by Sara Brookes
Enver took the phone, turning it over and over in his hand. He wanted to call. Needed to. But the vague bits of information Zoie had given him indicated Marcus believed his life was in danger. Enver couldn’t be responsible for further adding to that precarious situation by doing something stupid. If Marcus truly wanted to contact him, he would have done so already.
He returned the phone. “As I said before, knowing he’s safe is enough.”
“You’re just as stubborn as he is.”
He looked down, found her gaze on him still. Her color had returned, her eyes not as bloodshot as when he’d confronted her at the car. The fierceness with which she loved Marcus touched something deep in Enver’s soul. He swore softly. “I love him too, Zoie.”
Her fingers tightened on his shirtsleeve. “He needs to hear that.”
“Will it bring him back?” he countered. “If I take that phone, call him and tell him how I truly feel, how monumentally stupid I think he’s being for not letting me choose my own fate, will he come back to me?” The sorrow darkening her eyes answered his questions. “Get some sleep,” he repeated. “We’ll figure out a way to get him home to us.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Davis is dead,” Zoie announced without preamble.
Marcus was so jostled by the news, he felt light-headed. Oh hell no, he wasn’t going to faint. Zoie would never let him live it down. Thankfully he hadn’t been driving when he’d answered the phone.
“What?” His voice came out as a hoarse croak, unaccustomed to use after eleven days of silence. He sat up, gaze automatically scanning the lot of the shopping center he’d parked in a few hours ago to catch a bit of sleep. The ringing phone had startled him out of a dream he couldn’t remember but still felt the lingering traces of.
“Had the nibble of a lead yesterday that I didn’t think would amount to much. Got a good bite about four this morning.”
Which meant she’s been working around the clock. He was prepared to issue a stern warning when she rushed on.
“I was right about Mexico. The federales weren’t very cooperative, but you know I’m damn persistent. Wasn’t going to give up on my gut. Hounded a wet-behind-the-ears rookie who didn’t know any better and he finally slipped.” She paused, her muffled voice sounding as she covered the mouthpiece. “Sorry. Chief wants a report. Anyway, Davis Connelly was arrested three days ago on bullshit charges he was smuggling drugs across the border. But toss in resisting arrest and the fact he’s American, and they threw him into Cereso Las Cruces.”
Marcus knew almost next to nothing about Mexico, but he remembered catching a news report earlier in the year about the state of the prisons in the country. Overcrowded, understaffed and unsafe.
“That particular prison in Acapulco is known for rampant violence. We hear about it all the time up here, especially since the California’s jail population is so high. Authorities can normally keep it contained, but something sparked a riot between two rival gangs. Twenty-eight deaths, and the death toll is still climbing. Positive identification for Davis arrived ten minutes ago.”
It took him several moments to process everything Zoie had said. After two weeks of operating on high alert as he zigzagged around the country, he wasn’t sure what to say or do. He’d been convinced he was going to have to spend the rest of his life on the run. Now he had a freedom he hadn’t known since before the attack that had disfigured him.
“You there?” She hesitated. “Marcus?”
“Yeah,” he managed to croak out. “I’m right here, Zoie.” Even though he truly had no idea where here even was. His body ached as though he’d been stabbed repeatedly in the gut and was now bleeding all over the floorboard of the truck.
Some of his anxiety eased as he realized the weight of his demons were no longer sitting on his shoulders. Leaving may not have been the best decision, but that chapter of his life had finally found a resolution. He could move on. Wouldn’t have to spend his days constantly looking over his shoulder. Wouldn’t feel his bowels liquefy every time his phone signaled an incoming text message. No more phantom images superimposing over real life where he’d kept inserting Davis.
“He misses you.”
Marcus didn’t need clarification of who Zoie meant. His hand curled, the sudden need to reach out and touch something that was so far away vibrating through his limbs. “Do you know where he is right now?”
