“Let him. This isn’t your battle.” He hugged Blake tightly. “Diego won’t get far.” Pulling out his cell, he called 911. He gave the attendant on the line all the pertinent information and then hung up. Checking the halls, he noted Diego was long gone, so he returned the gun to the Fendi and put it on top of the fridge.
Blake put his arms around him as he came back into the kitchen. He could almost smell the fear coming off him.
“You need to leave. I’ll take care of the police.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here with you.” It was where he belonged.
“Your name. You gave the operator your name. This’ll ruin your image in the art world, Mig, and your parents. Please go—”
“I don’t care about that.” He couldn’t believe Blake said that. “I care about you, Blake. I wish you would’ve told me all this. I only want you safe.”
“I couldn’t…”
Minutes later, the NYPD arrived. When Blake gave them Diego’s name, a special agent by the name of Detective Benson was called in. He came in about an hour later and introduced himself as an undercover officer who’d been working the breeding parties for the past few months. Jacked with muscles, he insisted they address him by his first name, Shiloh.
The detective took control of the situation. If it wasn’t for the silver briefcase he carried, the badge he flashed, or the gun and its holster over his shoulder, he would’ve never figured Shiloh Benson for a cop. In sweatpants and a hoodie, he only stood at about five-ten. He reminded Miguel of a hustler who worked down on Christopher Street. Shiloh exuded Jersey Shore Guido. He couldn’t figure out if the cop was gay or not. As he rolled up his sleeve, his forearm sported several tattoos, which weren’t the gay norm, per se, of perfectly drawn barbwire or Chinese words, but something he’d seen on the gang members turned convicts when visiting his brother-in-law in prison with his nieces. The shapes of numbers, names, and symbols were poorly drawn, homemade dots of ink scattered across his tan skin.
Miguel poured Blake a glass of water from the kitchen sink and sat with him and Shiloh at the dining room table. Blake seemed calm, almost sedate as he gulped on the water.
“Mr. Morgan, you were married to Diego Oalo, correct?” Shiloh asked.
Blake felt as if he was going to throw up. How did he and his ex-husband get to such a low point in their lives?
“We married five years ago and divorced last week.”
His life was over. He couldn’t believe he’d tried to shoot him. A part of him wanted to be locked up, too, for not ending this sooner. Thank God Miguel was there and saved his life. What would he ever do without him?
“We’ve been investigating Mr. Oalo for a few weeks.” Shiloh pulled out several photos. The five-by-seven and eight-by-ten glossies made this all the more real. Diego would be the face for this crime. It was time for this to be brought to everyone’s attention.
“How many men have come forward?” he asked, staring at the pictures.
God, his heart had broken for his ex-husband so long ago. He didn’t think he could feel any worse. But he did. Uncontrollable tears came. He didn’t stop the cry as he recognized Mike, Scott, and Jason in the photos with Diego at what looked like Battery Park. They’d all been his friends at one time, too. Mike and Scott attended their wedding. Jason came to their housewarming dinner. This was all before they started gravitating to the dark side. Late-night calls, scheduled outings while leaving him behind and the inside jokes, which he never found funny about boys, sex, and the parties.
“We have fifteen victims who’ve given a statement about their infection. This is an HIV related offense and a crime.”
“If you catch Diego, what type of penalty is he facing?”
“When we catch Mr. Oalo, he’ll be tried by a jury of his peers.” Shiloh glanced to Miguel. “The DA will prosecute to the fullest extent of the law.”
“What’s the punishment for this type of crime?” Miguel asked, reaching for Blake’s hand.
The detective eyed them both and replied, “Life.”
Lord. He died a little bit more hearing that. His ex-husband was guilty, no doubt, but ‘life’, whether it was spent locked up or in the electric chair was unreal. If only he’d acted sooner. He blamed himself. He always did. If he’d only gotten Diego treatment, he couldn’t help but wonder if this could’ve been avoided. Yet, how could he have gotten someone help when they’d refused it? His grip tightened on Miguel’s hand
“Why didn’t you arrest him sooner?” Miguel asked. A greenish color washed over his complexion. This had to be causing him a lot of pain, too. He’d been high school friends with Diego.
