by Jaime Samms
How had he missed this? How had he not seen how utterly deranged this asshole really was? Their silly prank in the bar seemed so ridiculous now. It hadn’t scared him off. It had only baited an already irritated bear who had been waiting a very long time to catch his prey.
Sadly, Jed glanced up the stairs. What he wouldn’t give to be in his apartment right now, humming off-key in his shower, getting ready to go down and see Ira, hang out on his couch while Ira sculpted. Fall asleep watching his laptop and listening to the soft mutterings as Ira shaped his tiny masterpieces. Eventually, dragging him off to bed . . .
“Up.” Cedric prodded him again. “He’s up there, isn’t he?”
Belatedly, Jed realized his little longing glance had given Cedric the wrong idea. Cedric’s wrong idea gave Jed his best, only hope of protecting Ira.
He glared at Cedric. “Fuck you. Shoot me if you want. You think anyone in this building will ignore that? You think you’ll get to him if you do?”
“You’re right.” Cedric waved the gun, his careless attitude making Jed want to punch him. “If I shoot you, the cops will be all over this place. Which is why I’m going to wait until I have you both in the same room. Now move it. Because no matter how this goes down, he is not getting out of giving up what he owes me.”
“So I should lead you right to him? You think I’m that stupid?”
“I think you’re that softhearted. I could kill you here. And I could go back to your precious bar. Follow another one of your friends, then another and another, until one of them isn’t so noble as you. You think once your people start dropping one after the other he won’t come to me on his own?”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m pissed off! Now walk up the goddamn stairs or I will shoot little pieces of you off, starting with your fucking dick.”
Reluctant, Jed trudged up. His hip had stiffened, and his arm ached hellaciously, though he thought maybe the bleeding had stopped, because the wetness was drying and tightening on his skin now. He made the walk to his apartment as slow as possible. He had no idea what he was going to do once they were inside. It wouldn’t take more than a minute for Cedric to see Ira was not there.
Then what?
He dropped the keys twice—only the first time was on purpose—before he got the door unlocked. Slowly, he pushed it open, blocking as much of the interior from Cedric’s view as he could manage. He needed the guy inside the apartment. He might be able to keep him from getting back out if he had him inside.
As soon as Cedric was past the door swing, Jed pounced, tossing him aside, slamming the door, and throwing his weight against it. At the very least, Cedric would have to shoot him where he stood if he wanted out, and then move his body. That would take time. Someone would hear the shot. Someone would call the police. Ira might have time to get to safety. It was the only chance Jed could see.
Cedric’s shout of surprise was loud. Probably not loud enough to carry past the slam of the door, but still. He skittered across the entrance tile, slick shoes stopping abruptly at the edge of the carpet. For an instant, he flailed. The gun waved wildly.
Jed wrapped both arms over his head, braced himself against the door, waiting for the accidental shot that, with the way his luck was going tonight, would kill him instantly.
But Cedric managed to right himself without that disaster. He whirled on Jed. “He’s not here!” His scream was piercing. “Get the fuck out of my way!”
“Fuck you.” Seemed that was all Jed had the capacity to say anymore.
Furious, Cedric grabbed the first thing that came to hand—Jed’s toaster that was sitting on the breakfast counter—and hurled it at Jed’s head. Jed ducked, but didn’t move from in front of the door. The stainless steel coffee carafe was next, but instead of throwing it at Jed, Cedric screamed in fury and flung it at the fire escape window. It sailed through with a mighty crash and shatter.
Glass sprayed out after it, glittering like ice amidst the falling snow, and tinkling down through the metal grate of the fire escape stairs.
Jed heard the distant, metallic clank of the pot landing somewhere below.
Well that ought to draw a crowd at his apartment door. He stared at Cedric, unsure what to do. The man was losing his grip. Rapidly. Jed only wished he could come up with an idea for taking advantage of his manic rage. He levered himself off the door, but without being able to really trust his aching hip, he wasn’t sure he would be able to overpower Cedric before he had a bullet or two in him.
