Arrested by the Dragon: Gay Police Paranormal Romance

by Clearwater, Julian

  “Thanks, man. The wife would have bitten my head off,” the overweight man muttered, not checking his wallet before shoving it back in his pocket.

  “I know the feeling,” Rick lied. In his fantasy marriage, there would be no disagreements or bickering over money. He would love and be loved, and money would be secondary. Maybe he’d work from home for a call center or something while he watched their kid. There was no question that there would be a kid in the picture, because Rick had always wanted a child of his own. Their first would be adopted, no doubt, and later they’d talk about finding an egg donor for a child of their own blood. Maybe they’d find some punk kid like Rick and take them in off the street. They’d give the kid a home, and the love that Rick had never known.

  He paused, flipping through the wad of bills he’d managed to make off with. It looked as if the plump man had just walked away from the ATM, judging from the amount of cash Rick had been able to make off with. With a start, Rick realized that this was the last bit of cash he would need to put the down payment on an apartment.

  He let out a loud whoop, and various people on the sidewalk looked at him with either fear or amusement. He was too far gone to care.

  “Sorry, sorry. Nothing to see here,” he announced carelessly, darting down the street. He had to disappear from sight before the overweight man figured out what had happened.

  He needed to find his stash, then make his way to the apartment complex. He’d put the money down, and it would be the first brick in his yellow brick road.

  He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the burly man in sunglasses approaching until a hand came down on his shoulder. He looked up, tilting his head curiously.

  His eyes widened in recognition, and his happiness came to a screeching halt. Panic laced through his blood. He tried to back away from the man, looking for assistance from someone, anyone. The sidewalk was almost suspiciously empty, though Rick had little doubt that the people had cleared out upon spotting the suit-clad man. At least, upon seeing the gun on his hip.

  “Rick Lamaar, yeah?” the man said, hand falling to the gun at his hip.

  Rick made no attempt to deny it, knowing he was trapped. He nodded.

  “You owe Big Jim Hawthorne an audience, bucko. Come along real easy, and we won’t make no extra trouble.” The man grinned toothily.

  Rick took another hesitant step back, planning any possible escape route. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”

  He felt the presence of someone close behind him, too close. As he turned around to face the new assailant, something hard and metallic hit the back of his head with a loud clang. He lurched forward, nearly knocked off of his feet. He struggled to keep consciousness, even as his vision went blurry. He might have screamed for help, but before he could fight it any further, he was consumed by darkness.

  ***

  Daryl would be lying if he couldn’t confess that he was at the very least intrigued by the vagrant. It was just a fleeting thought, an idea that perhaps the man would be rather handsome if he were to clean himself up a bit. Daryl’s fascination would never amount to anything more than thoughts, however, as Daryl was extremely reluctant to commit to any sort of relationship, let alone one with a known criminal. The primal attraction was there, but there was little more than that.

  He had felt the other man’s eyes upon him as he walked away, and he’d struggled not to walk any more stiffly than usual. He had more important things to concern himself with than cute vagrants.

  He breathed a calming breath as he continued his route around the city, examining each alleyway with a disdainful expression. He could only wonder which alley that Rick fellow would be calling home tonight. At least if Daryl had locked Rick up, Rick would have a place to spend the night.

  Ultimately, however, it wasn’t Daryl’s decision. He had very little sway in how things were done, especially in this city. It still irritated him that the veteran officers seemed all too eager for him to give up, and he could only wonder what he had done to invoke such a response from them.

  He knew he was dwelling on the issue too much. Sometimes it was as simple as not being likeable. He had never cared an awful lot what others thought; being a DNA experiment gone all too right never helped matters. Even those who had known his odd circumstances treated him more kindly than anyone in this entire city. Well, aside from Rick.

