by Rick R. Reed
Rufus chuckled, but the laugh was bitter. “You really didn’t get a chance to find out anything about the business, did you?” He stood. “I guess that was all up to me, if we had gone any further.” Rufus crossed the room, came back with his laptop, and sat down close to Wren.
Wren glanced at the screen as Rufus powered the computer up. Once it came to life, Rufus set it on the coffee table before them. Wren eyed the little Word icon with the novel he had read and quickly shifted his gaze away.
Rufus brought up his browser. “You didn’t know we had a website?” Rufus smirked. “Everybody has a website these days.” Rufus typed in a URL, and there it was—the web home of À Louer, “Companions for Discriminating Gentlemen.”
Wren leaned forward.
Rufus explained, “We’re all on here. See?” He moved his hand over the mouse pad, clicked, and up came rows of thumbnail pictures. There must have been fifty of them. Below each was a first name, age, and stats—height, weight, eye and hair color, and of course, dick size and top, bottom, or versatile. Rufus moved the cursor to his own handsome face and clicked on it. Up came a complete profile of Rufus, including nude pictures and even reviews from satisfied customers.
“Are you kidding me?” Wren leaned even closer to the screen, drawn by the pics of Rufus’s erect penis. He couldn’t help himself. “Reviews?”
“Chillingsworth writes ’em.” Rufus clicked out of his own profile and went back to the home page. “This is how a customer decides what he wants. People shop for everything online these days, right? You would have been on here too, once you’d gone on a few calls and Dave knew you were cool. He sets up a photo shoot and everything.”
Wren picked up the computer, clicked on another profile, and skimmed it. He looked at Rufus. “There’s a lot on here but nothing really specific so someone could find any of you. There’s nothing like contact information. How did this killer find Evan and the other guy?”
“That’s the mystery. I don’t have an answer to that.”
Wren sank back down into the couch, suddenly very tired. What he thought of as an ugly business had gotten a lot uglier, and he needed answers if he was going to save Rufus from being a victim.
But where to start?
And the thought he had had earlier returned: lie in wait. Lie in wait? Could Rufus do that? Was he even a target?”
Wren asked, “How many guys were in on the blackmail scheme? Was it a lot?”
Rufus didn’t answer for a while, and when he did, his voice came out soft, frightened.
“Only a few. This was risky stuff, you know? That’s why I’m so afraid.”
“But how many? Five? Ten?”
Rufus slowly shook his head. “There were only three of us.” Rufus turned on the couch, peering nervously out the window at a day that was coming to life under gray illumination. “That’s why I know I’m next.”
Wren put a placating hand on Rufus’s arm. “You don’t know that. There’ve only been two killings, and maybe, just maybe, it’s a coincidence.”
“Yeah, right. The only two guys who had ever blackmailed anyone get murdered. That doesn’t make sense. Even you know that.”
Wren had to agree with the logic, although he didn’t give it voice. He didn’t want to frighten Rufus any more than he already was. “So let’s say—scary as it sounds—this guy is coming after you next. What are you gonna do? Just wait for it like a sitting duck?” Wren took Rufus’s chin in his hand, turning his head so their eyes met. “Or are you going to be ready for him?”
“Like, a good offense is a good defense?”
“Well, I don’t mean you should go out and kill someone you suspect, but if this guy comes after you, you should be ready to defend yourself. That might mean making sure you have a knife or even a gun.”
Rufus shook his head. “Shady as I seem, I wouldn’t even know where to get shit like that.”
“I bet your boss does. And he has every reason to keep you breathing.” Wren thought he did as well, but he would save the lovestruck confessions for later and, hopefully, safer times.
“So I just call him up and ask him for protection?”
“Yeah. You shouldn’t really have to ask, not with what’s going on.”
“Okay, I’ll give him a call.”
“Now.”
“Now? It’s fuckin’ 5:00 a.m. He’ll kill me before anyone else has a chance.”
Wren crossed the room to pick up Rufus’s iPhone, where he had left it on a table. He handed it to him. “Call. This is life or death, dude. You have to take it seriously.”
