Make Him Tremble: an mm opposites attract romance (Alternate Worlds Book 2)

by P. W. Davies

  Nathan looked him over. “Why didn’t you take it to Reggie? That’s enough you could have gotten his attention to look into it.”

  “Because then we found a much smaller stack of delaying documents with someone else’s signature on them,” Victor said, settling back into the chair.

  “Samuel’s.” Nathan speculated.

  “Mine.”

  They held each other’s gaze as the word sank in for Nathan. He slumped, moving to rest his elbows on the table in front of them, cradling his cup of coffee between his hands with a haunted look on his face. “I’m so sorry. This could have been... It could have wrecked both our careers.”

  Victor smiled. “Could have, but didn’t. However, you’re going to have to tell me if I should hand these documents over to judiciary.”

  Nathan shook his head. “No. They’re not interested in that.”

  Victor’s brow furrowed. “But –”

  “It’s not judiciary that’s after Samuel.” Nathan looked up, his exhaustion back in full force. Victor saw a man who had been wracked with guilt, who had been given cause to doubt his judgement. It made Victor’s heart ache. “It’s anti-crime.”

  That sank in slowly. In layers.

  Samuel wasn’t being investigated for fraud, or perjury, or falsifying documents. Anti-crime was focused on organized crime. Organized crime was the mafia. At least that’s what every television show would have him understand. Victor knew that he wasn’t far off even if he’d never taken more than the standard classes aimed at learning what it took to be a prosecutor.

  There was something about that knowledge hitting him hard. He felt the world tilt, his eyes lost focus on Nathan, and his breath caught uncomfortably in his throat.

  Samuel was involved in something for organized crime.

  Organized crime was violent, dark, and preyed on people. There wasn’t much about life that was black and white, but the list of negatives for those sorts of organizations was more than enough to push them solidly into the ‘black’ of good and bad. Victor wasn’t entirely surprised that Samuel had gotten greedy and started taking short-cuts to make money. He was also confident that was the motivator, since it fit what he knew of Samuel.

  He didn’t’ feel particularly deceived. In fact, he was relieved to know that he hadn’t actually disappointed Nathan the other day. He just was poking at something that was better left to the professionals.

  Just as he’d been relieved to know that Christian was looking into Samuel, not Nathan.

  Christian.

  “I need to leave.” Victor stood so quickly, he nearly knocked the chair over.

  It was strange enough behavior that Nathan shot to his feet in concern. “If you need a minute, Victor, you can stay. Truth be told, I wouldn’t mind the company.”

  Victor looked into Nathan’s eyes and was torn. He could stay and get to know the man he’d had a crush on since the day he started working at Crispin & Hawke. It would be nice, to just settle in, relax, maybe move onto the couch that hadn’t been used nearly enough. And it would be nice to make Nathan feel better, to bury any lingering hatchets from the other day.

  To have the possibility to get a place that he could be more part of Nathan’s life.

  Instead, Victor shook his head, and tried to look as apologetic as he wished he felt. “I wish I could. I am so sorry. I just – I can’t stay. It wouldn’t be right.”

  Nathan didn’t seem to understand the ramble, but he understood the certainty of the message. “Alright, Victor. Just, promise me you’re going to take care of yourself today. I didn’t think... I don’t know, I hoped you already knew, I guess. Since you usually do.”

  Victor managed a soft smile as he started heading toward the door, prompting Nathan to follow. “There are times I miss things. This would be one.”

  “You can’t tell Samuel, you know. He got himself into this mess. And, I’ll be honest, I don’t know how he’ll handle the news. He doesn’t have a good head on his shoulders like you.” Nathan lingered at the door, waiting to open it while stealing another moment to study Victor. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “No,” Victor said, not trusting himself to be able to pull off a believable ‘yes’. “But I will be. I have no intention of speaking to Samuel, to reassure you.”

  “Or Evie.”

  Victor looked surprised.

  Nathan added. “I shouldn’t have told you. It’s just, after the other day...” He trailed off, looking for what words to add. “I didn’t want you to think I’d suddenly had a change of heart about the good work you do, what you provide to the firm, or the future I think you have there.”

  He was so earnest. More open than any of the years Victor had ever known him. If there was ever going to be a moment to kiss him, this could have been it. Wrapped up in the revelations of the day, the fact that they both clearly wanted to mend fences and reestablish all the things that made them a good team. Victor was tempted. He could almost taste it. Stepping forward into Nathan’s personal space. Claiming his mouth in a deep, soul-baring kiss. Lingering in it long enough for it to be more about the other times he’d imagined doing it, the surprise of it turning into something else, something more searing. He imagined what it would be like to steal Nathan’s breath away.

  “I’ll see you at work. Please keep me posted if you need anything else.” It almost hurt to say the words. Victor wasn’t sure what else Nathan might have said afterwards. A few more pleasantries. Hopefully another reassurance that Victor was honestly relieved he hadn’t disappointed Nathan. Maybe even a confession to the fact he admired him, if Nathan still seemed concerned.

  What he did know was that the moment he stood on the sidewalk outside, the cold air wrapped itself around him and burrowed deep. It sapped his limbs, made his heart ache, and threatened to hold him in place.