“Still up on the mountain, as far as I know. I’ll send you the address. Text me when you two untangle yourselves.”
It had taken everything in Marcus not to abandon Zoie’s vehicle and locate the nearest airport. Instead, he’d gone into the store, and discovered he was in Osage, a rural town just outside of Thunder Basin in Wyoming.
The trek back to California took three days. Three long days where he chewed up the mileage by driving as much as he possibly could, once again hopped up on energy drinks, and catching short naps when his eyes started to burn.
This time, instead of the fear of Davis finding him again, the terror biting at him was that Enver would dismiss him. Wouldn’t let him explain. By the time he pulled the truck next to Enver’s vintage muscle car, he was exhausted. But a burst of energy lit a fire inside him with the knowledge Enver was steps away.
As he shut the truck’s door, he caught a glimpse of himself in the window and swore as he ran his hand over the facial hair that had grown in. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair windblown from his habit of driving with the windows down. He’d bypassed his house completely in favor of coming directly to the address Zoie had texted him. Nothing he could do about it all now because he wasn’t interested in stalling.
An apology sat on the end of Marcus’s tongue as he stepped inside the workshop. Whatever Marcus had envisioned, it wasn’t that of a smith, despite the fact he knew Enver made most of the metal implements for Noble House. It furthered Marcus’s belief that Enver had an old soul. In an age full of technology, instant access to the world and everyone in it, Enver had a forge nestled near the Eldorado National Forest.
The workspace was utilitarian, clearly a location where hard work and determination poured free like droplets of sweat. The walls were packed with shelves and pegboards holding various tools, bins of screws, nails, bolts, earplugs and safety goggles without any sort of organization. Stacks of scrap metal, toothy blades and power grinders all crowded every available horizontal space. This kind of disarray made him wonder how anything got built.
Then his gaze landed on the man who owned it all.
A wall of emotion slammed into Marcus, flickering through him as a sign of a coming storm set to ravage everything. A golden glow originated from a box perched on top of a stack of cinder blocks. Enver stood near the makeshift oven, a denim-blue long-sleeve shirt plastered to his frame as he beat some kind of hammer against a glowing brick of metal.
He stopped, examined the quickly cooling item, set down the hammer and slid the brick into the oven. He used his shirtsleeve to wipe at the sweat drenching his brow, but it had little effect since he was covered with perspiration. Frowning, he grabbed a bottle of water and chugged half of it. The other half he upended over his head in an effort to cool his body temperature.
Marcus half expected tendrils of smoke to waft up from Enver’s body. Some guys got all bothered and spun up at the idea of their lover all done up in a suit and tie. Not Marcus. Seeing Enver hot and sweaty with his shirt covered in a fine layer of soot and hard work made his tongue wag.
Enver looked capable and dangerous even in ordinary long sleeves and jeans.
Marcus shivered. Both from the cold pressing against his back and the sight Enver made while he worked hard. Enver discarded the bottle, snagged another and checked on the item in the oven. His gaze briefly flicked toward where Marcus stood waiting, then back to the oven. He pulled the block out and set it on the anvil. Without a word, he picked up the hammer and start
ed working on the piece again. Loud bangs filled the space, obliterating any opportunity to hold a discussion.
Message received loud and clear. Marcus had fucked up. He was lucky Enver hadn’t ordered him to leave. But maybe ignoring him was worse. A silent punishment. Fine by him. He was more than willing to wait out Enver just so he could say his piece.
Marcus pulled up the collar of his down-lined jacket and leaned against the doorframe. At least the view was gorgeous. He didn’t even mind the fact Enver was covered so completely, though the reason for that became clear as sparks arced away from each pounding hit Enver delivered. Safety was always at the forefront of Enver’s mind. Even during the virtual scenes with Marcus, Enver had checked and rechecked the rigging that had cradled Marcus’s avatar.
