“Why?” Justin asked. “If you don’t think—”
“Got nothing to do with your ability. Anyone can kill a man. I’m sure you could, no doubt about it. I know there’s people you’d kill for.” Griz sighed. “Don’t want it to change you, though. It’s too easy to become vicious, for it to become part of the game. Killin’ ain’t something you do unless you gotta. Take it from someone who knows.” Griz got quiet, a distant look in his eyes. The silence was deep, had weight.
So he’d killed people. What stories lurked behind that gaze? What memories haunted him? And did Justin really want to know? If it was a matter of survival—
But then the old man shook his head, as if to snap himself out of it, and continued, “Besides, from a professional standpoint, it’s best not to go up against your boss, not directly anyway. That kind of challenge isn’t appreciated, because the next person down the chain wonders if he’ll be next. Guys in power like to be in power; they’ll hold on to it no matter what. If you gotta challenge ’em, best to work indirectly. It’s no less effective, and it’s a hell of a lot smarter.”
Justin nodded.
“And remember this too: no matter how awful a man is, he’s always got someone else on his team. No one gets to be where they are all alone, even if they are just using each other as stepping stones. Don’t give nobody cause to come after you to save face or get revenge. Keep your hands as clean as possible, and when it’s not possible, get someone else to do the dirty work and do it quiet like.”
What he said made sense. Already, Justin’s mind started churning, trying to come up with ways to do Scarecrow in “quiet like.” As if to let him think, Griz turned the music down.
“Hey, Charlie,” Griz began in a lighter tone. “You know what I need your help in doing? We gotta get your brother someone. A friend.”
Wait. What?
Charlie raised his eyebrows as if considering. Then, agreeing, he nodded emphatically.
“You need someone, Just. You got us, but you deserve more. You need someone who’s yours and yours alone.”
“You trying to play matchmaker now, Mr. Mays?” Justin shook his head, not believing what they were trying to pull. “You got someone in mind?”
Mr. Mays laughed, that spark returning to his eyes. “I didn’t say that. I didn’t say it had to be a woman. Just a friend. A man’s gotta have friends. And that goes for you too, Charlie. Do me a favor and before I die, let someone else in, the each of ya.”
“Ain’t that easy, Mr. Mays.”
Griz shook his head. “Certainly not. Sometimes lettin’ people in hurts an awful lot. But it sure is worth it. Take your mama for instance. If I didn’t come to love her, look at all I woulda missed out on. You remember her at all, Charlie?”
Charlie frowned and shook his head but then thought. He gave a hand signal that meant “Sort of.” Justin slept next to Charlie enough to know that he dreamed of their mother sometimes, enough to know that Charlie could talk.
“Your mama, she was way too young for me, but I loved her nonetheless. You know why? Because she loved. She loved people something fierce. Her patients, myself included, but you especially, of course. That can be a rare quality today. Too many people in it for themselves. I was in that bad way for a long time. Hard. But that’s survival for you, isn’t it? My own mama died when I was young, but I remember her enough to know that’s not how she raised me. She didn’t go until after the third flu came around, and after that, that’s when I got hard. And they used me like a tool, used that hard edge. Hungry for food. Hungry for blood. But it was people like your mama helped me come back to myself again. Best for you both if you never lose yourself to begin with. Life’s too short to lose all them years.”
Silence fell over them again for a minute. Justin was almost relieved. He forgot how much Mr. Mays liked to talk, and this was plenty to think about.
“Take Gin, for instance,” Griz continued his last thought, though minutes had elapsed. “She been through a lot, but she’s got friends. Lots of ’em. In addition to the two of you. She’s tough, but she ain’t hard. She’s still got a heart. A big one.”
Griz’s eyelids drooped. Finally the guy was exhausted. Justin supposed he and Charlie would just hang out, listening to music. He wasn’t willing to leave the old man alone until Devin came back.
“Best to find someone,” Mr. Mays mumbled. A few moments later, he began a soft snore that let Justin know he truly was asleep.
