Independence Day 2

by Christiane France

  He took a sip of the vodka and watched a couple of young guys making out on the dance floor. They looked so young, so vulnerable, it reminded Nick of himself and Al way back when they first met back in high school. They'd been so much in love, so sure it would last forever.

  "Hey! Can I buy you a drink?"

  The soft, deep voice and blast of bad breath made Nick turn his head, and he found himself almost nose-to-nose with the pockmarked face of one of Vegas' innumerable Elvis look-alikes. At one time, the man had probably been quite good-looking. Now, he was way past his prime, seriously overweight, close to sixty, and with the pathetic, almost desperate air of the constantly-on-the-prowl who found very few takers.

  He felt sorry for the guy. After all, a few years from now, who knew where he might be himself. Rather than ignore the man or be rude, he resorted to a time-honored lie by saying, "Thanks, man, but I'm waiting for someone. Sorry."

  "Hey, beat it. He's waiting for me," a laughing, younger voice chimed in on Nick's other side. "Sorry 'bout that, Gus. Better pickings elsewhere, yeah?"

  The older guy shuffled off, and Nick turned to look at the newcomer. His glance took in a cap of tight, dark curls, hot chocolate eyes, and skin the color of café au lait. Just then, the newcomer smiled and slowly licked his lips with the tip of his tongue, and Nick felt his insides do a shimmy. Dressed in a black tank top, black jeans, a gold stud in one ear and a watch that would probably have felt more at home at NASA HQ, he looked good enough to eat.

  Nick figured him to be maybe a couple of years younger than he was, but taller and broader across the shoulders. All in all, a body to die for and with a smile designed to melt even the strongest objections. Suddenly, Nick's cock was as hard as a rock and pressing against the zipper of his newly washed jeans. "Thanks, I think," Nick murmured.

  "You're welcome. Gus is a nice enough guy, but not exactly what most of the customers here are looking for, if you catch my drift? By the way, I'm Sacha," he added.

  "And I'm Nick. You a regular here?"

  "I guess you could call me that. I work as a dancer in a couple of shows on the Strip. The one at the Flamingo is dark tonight, and I don't have to be at the other place until midnight, so I thought I'd come over here for a while."

  Nick signaled the bartender. "What are you drinking?"

  "A dark beer would be nice." The chocolate eyes looked hot enough to melt everything within a two-foot radius. "I find it gives me that extra bit of energy."

  Nick's hard-on was developing a significant ache, but he waited until after he'd ordered the beer for Sacha and another vodka for himself. "Wanna dance?" he asked. "Or do you have enough of that on the job?"

  "I'd rather do this." Sacha's hand moved up Nick's leg from his knee to his groin, and he began to fondle Nick through the fabric of his pants.

  Nick's first reaction was to pull away, to tell the guy to get lost. Even though it would never amount to anything more than a one-off, he liked a bit more of a build-up, such as a couple of drinks, or a dance or two...something to get him in the mood. Sacha had dispensed with the need for any preliminaries. He'd stated his case with that single look, and now it was up to Nick.

  In fact, why not? Sacha was good-looking and sexy, and Nick would be lying if he said he didn't want him. Mostly, though, he needed what he was offering--a few minutes of mindless sex to restore his confidence and soothe away the hurt. He closed his eyes as he bucked against the probing fingers and groaned his pleasure, all the time wondering how long he could hold back.

  "Feels good, hmm?"

  "Something like that."

  "Want me to stop?"

  Nick was having trouble with his breathing. "God, no!"

  "What say we check out one of the rooms in back?" Sacha said softly. He kissed Nick's ear and trailed the tip of his tongue wetly around the outer rim. "We can enjoy our drinks and have ourselves a little lovin' all at the same time. You in the mood for that?"

  The room was small and basic--a padded couch that doubled as a bed, a table for their drinks, a sink and a toilet. As Nick put his drink down on the table, Sacha moved in behind him, and he felt the other man's huge dick pressing against his ass. Between the broad shoulders and well-conditioned hips, Nick had suspected he might be well-endowed, but that was fine by him. Big was good. He drew in a breath of anticipation as Sacha kissed his neck and pinched his nipples before sliding his hands down Nick's flat belly and opening the zipper on his jeans. Sacha's touch was gentle but insistent, and Nick could hardly wait for the real action to begin.

