by T L Dasha
I pulled open the door the rest of the way, figuring Sommer’s minions would surely be inside for some kind of ambush. But instead, all I saw was...
“Jay Jay?” Brad stared at me through tired, half lidded eyes.
‘Brad!” I ran to his side and started undoing the ropes that tightly bound his wrists and shoulders. Traces of rope burns remained in their place. Though nothing worse than we had done ourselves after a night of… post-show celebration. “Are you okay?”
He looked down at a foot enwrapped in a cast, and he gave me that perfect Brad Garza smile. “Okay compared to being dead, maybe.”
“That’s about where my standards are.” I couldn’t help hugging him. I hugged him even harder as he groaned and laughed under the increasing pain.
“So can you fill me in on what in the actual fuck is going on here?” Brad finally started asking the tough questions.
“It’s a long story.”
“Cliff notes? Are they… Mafia or something?”
“Something like that.” I nodded, though the frown on my face surely gave away my feelings. “Are you alone?”
“I don’t know. There was this big guy and this little surfer looking guy, but they haven’t been around for a minute.”
“Okay.” I glanced around, but there was no trace of them. No suspicious shadows, no obvious places to hide. I was certain they were nearby, but they were far away enough that I could at least attempt to get Brad out of there. “Are you strong enough to wheel yourself out of here?”
“I can try.” He forced a half smile.
“I’ll give you a push.” I sent him a wink, then took hold of his chair. But I hadn’t even managed to get out of the container before I turned to see Baek standing before me.
“You made it. And he’s here, too. You really are inseparable.” Baek stood with his hands in the pockets of his tailored slacks. His normally perfectly styled hair was lightly dishevelled, and his white button up shirt beneath his suit had traces of dirt. He was rougher than I’d ever seen him. Somehow it made him seem more human, as well.
“So what did you mean about revenge?” I needed to know how much he knew. More than that- what he knew that I didn’t.
He took a deep breath. “I doubt we have a lot of time to discuss the specifics. Help me load these boxes, and I’ll talk as we go.”
“Boxes?” I looked around, having not even noticed the crates and crates of what I assume were records or CDs. I guess I had been so transfixed on Brad, everything else seemed unimportant. “What’s in them?”
“You don’t need to know.”
The usual short response. I wasn’t putting up with that anymore.
“It’s time for some honesty, Baek.”
He sighed, then approached the first box. “Heroin. Now help me carry these.”
My expression flattened. Well… I guess that’s better than human organs. Brad looked back and forth between us, a look of complete and utter confusion on his face.
His dumbfounded face finally landed on me as we each picked up a crate. “So wait, you’ve been running drugs for the CEO?”
“I told you I’d fill you in later.” I started hauling the box toward the parking lot, following behind Baek.
Brad followed behind me in his wheel chair. “Is this how you got me that radio spot? The headliner position at the Roxy? The free Ducati?”
“Later.” I shook my head again. He finally shut up, which didn’t feel as reassuring as it should. I stopped long enough to give him my uninterrupted eye contact. “Yes, I fucked up. Yes, I did it for you. And no, it’s not your fault.”
“Okay.” He put his head down as we continued toward the lot. Baek had a large box truck, ready to be loaded, where he placed his crate before heading back in for the next one. Brad waited in the lot, while I hurried to catch up to Baek.
I went straight for my biggest question. “How’s Mark McClintock involved in all of this?”
“He’s the fixer.” Baek was frank.
“What does he fix?”
“He cleans up the inevitable messes.”
“Stop being so vague.”
“He disposes of bodies and fixes crime scenes.”
Alright, well, not what I wanted to hear, but at least it’s an answer.
“Did he fix…” Maybe I shouldn’t ask that.
“Bart Karas’ accident?” Baek just laughed. His laugh was always cruel and dark, but tonight it had the same frequency as the apocalypse.
“So you knew.”
“Of course. I was there.”
“What? Did you-”
“No, I wasn’t the one who ran him off the cliff.”
“I see.” I wanted to take the time to process it all, but I knew this would likely be my only opportunity to get information. I had to keep talking. “Is that why you picked me?”
“Did you think it was because you were special?” That laugh again. It hurt even more this time.
“So Mark-“
“Quiet.” Baek shoved me into a container wall, and pressed himself as tightly against it as possible. He peeked around the edge. Andrea Machiavelli stood in front of Baek’s container door, leaning against the metal wall, just waiting for us to return.
“Fuck,” I mumbled under my breath.