  This city seemed so unlike the small town he had grown up in. There was no respect for the law, no respect for common courtesy. He had made an effort to be friendly, but perhaps it was a waste of time. No one seemed particularly receptive to his attempts. It seemed he would have to get used to the loneliness that accompanied his move, but somewhere in the back of his mind there was an odd thought he couldn’t shake. In spite of his certainty that he wouldn’t see Rick Lamaar outside of work, he couldn’t simply dismiss all thoughts of him. Perhaps he would offer him a nice meal, if he were to see him again. Certainly Rick would appreciate that. It wasn’t as if Daryl was soliciting him for anything illegal, just thanking him for the simple measure of kindness he had shown.

  Resolved on that issue, at the very least, Daryl focused on his task of working the streets. He kept on high alert, eyes darting from person to person in an attempt to gauge their intentions. Everyone seemed remarkably normal, but he knew better than to fall for appearances alone.

  He spotted a heavyset man in the distance, watching as he frantically flipped through the contents of his wallet. His eyes narrowed curiously, and he approached the man. The man looked absolutely crushed, as if some devastating blow had been made on his life; at least, on an emotional level. Physically, he looked healthy enough. Something had shaken him to his very core, however. As the man looked up and spotted Daryl, his fears seemed to sag away. He rushed to meet Daryl halfway, and Daryl waited for an explanation.

  “Someone—someone stole a grand out of my wallet! I had just stopped at the ATM and was on my way home, and some guy told me I’d dropped my wallet. When I looked through it, all my cash was gone.” The man huffed and puffed as he spoke.

  Daryl considered him and took out his notepad.

  “What did this guy look like?” Daryl inquired.

  The heavyset man seemed to ponder his words, and frowned. “You really think he did it? He seemed like such a nice and cheerful guy.”

  “It’s remarkably suspicious that he would point out that you had dropped your wallet, and then you find it empty,” Daryl said, unable to fight the sinking feeling that he had some idea of who the thief may have been.

  The heavyset man shuffled from foot to foot. “He looked like your average homeless guy, now that I think about it. He seemed too happy to be homeless, though, y’know? Like something had just really brightened his day. I hate to think that I got taken advantage of like that,” the man muttered.

  Daryl forced a sympathetic smile. He wanted to ask why the man hadn’t checked his wallet immediately, but he swallowed the comment. He had more than a vague idea of who had stolen the money and with a culprit in mind, he probed the other man for his contact information in the case that his money was recovered. Daryl struggled to remain kind and courteous, not wanting to express how irate the whole situation was making him. Just when he had been thinking of thanking Rick for his kindness, he realized that the man was as rotten as the rest of them. Hell, Rick had probably slipped away and snagged this guy’s wallet immediately after speaking to him.

  He left with the promise that he would return the man’s money, and he was sure he would do just that. Even if it came out of his own pocket, the civilian would get his cash back.

  He snapped his notepad shut and began patrolling the street again. He stalked down the sidewalks, the chip on his shoulder feeling more prominent than ever. The crowds were beginning to disperse, and he could only wonder where on earth he might find Rick Lamaar. He paused upon seeing a group of men some distance ahead, and he recognized the shaggy blond hair of the man in the middle.

  Daryl
made to call out to them, but before he could speak, one of the other men in the group slammed a metal pipe against the back of Rick’s head.

  Daryl swallowed a gasp, his heart clenching in his chest in spite of his irritation with the vagrant.

  “Hey, stop,” he called out sharply, but the dark clothed men seemed apathetic to his presence. He gritted his teeth, drawing his gun and aiming it shakily. “Police!”

  The men glanced toward him, and even had the audacity to laugh.

  “Stop! I’m calling for backup,” he tried again, grabbing his radio and reporting to the station. He wouldn’t be swift enough to stop the men from taking Rick. “Kidnapping in progress, need backup on the scene immediately,” he shouted into his radio, quickly reading off the license plate number. He could only wonder why the men made no attempt to obscure their plates, but his thoughts were derailed when his radio crackled out a response.

  “Stand down, officer Jameson. Do not pursue the van, I repeat, do not pursue,” a bored voice ordered. Daryl’s eyes widened, and he watched in disbelief as the van began to speed down the street.