“Until a few months ago, no one had come forward. This isn’t a typical case for us. We needed time to collect the evidence. The judge issued a warrant for Diego’s arrest this week, and here we are.”
“Right, here we are.” He spat out the words contemptuously. The anger inside him for himself, for Diego, and for what happened was overwhelming. How could any sane person process this?
“Any idea how this started?”
He inhaled loudly. He hadn’t spoken about this—ever. Never putting the horror into words, he’d strung together a few ideas which Taddy and Lex became privy to, but had never given an actual picture, until then. “It started in the financial district.”
“How?”
“There were a few unoccupied corporate apartments owned by his former employer. They’d gone vacant after the recession. That’s how it began.”
Shiloh withdrew a notepad from his folder and gripped a ballpoint pen in his hand. “Tell me what happened.”
Miguel leaned forward, as if he’d finally have some answers for what happened. He didn’t have a clue. That was obvious by the questioning gaze on his face.
“Lehman Lynch underwent several rounds of layoffs. Diego wasn’t making his goals and was the first to be let go. Initially, I didn’t know. Every day, he acted as if he’d gone to work. One week, he started coming home about two to three hours later than usual.” Blake remembered that feeling in the pit of his stomach as if it was yesterday. Bitter acid, slow and churning, festered inside when he realized something was wrong. “Then the following week, he came home in the middle of the night. It was shortly thereafter he stopped coming home at all.”
Miguel studied him as if he searched his face for answers.
“Diego was using meth.”
“Had Mr. Oalo used crystal meth before?”
“Not that I know of…” Anxiety charged through him as he recounted the events which led up to this in his head. That was when the word ‘party’ became deadly. “I’ve said enough. I should call my attorney.”
“Blake?” Miguel appeared all the more confused.
Hesitating about what to do or say, he sat there staring at them both.
“Mr. Morgan, your openness to share and be honest with us will make our case against Mr. Oalo solid. You may call your attorney right now or answer these questions and get this over with faster. What’ll it be?”
He didn’t want to go down memory lane with Shiloh. Not in front of his best friend, a man he respected. Miguel was upstanding. This would ruin any goodness he had for him, for sure. Then again, he didn’t care what people thought about him anymore. He was way past the stage where of reputations mattered; lives were at stake. He felt as if his life was already over. It didn’t matter anymore.
Thick and obvious, the silence loomed over the table like a heavy fog. It felt impossible to steady his erratic pulse, but he knew he had to come clean and tell the detective everything, even if he didn’t want to admit it to himself. In his heart, he’d always been afraid he was guilty by association. His mother used to say, “Birds of a feather flock together.” He didn’t want to flock with Diego. He certainly didn’t fly high with him, but somehow he was stuck with him as bird dung which would never come off. He’d take the blame then, maybe, his pain might end. “Am I going to be arrested?”
“No,
Mr. Morgan, not if you cooperate and tell us everything.”
Other than shooting that gun, Blake wasn’t a criminal. He reminded himself he’d done nothing wrong, except to stand by his man longer than he should have. But that alone was what made him feel so much of a criminal.
“Okay, ask.”
“Did you use drugs with Mr. Oalo?”
“Yes.” He hesitated. Needing to clarify, he added, “But not those kinds of drugs.” God, he heard his own hypocrisy. Drugs were drugs, regardless.
Miguel let go of his hand.
A tremor of fear rocketed through him. He tried not to lose his mind. He couldn’t imagine his life if Miguel wasn’t by his side.
Covering his face, Miguel muttered to himself in Spanish as Blake feared he might wind up with nothing in the end. He’d already lost his husband, most of his money and sanity. Was his best friend next on the list?
“The most we’d ever done together was a joint on New Year’s Eve, and again at a few Halloween parties.” He heard his own voice become smaller as he talked about smoking pot.
“Anything else?”
