
Published by Mojocastle Press, LLC
Price, Utah
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Melting Ice
ISBN: 1-60180-003-7
Copyright ã 2006 D. J. Manly
Cover Art Copyright @ 2006 April Martinez
All rights reserved.
Excluding legitimate review sites and review publications, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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The gang squad was located in the basement of the 23rd precinct. It was no more than a dusty little hole, really; the cracks in the cement walls covered up by pictures of dirty, unshaven bikers. The first time I ever scrambled down those stairs to meet with Sergeant Grant Maloney, I felt like I was descending into hell itself.
I wasn't sure why Maloney took an instant dislike to me, at least not in the beginning. Then he tried to get me to suck his cock and when I refused, he left me for dead in the middle of an encampment of notorious bikers. Let's say I figured it out in a hurry. But I'm getting ahead of myself here.
The fact that my Dad was the Police Commissioner didn't endear me to anyone on the force. The other cops either thought I was a stoolie for the brass or was somehow given special privileges, especially when I made detective three years after I'd graduated from the academy. The truth was, I was damned good at my job; growing up with a cop father who ate and breathed police work gave me no choice but to eat and breathe it, too.
I thought it would be different down here with the gang squad. They were the Motley Crüe of police. The majority of them looked as unkempt as the men in the pictures on the wall, and they were all facing, or about to face, some disciplinary action from Internal Affairs for something or other. Hell, I had to fit in here at least.
Boy, was I wrong. Just because my thick blond hair fell to my shoulders and my ears were pierced with two gold studs didn't grant me instant acceptance to the gang squad. The fact that I took a shower every day instantly disqualified me in terms of personal hygiene. And of course they all knew who I was; Brian Fuller, the twenty-four-year-old son of Aniston Fuller, Police Commissioner.
What they didn't know, however, was the reason I practically pole-vaulted into plainclothes. You see, I'd been pushed so deep into the closet because of my father's macho homophobic bullshit that I would have hung myself a hell of a long time ago if it hadn't been for the job. Since the time I was a teenager, my father had primed me for it. There was never any question about me being a cop. Spending long hours poring over files and drinking bad coffee helped me to hide, deny, and survive.
So the day I met Grant Maloney, I had no idea that he was even deeper in the fucking closet than I was, and his secret would eventually put my life in great danger.
"You're late, asswipe," were the first words Maloney ever said to me. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but it didn't get much better.
"I'm sorry, Sir."
"Fuller's little boy." He smiled.
The first thing I noticed was the thin, jagged scar that ran from his left eye to his lower jaw. He was not what you would call a good-looking man to begin with, and the scar didn't help at all. He stood a few inches taller than I did, about six-two, and was sporting a little middle-age paunch. He wore a straggly salt and pepper beard, and had his greasy hair tied back at the nape. Tattered blue jeans, a stained white T-shirt with a badge swinging off his beefy neck and a pair of shiny black cowboy boots completed the picture.
"Yes, I'm Brian Fuller," I said, straightening up so that my five-eleven frame felt a little taller in front of his. I held out my hand.
He ignored it, plopping down into his chair behind his cluttered desk. "I'm Grant Maloney, your superior officer. You can call me Sergeant."
"Yes, Sir."
He ran his eyes over me. "I hear you're a good cop."
"I'd like to think so."
"Um, we'll see. This is the real dope down here. No place for sissy boys."
I stiffened. "I'm not...a...sissy boy, Sir." No one knew I was gay. In fact, I went out of my way to make sure I never did anything that could even be construed as gay.
"Don't worry, kid, if you're a faggot, we'll soon find out," he growled. "Come with me." He got up and walked out of the office.
I followed, a little wary.
He pointed at the pictures of various members of the notorious Diablo gang hanging on the wall. Diablo was Spanish for devil, and some of them did look demonic. Maloney was asking me what I knew about this one, and that one. I had made a point of scrutinizing all their files before being transferred and quickly supplied all the information I knew by memory on each one.
If he was impressed, he didn't say so.
"The new leader, they call him Ice. His real name is Estevan Dias. What do you know about him, Fuller?" Maloney demanded. There were other cops standing around in the stuffy little room looking at us with interest. I could hear one of them laugh softly.
"Nothing," I said, sucking in a breath. If this was some kind of a test, I was about to fail it. "I don't know anything about him, except that he recently became the leader of the Diablos. He succeeded the one they called Bulldog. Bulldog got knifed in an alley last summer. It's presumed that Ice challenged him for leadership, but there's no proof of that."
"That's as much as we all know," Maloney nodded. "We had an undercover guy in the gang for six years before Bulldog died. The minute Bulldog was dead, so was the snitch."
"What about sending in someone else, or trying to make a deal with one of the lower-ranked members?" I asked.
There was some laughter behind us. I cast a glance over my shoulder to see two rough-looking cops giggling like schoolgirls.
"Who in the hell do you think we're dealing with here, Fuller?" Maloney barked at me. "This guy's a killer. He'd spot a snitch a mile away. You'd be sending the guy to his own funeral."
It got quiet.
The more time went on, the more I got the impression that everyone was scared shitless of this phantom gang leader called Ice.
"I've set up a task force," Maloney told me the next day. "Our job is to find out all we can about this Ice. Remember, he's not Bulldog. Bulldog was a show-off and an idiot. He liked the limelight. He dug himself deep in with the mob too, parties and drugs. Some say it was the Fellini gang who offed him."
"Bulldog's murder didn't resemble a gangland hit," I commented from where I sat behind my desk.
"Maybe it was a cover-up. The Fellinis didn't want anyone to know the hit was theirs."
I mulled that over. It wasn't likely. The Fellinis were not known for their discretion. They were fighting for territory with three other mob families, and were known for proudly claiming each and every hit. But I thought better of arguing with Maloney at this point.
"Ice is smart," he was saying, "a real cool character. We don't know who he is, and that's the way he likes it. He's going to rule this city unless we get a handle on him."
There was a map on a whiteboard in the middle of the room. Locations were marked of possible sightings or meetings with people suspected to either be Ice, or who'd met him face to face.
The fact that Maloney's obsession with Ice bordered on fanaticism was good. It gave me the focus I needed to at least make my job here tolerable.
"I want this son of a bitch." He slammed his fist down on the table, his eyes glazing over. "I want him bad."
"Well," I said, meeting his eyes shrewdly, "let's get to work, then."
As you can guess, Maloney gave me the crap assignments. I was told to double-check each source on the whiteboard, and build some sort of a profile of the mysterious Ice. Later, I would learn that most of it was a waste of time.
The first person I spoke to was a male hooker who went by the name of John. Go figure! He was strung out when I caught up to him at this dive called Mulberry's, a tavern on the east side. He kept calling me 'baby'. It took me almost an hour before he'd even admit to having seen this Ice character. Finally, he said, "He fucked me in the back alley one night."
"Yeah," I said. "What did he look like?"
"I don't know, man."
I sighed. "What do you mean, you don't know?"
"He fucked me...from behind. Had a great cock, that's all I know, and he knew what to do with it, you know? Got any weed, baby? We could smoke it, and get down a little. You're cute."
"Never mind that. Come on, what did he look like? You must have seen something of him."
He shook his head. "Tall, I think. Dark, a gruff motherfucker. That's all I know...okay?"
I wrote the words USELESS CRACKHEAD beside his name, and left to find the next one on the list. He owned an Italian restaurant in the village. He told me that Ice gave him five grand to rent out his place for three hours one night. Encouraged, I asked him for a description. My pen was poised to write, when he said simply, "Can't."
"Why not?" I asked, looking up from my pad.
"I never saw him. Saw some other guy who gave me an envelope of cash, and told me that Ice said hello."
"That's it?"
"Yep."
"You never saw him once?"
"Nope."
"Fuck."
All bloody night, I questioned the people on the list Maloney had given me. Either they said they'd never seen him, or they saw him from a distance, or they gave me these exaggerated descriptions which included things like, 'Giant, piercing dark eyes, murderous scowl, eyes full of hate, mean son-of-a-bitch, and huge package.' Not exactly what you would call a reliable description. What in hell was I supposed to do with that? However, in between the bullshit, I managed to piece together some consistent information regarding Ice's description. He is Latino; some said Spanish, others said Puerto Rican. He was a tall man, in his twenties with black hair to his shoulders. That's it. Sure, I know what you're thinking; a hell of a lot of men could potentially match that description, but at least it was something. It was a hell of a lot more than we had before.
I was as excited as hell when I got back down to the squad room. Maloney, however, didn't share my enthusiasm. In fact, he was downright hostile. "What in hell are we supposed to do with that?"
"Look, either this guy is the fucking invisible man, or he doesn't exist. He obviously doesn't want to be identified. I know it's not much, but it's a start. Tomorrow night, I'll go back out and see if I..."
"No," he said, pushing his chair away from the desk. "It's a dead end. We need another approach."
I narrowed my eyes, but remained quiet. This was police work. You began with a little information and continued to dig until you got more.
Suddenly, before I had time to formulate a question, he grabbed me by the arm and said, "Come on, I want to show you something, Fuller."
We drove out into the night, cold rain coming down like sleet, so hard that that I could hardly see where we were going until we were almost there. After he turned off the freeway onto this dirt road, we went for miles. Finally, I realised that he was taking me in the direction of the Diablo Compound.
"What are we doing?" I asked him. I didn't relish the idea of me and Maloney taking on the Diablos with our 9mm semiautomatic pistols.
He pulled over at the side of the road. In the distance, we could see the short road leading up into the hill where the Diablos' armed camp was. "Relax, Fuller, I just want you to realise that these bastards are dangerous. We can't play around."
"Who's playing?" I asked. "It took me hours to get that little bit of information on this guy."
"You know what we should do," he said, obviously not listening to me. "We should just go in there with an assault team and blast them away."
I laughed a little. "Yeah, well, we have to have a warrant for that, just cause, and you can forget about that until we have some concrete..."
"Are you a 'by the book' kind of guy, Fuller?" he asked, turning his face towards mine. His voice actually sounded civil for a change.
I had to think about that one. "I've bent the rules some, but we're talking about all-out war here. We can't do it alone. They probably have a warehouse of weapons in there. When we get enough evidence, then we'll get backing from the..."
"Fuck that. I want Ice. I want that bastard. I can taste blowing a hole through his heart."
There was such rage in his voice. I knew there was more going on. I wanted to ask, but I never got the chance. He abruptly changed the subject. "So, Fuller, you married?"
"No," I said, needlessly wiping at the windshield. Questions like that always made me nervous.
He sunk down a little in the driver's seat. "It's hard in this line of work."
"Yep," I replied, wondering what in hell we were doing here. "Shouldn't we get going?"
"Why? You scared some bikers are going to come along?" He laughed sharply.
I shrugged. "Well, no, I just don't like to go looking for trouble. It can find ya easy enough."
He sighed. "Lonely life, being a cop sometimes."
"It can be." I was getting uneasy. I wondered why the sudden heart to heart. Maloney was not a heart to heart kind of guy.
I saw his hand reach over and settle on my thigh. I stiffened some, trying not to be too obvious about my discomfort. I can't say if I was in shock, or just frozen with fear. My first thought was that the bastard was baiting me, setting me up. I think I blurted something like, "I'm not a fag, Sergeant."
He squeezed my thigh, sitting up in his seat. "I'm not a faggot either." His eyes pierced mine for a second. He was unzipping his pants with his other hand. "Get your face over here and suck my cock, Fuller."
I covered his hand with mine and wrenched it off my thigh. My voice was shaking. "I'm not going to suck your cock. Forget it."
He looked as if I'd slapped him. His face hardened, and he started the engine. "If you tell anyone about this," he said, "I'll kill you."
I swallowed, took in air finally, and then looked out the window. He said nothing to me on the way back to the squadroom, not even goodbye. He just got out of the vehicle and disappeared inside the station while I sat there, still not sure what really happened.
He had nothing to fear from me. I had no intention of ever breathing a word of what had happened out there near the Diablo Compound. However, Maloney wouldn't be satisfied until he was one hundred percent sure.
The days went by. Maloney hardly spoke two words to me, but that was okay. I was following up leads on various gang members, mostly from the desk, while Maloney was on the street doing God knows what.
About a week after the little incident in the car, Maloney asked me to come into his office. "Close the door, Fuller," he ordered in that booming voice he had.
"What is it, Sir?" I asked, holding some of the latest documents on Diablo activity in my hands.
"I've arranged a meeting with one of the grunts of the gang. He wants out. He's willing to be our snitch."
"Great," I said, encouraged. "Who is he?"
"They call him Sandman. He wants to meet tonight. I want you to come with me. You're going to be his personal contact."
"Okay," I said. I was pleased. Tired of desk jockeying, I couldn't wait to get back out there on the street.
We drove for some time outside the city limits, before coming to an isolated field in the middle of nowhere. The wind was cold as Maloney and I got out of the car. I drew the collar up of my black leather jacket, and adjusted my gun in its holster.
Maloney glanced over at me. "Have to leave that in the car," he said, his revolver in his hand.
"What?" I blinked.
"No weapons. I promised."
"I didn't," I said. There was no fucking way I was walking out in the middle of that field without my gun.
"Well, he'll run, then," Maloney said.
"Let him run," I said. "My gun stays with me. How in the hell do you know this isn't a set-up of some kind? Why out here? Why not someplace where there's people, noise?"
"He's afraid of Ice, afraid he'll find out. Your gun stays here, Fuller. We can't afford to blow this. It's an order."
I gave Maloney a suspicious glance. You know how your gut tells you something sometimes, but you ignore it? Damn. My gut was screaming at me to get to fuck out of there. Something didn't feel right, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
When he lifted his gun up and pointed it at me, I felt my stomach go to my feet. "Now, Sergeant," I said, laughing nervously, "what are you doing?"
"Reach for your gun slowly, Fuller, and put it on the ground."
He was standing closer to me now, the gun barrel practically touching my forehead. I reached in my jacket and carefully withdrew the gun. When he saw it, he knocked it aside.
"Step away," he barked, then leaned down to quickly scoop up my gun. I kept my eyes on him, trying to think of any way I could tackle him and take that gun out of his hands.
"Have you lost your fucking mind?" I screamed at him now. "What in hell are you doing, Maloney?"
"It's too bad," he said, "we could have had a good time together, Fuller. You blew it. I'm sorry. I can't ever let anyone find out what happened."
"Nothing fucking happened," I snapped.
"Start walking," he demanded, stepping around me and placing the gun at the back of my head.
"What are you going to do, shoot me in the middle of the field?"
"I'm not going to shoot you at all. You remember a guy named Peter Aniston?"
"Peter who?" I asked, trying to turn around.
"Keep going, eyes ahead. Aniston. You put him in the joint when you were working narcotics two years back."
"I put a lot of people away, Maloney. What about him?" We were descending a little grassy embankment and heading out into the center of the field.
"He died up there at Attica. Some guys beat him to death. He did grunt work for the Diablos. They promised to make him a member eventually. I think he was even related to one of them."
"What in hell are you doing this for, Maloney? You're going to get me killed just because you think I could tell someone you wanted me to suck your cock?" I growled, my feet sinking into the soggy grass as we got closer to the middle of the field.
"Shut up," he hissed.
It was then I heard the roar of the bikes. I stopped and put my hand up over my face to shield my eyes from the blinding blur of the headlights. They appeared to be all around me. "You son of a bitch, Maloney," I muttered. I swirled around, not caring if he took a shot at me or not and when I did, I saw him scrambling halfway up the slope again, and running for his car.
