Dirk recoiled, like Ken had slapped him in the face. Focusing on his task again because it was easier than thinking about his shattered heart, Ken dressed quickly, aware of Dirk’s gaze, capable of burning holes into his skin.
“You’re leaving?” Dirk asked.
“We need time apart. Knowing you still have Warren’s ring, your promise of eternal love to a cheating fucker, it’s slowly killing me, Dirk. I can’t keep doing this.” Once fully clothed, he stalked toward the front door.
Ken’s gaze lingered on Warren’s spare key on the carpet. With a heavy heart, he left his own copy. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or pained when Dirk didn’t run after him.
****
Long after Ken had left, Dirk stared at the front door. A kind of heaviness pressed down on his heart. How the fuck did everything go to hell within a couple of minutes? One moment, he’d savored Warren’s furious expression when Ken had sidled up to him, eager to take his side. Then, Dirk had sent away the only person in the world capable of boldly staring down his ex, and the only man who gave a damn about him.
His cell phone vibrated on the dining table. Moving like a zombie unaware of his surroundings, Dirk reached the table, blinking at the message from Luther.
Team meeting’s starting, where are you?
Did he have a meeting this morning? Oh, right, that was the reason why he had worked overtime the night before. Running a frustrated hand through his hair, Dirk took a deep breath. Work was good. Talking about client accounts and annual reports would help distract him from the shit-storm that had erupted this morning. After a quick shower, he dressed and drove to work.
Mumbling a sorry excuse about traffic under his breath, he took the empty seat next to Luther in the conference room. His boss gave him an annoyed look. It passed. The meeting continued, but Dirk had no idea what it was about. Ken preoccupied his mind, during and after the meeting, long into his day.
All of Dirk’s files remained opened on his desk, his spreadsheets blank. His gaze lingered on the new picture frames on his desk, the ones Ken had insisted on buying. Dirk hated taking photos, but Ken couldn’t stop whipping out his phone camera whenever they went out. Thinking of Ken taking the same shots of his dinner made Dirk smile. Ken hadn’t stopped until Dirk reminded him his food was getting cold.
A week ago, Ken had dragged him to IKEA just to get these colorful frames. Dirk hardly recognized himself in the photos. Ken looked vibrant in all of them, laughing and smiling—a sexy force to be reckoned with. Dirk frowned in some of the photos. In others, a hint of a smile appeared on his lips, as if Ken’s excited energy had begun rubbing off on him.
“I’ve been an idiot,” he muttered under his breath.
“About what?”
Dirk jumped at the sound of Luther’s voice. His best friend studied him, then moved his attention to the photos.
He blew out a breath. The temptation to tell Luther to fuck off and mind his own business arose, but his friend deserved better than that. Oh, Dirk wouldn’t have hesitated being an asshole two short weeks ago, but things were different now that Ken was in his life. It was as if Ken had strutted in and blew away the dark clouds over his life.
“Ken and I had a fight this morning.”
Luther raised an eyebrow. “Get a drink with me and tell me all about it.”
“Work’s not yet over.”
Luther nodded toward the computer screen, confirming what Dirk had suspected—he had spent the entire day brooding and obsessing about Ken and his fight since arriving at the office. “Come on,” Luther said, not taking “no” for an answer.
“Fine,” Dirk grumbled.
After turning off his PC, he followed Luther out of the office. His best friend took him to a bar downtown, one they hadn’t visited since their college days. Taking a long pull of his beer, Dirk let the cool amber liquid slide down his throat, and he sighed.
“Feeling better?” Luther asked.
“Not yet.” But knowing Luther waited for him to open up, Dirk eventually told him what had happened this morning.
“Wow, an eventful morning,” Luther remarked.
“That isn’t helpful advice,” he grumbled.
“You want advice? Fine, Dirk, you’ve got to make amends.”
Dirk stared at him a couple of seconds, uncomprehending. “You’re supposed to take my side, asshole.”
“Says who?”
“The rules of friendship or something.”
“Dirk, this guy had the guts to stand up to Warren. I know I’ve been skeptical of Ken since the beginning.”
