Candy Boys

by Raven, Jo

  I don’t even know how much money would be needed, but I’m guessing it’s a hefty sum, or Riot would’ve found another way. I think. Unless he likes having sex with random women.

  No, I can’t believe that. Things he’s said, about him not being important, about being used as a tool of pleasure...The welts on his back and around his wrists and him telling me it wasn’t the first time…

  “Let me get you a mug.” He struggles to get off the floor, one arm wrapped around his middle, his teeth gritting.

  “Whoa.” I grab his other arm, help him up. Dexter hisses at me, fur on end, back arched. “Hey, kitty.”

  Riot straightens, his face pale, but he manages a grin. “This is Dexter. Dex, meet Pax.”

  “Hi, Dex. We met yesterday, remember?” Not sure what I’m supposed to do with the hissing kitty. Shake its paw? “Nice to meet you officially.”

  “He needs time to smell you, lick you. Get used to you.” He rolls his shoulders, and my gaze is drawn, like always, to the width of his chest and shoulders, the bright ink on one arm which is peeking under his short sleeve, the sheer height and presence of him. His slate-gray eyes, his square jaw, his soft mouth, and satiny dark hair.

  “Right.” Did he say something? “I’ll get some coffee.”

  “Now, Batman…” Riot pats again Dexter’s head and the kitty subsides, curling on Riot’s broad shoulder. “He may need some more time. He’s new here, or so he thinks, and doesn’t even trust me one hundred percent.”

  “I noticed.” I shoot him a grin before I turn my attention back to the cupboard, hunting for a mug. “No problem. I can wait.”

  For you.

  I really can, I realize, my hand shaking a little as I reach for a plain yellow mug. Am I really going through with this? I only met him a few weeks ago, and yet I’m willing to give this—us—a try, despite the problems.

  Because I love him, more than I thought possible, for being him—so gentle, so patient, so beautiful inside and out. For helping me. Helping his friend’s family. Helping this kitty and this dog learn how to trust again.

  And he thinks he’s selfish. If I just could—

  “Are you okay? What’s on your mind?” He’s beside me, hip propped against the counter, so close I can see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. The kitten has left its perch on his shoulder in favor of sniffing Batman’s leg.

  “Nothing,” I lie. “Still half-asleep. Meet the zombie version of me.”

  “Should I be worried? Will you bite me?” He grins, and even with half his face swollen, it’s sexy.

  “Nothing a cup of coffee can’t cure. My favorite poison.” I grab the glass pot, fill up the mug. How I wish all problems were so easily solved…

  “So what do you think? Do you like the boys?” He nods at his pets.

  “They’re cute. They’re so lucky to have you.”

  “Listen…” He reaches behind his head, rubs the back of his neck, his gaze sliding sideways to Batman who’s licking his dish clean. “I have a big favor to ask.”

  “Sure. What about?”

  “About them.” Again he nods at his pets. “Dex and Batman.”

  “Tell me.”

  He hesitates, his shoulders tensing. “If anything happens to me,” he whispers, “will you take care of them?”

  I put my mug on the counter, my heart thumping frantically against my ribs. “Why would anything happen to you? What aren’t you telling me?”

  He won’t meet my gaze. “I just need to know they’ll be fine, Pax.”

  “Come on.” I fold my arms over my breasts and stick my chin out at him. “I thought we were past that, that we were honest with each other. No more secrets. Something’s got you spooked and thinking you may not come back. That—” My voice threatens to break and I draw a hasty breath. “That’s not a random thought, is it?”

  He swings his gaze up, and the raw honesty in it undoes me. “I love you, Pax.” He reaches a hand up to my face, then slides it around the back of my head and pulls me to him. “I’m yours, no matter what. But I know this isn’t easy for you with my job, or even possible, and on top of that...maybe you shouldn’t. Being with me could be dangerous.”

  “So that’s why?” We’re so close our lips are almost touching. “Why you ask this of me? Because of the guys who beat you up? You’re scared they’ll come back? You should report this to the police.”