If you asked me what went through my mind at that moment when Maloney had screeched away down the road and the bikes went suddenly silent, I would have to tell you---terror. I was terrified, and I'd been trained not to show it. I was sure I was going to die, and there was no point in running. There was nowhere to run to. None of this made sense. Even if I could accept that Maloney was so scared of being found out that he was willing to commit murder, I couldn't figure out how he'd managed to make a deal with these guys, the very bikers he always seemed to be obsessed with wiping out.
What appeared to be five or six bikers turned out to be three, but it didn't make me feel any better. I stood my ground as they approached. I figured if I was going to die out here, I'd go out fighting and maybe I'd take one of them with me.
Only one came to stand in my face. He had a reddish beard and green eyes. He stood no more than five-nine or so, but he was massive.
For a minute he didn't say anything, then he practically spat at me, "Hello, cop."
We just stood there staring at each other. When he brought his fist up, I saw the flash of brass knuckles, then the sounds of two machine guns reloading. I reacted on instinct and kicked up with my boot, landing him a good one right in the balls. It was dirty, but I had to make the greatest impact in the shortest amount of time.
He made a sound like the air was leaving his lungs, and bent over. Two shots rang past my head, and I began to run. I don't know how long I dodged bullets before I felt the sharp pain exploding in my calf. I was down. I fought to remain conscious. I felt arms lifting me off the ground, then nothing...blackness.
When I finally regained consciousness, I felt myself lying on my side on a cold floor. I was stiff and aching, and trussed up like a Christmas turkey ready for the oven. The pain in my leg was excruciating. I tried to get a look at it, to see if it was still intact, but my ankles had been swept upwards and attached to my wrists with a thick rope. There was a bare light bulb swinging on a string above my head, providing a dim glow in a room that smelt of hay and manure. It seemed that I was lying in what used to be a barn, and although there were no livestock, the smell still lingered. I was alive, and I wasn't sure if I should be happy about that or not. I tried to keep down the bile rising in my throat and think. It wasn't easy. The pain, not to mention the fear, was a definite distraction.
It wasn't hard to conjure up all the images in my mind of the possible things they could do to me. Rape and torture were at the top of the list. I had been called to scenes of homicides where a biker had been killed. I saw the way they died. It wasn't pretty.
Again, I tried to get a look at my leg. It was no use. I lay my head back down, exhausted from the effort of trying to twist my body this way and that. My hair was soaked with perspiration, and I guess I had lost a lot of blood. I told myself to be calm, to try and make sense of everything. I wondered how long I'd lain here. There was a small window behind me. It was dark outside. I hadn't been taken to the compound. I couldn't hear any noise around me, and this place definitely didn't match the description of the swanky quarters of the Diablo mansion. Maybe it was part of a barn adjacent to the house, but from the aerial pictures I'd seen, there wasn't any barn.
I licked my lips. My throat was dry as a bone. I thought of Maloney. If I ever got out of here, I was going to find that son of a bitch. I knew now that Maloney was definitely involved with these guys. How, I wasn't sure. I couldn't reconcile his hatred of Ice, the new Diablo leader, with what had happened to me. Unless he'd been bullshitting me about Ice. No, I was certain his feelings about Ice were sincere. It appeared to be almost personal.
When the door opened and those three bikers walked in, I made a vow. I was going to survive this, and I was going to make Maloney wish he'd never been born. I don't know how I turned off the pain, but I did. After a while, I hardly felt it anymore. The one they called Sandman had the red beard. I think I hated him the most. He was fond of those brass knuckles he wore, and set about using them on almost any part of my body he could, paying special attention to the bullet hole in my leg.
"Why don't you untie me, you fucking coward?" I challenged him. If I could get one good shot at him, I'd make it the shot of a lifetime. "It's easy," I said, spitting blood on the floor, "to beat the crap out of someone tied up. Doesn't take any balls to do that!"
I got another good thrashing for that one, along with a solid kick in the gut with his big boot.
One of the other ones I heard called Dan picked up on my challenge to untie me. After I threw it out at them a few times, he said, "Yeah, Sandman, why don't you untie the pig and face him like a man?"
The third one stayed by the door, watching. He started to laugh. "Maybe Sandman is scared of the porker."
Sandman took a switchblade out of his pocket. He leaned over me and let the tip of the blade move over my face. He didn't apply enough pressure to cut, just enough to let me know it was there. I was sure he was going to slice my face open, but instead he leaned over and with one swipe, released me from the ropes. He stood back, watching me unfold my body.
I tried not to moan with pain as I did, but every inch of me was bruised and battered. When I stretched out my leg, it throbbed. I could see now that the pants of my jeans were wet with blood. I tried to breathe deeply. It hurt. I suspected my ribs were broken. I put the palms of my hands on the floor and stood up. Damn. I had never experienced so much pain in my life, even when I'd taken a bullet to the shoulder in a shootout with a drug dealer. I lifted my hand to my eyes to wipe away the blood and sweat. Everything swayed in front of me.
"Come on, lover boy," Sandman said, his hands on his hips, "show me what you got. You are so sweet. Once I get done beating you, I'm going to fuck you to death."
I swayed on my feet, determined not to hit the floor but I did anyway, face first. There was laughter again. Then I got up again, and swung at him with my left fist. He ducked, laughing. I stumbled on the rope beneath my feet, then swung forward and picked it up. I pitched it forward with all the strength I had left. It settled around Sandman's neck. I pulled, then crossed the rope, pulled again and managed to get around him, yanking it with all my might. He was grasping for breath when the other one tried to pull me off. I kicked back with my good leg, all the while tightening that rope more. I might have said, "Die, you fuck", I'm not sure. I managed to push the other one hard against the wall as Sandman went to his knees.
I might have killed him if the door hadn't burst open at that moment. Two other bikers stood there, guns in their hands. Their images swayed in front of me. I went to my knees. All the fight I had left in me was gone. The pain had grabbed hold of me now, and squeezed. The room was spinning, and the last thing I heard was a deep voice saying something in Spanish.
When I finally opened my eyes again, I was sleeping on a waterbed in a huge bedroom. There was little else in the room except for a bureau with a mirror. I forced my feet to the floor with a groan and hobbled over to the mirror. One of my eyes was puffed shut and swollen. My lip was cut. There were bandages around my ribs, and someone had bandaged my leg as well. I spied a small bathroom beside the window and went to take a piss. Even that was painful. I held onto my side and walked to the window. Outside was a courtyard, but it looked empty. There was a barbed-wire fence in the distance. I was in the Diablo's compound. Why in hell wasn't I dead?
When the door opened, I tensed. A Diablo stood there. He was clean-shaven with blond hair, very tall and muscular, and wore a short leather jacket with a pair of dirty jeans. When he turned around a minute to glance over his shoulder, I saw the emblem of the fire-eating demon on his lower back. I noticed two more standing around the door. "Are you hungry?"
"How long have I been here?"
"A week or so. You've been out."
I nodded, watching him carefully.
"I'll bring you some food. You have to eat."
"Why? So I can be strong enough to beat the hell out of again?"
He smirked. "No worries. You're safe...for the time being."
He closed the door behind me. I heard the click of the lock. I was their prisoner; that was clear.
A few minutes later they brought me food: take-out pizza and cola. When I started eating, I couldn't stop. I wolfed it down, my mouth smarting from the contact with the food. I must have dozed off again because when I woke up, the plate and glass was gone. No one came all night. In the morning, that same biker came in with breakfast and coffee.
"Who's in charge here?" I asked him.
"Ice," he said.
I swallowed. "So he does exist."
"He exists."
"Why am I a prisoner?"
"When Ice is ready, he'll send for you."
I was feeling somewhat better physically, and my temper was getting the better of me now. "He'll send for me when he's ready? Look, I demand to know why I'm being held here. First, you almost kill me, now I'm being kept prisoner in this damned room. "
He raised an eyebrow, then smiled faintly. "I'll relay the message, but if I were you, I'd just be cool, cop. You're lucky to be alive." He left then, locking the door behind him.
He was right. I was lucky to be alive, although I wasn't quite sure what I was being kept alive for. After almost four days of hanging around this room, being visited by this nameless, muscle-bound biker who looked like he'd just walked off a Californian beach somewhere, my patience were wearing thin.
"Who in the hell are you anyway, Ice's butler?" I threw at him the next morning when he brought my tray.
He didn't like that. His face hardened. "I'm no butler, cop." He put down the tray on the bed.
"Lackey, then? Whipping boy...ah..."
He came at me, menacingly closer now. "Shut the fuck up," he said, slamming his fist into his palm, "or I'll fatten that lip some more."
I'd touched a nerve, and you know what, I didn't give a shit. I was ready to explode. Being kept prisoner here in this room without knowing why was driving me to the breaking point, and all I could think of was Maloney. Every time my gut ached or pain shot through my leg, or bending over made me wince, I thought about him. I thought about breaking his neck, feeling his bones crack beneath my fingers. Imagining him screaming in pain was like music to my ears. It was the only thing that made me smile.
The beach boy backed away, and I was almost disappointed. At least getting into it with this guy would relieve the monotony. "If you're not his lackey," I pushed on, "then let him bring me my food...unless, of course, he's afraid to face me."
The muscle-bound blond turned around at the door and began to laugh. "You want me to tell him you said that?"
"Yeah, tell that shithead that," I growled, tipping the tray in the air and watching its contents fly all over the carpet. "And tell him to goddamn well make up his mind to either kill me, or let me out of this hellhole."
"Your big mouth's gonna get you in deep shit, cop," he muttered.
"Look, asshole, if you're not bright enough to figure out that I'm already in deep shit, well, then, you're a fucking idiot."
I was being belligerent now. Maybe I was provoking him so he would make an attempt to hit me. But he didn't. He just muttered something under his breath---It might have been "stupid bastard"---and left.
I think I punched the wall. I tried to pace, but it hurt too goddamned much. I was swearing and yelling like a banshee. After a while---mainly out of boredom---I tried to pick up the mess on the floor, then gave up. I was royally pissed off when he walked in that door.
I wasn't sure who he was, but within a few minutes of seeing him, I was sure that he was the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen. Now remember, I wasn't exactly in cruising mode. I was frustrated, enraged and in pain, and still the man facing me took my goddamned breath away. He stood at least six-foot-four. The tight jeans and T-shirt he wore weren't intended to be sexy, but they were because he had a luscious body; hard, compact, muscular and lean. His hair was coal black and hung over his broad, square shoulders, settling on his back about halfway to an ass that could only be described as a delight to behold. And yes, I could see his ass, because he walked into the room and stood between me and the mirror. His eyes, well, they weren't brown, or even black. In fact, they looked blue, cobalt blue, and at the moment, it seemed as if there were sparks flying out of them.
I don't know who was angrier, him or I, but through the maze of all that hostility, my heart beat like a drum in my chest when he approached. "I believe you wanted to see me," he said. "I'm Ice."
When he spoke, his voice was deep and steady. I couldn't detect an accent, but from the creamy tan colour of his skin, he was definitely of Latin origin. My mind quickly reviewed the descriptions I'd received of him. Tall...yes, dark...yes. But the eyes were blue, damn it, dark blue, and as for the large package, umm...well, that appeared to be a fact. The jeans did nothing to disguise that he was hung like a horse.
"Fuller, I'm talking to you," he said. "What do you want?"
I snapped back to reality; the anger that had been simmering inside me now making a full recovery. "What in fuck is going on here?" I had some difficulty rising to my feet from where I sat on the bed. My leg hurt like hell. "How long do you intend to keep me cooped up in this room?"
He looked me over, then walked around the room as if he were appraising it. "What's wrong, cop? You're not happy with the accommodations?" He gave me a cheesy grin. "You prefer the Ritz?"
"Very funny. Why didn't you just kill me? What use am I to you?"
He lifted his hand for a moment. "I have no reason to kill you."
"You have no reason to bandage me up and feed me, either."
"Maybe I do," he said softly. He came to stand in front of me. He let his gaze move over me again, then slip back to my face. I think I blushed. I felt as if he'd just undressed me, raped me, then lit up a cigarette. "You're pretty fucked up, Fuller."
"I probably need a doctor. I might have a bullet in my leg."
"It went right through. You were lucky, it didn't hit the bone," he said without blinking.
I let myself study his face for a moment. It was a beautiful face, smooth angles, almost sculptured. Michelangelo would have wept painting him; creamed his pants first, then wept. "How in the hell do you know that?"
"A doctor took a look at it."
"A doctor, too? Why go to all that trouble?" I eyed him suspiciously.
"Maybe I was concerned."
"Right. Now, what's the real reason?"
He narrowed his eyes. "You need a cane. I'll make sure you get one," he said, turning toward the door.
"Oh no," I said, reaching out and grabbing his arm.
He didn't yank it away, just turned around and glared at me. "Don't you ever grab me again, or I'll break your neck."
He never raised his voice. It still retained that calm, soft tone. Only his eyes gave him away. His emotions were written in those eyes of his, releasing lethal sparks again.
I let go of his arm and took a step back. "Fine. Just know this. I'm not staying in this room another day. So either kill me or let me out of here."
He pursed his lips for a moment, considering what I'd said. He nodded. "You'll sleep in my room."
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
"No need for that," he grinned. "You can thank me later. Cat will come and get you. We'll talk, Fuller. We have much to talk about, you and I."
I watched him leave, then sank down onto the bed.
The nameless one now had a name. Just before midnight, Cat came to get me. He handed me a cane. It was aluminium, and looked brand new. I wasn't thrilled about using it, but I had no choice.
He made me walk ahead of him. I looked around me with interest once I'd left the room. I was propelled down a long corridor and told to stop at another door. Cat knocked.
I heard that voice; steady, deep. "Yeah, bring him in."
Cat gave me a shove. I lost my balance and went tumbling into the damned doorway. I was on my knees, swearing, when Ice came to stand in front of me. He looked down at me without expression. "Would you like some help?"
I sneered at him. "No," I grumbled, struggling with that stupid cane, and finally managing to get to my feet.
"You can leave us," he told Cat.
I looked around. It was more a house than a room. There were two leather sofas, one of which Ice had spread himself on, a plasma television, stereo, and a bar. A little further away, on the left, I could see an open door leading to a bathroom. There was a galley kitchen beside it. On the other side of the room was a huge mother of a bed beside a window.
"Sit down," he said.
I gratefully let myself down onto the other leather sofa across from him. I looked at him for a moment, then away.
"Want a drink?"
I ignored the question. "So I've exchanged one prison for another. Is that it?"
"Pretty much." He shrugged.
"What's the deal?"
"No deal. I was lonely, that's all."
"Right," I scoffed. A guy who looked like that didn't have to worry about being lonely.
"You're a suspicious guy, Fuller, aren't you?"
"I'm trained to be. I'm a cop."
"Um, well, that's what surprises me. I guess you weren't suspicious enough where Maloney was concerned."
I sucked in a breath. "So how much did he pay you?"
"Me?" He stabbed himself in the chest with his thumb. "Nothing."
"It was your guys who beat the crap out of me. You mean you did it for free?" I couldn't keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
"The order didn't come from me."
"Then if you don't control the Diablos, who does?"
"The Diablos have fractioned off into two."
The words fell on me like a slab of concrete. "Two?"
"Yes. Those loyal to Grant, and those loyal to your precious Sergeant Maloney."
"Grant?"
"Bulldog. His real name was Grant."
"So, when you killed Bulldog, you split the gang..."
"I didn't kill Bulldog," he said, standing up. The voice rose an octave, but was still relatively calm. His eyes, however, lit with anger.
"It wasn't the mob. It didn't resemble a mob hit."
"Very good, Detective," he mocked. "Maloney killed Grant."