“Umm, well…we tripped on acid and took a few hits of ecstasy in college with our friends. We were nineteen then.” He looked at Miguel, remembering their academic years together. Miguel had refused to join in the party. If he was being honest, and he was, he might as well tell them everything. “Once, on our honeymoon cruise to Greece, we tried cocaine together. I was sorta drunk. It made me sick. Diego knew I didn’t care for drugs as we got older.” He couldn’t listen to the words he spoke. He heard the sigh, saw the disgust and felt Miguel’s disappointment in him. “My ex liked cocaine. He thrived on speed and never really stopped since that vacation. Shortly after we got back from the cruise, he lost his job. That’s when he started smoking meth.” He paused, his eyes stinging with tears. “He was hooked. I couldn’t get him off it. I tried and tried. But he loved meth too much.”
“Please, go on,” Shiloh encouraged.
He couldn’t make eye contact with Miguel. He could only feel him staring, surely glaring at him in horror.
“Diego got into group sex with one of the meth dealers. He asked if I wanted to join. When I refused, he got angry and accused me of being unsupportive and called my love for him conditional.” At the time, he couldn’t believe he was being shamed, but he was. “Diego took my resistance as a challenge. He thought he could get me to change my mind, so…he invited the party here. They’d fuck in front of me.”
“Blake.” The veins on Miguel’s neck purpled.
He focused, looking at the tabletop, and continued, “I couldn’t get into it. Diego wanted an open relationship, so he did as he does with everything: he took one. I remained celibate. We hadn’t been having sex for a few years anyway, so I can’t say I missed it.” He turned to Miguel. “I wasn’t lying to you about his issues. He has the Madonna-Whore Complex. We didn’t have sex once during our marriage. Diego could only screw strangers. Looking back now, I realize that was a blessing. I’m not sick—I am negative. I was never infected or at risk.”
Miguel’s hard features softened.
“Regardless of your status, bebé, I’ll always love you.” Miguel reached for his hand again, intimately, as if Shiloh wasn’t sitting in front of them.
“When did things escalate?”
“Right after he tested positive last year. He was on the medication. When I found the bottles, I asked him. I told him I’d stay with him, see him through if he got off the drugs and went for help. In a way, I thought him being positive would be a reality check, like maybe he’d turn his life around. You can be positive and lead a healthy life.”
“And did he?”
“No. His desire for self-destruction only escalated.”
“How did it get worse, Mr. Morgan?”
“Can I have a minute, please?”
As Shiloh nodded, Blake reached for the water glass and took the last sip. What he’d shared already was horrific, but it was nothing compared to what was about to come next. He inhaled, hoping he wouldn’t puke and tried to focus on telling the facts—not how he felt about them, but the events which had taken place. “Diego said he got an erotic thrill off bottoming for positive guys.”
“What?” Dramatically, Miguel threw his back into the chair.
“Diego liked the rush he got from it. The danger turned him on. When he tested poz, he flipped and started topping negative guys who sought the same thrill. He said the negative bottoms loved the excitement of having sex with him not knowing if they’d get infected.”
“They bare backed?” Shiloh asked.
“Always. Diego claimed it made him feel more desired, more like a man.”
“Some man,” Miguel grumbled.
“I didn’t find out until right before we separated that he’d taken this a step further and topped guys while lying about his status.”
“He purposely infected people who had no idea?” Miguel slammed his fist down on the table.
“Please, Mr. Santana,” Shiloh warned in an attempt to get control of the situation. “Blake, how did you find out Mr. Oalo was doing this?”
“A private investigator my friend uses told me. Initially, I’d hired him to follow Diego at night and see where he was staying. To figure out what was going on.”
“Can you give me his contact info when we’re done here?” Shiloh asked.
“Sure. Oh, he smashed my phone. But I have his info at work. The PI is how I knew he was infecting guys who didn’t know about his status. He only admitted to it after I asked him.” Blake hesitated for a minute. “His name was Garrett Lochte.”
