by Jaime Samms
If he was really, really lucky, this would be an oil and filter change. He figured Cedric had probably dumped some of that bleach into his oil tank, though screwing off the nut and lifting the seat to check told him nothing. Everything looked as it should. The bike’s symptoms and the bleach bottle rocking in the stiff breeze were enough of a hint, though. Worst-case scenario, he’d have to buy a new engine. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, because his bank account wasn’t that plump.
Thankfully, there was someone at the shop who could pick him up. He already had his Blazer scheduled for its seasonal checkup for winter driving, so he wouldn’t be without wheels for long. Much as he didn’t like the idea of Ira being that exposed, having to walk around the city, he had to admit that Ira had been doing fine on his own a long time before Jed ever met him. It gave Jed a taste of Ira’s frustration to know there was no way to prove Cedric had done anything.
All he could do now was get the bike fixed and ready for winter storage, and wait the few weeks until his Blazer was ready. Ira wasn’t going to be thrilled about walking home from the bar after being on his feet all night. Or about Cedric popping up again after a few weeks of relative quiet. Jed thought about not saying anything, but then he’d have to lie about the bike, and lying wasn’t something he wanted to introduce into their relationship. Not with the dynamic developing between them. That required trust on a level that precluded even a white lie such as this.
Sighing, he left his bike keys with the mechanic and shouldered the saddlebags as he headed off on the twenty-minute walk to work.
What had Ira been thinking? Pink glitter. So not his colour. But the sparkly heels and sequined mini had seemed like a good idea when he’d picked them out. He’d worked the bar shifts for almost a month now, and had no problem dressing to please his customers. Bar tips didn’t compare to dancing tips, but the short skirt and high heels helped. Especially on a night like tonight. The bar was packed, half with college guys looking to hook up, and half with the regular crowd who called Hen and Hog their second home.
Ira had lucked out, and a few of those regulars, Rex and his constant attendants—Stewart and Carver—were in his section. The two bulky guys flanking Rex didn’t spend a lot. They drank water or Coke and kept vigilant attention on the crowd, mistrustful of the many men who approached Rex. Some of them, no doubt, might be after him for his pocketbook, but most would be happy just to have him, even if only for a night. Rex was a beautiful man, something even his guards agreed with, if the hungry looks they gave him meant anything. Ira guessed all the feelings were mutual among the three men, because Rex certainly didn’t look at any of his suitors the way he looked at his bodyguards.
So the hopefuls came and went, with Rex letting them all down kindly, and, in the end, always going home with the men who’d brought him. No one ever left Rex’s table angry. He was too nice for that. He was also the best customer Ira had the pleasure to serve.
While Ira had been happy at the beginning of the night he’d worn the pretty outfit to please his regulars, now, near the end of the night, the shoes had proven inadequate to the task. His feet were killing him. He wanted this shift to be over, which was unusual.
He enjoyed the busier night shifts. At first, they’d kept him too busy to fret about Cedric. Then, when the asshole hadn’t materialised again after Jed had scared him off, he’d begun to relax. The memory of Cedric’s appearance at his apartment had faded just about enough that he didn’t jump at every shadow when he was out after dark. He didn’t let on he knew Jed had changed his shifts to line up with Ira’s, but it was good that Jed had finally taken a few shifts outside of that.
Life was getting back to normal.
Unfortunately, tonight had him on edge again. While Rex’s table was a joy to serve, his other guests hadn’t been nearly as gentlemanly. He’d been grabbed and pawed a half dozen times by guys sitting at the next table over. He was sure they were friends of Cedric’s. He recognized a few from his earlier dancing days. They weren’t dancers, but they tended to hang around the dancers, take advantage when they could, and basically shared a lot of their bad habits with the dancers. The drugs and drinking had been one of the reasons Ira had tried to cut ties in the first place. He hated going anywhere near them. Far from appreciating his skirt, they thought it gave them a right to touch. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t snap the wrist of the next guy who tried.
