The Hands

by Andrea Speed, A. B. Gayle, Jessie Blackwood, J. J Levesque, Katisha Moreish

  Aiden took a step back and jerked Dante back. The dog really was getting bigger, but now wasn’t the time to think of that. He wiped a bead of sweat off his face. He didn’t want to turn and put his back to the man who easily outweighed him by a hundred pounds and had a couple of inches on him, but he couldn’t just back down the path.

  Vale watched the teacher and noticed how stiff and frightened his body language became as he talked to Dmitri. Funny how he had that effect on almost everyone. The cliche was that Dmitri wouldn’t hurt a fly, but of course Dmitri would hurt a fly. He broke arms for a living. He’d do worse for extra.

  He had the cloth prepared in advance. Just some ether, an old fashioned way of doing things, but remarkably efficient for all of that. Sometimes you couldn’t improve on the classics.

  As Dmitri kept the teacher and his pissy little dog preoccupied, Vale walked right up behind him, and the teacher didn’t seem to notice until Vale clamped the cloth over his nose and mouth.

  The pretty boy attempted to elbow him, but it was soft and not well aimed, and when the dog turned and lunged at him, Vale kicked it, the point of his wingtip connecting with its ribs and sending it flying as the leash slipped out of Parker’s hand. The teacher slumped, dead weight, but he kept the cloth over his nose and mouth for thirty seconds longer, in case he was faking. Unlikely, but you could never be too careful.

  “Why do you want him?” Dmitri wondered, picking the teacher up and throwing him over his shoulder.

  “You don’t ask why,” Vale reminded him. Dmitri shut up. No, he wasn’t paid to ask questions.

  They walked through the woods to Vale’s hidden car, and Dmitri obediently dropped Parker in the trunk, like he was a sack of road salt. Vale took a moment to put a plastic zip tie on Parker’s wrists, so even if he regained consciousness before he got him set up it wouldn’t do him any good at all.

  Slamming the trunk shut had never felt so satisfying. Wait until Archer realized what he’d done.

  Haven Falls #172 - Moving On and In

  Miles Sutherland and Carter (Gil) Gillespie

  ________________________________________________

  Gil had fretted about Miles, wondering if he had arrived home in one piece, although he had shoved that aside while he was in Lyle’s company. Miles wasn’t a child and Lyle deserved Gil’s undivided attention while they were together. The moment Lyle had gone home after lunch, Gil had taken to glancing at the phone every half hour, wondering if he should call. Finally, he decided to go round to Miles’ house. He needed to see if the arrangement was still on, if Miles was still happy for him to move in.

  The evening was foggy and damp and fitted Gil’s mood. Flynn had been a complete arsehole last night and almost ruined their evening, then Miles had figured he was playing gooseberry and wouldn’t join them. He walked, hurrying against the bad weather. He could always get a cab home. He checked his watch, nearly seven. Maybe he could suggest they go for dinner somewhere.

  The sound of barking dragged Miles from a sweet dream. The image of a brown eyed man with a tight butt and smooth skin had featured prominently. He checked his watch. Seven o’clock. What the fuck? He’d collapsed on the bed for a quick nap in the afternoon and must have slept longer than he intended to. Luckily he didn’t have to be at work until early Sunday. He dragged on an old pair of sweatpants and stumbled to the door, tightening the drawstring as he went. What was up with Roofie? He was standing in front of the door, his tail wagging furiously from side to side. Miles lifted the edge of the blind and peeped outside. Shit. It was Gil. Hopefully it wasn’t an emergency at the hospital. Nope. His pager would have gone off if it was.

  Gil waited, wondering if Miles was out for the evening. The damp started to creep down the back of his neck. He shivered, hoping Miles would open up soon and invite him in. For July, the weather was awful. Barking reached his ears through the door. Roofie. Obviously not out walking the dog then. Gil was about to knock again when he saw the blind twitch.

  Miles opened the door and stared at his visitor. Gil was wearing a weather proof coat and had his shoulders hunched. A cold mist seemed to fold around him and creep inside. Miles used his leg to wedge Roofie against the door frame. “Come in before the dog gets out. He’s worse than Houdini.”