Sure. Best to find someone. But easier said than done.
Best to find someone. But who?
HALE GRUNTED. One more chin-up, and one more day. He needed to make it through one more day. He could do both.
It had been ten days since the Fray in the church, and Hale had a breakfast date on Monday he was really looking forward to. He dropped from the chin-up bar he had installed, his arms feeling rubbery and his muscles bulging. He’d been surprisingly active since his late-night ride, at least as active as one could be in a small apartment. He’d reminded himself that every push-up, chin-up, or sit-up was one closer to seeing his baby girl; at this point, he hoped any exercise would get the circulation going and help the bruising fade away so it would be safe for him to go to her.
After showering, he walked through his now clean apartment, a towel around his waist. Beyond the window the night was clear, the moon bright, a mite past the full stage. Looking down at the street, Hale was amazed at the amount of slow-moving traffic. Chauffeurs helped Uppers out of shiny cars, and Benz had a line of people waiting to get into Excalibur. Hale had come to realize this was normal for a Saturday night. He turned from the window. He should make the call. He’d been thinking on it for days, and soon it would be too late.
But could he trust Wilma? He was mostly healed. It was safer for him to stay in, and Benz had said she was okay. Wilma would be his one. His only one. And he’d let Benz know too. Later.
Better to ask forgiveness than permission.
He picked up the card from where he’d placed it on his recently made bed. Dialing the number, he noticed for the first time the card smelled faintly of citrus. The phone rang five times, and Hale began to wonder if she was already busy. On the sixth ring, she picked up.
“Hello?” Her voice was warm but uncertain.
“Hello, Wilma. This is….” Hale suddenly remembered he’d never told her his name. “The man from upstairs,” he finished awkwardly.
Her laugh was warm and not at all insulting. “Well, my my my. I’m happy to hear from you, Hale.”
He paused a beat, taken aback. “I didn’t know you knew my name.”
“Oh, honey, I know everybody’s name here. I knew who you were when you walked in my door. Remember, I don’t like surprises, and the best way to not be surprised is to make sure you know everything.”
“So you’re not surprised to hear from me, I take it.”
“Not at all. I’m quite pleased, in fact.”
“You busy?”
“Not just yet.”
“Last time you said… I was wondering if you might be able to come up, pay me a little visit.”
“Trying to avoid big brother’s prying eyes, I take it.”
“Guilty.”
“You caught me at just the right time. Give me ten minutes.”
“See you soon.”
Hale ended the call and sat on the edge of the bed. He hadn’t jerked off in days, hadn’t even wanted to. If he was being honest with himself, he felt heartbroken. He’d never find the Night Visitor—but it was time to get over that.
It didn’t take long for his visitor to knock. Three soft raps.
He opened the door, ushering her inside with a slight bow. She smelled clean and rich, like soap and cocoa butter. She was wearing a red dress that could open from the front if it became unbelted, and it accentuated her perfect bosom—ample but not too large.
She looked at him as he closed the door behind her, eyeing the towel around his waist. “Leave it to you to be underdressed ye
t again, and in your own house.” From her smile, he could tell she liked what she saw.
He leaned into her, putting his hands on her hips. He kissed her softly on the lips, inhaling the savory aroma of her skin and the hint of citrus on her breath.
As she looked at his face more closely, he saw her expression change, and he took a step back. She frowned at him, putting a hand on his cheek and turning his head.
“You been through something,” she said, obviously noting the faded bruises and tiny, white scars from where he’d required a stitch or two.
“Yes,” Hale acknowledged, but he didn’t offer any more. This was a moment of truth. He wouldn’t lie, not right away, but at this point, his faded injuries could easily be explained away by a fall from his bike. Her expression showed only a soft concern, but if she started asking questions, he’d have to reconsider this arrangement.
“Did it hurt?” she asked. True, that was a question, but a reasonable one.
Hale shrugged. “Not really.”
