My Lord's Judgment (2 page)

Panting, he tried to respond, but had to
swallow down bile before he could get the words out. “H..he won’t
give me the m..money. I…I tried, but he just laughed in my
face.”

“That’s not my problem, now is it!?
You
borrowed the money for your boyfriend,” the man sneered.
“Now
you
have to pay it back!”

“B..but, I don’t have that kind of money!”
Why the hell he’d gotten himself into this situation, he didn’t
know. He knew the “how” of it though. Trust.

Bran gave trust too damn easily. He had met a
guy, but not just anyone…oh no! A damn DJ. DJ Jammin’, the hottest
disc jockey in downtown L.A. Chris was his real name. The ass had
picked him up after hours and they’d been inseparable for months.
He never thought of the fact that, as a DJ, Chris had his pick of
fans to choose from on any given night. Or that he was using that
benefit as often as he could, even while they were ‘together.’ But
he just had that realization smashed into his face.

Two weeks ago, he’d gotten a collect call;
Chris was in jail for drugs. Apparently, he had enough on him that
they thought he was a pusher. Looking back now, it was probably
true.

Hindsight, baby. What a bitch!

Bail was twenty thousand big ones, and DJ
Fuck-face couldn’t get a Bail Bondsman to take him on. No co-signer
or some such bullshit. The Dick had promised that he had the money,
just couldn’t get to it. So, Brandon did as asked and contacted
Master C. Now he was stuck owing big to the most ruthless gang
leader around. If it was illegal, the C-gang did it, and Master C
didn’t know what the word mercy meant.

He was totally screwed!

A fist to his face brought him back to the
situation at hand.
Thugs. Guns. Eating his own teeth.
Right.

Fuck!

He spit blood from his mouth. “What do you
want me to do?”

Carlos leered at him. “Well, Master C said
you have twenty-four hours.” The nasty piece of shit started
undoing his pants. “But I don’t think you would mind making it
worth my while to leave you still standing, now would you.” The
other gang members were snickering and the one with the gun pushed
down on his shoulders.

Ewe! Awe, hell no!

Right before his knees touched the ground,
the sky lit up like the fourth of July. A light came out of
nowhere, so bright it blinded him. He heard the thugs yelling, and
he could have sworn the world exploded. The sound of a bomb going
off split the night, and a shock wave knocked him on his ass.

He was still alive though. The pain let him
know that at least.

Blinking, trying to focus through the white
blur and dots that clouded his vision, he thought he saw Master C’s
crew falling all over themselves, trying to get away.

Fuck it. If he was going to die, he was going
to see it coming. Bran squeezed his eyes shut and waited a few
seconds before opening them.

Better.

Looking around, he saw that the dumpster at
the end of the alley had one side torn off, and cardboard and
papers that had been inside, now littered the ground. Not knowing
what was happening, but pretty sure the apocalypse was not set for
today, he got to his feet, ready to bolt.

Before he made it three strides, he heard a
loud moan and froze. Bran listened but refused to turn around. He
was just about to leave when he heard it again.
Shit!
He
fought himself for a minute, part of him wanting to run for his
life and the other too curious not to check it out.

He was an idiot, and he knew it.

Slowly, Brandon turned around and walked
toward the mangled dumpster, stepping over miscellaneous junk. When
he was close enough to the edge, he followed along the side until
he reached the wall that was missing, and looked in.

Holy shit, it’s Thor!

No wait, wasn’t that guy blonde and wearing
clothes?

Oh, and not real.

The man in the dumpster, lying on his
stomach, was naked as the day he was born. He was also, really hot.
Sinewy muscle lay underneath creamy tanned skin. His butt was round
and high, making a mountain in the lines of his body. His dark
brown hair was cut to his shoulders and snarled, as if he didn’t
own a brush. What had he been through?

Bran shook his head and looked up at the tall
buildings surrounding him. A jumper, probably. Except if he was
moaning, he was still alive. As carefully as possible, he climbed
into the dumpster and reached for the man’s wrist to check for a
pulse. He was no doctor, so it was not that easy to find.

They make it look so easy in the movies!