“Wearing my fucking jeans tomorrow,” he muttered.
“Speak up!” From the other side of the counter, Jed touched his arm to get his attention, shouting over the din of the music and milling men. He waved him closer, and the motion made the beefy muscles of his forearm ripple. Ira had to force his attention back up to Jed’s face.
“Talking to myself.” He offered a smile, and knew it was flat and distracted by the way Jed’s brows drew down over the perfect green of his eyes, shading them to a mossy green.
“Problem?” he asked. “Someone bothering you?”
“I can handle it.” He set his tray down and shimmied around another server to get at the POS. The ticket came up quickly, and Jed had to get the drinks ready, thankfully ending the conversation. Ira didn’t want to cause trouble or cost Kearn business.
He didn’t like brushing Jed off, either, but this was work. Ira had to handle himself and his customers. It wasn’t Jed’s job to look out for him. He had his own job to do. As he set the first few drinks on Ira’s tray, Ira pointed to Rex’s table.
“Can you get me a dry round for them?”
Jed nodded.
Ira looked back to the table where Rex preened, tossing his wealth of blond curls as he laughed at someone’s joke. He had the kind of looks that were only going to get better with age, and he held court like the most practiced of queens. His two giants lounged to either side of him, about as leisurely as a pair of cobras ready to strike.
Carver caught his gaze, nodded to the rowdy table, and pursed his lips. Even Rex’s boys had his back. Ira couldn’t tell a customer to mind his own business, so he smiled faintly and shrugged.
Rex paused in his conversation with a tipsy college jock to watch the exchange. He didn’t seem fazed, though he did pat Carver’s hand and kiss his cheek, a chaste benediction, approving of his diligence.
It was obvious to Ira that Rex belonged, heart and soul, to those two men, but everyone who propositioned him only ever saw them as bodyguards. More fools they, he decided. Rex might be the rich one, but he was a kept man, and he clearly enjoyed his position between those two behemoths. The idea of being that protected, that cared for and contained, made Ira a bit weak in the knees.
Jed touched his wrist, and a spark of heat skittered up and spread through his chest. Maybe he did have a bit of that. He turned from watching the quiet table, and met Jed’s gaze. It was warm. Protective. Jed closed a hand briefly around Ira’s wrist: a reminder of them away from the public eye. It made his heart skip happily, and he smiled as he picked up his loaded tray. So much for being his own man.
He brought Rex’s companions their drinks first. Rex paid with a tip larger than the cost of the alcohol-free drinks, and a compliment for his skirt. Encouraged by his gentlemanly behavior, he headed for the five-top and Cedric’s buddies.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t until near last call when the night turned. Rex was making his excuses to his more adamant admirers, carefully watched over by his guards, and the crowd was clearing out in the wake of his refusals. The boisterous men in the corner amused themselves by throwing insults and goading words, but Rex ignored them. His men turned their backs, closing him off from the abuse.
They catcalled to one of the waiters a few times and received dark looks from one of Rex’s men, as well as the bartenders and a few of the other regular patrons. Johnny in particular had a black look on his face, and Landon was keeping a close watch on him to keep him from causing more trouble than the assholes were worth. Being shut down by Rex finally put an end to their rude game, but that only made them restless.
Most of the other waitstaff had cleaned up their sections and gone home, leaving the remaining patrons for Ira. And while the majority of those were winding down, the loudmouths showed no signs of slowing or leaving. The five of them overcrowded their table, still being asshats, and getting worse.
It was time to “encourage” them out the door. Ira balanced a heavy jug of water and a stack of plastic glasses on his tray, as well as a full coffeepot and mugs. He wove through the empty tables with practiced ease.
“Last call, boys.” He set out the cups and filled them with water. “Who wants coffee?”
“Screw the coffee.” One of the men leered at him. “Bring us another round, darlin’.” He snaked out his tongue to lick his lips suggestively. “Pour yourself one. On me.” With one hand, he patted his lap and reached for Ira with the other.