  Victor clenched his jaw and forced himself to walk home.

  To where he’d left Christian.

  The man with scars, and bullet wounds, and a dark demeanor that lurked beneath the surface of those mesmerizing blue eyes. A man who, over the last few weeks, his heart was opening to; making room for the moody, intriguing, vulnerable soul that was just as undeniably part of Christian as the tattoos, the snark, and the searing touches that never failed to make his blood heat.

  But this was the final piece of the puzzle. The thing Victor had been missing.

  Samuel was moonlighting for organized crime.

  Christian was getting paid to shadow him.

  Which meant, Victor knew, almost paralyzed by the amount of denial he wanted to throw at the certainty, that Christian worked for those people, too.

  He wasn’t a private investigator after all.

  And Victor didn’t know what was more damning. The fact that however much a criminal he thought Christian was, he most certainly was worse. Or the fact that he’d been sharing his bed with someone who would rather keep him under the pretense of a lie than trust him with the truth.

  He returned home in what felt like a blur. Ignoring the doorman and the security guard at the desk, he spent the entire ride up to the condo trying to determine how to express what needed to be expressed; how to convey all of this when he felt his insides torn apart. Victor entered the condo, seeing Christian situated on the bar stool with a cup of coffee in hand, like the enigmatic man hadn’t moved the entire time he’d been gone. “Ah, there you –” Christian began, until he turned and took one look in Victor’s eyes.

  Christian frowned, the expression reflexive. While Victor raised an eyebrow, he walked into the dining area, keeping his distance from Christian, his gaze not daring to shift anywhere else. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Victor asked, not knowing what might follow. Almost fearing it, at this point.

  “I didn’t know how to,” Christian said. He studied Victor in silence. Whatever he sought in Victor’s eyes, he didn’t seem to find, which prompted him to purse his lips together. “What did they tell you?”

  “Samuel isn’t being inves
tigated by the judiciary. There aren’t any private investigators looking for him. He has ties to the mafia.” In that moment, he felt poised to deliver a crushing blow, if Christian tried to deny it. When Christian remained silent, Victor continued. “Tell me what you do for them.”

  “You don’t want to know.” Christian scoffed.

  “I think I’m indicating that’s exactly what I do want to know.”

  “Victor, this isn’t –”

  “Tell me.”

  The sharp tone in Victor’s voice gave Christian pause. As those blue eyes narrowed and relaxed, Christian seemed to chew on the best method of delivery and, in the end, settled on bluntness.

  “I’m a hitman, Victor,” he said. “I get paid to remove threats to –”

  “Yes, I know what a hitman does,” Victor interrupted. They looked at each other through what now felt like an insurmountable distance, Victor struggling for what to say next. For as bad as he’d suspected things were, Christian had just proven them to be much worse.

  Twenty

  They continued looking at each other for what felt like hours, time lacking all relevance except to make the air between them more and more tense. Christian adjusted the way he sat on the stool, but didn’t know how to answer the look in Victor’s eyes. The only other option would have been to lie. Now, however, that moment had passed.

  No, Christian thought, he had wanted to bring down this wall between them, but hadn’t prepared for the catastrophic way it might be demolished. Last night, he might have been able to control the fall. Even this morning, the possibility stood of him salvaging something of their relationship. At this point, it had been reduced to shrapnel, and all Christian could do was seek out cover.

  His mind refused to believe the truth of the situation, however. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” Christian said, stumbling over his words. “You made an assumption that was convenient for me not to correct.”

  “And you’ve been content lying to me,” Victor said.

  “No. Just…” Christian sighed. “Waiting for the right opportunity to tell you. This was what I wanted to talk to you about this morning.”

  Victor barked a laugh, not bothering to mask how incredulous he found that statement. “Am I supposed to give you credit for that?” he asked. “After we’ve shared a bed and let this become…” Trailing off, Victor stifled whatever he had intended to say, which made Christian frown. He waited for Victor to finish the statement. Let this become serious. When he shook his head, the knot forming in Christian’s stomach only tightened. “Whenever you intended to tell me, it doesn’t matter. I simply don’t understand it.”

  “Which part?” For as foolish as it might have been, Christian held out hope for any way to explain this that didn’t drive Victor away. He slid down from his perch. “Why I do it? Or why I didn’t tell you.”

  “I know why you didn’t tell me.” Christian motioned a step closer, but Victor held up a hand. “Don’t you dare,” he snapped. “No. This isn’t something you’re going to be able to charm or kiss away.”

  “Who says I intended to do that? Victor, I don’t know how to explain –”

  “Why…?” Victor laughed again, the sound devoid of humor. “You kill people, Christian. Why?”

  The question made Christian bristle. An inherent sense of judgment formed its foundation, making Christian think of all the people who had ever looked down at Christian from their ivory towers. When their hands are stained as red as mine. “Because somebody has to,” he said, making his first jab in return. He felt his gaze turn cold, his jaw clenching and biting sarcasm forming the first shield against what was about to happen. “Better me than someone else.”

  “How do you figure that?” Victor asked.