There.
The thumpa-thumpa came through
on the third try. Faint, but he might not have done it right. He
was just pulling his hand away, when the world spun around him and
he was on his back looking up into the darkest blue eyes he’d ever
seen.

And he had a knife at his neck. Wonderful.
What a night!

Samael
awoke to find a human touching him. He no longer recognized his
surroundings, and his heart was racing. Danger could be anywhere.
It had begun. He was human. Now what?

He was surprised to find that he had all of
his memories intact. He’d expected their removal, and did not know
whether to be pleased to remember or horrified that he would always
know what was lost.

“Whoa, whoa. Ummm… could you please put the
knife away?” Samael looked into the man’s big brown eyes and saw
his fear. The idea that he caused it made his heart squeeze in his
chest. He had always hated that look but, as Death, he had come to
expect people’s abhorrence of him.

“Who are you?” He refused to put away his
only line of defense until he determined what was going on.

“Umm …m..my name is Brandon. I...I was in the
alley when you…uh…showed up. I was just checking to see if you were
okay, man. I meant no harm.” The kid’s hands were up near his head,
in an open, pacifying position. He did not appear dangerous. Matter
of fact, he was much smaller than Samael and could easily be
overtaken if he tried anything. Besides, he looked as if someone
had already given him a once over with their fists. He would be
weak, his energy depleted. Removing the weapon, Sam pushed himself
into a sitting position next to the human.

“Where am I?” The man called Brandon sat up
beside him, still looking like he would rather be anywhere
else.

“Ummm, we’re in an alley, off South Hill
Street.” The response was somewhat muffled as the human next to him
wiped what looked to be blood off his mouth.

“Where is that? What city?” Samael was not
looking forward to the imminent conversation. Who does not know
where they are?

Brandon’s eyebrows went to his hairline and
he just stared for a minute. When he spoke again, his voice made it
sound like he was speaking to a crazy person. Sam did not blame
him. “We’re in L.A….umm….Los Angeles.”

Samael chuckled, raised his eyes upward and
then shook his head. “The City of Angels. You always did have a
sense of humor.”

“Who?” The kid’s voice drew him back.

He was young, early twenties, if that. Skinny
and lanky, he had some muscle, but it was long and lean. No bulk
about him. He had jet-black hair, cut short in the back and long in
the front, so that it hung over large chocolate eyes rimmed with
kohl. High cheekbones, long lashes, full lips. Attractive looking
man. He was wearing all black; the kid must like the color.

“Never mind. Thank you for your help, but I
must go now.” Samael stood, and groaned. Pain radiated around his
body. He almost fell over, but Brandon steadied him.

“Hey, are you okay? Well, of course you’re
not, you just ….erm… What happened to you?”

“I fell.” He didn’t know a better way of
explaining.

“Okay, well, maybe you should go to the
hospital and get checked out, because you…um… ‘Fell’ pretty damn
hard.” The man didn’t seem like he believed the excuse. Sam looked
up and saw a decent drop from the top of the building. He glanced
back at Brandon and realized the kid had thought he was trying to
kill himself.

“No, I didn’t….I really did fall. I don’t
need a physician. I’ll be fine.”

“Uh, whatever you say, man.” He started to
walk away, but the kid stopped him again. “Listen, I don’t think
you should go anywhere like that, you’ll be locked up before you
could snap your fingers.”

Samael blinked at Brandon, and then looked
down at his nakedness. Oh, right. No clothing. Humans had laws
about that sort of thing.

“I don’t have any clothes, so I really don’t
have a choice.” The man looked as if he was doing some thinking, an
internal battle of some sort that flashed in his eyes. He bet that
if he knew the man better, he would be able to read all the
thoughts on his face.

“Listen,” Brandon sighed. “I was just going
to get my car, when …umm…I was interrupted. It’s just around the
corner in a public lot. Stay here, and I’ll go get it. I'll pull up
front of the alley, and you can jump in. I think I even have a
jacket in the back seat, so you can cover up. Not that I mind the
view or anything.” The kid’s eyes sparkled at that. Oh, no…this
wasn’t any child. He was definitely a man. He just seemed young to
someone who was eons old.