"Maloney? Why?"
"Bulldog had some dirt on him, and that's why he wouldn't play ball. Maloney had some of the Diablos in his pocket. He'd made a deal with the mob, and was handling some heavy-duty drug shipments. When Bulldog threatened to screw up his deal, he killed him."
"You know that for sure?"
"Trust me."
"Well, considering you're an outlaw biker and a criminal, that's not easy to do."
He looked like he was choosing not to answer that.
"So, tell me about this dirt Bulldog had on Maloney? How long has Maloney been into this?"
"At least twenty years."
"Twenty years?" I said softly, leaning back against the sofa.
"Yeah. And he wants me bad."
"Because he knows you could nail him."
"Partly."
My eyes widened. "You met Maloney?"
"Yeah. We met."
"He acted like he didn't even know what you looked like. That bastard sent me on a wild goose chase."
"He's a good actor. Okay, so I've told you enough," he said, putting his hands on his hips. "Your turn. Why did Maloney want you dead?"
I sighed softly. "It's stupid."
"Spill it," he said.
"He's in the closet. He tried to get me to suck his cock one night in his car. He said if I told anyone, he'd kill me. I think he got paranoid, and..."
Ice started to laugh. He threw back his head and howled with laughter.
I wasn't sure I was appreciating the humour in the situation.
"He tried to kill you because of that?" Ice croaked. He started laughing again. "You must be one hell of a good cocksucker."
I muttered something foul under my breath.
He stopped laughing. "Shit, everyone knows he's queer," he said, now sobering. "No big deal." He sat back down. "So, did ya?"
"Did I what?"
"Did you suck his cock?"
"No, goddamn it. I wouldn't be here if I had, would I?"
"You were damned either way."
He had a point.
"Why didn't you?"
I glared at him. "Why didn't I what? Suck his cock? Would you suck his cock?"
"No, but aren't you supposed to obey an order from a superior officer?"
He was taunting me now, and I was getting pissed off again. "I don't remember reading about that one in the police manual."
He smiled. Damn. That smile was almost as lethal as the anger in his eyes. I shifted in my seat.
"So what if it was someone else...more, ah...attractive, let's say, that asked you to suck his cock?"
"What exactly is the question?" I snapped.
"You have some temper, Fuller."
"And you have some mouth. You still haven't told me what you want with me."
"I want you to help me put Maloney away."
"In jail? I can do that on my own."
"But you're not on your own now, are you?" he asked, giving me a meaningful look. "I want a couple of things out of life, Fuller, and you're going to help me get them."
"Joy," I said, rolling my eyes.
He lifted an eyebrow. "I want Maloney. It's personal, and I want to kick his ass before he loses everything. I can get him transferred to a Mexican prison. There's people there who will beat him every day, and he'll never get out. You get my meaning?"
I didn't comment.
"Maloney wants one thing: me. He's been searching for me from the moment I came back here because he knows that I can screw him good."
I knew he was telling the truth. Maloney's hatred of Ice bordered on the obsessive. "And what's my part in all this?"
"Simple. He thinks you're dead. They had an official police funeral for you last week, by the way."
"Shit," I sighed, thinking of what my parents must be going through.
"We're going to let him know the bad news. You're alive, and if he wants you, he's got to play by my rules."
"He won't walk into a trap."
"Oh, yes, he will, because he has no choice. And he'd walk through fire to get to me."
"Okay," I said, leaning forward. "I want what you want, but we have to do this by the book. I can probably get you immunity for turning state's evidence against..."
Ice shook his head. "Fuller, you don't understand. There's no book. We do this my way, and if at the end I decide to let you walk away, I will...until then, you're mine."
I swallowed.
"That's settled, and just one more thing?"
"What?"
"How long have you been in the closet, Fuller?"
I blinked. "What?"
"Look, maybe you can fool a bunch of straight cops, but you don't fool me."
I was speechless
"Don't worry, little boy," he whispered, then gave me a wicked wink. "Your secret is safe with me."
He left me after that, telling me to make myself at home. I stared doubtfully over at the bed. There was no way I was sleeping in that bed with him. I eyed the bathroom, and decided to try and take a shower. I was in bad need of one. It was ironic, I thought as I hobbled to the bathroom. Finally, I could qualify as a dirty, smelly biker. However, Ice didn't seem to qualify either. His hair was clean, and so was he, as far as I could tell.
I pushed that thought away and struggled out of my clothes. The bandages around my ribs needed changing, and so did the one on my leg. I tried not to wet the bandages, but I didn't have a choice. Once I finally got into the shower, I didn't want to get out. I found a towel and dried off, then studied myself in the full-length mirror. The bruises were fading, but they were everywhere. Damn, I looked a mess. The swelling was going down on my eye, but it was purple, and my lip had started to scab over. Didn't look like I was going to have any permanent scars, but it was too early to tell.
When I heard his voice, I just about jumped out of my skin. "Were you that ugly before the boys worked you over?"
He was standing at the bathroom door, leering at me. I quickly wrapped the towel around my waist. "Don't you knock?"
"Not in my own bathroom, I don't." He walked over to the toilet, unzipping his pants. I heard the urine hit the porcelain and kept my eyes straight ahead, fixed on the wall. When I heard his zipper going up, I began to breathe again. He didn't seem to notice, just brushed past and walked out of the room.
I don't know how long I stayed in the bathroom. When I emerged, his clothes were on the floor and he was in the bed, blankets thrown on top of him. The light was on in the kitchen. I eyed the sofa, then managed to move over to it.
"You're not going to go to sleep with those bandages all wet, are you? Because that would be pretty stupid."
I looked over to where he lay on the bed. He hadn't moved.
"There are fresh bandages in the bathroom, under the sink, and tape for your ribs."
"How in the hell am I supposed to tape up my own ribs?" I muttered, my eyes going to the door.
"Don't think about leaving. The door is wired. An alarm will sound if you so much as fart on it. If you get out the door, you have to get past three armed guards. That's for starters."
"I wasn't going anywhere," I said. "It's just that I can't bandage my own ribs."
There was a heavy sigh, then the blanket flew up in the air and he stood up. I'd suspected he wasn't wearing much, because I'd seen his clothes scattered around. I never imagined, however, that he'd be stark naked. I tried to put my eyes anywhere but on him when he walked toward the bathroom. When I didn't move, he paused and said, "Come on. Let's get this over with. I'm tired."
By the time I made it to the bathroom, he had the bandages and tape in his hands. "Can't have you dying on me before I put Maloney away," he muttered, yanking me up close to him. "Raise your arms."
I had nothing on but a towel wrapped around my waist, and I prayed to God it would stay in place as he began to move me around with the bandages. I took a breath, and it hurt. I think I groaned as the tape put pressure on my ribcage.
"Almost done," he said.
All the time, I didn't dare look down, but I was conscious of the fact that he was completely naked. I couldn't help but catch glimpses of his bare shoulder and chest in the mirror. At one point, I closed my eyes.
"Damn," he said suddenly. "No scissors. Fuck it." He leaned down, pressing his head against my abdomen, and tore the tape with his teeth. My eyes went to all that dark hair. I almost touched it. He lifted his head. "There," he said. "Now, the leg. The wound has to be cleaned."
"What are you, a doctor or something?" I managed. I suddenly realised that my cock was hard. I could see it poking against the towel. Shit.
He didn't answer. He just went down on one knee and turned my calf around. I'm sorry, there's only so much a poor closeted guy like me could take. Here was this gorgeous naked guy in front of me on his knee, and I had this raging hardon. The fact that he was a notorious biker and I was his hostage didn't register at all at the moment. All that dark, silky hair. I reached my hand out. I uttered some sort of inner groan, and then I let out a yelp.
"Easy, easy," he said, "don't be such a baby."
He had just poured some peroxide on my wound. Damn, it stung.
"Still some infection there. Should have been cleaned before," he muttered.
"Enough," I said between clenched teeth.
"Shut up," he said, and proceeded to wrap the bandage around my leg. Needless to say, my erection deflated substantially.
When he stood back up, I immediately turned my back, securing the towel around my waist. I made my way back to the sofa.
He turned off the light in the bathroom. "Sleep tight," he said softly. "Masturbation always takes care of that for me," he added.
I froze. "Masturbation," I muttered. "What are you...?"
"Come on, cop. I think you hit me in the head with it several times. It was so damned hard, it's a wonder it didn't give me a concussion."
I opened my mouth, then closed it. I was too embarrassed to reply. A few minutes later, I could hear his soft laughter from across the room.
When I opened my eyes, it was to the sound of motorcycle engines. I had heard them from a distance before, but today they sounded loud and very close. I stood up---not so stiff today---and glanced at the door. I wondered if the alarm was on in the day, or only at night. I hadn't slept much. The things Ice had told me played in my head all night. I knew there was a lot he wasn't telling me, but he wasn't exactly Mr. Sociable. I started hunting for my clothes. They were dirty and torn, covered with blood. One of the legs of my jeans had been cut off at the knee. I was pulling what was left of them on when the door opened. It was the blond guy, Cat, with a tray.
"Still hauling the grub, eh, Cat?" I remarked.
He scowled at me and set down the tray. "Ice needs you now," he said, meeting my eyes, "but he'll get rid of you when it's over."
I paused and looked up at him. "You got something personal against me, Cat?"
He shrugged. "Besides the fact I hate cops, no, but don't think that Ice is your friend."
I narrowed my eyes but remained quiet, trying to decipher whatever in hell he was really trying to say.
"Ice told me to find you some clean clothes. What size pants?"
"Thirty-four waist, thirty-six length."
"Um, medium shirt?"
"Yeah."
He grunted and left. I ate breakfast and waited. At around noon, Cat brought the clothes. "Get 'em on. Ice wants to see you."
I hauled the pants up over my hips. They fit fine. No underwear, but that was okay. He gave me a blue T-shirt and a pair of white socks. They looked brand-new. I put back on my boots, and held out my old clothes. He yanked them out of my hand, turned on his heel and left. This time the door hung open. I took the cane and left the room. I saw a few bikers standing around a small room at the end of the hall, and headed there. They stood aside for me to enter, but they didn't say anything. I could feel their stare boring into my back.
Ice was there, gazing out the window. It was March, and the sun was bright today. It shone through the window and across his dark hair, making it look almost blue. He didn't turn around, but he knew I was there. "Fuller," he said, "sit down."
"I've been sprung," I said, leaning on the chair and lowering myself into it. "So now what?"
He turned around. "Looks like you're going to live, cop."
"Yeah, looks like it. So what's the plan?"
"You need to gain back your strength. We'll wait another week."
I met his eyes. "Don't fuck with my head, man. I want to know what I'm into here. Cat tells me you plan to kill me once you're finished with me."
"Does he now?"
I leaned back in the chair. "What guarantee do I have that I'll walk out of here?"
"None whatsoever. I don't do guarantees."
"Then why should I help you?"
"Two reasons," he said casually. "You want Maloney almost as much as I do, and you have no choice."
"There's always a choice, Ice."
He smiled at me again. "Umm, perhaps." He scraped the chair back and sat across from me.
"So, from the man who doesn't do guarantees, we're either in this together and my safety is assured; or fuck your plan. Kill me now." I folded my hands together under the table, and waited. I was presenting a calm exterior, but I was practically shitting my pants.
"You got balls, Fuller, I give you that."
I met his eyes. "What's the plan?"
"Do you know anything about psychological and emotional torture, Fuller?"
"I've seen it used, yes."
"Maloney's identity is tied up with two things; he's a big time cop, and he's a straight cop."
I nodded.
"You and I can destroy both those things."
I paled. "His sexuality is a private thing."
He shook his head. "Not anymore."
"He's a dirty cop, that's enough. Leave his sexuality out of this."
"Are you that afraid?"
"I'm not afraid."
"Yeah, you are. You're afraid that if we out Maloney, we out you."
"I'm not...I'm..." I looked at my hands. "I'm straight, okay."
"You're a liar," he said. "That boner you were sprouting last night said otherwise."
"You set me up?" I growled with disbelief, struggling to my feet. "You walked around naked to..."
"What did you think, that I wanted to play nursemaid to the likes of you in the middle of the night?" He reeled back in his chair.
"Fuck you, you conceited, arrogant bastard. Even if I was...was like...that...I wouldn't be attracted to a piece of shit like you."
Those eyes went dark. I turned around to see two big guys poke their heads in the door. Ice held up a hand. "It's okay. Get out."
They disappeared. He seemed to relax. "You can insult me all you want. You were hot for me last night, and you didn't sleep, either. Why can't you just admit it? I have no problem with it."
"I'm not gay, so if I have to be for this plan of yours to work, you're shit out of luck."
"Ever heard the term closet queen, Fuller?"
"Fuck you."
He laughed softly. "You wish."
"Is this conversation going anywhere?"
"Sit down, relax." There was a brown envelope sitting on the table. He reached over and slid it across to me. "Take a look."
I opened the envelope. "Holy shit," I said. It was Maloney screwing some boy in a motel room. I shuffled through the pictures hastily. "Nasty. Where in hell did you get these?"
"It's not important. That kid he was with ended up dead of an overdose three weeks later. He was fourteen."
"Shit. Are you saying that Maloney had something to do with...?"
"He hired bikers to kill you because you sucked his cock, didn't he?"
I slammed the pictures down on the table. "I didn't suck his cock, goddamnit."
"You wanted to."
"No, I didn't want to. Maloney is one nasty guy, and he's not my idea of attractive."
"A-ha," he grinned.
I sighed, balling my fists at my side.
"Tell me the truth."
"Why, so you can blackmail me, if I ever get out of this hellhole?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know, Fuller, if you spend your life afraid to be who you really are, you'll never truly be a man."
"Now you're fucking Voltaire," I sneered.
He stood up. "Pretend to be anything you want. You see where pretence got Maloney. He's so deep in denial, he's swimming in his own shit. For all the harm he's done, all the people he's killed, it's time he faces his demons. Just lay back now, Fuller, rest. You'll going to need all your strength. No regrets, and no guarantees."
With that, he walked out and left me sitting there. At that moment I hated the bastard---almost as much as I hated Maloney, and that was a lot of hate.
When I finally left the room, some guy called Hulk---and damn, he looked like a Hulk---told me that I was confined to that corridor. "Thanks," I told him, trying to walk a bit on my leg. I did the corridor a few times, three skulking bikers observing me silently, then walked back into Ice's room. I watched some mindless television show for a while, then went to stare out the window. I could see several bikers standing around talking, but there was little activity.
Cat brought me some supper. He didn't say a word as he brought in the tray and set it down on the coffee table in front of me. I ate take-out again, imagining what this food was doing to my cholesterol. I longed for some normal food. After I ate, I took to the corridor again, feeling my leg gain in strength. I overdid it some and my leg started to hurt, so I went back into the room and elevated it.
Around eight o'clock I dozed off, awakening to find Ice sitting across from me, watching the football game on television. He looked pensive. "The dead have risen," he muttered.
"Can I go back to the other room to sleep? It's a little crowded in here," I said, my eyes straying to the bed.
"You stay here with me, where I can keep an eye on you," he said without looking at me.
I sighed softly. "I'd really like to know what you've got planned."
"Nervous?" he asked softly, taking his eyes off the set to look at me now.
"A little. I'm a cop, you know, and if I ever get out of this mess, I intend to go on being one. I'm not going to do anything illegal."
"You'll do what I tell you to do."
I clenched my teeth. "I want Maloney as much as you do, but the best way to get him is through the legal..."
"Bullshit," he said, his eyes boring into mine. "That fuck has been outside the law for years. His ass calls for a different kind of justice." There was anger in his voice for the first time.
