Police Brutality (Hazard and Somerset: A Union of Swords Book 2)

by Gregory Ashe

  “Yes. You are. Now come downstairs.”

  “Ok, you don’t have to sit down. I bet I can get you off before they show up. Just come stand over here, and—”

  The doorbell rang; downstairs, Evie squealed with excitement, and the sound was ear splitting even from this far away. Hazard made a beckoning motion, but Somers lay there a moment longer, teasing the chambray over smooth, golden skin. Then, with a groan, he rolled onto his feet.

  “Could you hide that?” Hazard said with a pointed look. “There are children downstairs.”

  “It’s not exactly like I can put it up and down at will,” Somers grumbled. “And it’s your fault anyway. Look how many buttons you have unbuttoned; you’re being a button slut.”

  “I am not—”

  But Somers was already past him, jogging down the stairs.

  Hazard followed, but he did pause on the landing. He did up three buttons. Then, growling, he undid two. Then he did up one again. He thought he probably needed a mirror to check.

  “God damn it, John.”

  A dark-haired, dark-eyed boy of probably ten stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring up. “Mom,” he shouted. “Mr. Hazard said a bad word.”

  And then he shot off in a run.

  Hazard stomped downstairs. The house had turned into a three-ring circus; three boys, younger than the one who had busted Hazard, were kicking a soccer ball around a living room. They were definitely playing a game of two-on-one, but the two seemed to switch every few seconds, and then the soccer match turned into a full-on chase when one of the boys broke away and started kicking the ball down the hall. Hazard wondered if the house would still be standing by the end of the night.

  Evie, at least, was in good hands; Raquel, who was twelve, was carrying Evie toward the basement stairs, while Rocio, almost the exact same age at Evie, trundled along with them. Hazard followed the girls as far as the kitchen, where he found Somers pouring wine for Rebeca; Noah already had a beer, and so did Somers.

  “I told them to leave the soccer ball outside,” Rebeca said, holding up the hand without a wineglass in preemptive protest.

  “I told them to leave it in the house,” Noah said and then grunted when Rebeca jabbed him with a finger. “Well, I did.”

  Noah and Rebeca were a study in mismatch: Noah, tall and white and goofy; Rebeca, short and beautiful and composed. They had come to Wahredua for Rebeca’s job at the college, and their mob of children had gone through Hazard’s life like a Vandal horde.

  “I said they could bring it inside,” Somers said with a shrug. “What’s going to happen?”

  From deep in the house came a crash.

  “Ok,” Somers said with a grin, grabbing a second Bud Light from the refrigerator. “What’s going to happen besides that?”

  The front door creaked, and Hazard braced himself.

  “Hi, Wesley,” Somers said. “Beer?”

  “Sure.”

  Hazard turned to face Wesley, not bothering with a smile. He hadn’t wanted to invite Wesley; he could be honest about that much with himself. In fact, he had told Somers that he didn’t want to invite Wesley. But the problem was that Noah and Rebeca were like the platonic-friend version of matchmakers. They had somehow gotten the idea that Hazard needed friends—more friends—and that their only role in life was to match him with someone. Hazard had tried explaining that he didn’t have time for more friends. He certainly didn’t need friends. He had even done a bar graph and hand delivered it, and for some reason, Noah had started coughing so hard he had to close the door after accepting the chart.

  But Wesley kept coming in high on Noah and Rebeca’s list of potential friends for Emery Hazard, which Hazard thought particularly unlikely to happen, especially since Wesley had briefly slapped Hazard and the Wahredua PD with a harassment lawsuit only a few months ago. And somehow, no matter how loudly Hazard argued, Wesley had been invited to tonight’s dinner. Which was particularly frustrating, since tonight’s dinner was special.

  “Hello, Emery,” Wesley said as he took the beer.

  He looked better than the last time Hazard had seen him; the bruises had vanished, and the ginger quiff was still bright and sharp. He wore a simple blazer that helped smooth out the narrow shoulders and wide hips, but it also made him look hip. Trendy. Hazard decided he was going to tell Wesley how stupid it looked, and then, hearing his own thought, had a moment of horror at this unplumbed pettiness.

