by David Horne
“Bulletproof Love”
M/M Gay Romance
David Horne
© 2019
David Horne
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is intended for Adults (ages 18+) only. The contents may be offensive to some readers. It may contain graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations. May contain scenes of unprotected sex. Please do not read this book if you are offended by content as mentioned above or if you are under the age of 18.
Please educate yourself on safe sex practices before making potentially life-changing decisions about sex in real life. If you’re not sure where to start, see here: http://www.jerrycoleauthor.com/safe-sex-resources/ (courtesy of Jerry Cole).
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Products or brand names mentioned are trademarks of their respective holders or companies. The cover uses licensed images and are shown for illustrative purposes only. Any person(s) that may be depicted on the cover are simply models.
Edition v1.00 (2019.02.04)
http://www.DavidHorneauthor.com
Special thanks to the volunteer readers who helped with proofreading. Thank you so much for your support.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter One
When he made the trek along the canal just before sunrise, Alex needed to decide his economic future. The paved walkway along the Rappahannock River was just over the bridge that separated downtown Fredericksburg. Alex started each day driving from the house off Salem Church Road, negotiating traffic that clogged Route 3 from commuters trying to get ahead of rush-hour traffic heading north on Interstate 95 to Washington, DC. Even at five in the morning, traffic was terrible. Central Park in Fredericksburg intersected with heavy-footed drivers bottlenecked in their dash to beat others into the metropolitan soup that was the destination for the marathon racers.
Accidents occurred every day. Either on Interstate 95, where aggressive drivers made poor decisions, following too close or complacent drivers, too caught up on their smartphones, playing with social media applications or texting, instead of watching the road and the other cars carrying drivers with similar habits. Alex didn’t have to use a smartphone while he drove; he was still a victim of one of those persistent negligent drivers.
Getting to the John Lee Pratt off River Road every morning, gave Alex solace between aggressive drivers. He’d take a leisurely stroll by the side of the river and consider his life and events over the last five years he’d been alone. The mortgage on the house took the brunt of his income from the security job and left very little for other expenses. Making ends meet meant opening the three bedroom house to a lodger. While Alex liked Gary, the man was respectful and habitually clean, Gary’s girlfriend, Angelica was something of a cross between a feral cat and a prima donna. Set in her ways, she’d slowly occupied the house in the way invading countries takeover. It happened overnight and without notice.
Now Alex had to decide with some forethought. More of Angelica’s belongings migrated into the house. Her clothes filled laundry baskets, bric-a-brac nested on countertops. She stayed overnight with Gary, mostly camping in his bedroom next to Alex’s bedroom where he heard the combination of reality television shows and raw animal sex sounds that sometimes permeated the nights. Especially on nights when neither party had to work the following day. Their consideration for days off didn’t reflect Alex’s work schedule. So he abided their almost nightly communion that was auditory with rhythmic bumping of the headboard against the wall.
But the electric bill increased. The water bill increased. And the dwelling Alex purchased with his husband was no longer a home for him. With Angelica’s presence and lack of contributions, he paid the brunt of the bills and hadn’t asked for a third of her share since she’d arrived without a predetermined departure date.
All these things Alex considered. Using the fresh morning air and a brisk walk to lubricate his limbs and mind for the tasks of work and home life that didn’t feel right to him on either level.
The phone vibrated in his pocket. Marjorie Atkinson was Alex’s best friend. She had a bubbly personality and body shape. Marjorie was there through high school and growing up in the community that was supposed to be just a stopgap before college and Alex decided on a life beyond the historic city. Little did he know then that Fredericksburg was a heart to the arteries of roadways that led away from the hometown to the rest of the world. But Alex never made his way out of the Virginia burgh. And he never wanted to leave after he fell in love.
But that was a lifetime ago, and he needed to make decisions that affected the future. Marjorie had a set of early morning emojis ranging from animals to feces with faces. Every day of the week had a particular cartoon assigned. Alex knew by the ideogram what day of the week without using the calendar when days ran together.
His confidant, Marjorie didn’t use a filter when she expressed distaste for certain people. Much like her colorful use of applied emoticons through texting, her vocal variations were off-putting, and she wasn’t afraid of using volume to get her points across. Not wanting to waste the rest of the morning facing the phone, Alex didn’t respond to her generic salutations and questions about breaking the news to Alex’s renters about increased monthly budgets. She’d offered to help, but Alex knew Marjorie’s bargaining for more money likely entailed pointed accusations toward Angelica.