"If there is evidence that..."
"There were no witnesses when he gunned down my parents."
My mouth fell open. "He...he...killed your parents?"
He tore his eyes away now. "He killed my parents, then years later he killed Bulldog, who took me in and treated me like his son. He took everything I ever loved away from me. Now it's my turn, and I don't intend for anyone, especially not a closeted, cocky little asswipe cop like you, to screw it up."
"I'm not in the closet!"
He paused, the anger draining from his eyes. Then he laughed. "You don't seem to mind being called a cocky little asswipe, but damn, say you're in the closet and whoa, you're pissed!"
I narrowed my eyes at him. "What is your hang-up? You don't know me. My sexuality is none of your fucking business."
He grinned, stretching out his long legs in front of him. "Everything about you is my business, Brian."
It was the first time he'd used my first name. It sent a little thrill through me for some reason.
"Well, Estevan," I mocked, "I don't see how my sexuality will help you get revenge against Maloney."
"Ah, you've done your homework, cop. Not a lot of people know my name. And I'm called Van, by the way."
It was nice, smooth and sexy, like he was. Van.
"Your sexuality is of no use to me in terms of Maloney," he said. "Although it may be of some use to me personally." He gave me the most arrogant smirk.
I'm sure I turned red as a beet. "Don't get any ideas."
He threw back his head and laughed.
"I'm glad I amuse you so much."
"Good thing, it's going to be pretty boring around here for the next couple of days. Look, Fuller," he said, leaning forward and touching my forearm, "I know you're gay. What I don't know is why you hide it. I can understand keeping a low profile on the force, but you're so goddamned uptight about it. I bet you've never even kissed a guy."
I cleared my throat, and pushed his hand away. "I had a girlfriend in high school."
"Really?" He leaned back against the back of the sofa again. With half-closed eyes he said, "What's that supposed to prove?"
"That I like women."
"High school was a few years back there, Fuller. What have you been doing in the meantime?" He moved his fist back and forth in front of his crotch a few times. I got the picture.
I rolled my eyes at him. "I've had a few...girls," I muttered. It was no lie. I'd gone out with a few women. I labelled those 'appeasing Daddy dates'. They were disasters. Why in hell was I even talking to him about this?
"Guess you do use your hand a lot, Fuller." He was smiling.
"You use yours a lot, Van?" I mocked.
"Sometimes."
"And while we're on the subject," I braved, "maybe you're in the closet too."
"I'm not in any closet," he said, sitting up. "I'm gay and proud of it."
I shifted on the sofa. God, he was gay. "Well, go..oo..od for you. I don't have anything against it. Live and let live, you know."
"You are so full of shit," he said softly, getting up off the sofa.
I recoiled, watching him. He stopped in front of me, looked down, and said, "Come to bed with me, Brian."
I just about choked out the words, "Yeah, right."
"No, I mean it," he said. "Come to bed with me. It's time to sleep, and the bed is plenty big enough for both of us."
"I'm not going to..."
He reached down and took my chin between his finger and thumb. "Stop getting all flustered, Brian. I'm not asking to fuck you, just to sleep. Afraid?"
I pulled my chin away. "No, I'm not afraid. I didn't think...anything...I..."
"Yes, you did. Brian," he said, going down on his haunches. "You thought I was going to try and fuck you. You know what I think? I think you're a big, tough virgin cop."
"Fuck you."
He stood up, laughing softly. He pulled his T-shirt over his head and threw it on the sofa, moving away from me. "Take off your clothes. I'll clean your wound."
"Forget it, I'm fine."
"You need a shower, and I'll have to change the bandages. Come on, I'll wash your back at the same time."
I was panicking. "It's all right," I said, "I can...do..."
He came back over to where I sat and pulled me to my feet. "Come on, Fuller, I'm not going to rape you. Relax. You're not in the closet, remember. We're just a couple of guys, one gay and one straight. No sweat."
"But if you're gay, and..."
"Um," he mocked, "don't worry, Brian. When you take off your clothes, I think I just might be able to control myself. You're not that irresistible."
When I didn't move, he said, "Brian, I'm not going to take you by force. Forget all those biker fantasies about gangbangs in your head and take off your clothes. If I was going to rape you, don't you think I would have done so by now?"
I swallowed. He was undoing his pants. He disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the shower running. I couldn't get into that shower naked with him. If I did, he'd know. Shit, what in hell was wrong with me? He already knew. I hobbled to the bathroom without my cane, and stood there uncertainly at the threshold. He held out his hand to me. I kept my eyes on some invisible object beside his head. I didn't dare let my gaze move over his naked body, but God, how I wanted to. I pulled the T-shirt over my head carefully and let it drop to the floor. He came closer and began to take off the tape and the bandages from my ribs. I undid the jeans and let them fall down over my hips. Then he leaned down, taking the bandage off my leg as I stepped out of them.
"Um," he said, "it's healing nicely." He squeezed my calf. I sucked in a breath. "Does it hurt here?" he asked, squeezing my leg just below the knee.
"No," I said, my knees trembling. My entire body was shaking. He stood up now, then stepped into the shower.
"Come on," he said gruffly. "I'll help you."
He pulled me in behind him and stepped under the water. I couldn't hold back anymore. My eyes followed his hands as they moved shampoo through his long, wet hair. The soap travelled down his back to the division between the curvaceous cheeks of his beautiful, hard ass.
I put a hand out to steady myself while the other instinctively reached for my cock, jutting out straight in front of me. He was moving soapy hands now over his chest and cock in a purely mechanical way, but it was the most incredibly erotic thing I'd ever seen. Of course, you had to see this guy. He was sinfully beautiful, and his body was just a wonderland of hard, sensuous hills and valleys in all the right places.
"Okay," he said, turning around. "Get in here so I can wash your back."
I abruptly turned away from him. I felt him move closer. I could scarcely breathe. I think I said a prayer.
"What are you doing?" he asked. "I can't wash your back if you're not under the water."
I don't know if he knew what he was doing to me at that moment, but if he did, he was the biggest bastard that ever lived. I tried to slide past him, my belly and cock brushing against the porcelain. He said nothing, just stepped the other way to let me move under the spray. "It's...ah...okay," I said, "you don't have to..."
He had the soap in his hands. I could hear him rubbing it between his palms. "Shut up, Fuller. Just relax." I closed my eyes when he placed his slippery palms on each side of my shoulders, a bar of soap wedged underneath his left hand. As he trailed it across my skin, he moved closer to me, leaning his head down beside mine. I felt his jaw, somewhat rough, move down against my cheek. With his lips against my ear, he said, "Doesn't that feel good?"
It felt incredible. It felt excruciatingly arousing. I could feel his sex tapping against my bare ass, and I almost lost it. If he hadn't stepped away from me at that moment, I think I would have cum right there in the shower.
"All done," he said, sliding open the glass shower door and reaching for a towel while I just stood there, trembling, frozen in time. "Come on and finish so that I can tape back up your ribs. Someone will come and take a look at you tomorrow. She's a really good doctor."
Quickly I rinsed off and followed him out of the shower. He stood, his long hair slicked back, that dark shadow on his jaw reminding me of how close he'd been to me just minutes ago.
"Make sure you're dry," he said, unrolling the gauze.
"Maybe I don't need that so much anymore," I murmured, brushing the towel over my body, then wrapping it securely around my waist.
"Keep it at least until Angelica sees you."
"The doctor."
He nodded.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked him. "Why do you care if I heal right, or if..."
"I told you, I need you. I can't have you dying on me, at least not until after next week."
"Why next week?" I moved closer when he indicated the gauze in his hand. He began to wrap it around my ribs. "Why not now?"
"Next week is a very important week for our dear Sergeant."
"How so?"
He began to run the tape around the bandage now. "You'll find out next week."
"You don't trust me," I said in frustration as he clipped the edge of the tape with the scissors he took off the sink.
"I don't trust anyone," he replied, giving me a gentle shove out of the way.
I followed him out of the bathroom, then regretted it, because he threw off the towel and walked naked over to the bed. I tore my eyes away from him and focused on a speck of dirt on the carpet. "I find that sad," I managed.
"Sad?" he blinked, as if the word didn't mean anything to him.
"Yes, sad."
"You're telling me that after all that happened with you, that you trust people? Shit, one of your own set you up for dead. You're either brain-dead, or some sort of religious freak."
I sighed. "Yes, Maloney betrayed me, but not everyone is Maloney."
He laughed a hard laugh. "You're quite the philosopher king, aren't you, Fuller? And you call me Voltaire."
I shrugged. "I'm surprised you even know who Voltaire was."
He crawled into bed. "Oh, I'm full of surprises. Come downstairs with me tomorrow night, cop, and I'll give you a taste of how the real world works."
I eyed him suspiciously. I wasn't quite sure what in hell he was up to, but the idea of being able to go downstairs intrigued me immensely.
He lifted his head and glanced at me. "Are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to come to bed?"
I moved toward the bed reluctantly. He was lying on the outside. "You'll have to crawl over me," he was saying, "I always sleep on the outside of the bed. Habit."
"Is that because you think someone might cut your throat in the middle of the night?"
"Partly," he muttered, grinding his head into the pillow and closing his eyes.
I didn't relish crawling over him, but that's exactly what I did. And of course I couldn't help but drag the inner thigh of my outer leg over his hip as I did. When I finally found myself barricaded on the other side of him by the wall, I literally panicked. The bed was plenty big enough, there was little danger of touching if I huddled against the wall, but still, there was no escaping if he turned to me in the middle of the night and...and what? Tried to touch me, kiss me? He was butt naked, and I was clad only in a bath towel. It wouldn't take much to...I told myself to stop thinking about it...to close my eyes and sleep.
As you can guess, sleep was a long way away. It could have been my heartbeat that kept me awake, pounding in my chest like a drum. Or maybe it was my cock, throbbing in rhythm with my heart. Even if I wanted it to happen, it couldn't. Even if I rationalized it all in my head that no one would ever know, having any kind of sexual contact with this guy would be the stupidest thing I had ever done.
But still, I could feel his breath on my cheek in that shower; the place where he had placed his hands on my back still felt warm. And as I closed my eyes, I saw his face, those dark blue eyes looking into mine, that cocky look on his smug, handsome face. I squeezed closer to the wall, and cursed. I cursed first myself, then him, and then said a silent prayer that I'd survive this...not me as a whole, but my heart. I prayed that if I did ever leave him, I'd be able to take my heart with me.
When I opened my eyes, they felt grainy and dry. I don't know what time I finally fell asleep, but I know I heard the birds singing. I was alone, which was a relief. I don't know what it would have been like looking into those eyes first thing in the morning, but I didn't want to find out. I was hard. I had gotten into this bed hard, and I would leave it hard. I looked at the clock on the wall. I was shocked to see that it was after one in the afternoon.
There were some fresh clothes laid out for me. I put them on and felt my jaw. I needed a shave bad. I hadn't shaved since I was stuck in that other room. It was beginning to get uncomfortable. I wandered into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on my face. There were some disposable razors and shaving cream in the medicine cabinet. I took my time shaving.
When I was finished, I checked my eye, and my lip. I was beginning to look a little more like myself. The swelling was gone. The lip had scabbed over, and the eye was now more yellow than purple.
When I came back out, I noticed a tray on the coffee table. There was a thermos of coffee and some sandwiches---enough for an army. I sat down and poured coffee into the mug beside it. It was very quiet. I walked to the window and looked out onto the courtyard and to the fence beyond. It felt odd being dead. That's what I was. Dead. How in the hell could I ever go back to my life now?
Ironically, I ended up spending the afternoon watching an old biker movie. Then I dozed off, only to be awakened at six by Ice.
"Come on," he said, "come downstairs."
I rubbed my eyes and yawned.
He reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me to my feet. For a moment he paused, studying my face. "You shaved."
"Um," I managed, still half-asleep. "I used a razor that I..."
"No problem," he said gruffly, releasing my wrist. "Come on."
He was wearing his colors, something I hadn't seen him do much. What in hell was going on? I picked up the cane from the corner before we left the room and followed him down the corridor. At the top of the stairs, he turned, asking me if I needed help.
"I'll manage," I said, grasping the banister.
He paused at the bottom of the stairs to wait for me. My leg was feeling a hell of a lot better. In fact, I was amazed at how fast a recovery I was making. When I got to the bottom, he nodded. "Not bad."
"No, I'm not bad at all."
"Come with me, Angelica is waiting in the other room."
I looked around me. Wow. It was a house and a half. Spacious, all hard wood floors. Not a lot of furniture, but what was there looked expensive.
He showed me into this room with a sofa. "It's a meeting room, but it will do. I'll go see if she's here."
"Isn't that doctor afraid to come here?"
"Why should she be afraid? She's my sister."
I tried not to look too surprised.
"Yes, even I have a sister...stepsister, actually. We grew up together until she was about twelve, then she was sent away to school."
I didn't comment because he simply walked out of the room at that point. He seemed prone to doing that, just walking away when it suited him. I had time to look out the window before she arrived. It was raining. The wildflowers had started to bloom. From the window, I could see the river on the other side of the road, but not the road itself. That was blocked by the hill and the huge fence surrounding us.
"Hello, Officer Fuller," a smooth, female voice announced suddenly, causing me to turn around. She was a petite woman with thick black hair caught by a red ribbon, carrying a black bag. "My name is Doctor Mandarez, but you may call me Angelica." She closed the door behind her.
"I want to thank you for all you've done. I'm feeling very well."
"You look well," she said. "Can you please remove your shirt and your pants, Officer Fuller?"
I took off my shirt, then undid my pants. She waited patiently until I had undressed. I held the T-shirt awkwardly in front of me.
She pulled out a chair. "Please sit down," she said. "Have you had any pain?"
"No, a little sensitivity."
"It's normal for the ribs to be tender." She began to undo the bandages. "What about the leg?"
"Sore, but I find I can walk better on it now."
"Continue to use the cane for a few more weeks. You were very lucky, the bone was not touched. The exit of the bullet was clean."
I watched her curiously as she poked and prodded me. I wondered what it was like to be the child of a gang leader. Obviously Bulldog had sheltered her from it all by sending her away. "Van tells me you are his sister."
She looked up. "Yes."
"Your father must have loved you a lot, to want to send you away...protect you. What about your mother?"
"My mother died young," she said. "Hold up your leg," she said suddenly, and proceeded to inspect it. "Very nice. Looks like you are on the road to recovery." She began to bandage my leg again.
"This is very good of you to do this. Do you do this for all the Diablos, too?"
"If necessary," she said, beginning to tuck her supplies back into her bag.
"Is there any way," I said, lowering my voice, "that you could get a message to...?"
She shook her head. At the door, she said, "Godspeed, Brian Fuller."
"Let's hope so," I said with a sigh.
She gave me a ghost of a smile. "Don't worry. You'll be all right." Then she was gone.
Ice appeared just as I was doing up my pants. "I hear you're going to live."
"Apparently. The question is, for how long?"
"None of us know the answer to that. Come on, time to eat."
I expected a room full of bikers, but there were only four. They completely ignored my presence, gobbling the Chinese food laid out on the table as if they hadn't eaten in a year. Ice watched them with half-closed eyes, taking a bite once in a while of some rice he'd scattered on his plate. He didn't seem into it. I let my attention wander around the huge dining room with the large mahogany table and hanging chandelier, and ate a few egg rolls in silence. Two of the bikers grunted something and left the room, leaving me alone with Ice and two others who sat at the far end of a table that might have seated twenty, slugging back beer. I finally braved a question.
"What happened to your parents?"
He blinked, then, moved his eyes to mine. "What do you want to know for?"