  Instead he settled for grunting and pushing past Somers to the refrigerator, where he found a Guinness.

  “That’s Emery for hello,” Somers said, running a hand between Hazard’s shoulder blades to take the sting out of the words. “How’s it going, Wesley?”

  “Pretty well. Sunday night’s always a relief.”

  As Hazard popped the bottle cap, Somers nodded and said, “That’s right; today’s your big day.”

  And just like that, Somers had done it: his little miracle of making everyone feel important and at home. Hazard watched as Wesley’s shoulders came down, as his expression relaxed, as he laughed—at first a little, and then a lot—as the Somerset charm slowly hypnotized him. Hazard stood off to the side and watched his boyfriend: the line of his jaw when he grinned, the pitchfork scramble of blond hair, the curve of muscle when he leaned on his elbow to take another drink of beer. Fuck the David, Hazard thought, taking a drink of beer to try to drown the sudden heat in his belly. Fuck all of that shit. If you wanted to see a sculpture, stop by Wahredua, MO.

  They ate; they drank; they talked and laughed some more. When the baked ziti and garlic knots and salad had been put away, they sat around a tiramisu. Hazard and Wesley had coffee; Somers had another beer, his third, although Hazard was only keeping track out of habit; Noah and Rebeca were both on wine now.

  “Let’s see it,” Noah said between bites. “Oh my God, this is amazing. But let’s see it.”

  “Ree made it,” Somers said.

  “We’re all going to gush over Emery in a minute,” Rebeca said. “But this is the whole reason we came over here: John-Henry, let’s see it.”

  “Let’s see it,” Wesley said, tapping the tines of his fork against the plate and then whooping with excitement.

  Somers actually blushed.

  Hazard stopped, fork halfway to his mouth, and watched what felt like a singular event in the history of the world: his boyfriend off balance. Somers could chat and grin and shoot shit with anybody from a crabber to the Pope, but tonight, in their kitchen, he suddenly looked vulnerable.

  “Another night,” Hazard said, wrapping one hand around Somers’s arm. “You don’t have to get it tonight.”

  “No, I want to,” Somers said, slipping free and heading into the living room. Over his shoulder, he added with a grin, “It’s just embarrassing how much I want to.”

  “Not embarrassing at all,” Noah called after him. “If I got one of those, I’d wear it to the grocery store. I’d probably wear it to bed and make the kids salute me when I got up in the morning.”

  While everybody was laughing, Rebeca slid Noah’s glass a few inches away from his hand.

  Somers came back holding a black velvet box. He was grinning, red crescents in his cheeks as he lifted the lid.

  The medal was black and gold, a design in the center that made Hazard think of heraldry; he’d need to read up more to understand exactly the symbolism of the image.

  “That is fucking awesome,” Noah said.

  “There are children around, Noah,” Rebeca said. “But it is awesome.”

  “The kids would say it’s epic,” Wesley said with a huge smile. “Or tough. But I agree: it’s awesome.”

  Somers’s blush had deepened, spreading across his cheeks in a scatter. But his smile broadened. “Yeah, it kind of is, right?”

  “So it’s like the FBI Medal of Honor, right?” Noah said.

  “That’s the idea,” Somers said, starting to close the box.

  Hazar
d caught the lid and shook his head. “No. It’s called the FBI Star. And they hardly give out any of them. They’re awarded for serious injury received in the line of duty while confronting criminal adversaries. Mostly they go to FBI agents, but occasionally they go to other LEO working with the Bureau.”

  “LEO?” Wesley said.

  “Law enforcement officer,” Rebeca said. “You’ll pick up the jargon after a few more playdates with Emery.”

  “So, like, this is for—” Noah paused, and then his face turned scarlet. “I mean, I know you guys have done some amazing stuff, but I didn’t know you got hurt.”

  “I’m fine,” Somers said. “Nothing happened.”

  “It’s from everything that happened in July,” Hazard said. “John was shot. The FBI was too busy covering their own asses at the time, but the reality is, John’s actions saved two agents from being murdered. He also saved my life and stopped a lunatic.”

  Hazard realized everyone had gone silent; his knuckles were white from clutching the box.

