by J. R. Ward
Now? With the prospect of Saxton joining him in this cab?
He wished he had the sophistication to know what was the right cologne and the money to buy it—
One side of the double doors opened and Saxton strode out into the cold, the male’s breath leaving in a puff of white that drifted over his shoulder. He had on that pale brown coat of his and a red scarf knotted and tucked in at his throat. His slacks were navy blue or perhaps black. His hair was thick and shiny, brushed back from his beautiful face. He had a brown satchel in one of his gloved hands.
Before Ruhn could stop himself, he put the truck in park and got out, going around to open the passenger door.
“You are so kind,” Saxton said with a smile as he approached.
Ruhn had to stop himself from leaning in for a kiss. And as if Saxton recognized this, he brushed Ruhn’s forearm as he got inside.
Shutting the door, Ruhn proceeded to resume his position behind the wheel. “Is it warm enough in here for you?”
“It’s perfect.” The male looked over. “How are you?”
An easy-enough question, but those gray eyes were pointed without being demanding. More was being asked, wasn’t it.
Ruhn cleared his throat and then focused on the male’s mouth. All at once, the air became thick and charged.
In a very low, very deep voice, Ruhn answered with the truth: “I am hungry.”
During the daylight hours, he had thought of nothing but their time together, replaying that erotic scene in that kitchen over and over again—until he had had to relieve himself. About a hundred times.
Being attracted to someone of the same sex still seemed strange.
That sex they’d shared had been the most natural thing he had ever done.
“Well,” Saxton murmured. “After our work is done, we’ll have to see if we can take care of that for you. A male must eat, doesn’t he.”
“Yes.”
As the promise of orgasms and pleasure and exploration swirled between them, Ruhn put the engine in drive—and prayed this meeting with the human developers did not take long.
“I know where we’re going,” he said.
“As do I,” Saxton chuckled.
Ruhn blushed as he glanced over. “I mean across town.”
“Me, too.” Saxton reached over and squeezed his hand. “I shouldn’t tease you. It’s just that blush. You know.”
“It’s not manly.”
Saxton frowned. “What an odd way to put it.”
“I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m not good with words.”
“You do just fine.” Saxton squeezed again and released his hold. “You need to stop apologizing for yourself. You are not less than. People are only ever different.”
Given that Ruhn wasn’t sure what to say—as usual—he made a noise that he hoped seemed supportive. Agreeable. Something like that.
Fates, he was in over his head here.
“So,” the solicitor said briskly, “I have everything all arranged. Backdated contracts, which are already in the process of being filed with the humans, a cease-and-desist letter to threaten the developer with, and a partridge in a pear tree.”
“We’re bringing them a bird?”
Saxton laughed. “It’s a saying.”
“Oh.”
Ruhn put the directional signal on and headed down toward the river. At the bottom of the decline, he nodded toward the ramp that would take them up onto the highway.
“Is this way okay?”
“However you wish to go. I trust you.”
With a nod, and a feeling of pride for that vote of confidence, Ruhn took them up onto a congested stretch of the Northway.
“Lot of traffic.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Saxton said. “Tell me, was Minnie okay? When you went to see her right before dawn?”
“Ah, yes, yes, she was. Nothing was out of order. When I knocked on the front door, I told her I was just checking on her. She said all was well—oh, and I fixed her downstairs toilet for her. It was running.”
“That was kind of you.”
“The bathroom sink was also leaking. And the furnace was making a clunking noise when it kicked on. I may investigate all that further.”
“I can understand why she doesn’t want to leave that house.”
“But it is too much for her to take care of. It really is.”
“Agreed.”
Somehow, the accord between them seemed so much more profound than just a meeting of the minds on the subject of Mistress Miniahna.
But perhaps he was merely romanticizing.
—
Back at the training center’s interrogation room, Peyton was having a hard time following Mary’s line of questioning.
Eventually, he had to no mas it.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he interrupted her. “I don’t mean to cut you off, but I thought this was supposed to be about work? I don’t understand why you’re asking about my family.”
“Just getting additional background.”
“I was already screened right after orientation by the Brother Butch. I mean, it’s all in my file.”
“I like to collect my own background.” The female smiled. “Is there some reason you’re uncomfortable speaking about your family?”
“Not at all.” He shrugged and eased back in the hard chair. “It doesn’t bother me. It’s just a waste of time.”
“And why is that?”
“Look, I told you. We both know what’s going to happen with all of this.”
“All of what.”
He motioned between them. “This conversation. The statement I gave your mate about what I did. It would be more efficient to kick me out of the program now as opposed to waste all this paperwork. It’s not like I’m going to sue you guys for wrongful termination or some shit—sorry, stuff.”
“You make it seem like you’re very dispensable.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re taking for granted you’re going to be dismissed.”
“But I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Mary intertwined her fingers and sat forward, resting an elbow on her pad. “You’re part of the team.”