"I'm curious, that's all."
"Curiosity killed the cop," he hissed softly at me.
I made a face. "Nice improvising, Van."
He smiled.
"Did Bulldog send you to school as well?" Ice didn't speak like an uneducated person. He was articulate and bright. I knew he had to have had at least high school, maybe more.
For a while I thought he wasn't going to answer me, then he said, "Summit Academy."
It was a very exclusive military school.
"Angelica went to Elvira."
"Expensive schools."
He shrugged.
"So you were away a lot."
"Eight months a year."
"The rest of the time you spent with the gang?"
"That's right."
"Where were you before Bulldog was killed? You weren't here."
"What is this, Fuller?" He narrowed his eyes.
"Maybe I want to know you," I said softly. I don't know why it came out that way, but it did.
He paused, then said, "Know thine enemy."
"Right now, we're not really enemies."
"Historically, you are my enemy, Brain. You're the enemy of the Diablos. You're a cop."
"I know what I am. What I can't figure out is what exactly you are."
He met my eyes for a minute, as if he were trying to figure out what to say, then he made a sound in his throat and looked away.
"What were you doing before? Where were you?"
"You're the cop. You figure it out."
"Military," I said. "You had to be..."
He stood up abruptly, causing the other two at the end of the table to freeze. "Time to rock and roll," he said. "Bring him to me."
My eyes went from him to the two bikers at the end of the table. Ice looked over at me. "Remember I told you that I was going to show you how the world really worked, Fuller? Well, observe."
I didn't really have a hell of a lot of time to reflect on what he was saying. A few minutes later those same guys came bounding through the door to the dining room, and a body literally came flying down that long table, knocking off everything in its wake to land not more than a few feet away from me. I stood up, my chair flying backwards, and swore.
"Jesus Christ," I said. "What the fuck!"
Ice reached down and pulled the dazed man to his feet by the collar. He bent him face up over the table in front of him. In his hand was a switchblade, which he held to his cheek. "This here is Ronaldo. Ronaldo is wearing the honorary Diablo colors. Now, Ronaldo was entrusted with a fairly large sum of money and told to do a job. He chose, however, to accept a larger sum of money and double-cross me instead."
The man was just about frightened to death. He was sobbing, shaking his dirty mop of hair, begging for his life. Suddenly, a spray of urine darkened his crotch and rolled down his leg. "No, no, no me mata por favour." he said. "Ice, listen to me, man. It's not true. It's not..."
"Maloney bought you. He can have you," Ice told him. He pressed the point of the knife to his cheek. I was about to try and reason with him when he backed away and threw the knife to the floor. "Come on," he said, "pick up the blade. I bet you I can rip that shirt off your back faster than you can kill me."
What in hell was he doing? The one called Ronaldo swooped down and grabbed the knife off the floor while Ice danced backwards, unarmed. The sweat was pouring into the guy's eyes; he looked crazed and desperate. He was fighting for his life, and he knew it.
Ice, on the other hand, looked cool and calm as always as he moved his fingers in the direction of his chest, indicating to the other man that he should approach. I didn't realise that my nails were biting into the palms of my hands until I felt pain.
Ronaldo took a swipe at Ice with the blade. Ice laughed. He swung again at his face. Ice reached out with one hand and gripped the man's wrist. He bent it backwards, causing the man to cry out in pain. I heard a distinctive snap. The knife fell, and in a move I could hardly follow, Ice stepped around him, grabbing the man's arm. He caught the blade in his hand and ripped Ronaldo's shirt up the back as the man went to his knees. Yanking his arm back tighter, Ice pushed the two sides of the vest off his shoulders so that they hung off the crooks of his elbows. The man moaned in pain, tears streaming down his face. Ice held the knife to his throat, then leaning down close to his cheek, said, "Give Maloney a message for me. Tell him I'm coming for him, and there won't be any place for him to hide. Tell him I'm bringing a friend of his. Do you have that?"
"Si, Si, entiendo," he moaned.
Ice released him, putting the tip of his boot to the guy's back and pushing him onto his face. "Get him out of here," he said to the other two, who immediately came, picked the guy up and dragged him out on his knees.
"Who was he?" I managed, breathless.
"Some wannabe Diablo. He was sent out as a test, and as you can see, he failed."
"I'm surprised you didn't kill him."
He looked at me, and raised an eyebrow, but he didn't say anything.
"Why did you throw your weapon down like that? A bit risky. He could have killed you."
"You really think so?" His expression was damned hard to read.
"Yes, fuck," I said, finally able to breathe, "I really fucking think so."
"You sound like you care, Fuller," he mocked.
"Well, I don't, but..."
"But?" he insisted.
"I rather be held by you than your goons."
"Oh, yeah, and why's that?"
"Because you need me to carry out your little scheme, whatever the fuck it is, and they'd just as soon kill me as look at me."
"Good thinking, Fuller."
"Any other lessons you'd like to show me tonight?" I braved, my voice laced with sarcasm.
He paused for a minute, then, gave me one of those exasperating smirks of his. "There are a lot of lessons I could teach you, Brian. Which one would you like?"
I froze, not missing the sexual innuendo. I looked away from him.
"Why don't you tell me about next week?"
He shrugged, and stood up. "How 'bout I tell you next week?"
I shook my head.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm expecting some entertainment for tonight. Sleeping with you isn't exactly satisfying my itch, if you know what I mean. If I were you, I'd go back to the room and watch T.V. I think there's a sermon on the virtues of chastity, and after I hear they're going to talk about how to refresh that closet you live in."
"Very funny," I said, standing up. "Enjoy yourself."
"I thought so," he laughed. "And remember, the boys are watching you. And I'll be nearby, so no funny stuff."
"Wouldn't dream of it, I'll be glued to the set, remember?"
He grinned, and then left me to make my way back to the room. Entertainment? Is that what he called fucking? Probably some male prostitute taken off the street. It didn't matter to me, as long as he didn't come to me expecting anything. When I got back into the room, I slammed the door a little too hard, then sat down on the sofa and turned on the television. Don't ask me what in hell was on. I couldn't concentrate. Ice was probably somewhere downstairs getting his cock sucked by some over-endowed diseased whore. Personally, I didn't give a shit. I hoped he caught something that made him itch all over. It was nothing to me. At least that's what I told myself, until I almost believed it. Almost.
I slept alone in the bed that night, tossing and turning, terrified that he'd show up, and angry that he hadn't. "Must have been some night," I told him the next day when he walked in around ten in the morning.
"It was. I almost came and got you. Thought you'd like to watch, see how it's done."
"Where do you get all your time? Gang leader, moral philosopher and now sexual instructor."
"You're the philosopher, Brian," he accused, never losing that calm of his. He pulled off his T-shirt. "Want to scrub my back?"
"No, thanks," I said, draining my coffee cup. "I'd rather swallow poison."
He laughed. "I see you took your own shower this morning." He was undoing his pants.
I turned away, running a tongue over my lips. When I heard the shower running, I bit into my bottom lip. I rubbed my cock until the water stopped running, then I put my head back on the sofa and closed my eyes. I had an image suddenly of my cock in his mouth. My hand reached back down to my crotch again.
"Works much better if you take it out of your pants," a voice said softly beside my ear.
I jumped forward in my seat. "Jesus," I said. "Don't sneak up on me like that."
He moved around to the front of me, nothing on but a towel snaked around his slim waist. "Are you horny, officer?"
I swallowed. "Please."
"Please what, Brian?" he echoed, leaning down on his haunches and laying his palms on his knees. "You want me to suck your cock?"
I couldn't speak. I couldn't tear my eyes away. What I really wanted to do at that moment was kiss him. In fact, I don't think I ever wanted to kiss a man as much as I wanted to kiss this one.
One of his hands moved up to the top of my jeans. Slowly he pulled the zipper down, his eyes following the direction of his hand. I had no underwear on under the jeans and my cock was right there, erect, exposed. He took it out with his fingers. I inhaled sharply, closing my eyes for a second.
"You have a nice cock, Fuller, and it looks like it's in need of attention."
I opened my eyes, and met his. He squeezed my cock in his hand. I moaned aloud. "Fuck," I said, a rush of air coming out of my lungs.
"Patience," he whispered, "we'll get to that."
My pulse was racing. I was agitated. I leaned forward.
He placed a palm on my chest and pushed me back. "Relax," he said. He reached up and around me, dragging my jeans down over my hips and to my ankles, then pulled them off altogether.
I closed my eyes again. I couldn't bear to look.
He stood up. I opened my eyes again. "Come on," he said, unhooking the towel from his waist and tossing it aside. "Come with me."
I let him pull me up, my gaze caressing his semi-erect cock, a few inches larger than my own, with almost perfect balls. I stumbled behind him to the bed, brushing up against his back as I did. I reached out my hand to caress his ass, but then withdrew it. There was something almost sacred about being allowed to touch that body. I was drowning, drowning in lust and frightened out of my mind. He turned me around and pulled the T-shirt off me, then he just looked at me for what seemed like forever.
When his arms came around me, I froze. He melded his body to mine and placed his hands on my ass, lightly squeezing my cheeks as he lowered his mouth to my neck. How did it feel? He felt like heaven. His body was as close to perfect as a man could get, and his mouth...damn...what his mouth was doing to me as it moved from my throat to my chest, and his tongue darted out to lightly tease one nipple, than the other, then suck, and bite and tease again with his tongue. My entire body was on fire. As he continued to torment my nipples into two solid nubs, one of his fingers began to crawl between the cheeks of my ass.
"Van," I moaned against him. "Damn it."
He wasn't paying any attention. With one push, he landed me back on the bed, my legs hanging over the side. Taking hold of my ankles, he spread my legs and looked down at me. "I'm going to drive you crazy," he said softly.
He pushed up my legs and knelt between them. My ass was in the air and my legs were spread. I felt completely exposed and knew I was at his mercy, not only because of the physical position I was in, but because he had me in his spell. With my legs sprawled over his strong shoulders, his face sank between my legs. Holding open my ass with both his hands, his tongue began a sensuous dance. I know my legs began to move, and my hips bucked forward. He wrapped his hands around my legs, pressing them down to his shoulders to keep them quiet. I turned my face to the mattress and shoved as much of my fist into my mouth as I could to keep from crying out. Still, even this didn't work. I arched my back.
"Jesus Christ, for the love of God," I cried out, "I can't...I can't...
He lifted his head. Lowering my legs, he pushed my knees up and began to move his tongue up the length of my shaft. I was as close to exploding as I could be. His lips moved upward, over my abdomen to my chest. I reached out and grabbed his head in my hands, lifting up as much as I could as he began to lick my nipples again.
"Yes, yes...Jesus...I want you," I told him. "Please, Ice." There were tears stinging my eyes.
He paused, lifted his hand and wiped a single tear off my cheek. "You've held this inside for so long." His eyes looked almost sympathetic.
I groaned and pulled upward. I yanked his face forward and kissed him, deeply, totally, my tongue sinking into his mouth, my lips crushing his. I pushed him over onto his back and raked his face with my eyes. He was goddamned beautiful, and for all the times I've wanted, needed, I never wanted anything more.
I let my eyes move over his body now. His nipples were hard, but I intended to make them harder. I sighed, letting my fingers move over his engorged cock. He laid there, that calm patience that he always wore on his face, then I leaned down and took his cock into my mouth. As I did, I let my hand move over his chest, paying special attention to his nipples. At one point he said, "Easy, easy." This was the first cock I'd ever sucked. I was hoping my enthusiasm made up for my lack of experience.
At one point, he sat up and held onto the base of his cock. He began to move it in my mouth. He took my hand and put it on his balls. He reared back and closed his eyes. I guess I was beginning to get the hang of it because he moaned softly, placing his hand in my hair. I wanted to see his face. I didn't want him to cum without being able to watch his face. He told me to stop at one point.
"I don't want to cum yet," he said. I let his cock out of my mouth reluctantly. I'd heard it takes getting used to but I loved it right away; the taste, the texture, the smell. He pulled me on top of him, and he said very simply, "I want to fuck you."
He didn't give me any time to answer. He turned me over onto my back and brought his mouth down on mine. I ceased to have any rational thoughts at all. He was touching me all over, and I lost control. When he captured my cock in his mouth, I was his completely. I came almost immediately when he began to move his lips over my scrotum. I was disappointed when he sat up and reached over to the bedside table. I saw the lube and the condom, and I stiffened. I knew it was going to hurt, but I had dreamt about it so long.
He looked over at me, all that beautiful black hair in disarray. I had done that. I reached up and ran my fingers over his chest. I was hard again. He was so quiet, just watching me, running his gaze over me as if he couldn't get enough, and I wanted his eyes on me. I wanted his lips, his hands on me, and his cock inside me. He moved over in front of me between my thighs. The lube was cold, and I made a face when I felt his finger begin to massage it over my entrance.
"It will warm up," he said, his finger going deeper now.
God, it felt good. I let my head go back, my eyes closing. I heard him put on the condom, felt his hands lift my legs. I reached out and grabbed his hand once.
He paused. "Don't worry," he said.
When it first went in, I thought I was going to die. Really, the pain seemed unbearable. Then just when I reached the point where I was going to tell him to stop, I felt this overwhelming sense of pleasure rise up inside me. He began to move in and out, slowly, moving this way and that, each movement causing me to cry out, then harder, faster, until my teeth rattled and my entire body was engulfed in a rapture like I'd never imagined. And I knew I'd want more and more of this. When it was over, he collapsed on top of me and I held him, kissing his shoulder and thinking maybe I could die here holding him. Then abruptly, he pulled away from me and sat up. My arms were empty. He crawled out of bed and pulled off the condom.
"I need a shower."
Right. To me, I'd just had this earth-shattering experience that had transformed me. To him, it was just another fuck. To say I was emotionally messed up and just a bit giddy was to put it mildly. As I lay there listening to the shower run, I realized that I finally felt connected to another human being for the first time in my life. He had been inside me and I could still feel him there.
But to feel this way about Ice was ludicrous. He was the last person on earth right now I should have had my first sexual experience with. And it was really my first time...at least with a man. Those girls in high school...well, they didn't really count, not anymore.
When I heard the shower stop, I held my breath. He came back to bed. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to say something, lie there beside me and tell me something about himself no one else knew. Instead, he rolled onto his side, his back to me, and said in a cool voice, "Night, Fuller."
Fuller. Not even Brian. I managed to reply something. At least, I think I did. Then I stared at the ceiling, listening to his breathing. I told myself it didn't matter. We'd had sex. So what? It was my first time. So what? We were men, and just because we'd had sex didn't mean we felt anything for each other. At least, there was no obligation. This stranger sleeping now beside me, this man who was everything I was trained to hunt down and capture, he had led me to freedom. Finally, my feelings and my actions matched. This schizoid person called Brian Fuller, who hid his true desires from the world, no longer existed and I knew that no matter what happened after this, he was gone for good. After tasting that...tasting him...there was no going back. He'd only whet my appetite for more. It was as if I'd just begun to live. And if the cops on the force ostracized me, that was okay. I'd never been too popular anyway, thanks to my father. If my parents disowned me, I'd survive, but I'd live honestly...and suddenly that was more precious to me than anything.
I glanced over at Ice now. I longed to move closer to his body, to hold him, but I warned myself to put things into perspective, reminded myself of who he was...what he was. I didn't completely trust him. I had no idea where he was going with this Maloney thing. His feelings about Maloney were personal, and he didn't seem inclined to give me any details about what he really intended to do. I was still his prisoner. I was also a cop, and this man lying beside me was the kind of man I worked my ass off to put behind bars. I couldn't let him make me lose track of who I was.