  “Ok,” Somers said, his fingers light on Hazard’s wrist as he lifted his hand away. “It’s just—it’s nice to get recognition. I know that makes me a vain little prick, but—” He shrugged and grinned. “And Ree should have gotten one too; he did more than I did in that case.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Wesley asked. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “He—” Somers began.

  “It’s complicated.”

  Another of those trapdoor silences opened under the table. Hazard didn’t mind; he was comfortable with them, and after a moment, Somers had everyone laughing again. Hazard liked the way Somers leaned back in his chair. He liked the way Somers’s hand traced the velvet box unconsciously. He liked the way Somers sprawled, taking up too much room, like he’d just closed a case or won state or had a royal fuck.

  The doorbell startled Hazard.

  “Hold on,” Somers said.

  “No,” Hazard said, settling hands on Somers’s shoulder and guiding him back into his seat. “It’s your night. I’ll be right back.”

  From farther in the house, the sound of the boys wrestling came to Hazard, followed by another thunderous crash. Raquel’s light laughter was followed by another of Evie’s ear-piercing shrieks. Good food, good beer, good coffee, good tiramisu, alcohol and caffeine and sugar turning his blood to helium, like his heels didn’t quite touch the floor. Even Wesley hadn’t ruined the evening, although Hazard wouldn’t give Noah and Rebeca the satisfaction of admitting that.

  When he opened the door, he froze. For a moment, he thought he was having a stroke. Then he thought it might be a nightmare. At the beginning, when he and Somers had first started dating, he had dreamed things like this.

  Billy stood there, jacket slick with rain, beads of water glittering in his long dark lashes. He blinked frantically, and Hazard realized, from a distance, that the huge drops that glowed like crystal in the porchlight were tears.

  “Emery. Hi. I’m—I’m sorry to do this.” And then he burst into tears, sobbing, the rest of the words barely distinguishable as he said, “I need help.”

  Hazard didn’t know what else to do, so he brought his ex-boyfriend into the house.

  CHAPTER TWO

  FEBRUARY 10

  SUNDAY

  8:51 PM

  NOAH AND REBECA TOOK THE KIDS home, and Somers stood at the door, smiling, until they had reached the sidewalk. Then the sheets of rain flapped like a curtain, swallowed them, and they were gone. He shut the door and leaned against it.

  Billy Rolker.

  Billy fucking Rolker was inside his house.

  They had met, once, in St. Louis. Briefly. That had been enough for Somers. Now, for some reason, Billy was here. He could hear the loop of his thoughts, but he couldn’t get out of it. It was like the rain, he thought briefly, the snapping movement as the downpour shifted and then came back. It looks like it’s moving, but it’s still right where it was. Jesus Christ, he thought, it’s like the rain because I can’t see past it, can’t see anything. Billy Rolker was here.

  Voices came from the kitchen: Hazard’s, like an old stump being ripped out of the earth; Billy’s like an orphan out of a fucking Disney film.

  In one of the rare moments of social confusion in Somers’s life, he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to go back to the kitchen, tackle Billy, and pound his face in. His instincts, which he normally trusted, told him the best thing he could do was shove Billy’s head through the storm door. But a part of him wondered if that might not come off as a little . . . jealous.

  “John,” Hazard called. “Get in here.”

  Somers shook himself and walked back to the kitchen.

  Billy was leaning on the counter. Hazard had withdrawn to the corner, arms across his chest. Billy was talking in a low, hurried voice, combing his fingers through wet, black curls.

  “Please, Em, please. I swear to God I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t an emergency. Please. I don’t know what else to do. Honest to God. Honest, Em. I’m going out of my mind, please, please, please—”

  “What’s the deal?” Somers said.

  “Get him out of here. If I have to touch him, I think I’ll kill him.”

  Billy sidled along the counter, although Somers hadn’t made a move yet. He was still talking, his face still focused on Hazard, his voice taking on fresh intensity. “Em, Em, come on, I know I’m a piece of shit. I know I am. And you can hate me. You need to hate me, I get it. But please don’t do this to me. I will beg. Hands and knees.” And then he did: he dropped to his knees, clasping his hands in front of him. “Em, I am literally begging you right now, please.”

