by Loki Renard
Call Me Boy
by Loki Renard
Published by Trouble Books
http://lokirenard.com
Copyright © 2011 Loki Renard. All Rights Reserved.
Cover Image: Yuri Arcurs , 2011, Bigstockphoto.com
Chapter One
There are two kinds of men in the world, good boys and bad boys. Good boys keep their noses clean, pay their taxes and respect authority. Bad boys are messy, often pay their dues in blood, and respect no authority other than their own.
Raid was a bad boy, a very bad boy indeed. He was aware of the fact and it did not concern him in the slightest, in fact, being a bad boy was pretty much essential to his way of life. You didn't get ahead in the world if you weren't prepared to be at least a little bad. Sure, you could get a regular job and scrape by, begging and borrowing and putting yourself in hock for a house and a car and everything else that came with a paint-by-numbers life, but that was hardly what Raid aspired to.
The night was his workplace, the shadows his friends. Whilst good men slept, Raid was out on the town plying his wares. On the night he met Eric he was visiting one of his better outlets, a club called Chez Lui. He skipped the line of men waiting outside, nodded to the bouncer and went on in. Raid didn't wait in lines at any of the clubs in the city. Lines were for average men, and Raid was not an average man.
As he made his way through the crowd inside the flashing lights of the club caught his perfectly toned abs. Did he work out? Yeah, occasionally, though most of his exercise these days came from running from the cops. A twenty block sprint burned far more calories than an hour at the gym, and gave him a high like no other.
Appreciative glances came from all sides. He was not a large man, but every inch of his five feet and eleven inches was made to count. The mesh shirt he wore was perfect for exposing the dark, sweeping lines of the tattoo that ran over his shoulder and the right side of his upper chest. It was a tribal design chosen to honor his heritage. A mixture of Irish, Spanish and Pacific Islander, Raid had cashed in at the genetic lottery. His skin was a caramel brown just past olive, his hair was dark, but in sharp contrast were pale green eyes that often drew compliments from strangers.
“Hey Raid,” Charles the bartender greeted him with a broad grin as Raid emerged through the crowd and claimed a spot at the bar. Raid was a regular in this place, even if he hadn't been selling his merchandise, the pounding bass and constant shifting mass of male flesh would have lured him into effectively making Chez Lui his second home.
“Hey Charlie,” Raid returned the grin, sliding a slim packet of party pills across the counter. Were they legal? Technically no, but Raid didn't feel so much as a pang to his conscience. He wasn't harming anyone. Chez Lui was an adult bar full of adults able to make their own choices. Charlie slid an envelope back to him, an envelope stuffed to the brim with cash. Raid stuffed it into the front pocket of his jeans. Safer there. His backside was exposed to the casual groping of too many men with boundary issues to be safe haven for cash. “Any news?” He leaned sideways against the bar, resting the weight of his body on his forearm as he scanned the club, looking for anyone or anything interesting.
“We've had a few cops in lately. Undercover Johnnies.” Charles' Britishness slipped through the carefully cultivated American accent he put on. Charles was an import, though unlike most British imports who did their ever loving best to make the most of their accents and otherness, Charles had done his best to assimilate seamlessly into American culture. He'd even developed something of a twang that he used at times to confuse people. Unfortunately for Charles, there were certain signifiers of a life lived in the British Isles that were harder to get rid of, like the pale, almost luminous tone of his skin and the slightly recessed chin that gave him the appearance of a somewhat inbred aristocrat.
“Now you tell me that,” Raid said with a touch of spite in his tone. It would have been nice to know if he was risking being busted before doing deals in broad strobe light.
“You're fine,” Charles waved away his anxiety and poured a shot of tequila. “None of them are in yet.”
Raid downed the shot in one gulp. “Lucky me,” he said, keeping his eyes on the crowd. He was single and when he was single he was perpetually on the prowl. The problem was that he tended to be picky. He had a certain type. A guy had to be good looking, toppy and kinky. The three were somewhat rare to find in combination. For a time he was silent, a still figure in the ceaselessly moving crowd of gyrating, hunting, stalking men.
“Hello Charles.” An accented voice at his back distracted him. Actually it did more than distract him, it trickled down his spine like liquid honey. He turned to look at the speaker, but his gaze fell on Charles first. Charles had gone pale, very pale. He was staring at the newcomer as if he might faint away on the spot.
Frowning ever so slightly, Raid glanced at the man who'd had such a dramatic effect on the bartender. He was tall, a good four or five inches taller than Raid, and he wore a well cut suit that set him apart from most of the clientele in the den of iniquity. He was English, Raid was sure of it. He had a similar pale skin tone to Charles, but there was more flushing warmth to it. His features were what Raid could only call aristocratic as he avoided the eyes, noticing the hard straight nose jutting above a sensual, full mouth.