When I awoke, I was alone, and I was in pain. You can guess where, but it was the kind of pain that was bearable because of the memories of pleasure connected with it. I suspected the memories would linger far longer than the pain.
I showered, then found some clean clothes folded on the sofa. I presumed they were for me. They were new; black jeans, grey sweatshirt, socks, but still no underwear. As I was putting on the socks, Cat appeared. I hadn't seen him for a while. He handed me a tray of food. I put it down on the coffee table. "Am I a prisoner today?"
"You're a prisoner every day," he said, preparing to leave.
"Where's Van?"
"Van?"
"Ice, then?" I shoved my feet into my boots.
"Busy. If he wants you, he'll send for you."
I heard the sound of bikes suddenly. I went over to the window, but I couldn't see a damned thing. When I turned around, he was gone.
I went to peek out the door. Two large bikers stood at the end of the hall. I presumed that they were there for me. I ate, and went into a coma watching some mindless game show, only regaining consciousness when someone screamed their head off for some reason or another.
When the door opened at one o'clock, it was Cat again with sandwiches. He looked at me for a minute, then, turned to go. I was just about to grab one of the sandwiches when he turned around again. "I can help you get out of here."
"Why in hell would you want to do that?" I asked. "Don't tell me you've finally fallen madly in love with me?"
"Hardly. Maybe I don't want to see you die."
"Try again."
"I don't want to kill a cop, okay."
I still wasn't convinced.
"Do you think Ice will just let you walk out of here when we're finished with you?"
Deep down, I'd probably asked myself that same question a hundred times. Ice had never given me any guarantees. What I couldn't figure out was why this guy was suddenly willing to betray Ice to save my ass. "If Ice knew you were doing this, he'd probably kill you."
"Do you want to live or not?"
"Of course. What a stupid fucking question."
"What's a stupid fucking question?" A deep voice suddenly asked. Ice was standing behind Cat in the doorway.
We both froze. Cat's face seemed to drain of colour, and when he turned to look at me, his eyes were almost pleading. I realized suddenly that I had his life in my hands. "Cat just asked me if I was beginning to like it here," I muttered. "I told him it was a stupid fucking question."
Ice didn't comment. He brushed past Cat and said something about wasting time on nonsense, and Cat took the opportunity to get the hell out of there. I was hoping that I'd made an ally, but who knew. Ice seemed to be in a shitty mood. He looked over at me all of a sudden and said, "We see Maloney tonight."
I put down the piece of sandwich I had just picked up. "He's coming here?"
"No, I've arranged a meeting place."
"And I'm just going to show up with you."
"That's right."
"You said a week."
"I've changed my mind, and he knows you're alive."
"How?"
"Doesn't matter."
"Son of a bitch," I said. "Why is he meeting with you, then?" I didn't like the way this was looking.
"You'll find out tonight."
"You fucking bastard," I said, standing up. "You're going to trade me for something...what is it, Ice...money, drugs? What's the going rate for a cop these days?"
"Calm down, Fuller," he said, standing there in the middle of the floor with that unaltered expression of 'nothing fucking bothers me' on his face.
"You can be calm. I'm the one being hung out to dry here. What does he have that you want besides me?" It hurt to look at him. Images of him touching me, kissing me flashed in my brain and I wanted to tear them out of my head. He didn't give a damn about me. He planned to use me, sell me to the highest bidder. "You don't give a shit, do you, Van?"
He shrugged.
"Fuck you."
"I already fucked you, remember?" He actually smiled. That's when I went for him. I took him completely by surprise. He never saw it coming, which was probably why I was able to catch him just below his jaw on the right, knocking him off his feet. I landed hard on top of him. I don't know who was hurt worse, him or I. I ran my hands over him briskly, searching for a weapon, just like I would have done with any common criminal. I didn't feel any. He wasn't out by any means...a little stunned, maybe. His face was turned to the side. He moaned a little and turned it back toward me.
I leaned on him with all my weight, my legs straddling each side of him. My groin was pressed into his, and God, the anger inside me was draining away and turning rapidly to something else. His chest was heaving, and those eyes, those dark eyes were filled with danger and anger, maybe even rage. I grabbed the bottom of his T-shirt and ripped it out of his jeans. He started to protest, trying to lift his torso off the floor, but I pushed him back down by leaning on his shoulder with all my weight. I managed to get his shirt up to his neck. While still leaning into his shoulder, I ran my free hand over his chest.
Jesus, I felt so powerful at that moment, and horny as hell. I pinched one of his nipples with my finger and thumb, and moved one leg in between his. I used my knee to roughly fondle his genitals, keeping pressure on his shoulder. He grunted. I wasn't sure if it was from the sexual stimulation, or from pain. I was really leaning into his shoulder. I brought my hand down from his chest and undid the belt on his jeans, then began to fumble with the zipper. I pulled his pants off, expecting any moment some resistance, but there wasn't any. The T-shirt had forced one of his arms over his head, and I pushed it up further so that part of it covered his face. I lifted his cock out of his jeans. It was hard, and practically jumped into my hand.
"Christ, you're sexy," I said, lowering my mouth to it, letting my tongue do a slow dance around the head.
I took the pressure off his shoulder and ran one hand over his chest, then across his abdomen, and began to finger his balls with the other. He didn't struggle anymore; I guess I considered that some kind of a victory. He lifted up and took off the T-shirt. I took his cock into my mouth, sucking on the rounded head before widening my jaw and allowing more of his cock to push into my mouth. I closed my eyes. The sounds of me sucking his cock grew louder and sounded almost surreal. His hand found its way to my hair. He caressed it, then grabbed hold of it and pulled as my efforts doubled. He was panting...and the sounds of pleasure he was making in his throat were driving me wild. I let my hand slip down underneath his balls. I felt their tightness in my hand. He was close to coming, but I wasn't going to let him, not yet, not like this. There was a pulsing feeling of emptiness within, and I knew what I wanted. I sat up on my knees and undid my pants, quickly dragging them under my knees and off. I looked down at his cock for a moment and smiled almost smugly.
"Brian...Jesus," he said, his head back, eyes half-closed. I took his cock between my fist and pumped it a few times. "Christ," he said, that gorgeous chest heaving, his nipples so hard.
I couldn't resist leaning over and taking one between my teeth. I softly bit it, moving my fingers over the other, and then tugging on it brutally. "Beautiful bastard," I said.
I moved down to his cock again. I rubbed my cheek against it. Then straddling him, I positioned it at the entrance of my needy ass, a place he had awakened, and that I intended him to fill. I quickly rubbed my finger over my leaking cock, then rammed it up inside me in order to provide some lubrication. I guided his cock head inside me, feeling it move past my sphincter muscle, and then graze my prostate. I threw back my head and moaned, then plunged myself down almost to the base of his cock. I rode him. I rode him as if there was nothing else in the world but his cock, thick, and glorious, moving in and out of me at the pace I was setting.
His hands came to rest on each side of my upper thighs now, and he began to thrust deeper. "Damn, Brian...fuck... ahhhhh.... yes...yes..."
He took over the rhythm now. I was lost. I moved my hands over my chest, squeezing my nipples, fondling my cock, which was close to exploding. He pushed me up almost off him, then pulled me back down again and I let out a cry which sounded almost inhuman. He was still hard as rock and raring to go, and I was doing everything to hold on just one more precious minute.
"Fuck me, fuck me," I urged, and he was.
Damn it. He was fucking me harder and faster. Finally, he sat up and threw me backwards on the floor, sliding his legs underneath him and getting to his knees. He lifted my legs over his shoulders, his cock almost leaving me, then suddenly plunging back into me again, this time deeper, as he grabbed my ass and pulled me halfway off the floor. My cock was exploding and he kept fucking me, his face, his beautiful face contorting with orgasm, a hiss escaping his lips. I felt him exploding inside me, luscious warm cream lubricating my tender insides. Oh, God, it felt raw and real, and my entire body was trembling with the aftermath of it.
When he melted away from me, I decided that this time he wouldn't just roll over and sleep. I didn't give him the chance to recover or to stand up. I pushed him back onto his elbows and grabbed his face on both sides. I captured his mouth with mine, my tongue frantically exploring the inside of his mouth. He tried to pull away at one point, but I was having none of it. Oh no, this wasn't over yet. It wasn't over by a long shot. Goddamn him, if he was going to sell me down the river, I wasn't going without him giving me everything. I moved my lips off his, putting my hand over his mouth as I moved them down his chest and to his stomach. I began to lick the cum off his torso and cock, then forcefully, I rolled him over.
"What...?" he began.
"Shut up. Just shut up. If you want to kill me later, fine. Right now, your body is mine." I eyed the belt from his pants on the floor, and hastily reached for it.
He tilted his head back and looked at me. "What do you think you're going to do with that?"
I grabbed one arm, then the other. He laughed. I wrapped the belt around his wrists and then looped it tight. "You got to be kidding," he said, leering.
I looked down at his bare ass, and licked my lips. "You think so?" I reached out and slapped one of the cheeks. He jumped. "Beautiful ass," I said, moving my check down beside his. "Mine. I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you so hard that you won't ever forget it."
I moved some of his long, silky black hair aside and kissed his throat, his shoulder, then around to his back between the shoulder blades. I jumped up and went to the small table near the bed. There was the lube, the condoms. I realised that he'd fucked me without one, and it was probably risky. I had no idea who he'd fucked in his lifetime and from the way he looked, I was sure he'd been around, not to mention the 'entertainment'. I pushed that from my head. He lifted his head and watched me as I returned with the lube. He didn't move. I knew he probably could have, if he'd wanted to. I got down between his legs, my cock moving of its own volition, so hard, and so ready to take him. I roughly pushed his legs apart.
"Do you know how hard I am, just looking at you lying there, your hands tied behind your back? You have the greatest ass. How many men have fucked that ass of yours, Van?"
I spread the lube on my index fingers and parted his ass cheeks. At first I let my tongue lick and tease his hole. It was tight and not exactly open to what I had in mind. I'd have to change that. My tongue did its magic. He began to move his ass tantalizingly in front of me, his hips rising off the carpet, making deep and satisfying noises in his throat. I began to massage his hole with the lube, slowly, deliberately, without entering him.
"You like that?" I asked him softly, leaning down to kiss him at the small of the back.
"Fuck you," he managed. I smiled, pushing just the tip of my finger inside of him.
He moaned again, his body thrashing, so I pushed my finger in further, then out, then in, then deeper. He cursed, so I pushed in two, lots of lube, in and out, brushing against his prostrate. I reached under him and played with his balls, then his cock. He rose up almost onto his knees so that I'd have greater access. I played roughly with his cock, squeezing hard, slapping it back and forth. I dragged him all the way onto his knees and back into my arms, driving three fingers up inside of him to the knuckles and leaning my head over his shoulder to watch his cock move back and forth as I slapped it again. I then moved my hand up to his nipples and pinched them until he winced. I pushed him forward again onto his knees and spread his ass. I didn't give him any warning; I dove inside him, causing his entire body to shudder as he let out a shout.
"Goddamn it...goddamn," he yelled.
I leaned all my weight on him, pinning his body to the carpet, his arms still laced behind him. I slapped his ass a few times as I went, lost inside of him. My cock felt engulfed by him, and although it might have appeared as if I was in complete control, it was him who was controlling me. The sight of him, the smell, the feel, I was completely in his power. My cock might have been moving inside of him, but it was the way his body enveloped, nurtured, completely devoured it that was giving me this supreme pleasure.
"Oh, God...God...I love you...I fucking love you," I cried out.
Later on I would wonder if I had really said that, and if he had heard me. I exploded inside of him, half laughing, half crying, my hand fondling his dwindling cock at the same time. I was high, and I don't think I came down until I had completely separated my body from his. I was sitting alone, my head against the wall as I watched him easily escape the belt and put it aside. He didn't say anything, just walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. I closed my eyes. I felt completely drained, completely satiated, happy, even. I didn't want to think; thinking would take away this euphoria that had completely claimed me.
Then I vaguely remembered saying I loved him. The euphoria drained away. Had I said that? Maybe I thought it in my head, didn't say it aloud. Anyway, I wouldn't mention it. I was sure if I had said that, he didn't hear me anyway. Did he? By the time he came out of the bathroom, I was feeling purely paranoid.
"So, what was that all about?" he asked me, standing there with a towel wrapped around his waist. I hadn't even heard the water running, that's how engrossed in my thoughts I was. I brought myself to my feet, and shrugged as if I didn't give a damn.
"I got horny, that's all. It was either fuck or watch television. I'm tired of being in this room, watching shit on T.V." I could be as goddamned callous as he could when I wanted.
"I was referring to the punch."
"You pissed me off, that's all. If you want to kill me now, go ahead. It was worth it."
He turned his back on me, fumbling in his drawers for clothes. I dragged my eyes away from him, the trail of water running slowly down his naked back. "Well, this is the last day you'll be stuck in this room," he announced suddenly, finding the clothes he wanted and shutting the drawers.
"Then what?"
"It depends," he said, turning around and eyeing me. I realised that I was standing there with nothing on but my T-shirt and my socks. I reached over and nonchalantly picked up my jeans. He threw off the towel and began to dress. I turned my back. The sight of him naked was arousing me again. Damn it, was there no end to this need he'd created in me?
"You know," I said, "some people say stupid stuff when they are in the middle of it...stuff they don't mean." I don't know why in hell I felt the need to bring it up, but there it was.
He paused, his T-shirt in his hand. "Yeah...like...I love you." He met my eyes. Fucking bastard. He did hear me.
"Yeah...like that...I didn't mean it...that...well...that way, you know." I looked away.
"Don't worry, Fuller, I won't quote you on it. I gotta go, got some things to do. I'll be back soon. We head out around ten tonight."
As he came towards me, I reached out and grabbed his arm. He stopped, eyes narrowed. "Van, please don't do anything stupid. I can make sure that Maloney goes to jail. I can..."
"Listen, Fuller," he pulled his arm free, "if I was you, I'd be more worried about your life than his." He left the room, this time locking the door behind him.
The truth was, it wasn't Maloney's life, or even mine that worried me the most---it was his.
I paced the floor for hours until my leg felt as if it was ready to fall off. Cat didn't come with my supper, but I had no appetite anyway. I wondered if Ice had figured out Cat had offered to help me get out of here. If he did, Cat was probably dead. I stood at the window and watched the sun go down. I thought about my life, and wondered if it would all end soon. I spent some time feeling sorry for myself, then told myself that I wasn't going to die. When the door opened finally, I looked around expectantly. It was Ice.
He had his colors on, his long hair tied back at the nape. "Come on, let's go."
"Where's your entourage?" I sneered. "Don't tell me we're going alone."
"We're going alone," he said, holding the door open for me.
As I walked down the hallway past a few of the others, I heard some mumblings. I thought I heard one guy said, "Dead man walking." In fact, I'm sure that's what he said. Ice pushed me ahead of him and I walked down the stairs. I had left the cane upstairs. Once in the hallway, Ice grabbed someone's jacket off the back of a chair and pushed it at me. "Put it on," he said gruffly. "You're going to need it."
"I don't think pneumonia affects the dead," I told him, slipping into the jacket anyway.
He ignored me, just walked ahead, his boots making a distinctive sound on the wood floor. I followed him outside, the first time I'd smelt the fresh air in days. Several bikers stood around a row of motorcycles, talking. They quieted when they saw Ice and moved aside.
He straddled the first bike in the row, a huge Harley, then glanced at me over his shoulder. "Get on."
I looked back at the group of bikers glaring at me, and sighed. What in hell choice did I have at this moment? I hopped on back and he sped off, causing me to wrap my arms around him so that I wouldn't fall off.
