Jefferson’s eyes turned flinty. “The fucker hurt him? Are you sure he’s dead?” When Christos nodded, the cop made a fist and cracked his knuckles. “Too bad. Look… I get it, believe me. I work with abused kids all the time. I don’t want to make Alun uncomfortable and I wouldn’t have come on that strong if I’d known. You’ll let him know that?”
“Of course. Good night,” he added when the guy didn’t move.
With his gaze fixed on the point in the kitchen where Alun had disappeared, he said, “Yeah, sure. Thanks again for the food and the update on Mateo. Please let him know I was asking about him and that my door is always open if he needs me.”
He won’t. “Certainly.”
He made sure the cop truly left and the atmosphere in the room changed into a noticeably relaxed and more raucous mood. Someone, Logan likely, cranked the volume on the background music that had been humming constantly. More kids came in, giggling and hungry. He served them without thought, then looked at the clock.
Damn, the hands had barely moved at all.
* * * *
Mateo peeked around the doorjamb to make sure the hallway was clear. Other than Harry, no one had come into his room for hours. He hadn’t heard anything all day, either, but now with the TV off, there was a heavy beat audible from somewhere in the distance. He could hear a faint sound of music with his door open. Knowing that he was lodged above a club, that made sense. And given how much better he felt, lying around was getting boring. He felt antsy, and nothing kept his attention enough to entice him to stay in bed.
Seeing that the coast was clear, he stepped all the way out and looked at each end. To the left was an elevator and to the right a staircase. He stood scrunching his toes in the deep pile of the carpet, trying to decide what to do. While no one had told him explicitly that he had to stay in his room, he felt as if he were expected to anyway.
“Well, if that’s the case, they should have had someone stay with me,” he said softly to himself in case there was any chance someone was around to hear him.
What he really meant was that Christos should have remained with him—which was selfish and silly, but how he felt nevertheless. He knew the man was at Our Safe Place. That was a good thing. Street kids were already coming to rely on it as a place to find food and warmth, even for a little while. It took a lot of people to keep it open and Christos’ willingness to help out was a testimony to how good a man he was.
“Except to me.” That was more churlishness on his part. The man had been very kind to him. It was because of that morning shower that Mateo was confident he could leave his room without scaring anyone who saw him.
He’d thrown on clean pajamas, of which there now seemed to be an endless supply. Having looked in the bathroom mirror, he knew he was his usual jail-bait self. Maybe if he followed the music, he would see some of the club. And perhaps some of the club members would see him, and…
Hm-m, that wasn’t as satisfying a fantasy as he would have expected. Weird how when he pictured getting nasty with some guy, it always ended with Christos’ stern face staring at him.
“Forget him. Have a little fun,” he said aloud to himself.
He headed for the stairs, because that seemed like the obvious source of the sounds. Plus, it was easier to race back to his room. In an elevator, he would be trapped. They’d told him that this floor was on lockdown for his sake. He still kept an eye out when he passed the other rooms. The idea of someone jumping out at him, even without bad intent, made him a little leery. When he reached the end, he found a sign on a brass pole facing the stairs that declared the area off limits.
Okay, that was to keep people out, not keep him in. He crept quietly to the railing and peered over it. The height made him a little dizzy, as did the bright lights all the way down on the first floor. The one directly below him was more muted in atmosphere. He could barely make out forms milling back and forth and some sitting along the wall. As his eyes adjusted to the change in brightness, he could see that men sprawled in big chairs while mostly naked boys gyrated on their laps. It looked like fun.
The activity on the first floor was more so. He caught flashes of boys dancing across the floor and men crowding a couple of small, round stages. If he leaned way over, he could also see the poles they pranced around. And the music had him tapping his own toes and wiggling his ass. Christos had mentioned something about a job. If he could get him hired as a go-go boy, how awesome would that be?