Rufus pressed the button that would awaken the phone, looked down at it, and whispered, “Shit.”
“What?”
“What do you think? Of all times, my battery is dead.” Rufus shook his head. “I never learn. If I had a fuckin’ nickel for every time this has happened to me, I could—well, buy another iPhone.”
“Do you have a landline?”
Rufus smiled. “Yeah, I do. But I never use it.”
“I assume it works?”
“I guess so. It’s in the kitchen.”
Wren went and grabbed the cordless off the kitchen wall, brought it to Rufus.
And Rufus called.
Wren watched as Rufus held the phone to his ear, listening. After a moment he said, “Hey, who’s this?” He paused and then went on, “He’s not available? Can you have him call me when he is? The name’s Rufus. You got the number? Right, right, the one that shows up on your display. Have him call me ASAP. This is important.”
Rufus hung up and looked at Wren. “Weird.”
“What?”
“Well, for one thing, Dave usually takes his own calls. He keeps his business pretty close to him, you know? He doesn’t have a lot of help besides us. He has this one guy, Al, I think his name is, who does the website and shit, but not office staff.”
“So?”
“So a woman answered Dave’s phone. She sounded legit, all professional, but it’s just weird I didn’t know about her.”
Wren didn’t share in the unease. Dave had to have someone around for clerical stuff. There was nothing odd about that.
Rufus stood up and stretched. He looked out the window. “Rain’s stopped.” He turned to Wren. “And the sun has come up. Looks like it might actually be a nice day. For some people….”
Wren glanced outside, where the sun beat down on the damp street, causing steam to rise up from the pavement. It looked like it would be another scorcher. He glanced down at the cordless phone on the coffee table and saw it was now going on six in the morning. His prayers had been answered—he had gotten to spend the night with Rufus. Granted, how they spent it was not exactly what he had fantasized about, but at least they were together and Rufus was whole.
“Shit,” Wren said. “I have to be at work in a couple hours.”
“Will you be able to manage?”
“Yeah.” Wren flexed his bicep, laughing. “I’m young and strong.”
Rufus was quiet, and Wren thought he was deliberating. Please don’t kick me out.
“You want to stretch out for a bit?”
Wren smiled. “Sure.”
Rufus gestured toward the bedroom. “Help yourself.”
Wren hopped from the couch, turning to look back when he got to the doorway. “You coming?”
“Nah. Too keyed up. I’ll sit here and wait for Dave to call back. He usually is pretty quick.”
Wren retreated into the bedroom, disappointment like a hot touch to his face. When Rufus asked if he wanted to “stretch out,” he had assumed he meant together. His mind had immediately gone into fantasy overdrive, and not much of the imagery on rapid-fire play in his brain had much to do with getting sleep or even rest.
Still, he was tired, exhausted really. Now that he had seated himself on Rufus’s big king-size bed, the weariness overcame him like a wet blanket thrown over his shoulders. His eyes burned, and his muscles suddenly felt almost sore, as if he had just been throug
h an intense workout.
He stood again to draw the blind on the lone window in the room, a big picture window that looked out on the leaves and cigar-like appendages of a catalpa tree. Sighing, he stripped down, debating whether he should remove his boxers. In the end he went for the full Monty and crossed in front of the partially open bedroom door, hoping Rufus would look up and catch a glimpse. Maybe he’d be tempted….
After crawling onto the bed, Wren lay on his back, fingers interlaced behind his head. He couldn’t help it—being naked with Rufus in the next room worked on him, no matter how tired he was. His boner pointed heavenward, hard enough that if he pulled it upward, it would slap back against his belly with a satisfying smack.
Come on, Rufus. Just come into the room. You will not be able to resist this. Wren eyed his own penis, fully engorged and lacking nothing in either the size or the girth department. How can he say no to this?
Wren shook his head, wondering if he would ever be able to rest. Not until he comes in here and straddles this thing. Such thoughts! And you, the self-proclaimed bottom. Such thoughts! Completely inappropriate when your own true love is out there worried about being murdered.
