After the bombing of the Episcopal Church, Mayor White had received a ton of criticism from all sides. Sam had written a scathing piece on his blog, and even the normally pro-White Gazette had published some op-ed pieces condemning his decision to hold the Halloween block party, even though the arsonist terrorizing the city was still on the loose.
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” said Sam, “I’m not happy the guy’s dead, but maybe this is a blessing in disguise for the city.”
“Maybe so.”
“I wonder if Judy White’s down at the hospital. Maybe we can pop by quickly, see if she needs a shoulder to cry on?” If he could get the scoop straight from the mayor’s wife, leave the Gazette in the dust….
“No. Not tonight. You’re going to let it go for tonight.”
“But—”
Nathan shook his head. “It can wait. But I can’t.” He opened his hand. There, on the flat of his palm, was a small key. A frisson of excitement ran up Sam’s spine. He thought of the silver keychain.
“Is that for—”
“Yes.”
“Well, I suppose the mayor will still be dead in the morning.” Sam was buzzing with anticipation by the time they entered the building and hit the button for the elevator. He still got a kick out of living in a place that actually had one.
Upstairs their white cat, Shadow, was lounging sleepily on the rug near the door. She immediately sprang to her feet and began meowing for her dinner. Then she narrowed her blue eyes accusingly when neither paid her any attention.
“All right. All right,” Nathan said, picking her up. Then he looked at Sam. “I’m going to feed the cat first. You, go get into position and stay quiet. I don’t want to hear a sound.”
“With or without the blindfold?”
“With. Hold this key in your lips.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, sir.”
Sam’s belly swooped at Nathan’s dominant tone. “Okay, sir.” He quickly entered the bedroom, kicked off his shoes, and yanked his shirt over his head. The blindfold was in the black box they kept under the bed, along with the other equipment they used for play. Sam ran his fingers over the flat paddle Nathan gave him several months before. The smooth wood was cool to the touch, and he shivered remembering the first time they used it. He hoped they’d use it tonight.
After he grabbed the blindfold and undressed, he kneeled at the foot of the bed with his hands behind his head, cock already hard. The metallic taste of the key wasn’t pleasant, but Sam wasn’t about to disobey Nathan—he was too eager to see what it would unlock.
Chapter Two
THE FIRST thing Sam noticed the next morning was the pain in his muscles as he stretched. His ass was sore—in a good way. The next was the thin metal and leather band around his neck. They hadn’t taken it off after the session. Sam wanted to wear it as he slept, a reminder he belonged to Nathan, though Nathan had allowed him to keep the key as a gesture of good faith. It was the best gift he’d ever received and definitely the best birthday he could remember.
Feeling lonely on his side of the bed, Sam wriggled under the covers to get closer to Nathan. The sheets were empty and cold. He blinked and sat up. It was still early, and a vague light filtered in from beneath the blackout curtains. Otherwise, the room was dark and hummed with the sound of the air conditioner. Shadow was sleeping on Nathan’s pillow.
Figuring Nathan would be back to bed soon, Sam pulled the covers around him and let the previous night replay in his mind. A delicious heat ran through him when he remembered how Nathan had brought him to orgasm twice. How the collar felt when Nathan held it from behind as they fucked.
His morning erection pulsed with desire, and he squeezed it to relieve some of the pressure. He wanted Nathan to find him with his hand wrapped around his cock. Would he want to punish Sam for starting without him? Or would he enjoy the view and get his own cock out so they could watch each other jerk off? Sam loved seeing Nathan touch himself with those long, capable fingers.
But the anticipated toilet flush never came, and eventually Sam figured Nathan had gotten up for good. The distant smell of coffee percolating finally got him out of bed.
He grabbed a fresh pair of boxer briefs from the dresser and pulled them up over his hips, noting how enticing his boner looked—rock hard and tucked snugly up and to the right. With any luck, Nathan would want to get his mouth around it. Today was Sam’s official birthday, after all. He deserved a morning BJ.