“As I recall, you said you didn’t trust him.”
“His intentions,” Luther corrected. “Did you know he called me out one evening, and we had drinks? I don’t believe in relationships, but he’s a fucking keeper, Dirk. Ken’s crazy and fucking in love with you.”
“Wait, what?” Had Dirk misheard Luther?
They’d been dating for not even two weeks, yet Dirk couldn’t deny the spark between them the first time they’d met. Oh, Dirk wasn’t talking about chemistry. The electricity between Ken and himself was explosive enough. He was thinking about connection, how it felt like Ken was the stranger he’d known all his life.
Hell, Luther had once remarked they acted like some old couple, and Dirk had flushed. Ken, of course, lapped it up. Deep down, though, Dirk had been secretly pleased. But part of him remained terrified of losing Ken, feeling as if that happiness, no matter how momentary, could shatter at any second.
“Stop yanking my chain,” Dirk muttered.
Luther ordered another beer. “I’m not. If you weren’t so fucking blind, you’d see the truth, too.”
“You’re telling me I should be the one to apologize? He fucking lied to my face,” Dirk sputtered.
“Ken must have had his reasons for not telling you. Probably similar reasons as to why you haven’t gotten rid of that fucking ring.”
Dirk froze, thinking of his old wedding band in his bedside table drawer. At least he’d stopped carrying the thing around in his pocket. If his therapist were here, Dr. Michaels would call that progress. Guilt wormed its way into his insides a second later. He knew the ring no longer had any meaning to him. Why he’d dragged out the process of either selling the thing or tossing it away, he didn’t know.
Besides, what the hell was Luther talking about? Similar reasons? Was Ken also insecure about their relationship? But speculating wouldn’t help anyone. Only Ken and he could easily sort this out by talking. Luther said Ken loved him. Dirk wasn’t a fool. He’d seen the way Ken looked at him. Loved the way Ken’s face turned soft and vulnerable whenever they were alone in bed. Fuck him, but Dirk loved Ken, too.
Something took hold in his mind, the brief sketch of a plan.
“I have an idea,” he told Luther. “You still friends with the guy who owns a pawnshop?”
“Cody? Sure. What are you thinking?”
“Follow me and find out.”
Luther laughed, shaking his head. He set down his beer, and they paid their tab. “Got to say, I’m starting to see Ken’s influence on you.”
“Let’s get out of here. We have some things to do before the night runs out, or at least, until Ken finishes his shift.”
Luther looked intrigued. “We’re going to a strip club? Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
“That’s the final destination.”
Chapter Eleven
Ken used a clean washcloth to wipe away the sweat on his forehead, chest, and arms. He plucked out each of the bills stuffed into his G-string and stacked them on the table in front of him. The man staring back at him from the mirror looked feral, possessed. Anger had taken hold of him tonight. He’d danced like there was no tomorrow, like someone had set fire to his heels.
“Diesel, you killed it tonight. Good work,” called the manager.
The compliment didn’t do anything to improve his mood. When Dirk had given him the key to the apartment, he’d thought that was the moment th
ings would start to change. Ken had started looking forward to a future where he no longer needed to strip for a living. Now, what would he do?
It wasn’t like things were over with Dirk. They could still repair whatever damage they’d both caused. Ken loathed the thought of apologizing to Dirk, though. Dirk was a big boy. He should be the one to make the peace offering, instead of constantly relying on Ken to make the first move. Sighing, Ken packed away his earnings, finished wiping himself off with the wash cloth, and began to dress.
A hot shower sounded great, water to wash off the grime on his body. There were nights like this, when he felt like some kind of invisible dirt clung to parts of him every time someone cast a knowing look in his direction. Maybe Ken was no longer cut out for this. Shouldering his backpack, Ken headed out of the club.
“Stay safe,” Dan said before he left.
Ken rolled his eyes. He would have preferred those words coming from Dirk, but perhaps some time apart was what they both needed.
Leaning his back against the closed door, Ken shut his eyes and inhaled the night air. Scratch that, a hot shower, warm sheets, beer, and some Chinese food would be heaven. Besides, it was fun watching Dirk remind him not to eat in bed.