A heavy thump from above jerked Ira out of his concentration on the fairy he was building. He dropped the ginger-coloured clay he had mixed and glanced around. Was Jed home? Why hadn’t he called to let Ira know he was on his way? He would have met him downstairs or—
There was a crash and shouting, definitely from above, and Ira froze.
What the hell?
Charging for the door, he grabbed his keys and the first thing that came to hand as he sailed out into the hallway—his remaining pink-sequined stiletto. In moments, he had navigated the stairs and emerged onto Jed’s floor. A few people had gathered at his apartment door. Ira recognized them from brief meetings in the lobby over collecting mail or paying rent, but he didn’t know any of their names. He hadn’t made an effort to get to know anyone in the building other than his immediate neighbours. His entire presence here had been clandestine to begin with, so he had tried to lie as low as possible.
Now, he wished he knew who any of these people were. When he arrived at the edges of the crowd, he could hear them calling for Jed, banging on the door. One girl was on the phone, he hoped to the police.
Before Ira could wedge his way to the front of the milling people, a loud as fuck crash—no, bang—came from inside Jed’s apartment.
Ira had heard a gunshot before. He knew what it sounded like.
Whirling, he dashed back to the stairwell, down and through the hallway towards his apartment.
“Ira?” Mrs. Stanfield stuck her head out her door.
“Get back inside, Mrs. S.,” he yelled at her. “Call the cops!”
He had his keys out and his door unlocked in seconds, and hurried across his apartment to his fire escape window.
“Stay off the fire escape from now on. Unless you have no other choice.”
Well, he had no other choice. Shoving his feet—fat, sock-slippers and all—into Jed’s Birks, Ira scrambled out onto the fire escape and forced himself to climb upwards. He shook and gasped for every breath. Bile rose in his throat, and he had to swallow it down, over and over. But Jed—that thought was more frightening than the sickening drop to unyielding pavement.
Ira kept moving upward, one hand clutching the railing, the other his shoe. He reached the top and ducked to one side to peer into the apartment from the edge.
Jed lay sprawled against the door. A man—Cedric; Ira would know that hunched form and slicked-back hair anywhere—stood over him, arm outstretched and shaking.
“Get off the fucking floor and bring me down there!” he shouted. “I will fucking shoot you again!”
“No, you fucking will not!” Ira didn’t think. He sprang through the window, shoe raised over his head.
Cedric whirled on him, gun swinging in a wide arch in his direction.
Jed fumbled to a sitting position, lunged, and caught Cedric by the ankle.
Flailing, Cedric pitched towards Ira in a wobbling parabola.
Ira brought his shoe down. The heel sank into Cedric’s shoulder. The gun skittered across the floor as Cedric fell, howling and clawing at Ira, pulling him to the floor under him.
Ira kicked and scrambled backwards.
With Jed’s weight no longer against the door, it flew open.
There was yelling about getting on the floor, facedown, hands where they could be seen.
Ira had skidded back until his spine crunched against the kitchen cupboards holding up the breakfast counter. He held his hands out in front of himself and shook.
Je
d was facedown on the floor in front of the door, doing exactly what the people yelling told them to do.
Cedric lay between them, Ira’s shoe sticking out of his shoulder, alternately cursing and wailing.
It took a moment for Ira to realize the swarming people with the guns and the volume were police. When he did, he sobbed out a breath of relief.
It would take hours to sort out all of what had happened, but took mere minutes for the cops to realize neither Ira nor Jed were the bad guys, which was good, because Jed needed Ira in his arms right the fuck now.
He’d pushed upright and was leaning awkwardly on the wall. His hip killed him, not happy to bend, or to be completely straight. His arm was bleeding again, but Ira had shimmied across the floor and was kneeling in front of him.
“Jed? Baby, you’re hurt.”
“Come here.”
“He shot you”
“Not so much. More that he shot my door. Here.” Jed pulled Ira into his lap. “Now.”
Ira succumbed instantly, snuggling up under his chin, kissing his throat, running hands over every part of Jed he could touch.
“I’m okay,” Jed assured him.
“You’re bleeding and you can’t stand.”