  “Shh.” He brushes his mouth over mine, soft and hot and intoxicating. “No, they won’t, and I can’t.”

  “Can’t report them? Why?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  I shake my head. “You still haven’t told me what happened. What they wanted from you.”

  “More than I could give. And yet I’ll give it.”

  “Why are you giving me riddles?” I push on his chest, step away. “More riddles. Why can’t you give me truth for a change?”

  “Fuck.” He turns and punches the cupboard with a resounding crack.

  The sound reverberates in the kitchen as I jerk back, knocking into a chair. When I glance around, I see the pets have fled and are nowhere in sight.

  My pulse echoes in my ears as I debate what to do. Tremors go through his broad back. He’s hunched over, breathing erratically, saying nothing. He looks like he’s in pain.

  Maybe he is. That was a hell of a punch. There’s a dent in the cupboard door that I don’t remember seeing earlier, and is that blood?

  Holy crap. He’s super strong.

  What if he used that fist on me?

  But he hasn’t. He wouldn’t. Not Riot.

  After a moment, I walk up behind him, wrap my arms around his hips. “Hey…”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice ragged.

  “It’s okay.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t tell you. If you can’t promise to take care of the boys, I’ll ask someone else, but I just...I trust you. I’d rather it be you. If you say you’ll do it, I’ll believe you and won’t worry about them.”

  “I promise. Of course I promise. I’ll take care of them.”

  And I mean it.

  ***

  “Why didn’t you answer your cell these past two days?” We’re sitting at the kitchen table and I’m cleaning with antiseptic his busted knuckles. “The agency said they called you plenty of times. Gale, too.”

  “That where you got my address?”

  I nod and reach for the first aid kit. “He said you missed an appointment with an elder lady. Ellen something.”

  “Ellen Morris. Oh shit. I’ll have to call her and apologize.” He scowls. “Don’t know where my cell phone is. Fucking hell.”

  “I’ll help you find it,” I say, my curiosity piqued. “Who is she? From the way Gale talked about her, she sounds like a special client.”

  “She is.” He lets me pull his hand onto my lap, put gauze and tape it around his hand. “She’s more like...a friend.”

  “A friend.” I close the first aid kit, put it on the table.

  “Yeah. She invites me for dinners and concerts. She likes to pet my hair.”

  “Sounds creepy.”

  “Not really.” He flexes his taped hand. “I kinda...like it. Not that it doesn’t annoy me when she orders me around. Sit. Put your head on my knee. Close your eyes. But then…” He shrugs. “She’s kind.”

  Yeah, I can see now how in a life so empty of human touch, she might look kind. Maybe she is. At least she hasn’t harmed him.

  “I’m also good at petting hair, you know.” I reach over, stroke his hair, wink. “I offer my services for free.”

  He snorts.

  Why do I feel this urge to protect him? He’s a grown man, a tall, strong man who used to be an underground fighter. He doesn’t need me to protect him from frail old ladies who pay to touch his hair.

  And yet I feel like he needs me.

  “What about you?” he says, and I frown, not following.

  “What about me?”

  “How are you doing?” He f
umbles for my hand, turning so he can see me with his good eye, and I wrap my fingers around his. “Are you really better?”

  “I am. Mostly thanks to you.” I smile at him.

  “Not true.” He strokes his thumb over the bones of my hand, sending shivers of pleasure up my arm. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Tell me what you’re afraid might happen. What those men wanted from you. Leave the agency. Run away with me.

  Really be with me.

  But I only shake my head. “I love you,” I say. That’s all.

  Chapter Twenty

  Riot

  She’s unhappy.

  Of course she is. She said she loves me, that she’s mine. And I told her I’ll keep fucking other women for money.

  Why would she stay? I’m losing her, and I’ve hardly ever had her.

  Not only that, but if things go tits-up, then I may not even be around to have anything with her in the first place.

  Shit. I need to survive that fight, no matter what.

