by Andrea Speed
“Anything we can do?” Grey said. He was such a sweetie Chai could almost feel his heart break a little. Oh God, what a stupid man he was. Having a crush on a bigass hockey player was bad enough, but a bigass asexual hockey player? That was like a million different kinds of ridiculous. It didn’t stop him, mind you; it simply added another layer to his shame.
Chai shook his head and was going to thank him for his concern when the door opened again and Roan appeared. “Whoa. Full house.”
“Roan!” Grey exclaimed, sounding remarkably like an excited little kid. And unlike an excited little kid, Grey grabbed Roan in a bear hug and lifted him off his feet. He even shook him around a bit, like he was no more than a ragdoll. Roan looked both amused and slightly ruffled at this.
“Put him down before you hurt him, you big oaf,” Scott said with weary affection. That alone told Chai Grey had done this too many times to count.
Grey did, setting Roan on his feet again. Roan patted Grey on his big arms like it was no big deal. “Good to see you too, Grey. Let yourself go a little, huh?”
Grey grinned at the sarcasm. “You know me. Laziest asshole this side of Martin Brodeur.”
“One of these days, you guys are going to let me in on the hockey jokes,” Roan replied.
Scott grabbed Roan and hugged him, which seemed to startle Roan more than Grey picking him up. “Whoa, chill. Didn’t I see you guys a few weeks ago?”
“Yeah, but you’re home,” Scott said, taking a step back and holding him at arm’s length. “Seattle should be throwing you a fucking parade, man.”
“Hah. If they knew I was here, they might throw me in a cage instead.” Roan nodded in Holden’s direction. “How’s he? Any change?”
Chai shook his head. “He has enough drugs in him I think he’ll be asleep ’til next year.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Roan said. “He’s got a good constitution and an impetus to get up.”
“He doesn’t need to seek revenge,” Scott pointed out.
Roan shook his head. “Yeah, he does. He got the hired hands, not the ones at the top of the pyramid.”
“There’s a pyramid of bad guys?” Grey asked.
Roan nodded. “It seems like it, yes.”
Scott looked at him and held his hands open like he was offering him an invisible treat. “We’re here, and we can help.”
“Aren’t you training for the season?”
“Do I look like I need to do any more training?” Grey asked. That was more than a fair point.
“Yeah. Beating up some assholes would actually be training,” Scott said.
Roan gave him an uncomfortable, off-kilter smile. “Maybe so, but if you do anything, I want you looking after Holden, okay?”
Scott suddenly looked serious. “Do you think he could still be in danger?”
“I can’t rule it out. So could you keep an eye on him until he’s awake?”
Scott nodded. “No problem.”
Chai knew immediately Roan was saying that to keep them from being involved. Even Grey looked a little suspicious but said nothing. Besides, if there was the tiniest possibility it was true, Scott wasn’t going anywhere. And Grey wasn’t leaving Scott’s side. Holden was right—they had the best nonsexual love story ever told.
Once they left the room, Chai asked Roan, “Why are you keeping them out?”
“They have careers and lives that could be destroyed easily. The fact that their association with me didn’t end their lives or careers before is a minor miracle. I don’t want to risk it any further.”
“I don’t think Grey cares.”
“I don’t think Scott does either, but that doesn’t change my mind.”
Chai was starting to get the cult of personality formed around Roan. He looked after them as much as they looked after him. That was the problem. Chai thought of them as friends, and they weren’t. They were Roan’s family.
Roan noticeably slowed his gait as they reached the elevators, and Chai guessed he did it for him. On the one hand, he hated being treated as disabled in any way. On the other, Roan did seem to be getting far ahead of him without even trying. He wasn’t even walking fast. He just had a deceptively efficient stride. Chai knew about Roan’s reflexes, but was he faster than the average human in general too? Hard to say.
As soon as they were in the elevator, Chai asked, “How’s Kevin?”
“Doing well. He had no idea who shot him. It was dark, and he never saw the shooter. But he figures this is the universe’s way of telling him it’s time to ride a desk.”