Shiloh’s face lit up. “We already interviewed Mr. Lochte. He’s been a great help to us. Odd, he didn’t specifically tell us you hired him.”
“Garrett promises full discretion with his clients. I called and asked him a few questions. He told me Diego lied to others about his status.” He wiped his eyes. “That was the day I asked him to move out. I asked him to leave. I wanted to go to the police, but Garrett said it was the victim’s responsibility, not mine. He warned me I couldn’t give names of those infected.”
“Mr. Morgan, there isn’t always a good way to handle a bad situation. But in this case, you did the right thing. I hope this brings you some peace by me saying this: you are not at fault.” Shiloh handed Miguel his card. “Call us if Mr. Oalo contacts either of you. I suggest getting a locksmith to change the locks.”
“Blake won’t be sleeping here tonight.” Miguel reached for a pen and notepad, wrote down his number and handed it to the officer. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Mr. Santana. We will.”
Drained and exhausted, he said his goodbyes to the police and let them out.
“I’m so ashamed I let it get this far out of hand, Mig. How could I? Fifteen people’s lives are ruined because of me.”
“No. It’s not your fault, bebé. You heard what the detective said; you handled it the only way you could.” He hugged him. “Do you want me to call your parents? Or Taddy?”
“No.” He buried his face in Miguel’s chest. “I only want to be with you tonight.”
“I am here for you, always. They’re going to catch him. You’ll see. He can’t run forever.”
Loving Miguel
Upper East Side
Lex opened her heavy eyelids to find her fiancé standing above her. Massimo whispered in her ear to wake up. She glanced around; she’d fallen asleep with M2 in the rocker. The moon bounced off the city’s skyscrapers, reflecting shades of night into the room.
The penthouse settled with quietness. Knowing Jemma, she’d come in around sunrise as they got ready for work.
Massimo picked up M2, kissed him on the cheek, and put him in the crib with a few Italian words of love.
“Does he need changing?” she asked instinctively.
“He’s dry.” He came over to her in the chair and lifted her up into his arms. “Let’s go to bed, principessa.”
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Massimo was strong; he held her as a feather in his hands. God, he still made every inch of her body come alive as he pulled her close. His exhale as he carried her into the bedroom exhilarated her. Her appetite was back—not for dinner, for sex.
She kissed him, remembering those jitters which exploded inside her when they’d first met. Surprisingly, he still made her heart race. Massimo placed her on the bed, and she said, “I’m going to stay home with M2 more.”
“Good. You make me happy.”
“I love you, Masi.”
“Ti amo,” he said and kissed her neck as he undid her blouse.
She reached down to unzip her skirt.
“Allow me.”
Smoothly, Massimo’s big hands slinked her body free from the outfit. He was good in the kitchen, but superb in the bedroom. His right hand tugged at her panties which also came off with one swoop. He buried his face in her pussy, growling and grunting, somewhat playful yet focused. “I’m going to make you come, bella.”
His lips found their way over her clit. His beard stubble grazed her flesh, sending an erotic chill up the back of her spine. Turned on, Lex arched her back, burying her head into the pillows while he sank his face further between her legs. Fucking her deeply and passionately with his tongue, he lapped up her cream as an orgasm came over her. She closed her eyes, getting lost in his arms. Enjoying every second, she begged him not to stop.
“Magnifica.” Massimo came up to kiss her, and she tasted herself on him. With hunger, he pulled out his cock, burying it deeper than his tongue ever dreamt of being before. Holding on to her by her shoulders, he filled her, completed her.
Spreading her wide, he fucked her balls-deep, burying his face between her breasts. Massimo must’ve forgotten her nipples were off-limits and sunk his lips around the areola of her right breast while loudly humming to himself.
“Masi!” she cried out in pleasure, recognizing the tingly ache as he fed on her. Her breasts were sensitive, more so because she’d been breastfeeding nonstop for the last six months. In recent months Massimo had done his best to not touch them, but it was obvious he couldn’t hold back any longer. Lex didn’t deny him as he tugged at her nipple. Perversely, his cock swelled as he became more excited.