by Avril Ashton
Fuck. All he had to do was move a few more inches and he’d be touching her pussy. He could play with her clit, finger-fuck her until she came for him. He could do all that, but he didn’t want to. His body didn’t want to either. Refusing to get hard.
He pulled away and stepped back, striding off before she had the chance to face him. On his way out the club he pulled one of his guys aside and instructed them to make sure Tawnya got home safe and unharmed. In his car he dialed X before realizing it was almost three in the morning.
His cousin answered right away. “Is.”
“I need—” His breath cut off, felt as if his chest was caving in. He panted, one hand gripping the steering wheel to death.
“Is?” He heard sheets rustling. “Is, you okay?”
“I need help,” Is whispered. “I need…” Reggie. He needed Reggie, but fuck if Is could make himself say that out loud.
“Come over,” X said. “Right now. Come to the condo.”
He tilted his head toward the sky. “It’s late.”
“Is, get your ass over here.”
“I’m on my way.”
At that time of the night, traffic was non-existent so he made good time traveling from Queens to Brooklyn. He had to press a buzzer for X to let him in, and when he made it up to the condo, the front door stood ajar, waiting for him. He stepped inside and X pulled him into a hug.
“You okay?” X cupped his head and peered into his face. “You don’t look good.”
“Yeah, I— No.” Is shook his head. “Everything is fucked-up, X.”
X stepped back and folded his arms across his naked chest. He wore a pair of black drawstring pajama bottoms. “This about you and Reggie?”
Him and Reggie. Is didn’t ask how X could possible know. He looked around. “Where’s your man?”
“Sleeping.” X began walking through the condo. “I’ll make us something to drink then we’ll talk.”
“No.” Is shook his head. “I just want to sleep. Can we do it tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Sure.” X pointed down the hall. “You know where to go. Sheets and stuff are in the hall closet.” He paused and patted Is’ shoulder. “Rest. Tomorrow will be better.”
Yeah. Is didn’t know about that.
* * * *
Is woke immediately knowing where he was and why. He rolled over and smothered his sigh into one of X’s pillows. He rarely ever visited X in the condo and spent even less time sleeping over. His phone buzzed next to him and he felt around for it without lifting his head. It was under his body and blazing hot.
He didn’t want to have to deal with business this morning. He didn’t want to be boss man this morning. Boss man needed a time out, some down time to figure out what was happening and why.
Although, hadn’t he already done that, figured out that he was attracted to his best friend? For real. For real. Thinking about him and worrying over him and imagining…things. Lots of things.
Voices drifted to him so he got up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed as he checked his phone. Lots of texts from Tawnya. At least four voicemails from her too. He deleted them all without checking. In the adjoining bathroom he brushed his teeth and washed his face before pulling on the clothes he’d taken off the might before. Then he made his way outside to meet X and the Russian.
He spotted Carol, the housekeeper, first. Her eyes lit up, a smile creasing her face as she placed plates onto the dining table and greeted him.
“Mr. Israel.”
“Carol, how are you?” She was always ready with a smile and a hug. He walked over to her and kissed her cheek. “X treating you right?”
“Of course.” She swatted him before turning away. “Are you staying for breakfast?”
“He is.”
Is looked over as X walked in from the balcony, his man on his heels.
“Carol, Is will eat with us.” X waved him to a chair. “Sit.”
Is scowled. “You.” He glared at the Russian who turned and looked behind him to see who Is was talking to.
“Me?” Zhirkov poked his chest, his pretty eyes going wide with fake innocence.
“I owe you a fucking bullet, you know that, right?”
“Nah, I’ll pass.” The Russian waved away Is’ words with a smirk. “But thanks though.”
Is narrowed his eyes and glanced at X.
His cousin nodded. “One.”
And Is took the shot, punching Dima square in the jaw. The Russian staggered and blood trickled down the corner of his mouth. Is balanced on the balls of his feet, bouncing as he flexed his aching knuckles.
“There’s a lot more where that came from,” he promised.