“Did you tell him you thought it was cops behind it?”
Roan grimaced and shook his head. “No point. Not until I confirm it. And even then, does he really want to know?”
“If I was him, I would,” Chai said.
Roan gave him a glance a little hard to interpret, but he felt he couldn’t go wrong guessing it was pity. “Kevin is a true believer in good policing helping the world. I don’t want to crush him. I owe him a hell of a lot more than that.”
“Would just one incident do that?”
Roan sighed, and his look was more than weary. It was heartbroken. “This is the first time he was shot. It’s not the first time the police department has let him down.”
Chai felt like asking, but it wasn’t his business. He didn’t know Kevin; he barely knew Roan. He felt he didn’t have the right to intrude no matter how curious he was.
They ended up going back to the car in silence, Roan keeping his gait at a more reasonable pace. Once they were back in it, Roan turned to him and asked, “Where would you like to be dropped off?”
Chai sighed. “Fuck you.”
“Pardon?”
“This is our investigation. I’m not going to be sidelined.”
“This could get dangerous.”
“No shit.”
Roan rubbed his forehead, and Chai marked that as a tell of frustration. Otherwise he was keeping his expression scrupulously neutral. He had a hell of a poker face. Much like Holden, he probably only gave you what he wanted you to see. “Are you carrying a weapon?”
“No.” Did the cane count? He decided not to mention it.
“Are you licensed to carry a weapon?”
You had to be licensed? He was sure the NRA had done away with that. “No.”
Roan was starting to give him a look Chai decided to dub disbelieving. “Have you ever fired a gun?”
Chai rolled his eyes. “I’m a former sex worker.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“No. Isn’t that obvious?”
“Considering I know Holden, no, it’s not.”
That was a fair point, one he should have seen coming. “I’m not sure Holden is a fair representative slice of us.”
Roan smiled faintly. “You’re not all urban avengers?”
Chai scoffed. “Oh hell no. Some of us have actually had to sink to getting regular jobs.”
“Oh, the horror. How do you bear it?”
“One day at a time, just like everyone else.”
Roan sighed and slumped in his seat. It was hard to believe he was a man who, only a couple of days ago, was in the hospital fighting for his life. He seemed perfectly fine. In fact he seemed better than fine, and that was not a reference to his appearance, although he was hot in a really unexpected way. “Truth be told, I’m not sure what our next move is. If it is cops, I might be friendly with the chief, but I can’t waltz into the SPD and demand to see the records of everyone in Vice.”
“No, don’t give out on me now. You’re the one who’s supposed to know how to do this.”
That made Roan smile. It was bittersweet and somehow attractive. “Can I let you in on a secret about detectives?”
“Please.”
“We fly by the seat of our pants more often than not. Yeah, there are routines to follow, things that help you get from point A to point B, but the rest of the time we’re vamping as hard as we can.”
“That actually makes m
e feel a lot better.” It did too. It also frightened him a bit. Did no one know exactly what they were doing? It was one of those things that made you realize how fallible all humans were.
Roan, who had been looking out the windshield at nothing in particular, suddenly sat up straighter with a look in his eye that suggested he’d seen something great. “I have an idea. But I have to warn you, it’s fucking terrible.”
Chai shrugged. “All our ideas are fucking terrible. It’s the only thing they have in common.” He liked to think what they lacked in native talent, they made up for in consistency.
“At least we’re all on the same page,” Roan replied.
It was probably the only good thing in this entire scenario.
