Hank laughed. “You gotta deliver first, boy.”
“You’ll have your proof, don’t you worry. The wheels are in motion. We had lunch yesterday.”
“Lunch does not equal wild, sweaty sex recorded on video. What’s next? Dinner and a movie? At this rate, you’ll seduce him by, what, next month?”
Reese grunted into the phone, forcing a confidence he didn’t feel. Something had gone wrong at lunch—something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Not that he’d let Hank know that.
“Relax, ye of little faith,” he said aloud. “I’ve got it all mapped out. Guys like him take a little finessing. You don’t just slam them up against the wall, jerk their pants down and tell them to bend over.”
“Too bad. I’d love to watch that.”
“Yeah, I know you would, you sick bastard. Listen, gotta run. I have another call coming in,” Reese lied. He ended the call and stared out the window at the majestic view of Longs Peak rising dramatically over the eastern plain.
Why am I doing this?
The men Hank usually chose for their little games were players too—guys who understood the rules, even if they didn’t realize they were being taken at the time. Luca was such an innocent. It seemed almost unfair.
Had Reese ever been that innocent?
Yes. Beneath the bad-boy swagger he’d adopted early on, he had been painfully, devastatingly innocent, not to mention terrified. When had that changed?
He could still recall with vivid clarity the first time he’d set eyes on the brooding, sexy Hank Seeley. Back then, as he invariably did when placed in yet another foster home, Reese had fallen in with the wrong crowd—tough boys who skipped school, smoked pot and stole cars for fun.
Hank, of course, had nothing to do with those boys, or anyone else for that matter. He rarely spoke in class and never hung out with anyone. Yet he always seemed to find a seat next to or near Reese. Even back then, Hank had exuded a kind of power, a certain sureness that made him seem older than the rest of them. It was like he had a secret none of them would ever know.
When Hank stared at Reese in class, which he often did, Reese could feel his eyes boring into him. It was as if Hank could see into his thoughts—as if he knew what no one else at the time did—that Reese was gay, despite the macho image he projected to keep himself safe.
Reese had thought about approaching Hank on several occasions, but hadn’t quite dared. Not so much because he was afraid of what Hank might do, but because his new gang wouldn’t approve. Instead, he’d casually asked one of the guys, “What’s up with that quiet dude over there? Who is he?” He pointed to Hank, who sat alone at a table in the lunchroom, deep in the pages of a book.
Ray Greer, the natural leader of the group by virtue of his size and belligerence, had volunteered, “That’s Seeley. Hank Seeley. He’s a stuck-up little prick. His dad’s some billionaire or something.”
“Yeah,” sneered a guy named John. “Seeley thinks his shit don’t stink because he’s got money. He’s a faggot, is what he is. I caught him staring at my crotch the other day in the locker room. Fucking perv.”
“We should teach him a lesson. Make him squeal,” Ray added. The other boys at the table guffawed and slapped the table in agreement.
Reese said nothing to this, instead asking, “If he’s so rich, what’s he doing here?” The high school was located near a low-income housing project and was notorious for its high dropout rate. You had to pass through a metal detector just to enter the building, and janitors roamed the halls like armed guards. If there had been any families with money in the area, which Reese sincerely doubted, they would have sent their kids to private schools.
“I heard he’s been kicked out of every private school in Denver. He’s got issues with authority.” This was offered by Tim Daily, a short, plump boy who hung on the edges of Ray’s group, barely tolerated.
“Ha. Who doesn’t?” Ray guffawed. He pulled out a small pocketknife he’d somehow slipped past security. Flicking it open, he pointed it toward Tim, who shrank down in his seat. “How do you know so much about the dude, Daily? You two BFFs or something? Butt fucking faggots?”
Ray’s other hangers-on sniggered.
Tim flushed a dull, brick red. “Nah. Hell, no,” he retorted. “I just heard it around, is all.”