  Hazard looked away from Billy and took a step toward the door, but Billy’s new position, where he had dropped to his knees, put him squarely in Hazard’s path. Hazard froze; his hands clenched at his sides, and his shoulders were high, his chin tucked, his face paler than normal.

  “John, just—just get him the fuck out of here, please.”

  “Billy,” Somers said, touching his shoulder. “Maybe we should—”

  “Don’t touch me,” Billy said, uncoiling and turning on Somers. He lunged, planted hands on Somers, and shoved. “Don’t fucking touch me, you fucking asshole. Who the fuck are you? Who the fuck do you think you are?” He shoved again. “Well?” Another shove, driving Somers back against the wall. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “One more of those,” Somers said, “and—”

  But before Somers could finish, Hazard charged forward, bellowing. “Don’t do that shit, Billy. Don’t play that fucking game. I will fucking kill you if you think you can come in here and play all the same fucking games.” Faster than Somers could believe, faster than Somers could react, Hazard caught Billy by the jacket, spun him around, and slammed him into the wall so hard that a framed Kandinsky print fell. “You know his name,” Hazard shouted, his face in Billy’s. “You know his fucking name, so don’t pretend.”

  “Jesus Christ, Ree,” Somers said, grabbing Hazard’s arm and dragging him away from Billy. Tried to drag him away. Hazard was too big; he had regained the muscle that he had lost after being injured, and maybe even a little more. He barely budged when Somers pulled on his arm. “Let him go, you’re hurting him.”

  Billy was trying to hunch over, one hand on the back of his head; the only thing holding him up was Hazard’s grip on his jacket. He was coughing and crying, and then it turned into wheezing gags. He clasped both hands over his mouth as though trying to hold back vomit.

  “He’s going to puke,” Somers said. “Get him to the trash can.”

  “He’s faking.”

  “He’s not faking, Ree, he’s—God damn it.” Somers stepped back as Billy spewed a long arc of vomit across the kitchen. “I am not cleaning that up.”

  Hazard didn’t even seem to hear. He was shaking Billy by the jacket, shaking him so hard that Billy’s head flopped back and forth. The whole time, Billy was sobbing an
d gagging, trying to collapse.

  “Let him go,” Somers shouted. “Ree, are you out of your damn mind? Let him go.”

  With a wordless shout, Hazard shoved Billy against the wall and released him. Billy slid to the ground, crumpling as he fell, curling in around himself. Hazard loomed over him, pointing a finger at Somers and saying, “Say his name, Billy, say his name, say his goddamn name right now, say it, say it, say it!”

  Somers finally managed to get between them. He caught Hazard around the throat, one hand. Not hard enough to cut off his air, but forcing his head up. Hazard’s eyes, the color of straw ready to burn, stared blindly at Somers for a minute.

  “Stop it,” Somers said.

  It took a moment, and then Hazard shivered all over and seemed to shrink back into himself. He jerked away from Somers’s touch, spun, covered his face with both hands, and then marched toward the garage. He slammed the door on his way out; a moment later, the chain on the overhead track rattled.

  Somers stared at the puke, the broken picture frame, and Billy Rolker, sobbing on the floor in the fetal position. He vaguely remembered the dinner, the medal, the sun-sweep of heat in his chest when he had looked over and seen pride in Hazard’s face, so much goddamn pride Somers thought he might go blind if he looked too long. And now—he glanced around the kitchen again. How in the hell had it ended up like this?

  CHAPTER THREE

  FEBRUARY 10

  SUNDAY

  9:27 PM

  IT TOOK A LITTLE COAXING—actually, it took a lot of coaxing—but Somers finally got Billy to stand, and then he got him to lean against the sink while Somers wetted a wad of paper towels. Somers passed the towels to Billy and then parted Billy’s hair, running his fingers through the curls to check for blood.

  “How are you?”

  Billy just sniffled and kept wiping his face.

  “Want a beer?”

  More sniffles.

  “A toothbrush?”

  This time, a soft, wet laugh came from behind the paper towel; it changed into a hiccup, and then into more crying. This wasn’t the uncontrollable sobbing from before, though, and so Somers thought it was an improvement.