Not his problem. Demi had other, more urgent concerns. Trey had been right about Papa and Dad pitching a fit when they heard what happened. Demi harbored a slim hope of running up to his room to change before the story of his dip in the river reached his fathers’ ears. It might not sound so bad if they couldn’t see the aftermath. No such luck. When Trey pulled up to the club’s side entrance, they came hurrying out along with Alex and Val. Damien must have texted them that they were on their way back. Dad had Demi engulfed in a tight hug by the time he’d put both feet on the pavement.
“Why are you shirtless and wet?” he demanded. His keen gaze swept Demi up and down. “You’ve lost that expensive dyed hair extension that Mackie loaned you,” he added, swiping his hand over Demi’s head.
Even though he’d had the entire ride back to come up with a way of telling the tale so that it didn’t sound too bad, he found he had no words. Instead, he leaned into his father’s embrace. Two sets of arms wrapped him up, held him securely as Papa joined them. He knew he was loved and that he was safe, unlike that kid he’d chased down, who likely had learned to do terrible things to survive. He hadn’t felt sorry for him as he’d wrangled him. Now he did.
“I’m okay.”
“Is he?” This from Papa.
“Yes,” Paz replied. “I’ve checked him out and he’s fine.”
“I’ll explain everything before I head back to the station.” Trey’s voice sounded weary.
Everyone trooped inside, slipping into the private elevator in a group. It stopped on the floor where Demi shared rooms with his fathers, and Dad hustled him off while the others stayed.
Demi dragged his feet. “Wait. I want to go to the debriefing.”
“No.” Dad’s tone brooked no dissent. “You’ve done enough, apparently, and Papa will tell me all about it later. You need to take a shower.”
Paz stepped out to join them. “I’ll come, too, if you don’t mind. I’ve had it for the night.”
“Of course,” Dad replied before propelling Demi forward.
Demi had a second to look over his shoulder. Trey’s expression as the elevator doors closed was unreadable. He tried not to let it worry him. After all, Friday was coming up, and once they’d rid him of his pesky virginity, things would be different. They had to be.
* * * *
The knock on his door was so soft that Dafydd thought for a second that he’d imagined it. Then another came, and he had to decide whether he even wanted to answer. This room he’d been given was his haven, a place where he could spend the days and nights alone, reading, as he was now, or watching TV. There was an endless array of channels to choose from, as well as the Internet. There was also a large supply of books in Alex’s private library. He’d been told to peruse at will, and he had.
The one good part of being Dracul’s slave for centuries had meant some time to learn a few different languages. He could switch between Welsh and English easily out of necessity, given that Dracul and his men had done so. Survival alone had forced him to be bilingual. It made slipping into life in America easy. Easier, that is, because nothing about his life was other than hard.
Another knock had him putting aside his book and sliding off his bed. He unlocked the door and opened it a sliver to see who it was. Dr. Paz peered back, the man’s expression conveying his own unease. Although tempted to shut the man out, Dafydd couldn’t bring himself to be quite so mean.
“Yes?” He allowed some annoyance to seep through.
Paz’s lips quirked up briefly. “Sorry to bother you. I happened to be in the club, and I was hoping to see how you are doing.”
Dafydd dropped his gaze. “I’m fully healed with no lingering effects from the…” He licked his lips and fell silent.
“That’s good to hear, but I was more concerned about your, um, mental health, frankly.”
Dafydd raised his eyes again. “I seem to be managing feeding, washing and dressing myself all right.” He winced inwardly at his stroppy retort. He’d been raised to be polite. Years with the monster had dulled his childhood lessons, yet they weren’t completely destroyed.
He opened the door more. “Forgive my rudeness. I appreciate your concern. As you can see, I’m truly fine.”
The doctor flashed a smile. “I’m glad to hear it.” He stuck his hands in the front pocket of his pants, drawing Dafydd’s gaze there.