17—The Real Meaning of Christmas
ROAN’S IDEA, on the surface, didn’t seem so bad. They paid a visit to the Seattle Police Department, where everyone seemed surprised to see him. Roan told them he was here visiting Kevin and started asking questions about how far they’d gone on the case, if anyone had taken a look at the Jungle, things of that ilk. It seemed innocuous, if nosy, but Roan had told him in the car that he was trying to draw attention to himself. It was a reminder to whoever was behind this that, if they were smart, they’d flee now and never look back. If they weren’t smart—which seemed to be true, based on what they’d done so far—they would come after Roan. Chai couldn’t imagine anyone being that stupid, but Roan said his being away in exile might convince them he was weak and not up to it. Roan also hinted that the lion was itching to get out, which didn’t sound good or wholly sane. But he knew that was a blinkered response on his part. All his life he’d seen well-meaning PSAs and ads in gay magazines pointing out that infection didn’t make a person subhuman or some kind of horror movie were-beast, and yet…. No, that wasn’t fair. Roan wasn’t a were-beast either. He was human. It was simply that his infection took an odd turn somewhere. Like, super odd.
Holy shit—were there gay magazines anymore? It occurred to him he hadn’t seen one in ages, save for ones online. Then again, when was the last time he’d stopped by a bookstore? Chai suddenly felt terrible and illiterate. Next time Holden went to one, he was going with him.
Chai thought about this and a million other things as he let Roan do the talking, leading him through the Seattle Police Department precinct number… well, fuck, he’d already forgotten. It didn’t help that he’d felt intimidated seeing so many cops at once. He’d never felt so powerfully that he didn’t belong somewhere, save for that time in third grade when he discovered he was the only nonwhite kid in class. Jesus, that was weird. Luckily they moved to a place a bit more desegregated.
Chai couldn’t help but notice a lot of the cops would give Roan intense side eye as soon as he was faced away from them or out of the room. Chai was getting the idea that yeah, a few of the cops didn’t like him, but holy fuck, they were terrified to show it in front of him. He’d always wondered what scared cops, and now he knew it was a gay infected guy with a nice smile and a nasty Mr. Hyde side.
Roan let them know he was staying in town for a couple of days and would probably check out the Jungle, see what was going on. He was warned—politely—not to get involved in a running investigation, and he assured them he wasn’t, but he was convinced the shooting of Kevin and the attack on Holden were related. According to Roan, this was “laying the bait.” He wanted them, whoever they were, worried about his presence here. Roan acknowledged that making himself bait was dangerous, but not really for him. That statement made Chai fall in love with him just a little.
Roan figured the cops involved wouldn’t really get moving until tomorrow, as they might be on shift and unaware of him yet, but he thought it was best they all stay at different places tonight. Roan told Chai he might be able to get a room at the hotel where he was staying with his husband, but that felt weird. Chai assured him he knew someone he could stay with that would be hard to find, and broke his no-texting rule to text E and ask if he could crash with him for the night. E texted back, almost immediately, Surt, which he assumed was a nonspellchecked sure. Chai did have to remind him to text him his address, since Chai didn’t know it.
Roan drove him back to his apartment to get some stuff, then dropped him off at E’s, because Roan was being an overprotective lion. But Chai appreciated it. He had no idea what he’d do if he came up against bad cops. Or anyone over a hundred pounds with a grudge.
E lived in an apartment within walking distance of Capitol Hill, which you’d think would make it expensive real estate, but it was actually a piece-of-shit place in a piece-of-shit area. Normally that would bother him, but he felt safer here. Besides, this was E’s home turf. Everybody liked E; no one would mess with him.
But E’s place turned out to be different than the last time he’d stayed here. His apartment was so bare, Chai wondered if he’d been having money troubles, but no, E told him he’d really embraced minimalism as a concept because it helped bring more energy to his chi. When he told Chai that Trix told him this, it made perfect sense. That sounded more like a Trix thing.
Chai had considered lying to E, but fuck it, he told him the truth about Holden getting beaten up—and beating up some guys in return—and Roan thinking dirty cops might be behind it all. E—real name Owen Anderson—never liked cops, so he found it easy to believe they were behind it and also hoped they got what was coming to them. Chai now realized that in his own shock, he’d forgotten to tell nearly everyone about Holden.
