by Lane Hart
“Actually, I was hoping you would stay. There’s something I need to talk to you about after he goes to sleep.”
“Oh?” Nate asks, going still. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“Let’s enjoy dinner and the rest of the night first, okay?” I ask him.
“Deal,” he says. “I probably burned four thousand calories today, so I could easily eat everything in your house.”
…
Nate
Dinner is delicious and so is Alyssa.
It’s been too long since we’ve been together. Tuesday in the office was barely a make-out session, and I need her.
So as soon as we both tell Grayson goodnight and shut his door, I’m on her. Our lips meet, and then her tongue strokes mine frantically, telling me she’s just as desperate as I am.
With my hands gripping two handfuls of her ass, I lift her off the ground and her legs automatically wrap around my waist like we’ve done this a million times. Fumbling my way down the hall, I take her to the master bedroom, shutting and locking it behind us.
Then I lean against it with her in my arms, waiting for her protests, for her to tell me she’s not ready to be with another man in her and her husband’s bed.
Those words never come.
Instead, Alyssa’s fingers tug urgently on my hair as she grinds her pussy on the hard length of my cock through my jeans, making my knees weak with need.
That’s all the invitation I need before I carry her to the bed and follow her down on it. Reaching for the hem of my shirt, Alyssa tells me all I need to know. She’s ready to do this. Thank fuck. I know it can’t be easy for her to let another man into her bed, which is why I want her even more. Out of all the men she could be with, she wants me.
Not wasting any more time, I get the both of us undressed, removing the condom from my pants before tossing them. And then I take my place where I belong – between her legs, filling her, taking her, loving her.
“Please,” she whispers when I ease my fingers through her wet folds to make sure she’s ready. God, I love when she begs for it, but I need her good and wet for me. Kissing and licking my way down her body, I run my tongue along the dampness of her pussy, lapping her arousal up and hoping to have her dripping with need before I’m done with her. “Please, Nate,” she begs again, her fingers in my hair, tugging me closer to her body. She wants my tongue on her clit, and I happily oblige her, flicking it repeatedly over her engorged little button. Her moans are quickly muffled by the pillow she grabs while I keep teasing her with my tongue. It doesn’t take long until her body convulses and she comes on my face. She barely floats down from her orgasm before she tosses the pillow and her fingers in my hair tug me up.
“I need you,” she says, her aquamarine eyes hazy with lust as they plead with me.
Climbing up her body, I flip our positions, putting her on top.
“I want you to ride me, kitten,” I tell her so I can watch her tits bounce inches from my face. God, I love her breasts so much I could get off on fucking them.
After I grab the condom I left ready and waiting on the mattress, I offer it to her between two fingers, wanting her to put it on me. She takes it, opening the foil and smoothing the latex over my shaft. And just that small touch from this beautiful woman is nearly enough to have me coming in her hand.
Thankfully I last until she positions herself above me and lowers herself down my shaft. Instead of focusing on how amazing her cunt feels gripping my cock, I try to distract myself with her gorgeous tits, swaying above me. Reaching for two handfuls, I squeeze and fondle them before pinching her nipples since I know she gets off on that.
Just as I expected, her entire body trembles and her pussy clamps down harder on my dick, telling me she’s close. Fuck, I don’t want it to end. Being with Alyssa is perfect, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get enough.
Sitting up so that our chests are pressed together, I kiss her and her arms circle my neck. Then, both of us are panting into each other’s mouths while we ride out the waves of bliss rolling through us.
“I fucking love being with you,” I tell her against her lips.
Giggling, she says, “I fucking love being with you, too,” before burying her face in my sweaty neck. “Stay tonight.”
“Hell yes. I wasn’t sure I could leave even if you made me,” I tell her while kissing her temple.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nate
The next morning comes way too soon and is way too hectic. I had no idea how early a single mom had to get up to get ready for work while at the same time making sure Grayson was up and all set for school.
I barely got a kiss from Alyssa before she rushed out the door with the promise to see me again tonight. It’s Thursday, which means Grayson has class. I hope she meant I would be seeing her afterward in her bed, too.
Not wanting to linger around her empty house without Alyssa around, I get dressed and hop into my truck to head back to my apartment for a shower. I need to be at Havoc to start training at nine.
As soon as I see the firetrucks and news vans lined up around the apartment complex, I know something horrible has happened. I leave my truck at the curb since the entrance is blocked off and walk on foot through the emergency responders who ask for my ID as proof of residency before they let me cross their boundary. Lake Pointe is a big complex with about twenty total apartment buildings, so there’s a good chance that they’re not here for my building…but then I see it, the blackened, sunken crisp of the roof, smoke still billowing into the sky while firemen spray it down with water.
Fuck.
Several other residents are standing around watching, frozen in horror, so I walk up to a group of them and ask what happened. None of them know anything except that they heard the sirens around three last night and that the firemen have been here fighting it ever since.
Wandering up to an older man in a fireman uniform, I hope he can give me answers.
“Hey, um, sorry to bother you but, I was a tenant in 2-B. Did everyone make it out okay?” I ask him.
