That she could give it back meant so much more.
* * * *
Ford lifted his head at the rustling across the bed in one of the small rooms above the bar. He heard the persistent buzzing and watched Cort sit up, reaching over to grab his phone. A mumbled acknowledgement, then the crack as Cort slammed his phone down on the nightstand.
Akira, thankfully, didn’t even budge. They’d worn her out. And strangely enough he felt more relief that she was able to sleep than pride at what he’d accomplished. Hell, he was getting soft.
He sat up and jerked his chin at Cort as the other man pulled on his jeans. “The cops?”
“My babysitter. She was real nice, but she could get in shit if I’m not where I’m supposed to be. I should have been home hours ago.” Cort’s expression filled with pain as he looked down at Akira. “I don’t want to wake her up.”
I don’t blame you. His poor shorty had gotten a raw deal in picking two men on the edge like him and Cort, but she’d made her choices. And she was strong enough to take whatever came with them. So he met Cort’s eyes. “How would you feel if she didn’t wake you up because she had to take care of shit?”
“You’re right.” Cort chuckled at Ford’s smirk. “Asshole.”
“Love you too, you bastard.” Ford looked Cort over, for a split second wondering . . . yeah, no. He shuddered as the thought skimmed through his hazy brain. Too much like incest. He laughed when Cort’s brow arched. “Sorry, just thinking.”
“I don’t even want to know.”
“Sure you do. Unfortunately, I can’t ever be your bitch.”
“That’s a relief.” Cort gave Ford a lopsided smile as he sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re too pretty to be my type even if I was into dudes.”
“You’re a dick, you know that?”
“My dick scare you, pussy?”
“Sure. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Agreed.” Cort gently nudged Akira. “Hey, Tiny. I gotta go.”
Akira smiled with her eyes closed. “No, you don’t. Pretend I’m sleeping so I can enjoy you two working out the details of your affair.”
This girl is gonna kill me! Ford snorted as Cort stared at Akira like he’d never seen her before. The man wasn’t good with subtle stuff. Or teasing.
And his shocked response was totally expected. “You want me to fuck Ford?”
“Mmm, that would be hot.” Akira rolled on to her back and peeked at them. “How about only if I can watch?”
Cort glanced over at Ford like he needed an out and couldn’t think of one. Ford took pity on him. “Shorty, that would be like Dominik doing his brother. Not gonna happen.”
“Eww! Okay, you just ruined the mental image for me. Thanks a lot!” Akira sighed when Cort frowned and shook his head. “I’m joking. Seriously, I wish you didn’t have to go.”
Nodding slowly, Cort pressed his lips together. “Right. So we’re clear on me not fucking Ford?”
Akira giggled. “Are we?”
What a brat. Ford grinned. “That’s Cort saying ‘red,’ Akira. Be nice. His brain doesn’t work this early in the morning.” His lips twitched as Cort rubbed his face with both hands. Akira’s comments seemed to have aged the man a few years, and he already looked damn tired. “She’s clear. Besides, you used up all the lube I brought, and I ain’t taking your fucking sausage dry.”
“Coffee. Need coffee.” Cort tipped his head back, muttering a prayer to the ceiling. “You’re both crazy.”
“Absolutely!” Ford’s smile faded as Cort’s phone went off again. He really had to get out of here before he got in shit. “You better—”
“I know.” Cort pulled Akira to her feet and buried his face in her hair. He went utterly still, speaking softly. “I hate this.”
Akira’s fingers dug into Cort’s shoulders. She drew back a little and gave a sharp nod. “So do I, but it’ll be over soon. You’ll be clear. You did nothing wrong.”
Cort wet his lips with his tongue and shook his head. “Akira—”
“I’m right. Just say I’m right.”
Damn it, Ford couldn’t look at Cort after that. The man couldn’t even meet Akira’s eyes. He didn’t believe justice would work in his favor. His unshaven face, the shadows under his eyes, his whole demeanor shouted defeat. He loved Akira, so he wouldn’t dash her hopes, but he had none for himself.