She smiled slyly. “Liar.” She leaned forward slowly, her lips tickling his ear, her words only a breath he struggled to hear. “Benz and I go way back. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Hale froze. She knew. He was certain she knew. Part of him wanted to run. A bigger part of him wanted to trust her, needed to trust her, in order to not spend one more fucking night alone.
Wilma made the choice for him. “Lie down on the bed, honey. I got the best hands in this joint, and I’m gonna rub that black and blue right out of you. Make you feel real good.” She gestured to the bed, and for the first time, he noticed a small red clutch hanging from her wrist.
All right, then. In for a penny, in for a pound. Hale stretched out on his stomach, leaving Wilma enough room to sit on the bed by his side. “Is there anywhere you don’t want me to touch?” she asked, removing the clutch and opening it.
This wasn’t what he’d had in mind when he invited her up, but a massage might be a better idea. His skin practically itched. He craved someone’s touch, much like his occasional cravings for other things. “No,” Hale decided. He glanced back at her. “You can touch me anywhere.”
“Good,” Wilma said with a smile and a hungry look in her eyes. He couldn’t imagine how many men she saw, but he wanted to believe she didn’t have that look for everyone. That somehow he was special.
She reached around to his side where his towel was tucked in, releasing the bind. She brought it back toward her, exposing his rear end. The towel was half-under him, and she rose a little bit to sit on the other half, tucking it underneath her where she sat at his waist.
He heard the click of a bottle cap, heard her rub her hands together, and then felt her warm touch on his back. She was both strong and gentle as she kneaded his muscles. Occasionally he would feel the scrape of one of her long fingernails against his skin, and it would send a shiver through his body.
She worked his neck and shoulders, moving down his back. When she finished with his lower back, she switched positions and began at his feet, working up his legs. As her hands got higher, pressing into his upper thighs, he could feel her fingers lightly touching his balls and the head of his cock where it was pressed down beneath him, slightly exposed. Nothing too blatant or direct, just teasing.
It felt good. He felt himself melting like butter. But he wasn’t aroused.
She began massaging his buttocks, pressing into the thick muscles with firm fingers. She separated his cheeks occasionally as she worked him. Her hands would dip down into his crease, her lubricated fingers grazing across his hole. The soft scrape of a fingernail caused him to inhale sharply.
It felt so good, but something was off. Her hands were too gentle, too soft. He found himself craving a rougher touch and harder hands. What would the scrape of a callous feel like, rather than the scrape of a fingernail? Or the strong grip of a fighter as hands spread his ass apart, teasing and touching him?
“Turn over now, honey,” she said. Her voice was rich with desire, the air full of the heady scent of cocoa butter. Hale did as she said.
She began at his neck, massaging down his chest and working his pecs. “Hmmm….” was all she said as she got down toward his ribs where the glove had scraped and punctured. She traced the healing scars gently, not pressing. She moved lower, but stopped just when her touch was delving into the sensitive regions around his groin—those encroaching areas that tickled his reflexes. Instead she went down to his feet again, going slowly up his legs, pressing into his calves and his thighs, his muscles releasing all of the stress he had accumulated over the last weeks.
Finally she was at his cock. She went around it first, her hands running through his body hair and along and below his balls. Hale sighed as she began to knead his balls very gently with one hand. The other hand moved to his flaccid cock. She stretched it in her hand, touching the underside, stroking the head.
He wasn’t aroused. “I’m sorry,” he said, meeting her eyes.
“Nothing to be sorry about, honey. I’ve seen it before, and this look you have, this sadness about you, I know you’re thinking about someone else. You’re a million miles away from me right now, and you know what? That’s okay.”
“Thanks,” Hale said. “Your touch feels so good. I really wanted to come.”
She nodded. “Then I’ll tell you what. Instead of tryin’ to be here with me, you just close your eyes. Whoever’s on your mind, that’s where I want you to be.”
Hale swallowed, nodded, and closed his eyes.