“2-B you say?” the man questions before looking down at the clipboard in his hand. “Name?”
“Nathan Lewis.”
“Fuck, we thought you were dead,” he says before he speaks into his walkie-talkie. “The fire started in your apartment,” he then tells me.
“What the hell? I wasn’t even home, and I don’t cook, so I know I didn’t leave the stove on,” I tell him, my heart racing in my chest.
“It wasn’t the stove,” he answers before his eyes narrow. “This was arson. Where were you last night?”
“I spent the night with my girlfriend, Alyssa Grant, a reporter for The Cary Journal. Call her if you want,” I say tersely, offering him my phone. “The last time I was here was yesterday morning.”
“Then apparently someone wants you dead,” he says. “You got any crazy exes? Pissed anyone off lately?”
“Did everyone get out okay?” I ask, ignoring the ridiculous question. There are no crazy exes, and I barely talk to anyone, so there’s no one I’ve pissed off. Except for Patrick. There’s no way he could’ve done this, though. I hope that with the alarm and sprinkler system, there was hopefully enough time for everyone in the building to evacuate.
“No. Janice Hargrove didn’t make it,” the fireman says, sucking the oxygen from my lungs.
“Fuck!” I shout as I turn away from him, my fists clenched wanting to punch something or someone, the person who did this. My throat burns, imagining such a nice old lady suffering so badly. Oh God, the thought causes my heart to plummet to my stomach. The images bring me to my knees and have me retching right there on the lawn in front of everyone.
“Nathan! Nathan! It’s him! Thank you, Lord!”
Hearing my mom’s frantic voice, I get to my feet just before she throws herself at me, nearly knocking me to the ground again.
“Jesus! They told us you were missing, and you didn’t answer your phone!” my dad says before he’s
wrapping me and my mom in his arms.
“I’m sorry I worried you,” I tell him when they finally let me go, and we all wipe away tears. “Last night I stayed with Alyssa, and my phone died. I had no idea…”
“Thank goodness,” my mom says. “If you had been home…”
“We’re not the only ones you’ve had worried for hours,” my dad says, nodding to the police line where Linc, Jude, Senn, Mace and Luke are watching.
“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t know, or I would’ve been here sooner,” I say as we walk over to them and duck under the tape the police are guarding.
“You scared the shit out of us,” Linc says, clasping me on the back. “Patrick went by Alyssa’s but called back and said your truck wasn’t there. It wasn’t here, but I didn’t know if it was fixed or if you got a ride home last night.”
“Sorry,” I tell them all. “I had no idea…”
“What happened to your truck?” my mom asks.
“Someone slashed his tires,” Jude answers.
“And then someone burned down your apartment. I don’t think that shit’s a coincidence,” Linc says.
“Me either,” I admit. “Mrs. Hargrove didn’t make it.”
“Aww, honey. I’m so sorry,” my mom says, giving me another hug. “She was such a nice lady.”
“I know. She didn’t deserve this shit.”
I’m gonna find out who the fuck’s responsible, and they’re gonna pay for it. The problem is, I apparently need to find them soon since they seem pretty determined to kill me.
…
Alyssa
I’ve just gotten settled at work, checked all my emails and voicemails and am ready to starting writing obits when my office phone buzzes.
“Yes?” I ask Tina, our receptionist.
“You’ve got a visitor,” she says. “Mr. Nathan Lewis.”
“Oh,” I mutter in surprise. That’s…unexpected of him, but sweet to drop by and see me. “Send him on back,” I tell her.
A moment later, he’s taking up all the space in my doorway wearing the same shirt and jeans from last night.
“Hey!” I say in greeting, a smile easily stretching across my face because he came to visit me. But then I notice his sullen expression and know something’s wrong. “Everything okay?” I ask, getting out of my chair to move closer to him.
“No,” he answers. “My apartment was burned down last night.”
“Oh my God!” I gasp, wrapping him in a hug. That’s when the distinct scent of smoke hits me. “I’m so sorry. You live at Lake Pointe?” I ask, remembering hearing some of the staff talking about it earlier this morning.
“Yeah. My neighbor didn’t make it, and it’s my fault.”
“What do you mean? You weren’t there.”
“I know, but if I had been, maybe I could’ve saved her,” he says into my hair, sounding so disappointed in himself.
“If you had been there, you may not still be alive!” I tell him, squeezing him tighter.
“It started in my apartment,” he says, causing my heart to stop. “And the fire chief said it was arson.”
“Holy shit,” I mutter, letting him go so I can see his face when I tell him what I forgot last night. “I should’ve told you. I meant to last night, but we sort of got sidetracked...”
“Told me what?” he asks.
“The gunman from the bar, Richard Tillman, was released.”
“What the fuck!” Nate exclaims, his fists clenching by his side like he wants to put a hole in the wall or in someone’s face, likely Tillman’s.
“The DA let him plead to some stupid, bullshit concealed carry charge because they said they couldn’t prove he intended to shoot up the place.”
“What the hell else was he planning to do? Go to target practice?” he shouts.
“I know. The officer was pissed but said his hands were tied. I’m sorry.”