And Ford knew nothing he did could help Cort. Not really. He swallowed hard as he watched Cort and Akira just staring at each other, watched the light fade from Akira’s eyes. Fuck, Cort had to get through this! Akira wouldn’t do well with conjugal visits. Prison would destroy Cort. Other than great sex and all the mushy love stuff, what did any of them have to look forward to?
There’s one thing. Ford slid over to the other side of the bed to grab his jacket off the floor. Took out his cigarettes and tapped one out of the pack. He placed the filter between his lips, speaking around it. “You two should get married.”
Cort blinked at him, shaking his head when Ford held out a smoke. “What?”
“Married. You know, that thing people in love do? I’m sure we can plan all that frilly shit around your court stuff. I’ll be your best man.” He lit his cigarette, then blew out a puff of smoke, laughing when both Akira and Cort stared at him like he was crazy. “What? It’s a good idea.” He shrugged. “You don’t marry her, then I will.”
“You’re a fucking idiot.” Cort growled, gently setting Akira aside. “You think I want her spending the rest of her life shackled to a fucking thug?”
Akira smacked Cort’s chest. “Does that mean you don’t want to spend your life with me?”
Poor Cort looked lost again. He quickly shook his head. “No! Just . . . I might be in jail for a long time.”
“They won’t let me . . .” Akira’s cheeks turned a pretty shade of red. “If we’re not married, I can’t—”
“No fucking way. I’m not letting you visit me in prison.”
“You don’t get to decide that!”
“I’m your Dom!”
Ford smirked with his cigarette against his lips. “Actually, I plan to collar her. And she’s right. If she’s not Mrs. Nash, you two won’t have any fun. I’ll have to take care of her needs all on my own.” He cocked his head. “Not that I mind.”
“Fuck that.” Cort growled again, like a bear woken up from hibernation half starved. He wrapped an arm around Akira’s waist and kissed the length of her throat. “She’s still mine. She’ll always be mine.”
“Good, then how about you tell our woman she’s right—because she is—and get your ass back home. You’ve got a great lawyer. A solid case. Right?”
“Yeah . . .”
“Then don’t fucking give up. I’m looking into that white picket fence we all want, and I need to know you’re fighting for your freedom.” The cigarette was doing nothing to calm Ford’s nerves. His throat was tight and the smoke just made it worse. He dropped it in one of the many beer bottles littering the floor. Then cleared his throat. “Hugs all around and get going.”
Nodding slowly, Cort drew Akira against him fully. Whispered something in her ear. Then grinned when she squealed and nodded. He took her hands between his and looked over at Ford. “Sucks doing it without a ring, but she doesn’t care. She’s gonna be my ol’—”
“Your wife, Cort. Damn!” Ford laughed, but his guts gave an unpleasant little twist. And he wasn’t sure why until Cort left and Akira came to sit beside him. Her words confirmed what the real issue was.
“Are you okay with me wearing your collar and being his wife? Really?”
His smile had her relaxing the press of her teeth into her bottom lip. “Of course I am. I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.”
She relaxed, crawling in bed with him for a few more hours’ sleep. But he couldn’t even keep his eyes closed. He had one more day to either give Kingsley what he wanted or . . . well, since that wasn’t gonna happen, he had to get what the cops needed to put the man a
way. For all his talk of not giving up, he couldn’t take his own advice.
I’m more than okay with you being ours. It would be fucking perfect. But . . .
But reality was a cruel fucking bitch. At least he knew Akira would have Cort. And if shit went bad for Cort . . . well, what’s five to ten? They’d have the rest of their lives.
Short of a miracle, Ford was almost out of time.
“I know you’re not sleeping.” Akira wiggled closer to him and put her delicate little hand over his face. “Close your eyes and listen to me.”
He closed his eyes. Held his breath as she spoke.
“I don’t want you anywhere near Kingsley, but you have to do this. I get that. But you know why I’ll let you?”
Let me? He grinned, ready to laugh off her words, but her hand covered his mouth.
“He needs to be stopped. And you can do it. For Tim. For Cort. For all the people Kingsley’s hurt.” She kissed his chest, then used it as a pillow as her tone grew soft. “For me. So we can be together out in the open without ever being afraid again.”