The man was dressed down in a simple shirt and worn jeans, much as Dafydd was. The luxury of being fully clothed whenever he wanted was something he was still getting used to. He hadn’t yet mastered the idea of wearing smallclothes, something totally foreign to him, but soft baggy denim and sweatpants suited him very well. The doctor’s pants were tighter, hugging his slim hips and cupping his crotch in a provocative way. Dafydd hated that he noticed such a thing. So, turning, he walked away.
“May I come in?”
“Do as you like.” Dafydd was back to being difficult. He threw himself on the bed and sat up against his amazing mound of pillows. Not being used to staring at anyone in the eye, he focused his gaze on his own bare feet, mostly. It was hard not to keep glancing at his visitor.
Paz padded in, leaving the door open. “I don’t mean to be intrusive. I happen to be up with Lucien and he said you stick to this room for the most part. I was worried,” he added with a shrug.
“You needn’t be.” Dafydd waved his hand at the room. “I live in perfect comfort, as you can see. I haven’t been this safe, well-fed and pain free in my entire life. I want and need nothing more.”
“Hmm.” The doctor made a circuit around the room. “I have no doubt you see it that way.” He poked at the heavy curtain hanging closed against the window. “There is a whole world out there, you know. Eventually, you’ll want to go out into it.”
Now it was Dafydd’s turn to shrug. “Perhaps. Not today, though.”
Paz let go of the curtain. “It’s night.”
Dafydd blinked back at him. “Is it? I’ve lost track.”
“I’m not surprised. People who live in isolation tend to form a twenty-five-hour cycle instead of keeping to the twenty-four-hour one.”
Dafydd expected more, like a lecture about how he needed to leave his room. Instead, Paz stayed silent as he studied the stack of books Dafydd had amassed.
“I saw Idris.” The remark caught Dafydd off guard. Paz returned to the bed, hands back into his pockets, rocking on his heels. “He’s gotten so big and is very robust and happy.”
Something sharp poked at his heart. He swallowed hard. “He’s a monster. They grow fast. Wait until he’s big enough to rip your throat out. I expect that will make him very happy indeed.” How many times had he witnessed such barbarity by Dracul or their sons? The memories turned his stomach.
Paz inched closer. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, not in this environment where the Stelalux family works so hard to protect humans. This club will be a good place for him to be raised.”
Dafydd said nothing. There was no point to this conversation. The doctor was naïve, never having lived the horror of being Dracul’s slave. He’d heard stories, no doubt. To experience the true level of evil that had been Dracul was all it took to beat any hope or optimism out of a man.
A thought occurred to him. “Why are you here? In the club, I mean. Are you a member?”
Paz snorted. “This is a place where rich men come to play. That’s not me. Not yet, probably not ever. Although Alex has been kind and extended a membership to me in gratitude for what little I’ve done, I’m not really comfortable hanging with this crowd, not on a routine basis. Maybe on a Friday or Saturday night, but this is the middle of the week.”
“And yet, here you are.” He wasn’t sure why he was prodding the conversation along. He should be working to kick the guy out.
Paz screwed up his face. “I was helping out again on a small matter.”
Of necessity, Dafydd had developed an excellent sense of trouble brewing. “What?” he asked sharply.
&
nbsp; “Nothing of consequence.” When Dafydd stared hard at him, the man elaborated. “There was a murder of a priest recently and there’s a guy corralling some of the street boys as their pimp. I was asked to be part of a sort of undercover effort to learn more. That’s all.”
The fuck it is. “What are you not telling me?”
Paz’s face went through all sorts of contortions, which might have been amusing if not for a tightening in Dafydd’s gut telling him something bad was happening. Finally, the doctor explained. Dafydd’s heartbeat sped up and his lungs labored as his breathing became harsh.
“It’s probably nothing related to Dracul,” the doctor tried to reassure him. He raced up to Dafydd’s bedside and dropped to his knees. Clasping Dafydd’s wrist, he pressed his finger on the pulse. “Take it easy. You’re safe, no matter what.”