This last thought was enough to cause the blood to recede from his dick somewhat, and Wren turned onto his side, sticking his thumb in his mouth. Don’t you dare let him see you like this! The habit was old, and he only indulged in it upon falling asleep or when he was truly stressed, and Wren, honestly, had never seen the harm.
With those thoughts, Wren drifted off, suddenly and deeply.
Close. So close. The figure appeared to be made from nothing more than black smoke, vaguely forming a human shape. It followed Wren and Rufus as they walked along the beach. The waves pounded the shoreline, big and whitecapped, foretelling a storm forming over the water. Dark clouds, ominous, fashioned from shades of gray, black, and slate blue, shifted on the horizon, lightning within them. Wren kept trying to tell Rufus to run, that the figure was drawing closer and they needed to get away, but when he opened his mouth to speak, all that emerged was a sound that echoed the roar of the waves.
Meanwhile the figure drew closer….
Wren awakened with a start.
Rufus lay next to him. “Sorry, little man. I hope I didn’t wake you. It seemed like you were having a bad dream.” Rufus got up on one elbow and gently stroked the hair away from Wren’s forehead.
Wren simply nodded, luxuriating in the feel of his touch. “It was bad.” Wren didn’t want to tell Rufus about the substance of his dream and its images because it was terror for him, a walking symbol of death following close behind Rufus. Instead Wren lifted his head from the pillow a bit and looked down. He sucked in some air at the spectacle of Rufus’s long, lean body, completely nude, stretched out alongside him.
Was this really happening? Or was it another dream? If it was, Wren prayed the sleep gods would keep him under for at least another hour.
“I’m sorry,” Rufus whispered hotly in his ear, the damp from his lips barely grazing the lobe. “I shouldn’t be doing this. I told myself no, no, no. And it was like my body had a mind of its own, shucking off my clothes, coming in here, lying beside you.” He lifted his head up more so they were eye to eye.
“This is so wrong. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this. Or this.” Rufus dipped his head, planting a gentle kiss on Wren’s lips. He pulled away suddenly. “I do not want to do this. I can’t.” He moved back and kissed Wren again, more deeply this time, his tongue exploring the inside of Wren’s mouth. Rufus’s tongue tasted sweet, clean.
He pulled away suddenly, leaving Wren feeling like a baby bird, hungry, its mouth open for more. He felt like his whole body was an empty vessel, only wanting more.
“I shouldn’t be doing this. I know it’s wrong. I need to focus on my addiction. I can’t have love in my life. Not now.”
Rufus lay down beside Wren, then suddenly snaked his arm into the space between Wren’s neck and the pillow, using the leverage to draw Wren closer. Like a wrestler, Rufus shifted position so he ended up on top of Wren, their smooth bodies pressed together, and Wren sighed. It was like a line of silken electricity drawn between them.
Rufus’s sapphire eyes gazed down on him, piercing. “You have to stop me. This is wrong. Stop me.”
Before Wren could say a word of protest, and he doubted very much any words coming out of him at this moment would be protest, Rufus mashed his mouth onto Wren’s, kissing him hard, his tongue halfway down his throat, hunger coming off him like some sort of physical presence.
Rufus’s cock felt like an iron bar between them, thrusting against Wren’s belly.
Breathlessly Rufus pulled away again to look down on Wren once more. “Aren’t you gonna stop me? Aren’t you gonna help me? All the books I’ve read about addiction say it’s wrong to get involved in a relationship when you’re still working to beat it.”
Wren was mute, the joy rendering him speechless. Rufus had said, moments ago, the word “love,” and just now he said “relationship.” Wren wanted them both so much, but only with Rufus. No, big man, I am not going to stop you. Never.
Their time together now was so precarious. Who knew what horror awaited them outside? Who knew, really, if Rufus would live to see another day, especially if there was some faceless, heartless soul out there at this very moment, sharpening and readying a knife intended for Rufus’s heart? Wren shuddered—for more than one reason.