Shit. She made him . . . she made him believe that he could do this. That he’d somehow find a way. He’d never had anyone believe in him so completely, and yet, she did. His brain started working on overdrive, coming up with all kinds of plans that he trashed once he really thought them over.
But in the end, when he finally drifted away, he was the one who couldn’t help believing.
There had to be a way.
Chapter Thirty-One
Cort’s jaw ticked as he glanced at the reflection in the dressing room mirror of the snooty fucking store. Scott Demyan stood behind him, trying to keep a straight face. And he’d better, because if the man laughed again, Cort was going to flatten his pretty face. The thought was asphyxiated as he fought to get some air past the noose—er, tie—the fucker’s image consultant, Stephan Vaughn, tightened around his neck.
The little guy was kinda weird, but Scott had gone on and on about how great he was, and since Sebastian had come along to foot the bill, Cort didn’t say much about being handed over to the man’s dubious care. Stephan had even let Cort pick out a few suits of his own. Real nice of him.
‘Cept he turned every one of Cort’s choices down with the same kinda comment. “You look like a made man! We’re going for a ‘not guilty’ verdict, aren’t we?”
Well, yeah, they were, but did the guy have to make him look like fucking Clark Kent?
Stephan had a comment about that too. “Clark Kent is a good guy.”
Fucking hell. Cort scowled when Scott snorted, then his face heated as Sebastian circled him, giving him a very slow once-over from every angle. He didn’t give a shit that both men were bisexual, it was just . . . damn, he’d never had a man look at him like he was edible.
“Relax, hombre.” Sebastian chuckled as he stopped in front of Cort to straighten his lapels with a sharp tug. “You are very appealing, but it is clear that your tastes veer closer to the other side of the spectrum.”
Cort’s brow furrowed. What spectrum?
Sebastian’s lips quirked slightly. “I would have considered you a challenge once. I believe it is rare any man or woman is completely straight.”
“I’m rare. Very rare.” And that sounded damn stupid. Especially since the man had just stopped looking at him like a piece of meat. For all Cort knew, the man loved his men “rare.” He cleared his throat and looked over at Stephan. “We done?”
“’Are we done?’ you mean. You don’t want to come across as uneducated.” Stephan fussed with the tie again, probably thinking Cort would seem smarter if he couldn’t breathe enough to talk. “Yes, we are done here. I will have two more suits made for you, one in charcoal and the other in navy.”
“Navy?” The only “navy” Cort knew of was the color on those cute dresses little girls wore. Fine, he didn’t look horrible in this suit—a pair of glasses and he could play out a little fantasy with Akira . . . rip off the shirt to reveal that cool “Man of Steel” getup and have her be Lois Lane . . .
“Are you listening to me, Mr. Nash?”
Cort rolled his eyes. “It’s Cort. And no.”
Scott covered a laugh with a cough loud enough to get everyone in the store staring at him. Cort grinned when Stephan sniffed and Sebastian gave Scott a warning look. The attention being off him for a split second was all it took to get his head back where it belonged. He wasn’t gonna come off as innocent on his own. These people were all trying to help.
Might be a good time to stop acting like a dick.
Chewing on the inside of his cheek like the flesh was a hunk of tobacco, Cort squared his shoulders and turned to Stephan. “Sorry, man. Just not used to all this dressing-up shit. I’m a mechanic.” That’s all I am now. All I want to be. Normal like.
Cocking his head, Stephan studied him. “Yes, I think you could easily pass for that. But you must tone back on the swearing.” His brow shot up when Cort snorted, thinking about how Akira had called him and Ford hypocrites. He managed to focus on Stephan’s words when the man continued. “I’ve gone with the ideal of wearing to court what you would to church—”
“I ain’t never gone to church.”
“Oh dear, please don’t say that in front of the grand jury.” Stephan sighed. “It really would be best if you let your lawyer speak for you as much as possible. You look presentable, not overly wealthy, not a slob . . .” Stephan’s lips slanted. “And not a thug. If we had the time, I’d have you grow your hair out a bit more, but you’re attractive enough that I don’t believe it will matter.”