But Baek seemed calm. Strangely calm. “It’s just Andrea.” He seemed confident, yet he was still whispering. “Wait here.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and casually walked out of our cover. I watched from the safety of my hiding place.
“Andrea. Fancy meeting you here.” He spoke loudly enough that I could easily here him.
“I was hoping you might show up, Chris.” Andrea was always so cordial. I don’t know why that made me hate him that much more. “You weren’t answering any of my calls.”
“It’s been a busy night.” Every step of his $10,000 shoes was very purposefully placed. He got within ten feet of Andrea, when they both stood in a guarded stance, staring at each other in a silent stale mate.
In one swift motion, Baek reached into his coat and pulled a firearm.
In an even swifter motion, ‘Gio’ stepped out from between a pair of crates, grabbed Christian Baek from behind, and unceremoniously broke his neck.
His body went limp in the behemoth’s arms, and I watched my former boss drop to the ground with a sickening thud.
I stopped peeking around the corner. My heart was beating in my ears. My breathing was unsteady. Just like that, a man who I used to fear was dead. Legitimately dead. He would never berate or use me again. I... I should be happy, right?
No. Fuck. Who would ever be happy after watching someone die. My mind had lost all rationale, and my flight instincts kicked in.
I need to get out of here. I need to get Brad out of here.
My boots hit the concrete floor harder than I knew possible. Adrenaline had completely erased any traces of pain and fatigue. Faster, faster, faster!
The gate was in sight now. So was my borrowed Black Mercedes. I just need to go faster. I’m so close.
As if I had been close-lined by a log, my chest hit into a massive, muscular arm, and I was bombarded by the tightening noose of ‘Gio’s’ headlock. I fought and squirmed and flailed as a natural panic reaction, but nothing I did made any difference. I closed my eyes tightly, just waiting for that last minute where my neck would break and my consciousness would cross to the other side.
“You did good, Jay.” Andrea stood before me. “Chuck told me you would be the perfect bate, but I didn’t expect it to be this easy.”
“Let me go.” I barely managed to push words through my teeth.
“What fun would that be?” He shrugged. “Chuck and Mark both want you alive, but they would never know if we played with you a little first. Gio!”
The hulk of the man holding me slammed me hard into another container. My head hit first. Stars speckled my vision, my glasses flew from my face, and I slumped to floor. My body seemed to be struggling to coordinate.
I clawed at the metal behind me to get myself back on my feet, as a blurred image of Andrea approached me.
He wrapped his hand around my neck and hoisted me up the rest of the way. His body supported my weak knees as he pressed up against me. He whispered gently in my ear. “You’re even cuter when you’re scared.”
Andrea slipped his tongue into my ear. I clawed hopelessly at his arm as he continued down my neck. His grip tightened on my throat as he nudged his way to my collar bone. I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t scream, and I could barely see. I squeezed my eyes shut, as if that would somehow give me the clarity.
And in that moment of heightened senses, the sound of that bullet firing from a 9mm barrel had never been louder.
Gio fell first. Another bang, not even a second later, and Andrea fell, too.
I let myself fall to my knees again. I felt for my glasses. I looked through broken lenses at Bradley Sergio Ainsworth-Garza holding a handgun, the barrel still smoking from two quick shots.
Chapter 15
Jay McClintock
Mark picked us up that day. I never asked what he did with the bodies. I didn’t want to know. All I needed to know was that it was over. We rode back in silence. Brad was dropped off at home, where his mother gave him the world’s most worried hug. Mark dropped me off at my apartment, where I sat alone in my living room, staring at a blank TV screen.
I offered to visit Brad a few times while he was healing, but he wanted his space. It was a lot to take in. I didn’t bring up that night again.
It was nearly two months before I was back in the office. I arrived to a get-well-soon card on my desk, propped up by a teddy bear with a smiley face balloon. It was signed by the whole office, but it was undoubtedly picked out by Jonathan.
ALIVE had gone into a frenzy with the unexpected passing of the CEO. Mad restructuring, contemplating layoffs, and worries of the office going under were common whispers by the water cooler. Jonathan had stepped into the driver’s seat to try to manage the company until a better solution could arise. Marketing is the first and foremost skill of any management company, and he was more than capable of keeping the morale up with his fair and pleasant disposition. He was the kind of person I could handle having as a boss.
I had spoken to Charles Sommers only once since everything had concluded. He offered me the position of CEO at ALIVE. He knew how to pull all the right strings. But I didn’t want that kind of responsibility. I just wanted to write and create and have the freedom to do what I’m actually good at. At twenty four years old, I was promoted to the head of the writing department. It was a needed distraction to reset my mind.
