Fight (2 page)

"You didn't come.” Statement not a question.

Paul shook his head.

Carl pulled out and got off the bed, striding into the bathroom. He washed his cock with angry, soapy strokes then returned to the bedroom. “Why didn't you come?"

Paul closed his eyes for a moment then opened them, staring at Carl with...defiance?

"You've fucked me off, you know that?"

Carl raised a fist and smacked it into Paul's gut. Paul's knees rose, and a muffled “Oomph!” came out between partially open lips.

"I'm going to leave you there like that for a while. I'll take your keys and come back when I think you deserve to be released. You got that?"

Paul nodded.

Carl left the apartment, anger blazing a trail through his gut. He swallowed bile and got into his car, intent on hitting a bar or two and seeing where the night took him. He'd see to Paul another time, maybe tomorrow, catch him unawares, teach him a lesson. No way was he going to put up with that crap. He called the shots, not Paul.

He drove to town, bringing the car to a screeching halt in a side street. Out on the sidewalk, he slammed the door and clicked the lock button on his key fob. The rain had stopped, thank God, and he walked to the town proper. Throbbing beats filtered from the pubs he passed, but Dewer's and The Anchor didn't appeal. No, he was headed for Jilly's Club, the place where like-minded people got trashed and went home to fuck and strive for sexual peaks they'd never reached before. His cock hardened at the thought.

Once there, he approached the head of the line, ignoring the straggle of drunkards waiting patiently to get in. The bouncer nodded at him and opened the door, and Carl breezed inside like he owned the joint. At the bar, impatience ripped through him, and he tapped it with his knuckles. A barmaid studied him with narrow eyes, her glare telling him she thought of him as a cocksucker.

She's got that right.

He smirked and waited for her to give in and serve him. She did.

Carl paid her and walked off sipping from his beer bottle, searching out a potential guy for what he had in mind. He spotted him in the corner, already too drunk to stand straight, all spiked-up hair and muscles. Not his usual fare, but it didn't matter what he looked like. He neared him, watched as the guy stood straighter, puffing out his chest.

Placing his bottle on a nearby table, Carl asked, “You want something?” He looked down at his crotch then back to the man's.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah. Come on.” Carl jerked his head in the direction of the club's rear and walked away, confident the man would follow. He reached the back fire escape door and leaned against it, pleased that the guy arrived at his side. Carl looked around. No one paid them any attention, so he pushed down on the metal bar. The door swung open, and Carl stepped outside, beckoning the man to follow.

"You like it
outside
?” the man asked.

"Yeah. Shut the door and come with me.” Carl walked close to the building, knowing exactly where the security cameras were from the last time he'd done this. He strode along the wet backstreet and turned down a side alley, smiling to himself upon hearing heavy pursuing footsteps. He stopped halfway behind some large refuse bins and waited.

"Here?” the guy asked.

"Yeah, here. Lean up against the wall. I like it there. Face it."

He did, and despite the dimness, Carl made out that tight ass and thick thighs. He reached out a hand and gripped the man's hair.

"You like it rough?” he asked, pulling his head back.

"Yeah. Some."

"Good.” Carl slipped his hand inside his jacket pocket and brought out a knife. He raised it, eased the blade in the space between the man's neck and the wall, and drew it across his skin in a quick, sharp movement. “As rough as that?” he whispered, holding the man's weight as he sagged and struggled to speak. “Fucking prick."

He stepped back, let the man go, and watched him fall to the ground. Anger assuaged, he left the alley, peering down at his clothes when he passed under a streetlight. Not a speck of blood that he could see. Damn, he was getting good at this shit.

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"Fucker.” Not nearly enough venom laced the word, but I could barely breathe, let alone spit vitriol. It roiled in my gut, though, made my stomach lurch and spin at the thought of coming with that asshole inside me. I was done. Nothing he could say could make up for this one. The need to puke forced me to ignore the pain and squirm up until I could get my teeth at the knot in the scarf.

Transcend the pain, my ass. I took a few gasping breaths, hoped Carl hadn't cracked a rib, then sank my teeth into the silk. I almost had it tugged loose. A key rattled in the door. Already?

"Shit."