There were a few people along the winding path. The sky overhead was coated with icy gray clouds. No room for sunlight, but promises of more rain on the chilly March morning. Some he recognized from daily passing. Many people brought their dogs to enjoy the scenery and the river’s edge. But the heavy rains throughout February made the river swollen with muddy water that bubbled and rushed by too fast and too dangerous to allow dogs to play near.
Alex checked the time on the smartphone before he pocketed it again and made his way back to his car to finish his drive north to work. Marjorie wanted to know if he’d talked to his tenants. But Alex didn’t want to give her another excuse to do his job. He wasn’t assertive at home. That was a place where he didn’t have to focus on work and avoiding confrontation with Gary and Angelia was as simple as sequestering himself in the bedroom after work. He’d fix dinner after showering, and watch television alone, while they occupied the rest of the house as they owned it instead of just renting space. He kne
w the day loomed when household expenses were an unavoidable topic to bring up. But Alex volunteered for a few more shifts at work. That meant more hours away and more income to cover detriment. Marjorie meant well, But Alex had to make the decision and address it accordingly. That Thursday morning didn’t feel right. And he wanted another electric bill with the increased usage to use as leverage when the time came.
Head clear, fresh morning air spilled into the car from the open driver side window while Alex pulled out of the parking lot. He drove along the bumpy and skinny River Road to slip out on Route One north, hoping for a break in the morning traffic to drive toward Stafford. The bustle along the rural highway was as thick as the Interstate, with just as many antagonistic drivers. Another buzz from his pocket suggested Marjorie wasn’t happy with Alex’s choice to ignore her text. But he didn’t text and drive. And it was difficult for Alex to condone anyone who chose such negative behavior.
Chapter Two
Work was episodic without excitement. It wasn’t the kind of thing that anyone expected when they started working security jobs. But Alex had a lifetime of experience and liked the idea that after thirty years he’d collect a modest pension and likely never had to pull a weapon for the sake of a robbery. His prior military and tactical experience put him in a category that made him overqualified for the armed security job. But Marjorie came to the rescue, making a preemptive change on his resume that made Alex a more appealing candidate for the position. Now after five years, he only had twenty-five more to go before he didn’t have to work in a dead end job.
The armored transport industry around Stafford, Virginia didn’t require a lot of thought. Surrounded by incompetent and under appreciative coworkers, Alex was a senior officer as soon as he started. It wasn’t for the title, like everyone else; he began on the lowly long-haul shifts, rotating between businesses. But Alex was more mature at forty-five. His supervisor was ten years his junior and during the course of their business relationship, his supervisor, Billy, deferred to Alex’s expertise when it came to proper transportation and keeping officers on the righteous path of the oath, they all took to care for the property and especially the money bags they collected from business owners every day.
“You’re late,” Marjorie said when she unlocked the rear security door to the bank allowing Alex inside with two sacks of cash. Coin rolls were heavy, and Alex liked the systematic workout he received in the upper body carrying the money. Each day he curled the bags intentionally for the triceps and bicep muscles exercise.
“I’m with Mark today,” he replied as an excuse. It was enough for Marjorie to nod briefly in understanding. Mark cared more about the constant social feed on his smartphone than the fact they hauled considerable amounts of cash from location to location. Security truck transports were frequently boring rides throughout the day in bumper to bumper traffic. Heists mostly ever happened in movies. Alex wasn’t interested in films depicting the potential for bodily harm. Many of the younger officers expressed interest in such adventures. While they qualified to carry a firearm, Alex felt he was surrounded by people with the density of lead, which outweighed the amount used in their ammunition. But he wasn’t one to complain about coworkers. He just wanted to go day to day, do the job and clock out one more day closer to retirement.
“Did you get my text this morning?” she prodded. It was a rhetorical question that Alex didn’t respond to as he hefted the bags on the countertop. They were in the outer chamber of the safe room. Modern banks didn’t have as much need for physical cash. More people used less hard currency, and plastic credit cards were more natural to use and carry than annoying and obsolete coins. Linen money in the United States continued to circulate, and most of the exchanges at the branch level for banks was to exchange fresher paper cash for worn and torn bills.
There was a view of the lobby through the four camera security feed on the flat screen monitor. Whenever Alex went to the branches, he checked the feed routinely. Never expecting more than just the average customer, making the regular transaction, it was a good habit to maintain vigilance just in case someone wanted to withdraw more than their share.
“Isn’t Mark the one who smokes pot on the weekends?” Marjorie asked. She unlocked the cash bags with the key and dumped the contents on the table. As branch manager, she could delegate the counting and sort to other tellers. But she liked the backroom and her office because she didn’t have to deal with too many customers.