“Wait. When did he get out?” Nate asks.
“Three days ago.”
“Fuck!” he exclaims. “It’s him! It has to be.”
“You think Tillman set your apartment on fire?” I ask.
“Yes. And slashed my tires.”
“Hold on. Your tires were slashed? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to worry you,” he says.
“Well, I’m definitely worried now,” I assure him. “I need to call the officer, Sergeant Bradley, and let him know.”
Going back to my desk, I pick up the phone and call the police station while Nate paces around my office, his fingers yanking angrily on his hair.
Bradley sounded very concerned and asked Nate to come down and give them a statement while they try and see if the apartment has surveillance videos. While he’s gone, I get to work on digging up everything there is to know about Mr. Tillman. And by the end of the day, some of the puzzle pieces finally start coming together.
…
“Miss Rodriguez, thank you so much for meeting with me,” I stand up and say to the pretty, dark-haired girl, offering her a handshake when she arrives at the coffee house bundled up in a wool jacket.
“Sure,” she says with a small smile before taking the seat across from me.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I offer.
“No, thanks.”
“Okay, well, let’s get started. Do you mind if I record this?” I ask her, holding up the small black recorder.
“No, as long as you leave my name off of it.”
“Of course,” I assure her.
Pushing the red record button, I speak into the device. “This is Alyssa Grant with a confidential witness on Friday, December eighteenth, discussing her knowledge of a Mr. Ryan Tillman. So, let’s start at the beginning. How did you know Ryan?” I ask, setting the recorder down on the table between us.
“Ryan and I went to the same high school, and we also went to church together at The Shepherd’s Flock in Raleigh.”
“So you knew him for several years?”
“Yes, from freshman year until, well, until he passed away a little over five years ago.”
“I’m so sorry you lost him. Were you close friends? Did you ever date?”
“We were good friends, but, no, we didn’t date. Ryan was gay. Not that many people knew that, but he told me.”
“So do you think his family knew about his sexual orientation?”
“I’m not sure, but probably not. I mean, his father was the preacher at the church we attended and wasn’t very…tolerant of homosexuals.”
“What happened to Ryan?” I ask.
“He…he, um, what I heard was that he hung himself,” she answers, wiping at the tears underneath her eyes. “I just couldn’t believe it because he seemed so happy, you know?”
“So he didn’t show any signs of depression or suicidal ideation?”
“No, none whatsoever. The two of us talked pretty much every day, so I think he would’ve said something to me.”
“I’m sorry. That couldn’t have been easy to deal with,” I say sincerely.
“It wasn’t. And I just wish I could’ve done something…”
I give her a few minutes when she understandably gets upset. From what she said, I’m starting to think that Ryan didn’t kill himself, that his father killed him.
“Are you aware that Ryan’s father was recently in the news?” I ask.
“Yes,” she answers, still sniffling. “Mr. Tillman went into the bar with a gun, and thankfully someone stopped him.”
“Someone did. A man I care about very much saved those people, but now Mr. Tillman is back on the streets. He was released from jail.”
“Oh my God,” she says, covering her mouth.
“Do you think he’s capable of hurting people, especially someone who may be labeled gay?”
“Yes, that’s the reason he was kicked out of our church. He remained intolerant while the rest of the congregation thought that homosexuals should be welcomed into the church like anyone else. When he refused, they fir
ed him and found a new pastor.”
After pressing stop on the recorder, I tell her, “Thank you, Miss Rodriquez. I appreciate you sitting down with me and telling me all of this. I promise not to release your name, but your statement may very well help the police.”
“Good. Mr. Tillman’s dangerous and crazy. They need to lock him up and throw away the key.”
“I agree,” I tell her, getting to my feet. “Thanks again,” I say as I rush out to find Nate and tell him it looks like he was right. Tillman is out to get him.
During my research earlier today, I found two other events that occurred on November twenty-eighth, the anniversary of Eli’s death. One was an assault and robbery that occurred just a half a block away from Chemistry the year before Eli’s accident. The year after he died, there was another brutal assault right outside the bar, and last year a man was seriously injured in an auto accident just two miles away. When I called and spoke to the victim earlier today, he said the night of the accident, he had just left Chemistry with another man, and that a car roared up on them, blinding him with the headlights before running him off the road.
Are all three of those things coincidences? I think not.
It took me a little longer to actually put the November twenty-eighth date together with the fact that Tillman’s son Ryan died five years ago. The obituary was published on November thirtieth; but after reading it, I realized he was allegedly found dead early on the morning of November twenty-ninth. Which means he likely died on the twenty-eighth. And although I don’t have any proof yet, I bet he was at Chemistry that night. Maybe his father found him there and realized he was gay. Something happened to cause Tillman to go crazy and go from hating men who are gay to trying to kill them. Which is ironic since Nate is with me now. It’s possible Tillman could just be angry at him for ruining his plan to hurt people that night at the bar. And after the stupid article Candice published about Nate, it was easy for Tillman to track him down.
This guy is a bigot, and I agree with Miss Rodriguez that he’s definitely dangerous. Now, we just have to pray that the police will be able to find him.