Before he exited the bedroom, he caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror. He paused. His eyes were feverish—a brighter green then their usual hazel—and his lips were swollen. When he turned, he noticed some red marks on his back. They were fading and likely wouldn’t bruise, but he wouldn’t be taking his shirt off around anyone but Nathan for the next couple days.
He brought his fingers to the silver and black leather collar. It was about a half-inch wide, resting just beneath his Adam’s apple, and the leather was smooth and supple. On the front it held a small embossed plate with their initials, like the keychain. At the back was a loop that Sam suspected was for a leash. Nathan had finally confessed he’d had it custom made. Sam smiled. Twenty-nine was going to be a good year.
Nathan was on the phone in the living room. He didn’t look up when Sam entered, but from his body language, Sam could tell something was wrong. His first thought was something had happened to Nathan’s parents. But even though Nathan was frowning, he didn’t look devastated, as he certainly would if he’d heard bad news about his folks. He noticed Sam and held up a finger. Obviously he wanted privacy.
Sam went into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee and try not to eavesdrop. Though, if Nathan was talking to Rivera about the mayor’s death, he wanted to know about it. The conversation continued for another couple of minutes, barely audible. If it wasn’t about the mayor, it had to be work—a new case, perhaps. Otherwise Nathan’s boss would never call on a Sunday. A bag of fresh chocolate croissants from Franco’s was set on the marble countertop, and Sam pulled one out and started to munch the flaky awesomeness. He made himself focus on the sweet gesture and not on whatever Nathan was saying. If it was important, they’d talk about it.
Nathan joined him a couple minutes later, looking tired. When he saw Sam eating, he smiled and came forward, using his thumb to swipe a bit of chocolate from the corner of Sam’s mouth.
“Tasty?” Nathan asked.
“Yeah. They’re awesome. Thanks. When did you get up?”
“Oh, about an hour ago. I thought you might want to sleep in after last night.” His eyes went right to the collar. He seemed pleased Sam was still wearing it.
Sam set down the rest of his pastry, grabbed Nathan by the hips, pulled him closer, and nudged his semi against Nathan’s pelvis. “I’d rather go for round two. Maybe you’ll let me fuck you this time.”
Though Nathan smiled, the expression didn’t reach his eyes. He was stiff in Sam’s embrace. And not in the good way.
“What’s going on, Nathan?”
A line creased the skin between Nathan’s eyebrows. Nathan poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. “We need to talk.”
“I hate when you say that. It’s never good news.”
“I’ve got a case.”
Sam’s stomach dropped three stories and was crushed under the weight of a cement truck. He held his breath. “Oh?”
“They want me to go undercover again.”
“I see.” The thing he’d worried about for months was finally happening. He had told himself he would deal with it, but it was easier to be brave when contemplating hypotheticals. “What’s the case?” he asked, trying for nonchalant as the blood drained out of his face. So this was what it felt like to be yanked out of complacency.
“I don’t know many details yet, but there’s a ‘gentlemen only’ pop-up club in southern Jersey, and the local cops suspect illegal activity. Probably prostitution, but more than likely underage sex. Don’t k
now if it’s child trafficking, but they want me to scope it out.” He paused and swallowed. “With a partner.”
For a crazy moment, Sam wondered if Nathan was going to ask him, and his heart leapt with relief and excitement. But the grim set of Nathan’s mouth stopped the thought in its tracks.
“I see.” Sam gripped the counter with both hands, digging his fingers into the sharp corner to stop himself from thinking. A partner. Nathan touching someone else. Doing the things Sam and Nathan did together—the things that were theirs.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“What is there to say?” Sam’s mouth was dry and sickly sweet from the pastry. “You’ve got a job to do.” It wouldn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. Nathan loved him. Nothing would change it, not even sex with someone else. He gritted his teeth at the lie while his gut threatened to regurgitate the now-hated croissant.
“And you’re not angry?” Nathan arched a skeptical brow.