Without any other option, Samael nodded to
the ki…. to Brandon. “Alright. Thank you.”

The man left him standing, still a somewhat
unsteadily, at the entrance to the alleyway and ran over to a
parking lot. When he could no longer see his would-be rescuer, he
just stared at the wall. What was he going to do? He had no money,
no identification, no history, no job, nowhere to sleep, nothing.
It was nice that he’d found one of the rare humans that gave of
themselves without asking for anything in return, but what was
going to happen when Brandon didn’t want to help him anymore? It
was just a matter of time before he was left to his own devices.
Then what?

Brandon had lost his ever-loving mind! That
was what happened. Somewhere along the line, he’d gotten brain
damage, and he hadn’t realized it until just this very moment. He
had enough problems. What was he doing bringing a naked, big – damn
but the guy was huge – hot stranger, into his car? Especially,
because he was pretty sure that the man was suicidal and had very
recently taken a header off a building. Why was he the one cursed
with a freaking conscience? Part of him felt like he couldn’t just
leave the guy there, he obviously needed help. He just hoped that
the help he needed didn’t drift to the sociopathic type.

He jumped in his red piece of shit, and
started the car. He could just leave. Just go home and forget the
hottie in the alley. Go and try to bail himself out of the shit his
life was going to be in twenty-four hours. Bran banged his head on
the steering wheel, which helped boost his already pounding head
into overdrive. Damn but he was hurting. He needed a handful of
ibuprofen, an ice pack, and a nice long sleep. But he didn’t have
time for any of that. He had a shitload of phone calls to make,
starting with DJ Fucktard.

The more he thought about it the more he
realized that he couldn’t do it. He could not force himself to walk
away from the guy. Something about the man called to a part of him
deep inside that had never been touched before. The moment he
looked into those indigo eyes, some intrinsic piece of himself had
snapped into place. He felt like he knew the stranger, even though
that wasn’t possible.

The man was drop dead—with a hard-on the size
of the Empire State building—gorgeous. He was better looking than
anyone Bran had ever seen, and this was L. fucking A. Movie star
capital of the world. When the guy had been on top of him –even
with the knife to his neck—he’d had to fight a growing erection…
had felt a loss when the man moved away.
Weird!

He had to go back, had to figure out what the
connection was, and help the person that somehow had formed it.
Decision made, he turned the car around and headed for the alley
entrance. Once there, he opened the passenger side door, and called
out. The hottie jumped in, and they were on their way.

“So, where am I taking you?”

Silence.

“I…umm… I’m sorry; I don’t even know your
name.”

“Samael.”

“Okay, Samael,…umm… nice to meet you. Where
did you want me to take you?” Bran hazarded a look at his guest. He
seemed lost. It just wasn’t right for such a big, strong guy to
have a look like that on his face.

Finally, he whispered. “I don’t know.”

Bran wasn’t sure he heard it at first, but
the words were there, hanging over his head. Then, during the next
stoplight, Samael looked dead into his eyes, as if pleading for
understanding. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

There only seemed to be one thing to say to
that, one answer that came to Brandon and just seemed right, beyond
all rationalization. Even though it was stupid, and crazy, and he
knew he should get his head checked. “You can come home with me.”
Maybe he had a concussion.

The man seemed to relax and his breath came
out heavily.

As they parked the car and got out—Samael
with the jacket wrapped around him like a sarong—Brandon had never
been more relieved to be getting home at an ungodly hour. At least
none of his neighbors would notice him letting a large, mostly
naked man into his apartment. Not that they didn’t think him
strange anyway, but it would just cause problems that he couldn’t
deal with right now. Not with so much on his plate.

“Welcome to me casa.” Bran shut the door
behind them and threw his keys on a nearby table. It was a small
apartment, one bedroom with an efficiency-like kitchen. Only the
necessities, but it was home and he could afford it on what he made
doing Creative Design from his couch. Hopefully someday, he would
make it big doing album covers for the rich and famous, and be able
to move into something nicer, but for now it worked.