“Eric,” Charles almost stammered the word. That wasn't like Charles. The man was usually completely unflappable. British reserve and all that. As Raid watched, the bartender took a step back from the bar as if wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and the newcomer.
“It's been a long time.” Eric's voice rolled in a low baritone that made Raid's toes tingle.
“It should have been longer.” Charles' attempt at bravado fell somewhat flat. His hands were shaking ever so slightly, and his voice was not entirely steady. Whoever this Eric guy was, he was scaring the living daylights out of Charles.
Eric's deep chuckle slid across the bar, catching Raid up in it. He almost sighed with pleasure before reminding himself that his friend and more importantly, business associate, was being bullied right in front of him. “Is there a problem, Charles?” Raid drew himself to his full height as he asked the question, the stiffening of his shoulders and ramrod straightness of his back subtly signaling his readiness to be aggressive if need be.
Eric turned his head towards him, noticing him for the first time. Raid felt a jolt of electricity run through his body as Eric's gaze fell on him fully. Looking into the man's face properly, Raid saw that he was older than him by at least ten years. It wasn't that his face was heavily lined or otherwise marked with age, it was the weight of the expression in the deep brown eyes that didn't just look at him but drank him in.
The older man initially looked irritated at the interruption, but the longer the two locked gazes the more that irritation drained away. Eventually, a smile broke over Eric's handsome face, a smile that was warm and welcoming. “And who is this, dear Charles?” He asked the question without taking his eyes off Raid.
Raid smirked. “I'm Raid,” he introduced himself whilst Charles did his best to become invisible against the backdrop of bottles behind the bar.
“Raid, that's an interesting name,” Eric's smile widened slightly with amusement.
“This is Eric Darwin,” Charles finally found the power of his voice. “And there's no problem.” His assurances weren't remotely convincing. The tremor was still apparent in his voice, and his pupils were dilated with animal fear. Raid forced himself to look beyond Eric's superficial attractiveness and plumb a little bit deeper. Something was going on here.
“So you two are old friends, or business associates, or...” Raid trailed off and let the question hang.
Eric laughed, a bold sound that buoye
d the spirits. “Who is this, Charles? A boyfriend? He's a little young for you, isn't he?”
Taking exception to being talked about as if he wasn't there, Raid answered before Charles had a chance to stammer anything out. “I'm a friend, but I'm plenty old enough to be whatever I want to be,” he said archly.
“Is that so,” Eric said, his voice a low purr. “You barely look old enough to be in here.”
“I'm twenty five. I go where I please,” there was a slight stiffness in Raid's voice in reaction to the condescension he felt from the older man.
“Twenty five,” Eric smiled. “Just a baby.” His dark eyes traversed the length of Raid's body, taking in every inch of him. Raid was used to being looked at like that, but usually it was by men who wanted to sleep with him. There was no lust in Eric's eyes, rather he was sizing him up and finding him wanting. This time there was no denying the patronizing tone in the other man's voice. Handsome or not, Raid wasn't going to stand for that.
“We'll see who the baby is,” he said, injecting a note of bass into his voice.
“Will we?” Eric's bright smile was back on his face. “Well that would be interesting, wouldn't it Charles?” He looked across at the bar tender as if waiting for him to weigh in one way or another. Raid looked too, hoping that Charles would back him up. His hopes were dashed when Charles shook his head vehemently.
“Don't go there, Raid. He's not what you think he is.”
Raid smirked to cover his disappointment at Charles' lack of faith. “And I am not what he thinks I am.”
Eric chuckled once more. It was a deeply attractive sound. “You cannot warn the young ones away, Charles. They have to learn from their own folly.”
“Oh cut the 'young ones' rubbish,” Raid said.
“He's feisty, isn't he,” Eric murmured.
“Raid, go home.” It was an order, but Charles delivered the words like a plea.
“No,” Raid refused. “I don't know who you are, Mr Darwin, but I don't like my friends being threatened, so it would be best if you went away now.” He drew himself up to his full height and puffed out his chest as he spoke, posturing quite blatantly. When he wanted it to, his warrior ancestry came in handy. The blood of aggressors ran through his veins and thrilled to the idea of a challenge.
“Listen to your friend, Raid.” Eric's eyes had narrowed ever so slightly, and though his posture remained relaxed, there was a wariness about the older man that Raid liked. It meant he was being taken seriously. “Or there might be consequences. Consequences you won't like.” The note of natural authority in his tone made Raid's ears prick up.