  "Hey, what we got going on in here?" Sacha said as he liberated Nick's shaft from the confinement of his clothing. "Didn't expect you to have such a nice big fellah like this all ready and waiting for me."

  As Sacha continued to stroke his cock and alternately squeeze his balls, Nick pushed his disaster of a day to the back of his mind and concentrated on the familiar build-up engendered by the other man's touch. Yes, damn it! This was exactly what he needed. He'd always enjoyed sex, the kissing, the touching, and the closeness of two bodies locked together. Everything about it felt so good, so liberating. It made him feel alive.

  Since this was sex plain and simple, Nick had expected they would get straight to business and it would be over before they were halfway through their drinks. However, Sacha seemed content to take his time. His clever fingers pushed Nick to the edge and eased him back a couple of times, and then he used the pad of his thumb to add a little extra excitement by teasing the damp tip.

  Nick snuggled his butt against Sacha's belly. "What's the hold up, man?"

  "No hold up. Just don't like to be hurried is all."

  Pushing Nick's jeans down below his knees, Sacha took a couple of condoms from his back pocket and handed one to Nick. He then took off his black jeans, covered his own impressive arousal with the other condom and reached for the dispenser of hand soap at the side of sink.

  "Bend over, man, and relax, I don't want to hurt you," he instructed, squirting a generous amount of the liquid down Nick's crack. "This stuff works almost as good as regular lube."

  For some reason, the splash of cold liquid added an extra dimension of anticipation. Nick closed his eyes and held on tight to the padded bench as Sacha inserted a finger in his hole and then added a second. When he'd loosened the muscle sufficiently, he added another squirt of the cool liquid to ensure easy entry. His breathing suddenly ragged with excitement, it took all Nick's powers of concentration to keep still as Sacha parted his ass cheeks and he felt the tip of Sacha's shaft pushing against him. Once he had the head in place, Sacha wrapped his arms around Nick's waist and pushed all the way in.

  "Now, we just take it easy," Sacha said as he grasped Nick's cock in both hands and began to ride him in slow, unhurried thrusts.

  Nick loved the feeling of Sacha's big dick buried in his ass and then withdrawing, while Sacha's hands stroked and squeezed.

  But all too quickly the few minutes of intimacy and closeness were over. Nick started to orgasm, and then it was Sacha's turn.

  By the time they'd cleaned up and were back at the bar, ordering fresh drinks, those few minutes in the back room felt to Nick like something that had happened in a dream. He even had the familiar sense of letdown that followed a dream.

  This time, Sacha paid for their drinks, and as he returned his change to the front pocket of his jeans, he gave Nick a wide, sexy smile and said, "That was great. Maybe we can do it again. I'm usually in here every Thursday night, and sometimes on weekends, too."

  An image of Trip's blond hair, handsome face, and surfer boy body invaded Nick's thoughts. "Sure, sounds good," Nick lied, making a mental note to avoid this particular bar on Thursdays and weekends. Sacha was a nice guy and everything anyone could ask for in a hook-up, but if Nick had been looking for anything really meaningful, he was sadly out of luck. There had been the great build-up, the fantastic rush, then nothing. Still, for Nick that was pretty much the norm with a one-off. It almost always left him feeling depr
essed and miserable, as if he'd somehow missed the mark, and tonight was no different.

  Just then, Sacha turned away to talk to someone he appeared to know, and Nick avoided the embarrassment of inventing an excuse to leave by grabbing the opportunity to disappear. He'd find another bar and have a couple more drinks. Following that, he'd find a cab and head home.

  The next place where Nick stopped was a block away and the clientele appeared to be a mix of gay and straight. He knew there was no guarantee he wouldn't get hit on, but figuring it would be less likely here than elsewhere, he found a spot at one end of the bar and ordered another vodka.

  "You alone?"