He squinted again at the middle floor, and yes, that looked like more than mere lap dances. Apparently, the boys could hustle as well. He bet this was a more lucrative gig in that sense than his street whoring. Safer, too. His dick stirred with real interest for the first time since he’d passed out. His sickness was on the wane and his body was ready to get back into action. Maybe it would be all right if he slunk to the next floor to watch. If he stuck to the shadows of the bannister, he might not be seen. And if a man saw him and mistook him for a disheveled go-go boy, would that be so bad?
With a half-formed plan, he crept to the head of the stairs.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
The question was asked in almost a whisper, but Mateo jumped as if someone had shouted it in his ear. He stumbled forward and reached out to grab the rail and steady himself. He never got a grip because Christos wrapped one arm around him and hauled him backward. Mateo scrambled to get his feet under himself like a cartoon character, then gave up. Christos was effectively carrying him like a rag doll. He didn’t let go until they were back in his room. And even that was to toss him on the bed.
Mateo bounced in the middle a few times before stopping in a sprawl. He glared at Christos. “What is your problem?”
The man stood with his arms folded and fury written all over his face. “Feeling better, are we?”
“Yes, as if it’s any of your concern.” He folded his arms as well, and tried to convey his displeasure with his own expression and icy tone. There was no fear, he noticed. Christos irritated him with his high-handed ways, yet the man didn’t frighten him, which was surprising, given how big and strong he was. Mateo should have been scared shitless.
“You know damn fucking well it’s my concern. You’re here because I insisted on it and I’m responsible for your behavior.”
“I wasn’t doing anything. I’m bored and wanted to listen to the music. That’s all.”
“Really? You weren’t thinking of making some extra cash from the club members on the lap dance and playroom level?”
“No, I was not,” he huffed, although he wasn’t sure he could pull off the not-quite-truth.
“Huh! Well, if you want to listen to the music, you can do so from your bed.” Christos went to a panel on the other side of the headboard from where Mateo had been lying and fiddled with some knobs. Music filled the room.
“Oh. How was I supposed to know it was there?”
“You want to watch the dancing on the first floor?” Christos grabbed the remote from the bed without waiting for an answer, and after a few seconds of more button-pushing, the scene from the railing came on.
This was better than what he’d gleaned from his perch. He could see everything as if he had a front-row seat. There were four stages where boys in thongs gyrated away. Men milled about with and without other boys. He could see a bar with a very tall and bald black woman serving drinks. With the sound coming out in surround sound from the TV, Christos switched off the music on the wall. Nothing diminished the effect of the closed-circuit station. It was like watching a party—one he wasn’t allowed to attend, obviously.
He slid back to his spot against the pillows. “I didn’t know about that, either. Can we see—”
“No,” Christos barked, anticipating his question. “The lap-dance area and playrooms are private spaces. The only cameras there are for security reasons, not for prurient viewing.”
“From what I could see, it wasn’t very private. Guys were giving blow jobs right in front of
everyone, and I swear some kid was impaled on a man’s cock.”
Christos’ tossed the remote on the bed. “I knew you were thinking of getting in on that action. You must be feeling very well to have those ideas.”
“It doesn’t matter how I feel. That’s my livelihood and, like lots of people, I can’t afford to call in sick.”
“It’s a stupid way to make money.”
“That may be, but there are lots of stupid ways to make money.” He thought of his time as a barista. “At least this one pays well.”
“If it doesn’t kill you first.”
“It’s not that bad and better than working in a coal mine or being on an oil rig, or…or working a crab-fishing boat. I saw a show once that said that’s like the most dangerous job in the world.”
Christos worked his mouth open and closed for a few seconds before saying, “This is a moronic conversation.”
“I didn’t start it.”
“The hell you didn’t. When I came home to find this room empty, that was when it began.” He huffed. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, but that’s not a license to push yourself. It’s been less than forty-eight hours since you started treatment. I bet you’ve caused your fever to return.”
“I have not!” Because he did feel tired again, though, he stuck his legs under the covers. “Happy?”