Instead of looking at Marjorie, Alex watched the monitor. There was a tall, handsome man in one of the teller lines. Thursdays were usually slower for the bank. Lines were limited because the branch didn’t require all tellers working with very few people in the queue. It was the scheduled time for the currency replenishing from the armored security. There were more people than Alex usually saw on Thursdays. There were three others in the lines besides the handsome forty-something man, and Alex caught something peculiar about the scene.
“Are you okay?” she asked. She looked up from her count midway. Then she clicked her tongue and recounted the bundles.
“I need you to send the alarm.”
Marjorie dropped the bundles again. It was a statement no one in the banking industry wanted to hear. Before Marjorie could open her mouth to Alex to repeat his order, he slipped through the heavy door and out into the lobby.
There were three males. Ball caps and hoodies, obscuring faces, chins against chests and sideways glances, they made eye contact with each other. While the smartly dressed tall man was next in line, the moment the heavyset younger man shoved him out of the way; Alex was diving over the counter into the open space of the lobby.
The closest of the three men caught the full shoulder weight against his midsection. Alex used the momentum of inertia, targeting the thin and pasty man’s side. There was a crunch from under the black cotton hoodies as the man’s body folded sideways with Alex’s tackle. There was a grunt as Alex drove him to the floor, knee against the man’s chest. His body weight pressed the remaining air from the lungs, leaving the man stunned, injured and breathless.
As the second man in the queue looked to his cohort, eyes filled with shock and surprise, Alex drove the side of his forearm into the second man’s neck. He had the element of surprise and years of experience. Alex pulled back when his forearm connected with the throat avoiding fracturing the trachea.
The man crumbled, gasping as soon as Alex stood up straight. The third man who shoved his attractive victim, was quicker than his friends. The black object in the right pocket of the oily blue hoodie was in his hand. He managed to stagger backward, away from Alex before he could reach the man.
There were screams from females around them. Alex’s brain was in automatic mode. He felt the pulse of blood throttling through his arteries from the hammering muscle deep inside the cocoon of the Kevlar vest. He wanted the object currently waving around as the man’s arm pin-wheeled trained on the one object inside the bank that could take the brunt of the impact without loss of life. Quickly, Alex twisted, sidestepping away from the tellers, forcing the man to target him without threat behind him. Two of the eight bodies on the floor in the lobby were down because of Alex’s immediate action. The others were patrons to the bank. That included the man who sustained a physical altercation with the one robber who had enough sense to pull their weapon. The other two as far as Alex saw through his peripheral vision reeled from the attack.
“You’re done,” Alex stated clearly. He took another step, hoping the bank wall was immediately behind him instead of the large bay window in case the robber squeezed the trigger.
“Get down!” the man called. He looked unwashed, malnourished, with glassy eyes. There were gaps in his yellowed teeth, suggesting not just lack of dental care but harsh chemical inhalants that scored the enamel of his teeth. Alex saw a wavering hand; the pistol was small in the fist. It looked dry, but the hole at the end was as black as death pointing directly at Alex.
Alex’s weapon was in
his grip. A military reflex that made it natural as breathing or the beating of his heart protected by the body armor. Without thought or consideration for personal safety, Alex moved forward.
The man’s eyes opened wider in surprise. Before he could think, Alex stepped inside the extended arm and twisted the pistol and wrist with his free left hand and hammered the butt of the gun against the would-be robber’s nose.
Three attackers down within the space of seconds after Alex launched himself over the counter, and he stood over the last of the three with the pistol leveled down, near the attacker but not pointed directly at him in case adrenaline betrayed Alex and forced the trigger finger to contract in a negligent discharge.
“Stay down!” he bellowed. Even the patrons huddled against the thin carpet.
The scream of sirens grew in volume outside the bank. Alex felt a bead of sweat trickle down his cheek. Its path was itchy and inconvenient in the most inopportune times. He made eye contact with the man who’d been shoved to the floor. And despite himself, Alex made a physical gesture that he immediately regretted.
Chapter Three
Facing danger was one thing he’d learned, facing the scrutiny of inquiry was another thing altogether. Alex stood a few inches from the wall in the bank. Fatigue pulled at his limbs, but he didn’t want to appear lazy, using the wall as an excuse to lean against. He waited for the sheriff detectives to do their jobs. Making observations of their tactics helped Alex pass the time. He suspected none of them had experience with bank robbery before and while they knew crime scenes, the order of interviews and what to do in the manner of the scenario was new to them.
One detective had age on his side. But the bulbous detective in an ill-fitting suit spent a lot of time scratching his head, looking at notes in a leather-bound notepad. Alex watched the detective with mild interest. Out of the eight deputies inside the locked bank, he was the only man who had the countenance of a professional in Alex’s surmise.