A cafeteria monitor was approaching, and Ray slipped his knife back into his pocket. Reese, who had finished the cardboard pizza and canned peaches that passed as lunch that day, got to his feet, as did the other boys. He would have liked to go over to Hank’s table but didn’t have the nerve. Not if the guy had been identified as gay. It was too risky in that school.
Despite his interest, Reese probably never would have connected with Hank if it hadn’t been for the hailstorm. Though he usually took the bus, that afternoon Reese had been walking to his foster home from school when the skies turned gunmetal gray and then opened, unleashing a torrent of blinding rain and hail.
As if on cue, a small, sleek red sports car had pulled up alongside him, Hank at the wheel. Without speaking, he’d opened the passenger door and simply waited. Reese had climbed in, and that was the beginning.
Hank hadn’t asked Reese where he lived or if he’d like to come over. He’d simply driven out of the area, soon leaving the small houses and crumbling apartment buildings behind, finally arriving at a gated community. The guard in the small booth waved him inside with a nod and a smile that Hank ignored. The gates swung slowly inward and they entered a wide tree-lined lane, the huge houses set back far from the street.
“Whoa, man,” Reese had breathed, in awe. “You live here?”
Hank had shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah.”
“So how come you go to Manual?”
He shrugged again. “Dad thinks it’ll toughen me up. What he doesn’t get is, bottom line, I don’t give a flying fuck.”
At seventeen, Reese had shared that attitude, though he’d come to that place from a far different direction. “I totally get that,” he’d laughed bitterly, though something had lifted inside him. Had he discovered, at last, a kindred spirit?
No one was home that afternoon, save for a uniformed maid who greeted Hank with a deferential smile as he dropped his backpack in the front hall and led Reese up to his bedroom, which was like something out of a movie set.
“So, what’s your story, Reese?” Hank had asked casually. “You don’t seem like you especially fit in at Manual High either, even though you hang out with those criminals. What’s that about?”
Reese had shrugged but inside he’d been startled that Hank had so easily seen past his tough-guy façade. “They’re all right. Who says I’m not a criminal too?” He’d glanced around Hank’s bedroom, noting the fancy Nintendo and PlayStation, both of which would fetch good money at the local pawnshop if he could manage to swipe them, and then flashed a grin at Hank.
“Nah.” Hank had shaken his head. “I’m not buying it. What’s your story, really? How come you transferred in near the end of the year? What’s that about?”
Why not just tell the rich boy? What did Reese care what he thought of him? “I’m in foster care,” he said, lifting his chin in an I dare you to fuck with me challenge. “I don’t get along so well in some of the placements, especially when the foster dad is an abusive drunk or the mom hits all the kids with a belt if they don’t finish the disgusting slop she calls food. I’m what’s known as a ‘difficult placement’ because of my ‘bad attitude.’ I suck at school, am uncooperative at home and tend to ‘fall in with the wrong crowd.’” He drew air quotes around the phrases. “As soon as I turn eighteen, they’ll cut me loose, and that suits me just fine.”
“Wow. A real badass, huh?” Hank’s tone was admiring.
Reese had shrugged, but inside he’d experienced a thrill. Hank Seeley thought he was a badass.
Hank walked to his bed and sat down, patting the mattress beside him.
Reese sat next to him, nervous and unsure, completely out of his depth.
He’d never been in a home like this, or known a guy like Hank.
Hank had fixed him with a discerning gaze, sympathy glinting in his dark eyes. “It must be rough,” he said, his voice suddenly gentle. “What happened to your parents?”
This would normally have been Reese’s cue to jump up and change the subject. He never liked talking about his past. He barely allowed himself to think about it. But something in Hank’s gaze, and the way he’d placed his hand, feather-light, over Reese’s, had disarmed him, and he actually answered the question. “They were killed in a car crash, along with my little brother, back when I was nine. A drunk driver hit them head-on when they were returning from Ian’s first little league game. I would have been with them, but I was at a sleepover at my friend’s house.”
He'd held his breath, stunned at himself for being so candid. He dreaded the sympathy, embarrassment and uneasiness this confession always engendered in others. He especially hated the pity, which only filled him with impotent rage.