  Gil laughed and bent to ruffle the dog behind the ears. “Escape artist, hah?” He glanced at Miles. The man looked like he had only just got up. His hair was messy and he looked...Gil belatedly registered the fact that he was bare-chested. “Never mind the dog, you’ll freeze if we stay here any longer, and I thought British weather was bad.”

  “Yeah.” Miles rubbed his neck as he walked toward the kitchen. Was this a social call or what? “Do you want a beer?”

  “Actually, coffee would be good.” Gil took off his coat and shivered. He hadn’t bothered to put a sweater on and regretted it, although the house was warm. He hung his wet coat on the back of the door.

  Miles shut the refrigerator door and straightened. After last night’s over indulgence, his ulcer would probably prefer milk. He sniggered. Cats drank milk. Not real men! He filled the jug and turned on the coffee maker. “Ah, let’s see if I’ve got this right. You’re a milk and sugar man, right?” He reached into the cupboard and dragged down all the necessary items.

  “Thanks, you remembered.” Gil smiled although he was pretty sure he’d heard Miles snigger just then. What the doctor found funny wasn’t immediately evident so he made no comment. “Sorry to drop on you like this, I came to check about our arrangement.”

  “Arrangement?” Miles nearly dropped the sugar bowl as he turned to stare at Gil? “Um, sorry, you’ve lost me there. What arrangement?” He placed the blue china bowl down and was pleased to see his fingers didn’t shake too much.

  “Me moving in? Here, with you? I wasn’t sure it would still be on...”

  Miles swallowed. He’d been half asleep when he’d opened the door. Now the events of the previous evening came rushing back. Images of the man in front of him kissing the prissy assistant mortician coming back in vivid clarity. “From what I saw last night I thought you’d be more interested in moving in with Liam, Lyle whatsisname.”

  “He’s a friend. Look, Miles, for what it’s worth, I’m not making attachments here. Not yet anyhow. Last night was fun, for both of us. That’s all.” Gil frowned. He wanted Miles to understand.

  “Do you kiss all your friends like that?” Miles put up his hands to apologize as soon as he said the words. It was no business of his who Gil kissed or didn’t kiss. Was it just the sight of two people kissing that had thrown him, or the fact it was Gil? The jury was still out on that one. “Sorry, mate. Out of line. I know. I’m just having second thoughts about whether or not it’s a good idea. You might not like the way I bum around the house all day. I’m not exactly a neat freak.”

  “The words ‘Miles Sutherland’ and ‘bum around the house all day’ shouldn’t occupy the same sentence, seeing as how you spend most of your time at that damned hospital.” Gil observed with a grin. “I’m not exactly Mr. Tidy either. I like to relax. Believe me, if I thought you were a neat freak I’d never have agreed in the first place.” Gil wondered what had prompted the crack about kissing. “and the answer to your earlier question...” he paused, put his head on one side, regarding Miles thoughtfully, “...I haven’t had many people in my life who I would call friends, but the ones I do have, yes, I do kiss them...probably not like that, but I’m only just finding the delights of being footloose and fancy free.” What’s the matter, he thought, not getting enough?

  The mug slopped slightly as he placed it in front of Gil. Damn. Miles grabbed a paper towel and wiped up the mess. Would he be able to stand living with this man? He was the complete opposite of him in so many ways. The rumbles in his stomach grew louder. He opened the refrigerator again and stared blindly inside. Having someone around the house all the time. Could he stand that? That was the question. “I could probably whip up an omelet if you’re hungry.” He gra
bbed the carton of eggs. He hadn’t actually said yes or no, had he?

  “Tell you what.” Gil came up and threw an arm round Miles’ shoulders as he peered into the fridge. “How about you let me cook?” Gil peered into the fridge then turned to look into Miles’ eyes.

  Before Gil could say or do anything else, Miles shoved the carton of eggs into his hands. “No, you sit there, and I’ll cook.“ He growled. The kitchen was his domain. The sooner he sorted that one out the better. He reached in and grabbed bacon, mushrooms, capsicum, cheese and an onion.

  Gil was grinning; he couldn’t help it. Precious about the kitchen, hm? He could live with that. “Yes, sir,” he replied. “Omelets would be fine.” He retreated to a stool and sipped his coffee, watching Miles as he moved about. “Can I help?”