Dafydd yanked his hand free and scuttled into the middle of the bed. “You don’t know that.”
Paz stood. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to frighten you.”
“I-I’m not. Fear was beaten out of me long ago.” Liar. Mostly. It was more fury making him react this way. It was supposed to be over. Plus, Paz’s touch had freaked him out, not because he hated it, but because he hadn’t.
“It may be one of the twins.” He forced the words out.
“Why do you think it’s one of them in particular?” the doctor asked. “Assuming it has anything to do with Dracul at all. We don’t know that it does.”
“Don’t we?” Dafydd spat back. “I’m not even convinced the monster, himself, is dead.” No body, no ashes, no certainty… Not that he had anything to fear in that regard. He would die before being enslaved again, either by his own hand or by Dracul’s.
Pushing down his emotions, he worked with the facts he had. “The twins were banished because they fucked up their mission here. I think they were still in the castle after that, but I can’t be sure. They could have been long gone before the night you rescued me.”
Memories swamped him for a few seconds—the agony of childbirth, the reassuring touch of the doctor and his insistence that Dafydd wasn’t going to die. He wouldn’t have thought it possible, and yet the man had been true to his word.
He worried the comforter he lay on. “I know my sons. They’ve spent their entire lives trying to live up to their father’s standards of monstrous success. It would suit their perverted view to achieve power right under their enemies’ nose. I should perhaps talk to Alex.” The thought of facing the alien leader, as well as the one called Val, made his stomach knot. It was too reminiscent of Dracul and Petru, even though he knew they were nothing alike.
Paz held up his hand. “It’s all right. They’ve already considered that. They are working with the local police and seem to have it well in hand. They aren’t complacent by any means. I’m sure if they need anything from you, they’ll ask.”
Dafydd relaxed back against his pillow, more relieved than he wanted to be. “Very well. Thank you for telling me the truth.”
“You have a right to know what’s going on. You’re part of this, more so than I am.”
“You seem quite in the middle of it to me.” He didn’t mean it to be an accusation, yet it came out sounding like one.
Paz shrugged. “I was in the right place at the wrong time and know how to keep my mouth shut. I’m fascinated by all of this, to be honest.”
“I’m a specimen in a jar, am I?” God, now I really am being cruel and rude.
Paz’s expression hardened. “No, you’re not.” He took a step closer. “You matter, Dafydd. I, um, care about what happens to you. This isn’t me looking for entertainment or a Nobel Prize if and when this whole alien thing becomes known.” He paced away then continued. “It started out that way. I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t. Sometime while I was helping birth Idris and keeping you alive, it became more personal.” He stopped and stared into Dafydd’s eyes. “I hope I’m not entirely out of line saying that.”
Dafydd dropped his gaze again and ran his finger long the spine of his book. “I can’t honestly say. My moral compass is, if not broken, hopelessly malfunctioning. And after accepting my imminent death and making peace with it, I find living mystifying. Being free should make me happy. Instead, I am confused.”
He stared up at Paz from under his lashes. “You know I am hollow inside. I have nothing to give anyone.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true.” His voice caught.
“Give it time. You’ll see that it isn’t.”
* * * *
Trey dropped into the ass-killing interview chair, tossing his folder on the table. “So, mystery boy, now that you’ve had a couple of hours to consider your situation, do you want to give me your name?”
The skinny kid slumped across from him remained silent. He’d said nothing other than a string of vile curses since his arrest. That was according to Karl. Once they’d wrangled him out of his wet clothing and into dry prison issue, he’d gone silent. His fingerprints didn’t match any in the system so far. They’d run them through IAFIS with no luck. The kid hadn’t been arrested before, which seemed unlikely—or perhaps his offenses had been juvenile and therefore sealed.
Trey tapped his fingertips on the file. “I guess I’ll just call you ‘kid’, then.” He pulled out a picture of Father Ted lying in his own blood where he’d been killed. “You know this guy?”