“I said one,” X said calmly.
“Did you just give him permission to hit me?” Dima ignored the blood on his face as he squared off with X who didn’t appear the least bit ruffled.
“You pistol whipped the man, Rush.” X shook out his newspaper without looking at Dima. “Stands to reason he might need to draw some blood.” He gave Is a pointed look. “Once.”
“Really?” Dima huffed. “You just gonna let your cousin beat up me and shit?”
Is watched, bemused, as X wiped the blood from the corner of Dima’s mouth with a thumb then licked it off. “That was a punch, Rush. You know I’m the only one allowed to beat you.”
Is had no idea what that meant, but it held some kind of effect on Dima because he damn near fucking melted standing there.
“I know.” Dima winked at Is then turned to X. “I gotta go.”
“We’re having breakfast,” Is said.
“I can’t, I have business.” Dima looked Is up and down. “Heard you put your best friend in the hospital over a kiss.”
Is sputtered. “Wha— How the hell do you even know about that?” He grabbed on to the back of chair.
“Chill.” Dima shrugged away his horror. “Worked, didn’t it? That hot chick we saw at his place when we visited is taking good care of him, I’m sure.”
Is narrowed his gaze. “What chick?” He glanced at X who wasn’t even paying them any attention, his attention was on his newspaper. “What chick?” he growled. He barely restrained himself from lunging at Dima and squeezing his fucking throat.
“Oh, you know, Keisha or something like that.” Dima slid a palm over X’s scalp as he said, “I got the definite impression that casserole was not the only thing on the menu over there.”
Kezia. The woman Reggie had been talking to while at the cabin. Fuck. Is yanked a chair away from the table and sank into it.
“He’s moving on,” Dima went on. “I hooked him up with some gay porn, taught him the basics and I think—”
“What?” Is yelled, but Dima simply lifted an eyebrow. “You taught him the basics? What does that mean?” He turned to X. “What does that mean?” Couldn’t be anything like he was imagining, could it?
X shrugged, face impassive. “Your boy wanted to know what it was like to kiss another man. Rush volunteered.”
“What?” Fury exploded inside Is. He got up from the table and kicked the chair aside. “Are you serious?” Was he serious? “You let him kiss Reggie?” He wanted to shoot somebody. Anger and jealousy battered him.
“Calm down, Is.” X frowned. “Reggie wanted to make sure you weren’t the only man he was…attracted to.” He coughed. “I think he might be thinking about looking elsewhere since you cut him out of your life.” He sounded apologetic, but all Is heard was that he was too late.
Everything he stood to lose floated in front of his eyes.
“He— I—” He sat, mostly because his legs no longer wanted to work. “It doesn’t matter to me.”
Dima made a disbelieving sound in the back of his throat. Mercifully X didn’t speak. He just kept watching Is.
“I’m out.” Dima bent and kissed X’s forehead. “I’ll call you.” He tried to move away, but X caught him by the neck and held him still as he kissed him. Really kissed him, with lots of tongue and sounds.
; Is had to look away. The reminder of the kiss he and Reggie shared was too great.
“Later, Rush.” X’s voice was husky and filled with emotions that tugged at Is, making him extremely uncomfortable and yet…he yearned to have it.
That thing. That emotion that colored everything X did, everything he said. Is wanted that for himself, but at what cost?
When Dima left, he and X remained quiet until Carol brought in their breakfast. Is stared at the food on his plate.
“He wasn’t lying, was he?” he spoke without looking up. “Reggie is moving on.”
“Isn’t that what you want?” X asked. “For him to leave you alone?”
Is’ appetite fled. “Fuck, cuz. I don’t know what I want. Everything is…fucked.”
“Start from the beginning.” X put aside his newspaper and sat back, watching Is. “Tell me what’s going on.”
So Is did, he told X about the cabin. About the urges inside him that didn’t go away no matter where he went or how much he pushed Reggie away. He talked about what he saw every time he looked into Reggie’s eyes and what that did to him, how he ached to give Reggie everything he was so silently begging for. And he talked about why he couldn’t, the fear inside him that stayed his actions, that stopped him from giving in.