  This time, Christian was the one to chuckle. “Because, Victor, these men knew what the hell they were getting involved in when they decided to court organized crime. Do you think these arrogant sods are that stupid? They’ve walked into a world with different rules and they’re aware of that.”

  “We have a judicial system to handle this.”

  “Oh, yes, which has always worked impeccably.”

  “I never said that.”

  “Yes, you’re only insinuating that because it’s the law, it’s tidier. More civilized.” Christian hummed, the grin crossing his lips filled with condescension. “You know what you’re doing when you bend the rules. You relish it, in fact, when you can come as close to breaking them without doing so. When we first met, what did I tell you about me and rules?”

  Victor frowned. “You said you worked outside of them.”

  “You can’t claim for one second you didn’t have your suspicions. You were the one who created the fantasy, because you didn’t want to see it. Yes, I kill people, Victor. I accept money to murder criminals who thought they could break an entirely different set of rules in a world you don’t occupy.”

  “I understand that your world has its own set of rules.”

  “But yours are holier. Because they’re so much cleaner.”

  Even Christian regretted the searing bite of the words flying out of his mouth, but he couldn’t help it. Instead of stopping himself, and honoring Victor’s request for distance, he took a step closer, arms crossing his back. “I’m a hitman, and perhaps the most merciful one any of these idiots would ever meet, because I’m not a sadist like so many other people who share my profession. I kill them quick. I don’t force them to suffer, and I walk away,” he said. Christian raised an eyebrow. “What else would you have me do?”

  “Anything else,” Victor said, extending his arms to his sides. “Why couldn’t you do any number of things other than killing someone?”

  “This is my skill set. It’s what I’m good at.”

  “Christian, I could get disbarred if I stayed with you.”

  For some reason, Victor’s comment snapped Christian out of his tailspin. He struggled for a retort to it, but couldn’t come up with any, seeing in front of them an immovable object; Victor’s career. Christian had too much sympathy for that to snap back at him and as he saw the truth in front of them, he couldn’t compromise for the same reason. Still, the pain it caused in his chest made him want to run away.

  “I suppose that’s it, then,” Christian said. “I can’t change who I am, and neither can you.” He exchanged a deliberate look with Victor, their gazes fixed until he turned his back on him. While padding toward the entryway, he half-expected Victor to stop him, and while slipping on his shoes, Christian realized that wasn’t going to happen. The knot had either stopped tying up his stomach, or he’d become numb to it, but somehow, he managed to fetch his coat and leave the condo without losing his composure. The beautiful lie had died its inevitable death again.

  Only this time, it didn’t waste any time.

  A part of him felt the same rush of barely-suppressed emotion that a job usually inspired. You’re the mark this time, mate, he thought, approaching the elevator and pushing the down button while willing himself not to look back at Victor’s condo. He didn’t want to see what he already knew wasn’t there. The door hadn’t opened behind him. His mobile wasn’t chiming with messages and as he stepped into the elevator, he realized this might be the last time he would ever see this place. That notion alone twisted the knife his heart already carried.

  “You lost your head,” he said to the empty car. “And now, look what’s become of you.”

  Wandering toward the subway, Christian lit a cigarette, but didn’t smoke it. He tossed it away at the underground entrance, the unsettling feeling of emptiness accompanying him all the way back to his flat. It took until he shut the door behind him for him to sink down onto the floor, sitting with his back against the nearest wall. God, he could still feel the result of the night they’d spent together. Whatever held back his emotions threatened to buckle, summoning the onslaught of tears.

  He remembered the first and only time he had let himself cry over Paolo and swiped at the moisture on his face.
Clearing his throat, he tried to take a deep enough breath to chase away the misery, but rather than making him feel any better – even neutral would be better than this – his face contorted against additional tears. “Fuck,” he said, covering his face with both hands. “You idiot. You absolute, sodding fool.”

  Cursing himself out didn’t help. Neither did standing and throwing his phone; removing his jacket or lighting another cigarette. He paced the floors and poured a glass of whiskey, hands shaking while he drained the considerable amount of alcohol. He had less than two days to finish off a mark. The window of refusing the job had expired. Phoning in his refusal would only mean leaving the city, but that had become out of the question. “I’m not running away again,” he declared, pouring more whiskey into the now-empty glass. “You need to get yourself together, Richardson. It’s either that or go back to England so you can die on home soil.”

  Slowly walking over to the couch, he sat and cradled his second drink in both hands. For as much as he had been using work to distract himself from his feelings, it felt impotent to try repeating the admonitions to himself. He knew where to find the mark. How to find him. Had mapped out several strategies and determined it best to corner him in his home. He’d determined a fall down the stairs with a broken neck would make it look like suicide and anything that came to light about him afterward would only lend support to that conclusion.

  No, he had nothing left to distract himself with. All that left was the hole in his chest.

  Christian set down the drink and walked to where his phone had landed. Picking it up made the screen illuminate, though as he focused on it, he saw no sign that Victor had changed his mind. There would be no messages. No phone calls. Not now; not ever. He and Victor stood on opposite ends of divide that couldn’t be crossed.