“I knew this might happen when we got started.” And it had been titillating at first, when Nathan told Sam all about his undercover work. How he learned to dominate his partners. Hearing about his training with a dominatrix on the West Coast. Imagining all the people Nathan had slept with in order to get deeper into the organization and discover the rotten secret at its core. Children. Children who were stolen from—and sometimes even sold by—their families, forced into sex work with little chance of escape.
How could Sam tell Nathan no, he couldn’t do his job?
“Who’s the partner?” he asked instead.
“Name’s Eric. I’ve known him for years, but he usually works in the Midwest. He’s a character. Not my type, by the way.”
“Huh.” Sam didn’t know how he felt hearing Nathan would be working with a man, rather than a woman. Then again, it was a “gentlemen only” club.
“Sam, talk to me. Tell me you’re angry. Tell me to go fuck myself.”
“Do you want to do it?” Sam tried to keep his voice neutral. Half of him wanted to tell Nathan to fuck himself, but the other half was scared of losing him for good—which was exactly what would happen if he gave Nathan an ultimatum. Months before, Nathan risked his job to trust Sam’s instincts. He told Sam he was more important than his position at the FBI. But there were children involved. He knew Nathan wouldn’t back down from his duty if it meant saving innocent lives.
“Of course not. You know I don’t.” Nathan grabbed Sam’s arms, not quite pulling him into an embrace.
Sam resisted. “Do I?”
“God, I hope so.” And even though he was gratified to see the truth in Nathan’s eyes, Sam had to look away. He was afraid of what he’d see if he searched deeper.
“All right. Well. I don’t want to hear about it. Any of the details. Okay?” He pushed off the counter and sidestepped Nathan. “You do what you need to do, but I don’t want to know.”
SAM POUNDED the pavement as the music boomed in his ears. Sweat ran in his eyes, but he didn’t bother to swipe it away while he focused on the uneven sidewalk under his feet. Occasionally he dodged a pile of dog shit or piece of garbage. But even with all the distractions, he couldn’t escape his thoughts.
It had been over a week since Nathan got word about his new case, and it would be another before Eric arrived and the two of them headed for New Jersey. Seven days, and Nathan would be gone. Sam meant what he said about not wanting to hear the details. Ignorance wasn’t bliss, but it was a hell of a lot better than knowing what Nathan would have to do. At least that way, he could fool himself, safe in the comfort of his own denial.
It was only sex, after all. Sam had never been a possessive lover. He never thought very far into the future either.
He hopped over an overturned garbage can and turned down the alley behind their apartment building. At least the exercise kept his mind off the tempting oblivion of the bottle. Since Nathan was home each day, doing research for his case, Sam started going on longer and longer runs and then heading to the coffee shop to work on his writing. He hadn’t produced much, aside from a couple short, freelance pieces.
By the time he reached the back stairwell, his lungs felt like they might burst, and his legs were jelly. He checked the running app on his phone and wasn’t surprised to see he’d logged over eight miles. His shorts and T-shirt were soaked through.
Upstairs, Nathan was on the phone, pacing around the living room. He laughed at something the person on the end of the line said, but when he noticed Sam, he made his excuses.
“All right. I’ve gotta go. See you soon, Eric.”
Eric. What a hilarious guy. Sam grimaced as he kicked off his running shoes and reached for the water bottle he’d left on the coffee table.
“Good run?” Nathan asked.
“Yeah. Pretty good.” Sam knocked his head back and let the water flow into his mouth. He swallowed it greedily, not meeting Nathan’s eyes.
“I was thinking of heading to the pool in a bit.” Since Nathan moved to the city, he did laps at the local Y at least three times a week. The man was a seal in the water.
“Cool.”
Nathan frowned at him. “What are you up to later? I thought we could grab dinner.”
“Sounds good, but I’m seeing a movie with Rach and Yuri. Sorry. No significant others allowed.” Sam tried to smile, but the expression felt as foreign as snow in July. And maybe he drank too much water too quickly. It sloshed in his gut. He slapped Nathan’s arm. “Actually I better get cleaned up or I’ll be late. I’ll see you? Have a good swim.” The stupid fake smile hurt his cheeks.
“Right,” said Nathan.