"Slow down!" I called out.
He laughed at me, careening into the night down a dirt road, managing to hit every damn pothole he could. We rode for at least ten minutes at this breakneck speed. I think I started praying at one time. Finally, he slowed down and turned off onto this narrow path. It was more field than road, so overgrown with grass that the gravel was barely visible.
The bike had slowed almost to a crawl, the only illumination coming from the headlight on the bike. I peered around frantically in the blackness, my ears invaded by a chorus of bullfrogs and crickets. "Where in hell are we?"
We pulled to a stop. Ice got off the bike, pulling me with him. "Come on," he said, hauling me off through a field that put us knee-high in weeds. I had no idea how in the hell he knew where he was going. I couldn't see anything at one point.
I began to struggle. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me..."
A hand clamped down over my mouth. "He'll hear you," he hissed. "Don't you dare fuck this up for me, Fuller. I've waited too long."
I began to shake. I had no gun, and right about this time, I was sure that Ice was going to sell my ass down the river. If he gave me to Maloney, I was a dead man.
I think I bit him, because I heard him swear and pull his hand away. I wasn't stupid enough to call attention to myself in an open field. I lowered my voice to a bare whisper and stumbled at his heels, trying to make him see reason. "I don't want to die, Van. At least tell me what in hell I'm walking into here."
Ice stopped dead, allowing me to run straight into him. "Be quiet," he said softly. I heard the click of a weapon. He had a gun.
"Maloney won't be alone. He'll kill you. What would even possess you to...?"
He turned to me, dragging me up against him hard. "Ever consider for one fucking minute, Fuller, that I just might know what I'm doing?"
"Let me help you. We can send him to..."
"Conventional channels haven't worked," he growled. "Now, listen to me." He put his hands firmly on my shoulders and turned me toward the north. "When I say, we're going to run over there to that clump of trees. Do you see them?"
I nodded, the moon allowing me just enough light to see where he was pointing. I knew there was something beyond those trees.
"Okay," he said softly, "go. Go now!"
I kept my head down, and ran as fast as I could. Ice stayed at my heels, which I found a little strange since I knew he could outrun me, especially with my bum leg.
When we arrived at the trees, I was breathless. My leg hurt like hell. When I got my breath back, I came to stand beside Ice. He was looking at a building about thirty feet away. "What is it?" I asked. There was a light burning inside.
"A warehouse. Maloney hides stolen goods there."
"Hell, no one would ever know it was out here." It was surrounded by trees on all sides."
"Precisely. Okay," he said abruptly, "let's go!" Before I had the time to blink, Ice seized me by the shoulder. "Maloney," he cried out. "Come and get that cop. I got him here."
"What the fuck...?" I began. "You dirty son of..." My worst nightmare, the thing I'd suspected all along was coming true.
Ice released me, the barrel of his Ruger 22/45 pistol stuck now against my ribs. "Shut up. Just keep walking."
Even though, deep down, I think I knew this would happen, I had talked myself into not believing it. "You're going to trade me for that shit in there?"
He shoved me ahead of him. "Shut up, I said, and keep walking."
"You don't give a shit about your parents, or..."
"Fuller, shut up or I will shoot you," he snapped. "Maloney," he yelled, "I know you're in there."
"What's to stop him from shooting us both?"
He didn't answer.
We kept walking, stopping a few feet from that warehouse. When the door opened and Maloney stepped out, an automatic rifle in his hands, I figured we were both done for.
"You want him, here he is." Ice reached out and clamped a hand down on my shoulder.
"What's in it for you? I don't trust you, you bastard," Maloney waved his gun around. "I should just shoot off your head right now."
"Yes," Ice said, "you should, but you won't. Remember what I told you, Maloney, when we last spoke. You kill me, and the cops will know everything. I've left instructions."
I sighed.
"Send him over here, and..."
"Oh, no," Ice said, "not until I get what I want."
"I told you on the phone...I'm not giving you seventy percent."
"Well, then, I guess I bring this cop here directly to your buddies on the force and let him describe everything he's seen here...not to mention how you left him for dead, and he's seen these..." Ice said, reaching inside his jacket and holding up the pictures of Maloney in the hotel room with that kid. "How did he die, Maloney? Did you give him the bad drugs? Was he blackmailing you?"
"I did what I had to."
"So, was it your drugs that killed him, or...?"
"If you know what you're doing, it's not hard to kill someone, Estevan."
"Umm," he replied. "So, do we have a deal or not? I estimate the last shipment of heroin at about one billion."
I closed my eyes. Damn. How could I have been so stupid? I had betrayed everything I believed in to have sex with this piece of shit, and now he was exchanging my life with this piece of garbage for profit. I forced back tears. I don't know which upset me most, the fact that Ice didn't care at all, or the fact that I was going to die out here. Well, I wasn't going down without a fight, that was for damn sure.
Ice and Maloney were still haggling. Finally, Ice said, "Sixty, all right, we have a deal. Let's see the cash."
"It's inside. Let me have Fuller."
"Only after I see the cash," Ice said.
Maloney nodded, and motioned with his hand.
Ice pushed me ahead. "Go on."
I turned around and looked at him. He shoved me around again. "Face front," he barked, pushing me inside the door to the warehouse. It was then I turned on him. I hit him hard with the door in the head, knocking him backwards off his feet. Maloney took a shot at me, which I dodged when I took a dive for the floor, rolling over against some crates. It was then I knew I was dead. Maloney stood over me, leering, the barrel of his gun pressed against my forehead. "It's too bad, Brian," he cooed. "We could have been friends, you and I, could have shared in all this. Now, you die."
"Hold it right there. Put the gun down, and get your hands on top of your head...slowly."
I heard the collective click of guns, and a shuffling sound. Maloney pulled the gun away from my forehead, and I began to breathe again. Someone pulled me off the floor, a man in a blue suit with steel-grey hair. "Officer Fuller," he said. "I'm Agent Harrison. Are you all right?"
I swallowed. "I think so. F.B.I.?" I watched as several other Harrison clones snapped the cuffs on Maloney and led him out of the warehouse.
"That's right. We've been watching Maloney for some time now, just waiting for..."
I blinked. "Ice, where is he..." I looked around Harrison.
Harrison placed his hands on my shoulders. "He's in custody. Let me take you home, officer. Tomorrow we can..."
I pushed past him and out the door. Maloney was cursing and yelling as the agents dragged him towards one of the cars. Two other agents were on both sides of Ice, who had his hands cuffed behind his back. He seemed resigned to his fate, lowering his head cooperatively as they placed him in the back of the car. "What will happen to him?" I asked, as Harrison came to stand beside me now. The warehouse was alive now with agents.
"He'll be all right," he said gruffly, motioning to me to follow him to his car. "Where can I take you?"
"My parents, they think I'm dead. They..."
"It's all right, Brian. They have been notified."
"Already?" I narrowed my eyes.
He nodded, indicating to another agent that he should get behind the wheel.
I watched the car take off, the one with Van in it, and my heart ached. In spite of the fact that he cared nothing for me, somewhere along the way I had certainly come to care about him.
It seemed to take forever to get to my parents' house and when I arrived, they couldn't stop hugging me. Harrison said something about coming to pick me up the next day. "We have a lot to talk about, Brian," he said. "You will testify?"
"I..." I began, "against Maloney?"
"Yes," he replied.
"All right," I said.
"Who did you think I meant?"
"Ah...no one...sorry, I'm just a little tired. Could you make it in the afternoon?"
The agent nodded. "Of course. Get some rest," he said, and left.
As hard as I tried to sleep, I couldn't. I kept seeing Van in my mind, kept remembering what it had felt like, kissing him. And yes, finally, I broke down and cried. I couldn't remember ever feeling so used, so betrayed. I couldn't believe that he cared nothing at all for me.
I was not in great shape when Harrison came for me the next day and I guess it showed, because he took one look at me and said, "Did you get any sleep?"
I shook my head.
"This shouldn't take too long?"
"Where's Van? Where are they keeping him?"
Harrison got in the car behind the wheel, and told me to fasten my seatbelt.
When he didn't answer me, I asked him again. "I want to see him."
He eyed me. "You'll see him soon enough."
A half hour later, I sat in a conference room with seven other agents, answering the same questions over and over again. Finally, when it seemed I couldn't take any more, Harrison stood up. "That will be all for the time being, Officer. You've been very helpful. We're finally going to be able to put Maloney away." They hadn't asked me anything about Van. I was glad. I didn't know if I could say anything to incriminate him. Aside from kidnapping, I didn't really see him do anything illegal anyway.
Harrison watched as the others filed out. "Fuller, you'll have to wait here."
I narrowed my eyes. Before I had the chance to ask why, he had left the room. All I wanted to do was sleep. Depression was setting in, not to mention self-recrimination. I suddenly couldn't believe I could have been so stupid. How could I have fallen for someone like Ice?
I got up from the table and walked over to the window. It was a dreary day. It looked as if it wanted to rain. I suddenly had a strong longing to throw myself through the stupid window. I had come out, had finally experienced what it was my body always wanted, always needed, and it was with the wrong guy. When I heard the noise behind me, I turned around, ready to tell Harrison that I was tired of being here.
It wasn't Harrison. Van stood there, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his hair hanging loose over his shoulders. "Hi, Brian," he said, closing the door and leaning on it. He looked around the room, then back at me.
I just stared at him. There were no handcuffs, no agents...then all of a sudden, I noticed the gold shield hanging around his neck. I could scarcely breathe. The anger boiled up inside me as it suddenly dawned on me. I wanted to kill him. "You son of a bitch," I whispered.
He pursed his lips. "I couldn't tell you."
"Couldn't, or wouldn't?"
"I couldn't risk it," he replied, looking down. "Getting Maloney has been a long road. You weren't supposed to be there."
I knew my mouth was hanging open. I closed it. "Your parents weren't killed by Maloney, and you weren't..."
"Yes, they were," he said. "Most of the stuff I told you was true...except that when I was eighteen, I became a cop in Los Angeles. The Feds have been after Maloney for years and they devised a way to get him, with my help."
"And the bikers, do they know that...?"
"No. I hadn't been home for a while, and the only biker who knew I was a cop was Bulldog. He never told anyone."
"So you would betray the Diablos to..."
He shook his head, "I only agreed to get Maloney if the Diablos were guaranteed immunity...the ones loyal to Bulldog, that is. They're my family."
When I didn't respond, he said, "I wanted to see you, Brian, to explain." He took a step.
I backed up against the wall.
"I want you to know the truth. Them taking me away last night was for Maloney's benefit, not yours." His voice was soft, almost pleading. I'd never heard that tone before.
"You kept me hostage," I said between clenched teeth. "You made me think my life was in danger, that you were giving me to that bastard. You could have told me."
"I tried to protect you. Cops are not exactly popular with bikers. I tried to keep you close so..."
"A little too close, don't you think?"
"Brian," he said, shaking his head.
"I thought that...what we shared...it meant something."
"It did. It did mean something."
"You're a fucking liar. If I'd meant anything to you, you would have trusted me. You wouldn't have taken me to that warehouse, acted like you were going to give me to Maloney, and..."
"Would you have acted natural?" Van countered, frustration in his voice. "Could you have faked it? If Maloney suspected he was being set up, he would have run. Everything we'd worked for would have been down the toilet. Maloney would have gotten away with everything; corrupting and murdering little boys, trying to kill you, killing my parents. I couldn't risk it...no matter what I was feeling about you. I couldn't let it get in the way of my job!"
"Thanks for telling me," I turned my back. "You can go now."
"Brian," he said, coming closer, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I jerked away from him as if he'd burnt me. He didn't try to touch me again.
"Please, talk to me."
"Look," I turned around and glared at him, "what ever happened between us...it was due to unusual circumstances. As far as I'm concerned, it never happened. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention it to anyone."
"Back in the closet, Brian?"
"I don't think you're in any position to pass moral judgment, do you? Now, can I rely on you to..."
"Sure," he cut me off, "whatever, Brian."
"Now, if you would kindly get to fuck out of here. I don't ever want to see your face again."
"Well, that's going to be a little hard," a voice said suddenly from behind me. I turned around to see Agent Harrison standing there. "I'm afraid I've just had orders to take you both to a safe house until Maloney's trial. It seems his mob connections are..."
Both Van and I were talking at once, but our protests landed on deaf ears. Not much later, we were loaded into an unmarked vehicle with two Federal agents.
I was miserable, and it was clear that Van wasn't too comfortable either. There was a strained silence between us that even the agents picked up on. One of them switched on the radio when it became unbearable.
"How much further?" I asked, after we'd been on the road for what seemed like forever. I sounded like a whiny kid on a long drive.
"A few hours," the guy in the passenger seat said. He was a balding middle-aged man with a bit of a paunch. The driver was younger, blond, halfway attractive.
I sighed and sat back against the seat, closing my eyes. Van was looking absently out the window, as if he wanted to jump out of it. I felt as if I was in some kind of a nightmare. Van didn't attempt to initiate conversation, which I was grateful for.
A half hour later, we stopped for hamburgers. We ate them in the car. The agents didn't want to let us out of the vehicle. I wondered if I was expected to piss in the car too.
Another hour on the road, and I made a demand for a pit stop. "Look, I got to take a piss."
The blond one looked at me in the mirror. "We're almost there. Hang on."
When we turned off onto this dirt road, surrounded by trees, I groaned. It looked like some sort of a camp. I hated the woods, nothing but black flies and weeds. Give me the grime of the city any day. Another tree-shielded road, and then we stopped in front of a fairly large wooden cabin.
"We're home," the older one said, opening the door and getting out.
I made a face, then dashed out of the car and unzipped my pants. I uttered a sound of relief as the urine flooded out of me like a fountain.
Van and the two others were heading towards the door of the cabin. I followed cautiously, scouting the surroundings. Tree and more trees, and what looked like a small lake in the distance.
When the door opened, I was struck by the musty smell. This place hadn't been used in a while. I coughed from the dust. My eyes skirted over to Van, just because I ached to look at him. I hadn't dared do that too much in the car. I was afraid we'd start arguing again.
The cabin was equipped with one big open room, with a whole lot of chairs sprawled around, and a sofa. There was a small galley kitchen off to one side, and another room in back. I walked through. I saw one bedroom with a big double bed, and then what looked like a storage room of some kind, piled high with canned goods and essentials. That was it.
One of the agents had gone outside to get some stuff. His name was Harry. The younger guy was Jason. "Where are we supposed to sleep?"
"You and Van get the bedroom." Jason hooked his thumb towards the bedroom. "I'll take the sofa. Harry will be leaving later."
"I'd rather sleep on the goddamned floor," I muttered.
"No problem," Van commented dryly, "more room for me."
"How long do we have to stay in this shithole?" I asked, ignoring Van.
"Until the trial."
"What about personal stuff that I need while...?"
"All being taken care of. We have things in the car, including clothes. Harry will bring more stuff when he checks back in a few days."
"I assume we have laundry service," Van piped in from where he sat near the one window.
Jason grinned at him. "Yeah...you go down to the water and throw your clothes in."
"That's what I figured," he replied.
"Fucking unbelievable," I snorted. Jason went outside now to help Harry.
"Oh, for Christ's sake, Brian, relax," Van told me.
"Relax? You relax," I returned, glaring at him. "I've just gotten out of one hole that you had me in, only to be sent to another."
"Don't you like nature?"
"Not particularly, and I don't like the company either."
"You seem to like Jason well enough. Maybe I'll sleep on the sofa and he can...oh, I forgot, you're back in the closet."