“The cabin isn’t the first time you began seeing him differently, is it?”
Is shook his head, giving X a simple, “No.” As if any of it was that easily answered. Thankfully X didn’t ask him to expound on that.
“You’re attracted to him, Is.” X leaned in. “Let’s just put that on the table, since there’s no disputing it. You want to fuck him, want him to fuck you.” He shrugged. “Neither way is wrong, by the way.”
Is didn’t speak. Embarrassment curbed his tongue.
“So you want to fuck him.” X tapped a finger on the table. “But what else do you want?”
“What?” Is shook his head in confusion.
“Do you want the morning after or are you just looking for sex?”
Is’ hackles rose. “Man, fuck you with that shit. If all I wanted was to get my dick wet I’d have done so last night with the woman I had at my side.”
“Not necessarily.” X didn’t seem to take any offense with Is’ tone. “Maybe you just want to fuck him, Is. Maybe you just want the sex and it’s likely that when the deed is done and the sun comes up, you’ll be ghost. Hiding from him.” X’s mouth twisted. “And you.”
“No.” He was beyond emphatic. “No.”
“No?” X lifted a brow. “Think on it, Is. You’ll be with a man. You. With a man. Will you be proud of that? Will you want to be seen in public?” He paused. “Do you want a relationship with Reggie, Is?”
A relationship. Like the one X had with his Russian. What Mateo had with his Tommy. What Elias had with— A relationship. Terror held him immobile. “I don’t—”
“Reggie isn’t like the women you fuck around with.” X tone changed to something sympathetic that made Is bristle. “And I don’t know what all he wants for sure, but I do know one thing he definitely wants, Is. You. He wants you. Can you give him that?”
The million dollar question and Is had to answer honestly. “I don’t know.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Israel Jermaine to see Jacqueline Jermaine.” He gave the woman behind the desk a tight smile as he shoved his hands into his pockets. He hated coming to this place. Hated the quiet punctuated by shrill shouts and rambling words. He hated the smell and the sickly green walls.
Mostly he hated the memories that never failed to rise to choke him the instant he set foot inside the psychiatric hospital.
The pale woman smiled back at him before checking the list of approved visitors for his mother. Those dark circles under her eyes had to come from being inside this place. He wanted to turn around whenever the door slammed behind him, so he could only imagine how she felt having to spend more than five minutes surrounded by the patients who inhabited the place.
Patients like the woman who raised him.
His mother’s doctor came up to him, after being buzzed by the secretary, and motioned for him to follow him down the hallway. Is was familiar with that route, familiar with the sounds of their shoes on the well-buffed floors. Doctor Kirby spoke as they walked, giving him a status report on his mother. No change, same meds, and she was behaving.
Which was good, because the last time Is visited, Jacqueline had been on a biting spree, trying to bite anyone who came within feet of her. The visit had been muzzled, literally. They’d fitted her with one of those things, and he’d vowed then he wouldn’t be back. That was six months ago.
He was back.
She’d been right.
He’d always be back.
She knew him, his mother. Knew him better than he knew himself. She saw the darkness in him, as well she should. She’d been the one to light that spark, to nurture it.
The doctor brought him to the private visiting area adjacent to Jacqueline’s room. She was there, sitting at the table closest to the window. Once, in her more lucid moments, she’d told him she liked looking out and remembering her time out there.
“Hello, Jacqueline.” Doctor Kirby smiled at her, one finger fixing the glasses sliding down his nose. “You have a visitor today, lucky you.”
She turned slowly, wearing a white sweater that looked way too big for her and white pants. On her feet were white socks. “I’m in no mood for visitors, I’m busy.”
“Jacqueline,” Is said softly.
Her gaze snapped to his and her pale brown eyes went wide. Her brown skin remained unlined, still beautiful. A smile slackened her jaw and she jumped to her feet. Is held his ground when he wanted to back up.
