by BA Tortuga
“What can we do? Can we call the police in Brazil? I mean, Jack can’t kidnap him!” Bev had been tireless, calling and researching and crying. The woman was possibly as OCD as Seb in her own way.
“Can’t y’all just go get him?” Helen set out a platter of veggies and cheese.
“That’s my plan.” Markus looked to Tawny, who was arrangement woman. They’d talked while she was on her layover in Dallas.
Tawny smiled, nodded. “I have a very good friend that’s a local down there. He’s a bull rider up here most of the year, but he happens to be home in São Paulo. We’re all going to visit him, talking about possibly having him in a video.”
Markus couldn’t help but laugh. “How does Jim feel about this good friend?”
“He hates him, Scooter. Absolutely hates him.” She tossed her long hair. “It gets me laid, every time. Jim is meeting us down there. I figure the more of us, the better. Eduardo has a huge place—a fucking compound.”
“And he speaks the language.” Bev gave Tawny a spontaneous and very grateful-looking hug. “Now we have to work on getting Markus down there without Jack knowing.”
“I got that,” Markus said. “Seb has a surfer friend who’s a pilot. He loves the beaches in Brazil. He’ll happily ferry us down.”
Bev nodded. “Justin Clark. I’ve got his contact information.”
“Okay, you deal with that. I’ll have Eduardo meet us at the airport.” Tawny met his eyes, winked. “What else, Scooter?”
“I just need to see him, Tawn.” The sick feeling in his gut wouldn’t go away until he had Seb with him. “That and we need to be ready for the media shitstorm.”
“I’ll deal with that.” She met his eyes. “We just have to decide whether you’re going to come out and proud or you’re going to retire. If you come out, we’ll break the news on our terms. If you retire, then people can say whatever.”
“I’m ready to step down. I would come out just fine; you know that. I won’t make that decision for Seb, though. If we retire on the QT, we can make good money writing.” If Seb wanted to come out, fine, but Markus was content to live quietly.
“I have the lawyer ready to sue Jack’s management company and the label. Seb just has to say the word.”
“Good. He’ll sign the papers. No doubt.” That one he didn’t care if Seb wanted to do it or not. This was not just a difference of management style. This was criminal.
“Justin says he’ll be at the municipal airport tonight at 9:00 p.m. He’ll have to file flight plans and stuff, so we’ll leave around 5:00 a.m. It will take us about sixteen hours, maybe eighteen, in his plane.” Bev chewed on her thumbnail, her under-eye bags multiplying by the second.
Tawny finally sat, grabbing cheese off the plate and munching. “Everyone have their passports? Their shots? We’ve all been overseas in the last six months.” When they all nodded, she slapped her hand down on the table. “Then I say we all sleep while we can.”
Bev opened her mouth to argue, and Tawny shook her head. “That means you too, lovely. You work for us now, and that means sleep and food and time off and no kidnapping.”
Markus smothered a grin, thinking how good it felt to smile. Seb would be smiling soon, and that would make this whole mess if not worthwhile, then at least salvageable.
Tawny met his eyes, once everyone had wandered off. “You okay?”
“No.” He grabbed some grapes. “I’m scared. This isn’t just bad business, Tawn.”
“No, it’s not. Jack’s a gambler. He was stealing from the label, and I don’t know, Tad retired, and it was like they sent leg breakers or something. Regardless, he’s lost his shit. You better be prepared, huh? They had Seb pretty medicated before.”
The heaviness in the pit of his belly got worse. “I—do we need to get a doctor? Can your friend do that?”
“Yeah. It couldn’t hurt to get one on call, huh? Just in case?”
He hated this shit, but they had to be prepared for anything. Markus just kept making himself the promise that no one would ever medicate Seb again unless it was truly necessary, like penicillin or a tetanus shot.
“You know that he might be deeply fucked-up, right? He lost his mom, his manager—this whole thing has been harsh.”
“He’s stronger than he thinks. Than anyone does.” He had to believe that. Had to believe that the man who could write a song like “Silent Love” and sell it to him without ever letting him know… yeah. Seb was strong.