"Fuck you," I said, and stomped out. Okay, okay, I was sulking, but do you blame me? I hated the woods, and I was stuck here with Van. Part of me wanted to rip off his head, and the other part wanted to rip off his clothes.
"Your parents know they won't be seeing you for awhile," Jason said to me as he carted some boxes back into the cabin. "They won't be worried. They know you're in good hands."
I waited for him to come back outside, then, I walked with him to the trunk. "I'll give you a hand."
He grinned at me, letting his hand lightly touch mine as I took the box from him. I got the message. Jason was definitely interested.
"I'm going to do a tour of the surroundings before I take off," Harry called out as he headed down the path a bit.
"Okay," Jason replied, walking with me back into the house. "I think that's it. Hungry?"
"A little," I said, glancing over at Van. "Are you a cook, Jason?" I smiled at him. Yes, you got it. I was flirting a little for Van's benefit.
"Yeah, I like to cook. Hope the stove works."
"Whose place is this?" Van asked suddenly, standing up and walking over to where we were standing close together. His nearness was distracting. I moved even closer to Jason. If Van noticed, he gave no indication.
"It belongs to the government," Jason replied.
"Are you a cop, Jason, or a Fed?" I asked, cutting Van off.
"A Fed."
"I've always admired Federal agents," I told him.
I heard Van make a sound in his throat, then walk outside.
"Thanks," he grinned, adjusting his gun holster on his shoulder. "How about pasta for supper? Does Dias like pasta?"
"I have no idea what in hell he likes," I snapped. I was about to add, "and I don't give a fuck," but that would be a little overdone.
"I sense some tension," he commented as he turned each burner on and off.
"We've been through a lot," I said. "I thought he should have told me what he was doing. He thinks differently. Tell me, Jason, what would you have done?"
"Depends on the circumstances," he replied. "The way I hear it, Dias had a personal stake in this one. He didn't want to blow it. Maybe that's the reason..."
"I'm a cop. He could have trusted a cop."
"You were under duress...weren't acting like a cop in that..."
"Then you think he was right?" I didn't tell him that he was fucking me.
"I think you'd have to be in his shoes."
I sighed, then walked over to the window and looked out. Van was standing there talking with the other agent. I swallowed and looked away. Maybe I was being too hard on him, but I couldn't get over this sense of betrayal and hurt...mostly hurt.
"He did save your life, didn't he?" Jason inquired, putting some items in the refrigerator.
I sighed, and came over to give him a hand. "I suppose...I mean...yes, he did. He saved me from a bunch of bikers...Maloney's boys. Jason, who are we really being protected from here...the mob?"
Jason nodded silently. "Maloney was in deep. Certain high profile members of the Fellini family are connected. If Maloney goes down, he won't go alone. He'll plea-bargain."
At that moment, Van came back in. "Harry is taking off, Jason. He wants a word before he goes."
"Thanks," he said, going outside.
"So, are you going to stop acting like a child now?" Van demanded suddenly, fixing me with his gaze.
"Just stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours."
He grinned. "You want me to get lost in the woods?"
"No, I..." I paused, holding back a smile.
"Ah," he said, coming closer, "you want to smile at me. In fact," his voice softened, "you want to kiss me, but you're too stubborn to admit it."
"You're the most arrogant...no wonder you were so convincing. Your personality is like..."
"Like what?" he asked, meeting my eyes, his face inches from mine.
"Never mind."
"Brian," he said, reaching out and taking my hand in his, "my body aches for yours, and if we have to stay up here for a long time and you don't give me some, I'm going to die."
I pulled my hand away, trying to avoid falling into his eyes. "Well..." I said, looking away, my pulse racing, "you'll just have to die...because..."
"Because why?" Van asked, reaching out and grabbing my chin. He pulled my face close to his. "Because what?"
"I...Jason...Jason is...ah..."
Van let me go, and then turned to see Jason standing at the door.
"I can go back outside if..." Jason began.
"Never mind," Van said. "There isn't anything going on here anyway." He brushed past Jason and went outside.
"Well," Jason muttered, "Harry is off. He'll be back in a few days."
"I'm sorry you had to see that, Jason. Let me explain. We..."
He put up his hand. "I'm not blind. You're lovers."
"We...we were."
"Let's make supper," Jason announced, going back to the stove. "How about I start boiling the water for pasta?"
"Sure."
The evening passed quickly. We ate, we talked. I mostly talked to Jason, and Jason spoke to both Van and I. I noticed that we avoided talking about the reason we were up here until Jason said, "I don't think I'll bother sleeping tonight. I don't believe we were followed but if they've made us, they'll strike tonight, and..."
"Or they'll wait," Van said, "until we've let our guard down."
Jason looked at Van, then nodded. "It's a possibility. There are guns in the bedroom. I feel pretty good about being up here with you guys. It's rare I guard cops."
"Isn't Maloney in worse danger than us?" I asked.
"Yeah, but he's behind bars. They'll try to get to him inside. That's why he's in solitary," Jason said.
"If they can't get to him," Van said, "they'll eliminate the witnesses. Without us, they'll have to let Maloney go. They can get him later if they want."
I met Van's eyes.
Jason got up from where he was sitting on one of the sofas and walked to the window.
I glanced uncertainly towards the bedroom. I wasn't going to be getting much sleep tonight either, and it wasn't only because there might be hired killers in the woods. I stood up abruptly and announced that I was going to bed. I didn't want to make a big deal about this. I figured I'd go to sleep before he got there...and who was I kidding? You had to be here, see what I saw...hard, muscled, silky black hair, beautiful big dark eyes, not to mention he was my first. They say you never forget your first. I hoped to hell that wasn't true.
"Night, Brian," Jason said.
I lifted a hand to him.
Van didn't say anything.
As it turned out, I woke up in the morning by myself. When I stumbled out of the room around nine, Van was still sitting in the same chair. Jason was asleep on the sofa.
"What are you doing?" I asked him.
"Jason got tired. I took over the watch."
"I see."
"So you didn't need to worry. I can sleep out here every night if you want. I'll just put two chairs together, and..."
"It's okay, Van. I can handle it. You're not that irresistible." I went outside to pee. I looked around for a few minutes. The sun was out. It was really quite pretty. Maybe I'd go for a swim before breakfast.
The door opened suddenly and Van poked his head out. "What are you doing?"
"Having a piss. You mind?"
He rolled his eyes. "Come on inside."
"Why?" I said, zipping up my pants. "I'm going for a swim."
"No, you're not."
I gave him a defiant look. "Screw you." I started off.
"I'm coming with you," he said, gliding out the door.
"Look," I said, stopping and giving him an angry glare, "I don't need a babysitter."
"Fuck, Brian," he sighed angrily. "Knock this off, okay? I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'll get down on my knees if you want."
The image flashed in my mind. Um...okay. I think I smiled.
"Like that idea, don't you?"
"It has its appeal," I said, continuing on my way.
Van put a hand on my elbow. "Wait. You can't go down there alone. They could be out there, and..."
"Come on," I said, "relax." I pulled away from him and kept going. He turned back. I glanced over my shoulder once, and saw him go back into the cabin.
A few minutes later, he was at my heels again. "Forgot this," he said, holding up a gun.
"Planning on shooting a squirrel?"
He didn't answer, just fell in beside me. We walked in silence until the lake came into view.
"Now, if you don't mind," I told him, "I'm getting naked and going for a swim. I feel grungy."
"Would you like me to hide my eyes? I've seen it already, remember?" He lifted an eyebrow.
"Yeah, well, you don't need to see it again."
He smirked at me. "How do you know?"
"Goddamn you," I muttered, trying to put some distance between us. He caught up again.
"Go away," I told him. "You're a pest."
"Hey, I'm not giving up an opportunity to see a naked man...so forget it!"
He was teasing. I started laughing. How could I not? He looked so goddamned gorgeous standing there in the sunlight with his long black hair in disarray. "You're an asshole, you know that?"
He reached out and drew me up against him. "Probably, but you like this asshole."
"That could be interpreted in a lot of..." I began, but I never got to finish as his lips came down on mine. I let that demanding mouth find what it sought as my tongue battled passionately with his.
I think he said my name as he reached down and slid a hand under my T-shirt. I felt his fingers move over my chest, then pause to tease my nipples, and I pressed my groin against his thigh. I was the one who broke away, but just long enough to pull my T-shirt over my head.
He smiled. "Guess this means you forgive me."
"No. You have a lot of making up to do."
"Oh, yeah," he taunted. "How would you like me to do that?"
"You can start by taking off your clothes."
"I guess I could do that."
I stripped off my shoes and socks, then my jeans and underwear, and went running into the lake. Once I was in up to my waist, I turned around and watched Van undress. He was taking his time, grinning at me, realising that I was impatient. "Today, or tomorrow?" I called to him.
"Patience is a virtue, you know," he blinked at me in the sunlight and began to undo the zip on his jeans.
"Blah, blah, blah," I mocked. "Come on, Iceman, show me something."
He laughed. Naked, he came towards me, across the grassy bank, his hands out to the side. "How about this?"
My mouth was watering, literally. I couldn't joke anymore. I couldn't speak. I just wanted to touch him. I waded up out of the water and placed both my hands on either side of his face. I kissed him deeply, running my hands over him. "You make me feel," I breathed, moving my lips down to his throat, "out of control."
"Brian," he said, "you know I respect you as a cop, as a person, as a lover, and I want you to know that...I should have told you. I was wrong. Will you forgive me, because I..."
I kissed him again. "If you promise me something, Van."
"Sure," he said, his gaze moving down over my body. "How can I resist?"
I smiled, my hand brushing against his semi-erect cock. "Promise me you won't leave...after all this is over, because I think I'm in love."
"You think?" he mouthed. "Baby, let me convince you into knowing." He drew me against him, kissed me again, then without warning, he yanked me around hard.
"Hey," I said, "What are you...?"
I froze. I never heard the shot, but I felt it, and Van had seen it coming. I heard him grunt, felt the impact of it against my body. He slumped as I held him in my arms. "Jesus Christ," I yelled, my eyes flying over behind him to the gun that was glistening in the early morning sunshine. "Fuck, Van...Van..." I took him down in the grass with me, my eyes again lighting on the gun. I felt for his pulse. It was still there. Tears filled my eyes. I pushed them back. I was scared. I was really scared. "Don't you fucking die on me!" I crawled across his body and placed my fingers on the gun.
The foot covered my hand almost immediately. I closed my eyes. We were fucked.
The man who stood there had grey eyes, cold and unflinching as he looked down at me. I felt the bones in my hand crack as he pressed his booted foot down hard. "Time to die," he whispered, pointing his nine-millimetre, equipped with a silencer, at my temple.
I love you, Van, my mind screamed, and I thought of how grateful I was for all he'd given me. I closed my eyes, then I heard a shout. My eyes flew open again. Van was on his feet, struggling with the hit man, trying to wrestle the gun out of his hand. It fired straight up in the air and I scrambled to my feet, clutching the gun on the ground with my other hand and taking aim.
By the time Jason came, the hit man was dead. I'd put a bullet in his head. Van was back on the ground, a bullet wound to the back of the shoulder, half-conscious. Jason made some phone calls that brought local police, an ambulance and a dead wagon.
Van watched the dead wagon take the gunman away as they loaded him onto a stretcher. He reached for my hand and squeezed it. "Glad that's not me," he murmured.
"I'm glad it's not you, either," I told him, crawling into the ambulance beside him and taking his hand. The ambulance tech gave me a strange look, but I didn't give a shit. We were two men, two cops, and we were in love. "You saved my life again," I whispered against his cheek, but he was out, whatever dripped into his IV taking him away to a pain-free place.
A few hours later, Van was resting comfortably, and Jason and I were drinking bad coffee. "Guess you guys didn't really need me."
"We're the dynamic duo," I laughed slightly. "I should have stayed inside. Van told me not to go down to the lake."
He nodded.
"Will there be more, you think?"
"Maybe."
"Do we have to go back there? I'd really like to take a vacation... Europe... or..."
"They moved up the trial, next week."
"Could go on a while."
"Once it starts, you'll be okay."
I put out my hand. "Thanks, Jason. Think I'll go see Van now."
He came closer. "You love him, don't you?"
I nodded, and then grinned widely. "Yeah. Isn't it wild?"
Jason smiled. "I should be so lucky."
I slapped him on the arm, and walked down the hall.
Van was wide-awake when I got in there, looking a little grumpy. "In pain?"
"Frustrated," he replied, glancing at the cast on my hand. "You all right?"
"Broken fingers, two, but you should see the other guy."
Van smiled. "I did, remember? Good shooting, officer."
I nodded. "You won't be here long."
"I need a place to stay during the trial. Know of a good, ah..."
"I have a nice sofa," I teased.
He scowled at me.
"And if you're really good," I whispered, coming closer, "maybe..." I let my hand slip under the sheet.
He slapped it away. "I get the picture. I'll be good, all right, but does that include the time we're in bed, because...?"
"Wicked, wicked boy." I smoothed back his dark hair. "No, it doesn't include the time you spend in my bed. In fact," I lowered my head and whispered in his ear, "that is when you can be a very bad boy, without limits."
"Can't wait," he replied, winking at me.
I think I blushed. It suddenly felt really hot in the room, so I changed the subject. "I have some time coming. I imagine you do too. I was wondering if you would like to take a vacation with me somewhere." I paused. "I hope I'm not being too...presumptuous."
"Sounds like a plan. Then what?" he asked. "We go to Canada and get hitched?"
I eyed him. I wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or not. When I didn't answer, he said, "Brian, I'm trying to tell you that I love you."
"I see." I turned away. A rush of emotion came over me. "I...I...love you too...Van."
There was a silence, then, I turned back. "Thank you again for saving my life."
"It's becoming a habit," Van grinned.
"Yeah," I replied, touching his hair. "My hero."
He laughed softly.
"So, now that I can't live without you, do you transfer to New York, or do I go to L.A.?"
"How about neither? Let's get off the force and sell peanuts."
He narrowed his eyes, then burst out laughing, opening up his good arm so that I could snuggle against him. "Peanuts? Don't make me laugh," he told me. "It hurts too much."
"Well here's something that won't hurt," I said, lowering my mouth to his. He returned the kiss with great enthusiasm; in fact, so much that I had to back away. "Down, boy," I joked. "You're in no condition to..."
"I know," he nodded. "Don't remind me. Just wait until I'm back in top form."
I licked my lips. "Umm, now you stop. You'll give me a hardon."
"That's the plan."
We were interrupted then. Jason came in to say hello. I watched Van as he spoke with Jason, and I sighed happily. Yep. I was hopelessly in love. I guess I never stood a chance from the moment I laid eyes on him. I don't think it would have mattered if he'd turned out to be a gang leader or not. I would have been there waiting when they opened the prison gates.
It didn't matter where we lived, what we did, if we went back to being cops or if we did sell peanuts on the street corner. Whatever it was, we'd do it together.
The End
D.J. Manly is fast acquiring a reputation for pushing the boundaries of male/male erotic romance. A reviewer once said of Manly's work that it was enough to give the reader "...third degree burns in an air conditioned room..." and that's putting it mildly. If you adore gorgeous men who can't get enough of each other's bodies...if you like rich plots laced with steamy sex, thick and rich with aching need and glorious adoration and love...Manly's books will satisfy the craving and leave you panting for more.
"If I wouldn't enjoy reading it, I wouldn't be writing it," says Manly. "I like to tease... but I always please... "
To check out books by D.J. Manly, you can visit the website at djmanly.com, and take a taste... if you dare.
"Fair warning, I've been told that it's highly addictive."
D.J.