  I look at her when she’s not paying attention as we scour the apartment for my cell phone. Her body’s hot, but my gaze keeps returning to her small face, the wide, dark eyes, just as my thoughts keep returning to the way she held me after I lost it, without fear. Keeping me together. And promising to take care of my own.

  How can I not love her?

  How can I let her go?

  But what about Kyle? What about my promise to Markus after he died? What about that? Is my happiness more important than the kid’s life?

  Why can’t I grab Pax and leave far, far away and to hell with everything and everyone else?

  Can’t believe I’m even asking myself this. Once selfish, always selfish, I guess. Always thinking of myself, as if my happiness matters. As if I matter.

  Fuck.

  “Here it is!” she calls, pulling the cell phone from under the sofa cushions. “It’s dead.”

  “Needs to be recharged.” I curse as I straighten, my ribs fucking killing me, and stagger over to take it from her. “Motherfucker.”

  “Here, let me charge it for you.” She takes the cell from my lax hands and plugs it into the charger that’s already in the socket. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I grab the phone to check. Eight missed calls from the agency. Shit. Johnson will have my ass for this. “I’ve kinda lost track of time. The days that passed.”

  I struggle to gather my thoughts. When did they say the fight was? Hell. Was it in three days?

  Maybe my time with her is shorter than I thought.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Come with me.” I frown. “It’s Sunday, right? Let me take you someplace.”

  “Where?”

  “You’ll see. You hungry?”

  She gives me a funny look. “Maybe.”

  “Then grab your coat and let’s go.”

  ***

  I can’t afford to spend much money, not when I was younger and not now, when most of my money goes to Kyle’s fund. But I have to eat, even more so since I can’t cook to save my fucking life, so I got a place or two I hang out at when the hunger pangs hit.

  The cold seeps through my jacket and into my flesh. Makes my ribs ache so bad it’s like a blade twisting in my side, but they are just bruised. I’d know if they were broken. I remember that blinding sort of pain. Like acid eating into your bones.

  Cold washes down my back at the thought of entering the ring again. Of facing the Crusher.

  So I distract myself by pulling Pax closer and slipping an arm around her waist, over her woolen coat.

  “Are you ready?”

  “For what? You’re being so mysterious.”

  I veer sharply to the right and shove open the door of the diner. “Ta-da.”

  She laughs delightedly as I haul her inside the warmth and to a table at the back, by the window. “What’s this place?”

  “Best breakfast spot in the area. They have everything you might ever want to inhale after waking up in the morning. Morning, Gina!” I wave at the curvy waitress who wanders over, beaming. “What’s up?”

  “Morning, Riot.” She nods at Pax, and Pax wiggles her fingers in greeting. “What will you have?”

  “Coffee, please,” Pax says and Gina giggles.

  “Coffee’s on the house, sugar. Choose what you wanna eat.”

  “Bacon strip pancakes. And Fried eggs.” My stomach is rumbling already.

  “Egg in a hole,” Pax says, grinning. “I’ll have that.”

  “And Hash Browns,” I add, before I can control my mouth. “What? They’re good.”

  “And Hash Browns,” Pax repeats, her eyes twinkling. “You’re the expert here, after all.”

  “Got everything.” Gina gives us both a warm smile and bustles off to give our order to the kitchen.

  “She looks nice.”

  “Everyone’s nice here,” I say as Gina returns with cups and the coffee. “They feed me regularly.”

  “Someone has to.” Gina tsks reproachfully as she fills my cup. “You’re skinnier than a drowned rat. Lost weight, too, these past few months. You need a girl to take care of you.”

  She winks at Pax, a huge, meaningful wink, and I choke on my coffee.

  “Gina, stop it.”

  “Food’s coming right up.” She winks again before leaving.

  Shit. I glance over at Pax, afraid she’ll bolt after this, but she’s laughing softly, so phew. I guess all’s good.

  I sit back, relieved and trying to hide it.

  “So...tell me about yourself,” Pax says, and I tense up again.

  “Okay.” I thought I’d already told her all the main bits. “What do you wanna know?”