“Isn’t that the Minions’ song?”
“I’m sorry?”
He shook his head. “I’m just being a smart-ass.”
“I know. It’s one of your coping mechanisms—but your deflection through humor is a topic for another time.” Again with the smile. “So why do you think that you don’t matter to everyone else in the program?”
He focused on the little pearl stud in her left ear. “Whether I matter or not isn’t the issue.”
“So it’s one-mistake-and-you’re-out in your opinion?”
“Excuse me, and I am not being a smart-ass this time—it’s not like I got a math problem wrong.”
“You’re still deflecting. If Paradise had acted as you did in that alley, would you ask her to leave the program?”
“No, but she’s not me.”
“Why are you different?”
From out of nowhere, his head began to pound and he closed his eyes. “I don’t know. And I’m not the person in charge—for good reason. Can we be done?”
“Why couldn’t you be in charge?”
“Why did I know you were going to say that,” he muttered as he sat forward and put his hands on the metal-topped table. “I don’t know. I don’t have answers to these questions. So how about you throw me out because of that?”
“Would you like to know why they asked me to talk to you?”
“I put Novo in a hospital bed.”
Mary shook her head. “No, you didn’t. You made an unfortunate decision that, frankly, was more an indication that the training failed than you did. The Brothers asked me to talk to you because they want my sense about whether or not you’re taking this seriously. The responsibility, that is. Everyone who’s worked with you recognizes your skills. You’re a really good fighter, you’re smart, you’re
quick. But you’re a quitter. When things get tough, you walk. They saw it during orientation when Paradise essentially carried you through the gym and into the pool challenge. They’ve noted it during exercises. And, to be honest, this whole just-kick-me-out is part of that characteristic of yours.”
“I’m not a quitter.”
“So prove it.”
“What?”
“Stay.”
Peyton shook his head. “It’s not up to me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Mary’s voice was grave. “It is entirely up to you.”
As Peyton got quiet, he noticed that the top of the table was reflective…and if he stared down into the surface of it, he could see himself.
He’d never really thought about it like that, but all those females and women he fucked and left? The schools he’d been suspended from halfway through? The things he’d dropped out of, the commitments he’d made and failed to follow through on…?
Hell, the closest relationship he’d ever had had been over the phone.
And Mary was right. This whole getting-kicked-out thing? He’d been practically begging for that outcome.
Was this what his father had always found so frustrating about him? This floating-above, never-committing thing? His sire was still an unsupportive shit all the way around, but Peyton had to wonder if he himself hadn’t deliberately given the male fodder for the cannons, so to speak. And what about the club douches that were Peyton’s closest set of “friends?” They were just like him, living off family money, asshat’ing around, developing drug habits instead of inner character.
He was from the land of labels. Which was not the same as quality, was it.
Who do you want to be? he asked himself. Who are you really?
The memory of Novo lying asleep on his chest, of her warm weight and her even breathing, of her subtle twitches as she dreamed, came back to him sure as if she were with him now.
Sometimes life brought you to corners that you saw coming, big changes altering your direction and focus thanks to a given event, like a mating or the birth of a young. Other times, though, the glacial shifts came without warning, popping out of nowhere.
He had never expected to run into this brick wall of self-reflection tonight. While in hospital scrubs. And tuxedo shoes.
At least the shoes might have been predicable. Maybe the scrubs. The rest of it? Hell, it was the shit he deliberately didn’t want to think about.
“What are you going to do, Peyton?”
“I want to stay,” he said roughly. “I want to keep going in the program. If they’ll have me.”
“Good.” As he looked back up her, Mary nodded. “That’s all we wanted to hear.”
“Forgive me for being blunt,” Saxton remarked dryly. “But this place is a dump.”
More like a meth lab than anywhere you’d build houses out of, he added to himself.
As Ruhn parked them grille-in to a low concrete building that had been painted the color of bile, Saxton wasn’t sure what he expected—but certainly not this window-less, single-doored tomb in a part of town usually reserved for businesses that had a shady side to them.
These were not just developers they were dealing with.
And of course, there was no signage identifying things as a going concern, nothing with a name on it or advertising—and the place had been hard to locate. There had only been a P.O. box listed on the letterhead that had been sent to Minnie, and Vishous had had to do some digging to find this address.
These humans wanted to be found only on their own terms.
“Is that the truck you saw at Minnie’s?” he asked as he pointed across the shallow parking lot.
“Yes.” Ruhn turned off the engine. “That’s the one.”
“Okay, shall we do this?”
“Yes.”
It was not hard to note the change in the other male. Ruhn was scanning the empty environs as if he were searching for aggressors, his hands tightened into fists—and they hadn’t even gotten out of the Ford yet.
Grabbing his satchel, Saxton opened his door, and before he even got a foot on the ground, that single entrance swung open, a big human filling the jambs—with one hand tucked into his jacket.
“Can I help you,” the man demanded.