“Deliriously.” Christos stood by the side of the bed, watching the television while Mateo lay there doing the same. “I told you I’d see about getting you a job when you’re well. If you’re determined to make your living as a prostitute, you may as well do it safely.”
“Don’t pretty it up with fancy words. I’m a whore. It’s all I’ve ever been.” He refused to look at the man or feel sorry for himself. There had been another road, one where he’d pretended to not be gay and with the love and support of his family. He’d tried to walk it for a long time, until it had nearly made him dead inside. Being on the streets wasn’t great but at least it was authentic.
“If you had a chance,” Christos asked quietly, “would you pick a different way?” He knelt on the side of the bed. “I mean, if you could do something else that paid well and you liked, is there something?”
Mateo did look at him now. The earnestness in the man’s face almost made him want to cry. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve never had a chance to think about it. Survival has always come first.”
“Then I would ask that, once you’ve recovered and have a secure place here at the club, that you do give it some thought. I would be happy to help you in any way.”
Mateo stared at his hands. “I’m not a charity case. It was hard accepting the free food first from Father Ted, then at Our Safe Place. If it’s money you’re offering, I won’t take it—not unless I earn it.”
Christos sighed. “You are surprisingly stubborn.”
Mateo shrugged. “Whores have pride, too, you know.”
“A loan, then? Surely that would be acceptable to your sense of dignity.”
Mateo shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. I may not be a very good credit risk.”
“I think you’re worth any risk.”
The vehemence in the man’s voice had him looking into his eyes. “I can’t imagine what would give you that impression.”
“Then you don’t understand yourself at all. But this is a weighty topic and, despite what you say, you must be tired. Let’s lie here and watch television. How does that sound?”
Mateo tried to hide his glee. “I guess that would be okay.”
“What would you like to watch?”
“This, of course.”
Christos sighed again. “Why did I even bother to ask? You obviously find this entertaining,” he added.
“Yup. I love the music and the dancing. It’s positively captivating. Plus, watching it arouses me. Doesn’t it do that to you?”
Chapter Six
“What are you doing?” Merlin hadn’t intended for his question to come out in such an accusatory tone.
Alun jerked and shied away from him nevertheless. “I’m cleaning the kitchen.” Looking away, he continued to scrub the countertop. “Everyone is so busy. I’m only trying to make myself useful.”
Merlin put the bowl he’d been carrying onto that same counter, although away from all the activity. He was there to pop more corn, a surprisingly tasty treat and one that the Queen adored. “I didn’t mean that,” he said, opening the cabinet to take out another bag. “You were, like, singing.” He put the popcorn in the microwave and pushed the setting. Operating this convenient contraption was his only cooking skill, which was as it should be. He was a warrior—or intended to be one—not a kitchen slave, although when he thought of Emil and even Damien, he had to admit that one could be a cook without being…well, Alun-ish.
“It’s called humming. I know you didn’t grow up with music, but surely you recognize it now that you’ve been exposed to it.”
Anger over the insult exploded within him. He whipped around, his hand half-raised. Alun froze, his gaze downward, yet he wasn’t cringing as he once would have when punishment was coming his way. They both stood unmoving for a few seconds and, in that time, Merlin saw his dead sire’s hand at the end of his own arm. He also saw Annika’s look of disapproval, even though she was nowhere near. She was with Mackie on the couch, watching a Star Wars marathon, which was way better than the princess movies she’d been binging on previously. Whatever happened in this kitchen would remain between him and his…father.
