazed. Elegant in his three-piece suit in the middle of a diner filled with people in jeans and t-shirts. His spine and shoulders straight as he studied me in that way which made me feel as if no one else existed for him but me. Although, I knew better. He was always on guard.
He reached inside his jacket and removed a wooden jeweler box with the logo of the most exclusive boutique in the city. They didn't sell anything below a five-digit price tag. He set the box on the table and slid it toward me.
“What is it?”
“Open it.”
I eased it open, the hinge making the slightest creaking sound. Inside a bed of silk rested a cuff bracelet. Staring at it, I realized what it was. It was a perfectly detailed whip cuff that would encircle my wrist several times.
“What is this?”
“I've owned you since the minute you stepped into my office. Now I want you to wear my ownership.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means that you're mine until the end of our days on this cesspool of a planet.”
I lifted my present from the box and tested the textures under the pads of my thumbs. Cowen had told me plenty that he owned me—that I was his, but this seemed so much more tangible. Something I could touch and look at, a gift that would only have meaning to the two of us.
“Okay.”
“I don't think I asked if you agreed or not.”
“You're losing romance points.”
“Is that a thing?”
The confusion was clear on his face, and I hid my expression from him so he wouldn't see me smiling at him. He wasn't the greatest with emotional queues, and he'd probably interpret it wrong. My man was clueless as to how to be human, and I'd accepted that. I wanted Cowen more than I wanted conventional. It wasn't roses or candlelit dinners. Oh, he'd give them to me if I asked, but just like him bringing me to the diner, he didn't like or understand any of it. I had to take the good with the bad, the killer, and the clueless man.
“Put it on me, please.”
He took it when I held it out for him. It easily flexed to slip over my hand. It almost appeared too fragile to wear—hidden in the hair on my wrist and forearm. He surprised me when he kissed the backs of my fingers. I was rewarded with a flash of possessiveness in his usually impassive eyes. He didn't talk about his feelings or what was going on in his head as freely as I'd like. Yet his actions always showed he cared for me.
Sometimes I wished he'd say the L-word. That would probably be a gift he'd never give me. Only for the fact that love didn't have a tangible feeling for him to grasp. It was a complex mixture of emotions he couldn't break down into facets he could analyze with his five senses.
“I love you, too.”
The utter shock on his handsome face amazed me. I wonder if anyone had ever said it to him. The stories he'd told me of his parents weren't filled with unconditional love or affection. They were too frightened of their child to offer him platitudes of familial love. He may believe he was born broken. A product that never should've survived to birth, but his upbringing didn't help the bad wiring.
I could say I love you enough for the both of us. I knew our time together was probably limited. I'd seen his other life and how easy it would be for him not to come home. My mother's death, while tragic, had taught me lessons in life, and the most important one was we weren't guaranteed years to come. Cherishing what time we did have, not waiting to be hit with the what-ifs later on.
He seemed about to speak, but Freda showed up, placing plates in front of us. He snarled his nose at what he was being served, meatloaf and mashed potatoes was the ultimate in comfort food, add cheesecake to the meal, and I was happy.
“Enjoy.”
“Thanks.” I started to eat and noticed he was staring at his plate. “I'd like to keep you around, and in order to do that, you need food.”
“I'm only eating because my body requires sustenance. It's the twenty-first century…these annoying requirements of food and sleep should be voluntary by now.”
“You're not superhuman, so please eat.”
“Only to make you happy.”
I loved food, sleep, and music, but he found them unnecessary inconveniences. I tried to imagine what life was like for him from his perspective. To not understand the basic things that made us human. Emotion. Enjoying a minuscule thing for the simple fact that it made you happy. In some ways, I felt sorry for him and the way he viewed the world.
I watched him eat slowly, small measured bites. When I was satisfied that he was going to eat what was on the plate, I went back to eating my own food. That didn't mean I didn't observe him. He seemed so out of place. A part of but so much alone, well, except for me. I'd discovered I had endless patience for his eccentricities.
Every time a customer walked in or out, his attention was drawn over my shoulder. He sized all of them up. He'd told me during one of our talks when we couldn't sleep that he assigned degrees of danger to everyone he met. I knew he was unarmed but I was confident that he'd protect me, he didn't need a weapon for that.
“It's safe here.”
“It's my job to protect you and make sure you're safe. Let me do my job.”
“Is that all I am…a job?” I asked cheekily.
The twitch of his eye warned me I was earning lashes. Every day we arrived home from work or going out, he'd tell me the tally. The punishment was just a speed bump in me getting my reward which ended up with him fucking me. I lived for the moments that he brought me pleasure and pain. Our lives together would never be easy and if it was, then what was the point?
“You're more than a job…you're mine.”
“I'm happy with that.”
“You better be. I plan on keeping you a very long time.”
I grinned as I went back to eating and we lapsed into a comfortable silence. Listening to what was going on around me, the low drone of conversation while he
remained on guard. Always prepared to keep me safe and happy.
Aftermath
Harrison
I hung from a hook that the chain of my handcuffs was draped over. My back was on fire, and every muscle in my body screamed in agony. I yelled at the last kiss of the whip against my back.
“Ten, thank you, sir.” I counted as he requested and closed my eyes at the sting of sweat. I deserved my punishment. I hadn't trusted him to know what was best.
Just as my legs were about to go out, his arms were around me, and he was pressed flush to my back. I leaned my head back on his shoulder, and he soothed me—grounded me as my head went light.
“You made me so proud, boy.”
With his arms around me, he helped me lift high enough to remove my tether to the hook. He walked me to the bathroom and sat me on the closed toilet seat. I kept my hands on him as he filled the tub, my head pressed to his ribs. I brushed a kiss to the deep valleyed scar where flesh was missing and another to the knife wound that had pierced his ribs. He'd gotten it as he had tried to save me when his old boss used me as leverage.