Shit. Ken had envisioned coming home to Dirk’s apartment, not his, because his place certainly didn’t have hot water. It was the sheets of Dirk’s bed in which he imagined rolling, laughing when the big lug finally joined him. They’d fuck like animals, or make slow love, depending on the mood. Afterward, Ken would tuck his chin under Dirk’s broad shoulder, and Dirk would comment that Ken mewled like a contented cat.
An invisible fist closed around his heart, his lungs, until it was difficult to breathe. He would miss that if they had a relationship time-out.
“You stupid stubborn bastard,” he muttered under his breath.
“Diesel, you were amazing tonight,” a voice remarked from somewhere in the dark alley.
Ken’s eyelids flew wide open. He looked left to right, finally catching the outline of a man blocking the exit that led to the main street. Unlike the night before, Miguel seemed intent on not making his same mistake. Metal glinted under the flickering lampposts. Fear hammered at his heart.
“Come out, hands raised, where I can see you, baby,” Miguel said, voice harsh.
Ken’s first thought was to test the club door, but he knew it would be fruitless since it was kept locked at all times. Besides, with Miguel holding a weapon, likely a gun, he might risk getting shot unless he followed orders. He put up his hands and walked toward his stalker. Every step he took, his mind screamed at him to start running. Back around to the club’s main entrance maybe, where Dan and the bouncers had likely congregated, but again, that would risk him getting shot. And what if a stray bullet found its way to one of his vital parts?
Dying alone in a dirty alley didn’t sound all that appealing, not when Ken had amends to make. Wait … no. Ken needed to be alive so Dirk could grovel at his feet and apologize for his mistakes. Then after a kiss, a couple of rounds of make-up sex, they could head to the park and get rid of that stupid ring together—a new start for them both. Weeks would pass, months, and even years. Then one day, Ken would tell Dirk he quit stripping, because the adoption agency had phoned and…
Oh, Christ. Who knew the thought of dying could make him sentimental and silly?
Tears at the corners of his eyes blurred his vision. Ken hastily wiped them away.
“Don’t move unless I tell you to,” Miguel hissed.
The stalker finally came into Ken’s line of sight. Miguel wore a gray hoodie— the hood raised, obscuring his features—and faded jeans. Talk about typical stalker-wear. Oh, hell, Ken didn’t have time to make jokes. His life was in danger, for crying out loud.
“Fuck, Diesel. You look so fucking sexy with tears in your eyes. Don’t you worry, baby. I’ll make things right. Lick those tears away and take you away.”
The prospect didn’t sound all that appealing. He envisioned some dank basement where Miguel had chains, an inflatable mattress, a bucket, and no cable TV.
Death sounded like a better alternative. That way, Ken wouldn’t have to find himself under lock and key, the sex slave of some psycho. Memories of Dirk and his momentary happiness would sustain him … for a while anyway.
Ken knew he was overthinking things again, probably from reading far too many dark romances. Then again, his own life had started to sound like a good idea for a story. A hysterical laugh slipped from his lips. Miguel frowned, but held the gun steady. The man clearly meant business.
Ken knew he’d better pull his shit together or he wouldn’t make it out alive tonight.
“What are you planning, Miguel?” he asked.
“Stop right there.”
Ken did as ordered, tempted to crane his head to see if anyone was watching. What were the chances the back door would open and Dan would once again come to his rescue? Heck, even a Good Samaritan, a passerby who could phone the cops, would do. Was wishing for help too much?
Miguel approached him. Ken’s skin crawled. Keeping his gun trained on Ken, Miguel circled him, like some kind of buyer appraising his merchandise, a predator assessing his prey. Over Miguel’s shoulder, Ken caught the flash of motorcycle headlights. His salvation, or just a random stranger who’d chanced upon them and decided interfering wasn’t worth the effort?
The lights flashed again, like dim glows in the dark. Hope surged inside Ken.
“What are you planning?” Ken repeated.
“My plans? I won’t tell you until we’re there,” Miguel said.