The same arms that Marcus and Grae had spent so many hours sculpting for the virtual realm bunched and flexed as Enver hit the piece over and over again. It quickly became apparent that Enver wasn’t just working on his craft. He was also taking out his frustrations. The thought of what could happen if Enver lost focus haunted Marcus.
The blows stopped, as did the noise.
“Snow’s gonna hit soon.”
Marcus had expected pushback for what he’d done. Had been prepared in the event Enver wanted nothing to do with him, not a comment about the weather. “Just need to say a few things and I’ll leave.”
Enver’s gaze passed over Marcus all the way to the floor, then back up again. The way Marcus’s cock responded to Enver’s perusal should have disturbed him, but instead, it fueled all the reasons he’d come back. All the reasons he should have never left in the first place. He had no idea he could react so viscerally to another person, but all these feelings and sensations went beyond the physical. The knot of the hard-yearning ache bloomed in his already agitated stomach.
“Say whatever the hell you want.” Enver turned his back to Marcus. “Doesn’t mean anyone is gonna listen.”
Marcus knew he deserved Enver’s reaction. He cleared his throat as though it would help Enver hear him somehow. “Doesn’t mean I’m not going to talk anyway.” He rubbed his nose as he gathered his courage. “I told you I used to teach high school. Computer science, specifically, but I never said why I left.”
Enver grunted, but Marcus pushed on. “I quit teaching because of these.” Marcus gestured to his face, throat and shoulder. “Different time even ten years ago. Very different place. Gay men stayed in the closet for their entire lives. Especially there. Small town doesn’t even begin to describe it, but I wasn’t going to let them control how I decided to live my life. I didn’t make it a secret that I chose to date men, but I didn’t flaunt it either. It was just my life, you know?
“One of my students wasn’t very accepting of life in general. Davis ran into me on a date at a park. He was nice enough at the time, but there was a large crowd gathered for movie night. Most of the town, really. Probably wasn’t interested in making a scene. Few days later, he asked for some extra help after school. He wasn’t a very good student, and as a teacher, I never wanted any of my kids to fail. I was there to help them succeed.
“He showed up for the lesson, waited until I came to help him with the coding in a program and dumped the entire contents of a container full of chemicals he’d brought with him. Hurled a few vicious insults I don’t remember because I passed out from the pain. He never made it a secret he did it. Even waited for the police to show up and arrest him. Always thought he called them himself, but no one ever told me. So fucking proud of his accomplishment. Pleaded not guilty all through the trial just to put me through hell, drag everything out. Force me to relive that day over and over.”
Marcus sighed as the weight of everything settled on his shoulders. He’d been foolish enough to believe he’d put it all behind him. “A couple of months ago, Davis was paroled.”
Lines formed around Enver’s mouth. “The first night we went to Boylesque.” At Marcus’s nod, he continued. “I could tell you were distracted, but I just thought you were stressed out about the program.”
“The texts trickled in occasionally. Just long enough for me to think he’d moved on, accepted his new life out of prison, and then bam! Right in my face again.” Marcus pressed on. “Our date at the observatory? String of texts and images of us. One of which was when I gave you my number at the convention. He used a drone to track me. Not as much of a good-behavior-in-prison type that everyone thought. It shook me. Put a fear of God inside me that I’ve not experienced since the initial attack. Until two weeks ago.”
Enver’s fingers went white as he gripped the hammer.
The pain of that night flashed through Marcus, a reminder of the vicious agony Davis had delivered. “After group therapy, my car was vandalized and I was attacked. It was Davis. He got in a few cheap shots that took me down. Threatened to rape me with the handle of the sledgehammer his buddy had used to destroy my car.”
Enver swore quietly.
“When that didn’t happen, when he realized the cops were coming, he emptied his bladder.”
Enver’s expression twisted.
“Please, just let me say this.”