Ira gallantly resisted the urge to dump the water jug into his lap and took a quick, graceful step back. “Coffee,” he said firmly. “Bar’s closed.”
“Come on, sweetness.” The guy swung a big mitt out to grab at him again, glancing past Ira to the bar, where Jed was pulling a beer. “Don’t be stingy.”
“We want drinks, bitch,” one of the others said, a snarl in his voice. He’d definitely had more than enough already, and Ira shook his head.
“You boys are done.” He drew the line at name-calling, and no longer had to be nice. “Coffee or nothing.” He thunked the pot down on the table.
“How about a different service, then.”
Ira was watching the guy who’d sworn at him so intently he didn’t notice anyone else until a hand closed around his wrist and he was yanked off balance.
He fell into the man’s lap, sending glasses and water flying. The table teetered and settled back onto its pedestal, but the man had both his wrists now, pinning his arms almost behind him with his hands uncomfortably close to the guy’s crotch.
He could feel the hard bulge and snarled, “Let go, asshole!”
Someone else’s hand slid up his skirt, coasting over the bare bit of leg between the top of his stockings and the lower edge of his short shorts beneath, then farther to cup him.
Ira kicked, but didn’t make contact with the groper, so he tried again and speared his shoe heel into the foot of the guy holding him. The guy howled and Ira’s heel snapped.
He didn’t have a chance to do anything more. The man who had taken the liberty was lifted bodily and flew across the room. He landed on his hands and knees and a foot connected hard with his ass. Ira blinked at Rex’s guard as he lifted the guy again, by his collar and belt, and dragged him towards the door.
Ira was still held fast in the other guy’s lap, though.
“Lemme go!” He twisted and squirmed, but was no match. He just wasn’t as strong as most guys.
A fist flew past his head and landed with a crunch, followed by a guttural moan, and he was free.
Bounding up and away, tripping in the stupid heels, he pitched forward and landed against a hard chest. Arms went around his waist and pulled him close, lifting him off his feet and spinning him clear of what was fast becoming an all-out brawl.
“Come on.” That was Jed’s voice close to his ear, Jed’s hand clamping down around his. Jed’s other hand on the small of his back propelling him towards the safety of the bar and the office behind it.
He couldn’t help the shaking as Jed thrust him into the room and closed the door in their wake. “Fucking assholes!” Ira squirmed out of Jed’s grip and lunged for the door.
“Easy.” Jed was quick and had him around the waist before he had hold of the knob.
“Let me go.”
“Ira!” Jed squashed him against his body. “Stop.”
“I am going to rip his fucking balls off!”
“Baby, the cops are already here. Calm down.”
“He fucking touched me. You said that wouldn’t happen.” Ira ripped free and whirled on Jed. “You promised!”
“Ira.” Jed took a step back, both hands up in the air. “I said it wouldn’t be tolerated. No one is letting them get away with it, and you need to settle down.”
“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.”
“Then stop acting like a maniac and take a breath.” Jed sounded so calm. His vibe resonated through the room, and finally, Ira huffed and stopped.
“He— Jed, he—”
“He was out of line. Now he’s out of the bar. He won’t be coming back in. Ever. Kearn doesn’t stand for that shit. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?
Ira’s shaking intensified, and he hated it. “No. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Fuck, Jed, I’m sure. Stop being so calm.”
Jed cupped a hand around the back of his neck and tugged. “It’s my job.”
“Now I’m fucking shaking, and—” Ira took a wobbling step and almost tripped. He glanced down and snarled at the sight of his tall heel hanging by a thin strand of glue from the bottom of his shoe. “He broke my fuck-ugly shoe.” His eyes stung, and he wiped at them, impatient with the weakness.
“Those are ugly,” Jed agreed.
“Not as ugly as your Birks.” That recalled that night on the fire escape, the welcome sight of Jed’s terrible footwear, the safety of Jed. Ira sighed. He lifted his head, met Jed’s gaze, and managed a watery smile. “You were right there,” he whispered.