An engine rumbled, stealing Miguel’s attention. Ken used that opportunity to execute a self-defense move Dirk had taught him. He elbowed Miguel in the groin, making the stalker yelp and drop his gun. Ken kicked away the weapon. The bike came closer, its lights nearly blinding both of them.
Miguel’s gaze leapt to the gun. They dove for it at the same time, tumbling on the ground in a heap. They tangled, elbowing and trying to sneak in blows. Ken never saw himself as a fighter, but he clawed and punched the asshole. The engine sounded closer. Dirk might be coming, Ken thought. His heart soared, but his elation proved short-lived. Miguel’s fist hit the side of his face like a bag of bricks.
Panting, Miguel said, “Fuck, look what you did, Diesel? You made me bruise that pretty face.”
“That’s not even my real name, asshole.”
“If I can’t have you, no one else will,” Miguel declared, grabbing the gun and leveling it at Ken’s face.
His heart galloped. His bladder threatened to give away. It couldn’t end like this.
“Like hell, asshole.”
Dirk’s face swam into view. The next thing Ken knew, Dirk tackled Miguel, using his bulk to his advantage. The gun roared, with the bullet hitting a brick wall. Luther stood to one side, clutching a phone in his hand. Ken hoped Luther had called for help.
Miguel fired again, but Dirk snatched the gun, or attempted to anyway. Should Ken intervene, or would that make it worse?
“It’s all over, stalker boy. The cops are coming,” Luther said.
Dirk finally managed to wrench away the gun. Like a snake, Miguel slammed his heel against Dirk’s face. Bone cracked. Blood welled from Dirk’s nose. Growling, Dirk seemed momentarily distracted by the pain. Miguel grappled for the gun once more with his fingertips.
“Dirk!” Ken screamed.
Time slowed to a crawl, like in one of those action movies, except this was real life. Another shot fired. Crimson stained and spread along Dirk’s left shoulder. Howling in fury, Ken came up behind Miguel, wrapping his hands around his throat. Miguel easily shoved him away.
“Get the gun,” Luther commanded.
Dirk made a grab for it. Luther tackled Miguel to the ground. Ken ran to Dirk, kneeling so they looked at each other eye-to-eye. Dirk now held onto the gun, although Ken could see his eyes starting to cloud.
“Help’s coming, baby. Hold on, okay?” Ken whispered. “Don�
��t move.”
Dirk cracked a smile. “Love you.”
“You bastard. Tell me that when we’re not in a life-and-death situation.”
Tears blurred his eyes. Dirk reached out, swiping them away with his free hand. “Silly.”
A sob tore out of Ken’s chest. “You better make it, honey bear. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”
Sirens wailed in the distance. They seemed so far away.
“Everything will be fine. Stop worrying,” Dirk slurred before falling unconscious.
****
“I’m the one stuck in the hospital bed, so why are you still silently fuming at me?” Dirk croaked.
Still not responding, Ken continued glaring at him from the corner of the room, his arms crossed, looking far from pleased.
Dirk didn’t know how long Ken had been sitting there. He’d seen him from the moment he’d woken up, and the man refused to leave, even when the nurse told Ken visiting hours were over.
Dirk couldn’t wait to get out of the bed and talk things over with Ken. He’d take the first step in repairing the damage between them. He tried another tactic. “If you keep frowning like that, that curve on your lips will become a permanent fixture.”
That cracked a smile from Ken, a small one, but a vast improvement.
Enough playing around. Dirk decided to try honesty instead. “Seeing you two nights ago, with that gun pointed at your head, my heart nearly gave out,” he whispered. “I wanted to get off the bike, to rush toward you, but Luther told me to wait.”
“Luther’s wise,” Ken muttered. “What were you doing on Luther’s bike anyway?”
“I persuaded him to help me run an errand. Get my bag for me?” He nodded to the overnight bag Luther had helped him pack.
“Fine,” Ken grumbled.
“With all the grumpiness, you’re starting to act like me.”
Ken glared at him, holding his bag. “What do you want?”
“Open the back zipper and grab what’s inside.”
Ken pulled out the small, battered, velvet box, his frown deepening. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
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