Okay, so that was true. More people trekked into Jed’s apartment, and two of them crouched next to him and tried to talk to him. He ignored them in favour of lifting Ira’s chin and gazing into his wide, frightened eyes.
“He can’t get to you anymore, yeah? You’re safe now.”
Ira sniffed. “No thanks to you, asshole,” he whispered, smacking him on the chest.
“Didn’t I tell you this hero needed you?”
Ira sniff-giggled and nodded, leaning close to kiss Jed stupid.
“Sir?” Someone touched his shoulder, giving a slight tug. “Sir, I need to look at your injuries. Please.”
Reluctant to let him go, Jed eased Ira away and nodded to the EMT hovering over him. He paid barely any attention to Cedric, snivelling as he was cuffed and led out the door. Jed had eyes only for his lover.
Ira also submitted to an EMT, who wrapped a blanket over his shivering shoulders, then took a careful look at one of his eyes that was swelling shut. His lip was also split, and blood dribbled down onto the pretty spaghetti-strap PJ top he had on. Shame. Jed really liked that blue on him.
Jed was taken to hospital while Ira had to go to the police station to make a statement. Thankfully, Kearn was more than happy to meet Ira at the station. Jed loved his weird little family so much.
Once a doctor had examined Jed’s wounds and determined there was no internal damage to his arm, an NP stitched him up, gave him a tetanus shot, and he gave his own interview with the police from his hospital bed. Landon sat with him as he did, then made him lie down and try to sleep. He was there for the night, no matter what. He might as well try to rest.
Stupid of Landon to think that was going to happen. He wouldn’t feel relaxed until he had Ira back at his side.
After his talk with the police, Jed was glad to have been right about pressuring Ira to report Cedric’s stalking. They assured him that having it on record would underpin both his and Ira’s stories. Jed was overjoyed to see the list of charges eventually levied against Cedric. Armed assault, kidnapping with intent, attempted murder. Mitch came forward to accuse him of attempts to force him into prostitution, and accusations that Cedric had got Bernie arrested for soliciting. No one really cared about Bernie, and secretly, Jed thought Mitch was much better off with both of them behind bars. Mitch’s statement about Cedric’s behavior was the last piece they needed to seal his fate.
He was not going to be bothering anyone for a very long time.
Jed considered getting a bit battered up worth it to achieve that end result. His injuries hadn’t kept him hospitalized that long. Just overnight. While Cedric had fired off a shot, and it had grazed Jed’s calf, it wasn’t even as bad a wound as the gash on his arm left by the garden fencing. His arm took twenty-seven stitches to close and more than a few pain meds to ignore. It would definitely leave a mark.
His hip was the most painful of all the indignities, though. A hip-pointer injury, the doctor called it. Basically, he’d bruised the shit out of his pelvic bone and the muscles surrounding it. Some ice and pain killers that made him groggy, then hobbling around on crutches for a few days, were the worst of it. After that, he went back to work, short shifts and with a stool to prop him up for some of the time. But the Hen and Hog was as much home as his apartment. That was where his people were, where Ira was a good deal of the time, and so where he wanted to be.
“You look tired,” Ira said one night about three weeks later. “Are you in pain tonight?” He settled lightly against Jed, long legs posed neatly as he balanced on one heel and propped the other foot on its toe.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” Jed complained, peering down at the delicious lines of Ira’s bare legs. He hitched himself straighter and tugged at the crotch of his jeans.
Ira stared, eyes wide and innocent, though his lips had curved up in a wicked little grin. “Doing what?”
He had on his mini-kilt tonight, with a pair of black stiletto-heeled boots and the white button-up tied in a knot in front to show his belly button. Every time he bent to deposit a drink on a table or get close to hear a customer over the din, the skirt popped in back to let the lacy hems of his black short-shorts peek out.
The outfit was surely good for Ira’s tips, but it was driving Jed around the bend.
“You’re going to turn Kearn’s place into a porn fest in these outfits.”
Ira blinked at him, all sugar and spice. “I only wear them after the age restriction sign gets turned on.” He leaned more heavily and kissed Jed’s temple.