  The query came from a young guy in impossibly tight, but ragged jeans, a muscle shirt, a nose ring and one of those imitation prison-style tattoos on his neck. He didn't look old enough to be out on his own at this hour, never mind hanging around a bar. Nick shook his head, mouthed, "No," and the boy-man melted back into the crowd near the dance floor.

  Over the next half-hour and two more drinks, Nick was accosted by several men of varying ages and a middle-aged woman so drunk she could barely stand. Deciding it was time for him to go, Nick quickly finished his drink and was about to vacate his seat when the young guy who'd approached him earlier returned with a friend, apparently for round two.

  "So where's your friend?" the first boy asked with a sneer. "He one of them invisible dudes like the little kids have? Or you got something personal against me?" He stuck out a hip. "We got a special going on tonight. You can have the two of us for the price of one. Best deal you'll find, guaranteed."

  The boy was clearly trolling for business and probably panicking because he was having a bad night. As far as Nick was concerned, he'd get better results if he dropped the belligerent attitude in favor of a smile and a little sweet talk, but he wasn't about to tell him that. Boys in his line of work weren't likely to take any type of advice kindly and, since Nick knew many of them carried knives for protection, he decided to keep his mouth shut and just leave.

  As he went to push his way past, the first boy grabbed a handful of Nick's shirt and held on tight. "Didn't your mom teach you it's rude not to answer when someone asks you a question," the boy demanded. Up close this like, Nick could see into the boy's eyes and realized the kid was also a druggie and obviously desperate for his next fix.

  "Hey, you tell him, Slick," another young voice encouraged from somewhere behind Nick. "Teach the old fucker some manners, why don't you?"

  "Just let me go, okay?" As Nick tried to disentangle the first boy's hand from his shirt, he kneed Nick in the crotch, creating a wave of excruciating pain that momentarily paralyzed his body. As the pain receded a little and he tried to straighten, someone else kicked him hard in the ass, shouting, "Drunken fucker tried holding out on us. Won't pay us our money."

  In seconds, Nick was down on the floor being punched and kicked by what felt like everyone in the immediate area. All he could do was wrap his arms around his head to try and limit the damage, and wonder what in hell was keeping the bouncers from intervening.

  How long it went on, he didn't know. His body was being hammered like a drum, and Nick could hardly believe he was still alive and conscious. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the brutal assault was over. The last thing Nick remembered was someone picking him up bodily, flying through the air and landing on something cold and exceedingly hard. After that nothing.

  * * * *

  Trip hadn't been asleep for more than a few minutes when the phone awakened him. He considered letting it go to voice mail, but very few people had his number and none of them were likely to call him at this hour without a good reason, so he picked up.

  "What's the problem?"

  "Hi, Trip, it's Jim. Sorry to be calling you this late. Hope I didn't wake you up."

  "It's okay. I'm assuming this is important."

  "I just had a call from Lenny DeSantos."

  "Lenny in payroll?"

  "Yeah. He and some friends are over by the Fruit Loop. Apparently, they were walking past one of the bars, when the door flew open and the bouncers threw a guy out into the street. At first, they figured it was just a drunk causing trouble. Then Lenny thought there was something familiar about the guy, and when he didn't move, he went over and checked. He says it's Nick Gregorio. Seems he's been badly beaten up and his wallet's been stolen."

  "Lenny's quite sure it's Nick?"

  "He said he recognized him right away. Anyway, I asked if he'd called the cops or an ambulance, but he said not. Before he had a chance to do that, Nick started to come around. Told Lenny he didn't want him calling the cops or taking him to the hospital. He just wanted Lenny to find him a taxi so he could go home. Lenny didn't think that was a good idea because he says Nick's taken quite a kicking and he's still pretty woozy. That's why he called me. He doesn't want to go against Nick's wishes, but he says Nick is in no condition to be on his own. I told him to sit tight while I called you to see what you thought."

  Trip felt a tiny clutch of fear that he refused to explore. He already knew having feelings for a fellow employee could be tricky, but it was a lot too late for him to start worrying about that. Whether Nick realized it or not, Trip was very much involved. "Where are they now?"