As for Brad, his over the top performance at the Bass Jumpers Tour was the publicity he needed to launch into super stardom. The shows kept coming. He went on tour, but my new responsibilities in the office had me staying locally for a while. I kept working with him closely. We still talked on the phone before his performances. But something was… different.
A year later, I walked into his trailer after a solid performance at the Hollywood Bowl, the first local show he had done since the incident. He sat on his couch, despondent and quiet, not even making eye contact as I entered the door.
“You killed it out there. How are you feeling?” It seemed like the only normal thing to say.
“Alive, I guess.” He sighed. “How’s the office life treating you?”
“I’ve been learning a lot. Jonathan has taught me just about everything he knows and everything he’s still figuring out.” I gave him a shallow smile.
“Good to hear.” Pointless small talk.
I took a seat beside him. Even with all that time passed, seeing him again, finally sitting down together, one on one, just like old times, it all started to feel fresh. I could smell the gun powder mixed with blood and rust and sea. I could feel my heart beating a little faster. But in all that pain, and all that fear, and all the deals I made- as we sat in this dressing room, after selling out one of the biggest venues in Los Angeles- I was so mad at myself I could barely look him in the eye. Brad was the one who pulled the trigger. He said he had found the gun in Baek’s truck. But Brad was the one who, right or wrong, had to now live with having killed a man. Two men. I built the cross to decorate his home, and it became a burden only he could bear.
I looked at him, sitting beside me, quiet and despondent. This passionate man who couldn’t contain his feelings, now could no longer express them. Or he no longer had them. And that was my fault.
“Brad, I-”
“I can’t do this anymore.” He interrupted me with the five words I deserved and the five words I never wanted to hear.
“I know.” I nodded. More silence. For so long it physically hurt.
Shake it off.
I lifted my hand and placed it squarely on his shoulder. Not waiting for further consent, I pulled him into me, so his head fell against my chest.
He hugged me tightly, and he cried all the tears he had been holding in for the last year.
“I’m so sorry.” I whispered into his hair, burying my nose in the scent of coconut shampoo. Then I lifted his chin, and I met his lips. Light and soft. And I savoured the last time I would kiss this man who I had come to love so much. My Confidante. My best friend. And the one person who I would never want to live without.
It was selfish. And I knew I shouldn’t. But I need this. Just one last time.
His lips felt natural against mine, like they were always meant to be there, and immediately we were back in each other’s rhythm, tangled in his flavour, intoxicated by his movements. It took everything I had to pull away.
Brad averted his gaze, and rested his ear on my chest again. His tears continued to dampen my suit.
“I’m sorry, Jay Jay.” He was barely audible.
“It’s okay.” I stroked his hair, then placed my chin atop his head. “I’ll still always be here for you.”
Chapter 16
Jay McClintock
Present Day
Brad ordered another matcha latte and sat down in the lounge at the Roast of the Magi. The lounge was a hodge podge spread of second hand couches, none of which matched, that were so comfortable I couldn’t understand how anyone could have gotten rid of them in the firat place. I got another coffee, and sat beside him.
“Who do you think sent it? I thought anyone who might hold a grudge about that situation was dead.” Brad spoke through the warm fumes of his pale green drink.
“I did, too.”
“Have you spoken to your adoptive father recently?”
“It’s been a few years. It’s been hard to look at him the same way… given the circumstances and all.”
“You mean the whole ‘him probably being the one to dispose of your dad’s corpse thing?’”
“Yeah, that thing.”
Brad shrugged. “Maybe it doesn’t matter. What’s he going to do? Expose you for being queer as fuck? Nobody cares about that anymore.”
“I feel like they’re capable of a lot worse threats than that.” I shook my head. “But maybe you’re right. I just… I don’t think I can handle having the best relationship of my life completely ruined because of some silly family mob connections.”
“Again. You don’t want the best relationship of your life ruined again.” Brad corrected me with a wink.
“Of course. That’s exactly what I meant.”
Brad never failed to make me laugh.
“Well Jay Jay…” He paused as he considered his next words. “Whatever happens next, I’m still always going to be here for you, too.”
Brad placed a hand on my head and gave my hair a solid ruffling. “Now buckle up, bitch. Let’s go outsmart some mobsters.”
To be continued….
Hi! T. L. Dasha here!
I hope you’re enjoying Jay and Brad’s Origin story as much as I enjoy writing about them! I’m hard at work on book number three, which will take us back to the present and follow the culmination of Jay, Brad, and Roland’s careers
and relationships and friendships, and I can’t wait to show it to you.
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