“Israel.” From her lips, his name sounded the way it did before. Way before. “What did I tell you about calling me by my name?” She lifted a brow. “It’s disrespectful, baby, and mommy will not put up with disrespect.” She cupped his jaw.
Is flinched.
“Now, Jacqueline,” Doctor Kirby said. “Take your seat and visit properly with Mr. Jermaine.”
“My son.” She swung to face the doctor. “He’s my son, not Mr. Jermaine.” Just as abruptly she turned back to Is and stroked his face, his jaw and nose. “His name is Israel. I named him,” she said proudly. “The woman said his name was—” Her eyes lost focus and Is tensed.
Thirty-nine years and he still didn’t know the name he’d been given at birth. Inside Riker’s Island he’d bargained for this, taken a man’s life as barter. Even then there’d been nothing. A dead end. A black hole where his early life used to be.
His skin tingled as he waited, hardly daring to make a fucking sound as she got lost in her head. He’d waited and waited and she knew it, she teased him with it, but never took the final step to tell him who he was.
Her gaze refocused and she smiled. “Well,” she waved a hand in dismissal, “that doesn’t matter, does it?”
Disappointment choked him. Every time, it choked him and yet, he still hoped.
“Come, Israel,” she put emphasis on his name as she took his hand, linking their fingers and drawing him back to the table where she’d been sitting. “Let’s visit. It’s why you came, yes?”
Is nodded numbly. Movement at the door caught his eye and he glanced over his shoulder. Two hulking men in blue scrubs stood there. Like sentries. Guards, there to jump in should his mother lose her focus again.
They nodded at him, silent, and he nodded back, acknowledging their presence.
“There,” the doctor gushed as they sat, Is and his mother, side by side. “Isn’t that lovely?” He smiled at them, but his eyes remained serious, watchful. “Have a lovely time, Jacqueline. Mr—Israel.” He nodded to Is then walked out the room.
It was just the two of them, and the guards at the door.
“How are you, son?” She kept touching his face. “You look sad. Talk to mommy.”
He’d been ten when he stood next her as she hacked his father
to pieces. His stepfather, he later came to find out. He’d been fascinated by all the red in the bathroom, on the walls the shower curtains, the floor. She’d spoken so calmly as she killed the man who’d been in his life from as early as Is could remember.
His mother. He hadn’t known how wrong it had been then to do as she’d asked. When his mother had requested he go get his little sister from her bassinet where she’d been screaming her head off, he’d done it. His mother had asked something of him.
Not the last time she’d asked.
She’d taken everything from him then. His family, his identity, and every time he visited her in this place, she dangled the carrot above his head. The possibility of finding out where he came from. Because he didn’t come from her. Nor from the man who’d died that night in their bathroom. He didn’t belong. Except Jacqueline had seen him and decided he did. She’d stolen him.
And no one knew from whom. No one knew from where except Jacqueline.
Sometimes he thought she’d go to her grave never sharing where, when or why, except the fact that his eyes had called to her. His dark eyes had called to her so she’d taken him. Just…
Taken him.
“Who am I?” he asked her. Because he had to know. He needed to know who he was, where he came from. “Who am I?”
His mother’s brow furrowed. “You’re my son, Israel. What do you mean?” She sounded genuinely curious, genuinely hurt that he’d asked that question.
Is recalled the mood swings. The arguments. The screams. She’d been adept at manipulating him, his father. They would do anything to stop her crazy antics. Would give her anything. She hadn’t yet been diagnosed as have paranoid delusions, of being schizophrenic. And no one had noticed the post-partum depression. But her behavior had gotten to be too much and when his father, Rodney Jermaine, refused to put up with it, she’d stolen him away too. And Is’ little sister.
He couldn’t remember her face, but he could remember her screams. And he always remembered her name.
Kimberly.
Three weeks old. And Is had handed her over to his mother and watched as she’d put the pillow over her own daughter’s head.