Amazing how the sound of a key in a lock could be so loud. For a split second, I hated myself for the way I scrambled back down flat on my back on the bed, like a frightened puppy, tired of getting kicked. Then the ache of the awkward movements spread through my ribs and stomach, and the burn of the lash across my chest let me convince myself there was nothing wrong with self-preservation.

I clamped my lips around the urge to tell him to fuck off, to leave me alone. He wanted me to speak up, wanted to hear my anger. It turned him on. I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. I didn't even look to watch the bedroom entrance, but stared up at the ceiling as the apartment door opened and footsteps clomped through the entry. Never mind the way my heart raced, pounding against sore ribs from the inside. Never mind the cold sweat. Fuck. I wasn't afraid of the fucker.

"Paul? Dude, you still here?"

Brian. Perfect. I kicked at the sheets, trying to hook them and draw them up with my toes. The bed creaked under my shifting weight.

"I saw Carl's car leave. Just wanted to...Jesus."

If I thought I felt sick before, now I didn't think I could speak without hurling.

"See you're okay,” he finished, his voice low and shaking, skimming the edge of fury.

I looked away, clamping my teeth down on the sick as he strode across the room and knelt on the bed. He had me loose in a few seconds, and I bolted for the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

I didn't lock it, though. I should have. He came in as I was still leaning over the toilet, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Paul—"

"Don't.” I reached and pulled away the torn shirt, tossed it in the trash, and thought about getting up.

He touched my shoulder, but I slid away, getting to my feet and snatching up a pair of jeans hanging over the edge of the vanity. I didn't bother with underwear. Oh, the irony.

"He left you tied up!"

"No shit!” I shouldered past him, grabbing a tank top from the floor to throw over the evidence of what else he'd done to me. “There's a duffle on the shelf in the closet.” I yanked open the dresser drawer and gathered up all the clean underwear and socks, then moved to the next for t-shirts. He had the duffle out by then and tossed it onto the bed for me to fill. I grabbed everything I thought I might need for the next few days, stuffing a few suits haphazardly into a garment bag and shoes and jeans into the duffle.

"Um...you do realize this is your apartment?” Brian said.

He was in the bathroom, tossing hair gel and my toothbrush into a toiletry bag, though, and I silently thanked him for understanding. My apartment, maybe. My happy place? Not even close. Not anymore.

"He'll be back. Sooner or later. And he knows exactly how long he has to stay away for me to forgive him."

"Forgive him?” Now Brian stopped helping me pack to stare at me from the bathroom, though the weight of it, he might have been standing over me. “This isn't just rough sex anymore, Paul."

My jaw tightened so much it ached, and I had to wiggle it loose before I could speak. “I don't need you to tell me what this is, thank you very much."

"It's fucked up is what it is,” he muttered, and I wondered if he thought I couldn't hear him.

"Asshole."

He glanced at me, but thankfully didn't say anything. I didn't exactly need him to tell me I was being a jerk. He just handed me the bag, and I threw it on top of everything else in the duffle, zipped it up, and slung the handle over my shoulder.

"That everything?"

A heavy sigh escaped, and I shook my head. “Probably not. Come on.” I hauled my stuff out to the entry and opened the drawer of the hall table. “Fucker!"

"What?” Brian peered over my shoulder into the empty drawer.

"He took my wallet.” I slammed the drawer, and the front clattered to the floor under the force of my anger. I'd planned on finding a nice, anonymous hotel where he couldn't find me. Without my credit cards or I.D. on a Saturday night, I didn't have access to my money until I could replace them on Monday. He was probably racking up my bill as I stood there cursing him.

"Bri?"

"Yeah. Come on. You can sleep on the couch.” He paused, clapped me on the back, and sighed. “I'm sure Lil will have something to say about it. You ready for that?"

"Lillian can stuff his fat cock up in his big girl panties and suck it up."

"Hey!"

Brian stepped back, but not before I felt the vibration of his anger in the air. It was a vibe I knew intimately and shied away from.

"Sorry.” It was a nasty thing to say. “Carl's crap rubs off on me sometimes."

"Well, take a fucking hot shower and scrub it off, because Lil takes enough of that from people we don't call friends, and if you piss us off, you can take your chances with the asshole."