  Miles pushed against the bench, willing his cock to go down. That quick ‘Yes, sir’ had pushed all his buttons and the poor guy probably hadn’t even realized what he’d said. He dragged out a chopping board and sharp knife. “If I can trust you not to cut yourself, you can cut up the onion and the bacon. I like ‘em small.” He didn’t really, he liked them big, but he wasn’t going down that road with his thoughts was he? He pressed into the bench harder. Was he!

  “Am I going to find out you were a drill sergeant in another life?” Gil asked teasingly, taking the knife and stripping the onions. “How fine do you want these? There’s small and there’s small, and you want me to use another knife on the bacon?”

  “Yeah, and this board.” Miles handed Gil a Pyrex cutting board. At least he wasn’t a complete ignoramus about mixing animal and vegetable preparation. “That’s probably small enough.” He scooped the cut pieces into a small saucepan and started heating them on top of the gas flame.

  “So, do I get this every night? I mean, when I move in?” Gil was enjoying this. He liked Miles’ company, despite the gruffness. He was pretty sure Miles had no idea what was going through Gil’s mind and certain he had no clue what opening the door to him in his half-dressed state had done either. Gil sighed, a pity really. He was beginning to think that the main reason he wasn’t looking for permanency was that he wanted a chance with the doctor. He had no clue why, he wasn’t nearly as good-looking as some of the studs in this place, but Miles had plenty going for him. He was dedicated, he was sincere, what you saw was what you got with him.

  “Drill sergeant, eh? You like taking orders?” Miles suddenly panicked. This was getting out of hand. Hand? He groaned as a sudden image of where Gil could put his hand made Miles swallow before he added. “You can cut up the capsicum now and the mushrooms. I’ll beat the eggs.” Oh shit. The word ‘beat’ offered up a few other images, too.

  “Actually, I like giving orders...” Gil shrugged. “But mostly, I prefer equality.” He levelled the knife at Miles and smiled as he said “So does this mean I can’t cross the kitchen threshold then? Could make getting a drink of water a little difficult. Or should I sneak down after lights out?”

  At least the whirr of the egg beater gave Miles a chance to think about how he was going to respond to that one. He added the capsicum and mushrooms to the bacon and onion mix and placed the omelet pan on the back flame. A generous dollop of butter followed. Hang the cholesterol. “There’s a grater in the second drawer. Can you shred some cheese, please.”

  “Sure...Yes sir.” Gil winked at him. Pushing Miles’ buttons was proving easy. Trouble was, he didn’t want to push too much. He looked in the drawer Miles had indicated and found the grater. That had meant moving out from behind the relative safety of the countertop.

  Miles took a deep breath as Gil brushed against him on the way to get the grater. Shit, he should have just reached down and got the bloody thing for him. A bitter smell grabbed his attention back from Gil’s firm butt as he bent over to look in the drawer. Shit, the butter! He turned down the flame and poured in the beaten egg. “Don’t take all day, mate. I’ll need the cheese in a couple of minutes.” He turned away and hoped his heated face could be put down to the temperature of the stove and not his awareness of the man standing so close behind him.

  “Sorry, here you go...” Gil quickly grated some onto a plate. Christ, this is worse than Gordon Ramsay...He grinned again. At least Miles hadn’t sworn at him...yet. He passed the cheese over. “Does that meet your exacting standards, Chef?”

  Miles stared from the plate of shredded cheese into the laughing brown eyes of the man beside him. He felt so goddamn confused. Could he stand having Gil staying here twenty-four seven? Watch him bring boyfriends back? He took a deep breath, added the bacon mix into the slightly cooked egg mixture and accepted the plate. “Fuck off! I don’t swear as badly as Gordon Bloody Ramsay does.” He grinned back. “I could if it would make you feel more at home.” Shit. Was that saying he’d decided to let him stay. He still hadn’t actually said the words had he? Miles turned on the grill. The omelet was cooking nicely. After a couple of minutes he sprinkled on the cheese and placed the pan under the griller. “Red or white?” Miles grabbed a couple of wine glasses down and raised an eyebrow.

  “Omelet...white I think.” Gil smiled. “You know, this is really nice. I never expected to have dinner cooked for me, I was going to suggest we go somewhere.”