Even though Sam tried to ignore it, their relationship had become strained, almost polite—a far cry from the fun, passionate connection they shared until recently. He hadn’t worn the collar Nathan gave him since the morning he heard the news.
He hated it. And although he knew it was mainly his fault, he didn’t see any other way. Shadow pronounced her judgment with a yawn from the couch as Sam retreated to the shower.
A FEW hours later, Sam sat across from his friends at a Greek diner for a postmovie bite. Rachel and Yuri were chatting about the film as Sam picked at his fries. The burger was still half-eaten on his plate, but he couldn’t force the rest of it down. During the movie he’d gotten a text from Nathan.
Heading to bed early. I love you.
“So, did you like the giant talking penis, or did you think it was a little over the top?” Rachel asked him.
Sam nodded, surprised at being addressed. “What? Uh. Yeah.”
“Dude, did you even watch the movie?” Yuri grabbed one of Sam’s fries and popped it in his mouth. “You were the one who picked it.”
“Sorry.” Sam grimaced. He couldn’t have commented on the plot under waterboard torture. “I guess I’m distracted.”
“Oh? Trouble in paradise?” Yuri raised an eyebrow.
“No. It’s nothing.” Nathan had asked him never to broadcast the details of his work. Sam would be overstepping boundaries to share his concerns with his friends, no matter how much he might want to vent. And though they’d likely respond with support, he didn’t want them shit talking Nathan. It wouldn’t make him feel any better.
Rachel saved the day. “The mayor’s autopsy results are nuts. Are you writing about it?”
Sam dropped the fry he’d been dragging through ketchup and straightened up in the booth. “Wait a minute, what autopsy results?” He’d been waiting all week, but the investigation seemed to be taking its sweetass time.
Rachel frowned. “It was all over the news this afternoon. You didn’t see? They found crack in his blood, along with alcohol and some sort of poison. Ritalin? No. That’s not it.”
“Ricin,” Yuri supplied.
“Are you sure it was ricin?” Sam asked. Ricin was one of the most potent and easily synthesized poisons out there. And it only took a small amount to do the job. It was also renowned for delayed onset, as any casual Breaking Bad watcher knew—meaning
it could be administered hours or even an entire day before the onset of symptoms.
“That’s what they said on the news. Trace amounts.”
“I can’t believe the mayor was doing crack,” said Yuri. “With the amount of money the guy had, you’d think he’d be into the pure stuff.”
Sam was already grabbing his phone and googling. Sure enough the top hit from an online rag read Mayor’s Shocking Autopsy Results Reveal Heavy Drug Use, Poisoning. Other, more reputable news outlets followed with less-salacious headlines. Sam clicked on one link and started to read.
“According to a source close to the mayor’s family, who requested anonymity, the mayor had begun using illicit drugs as early as his first term… refused to seek help… personal behavior becoming more erratic… trace amounts of deadly poison….”
“Jesus,” said Sam. As he scrolled through the rest of the article, his pulse picked up. “It says here there likely wasn’t enough crack in his bloodstream to kill him.”
“Yep,” said Rachel. “Someone poisoned him.”
“But who?” Sam’s mind started to spin. The list of people who disliked the mayor was incredibly long.
Rachel shrugged. “I don’t know. Why don’t you figure it out?”
Sam reached for his wallet and threw down a twenty to pay for his food. “I’ve got to go.” His friends teased him good-naturedly as he slid out of the booth and slipped his phone into his back pocket. “I’ll see you later.”
WHO KILLED Mayor White?
The cursor blinked on the blank Word document as he considered the possibilities. Shadow nudged her way under his arm and took an inconvenient seat on his lap, digging her claws into his hip. She’d grown, but she was never going to be a very large cat. Sam started typing.
Deputy Mayor? Out of everyone, Deputy Mayor Rick Morgan seemed to have the most to gain from getting rid of his boss. Perhaps he knew about White’s drug use and counted on the autopsy to reveal drugs as cause of death. If so, he overestimated the amount of poison to use. The mayor hadn’t metabolized it all.
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