He thought of the Night Visitor sitting next to him, looking down at him. In his mind the guy was wearing his leather mask. It covered his forehead, leaving the shock of disheveled dark hair on top, where Hale could run his hands through it. Grab it. Hale would lower the Night Visitor’s head, pull him down. The mask left his mouth uncovered, free to kiss. Hale would stroke the leather under his thumbs; he’d dip his fingers lower and take hold of that strong jaw, pulling him closer. He’d force his way in and hungrily take that first kiss….
Hale reveled in his arousal, in the heated swelling of his cock. A soft groan left his lips, his hips curling slightly.
Spontaneously he opened his eyes, grabbing Wilma’s hands, stopping her.
He was a little breathless, his heart beating fast at this new idea that had sprung to mind. He reached with an arm beneath his mattress where he’d hidden it.
He pulled out the glove.
“Can you put this on? Please?” he asked. He knew his eyes were hungry, knew she must see it plainly on his face, see it in the twitch of his cock at the very thought.
She smiled. She wiped her hand on the towel, then slipped the glove on. Hale thought it might be too big, but Wilma’s hand filled it well.
He reached out with both of his hands, grabbing her gloved hand, and pressed her fingers down, exposing the metal spikes.
“I want you to use your hands on my chest,” he said. “I want you to use these claws on my chest. I want to feel them biting into my skin. Don’t worry, you won’t hurt me.”
She nodded, silent. Maybe she didn’t speak on purpose, didn’t want to break the spell he was under.
Hale grabbed his cock and closed his eyes. He began stroking as he felt hands press across his chest, palms open. Rubbing up and down, the leathered hand was soft but also textured in a way that was rougher than skin. The hand closed into a fist, and the cool metal scraped across his skin.
One hand grabbed his pec, squeezing it. He felt the sharp bite of metal as the gloved hand cut through the oil on his chest with a pleasant sting.
God, yes. He was breathing heavily. He was close already. The claws continued scraping, starting high and going lower, grazing his sternum, his belly. He could feel them cutting over his abs as he curled into himself, his hand pumping.
The glove lifted, was gone, and he moaned at the absence. The next moment one claw followed the curve of his pec, under his nipple. Just one claw, pushing lower into the soft flesh. With a little snick, i
t dug in, puncturing his flesh, surely drawing blood.
Hale bellowed once and felt his come shoot high, spilling up his chest and landing below his chin. Another snick and his body was rocking, his heavy breaths emphasizing the continued spurts.
Finally it passed, his body uncoiling, his muscles relaxing.
He heard a whispered “shhhh.” Before he opened his eyes, the soft leather of the empty glove covered his eyelids. He felt the body rise from the bed beside him. A moment later he heard the door open and close softly.
He breathed in through his nose, inhaling the scent of leather. Behind it, if it wasn’t his imagination, he inhaled the musk of sweat and blood—the smell of the Night Visitor.
Chapter 17
“MAMA, HE’S here!”
Hale could hear her voice before the door opened, as though Eddie had been waiting for his knock. She probably had been, and damn if that didn’t make him feel good.
When the door opened, the blonde-haired angel practically flew into his arms, throwing herself against him hard enough to knock off her halo if she’d had one. In his mind, of course, she did. “Hey, Baby Doll. I missed you so much!”
“Welcome back,” Jess said from behind the door. She sounded sincere, with no awkwardness to her voice. In fact, she was smiling brightly. Damn if that didn’t make him feel good too.
“Are you all better now?” Eddie asked, releasing him from her tight hug and looking at him.
“I’m all better. Promise.”
“Oh good. Because I was running out of stories.”
He laughed easily. “I loved your stories so much. They were like my medicine.” He meant it figuratively, but after he said it, he realized how true it was.
She was breathless with talk, and he could tell breakfast would be full of everything she’d missed saying over the last couple weeks. “And there were pictures in the stories too, and I drawed some pictures, but we couldn’t even do video on your phone because you’re so old-fashioned.” The way she smiled, he could tell she had learned a new phrase and was pretty proud of it.
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