  “Actually, I like cooking. When Darren was sick, I ended up doing most of it. I had to try different things to keep him interested in food. The antivirals made him pretty nauseous at times. Anyway I’d have had to wear something decent if we went out.” Miles glanced down at his pants, suddenly acutely conscious of the way he was dressed. “Sorry, I’ll just go put on a shirt at least.”

  “You don’t need to, don’t stand on ceremony with me...” Gil reassured, “besides, the food will get cold, and reheated omelet is terrible.”

  “So, are you an ABC man?”

  “ABC? You’ve lost me.”

  “Anything but Chardonnay. I’ve got a nice Aussie Pinot Gris if you are.” Miles checked the omelet, the cheese was bubbling nicely on top.

  “Last I knew I had no prejudice against anything in a bottle—wine, that is—Chardonnay or otherwise.”

  “Well, if you move in, you’ll soon be learning the difference between a good and a bad bottle of plonk.” Miles handed the bottle of Yabby Lake Pinot Gris to Gil and rescued the omelet from the griller. He placed the pan on a mat and rubbed his hands through his chest hair. There was no way he was going to start wearing shirts and good clothes around the house. If Gil couldn’t cope with him wearing just track pants, bad luck. He placed two dinner plates on the breakfast bar and grabbed some cutlery from the drawer. “You’ve just discovered one of my weak spots. Wine.”

  Only one? Gil thought, if only you knew... He wondered if it was going to be such a great idea to move in with Miles, seeing him every day in various states of undress. Somehow, he could not imagine bringing boyfriends home...boyfriends, that was a laugh. Maybe he should just confess all and be done, then leave. Well, Miles, you are one of mine, he thought, a shadow passing across his face.

  Splitting the large omelet in two, Miles levered a piece on to a plate and indicated the stool. “You, okay, mate? I won’t poison you, I promise.” Miles pulled up another stool and settled down. His companion had grown quiet.

  Gil forced a smile and accepted the plate. “Thanks, I know you won’t. I know what went into this, remember...unless you slipped something in while I wasn’t looking.”

  “Funny you should say that. I spent a few sleepless hours this morning with Aiden Parker. Someone slipped something funny into his drink last night. Did you notice anything at the nightclub after I left?”

  “Aiden? Truth to tell, there were so many people there, Lyle and I didn’t stay too long after we’d eaten. I didn’t notice anything but then, we were in the VIP area. Flynn caused us some trouble... even challenged me to meet him in the carpark afterwards for a fight. Accused Lyle and me of being in league with Vale, Lyle’s boss apparently, although what he has to do with anything I have no idea...but no, there was no
thing noticeably fishy going on.”

  “Flynn wanted to fight with you?” Miles laughed. “He nearly ripped me a new one when he found out I’d undressed his boyfriend and put him to bed.” The memory of the expression on Flynn’s face brought a smile to his own as he swallowed the first mouthful. Hm, not too bad even if he said so himself.

  “This is good.” Gil commented around a mouthful and then blushed, swallowed and apologised. “Sorry, talking with my mouth full, rude of me...So, you undressed Aiden and Flynn thought you were after his body?” He sniggered. Serve the little shit right. “Would have liked to have been a fly on the wall for that one. Flynn needs to reassess his abilities. I can defend myself but I’m no black belt. Lyle, however, is.”

  Miles nearly choked on the next mouthful of food. He’d managed to forget all about Gil’s boyfriend. Shit. He took a swig of the wine and didn’t really taste it on the way down. The soft clicking of paws on the kitchen tiles were a welcome distraction. “Shit. I forgot to feed, Roofie. It’s a wonder he hasn’t been bugging me.”

  “He’s a nice dog. Under the streetwise exterior lies a heart of gold. It’s good you took him in.” Bit like his master, really, under the scruffy exterior, there was something worth noticing. They did say owners grew to look like their dogs. Gil wondered if this was simply a case of like attracts like though.

  The packet of dog food was nearly empty. Miles pencilled it on the bottom of the list on the refrigerator. After adding the food to the dish near the back door he filled up the water container and went back to finish his meal.

  “I forgot my original mission.” Gil commented as Miles returned to his seat. “You see, you distracted me with food and wine.”

  Miles raised his glass and an eyebrow at the same time. “And that was?”

  “I was concerned about you last night, getting home. I tried to catch you but you’d gone. I bet Flynn didn’t tell you I was asking about you.”