  "Waiting in Lenny's car, somewhere in the area of the Fruit Loop from what he said. You want his cell number?"

  "Please." Trip wrote down the number Jim gave him and said, "Thanks, Jim. You get back to whatever you were doing. I'll take it from here."

  The moment Jim disconnected Trip tapped in Lenny's number.

  Lenny answered immediately with a brief, "Yo."

  "Lenny? This is Trip Browning. Jim tells me that Nick has got himself into a little trouble. Where are you, exactly?"

  "I'm parked over on Paradise, just before the intersection with East Harmon. Nick doesn't seem to think anything's broken, but his face is a real mess and he's definitely hurting. He was also unconscious when I first found him. He says he's fine and that he doesn't need to go to the hospital. Even so, I don't think it's a good idea for me just to drop him off at his place. He says he lives alone. What do you figure I should do?"

  After a moment's indecision, Trip decided to take charge. If Nick didn't like him interfering that was too bad. If Lenny read something more into his offer than Trip wanted him to, that was also too bad. Leaving Nick alone with a possible concussion wasn't an option as far as Trip was concerned. He cared too much for Nick to do anything that irresponsible.

  "Tell you what. I live only a couple of blocks from where you are. Maybe you should bring him over here, and I'll make sure he gets whatever care and attention he needs. Do you want to write down the address?"

  * * * *

  By the time Trip got Nick out of Lenny's car and upstairs to his apartment, he knew his decision had been the right one. One eye was swollen shut, the other looked red, and he had a split lip. On top of that, his clothes were covered with a mixture of blood and dirt, and between a bad case of the shakes and difficulty walking, Nick was in no condition to take care of himself.

  "What happened?" Trip asked, barely resisting the urge to wrap his arms around Nick and hold him close as he settled Nick on the living room sofa.

  "I got jumped by a couple of drugged up kids who, I guess, were looking for money for their next fix. When I wouldn't play ball, they pretended I'd stiffed them, so they beat me up and took my wallet. How did you get involved?"

  "Lenny called Jim, and Jim called me. Was there no security around?"

  "Sure there was. But by the time they showed up, the kids had vanished, and I guess I was out for the count. You know the policy in most places when it comes to bar fights. They don't worry about guilt, innocence or calling the cops. They just want everyone out, fast. The next thing I remember is Lenny and some other people showing up and asking me what happened."

  "And since no one will confirm you were even in that bar in the first place, they don't need to worry about claims on their insurance
or law suits. Right?"

  "Right. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna live, so no hospitals, okay?" Nick said on a groan as he tried to change his position.

  "My neighbor is a doctor at the medical center down the street, and I know he just came home. Will you let him check you for concussion? Just as a precaution."

  "I was only out for a minute or so."

  "Humor me? Please."

  "A couple of painkillers and a glass of water, and I'll be fine come morning."

  "Maybe you will, but I'd rather hear what the doc has to say." Without giving Nick the chance to come up with any more arguments, Trip was out of his apartment and, within a minute or so, came back with his neighbor in tow.

  "Nick, this is Doc Simms. Doc, my friend, Nick."

  Once Nick told him what had happened, the doctor wanted to know if Nick had a headache, blurred vision or felt dizzy. Nick told the doctor that right now all he had was a bunch of sore spots from the kicks and punches. Following a brief examination of Nick's actual injuries, the doctor stepped back and shrugged. "No signs of concussion and no broken bones that I can find, but I'd still recommend you go get yourself checked out. Never hurts to be really sure."

  "Can it wait until tomorrow?" Nick asked.

  The doctor gave another shrug. "That's up to you. But if you start feeling any worse, develop a headache, or any other symptoms, such as blurred vision or you get dizzy or disoriented, I suggest you go right away."

  After the doctor left, Trip said, "I'll find you a pair of my jogging pants and a shirt, so you can get out of those clothes and help yourself to a hot shower."

  "Sounds good." Nick levered himself off the sofa. "You're not going to ask me what I was doing over there?"

  Trip could guess, but no way would he ask. "It's none of my business. But offhand, I'd say you were there because you're a free agent and you felt like having a drink."