It was hard to think of this human in such terms. His alien sire had always used far more pejorative terms—cunt, slut, slave. He’d encouraged Merlin to do the same, to be scornful of everything that Alun was or did, to lash out with words, fists and feet whenever he felt aggrieved. And such behavior didn’t only extend to this pitiful human who’d somehow incubated him until he’d been cut out and welcomed into a world in which the mighty lorded over the weak. Anyone who got in Merlin’s way or on his nerves was fair game, so long as he won. He could do so now. Alun would never hit him back or tell on him, either, for fear of worse. No, that wasn’t completely true. This man for whom he’d held nothing but scorn all his life had been protective of him, too, since the raid. He’d even lied for him when he’d done something wrong, taking the blame or saying it had been an accident. He acted like those fathers in Annika’s movies did.
Why would he bother when now is his chance for payback?
He had no answer—or maybe he did—but it was too painful to explore. As the microwave dinged, he lowered his hand, realizing that they’d been frozen in this weird tableau for longer than he’d appreciated. He reached to remove the bag of corn.
“I know what humming is. I guess I was surprised to hear you do it. You’ve never done it before.”
“Not in your lifetime, no,” came the quiet surprise. “It’s something I used to always do…before. We Welsh have a passion for singing and I’ve been told I have a fine voice.”
Merlin shrugged and dumped the popcorn into the bowl. “Sure, whatever… I don’t care what you do.”
“I was humming because I was happy.”
He gave the man the side-eye, not quite sure how to respond to that bit of information. “Yeah? Well, I’ll leave so you can feel that way again.”
He considered his words and actions very mature and considerate—or maybe not. There was a weird feeling in the middle of his chest, like a dull ache. His mind poked at him that he’d missed an opportunity to obtain something he really wanted, that by walking away to leave Alun to his own devices, he’d given up a chance to be happy himself. No! That was ridiculous. There was nothing he wanted from the man, nothing to be learned or gained by spending time with him. It was the Queen whose company he constantly sought, and it was the warriors who would continue his training so that he could execute her plans when the time was right.
“Oh, thank God!” Mackie said when Merlin returned to the living room area. “Now we can start Episode VII and get that whole prequel
trilogy out of our heads.” He shuddered dramatically.
“I was gone for, like, five minutes. And here’s your snack.” The pregnant changeling had moved on from the puking-constantly stage to the eat-his-own-weight-in-food-every-hour stage. Annika and Merlin would be lucky to get anything from the bowl.
Not that any of that mattered. When Annika swiveled her head to smile at him, his heart lightened and that weird feeling in his chest eased. After scooping her dog into her arm, she patted the now-empty spot beside her on the couch, an invitation for him to get even closer. But just as he sat, the baby monitor on the coffee table squawked. Damn! Dafydd and his man were having what they called ‘date night’, albeit in the club for safety reasons. Annika had volunteered to watch Idris, which really meant Merlin was.
Mackie paused the movie. “Sorry, dude. We’ll wait.”
Annika put her hand on Merlin’s arm, and the warmth of her touch sent a shiver through him. “He probably only needs the bathroom, and it’s important for him to be potty trained.” Yeah, he knew that, although he didn’t know why. “He might be hungry, too, so bring him one of those soft cheese sandwiches that Emil has stocked in Mr. Dafydd’s refrigerator. No bottle, no matter how much of a fuss he makes.”
“I understand.” He didn’t, not really. Annika had a bunch of these rules that she seemed to press only when Dafydd and the other adults weren’t around. It didn’t matter. He did whatever she said because he trusted that she knew what she was doing, even if he didn’t.
“And remember to get him to come to you.”
He stood. “Don’t worry. I know what to do. I won’t let you down.”
He took the stairs at a quick jog, needing to work off the excess energy he felt. Idris was standing in the far corner of his crib, his lips quivering in the dimness of his night light, obviously seconds away from crying over having to wait a couple of minutes for someone to heed his summons.
Instead of going around to pick him up, Merlin stood in front of the crib and held out his hands. “Come to me, Idris.” When the baby didn’t move, he repeated his soft command, “Come to me now, Idris.” After another second of delay, the boy did as told, his chubby hands reaching for Merlin. “That’s a good boy.”
Final Dance: Part One (Alien Blood Wars Book 8) Page 10