“I’m thinking I need to get this little shit out of my life and make him leave me alone.”
“We’re just months away from completing the baseball stadium project with Rumson Global. I need that to go smoothly so Nathaniel Rumson will continue to partner with us. I expect you to handle this quietly and keep the police and the press far away. If this boy wants you to fuck him, then by God, fuck him.”
Jason stared at his father, speechless. Mason pressed the button on his intercom. “Donna, we’re done in here. What’s next on the calendar?” Dismissed, Jason got up and left the office.
Between the constant notes and deliveries of flowers and messages on his car, and the knowledge that his father wanted him to play the whore to keep his business deals alive, Jason was drained and exhausted. In a moment of weakness, he finally responded to one of Charles’s messages and agreed to meet him for coffee. Even now, sitting in Randy’s office, he could picture the shop, could smell the roasting coffee beans in the air. He could see the burning excitement in Charles’s eyes when he presented Jason with an expensive Omega watch. He could also see the other patrons turn their heads to stare as he angrily refused the jewelry and practically begged Charles to leave him alone.
“Please, Charles. It has to stop. You’re ruining my career and my life. We’re nothing to each other. Nothing. Please stop calling me.”
Charles just sat there, hands around his cup of coffee, smiling beatifically. “Oh, my beautiful Jason, I get it. I understand that you need me to prove how much I love you. I should be ashamed for these foolish gifts I’ve been bringing. Of course you don’t need another watch. You need a man who understands you and who loves you unconditionally. That’s me, Jason. I’ll be there for you forever, as long as it takes for you to know that you can trust me.”
Jason put his face in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. He tried to be dignified as he said, “Leave me alone, Charles. I don’t want you. I don’t love you, and I never will.”
Charles just smiled and tsked at Jason’s words as though they were nothing but a challenge.
Then came the break-in at his apartment, the horror of finding Charles naked in his bedroom surrounded by monstrous dildos, his panicked run to the front desk in his building, and the smell of scorched coffee in the police station as he filed the complaint and sought a restraining order. The two weeks that followed felt like a victory, and his new phone numbers and his piece of paper directing Charles Rumson to stay at least five hundred feet away from him at all times seemed like magical talismans. Jason actually began to relax a bit, to think it might be over. He might be safe.
Until the ambush a block from his apartment. No, Charles never actually threatened to harm Jason or the man he brought home with him, but Jason could see it in his eyes—the betrayal Charles believed he had suffered, the sense of righteous fury. If Charles had not been stupid enough to approach them in public, Jason honestly believed someone would have died that night. He remembered the sense of relief when the police appeared and arrested Charles. And again he actually thought it might be over. That time it would be over.
As with the restraining order, though, relief was fleeting. By morning the local newspapers had picked up the story of the only son of one of the wealthier men in Seattle stalking the photogenic son of another wealthy man. Jason was summoned again to his father’s office and berated for his foolishness and for the damage he had done to the family business.
“Not only are you a faggot, but you’re a pussy as well,” Mason screamed at him. Spittle flew out of his mouth. “Unable to handle one pissant like Charles Rumson. Jesus Christ. If you couldn’t fuck him, you could at least have found a quiet way to take care of this. Beat the shit out of the little pansy, or hire someone to do it if you don’t have the balls.”
Jason tried one more time. “He would have stabbed me if he got me alone,” he said flatly.
Mason’s face showed all the scorn he felt. “Then you would have deserved it, and we would be the wronged party instead of Nathaniel Rumson.”
Jason got up and walked out. He hadn’t spoken to his father since.
August Drake called him in the next afternoon, and Jason knew what was coming. A secretary showed him into the corner office, where he found August sitting behind his desk. Newspapers were spread all over the surface, and his own face looked up at him from a half-dozen tabloids. He waited.
“Jason, how our lawyers conduct their personal lives is germane to our practice here,” August said. His steel gray hair was perfectly cut and arranged, and more steel glinted in his watery blue eyes. “The firm must instill in its clients the confidence that our lawyers are men and women of good judgment, sound legal ability, and profound discretion. I wish I could say this business of you sleeping with men was irrelevant, but in truth, I find it revolting. Regardless, that’s not the reason for our conversation. This publicity is.”
He gestured at the tabloids. “You have made a spectacle of yourself, and by extension, of this law firm. A quiet end to our association would be in everyone’s interests. You may remain on the rolls for, let’s say, three months while you find employment elsewhere. In exchange we expect you to make your exit quietly. Nondisparagement on both sides is assumed. Are we agreed?”
Jason left without an argument. What would have been the point?
He kept to his office as he began his job search, but it did not go well. Headhunters in the Seattle area knew his name and could give him no assurances they would be able find a new placement. They suggested he look away from Seattle—perhaps New York or London. Even then, with his family name, they weren’t confident another law firm would take the risk.
Then came the suicide—endless footage of Charles climbing to the hood of his Porsche, reading poetry and odes to Jason all over Seattle, and then the wreckage of the Porsche at the bottom of the cliff. The police and ambulance removing the body. Pleas from the Rumson spokeswoman to respect the family’s privacy in this dark time.