Seb loved harder than anyone he’d ever met, including himself. The man gave himself up, trusted. Fucking believed even after there wasn’t any reason to.
“He’s a lucky guy to have you, Scooter.”
Markus knew better. He was the lucky one. Sebastian Longchamps had loved him from afar for years, had been the one to call, the one to hold it together. If this had been left to him, he’d still be having silent blowjobs from people who couldn’t even remember his name, quietly letting retirement have him and telling reporters about the good old days when he used to tie one on.
Now he had something to live for, and if he had to do it loud to get Seb back, so be it.
Chapter Twenty
THE NUMBNESS was turning to pain.
It wigged Sebastian out a little bit, when he could think well enough to be scared. At some point, they’d stopped talking to him, Jack and Maman. The nurse came, changing tubes and bags, hitting Play on the iPod.
Had it been just days?
The curtains were open, but he couldn’t see the ocean, just the sky and the top of the fence. He thought he’d seen the moon.
Sebastian shifted, his legs feeling like they weighed a thousand pounds, maybe more. His belly felt like he’d swallowed a rock. This was what Markus had been talking about, about how the drugs could swallow you up like being inside a whale.
He chuckled, the idea of being the rock himself amusing. Weren’t those Doc Holliday’s last words? “Damn, this is funny.”
He turned his head, which felt like a giant turtle’s or the biggest baby ever, looking back out the window after peering at his toes.
Huh. Look at that. Someone was scaling the fence.
Someone tall and brown. Neat. Maybe they were going to steal a chair. Those chairs had been comfortable as all get out. He frowned. At least he thought he’d been in those chairs. Had it been a dream?
Another man popped over the fence. Did it take two to steal a chair? Maybe they were going to steal Jack. How hard would that rock?
Oh. Oh, that looked like his Markus. Maman had promised he’d see that face again, and she’d managed it. For him.
God, she’d loved him so much.
The two dark forms came closer and closer to the house, looking like movie cat burglars or something, and he would have clapped his hands with delight if he’d had the strength. It was like his own personal movie reel. Markus the thief, coming to steal him away.
He kept his eyes open, refusing to hardly blink, because he didn’t want to miss any of this mess. Was that his surfer friend, Justin? Did Maman know Justin? Did Markus? Why would he be hallucinating Justin?
There was a flurry of doorbell ringing and shit from the front of the house, raised voices in Portuguese and English. What a racket.
About that time was when the big sliding glass door came right off its track. Cool. It was like a fire door emergency thing. He’d seen it happen once at a Macy’s. His Markus charged into the room, looking like an avenging angel in a black gimme cap. It was the best fantasy ever.
Well, maybe not the best. The best involved that hand warming his ass right before the man fucked him into oblivion, but still, this so worked for him.
Then his favorite apparition opened his mouth and spoke. “Baby? Seb? Are you ready to go?”
Go. Go. God, yes. Anywhere with you. He couldn’t remember how to make his mouth work, but he nodded. He’d go to hell itself to stay with Markus and their music.
“Good.” That smile was like the sun breaking over the ocean
. “Justin, help me. I don’t know what to do about the drip.”
“We’ll take it with us. They’ve got him catheterized too. We’ll just… take it all and let Eduardo’s doctor sort it.”
Justin sounded so… Australian. Sebastian wasn’t up to surfing, though. Not today. He wanted to sleep. He thought he ought to wave at Just, though, because it was nice to see him. He tried to lift his hand, but Markus was lifting him. It was just like flying.
He breathed in deep, the scent of Markus hitting his nose, and he blinked. It was almost like it was real. Warm lips grazed his cheek, and God, Candy needed to shave. The cheek whiskers were going to burn his skin right off.
“Come on, mate. Let’s go. Let’s get him out of here.”
Justin had a wonderful idea there.
Go. Just go.
Anywhere but here.
MARKUS FOUGHT the urge to go and kill something, anything, torn between tears and rage. He cradled Sebastian in his arms, and his lover seemed to weigh no more than a fucking child. They were starving Seb to death, slow but sure.
He glanced at Justin, who had the drip bag. “You ready?”
“You know it.”