  “I don’t know. More. Like, your favorite music group, and color, and movie, and who you had a crush on at school and—”

  “Whoa. Slow down.” Shit. Panic hits me, and I don’t even know why. I grip the edge of the table until it digs into my palms, hoping the light sting can ground me. “I don’t...I can’t.”

  She only smiles and slides out of her seat. I watch her with narrowed eyes, expecting her to walk out because of my failure at this very first attempt at a normal conversation, one I’m guessing people have at the beginning of a relationship.

  Is that what we have? A relationship?

  I bet most relationships don’t start in a hotel room with the girl tied to the bedpost, screaming, and money on the table. Still...We’ve come a long way since then, haven’t we? A damn long way, and even if it takes us nowhere, I wanna try.

  With her.

  “Scoot over,” she says. “Riot?”

  I blink at her, then the words sink in. “What are you doing?”

  “Sitting with you. Duh.” She wiggles a little as she squeezes in next to me, her leg pressing into mine, warm and solid. She finds my hand, grips it. “I wanted to. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.” More than okay. It loosens the knot of tension in my shoulders, dulls the panic.

  “You don’t have to talk about yourself if you don’t want,” she says quietly. “And you can ask me questions, too. I just want to get to know you better.”

  “I get it.” I search for the answer in my tangled mind. “I guess I’m just not used to talking about myself.” I shrug. “Besides. I don’t listen to music.”

  She laughs, and I find myself laughing along, my heart lighter.

  Gina arrives with a huge tray piled with our breakfast. She makes a small double take when she finds us seated on the same side, then shakes her head and laughs.

  “Here you go, lovebirds.” She puts the plates in front of us and straightens. “Anything else you need?”

  “We’re fine, I think,” Pax says.

  “You are.” Gina points at me. “He needs someone like you to draw him out of his shell. And to feed him.”

  She wanders away muttering about skinny men and breakfast.

  We start laughing again, and it feels good. Like everything with Pax.

  She grabs her fork, stab
s a pancake and plops it on to my plate, biting her lip in concentration. I retaliate by serving her a hash brown. She gives me bacon. I give her syrup.

  “Gina says you need feeding,” she announces after the first bites, and before I can protest, she starts feeding me bits of hash brown.

  “I’ll feed you something else.”

  “You think I’m scared of your big fat bacon?” She scoffs. “I’ll raise you my egg in a hole.”

  By now I’m laughing so hard I have to stop eating or choke to death. It’s all stupid, but it’s so hilarious right now—maybe because for a while I’ve forgotten the outside world and its harsh demands, all the things I have to do and the path that may lead me to a dead end I may not come out of again.

  ***

  “I like dogs better than cats,” I tell her much later, as we walk down the street, her arm linked with mine. Christmas decorations sparkle on every lamp post and in every shop front window. “They’re more loyal. Although Dex is special.”

  “You love that furball.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about Christmas? Do you like it?”

  “No. I don’t.” The lights flash and blink and somehow they don’t annoy me as much as other years, but still.

  “Why not?” She’s come to a stop, and I stop, too. “How can you not love Christmas?”

  “I just don’t.”

  “But all the presents. And the sweets. And ice-skating. And vacation time!”

  I smile at her, because she looks so damn happy giving me her reasons. “I could learn to like Christmas if you get so excited about it every time.”

  “I do! I love it.” Her smile falls. “Well, it used to be real special when I was little. With my parents. But I still like it. Why would you hate it?”

  “I don’t hate it.” I swallow hard, because that’s not one hundred percent true. “Okay, I do hate it a little.” I don’t wanna talk about this, but she’s waiting, her eyes wide with curiosity, and I want her to know me better, no matter what tomorrow brings. “It’s just that growing up Christmas sucked. It was when everyone got shiny new things, and I didn’t. When in the group home you’d get a random gift some charity bought for you and it’s usually socks, or underwear, or gloves, and it’s fine, it’s fucking fine and you desperately need those things, but it’s not what you really want.”