  “Are you sending backup?” he inquired angrily, hands quaking as he watched the van disappear into the distance.

  “The Chief says you need to report back and meet him in his office, new kid. You’ve got bigger problems than some alleged kidnapping,” the voice retorted.

  Daryl fought his desire to scream back into his radio, fought the even bigger desire to bolt after the van and try to solve the case on his own. However, he knew his job was already on the line, and the ice he was treading was growing thinner and thinner. He breathed a sigh, speaking into his radio a final time.

  “Ten four.” He turned to walk the path back to the police department. His mind raced at a breakneck speed, and he could only wonder what was happening to Rick while he trekked back to the chief with his tail between his legs. He narrowed his eyes, for once feeling utterly worthless. Wasn’t the point of being a cop to help people? Perhaps the chief knew something that he didn’t, but he couldn’t fathom a reason that they would simply let the kidnapping take place without intervention.

  He stepped into the police station, ignoring the chuckles of the veteran officers in the smoking area. He made a straight path to the chief’s office. He knocked twice on the door, folding his arms over his chest as he waited for the door to open. He was rewarded moments later with the critical face of Chief Franklin, who gestured for Daryl to step into his office. Daryl obliged, though pleasing the chief was the last thing on his mind for the time being.

  “How could you tell me to let that van go!? I saw them knock a guy upside the head with a metal pipe,” Daryl hissed. Chief Franklin considered him with a wry quirk of his lips, taking his seat behind his desk.

  “Though you don’t have the security clearance for this information, I suppose I can let you in, all things considered. The license plate number you read off is associated with one Big Jim Hawthorne. You mentioned seeing his name in some files, and you guessed that he might be an informant. I lost my cool with you earlier, ya see, because you hit the nail right on the head. Jim Hawthorne is helping us land information on the biggest crime syndicate in the city.” The chief folded his fingers atop his desk.

  Daryl took a moment to process the explanation. “So, we just let these guys do what they want? Informant or not, they could have killed Rick—”

  The chief laughed. “Kid, I hate to pull the rank card, but this is way out of your league. The only reason I let you in on the intel is so you’d leave well enough alone. Now that you’re in the know, I trust you to keep on with traffic duty. You’d do well to stick with the simpler cases for now—that is, if you want to keep this job.”

  “But what about helping people?” Daryl said, realizing he sounded like a little kid whose dreams were being crushed.

  “We all wanted to change the world, kid. It’s just not that easy,” the chief said. He gestured toward the door, indicating that he was finished.

  Daryl was torn, but still held out hope that this job would somehow work out. “Yes sir,” he muttered, slipping out of the chief’s office.

  That breakroom coffee was beginning to sound less awful by the minute.

  ***

  When Rick awoke, he tried to roll over. He couldn’t. He tried to check out his surroundings, but he couldn’t see anything except a faint line of light near the edge of his vision.

  Fear panged through him—he was tied down and blindfolded. He struggled against his bindings, gritting his teeth to swallow a whine. He struggled to regulate his breathing, not wanting to show how absolutely terrified he was in case someone was watching him. Inhaling a steadying breath, he managed to speak.

  “Is anyone there?” He cursed himself for how pathetic he sounded. He supposed it could be excused, however, considering the very real possibility that he would be killed.

  Though he wasn’t sure what sort of reply he expected, he did not anticipate the deep and sinister laugh that answered his question. He shifted uncomfortably in his bindings, beginning to sweat from nervousness. He felt a presence looming to the side of him and, at this rate, he wouldn’t be surprised if someone shot him between the eyes. However, much to his surprise, his blindfold was pulled away, exposing the extravagant room he was being held in. His eyes widened in surprise at his surroundings—large picture windows, rich décor, giant desk—and that same wicked chuckle drew his attention to the man behind the desk.

  “So nice of you to join us, Richard,” Jim Hawthorne murmured, smiling toothily from his seat.