Wren reached up, pulled Rufus’s face down to his own so their lips were so, so close, and whispered the romantic endearment that lovers through the ages have always longed to hear. “Just shut up and kiss me.”
There was no more talk after that. There was only the slap of a body slamming against another body, whispered sighs, protracted moans, and the squeaking of the bedsprings, which took only minutes to reach a crescendo, the bed legs actually rising up from the floor to bang against the hardwood below.
Afterward they lay sweating, breathless, arms and legs still intertwined, the smell of sweat and come heavy in the air.
There were so many things Wren wanted to say, and he was about to say them, but a loud buzzing broke their postcoital bliss.
Rufus sat up, alert, looking around the room as if the buzz was an alarm when really all it was, Wren knew, was the sound of an intercom.
“Who could that be?” Rufus looked over at Wren as if he could answer the question. His face, moments ago so relaxed and contented, now looked contorted by fear.
Wren shrugged. “Just leave it be. They’ll go away. I’ll call in sick. Let’s just spend the day in bed.”
Wren could see the indecision on Rufus’s face as he sat there, a line of sweat dribbling down his spine. Wren reached out with his finger to capture the droplet and brought it to his mouth. He could imagine the thought he hoped was going through Rufus’s head—namely, with all that was going on right now, the dangers and the risks, wouldn’t it be just the perfect thing to hide away here in bed, fucking, making love, keeping the world and its hatred at bay?
“Really, sweetheart. It’s probably someone ringing the wrong buzzer anyway.” Wren glanced over at the alarm clock on Rufus’s nightstand. “It’s only a little after eight. Who would be coming to see you now?”
Rufus gnawed at his lower lip, and his eyes revealed a terror that lowered the heat in the room considerably. It made Wren want even more to simply take him in his arms and shelter and protect him.
Rufus lay back, and Wren thought he had won out. He was about to plant a gentle kiss on Rufus’s damp neck when the buzzer intruded again, loud and startling.
Then again.
“I have to see who this is.” Rufus hopped from the bed and searched around on the floor for shorts and tee.
“Be careful. Don’t let anyone in unless you know who it is,” Wren called from the bed, where he was already sitting up, rooting around for his own clothes. He told himself a murderer had not come to call.
Would a murderer ring the buzzer to be let
in? What would he say when Rufus asked him to identify himself?
It just couldn’t happen, not in this world. Not with the sun shining so brightly outside, not with Rufus’s come still damp and tacky on his chest.
Yeah, tell that to my pounding heart.
Wren listened as Rufus briefly conferred with someone, and then he heard the sound of what was Rufus presumably buzzing someone in.
No, don’t!
Wren got up reluctantly from the bed, thinking he should call in to the store, but there was just too much going on to bother with it right now. Maybe after things—and his thundering heart—had calmed down, he would call, complaining of the flu. He hoped they would be understanding.
He got dressed hurriedly as he heard the sound of Rufus unlocking the door to someone.
Who could it be?
Wren tiptoed to the bedroom’s entrance and peered out, watching as Rufus opened the door slowly.
Chapter Fifteen
WREN CONTINUED into the living room to find Rufus letting in one of the most gorgeous African American men he had ever seen. The guy followed Rufus into the living room and directed a weak smile at Wren. The man’s pale, almost amber eyes contrasting so wonderfully with his dusky skin struck Wren. He had never seen eyes so arresting.
“This is Tony,” Rufus offered. “No worries. He works for the service.”
Sure he does. With looks like that—the shaved head, the muscles, the pouting and full lips fashioned expressly for kissing—what else could he do, other than be a supermodel?
“Hi, I’m Wren.”
Tony shook his hand.
“Why don’t we all sit down? Tony here says he has some news.”
They sat, looking expectantly at Tony.
Tony began, “It’s Chillingsworth. I don’t know how to put this.” He paused for a long while. “He’s dead.”
There was silence in the room for several moments. Wren felt a kind of electrical charge in the air. This was serious. This was targeted. He thought, in that moment of stunned quiet, back to when he had asked Rufus how many escorts were in on the blackmail scheme.