He slid the picture closer. The boy’s gaze flicked over it before skittering away again.
“That’s Father Ted, but I bet you know that already. He used to do good work with street kids like you.”
According to Damien, this boy might have hung around the soup kitchen before. He couldn’t be sure. And if this was one of the members of the new pimp’s stable, he probably wouldn’t have needed the food hand-out.
He presented the picture of the bike next. “That’s what you were riding tonight, and oddly enough, it belonged to Father Ted. It went missing the morning his throat was cut.”
Something flickered in the kid’s eyes, and he shifted in his seat. Sensing he was breaking through the façade of indifference, Trey took out another picture of the body, this one from the morgue. There was something about the sanitized view of the corpse that was worse than the murder-scene one. It was starker, more realistic, not something that every teenager saw in video games and in movies. No fake blood pooling around someone who looked merely asleep, only a hideously pale dead man with his throat gaping open.
“Nice guy. Everyone said so, a real man of the cloth. He wanted to help kids like you, get you off drugs and the streets. Give you a way of surviving that didn’t involve selling yourself to sweaty men in their cars or a back alley. And yet, some asshole slit him open like a fucking carp.”
The boy’s gaze turned away again. He tightened his lips into a narrow line, and his thin chest rose and fell on a harsh breath.
Trey pounded his fist on top of the last picture. “Look at him!”
The kid jumped, his fuck-you demeaner cracking even more.
“You know,” Trey said, lowering his voice to a more conversational tone. “We don’t have the death penalty anymore in this state, but we still put punks like you away for life. I hear Sousa is handling the overflow of mean motherfuckers from Walpole. Those dogs will tear a little thing like you apart.”
The perp scoffed. “You think I’m scared of prison? I can handle myself. I’ll just find the biggest daddy there and he’ll protect me. I know how to make a man happy,” he added with a toss of his head.
Shit. For a second there, the gesture and the way the hair swung reminded Trey of Demi. In fact, this boy looked way too much like him. Trey’d been so pissed off back on the Esplanade that he hadn’t noticed the similarities, not that it meant anything. It shouldn’t throw him. He couldn’t let it.
“Sure, sure, I bet you do, so long as you stay young and pretty.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, wait, that won’t happen. A lifer like you will age out of cute in a few ye
ars and sink right into old and ugly.”
Now, the boy was pissed. “I won’t get life.” He barked out a laugh. “As if anyone will believe that I could kill that tall priest from behind.” He shut his mouth with an audible click of his teeth when he realized he’d said too much.
Trey leaned forward. “Interesting. You knew Father Ted and you know the way he was killed. And you’re right. You’re too short. So, who did it and why?”
The boy folded his arms. “I have no idea.” He shrugged. “Yeah, I knew him. Of him. Fucking do-gooder. Not content with handing out food. He had to hand out shitty advice about things there were none of his business.”
“He liked to help kids stop whoring. That pissed off pimps, I hear. Ones like yours?”
Now a look of smugness crossed his face. “You have no idea about who you’re dealing with.”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
A snort and an eye roll were all he got.
Trey sat back and acted relaxed. “I’m thinking it’s this guy who wears leather like he’s perpetually in cosplay.” That slight earned him a narrowing of eyes. “Big, fat maybe.”
“Muscular,” the boy spat out, then actually put his hand over his mouth.
“Yeah, ’cause a street rat like you has choices. Nothing but the best when it comes to men you bed for a few bucks, a warm place, maybe a shower.”
“It’s not like that. I am not a whore.”
“Right. Of course. Not now. You used to be, though, huh? But this new pimp has taken you off the street because he’s your boyfriend.” He put as much of a sneer into the last word as he could manage.
It did the trick. Sitting up, the boy jabbed a finger at him. “I take care of him. And in return he shoves his huge dick so far up my ass that it chokes me.” He dropped his eyelids in a creepy attempt at seduction. “You’re nothing compared to him. He could snap you like a twig if he wanted.”
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