I'd spent days at his bedside as he'd turned repeatedly feverish. It was a reminder of how close I came to losing him. In the back of my brain, I still questioned sometimes why I stayed—why I didn't run as fast as possible.
He removed the cuffs, tugged me to my feet, and helped me into the tub. I hissed a bit as the warm water touched the stripes on my ass and lower back.
“Sh, I'll get you all cleaned up and then put your medicine on.” He calmed me as he used a cup to wet my hair.
I sighed in pleasure as he worked shampoo through my hair and scored my scalp with his blunt nails.
“You still happy with me, sir?”
“Always, if not I'll find a beautiful place to spread your ashes.”
I snorted as he said that with a straight face, but his gorgeous eyes brightened a bit. After a year, his joke delivery still needed some work. When I'd awakened in his basement clueless as to why and who had me, hell, even before, I'd never thought I'd be here.
The outside world would think something was wrong with my feelings for him and his for me. They didn't matter. I was truly happy for the first time in my life, and I wouldn't give it up for anything. I still spent nights and days alone as he took care of his new jobs. He required the killing to keep him grounded, and I wouldn't take that from him.
If anything, his routine was the hardest to adapt to—he was a creature of extreme habit. The only things he adjusted for were when he went on jobs. I'd learned a lot about him and the subtly of his surprise when he returned, and I was still there, broke me. As if I would leave him, I was addicted to and lost without him. Before him, my panic attacks were often, but since him, I rarely had them. They returned after Cristo had taken me. Although, it hadn’t lasted long because he’d focused completely on me to give me my safety back.
That's what today's punishment was about. I hadn't come to him when the anxiety had taken over, and I'd attempted to suffer alone. He'd taken me in hand and given me the pain I needed to ground me, then cared for me as always. I hadn't understood what I needed until I'd met him. He'd shown me that I didn't need to be in control of everything—that he was there to always give me what I required.
He tilted my head back to strip the lather from my hair, and I watched him as he did. His cheek bore a new scar that heightened the harsh angles of his face. He wasn't beautiful or soft, and his expression never changed. Occasionally a smile would cause the tiniest tilt to one corner of his thin mouth.
I pouted my lips, and he gave me a quick kiss, then continued with his task of cleaning me from head to toe. His single-mindedness was extraordinary, and when we were together, it was always trained on me. I was his focal point, the place he didn't have to be on guard.
I stared at the cuff bracelet he'd given me months before, and I never removed it, sometimes he would grab my wrist at work. He’s squeezed until the metal cut into my flesh. Just a bite of pain to remind me that he owned my pleasure, and more importantly, my pain.
“Do you love me, boy?”
“Yes, sir.”
He roughly jerked my head back to stare into my eyes. “Say it, boy.”
“I love you, sir.”
I smiled up at him as the stiffness of his body eased, and his touch gentled. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Cowen was possessive, insane, unyielding, and homicidal, but I wouldn't have my crazy assassin any other way.
THE END
Thank You
Thank you for taking the time to read By Way of Pain. Cowen and Harrison were a labor of immense frustration, but I hope you enjoyed the tale I wove to get the psychopath his perfect boy.
More CRIMINAL DELIGHTS
Thank you for reading a CRIMINAL DELIGHTS novel.
For more deliciously dark tales, visit:
http://criminaldelights.com
Each novel can be read as a standalone and contains a dark M/M romance.
Books in the series:
K.A. Merikan
Wrong Way Home
Alex Jane
Devil Next Door
Katze Snow and Tiegan Clyne
Only the Devil Knows
L. A. Witt
Blood & Bitcoin
GB Gordon
Match Grade
Tal Bauer
Splintered
Michael Mandrake
Love Kills
Leona Windwalker
Beloved Possession
Sean Azinsalt
It's in My Blood
J.M. Dabney
By Way of Pain
Dora Esquivel
Hunters and Killers
M.D. Gregory
Sinner's Ransom
Michelle Frost
Cold Light
Abigail Kade
To Have and to Hold
Rorie Kage
His Final Curtain
Emma Jaye
Sweating Lies (Lies #1)
Emma Jaye
Splitting Lies (Lies #2)
About the Author
J.M. Dabney is a multi-genre author who writes mainly LGBT romance and fiction. They live with a constant diverse cast of characters in their head. No matter their size, shape, race, etc. J.M. lives for one purpose alone, and that’s to make sure they do them justice and give them the happily ever after they deserve. J.M. is dysfunction at its finest and they makes sure their characters are a beautiful kaleidoscope of crazy. There is nothing more they want from telling their stories than to show that no matter the package the characters come in or the damage their pasts have done, that love is love. That normal is never normal and sometimes the so-called broken can still be amazing.
Reader Group – https://www.facebook.com/groups/585182991553194/
Mailing List – http://eepurl.com/dzWnIn
Also by J.M. Dabney
The Hunt
J.M. Dabney & Davidson King
Disgraced detective turned private investigator, Ray Clancy, left the force with a case unsolved. Finding the killer was no longer his problem, but it still haunted him. How long would he survive the frustration of not knowing before he gave into the compulsion of his nature to solve the crime?
Server, Andrew Shay, existed where he didn’t feel he belonged, living behind the guise of a costume. Yet it paid the bills, and he refused to complain about the little things in life. One night he returned home from work to find his roommate dead and the killer still there. Afraid and alone, his life spiraled and he didn’t know what to do. Could a detective at his core and a scared young man join forces to bring down the killer in their midst?
Universal Link - books2read.com/JM-Dabney-Davidson-King1
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By Way of Pain: Criminal Delights: Assassins Page 14