“Consequences?” Raid frowned over at Charles. “Who is this guy, Charles? For real. Is he a cop or something?”
Eric picked up on the strain in his voice immediately. A thick, shapely brow in Raid's direction. “Do you have a reason to fear the police, boy?”
“Don't call me boy,” Raid growled.
“Up to your old tricks, are you Charles?” Eric's attention was back on the bar tender. Raid took the opportunity to breathe and calm himself. Whoever this guy was, he was a quick study and he didn't miss a beat. Raid was willing to bet that he had some kind of connection with the law.
“I haven't done anything wrong,” Charles asserted weakly.
“That I doubt,” Eric replied. “You're always doing something wrong.”
“Hey, ease up,” Raid said. He reached out to get Eric's attention and was tugging on the sleeve of his suit before it occurred to him how very juvenile the action felt.
“Yes, boy?” Eric turned back to him, a smirk of amusement plastered across his face.
“Call me boy one more time...”
“Yes?” Eric met the challenge smoothly.
“I'll make you regret it.”
“Will you now,” Eric said. “How delightfully vague.”
“Raid,” Charles tried to interject once more. “Just get out of here already.”
Raid glanced over at Charles. The man was starting to get some of his composure back. He no longer looked so obviously afraid and his hands had stopped shaking. Obviously seeing this Eric guy had been a significant shock to his system, but he was getting over it. Raid was about to agree and make an exit, but then Eric opened his mouth again.
“Yes, run along boy,” he taunted Raid.
Raid didn't bother with any more warnings. Balling his hand into a fist, he drove it as hard as he could towards Eric's solar plexus. It was a strong blow with the full weight of his body behind it. He twisted his hips as he threw the punch, giving it his all.
He expected to make contact with flesh, but was dismayed when his fist was deflected with practiced ease and the momentum that had been channeled into the burst of aggression was used against him as his wrist was grabbed and he was humiliatingly propelled over Eric's thigh. The older man had propped his leg up against a bar stool and he held Raid in place as he retaliated by slapping Raid's backside hard.
“You have a temper, boy,” Eric said, laying another hard slap across Raid's cheeks. They were drawing attention from all over the bar now. Someone in the crowd whooped with approval and before Raid knew what was happening, every eye in the place was fixed on him, or rather his ass as it got slammed by Eric's hard hand.
It would have been better if Eric had just punched him back. This was way worse than getting into a fight, this was going to ruin his reputation forever once it got out. Raid fought furiously against Eric's grasp, twisting and writhing his lean torso, using whatever he could get his legs pressed into for leverage. Eventually he managed to break free, but not before Eric had taken the opportunity to light a fire on his ass.
Raid stumbled back and was only prevented from falling by the crush of the crowd. He had no eyes for the leering men who had enjoyed watching the impromptu scene in front of them. They probably thought it was some kinky play, not a fight gone wrong. Raid's full attention was on the man who had embarrassed him. His ass had to be swollen and red under his pants because the jeans he was wearing felt raspy and harsh against his skin. He would have liked nothing more than to reach back and rub, but with dozens upon dozens of eyes on him, he refrained.
“Asshole,” he growled, his hands still curled into fists. This was not over, not in his book.
“Watch your mouth or I'll give you something to occupy it,” Eric replied dismissively.
Raid fumed at the crude caution, but what could he do? Hitting the guy clearly didn't work. Gathering what was left of his shredded dignity, he turned and walked away. A few titters could be heard here and there in the crowd, but nobody dared taunt him to his face. For the moment, his reputation was holding. He was fuming as he left the club, but he did so silently. There had been enough of a scene made that day. It was time to go home and regroup, count the money he'd made and relax. The sun was coming up. It had been another long night.
Chapter Two
The television was on when he got home. From the hallway he could hear the high pitched chatter of morning cartoons. It made him smile. Esther was obviously up and about. She was too old for cartoons, but he wasn't going to tell her that. The world made you grow up quick enough without being prodded by your brother.
He let himself in and waved at his sister, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the brightly colored moving pictures. “Hey you,” Raid said affectionately, dropping a kiss on Esther's head. His younger sister lived with him and had done for the past seven years, since he was eighteen and she was eleven. Their parents had never been much for parenting. The moment they'd had the opportunity to dump their youngest daughter on her older brother for the weekend they'd disappeared on a bender neither one of them had returned from.
Esther was a sweet girl, she did well in school and she was in the process of applying for colleges. Raid wished he could help her more with the tuition, but those places cost crazy money. She was probably going to end up in community college, even with her grades being decent.
“Hey,” Esther gr
inned. “You've been up all night.”