Eduardo was still talking, loud and cheery. The man was a fucking celebrity of mammoth proportion down here, and was more than willing to draw the attention away from them. One of his brothers—Markus had been introduced, but fuck, there were like thirty of them, and they all looked damn near the same, hot, dark, sexual as hell—was driving their getaway car so Eduardo could take the other car into the city, draw the media.
They just had to get Seb over the—
“Come fast!” Eduardo’s brother stood at the back gate with a pair of bolt cutters. “Is easier now!”
Markus was beginning to think a villa in Brazil was better than an island. These guys cracked his shit up. “Good job, buddy. Run.”
The man could flat-out run in those caiman boots, and Markus and Justin got to the old truck, Markus sliding into the back of the king cab with his precious cargo. “Seb? Can you talk to me, baby?”
This was wrong. So fucking wrong. The man’s lips were cracked, dry, and Seb’s eyes moved so slow, like each blink was deliberate.
He thought about giving Seb some water, but it might make him sick. Better to let the doc have a look and decide what to do. He did use some of the bottled stuff to moisten Seb’s lips. “I’m right here, baby. I’m so sorry it took so fucking long.”
Seb just smiled at him, like he was a fucking hero or something, grinning like an idiot.
He stroked one sharp cheekbone, bracing himself as Eduardo’s brother barreled out of Santo, toward the ranch.
Who the fuck could do this? What kind of fucking lunatic could take someone they’d worked with for years and…. He was going to fucking lose his shit.
“Hold it together, mate.” Justin peered at him over the back of the seat. “Half an hour.”
“Okay. Sure.” His own voice sounded so reasonable. Shaky, but reasonable.
“Sing to him, huh? He sings, yes? Eduardo tell me. You too. Singing.”
He gave Eduardo’s brother a grateful smile in the rearview, then started singing “Jolie Blonde.” He slid into “Fais Do-Do.” He knew Seb loved those old Cajun songs. Hell, he’d do “Jambalaya” if he needed to.
He could feel Seb relaxing in his arms, breathing in time with him. At least he knew the man heard him. Those cracked lips moved along with the words when he started on one of his own songs, the slow, waltzy “In My Arms.”
Oh, Jesus. Please. He wasn’t a praying man, but he knew the good Lord had Seb’s mamma there, talking hard, so he’d send one up. This was it for him, and he couldn’t let loose now.
The ride seemed to take hours, but they made it, and Seb was asleep by the time they did. Markus kept checking to make sure he was breathing. Compulsively checking.
Tawny and the doctor were there, along with about a thousand Brazilians, grabbing Seb from Markus’s arms and hustling the man into the big house, into a bed. It was Bev, though, who took one look at Seb and just collapsed, crumpling to the floor in a snow-white heap.
Markus stopped, lifting her to her feet and hugging her hard. “He’s going to be all right, Bevvie. I promise.”
“Markus. Markus, what…? Look at him. Oh my God. He’s…. That’s Sebastian.”
“I know. I know.” He put his face in her hair for a moment and let the tears roll, let it all go. He had to before he went in there with Seb. Had to get it out.
They held each other like two little kids, lost in a fairy story, one where the witch was waiting at the end of the road. It wasn’t going to fucking end that way, though. He had his lover back, damn it, and God help anyone that got in his fucking way.
He kissed Bev on the top of the head. “Okay. The doctor is going to need stuff, I bet. Eduardo will translate, but I need you on the finances end of it. Anything he needs. Okay?”
“You got it, boss. Anything. How about you? What do you need?”
“I’m fine.” Then again, maybe he wasn’t. “Ginger ale. If they can find me ginger ale, I’d appreciate it.”
“I’m on it.” And she was. Shit. Him and Seb, well, they were just going to have to keep her. She was like Santa Claus with a Blackberry.
He took a deep breath, then another, watching her walk away, already issuing orders. It was Tawny’s turn then.
Mrs. Hormonal, though, she just stood there, staring at him, arms crossed. “Good job, Scooter. If you ever decide to go into, like, paramilitary hostage negotiation rescuey shit, I’ll back you. Only monetarily, though. A gun would break a nail.”