Jesus, not him too! Cort slid a finger under his tie. “I really am straight.”
“Irrelevant, but so am I.” Stephan shook his head and smacked Cort’s hand. “Leave it alone!” His eyes widened in horror as he stared at Cort’s hands, like they were covered in blood rather than just a little black in the creases and dark in the thicker calluses. “How did I miss that? Your hands are filthy!”
“They ain’t—they’re not dirty. Just stained.” Probably permanently. He shrugged when Stephan grumbled something under his breath. “Want me to wear some leather gloves or something?”
“Might be a good idea.” Scott folded his arms over his chest, looking serious for the first time. “You wouldn’t want to leave fingerprints on anything.”
“Mr. Demyan, you are trying my patience,” Stephan said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, ignoring Scott’s snort. “I don’t suppose you would consider a quick manicure, Cort?”
Cort didn’t even bother dignifying that with an answer. He just stared at Stephan.
“Very well.” Stephan stepped to Sebastian’s side, looking at Cort like he was some kind of fancy piece of furniture in a store window they were planning to buy. “Passible, Mr. Ramos?”
Eyes hard, Sebastian stepped closer to Cort. His lips thinned as Cort fisted his hands by his sides. “The suit is appropriate, but, Cort, you will gain no sympathy if you come off so aggressive.”
“Not meaning to.” Cort winced when Stephan rubbed his face with both hands, muttering a prayer. This wasn’t going real good. “Sorry, I’m not meaning to be aggressive.”
“Did you even graduate high school?” Stephan frowned. “This really won’t do.”
Cort ran his tongue over his teeth. “No. I’m a dropout.”
Scott stepped forward. “But he’s a smart guy. And Ramos got him a good lawyer. He ain’t gonna have no trouble.” He smirked at Stephan’s irritated look. “Hey, I don’t see no press. I do fine with them now. Cort will do all right with his lawyer there to help him out. He’s gotta talk to the detective and the Crown Prosecutor in less than an hour. Don’t stress him out.”
Just the mention of the people he’d have to face, people who wanted to keep him behind bars, stressed Cort out. But he was grateful that Scott had his back. The man had gotten past his own bad rep, so maybe he understood some of what Cort was going through.
Kid wouldn’t do good in jail, th
ough. He was too pretty. Too much of a smart-ass. Least Cort was going into this knowing he could handle himself inside. He might not come out whole, but he’d probably come out alive.
“I better go.” Cort gave the three men a genuine smile, letting his shoulders relax as he held out his hand to shake each man’s before he continued. “I really appreciate all you’ve done. If you ever need anything,—” he met their eyes, shifting his gaze from one man to the next to make sure they knew he meant it “—you give me a call.”
Sebastian gripped his hand the tightest, for the longest, and smiled back. “This man, the one speaking to us now, will go free.”
Cort laughed. “Shit, you’ve almost got me convinced that’s true!”
“It is. But first you must believe.” Sebastian jerked him in for a rough, backslapping hug that erased all Cort’s worries about the man wanting in his pants. This was Jami’s man. A man who was grateful that Cort had saved his girl. Maybe even a friend. And he had one last thing to say before he released Cort. “Believe it. Then you will convince them as well.”
* * * *
The coffee tasted nice and rich, but most of the heat that seeped into Akira’s body was from the whiskey she’d added to it. A bit of a change from the Irish Cream she’d had the first few mornings since she’d come back to Dominik’s place. The man had a wonderful variety in his liquor cabinet, and she’d been sampling from each and every bottle. Not a productive pastime, but . . . she couldn’t find it in her to care.
She didn’t look up as Dominik came into the room. Didn’t comment as he took her mug and poured the contents down the drain in the kitchen sink. She’d already had three cups and was feeling pretty good. Nice and mellow.
Dominik stood in front of her, then sighed and crouched down. He’d never brought himself to her level as her temporary Master, but they were just friends now, so she guessed it was okay. A little unbalancing—still okay.
Delayed Penalty (The Dartmouth Cobras #5) Page 47