I nodded. “I'm sorry."

"You're my best friend, Paul, and this is a shitty place to be in, but I won't choose you over Lil. Don't make me."

"I know. I won't.” The last thing I needed was to piss Brian off. He was helping me, and if he and Lil had gone through some nasty shit, they were solid now. I didn't have to like the guy who'd made Brian's life hell for so long, but I didn't have a right to judge him, either.

We walked to his car in silence. He had a right to be annoyed, and I wasn't in the mood to make him feel better, even if it was my fault. He lived closer to the bar district than I did, and had to drive around the block a few times before he found a parking spot close enough to his apartment to satisfy him. The quiet had lost most of its strain by the time he killed the engine.

His hands dropped from the wheel, and he turned a bit to face me. “I get it, you know. How you feel about Lil. All the fights and drinking, and everything else, and I know there was a lot you had to watch me put up with. I know why you don't like my lover. Especially now, with Carl, I get it. But Lil isn't a Carl. There was a lot of shit we went through, a lot of soul searching, and not all of it was constructive, but the search is over. Lil's happy now. We're happy."

I nodded. His little speech wasn't meant to rub in my idiocy, or my mistakes in keeping Carl around for so long. He wasn't trying to fuel my anger. It just worked out that way.

After a minute, when I didn't say anything, he just sighed and got out of the car. I only hesitated a second before following him. Where else was I going to go?

I wasn't even inside before Lil was there, pulling Brian in the door and wrapping him up in a tight embrace.

"Where the hell have you been?"

His voice was tight and hard, and I couldn't help but flinch at his unveiled emotion. Demonstrative didn't begin to describe Lil. When he noticed me, the light in his eyes went from fierce to cold, and I instinctively backed against the closed door.

"Who let him and his issues in here?"

"Nice to see you, too, pot,” I muttered, angry at myself for how easily I let myself be intimidated by a big man. It never used to be my default, and Lil wasn't even huge. He was tall, sure, willow thin and sculpted, probably strong as an ox, but for all his vices over the years, one thing he'd never done was raise a finger against anyone. I pushed passed them as Lil gently set Brian aside and turned to me.

"Don't get comfy, sugar. I don't know why you're here, but you can bet your silly, bruised little bottom you are
not
staying."

One probably couldn't die of a tongue lashing, but Lil never got tired trying to flail me. This time, the too-accurate jibe hurt. Damned if I was going to let him know that. I sneered.

"Lil, please—” Brian put a hand on Lil's arm.

Lil shook him off. “He's only going to go back, Bri. How many times you gonna save him before you understand? He doesn't want to be saved."

"What would you know about it?” I shot back.

"I know if you had any balls,” Lil whispered, “you'd have hit him back."

"Rich, coming from the guy in the skirt.” I had tossed my garment bag on the couch, and now fumbled with the strap of my duffle. I'd slung it across my chest, and the quick motions of trying to get rid of it reminded me exactly why I was not going back. “I don't need saving. I certainly won't be hiding under your petticoats!"

"No. Nothing to tie you up with under there."

"Guys!” Brian stepped up, finally, shot a look at Lil, who glared, and Brian softened. “People. Please. He left, Lil. Do you get it? He left. Even you have to support that move."

Lil's lips tightened to a thin line, but he gave a curt nod. “Fine.” He shifted his weight and the slight lean toward Brian drew his lover a few steps closer, into his orbit. “He can stay, but I don't have to like it."

Brian smiled at him, and he softened a little more, touched Brian's cheek, and nodded his acceptance.

Brian grinned at him, and a white-hot flash of jealously spiked my heart rate up.

Then Brian was turning to me. “Take your coat off, Paul. I'll see if I can find something to eat."

"I'm not hungry.” I did remove my jacket, though, and tossed it on the chair.

Lil grunted, curled his lip, and stared at it pointedly, arms crossing over his chest. I reached to pick it up again. It wasn't worth listening to him bitch.

"Well, shit, honey. Don't those bruises go deep.” He stopped my reach by grabbing my wrist. I tried to twist away, but he held tight. He was strong, and damn it if the panic didn't set in and I strained a little harder. “That goes beyond a little chafing, honey."