A laugh burst out of him, his eyes drying up a little. “We skipped the first two phases of negotiation, though. Went right to the incident phase.” The fact that he knew that meant he’d watched too many Russell Crowe movies.
“You always did like someone else to deal with the weird details.” She winked. “Come on, let’s have a sit. Someone will be out in a minute to tell us he’s going to be fine, but it’ll cost us a fortune.”
“I need to see him, Tawn.”
“Not while he’s being poked and prodded. It’s an indignity, and he doesn’t need you to see it.” She said it flatly, giving him the lizard eye.
“Tawny, I just carried a bag of his piss. Dignity is sort of a nonissue.”
Her eyebrow lifted. “You realize that I could go somewhere truly nasty and make you squeal like a little girl right now, yeah?”
“Don’t.” He hadn’t puked yet. He didn’t want to.
“Then be good, Scooter. Sit. Drink your ginger ale.” A housekeeper had appeared with a glass of the fizzy drink right as she said it. Like magic. There was some crazy ginger-lime-carrot juice that Tawny had been mainlining since she got there too.
“Okay. Okay, yeah.” He looked across the fancy marble-covered-everything room. “Tell me he’s going to be okay.”
“He’s going to be fine. I’m going to play hardball with that motherfucker who hurt him, you’re going to announce that you’re going to work on a new album somewhere quiet, and then we’re going to find you a place with a pool, a hot tub, and a private chef.”
“I like that idea. I like it here.” Brazil was crazy, loud, colorful, and somehow wonderful.
“Okay. I’ll find somewhere here. As soon as I can. First, let’s drink our juice and shit.” Logical old bitch.
He sucked his drink down, watched Eduardo bounce into the ranch house. “We did it, my friends! I was safe, I promise. It took no minutes to lose everyone. I know my way here!”
He stood up, held out one hand. “Man, I owe you, big.”
Eduardo came over, hugged him hard, slapping his back. “Não. Não. We are friends, the bonita Tawny, sim? Now we are all friends.”
Justin came in, and Eduardo’s eyes left Markus, trailed over the surfer like the man was starving. The blond Aussie glanced at Eduardo, and man. Zap. There was some serious electricity there. Markus wondered if it was any easier f
or Brazilian bull riders to be queer than it was for American country singers.
He’d bet not.
“Christ, is there any straight man left alive in the world? Besides you, of course, love.” Tawny grinned at her husband, who came in, the songwriter looking about as dazed and confused as he always did. Lost in Tawny and the songwriting, that one.
Everyone not Tawny and her man flushed, suddenly busy. Including Markus, because one of the nurses came out. “Senhor Kane? You come now?”
“Shit, yeah.” He stood up, everything but Seb disappearing from his brain. “Is he going to be okay?”
She waved him into the back of the house, and he cursed the language barrier, hurrying to get to Seb’s side. The doctor stopped him when he got to the suite they’d put Seb in, motioning for him to step to one side.
“Senhor Kane.” The tired-looking man smiled, deep lines around his eyes and mouth. “He is lucky you found him. He is very weak. Dehydrated and deeply medicated. The worst, however, is his nutrient level. He has been starved badly.”
“Fucker.” He bit the word out, growling. “Sorry. He’s going to be okay, right?”
“He is strong. I am doing proteins in the IV, electrolytes. We will watch for now. Pray. There is nothing else but to reduce the drugs slowly and see he rests.”
“Thank you.” Markus shook the man’s hand hard, the tears right there again, a knot at the base of his throat, like he’d swallowed a rope.
“You go see him. The drugs—they were psychotropics, yes? He may not know you.”
Seb would know him. No matter what, Sebastian always knew him. Markus walked into the room, closing the door behind him. He stopped, taking in every detail and getting his shit together before he sat down.
It was like looking at an old man, like someone had taken Seb and shrunk him, made him nothing but cheekbones and sunken eyes and long, long fingers.
The rage at Jack came back, burning bright. Jack had loved Sebastian once. How could the man do this? How?
Markus sat, clearing his throat and taking Seb’s hand in his. “Hey, baby.”