E and Chai sat on the floor of the living room, ate takeout pizza, and drank cinnamon whiskey from repurposed jam jars. E was really serious about his minimalism thing, although the modesty of this situation kind of reminded Chai of his cam boy days. They reminisced about the escort biz and where everyone was now. No one could believe that Colt was now a “lifestyle brand” guru, especially since, back in the day, he used to tie with E for drug usage. Now he was all uptight, skinny jeans, and weather-inappropriate scarves, telling upper-crust hipsters of Seattle what was in this season. His escort past hadn’t come out, as far as they knew, and while it was tempting to out him for his sheer pomposity, they wouldn’t. Unless he endorsed an antigay politician—then all bets were off. E was pretty sure he still had footage of that three-way Colt and E did with that furry. Or maybe he wasn’t a proper furry, but he really did love his Chewbacca costume.
The cinnamon whiskey was fucking terrible, but Chai found himself unable to stop drinking it. He was aware he should stop before he did something he regretted, but that felt like too much effort. As it was, he passed out before he could do anything truly embarrassing. Not that E would hold it against him. He was too nice for that. He had vague memories of E explaining his DJ name—DJ Glittertrash—but Chai wasn’t sure if he didn’t understand it because he was drunk or simply didn’t get what E was trying to say. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d found E semicoherent.
Chai woke up on E’s hard futon with an ache in his head and a taste in his mouth like he’d been sucking on a Jolly Rancher fire stick he’d found wedged in someone’s butt crack for the past twenty years. Like all alcohol, it tasted a million times worse coming back up than it did going down. Man, it was fucking nasty. Why had he drunk so much of it?
His stump was a bit numb, which was bad but felt kind of good, considering. Chai was glad the bad cops hadn’t found them yet, although maybe not. Maybe that would have been better than a hangover.
E claimed to have a cure for a hangover that involved green tea, some energy drink that tasted like pee, and a plateful of toaster pastries, followed by half a Valium. That seemed so perfectly E, Chai found no room to object. Perhaps the most amazing thing was, once Chai was able to hold it down, it did actually seem to help. Then again, being hit with that much sugar, caffeine, and downers would probably make anyone feel okay.
Much to his shock and horror, when Chai finally felt good enough to start the day, he realized it was two thirty in the afternoon. E left to spend time with his “maybe boyfr
iend,” Shaun, who was a musician with an industrial band called Bussard Ramjet. (Chai was 50 percent sure he hadn’t heard that right, although if he did, he wished he hadn’t.) Roan showed up then and didn’t say a word until they got in the car. “So, uh, how is cinnamon whiskey? I’ve heard it’s terrible.”
Chai sighed and sniffed the back of his hand, even though he’d had a shower. “It is terrible. How the hell do you know? I can’t smell it.”
“It’s still coming through your pores. Sorry.”
Chai was embarrassed but wondered if it could be worse. “You can smell everything?” Roan nodded. “How can you live like that?”
“It isn’t easy.”
“What did I have for breakfast?”
Roan glanced at him, but Chai got a feeling it wasn’t necessary. “Energy drink, green tea, raspberry toaster pastries… hey, do you have any more of that Valium? I haven’t had one of those in ages.”
“Valium has a smell?” Chai rubbed his eyes. “That would drive me crazy.”
“It can be a real pain in the ass. On the plus side, once I get someone’s scent, they’re not getting away from me.”
“So if you smell one of the dirty cops…?”
“All mine,” Roan said, looking out the windshield at nothing. It was actually a terrifying thought. Roan was right—if they were smart, they’d already be eight hours gone.
“What’s the play now?” Chai asked.
“We go to the Jungle and see if we can find anything there. Even if we don’t, the fact that we’re there, stirring up stuff, will be seen as aggressive and a problem that needs to be stopped. I can do this on my own, you know.”
Chai shook his head. “Would it keep them from coming after me?”
“Probably not.”
“Okay, then. We go.”
Roan paused, and after tapping his fingers on his leg for a moment, turned back to him. “If things go wrong, you should know…. Never run from it. Or turn your back on it. And try not to be scared, as it can smell fear.”
“It?”