  Rick began to struggle more valiantly in the ropes that were wound around him. “Big J, I’m so sorry. I had no idea what I was doing, please, you have to forgive me! You can’t kill me, you just can’t.”

  The rat of a man only rumbled a laugh in response. The rope was beginning to scrape painfully against Rick’s skin, but he only renewed his efforts. He knew it was ultimately pointless, but at the very least, he would not go out without a fight.

  “Easy does it, Ricky boy,” Big Jim began, leaning over the desk to put his face closer to Rick’s.

  Rick stared at him through defiant eyes, but ceased his wriggling. The crime lord grinned, standing from his chair and circling around the desk. He stopped just in front of Rick, reaching out to pat him atop the head. “That’s a good boy,” he murmured, and an unpleasant shudder went through Rick’s body. “Do I have your attention now, Ricky?” he murmured, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Y-yes sir,” Rick managed, waves of disgust washing over him in the face of his own complacency.

  “Now then. I have a simple proposal for you, if you’re willing to lend me your ear,” the older man said.

  Rick stared straight ahead, swallowing any retorts he may have spit. If there was any chance that he could survive this situation, he was willing to hear the crime lord out.

  Big Jim said, “Now, you did a very bad thing by trying to take my wallet. Bad for me, but especially bad for you. In most cases, I’d have blown your pretty little head off. However, you may be of more use to me alive. I’ve been looking for some men to run my product, as it were. Carry it from point A to point B.” He paused, considering Rick with a quirk of his lips. “We’re more sympathetic to your situation than most, kid. We’ll provide the car, enough cash to make a bit of a living off of. All you have to do is run the goods,” the crime lord purred, running a hand through Rick’s hair.

  Rick shuddered again, drawing his lip between his teeth and forcing himself to remain silent long enough to consider the proposition.

  “And…if I refuse?” he inquired, though he was fairly certain of what the reply would be.

  “I think you know the answer to that. You’re a smart kid,” Big Jim retorted, tensing his hand in Rick’s hair.

  Rick bit back a whimper, squeezing his eyes shut. The fear was nearly enough to bring him to his knees, that is, if he weren’t tied to a chair. All the joy he had felt previously had evaporated altogeth
er, thoughts of his future thrown to the wayside. All that mattered in this moment was survival.

  “I’ll do whatever you ask.” Rick finally exhaled, trying to ignore the shame broiling in his gut.

  “Good boy. Now, Mickey here is gonna take you to a car out in the lot. There will be a license plate in the passenger seat. Be sure to put that on before you do anything. There’s also a stash of coke in the trunk, so don’t go fiddling around in there. You’ll deliver it to the address written in the glove box. You think you can handle all of that?” Big Jim said in a booming voice.

  Rick nodded his head reluctantly.

  The other man, Mickey, sliced through the ropes that kept him bound with ease. Rick rose from the chair, stretching his stiff joints. He turned to follow Mickey out of the room, but came to a stop as Big Jim cleared his throat.

  “Oh, and Rick,” Big Jim began, waiting for Rick to face him. “If you try to leave, we’ll come looking for you. We will find you.”

  Rick stifled a shiver at the darkness in Big Jim’s eyes. He nodded once, following after Mickey once more. Once they were out in the open air, Mickey led him to a junky old car and tossed him the keys.

  “You’ll get your first payment after you deliver the first load,” Mickey said quietly. Then, off he went.

  Taking that as his cue to leave, Rick got into the car and fired up the ignition. He considered using what was left in the gas tank to get as far away from town as possible, but he knew that would be a pointless effort. Jim Hawthorne wasn’t going to let him go, not any time soon anyway. For now, Rick would count himself lucky that he still had the cash he’d grabbed off of that fat man. It was a small comfort at this point, but at least he would have a place to go home to.

  He drove to the shoddiest apartment complex in town, then spoke with a manager to secure a room. It was relatively cut and dry. Though he expected to feel some exuberance upon feeling the key in his hand, all he could feel was the bitterness of his situation.