But instead of reacting directly, Hank had only nodded soberly. Without saying a word, he had slid his hands under Reese’s T-shirt, pressing his palms firmly against Reese’s chest. Reese hadn’t pulled away. He’d sat frozen, desperate with longing, aching with need. No one had touched him with such intimacy, with such tenderness, since his life had been turned upside down all those years ago. He’d stared at Hank, unable to respond, his teenage heart booming like a drum in his chest.
Slowly, carefully, Hank had leaned close, his eyes fixed on Reese’s, until their lips had touched. At that moment, everything changed. Reese still remembered the stunned, raw joy he’d experienced as they’d kissed. Here, at last, was what he’d been missing—what he’d longed for but never dared seek on his own.
With patience and surprising kindness, Hank had taught Reese all the basics and then some. At first, he’d been the giver—taking his time as he touched every inch of Reese’s naked body. They didn’t do much beyond that the first afternoon. But the next day after school, Hank was waiting near Reese’s bus stop, the passenger door ajar.
They’d become inseparable, though they were careful at school not to reveal the nature of their relationship. Reese had separated himself from Ray’s gang, empowered by his connection to Hank. For the first time in his life, he was taking risks—not the stupid, fake risks of vandalizing property and bullying kids weaker than himself—but the real risk of letting someone into his life and, even though it scared him to death to admit it, into his heart.
Their friendship, especially at first, was based entirely around sex, of which Reese couldn’t get enough. When Hank had first taken Reese’s cock into his mouth, the seventeen-year-old had, predictably, exploded within seconds. But instead of making fun of him, Hank had only smiled, and then licked away every drop.
After that, they had sex as often as possible, sometimes in Hank’s bedroom and, when it got warmer, out in the pool house behind Hank’s home. Though it would be years before they actually invested in impact toys and bondage gear, Hank was very good at improvising with what he had around—his leather belt, silk ties, even a small rubber ball he sometimes forced between Reese’s teeth to keep him quiet. A perennially horny teenager, back then Reese couldn’t get enough.
There were plenty of opportunities. His foster family at the time didn’t pay too much attention to Reese’s whereabouts after school, as long as he was home for dinner. He was just another foster kid in the revolving door of their home, and they were only too happy to accept the payments from the county without having to do much work for it.
Hank’s parents were rarely home. Hank’s father owned and ran a huge construction company, and never came home before ten at night. Hank’s mother was a socialite or, as Hank called her, “a lady who lunches.” From what Reese could see, they paid zero attention to Hank, and made up for it by throwing money at him.
Hank pretended not to care. “They might as well be dead or living in another country,” he’d said dismissively, though Reese had detected pain beneath the bravado. “Or more accurately, I might as well be. Mom produced the family heir and promptly got her tubes tied. Dad’s probably produced any number of offspring, since he can’t keep his dick in his pants, but he has a good attorney who makes it all go away. They don’t know I’m alive, except when I make trouble.”
Hank was apparently good at making trouble, which was yet another thing they had in common. Hank had always loved risk, and from time to time he would convince Reese to mess around on school grounds, hidden in a janitor’s closet, or out behind the bleachers on the football field.
It had been fun, exciting and tinged with just the right amount of danger to keep it spicy. It had all been great fun, until that day in the chemistry lab when they’d been busted.
It had been years since he’d allowed himself to think about that horrible day, but it still visited him in his dreams. The terror, the shock, the violence, the raw, senseless hatred and bigotry, the knife, the blood…
No.
No reason to dwell on the past.
They never talked about it, for which Reese was grateful. Hank’s daddy had intervened, pulled some strings and saved the day, firmly establishing the pattern of obligation and control that had remained at the core of Reese’s relationship with Hank in all the ensuing years.
Wrenching his thoughts back to the present, Reese’s mind returned to Luca, where it lingered. This was his last bet with Hank. Once he collected the ten thousand, he was done with these childish, destructive games.