Despite the disintegration of his personal life, all Jason could feel was relief. Perhaps when the coverage died down, he could begin to rebuild a career and find a place for himself again. Money wasn’t an issue at all. His trust fund, his ownership interest in the family business that was willed to him by his paternal grandfather, and even his savings from the law firm ensured he could wait it out. He just needed a safe place to lie low and regroup.
Then his mother called. “Jason,” she said, “this business has taken a terrible toll on your father. I got your note about coming back to the house to live for a while, but I don’t think that’s in anyone’s best interest right now.”
“Are you serious? That’s my home.”
“You’re a grown man, Jason. You’ve made choices, and now you have to accept responsibility for them, instead of running home to hide.”
“I was the victim, Mother. I didn’t ask Charles Rumson to come after me, to ruin my career and make a tabloid freak of me. Why does no one understand that?”
“You chose to let that man into your bed. Everything after that is a direct result. Nathaniel and Nan have lost their son. Try to have a sense of proportion.”
Jason remembered feeling physically ill as he said, “And now you’re willing to throw away your son so Father can try to get a business deal with Rumson Global.”
She sighed. “You were always so dramatic, Jason, even as a little boy. When will you grow up?” And then she hung up on him.
He remembered sitting on the sofa for hours, staring out the window and trying to understand how his life had come to that—how the golden child had ended up so alone. Did he deserve to lose his family and his career because he brought Charles home one time? In his heart of hearts, he started to believe it.
When the apartment got dark that night, he turned on a lamp and the TV for company. The lead story was about Senator Grace Gilbert being in Seattle for some event. Inspiration dawned. It was worth a shot, so he reached out to her constituent office an
d dropped his family name for all it was worth. Grace met with him the next day, they hit it off, and she launched the vetting process for him to join her staff. At the end of May, he relocated to Washington, DC as Thomas Scarborough and started to build a new life on the ashes of the one Charles had destroyed.
Thomas differed from Jason in more than name. He didn’t even realize how much until Zachary laid into him after their second time together and exposed the lies Thomas had told himself. In the weeks since, he often found himself thinking about the man he had become. Where Jason was casual and relaxed in his sexual encounters, Thomas was controlling and predatory. When he wanted sex, he made the overtures, he guided the action, and he made damn sure the men he pursued and caught understood the rule from the beginning—he didn’t date, and he didn’t do repeats.
He even tried for a while to give up sex, but quickly realized that years of being the golden boy had ruined him in a way he never expected. He craved the attention and the adulation his looks brought him. After his parents threw him away, he needed even more to feel desired and wanted.
And yet, almost as soon as an encounter began, when he reached that delicious moment of knowing the man he had targeted was his, he began to panic. What if he missed the signs again and the man turned out to be like Rumson? No matter how sexually fulfilling the experience, a part of Thomas always had his eye on the clock and an exit strategy in sight. He refused to let anyone stay the night, in case that was the secret of where it really went wrong with Charles.
His rational brain decried that superstitious thinking, but the rules gradually calcified. Thomas couldn’t give up the validation he got from sex, but he would no longer even consider the possibility of a relationship. Perhaps he was punishing himself by pushing men away as quickly as he drew them in.
Until he met Zachary and found himself asking him to stay for the night. Until he surrendered to the longing he saw in Zach’s eyes and his own desire and brought him home a second time. Until he relaxed his tight control and gave himself to Zach in a way he had never done with anyone else, man or woman. Until he found himself daydreaming about an Italian vacation with a lover who could have stepped from a Renaissance painting.
Even if that dream would never come true, Zach had given him hope again. Maybe someday there could be another like him, who would cut through his bullshit and help him repair the damage Rumson had wrought.
HE WAS evaluating his options, waiting for Randy to return, when his phone chimed. At a glance he saw the message was from Zachary, and another wave of remorse swept over him. He was probably still angry and needed to vent. Well, Thomas had it coming, so he sighed and looked closely at his phone.
But when he read the message, he frowned:
Do you think about me?
Thomas narrowed his eyes. That wasn’t the kind of thing Zachary had ever said to him—in person or by text. Before he could think of a response, his cell chimed again with another message:
I think about you all the time because I have nothing and you are everything.
His heart began to pound and his palms to sweat. Thomas ran to the office door, opened it, and called loudly for Randy as a third message chimed.
You know how much I like selfies because I’m so shallow and vapid.
Randy reached the office. Wordlessly Thomas showed him the cell phone, and an image popped up. It was Zachary, lying on his stomach, his shirt off and—oh God. Thomas saw his hands were bound by rope, his eyes were closed, and his mouth was slack.
“No, no, no…,” Thomas moaned. Randy gripped his shoulder hard. Before he could say anything, another image appeared. That one again showed Zachary shirtless and the top of his hips, also bare. Blood pooled on the floor beneath his head.
Randy lunged for his office phone, but it rang first. Cursing, he picked up the line and barked, “Vaughan. I’ll have to….” He froze at the words he heard over the line, and he turned to face Thomas. His eyes were wide. “It’s for you.”
He extended the phone, and Thomas took it with a trembling hand and brought the phone to his ear.
“H-hello?”
“Hello, Jason.”