Enver nodded even though Marcus knew it took immense effort for him not to lash out. “He made it clear he wanted to finish the job. I panicked, made Zoie promise to bury it all because I didn’t want to go through everything again. I’ve been down that road, and it’s exhausting. I took my shit and left because I don’t want some fuckwad from my past to ruin everyone else’s life. Hurt those I love. Locking Davis up again would just deepen his anger. At least on the road, making him track me down, I kept him busy. Didn’t make a lot of sense, but at the time, it was all I could think of.”
Realization flashed in Enver’s eyes as he set down his tool. “Running away doesn’t solve anything. Never has.”
“You don’t think I know that?” Marcus bit back the flare of anger that sparked in his gut. Enver wasn’t at fault for any of this. “I wanted there to be a different alternative, but I couldn’t see past the worry something would happen to you. That Davis would come for you. I figured if I could keep him focused, he’d go after me. Leave you alone.”
“I’m not angry you left, Marcus,” Enver said with a voice laced with bitter resentment despite the calm and even tone. “I understand acting on impulse, probably better than anyone else. God knows I do. I’m angry you took it upon yourself to remove my choice, my say, in a matter that affected you. You didn’t offer me the opportunity to protect you like I promised I would.”
Marcus lost himself so quickly in Enver’s steely glare he was dizzy. “So...you missed me?”
Enver hooked his fingers through the loop on the back of Marcus’s jeans, hauled their bodies together and slashed his mouth over Marcus’s. They came together in a raw explosion of energy and heat, unleashing a brutal clash of two out of control male bodies.
Marcus grunted when Enver backed him against a workbench, feeling the true strength of the man as he pinned him in place. The steel length of Enver’s cock pressed against his thigh. He was so focused on the slide of Enver’s tongue against his, he gasped when Enver closed his hand around his cock, groaned when the hold constricted to the point of blinding pain.
“What I missed, gorgeous, is hearing that sound from you when I don’t give you a choice but to surrender. I missed seeing you look at me with these damn puppy-dog eyes. Missed seeing them focused on me while I’m sliding my dick between your lips.” Enver drew his hand along Marcus’s length, palming the crown before releasing him. “Most of all, I missed seeing you geek out and have a nerdgasm whenever something goes right with your system.”
“Nerdgasm?”
Enver set his hands on either side of Marcus’s hips, lowering his head as he shook it. “I despise the fact you made me interested in your tech shit.”
Marcus grinned as he pressed a kiss to the top of Enver’s head. “I do
n’t despise the fact you like old shit.”
“That’s because I am old shit.”
Marcus laughed lightly. “Yeah, you are.”
“Speaking of your tech shit—your actions and your words contradict one another. You’re not truly okay with these.” Enver paused, taking a few minutes to trace the discolorations mapping Marcus’s skin. “You never told me why you leave these out of the simulations.”
Panic nearly stopped Marcus’s heart, heat flushing his skin. He knew they were overdue to have this conversation. Knew he owed Enver an explanation.
“Hey, it’s all right.” Enver pressed a kiss to Marcus’s forehead as he grabbed his trembling hands. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Doesn’t change what I’m about to say.”
“I need to,” Marcus said slowly as he turned his head to brush his lips against Enver’s knuckles. “It’s detrimental to a relationship when there are times I can’t even look at myself, so I owe you an explanation. I—shit, this is harder than I thought.”
He squared his shoulders. “I thought you should have a perfect submissive. Someone who wasn’t flawed or broken. Out here, in the real world, I can’t control what people say or do or think. I can’t be...normal. In BLINC, I can give you what you deserve.” He buried his face against Enver’s neck, muffling his next words. “Yeah, I know. Sounds even stupider saying all that out loud.”
“I don’t know whether to be touched or pissed, Marcus. But thank you for telling me.”
“Thanks for not giving up on me.”
“As much as I hate knowing the truth behind them, don’t use BLINC to take them away again. Next time we’re in there, you’re the same as you are out here. I want to see every perfect flaw on this gorgeous face. Deal?”
Marcus blew out a long breath. “Deal.”
Chapter Twenty-Two