Jed just nodded.
“Like . . . right there. What did you do? Jump the bar?”
“I might have done.”
“I’ve never needed a hero, Jed.”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe this hero needs you?”
“I’m not a victim.”
“I didn’t say I needed a victim.” He cupped Ira’s cheek. “I said you.”
Ira settled against his chest. “That you have. But we have to do something, because even if Cedric doesn’t come back, those were his friends, and eventually, that won’t be good enough. He still wants me to give him something, and he won’t quit until he’s satisfied.”
“We aren’t sinking to his level.”
“So I keep looking over my shoulder forever.”
“Only until he shows his rat-bastard face again.”
“And then?”
Jed sighed. Ira wanted him to have an answer, but how could he? Until Cedric did something, they could do nothing. He’d never needed a hero before. He was grateful—enormously so—to have one now.
Jed stayed right by his side when the cops knocked on the office door and asked to speak with him. They got his side of the story and, when he was done talking, asked if he wanted to press charges.
Ira glanced at Jed, who nodded.
“I don’t want to draw it out.” Ira rubbed at his arm, wishing he had something to cover the sequins, then angry he’d even had the thought. Jed wrapped an arm around him, where they sat side by side on the couch, and tugged Ira a minute bit closer. “Cedric hasn’t shown his face in a while. That’s all that matters, right?” He looked back to the cop because Jed’s face was too hard to read.
“It’s up to you,” the police officer said. “But in my experience, if you let them get away with it, they just come back.”
“This one won’t. He was goaded by someone else. He doesn’t give a shit about me. None of those assholes care about anything except doing what Cedric tells them to.”
“You think someone else prompted them to harass you?”
“Yes. A guy named Cedric Gage. He’s been following me around, being a pain in the ass and—”
“He tried to break into his apartment,” Jed broke in. “I called the police then, but he took off, so I cancelled the call.”
“I’ll look that up.” The officer made a note on his phone, then looked at Jed. “Anything else?”
There was a breath, then a sigh, and Jed told the cop about Cedric fucking up his bike. Ira was livid.
“You didn’t tell me—”
“How was telling you going to help?”
“He knows where I take dance class—”
“And we were operating on the fact he also knows where you live and where you work, so how does knowing change how you would have behaved?”
He was right. It would have stressed him out more, clouded his head, taken away a really nice week with Jed, because he would have been too freaked out to enjoy any of it. “I just hate that he’s doing it to you too.”
“And you really should report that, and anything else,” the cop told them, “no matter how hard you might think it is to prove. Better to have it on record than not.” He turned his attention back to Ira. “Are you sure about the guys tonight?”
Ira nodded. “I don’t want to press charges. Not against him—them. They’re just stooges.”
“It’s your choice. But I suggest if he does come back, you take that seriously.”
Ira smiled, grateful for the advice, and the understanding. He didn’t always get that from law enforcement. “Thanks.”
“Take care.” The cop left and Ira sagged.
Once more Jed was right there, holding him tight for a little while, until the shaking had stopped and his breathing was back to normal.
The tap-tap of Kearn’s pen against his desk blotter kept time with Jed’s pacing, steadily gnawing its way into his brain and driving him nuts.
“You’re going to wear a hole in my carpet.” Kearn cast a significant look at Jed’s feet as he made another pass across the room between the desk and the door.
Jed looked down at the scuffed toes of his heavy boots and the worn, commercial Berber under them. A strip of duct tape covering a tear in the old carpet vanished into the dark under Kearn’s desk. “What carpet?” he murmured. “I see only a lot of tape and old hope.”
“Listen to you being all emotive. You should write romance novels.”
Jed turned his back and made another few passes.
“You want to talk about it?” Kearn set his pen down and folded his hands over the list he’d been making.
“Nothing new to share.”
“I’m sure that’s why you’re in here grinding down my floorboards and trying to drive me around the bend.”