Saxton smiled and walked around behind the truck bed. As he caught up with Ruhn, a second human came to stand behind the one who in the doorway. Both had dark hair, squat builds, noses that were off-center—and eyes that were as warm and welcoming as pistols.
A set of guard dogs, trained to bite trespassers.
Number two also had a hand inside his coat.
“How nice to see you again,” Saxton said as he stopped in front of Big and Bigger. “I believe you recall my associate from the other evening.”
“What are you doing here.”
“Well, you were kind enough to offer some insight into Minnie Rowe’s ownership of her parcel, and thanks to you, we were able to get everything sorted. I have in here,” he lifted his satchel, “copies of the documents that should have been filed with the appropriate agencies, but which had, for reasons beyond her control, not in fact been submitted properly. I’m happy to provide you with copies of—”
As he went to open the flap, both of the men outed their guns.
“That’s enough,” the first one said.
“Now, gentlemen,”—Saxton feigned shock—“whyever would you need to defend yourselves as such? My colleague and I have come here on a routine property matter, which actually does not pertain to you or the man you work for—as neither you nor he is in an ownership position relative to the—”
“Shut up.” The man nodded to the truck. “Get back in that thing and leave.”
Saxton tilted his head. “Why? Don’t you like people showing up on your property unannounced after nightfall?”
That front human outed his gun and leveled the muzzle at Saxton’s head. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
Saxton laughed, his breath condensing into a white puff. “Oh, my God. I feel like I’m in a Steven Seagal movie from 1989. Do you use these lines and they actually work? Incredible.”
“They won’t find the body—”
The subtle growl that percolated up into the cold air was bad news. It was all well and good for Ruhn and him to play push and shove with the humans like this—although all the posturing was such a bore, really—but what absolutely could not happen was anything vampire-ish entering this scenario.
Saxton looked over his shoulder and shot Ruhn a glare. But the male did not show any signs of noticing or stepping off—and his upper lip was starting to twitch.
Damn it.
Refocusing on the pair of humans and their metal show, he elbowed Ruhn and was relieved when the noise stopped.
“Leave Mrs. Rowe alone,” Saxton said. “Because you also have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
“Is that a threat?”
Saxton looked to the heavens. “You gentlemen must get a better script to work off of. I suggest Taken with Liam Neeson. At least that’s in this century. You are stale. Realllllly stale.”
“Fuck you.”
“You’re not my type. I’m so sorry.”
As he turned away, he grabbed ahold of Ruhn and pulled him along.
Once they were back in the truck, Saxton stared over at the pair of guards, memorizing their features. He was very sure he and Ruhn had been photographed as if they were on the red carpet. There had to be cameras all over the place.
“We need to get Minnie out of that house until this is finished,” he muttered as Ruhn reversed them and headed onto the road beyond. “Things are going to escalate even further, I fear.”
“If she leaves, I could stay in the house. So it’s not unattended.”
“That is not a bad idea.” Saxton glanced across the seat. “That is not a bad idea at all. Let me call her granddaughter first and see if we can get buy-in on that—and then we’ll talk to Minnie. Maybe if it
’s just a short-term thing, she’ll be more open to it. You’re smart.”
Ruhn’s little smile was the kind of thing he wanted to remember forever. And then the male came up with another piece of brilliance.
“Would you care to have something to eat?” Ruhn asked. “Whilst we’re out?”
—
As Ruhn drove them off, he waited for Saxton’s answer. It had felt a bit forward to ask for a date, but he was in fact hungry—and the idea of sharing a meal, and prolonging their time together?
“I would love that,” the solicitor said. “Is there somewhere in particular you want to go?”
“I do not know.”
“What kind of food do you enjoy?”
“I do not have a preference.”
“There’s a wonderful French bistro that I just adore. It’s a little bit of a drive, but then again, from this neighborhood? We’d have to travel to get to a 7-Eleven.”
In the back of his head, Ruhn counted how much money he had in his wallet. It was about sixty-seven dollars. But he did have his debit card and his bank account had just under a thousand dollars in it—which was his entire net worth.
His lack of financial status made him hope that his old landowner would do as he promised and help him find a job in Caldwell. The conversation over the phone the previous evening had certainly seemed promising, although there was no telling what was available for work up here. Still, aristocrats of the stature of the one he had long worked for tended to be very well connected.
He had to believe something would turn up—and provide him with both purpose and a living wage.
“Would that be okay with you?” Saxton prompted.
“I’m sorry, yes. Please. Where are we going?”
“Take a right up here and I’ll direct you.”
About fifteen minutes later, they were in a far better part of town, the little shops and quaint eating establishments lined up flank to flank as picture perfect as any city street could be. The snow had been plowed well and he imagined human pedestrians traveling down the sidewalks in the daylight, cheerful even though it was cold. And in the warmer months? It was no doubt very busy on weekends and populated by people like Saxton: urban sophisticates with nice manners and elevated tastes.