Again he pondered Luca’s abrupt departure the day before. He’d run over the conversation a dozen times in his head but couldn’t put his finger on where he’d lost him. To top it off, Luca had disappeared. He hadn’t gone back to the office after lunch. Reese had returned around five after some cold calling, but Luca’s space behind the divider screen had remained empty. Then today, when he’d made it over to the office around two, still no Luca. Casual inquiries were met with shrugs. “Luca keeps his own hours,” one of the other programmers remarked. “Sometimes he works from home. Why? Did you need something?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll just email him.” But he didn’t, of course. Email was too impersonal. Whatever damage he’d unwittingly done, he’d need to repair it face-to-face.
Could he have gotten Luca wrong? Was the guy straight, after all? Had he freaked out at Reese’s admittedly less than subtle attempts at seduction? Or was there more at play here?
Hank had chosen the guy. Maybe he had inside information he wasn’t sharing. Hank had ways of finding things out. Money, as Hank was fond of saying, talked. Maybe he’d rigged this whole thing in order to have Reese at his beck and call for a solid week.
Fuck that. Even if Luca Hartman was straight, it wouldn’t be the first time Reese had talked a so-called straight guy into a little “experimentation.” It wasn’t like they had to fall in love. All Reese needed was a few minutes of video.
But to get there, he had to reconnect with Luca. He had to fix whatever had gone wrong. What he needed to do was to think like Luca—get inside the guy’s head. He closed his eyes, recalling every nuance of Luca’s words and body language over lunch.
Luca had been on edge until Reese had gotten him into his comfort zone of computer code and programming language. But his jitters hadn’t been those of a straight guy being hit on by a gay one. They were more like those of an insecure, confused teenager with a crush. Luca had been attracted to him. He was sure of it.
Reese had brought his considerable skills to bear to put the guy at ease, but it hadn’t worked. Something he’d done—some kind of tell—had tipped Luca off to the game, even if he wasn’t exactly sure of the rules. Reese had misstepped somehow, and he needed to correct that. He needed to redeem himself in Luca’s eyes.
He needed to see Luca face-to-face. Tapping at his keyboard, he opened the company directory and scrolled through the alphabetical listing until he found what he was looking for.
Luca Hartman
, 224 Hamden Avenue, Apartment 4…
Chapter 3
At the sound of the doorbell that Friday evening, Luca stopped mid biceps curl and shook his sweaty hair from his face. Was he expecting a package? Not that he could remember. The doorbell rang again, followed by a few knocks. Luca set down the weights on the bench. Grabbing the T-shirt he’d discarded midway through his workout, he pulled it over his head. Gym towel in hand, he hurried toward the front door.
When he looked through the peephole, he caught his breath, his heart clenching in his chest. What the hell was he doing there?
Luca hadn’t been back to the office since that bizarre lunch the day before, too shaken up to return. Early on, he’d set up his computer at home to be linked to his computer at Strata Systems, and it was just as easy to work from home. It was one of the things he loved about his job at Strata—Robert gave the programmers carte blanche to come and go as they pleased, as long as they got their work done. He’d told himself he just wanted a break from the distractions at the office, but the real reason was now standing just outside his door.
“Luca? You in there? It’s Reese. Reese Armstrong.”
Luca blew out the breath, willing himself to act calm. It was like a fantasy come to life—the gorgeous guy he’d secretly pined for showing up on his doorstep like a gift from the gods. Except that he didn’t want to see him—not now. He hadn’t forgotten that reptilian flicker in Reese’s eyes that had belied his apparent sudden interest in Luca. Luca had been the butt of many mean-spirited pranks and humiliations when he was a kid, and he’d learned to recognize when he was being set up.
But maybe he’d overreacted? Maybe his own insecurities had gotten the better—or rather the worst—of him? What the hell was he doing, anyway, hiding out at home like a scared little kid? Whatever Reese’s game was, wouldn’t it be better just to face it head on?
Unlocking the door, he pulled it open. He’d meant to say something mildly snarky, but the sight of the guy face-to-face took his breath away. “W-w-what’re you d-d-doing here?” he blurted.
Dangerous Games Page 3