Thomas sagged to his knees and dropped his cell phone as he did. It was Charles. The same fervor lit his voice, the same—
Another text chimed. Randy picked up the cell, and they both stared in horror at the image. The picture was angled to show Rumson smiling up into the camera as he straddled Zachary’s nude form. His hair was auburn, and the beard was gone, but there was no doubt.
From the phone still against his ear, Thomas heard the hated voice. “Do you like my selfie, Jason?”
“Please don’t hurt him,” he begged.
“I’ve missed you so much, Jason. All the tests you placed before me. All the other men you pretended to want until I understood what you needed me to do with them. Oh, my Beloved. It’s almost time. I’m almost ready for you. I’m almost worthy.” Thomas heard the quiver of excitement in Charles’s voice.
Randy asked quietly, “How did he know you were here, in my office?”
Thomas nodded. “Charles, how did you find me? How did you know to call me here?”
Charles giggled. “I always know where you are, Jason. Now, that is. Technology and money are wonderful things together. Here, look.”
A new message popped on Thomas’s phone from a source that identified no cell number. It was a still image of the bar at Mata Hari and of Randy serving a customer.
Randy was looking at the phone over his shoulder and said, “This was ten minutes ago. I just served that guy a martini.”
Charles giggled a second time. “And how about this one?”
The next picture showed the inside of Thomas’s apartment, looking toward his living room from near the door. Thomas shook his head and moaned. Charles had been in his apartment again.
“And my favorite.” That image showed a map of Washington, on which a line in blue connected the Senate office building where Thomas worked to the parking lot outside of Mata Hari. That was his route today, Thomas saw. Charles was able to track his car too.
Focus. Focus on Zach. Thomas fought to keep his voice under control and not to scream his frustration and fear into the phone.
“How did you get Zachary there with you?” he asked.
Charles giggled again—a high-pitched, watery sound that grated on Thomas’s nerves. “I invited him for dinner, and he came right over.” His voice grew mock-stern. “He was a naughty boy and wandered around my home while I was being a perfect host.”
“Why do this, Charles? What do you want from me?” he asked, trying to project calm.
Perhaps it worked because Charles’s voice was softer, more controlled, when he spoke again. “What I’ve always wanted, my Beloved. Jason, we belong together. Ever since we were little boys. It took me so long to solve your riddles, but I understand now. I know how to show you how much I love you. Just a few more preparations and we’ll be ready. But Jason, you have a soft heart.” His voice dropped lower, and his tone held a quiet menace. “I don’t want you to do anything foolish like calling the police. This creature, Zachary. He would suffer. Do you understand?”
Thomas nodded and said aloud, “Yes. I understand.”
“Good. Don’t disable my cameras. Don’t stop using your cell phone. Don’t change cars. I’ll know, and I’ll be very, very cross with this cretin.”
Thomas heard the sound of leather striking bare skin and the faintest moan of pain. It came from Zach. He’s alive.
“Of course he liked that,” Charles said, scorn and disgust in his voice. “He’s going to love what I do to him, just like the others did. I’m doing it for you, Jason, so you can see why these stupid, stupid men aren’t good enough for you. You’ll see how much he loves it, and you’ll understand why I had to show you.”
“Charles, please stop. Please don’t hurt Zachary.”
There was an element of pain in Charles’s voice when he answered, “I watched you, Jason. I saw
your face. I heard you.” A slight hitch of breath, and then he spoke again in a more even tone. “This one means something to you—even more than all those other men you took into your bed. That’s why I have to go further. I have to show you, Jason. I have to prove to you how worthless he really is. I’ll call you when I’m ready, and I’ll tell you where to come. No police. Nothing. Not that bitch who’s been investigating. Tell me again you understand.”
Thomas swallowed hard and said, “I understand. I won’t call the police.”
“Good. Good. Now, Jason, my Beloved, I’ll be in touch.” The call ended, and Thomas looked up at Randy. His throat was dry, and his eyes burned.
“What do I do?”
Chapter 24
“BEAT THE son of a bitch. That’s what we do,” Randy answered. His Secret Service training kicked in as he looked at Thomas’s bleak face. He tapped his fingers furiously on the desk. “We need to know where he is. That’s the most important thing.”
Thomas gasped suddenly. “He said Zach came for dinner. Is it possible Charles is the man he’s been dating?”
Randy picked up the thought and ran with it. “That could be right. He’d have to use an alias, in case Zachary ever mentioned him. Do you know the name?”
Thomas shook his head. “No. It wasn’t something Zach and I talked about.”
Randy scrunched his eyes and thought. “I remember him saying… Sam. Just Sam, though. No last name.”
“Would he have talked to Joe or Terry about this? Maybe they know his name,” Thomas said, desperate for hope.
Randy nodded slowly. “Yes, good thought. But before we call them, I need to know something.” He opened his office door and looked back at Thomas. “Stay here and don’t call anyone.”
Randy went to the front of the bar, where only a handful of patrons were left. He signaled to Miss Ethel to stop playing, and then he turned up the house lights. “Folks, I’m sorry, but we’re having a plumbing problem. No johns, so I have to close early.”
Every Breath You Take Page 19