Irritated and turned on because it had been too long since they’d made love, Jed grabbed his wrist before he could pull away. “Come here.” He clamped a hand over one of Ira’s ass cheeks and wasn’t the least bit repentant when his fingers slipped under the scanty fabric of the shorts.
Ira shivered violently against him, and his eyelids flickered. “Mmm.”
“Break it up, you two,” Kearn snapped, slapping Jed on the back of the head. “Everyone knows he’s yours. Ira, your drinks are ready.”
Jed let him go instantly, and Ira straightened. His cheeks were deeply pink and his eyes glittered, but he pranced off, skirt flouncing, to serve his customers.
“How’s the hip?” Kearn asked, propping himself against the bar and crossing his arms over his chest.
“Fine.”
“You’ve been sitting a lot tonight.”
“It’s cold. Damp.”
Kearn nodded. “Get used to it. I did the same thing playing football in college. It still aches in the weather.”
“Great.”
“So. I moved the schedule around for the weekend and into next week. Got Mel and Landon on the bar Friday and Saturday. Angela and Shelly and a few of the new guys. Mondays and Tuesdays aren’t terribly busy, so I took you and Ira off the schedule.”
“Kearn, I’ve had loads of time off since . . .” He motioned at his leg stretched out to ease the bend of his hip.
“Yes. All of it laid up and hurting, or talking to cops and lawyers.”
Jed shrugged. He still didn’t regret taking a bit of a beating to keep Cedric and his homicidal crazy away from Ira.
“So take some time, both of you, and just stay in or something. Relax. Hang out. Decompress a bit.”
“Ira needs the money.”
“He already agreed to the time off, shit-for-brains. I know he needs shifts.” Kearn peered at Jed like he would if he was looking over the tops of his glasses. Jed’s father used to look at him like that. Now, like then, it made Jed squirm. “He needs time off—time with you—more than he needs a few bucks in his pocket.”
Jed snorted.
“And, more importantly, I need my best people fit and ready to work. You know we’ll get slammed the closer we get to Christmas. Sh
oppers are freaks. I need you fit.”
“I can work.” To prove it, Jed hauled himself to his feet and served a group of frat boys who had jostled up to the beer taps. He glanced over his shoulder to find Ira, saw that he had his back to the bar, and slipped the tips the college kids had left into Ira’s tip jar.
“You know he’s going to figure that out one of these times.”
“He pays rent. I don’t.”
“Why don’t you just move into one apartment?”
Jed smiled, wistful. “He’s not ready.”
Kearn’s brows went up. “You’ve talked about it?”
Jed snorted. “He’s been living in paranoia for years. He was lucky to find Landry and that apartment when he did, and since Landry signed over his lease last week, Ira has his own place, in a secure building, to make as pretty as he needs it to be. Throw my bull-in-a-china-shop mess into the mix, and he doesn’t even get a chance to see what it’s like to live a free life. Safe. Secure. I’m happy to be his boyfriend and sleep in his bed, but I’m also happy to keep my mess and my junk to my own space as long as he needs me to.”
Kearn shook his head. “You should leave the beating up of the bad guys to him and stick to what you’re good at, my friend.”
Jed lifted an eyebrow. “Which is?”
“Being the fucking perfect boyfriend. The rest of us are screwed. I hope you know that.”
Jed didn’t have a chance to reply, because Herschel came barreling out of the kitchen, whooping and dancing like a complete fool. “She said yes!”
They all stared at him.
“Liesel. She said yes.”
“To what?” Kearn asked.
“To me. To us. She said yes, she wants to keep us exclusive and maybe get a place together when her lease expires in January.” His grin took up every molecule of his being. “I’m practically fucking married!”
He vanished back into the kitchen, though his happy singing could be heard, loud and horrendously off-key, through the entire restaurant.
“I have to go shut him off before people start bailing,” Kearn muttered.
Jed laughed, and when he looked up, he caught Ira’s gaze. Ira smiled at him. The expression was sweet and demure and content. Then he winked and all the sweetness turned to sizzle.