Dark and shallow, I see nothing but death in his gaze. It’s the gaze of a killer, a serial killer. One who thinks nothing of slicing off someone’s finger to leave as a gift.
“Dad? How do you know this,” I swallow loudly. “This person.”
“Yes, Denny. Tell your son how we met.”
I shudder at the cold sound of his voice.
“Troy,” my dad whispers. “His name is Troy Wolski.” He doesn’t realize I already know his name. “We met on a movie set, six years ago.”
“Six years?” I shout.
“Quiet,” Troy snaps, leveling his terrifying gaze my way.
“On one of my films. He was a trainer for military extras or for actors who needed to look authentic,” my dad explains.
“Continue, Denny. Don’t leave the boy hanging,” Troy says, his slimy voice taunting my father who is slumped in his seat, looking years older than even yesterday.
My eyes bounce back and forth, the silence hanging over the room. “Dad?” Something bigger than me is going on here. Something that has the small hairs on the back of my neck standing up.
“Don’t make me do this,” my dad pleads with Troy, who only laughs.
“Fine, I’ll do it.” The monster’s cold stare lands on me, sending an icy stab of fear to my heart. “You father is a dirty faggot, Gavin. I fucked his ass for many, many years.”
My mind must be playing tricks on me. None of this is real. I’m still asleep in my bed, huddled under the covers and Mitch is lying next to me.
An unexpected laugh erupts from my chest. “Right! You’re expecting me to believe my dad is gay?” I snort—honest to god fucking snort—while a psycho has a huge gun leveled at me.
I glance around and see that no one else is laughing. In fact, my dad is paler than a ghost and unable to meet my gaze.
“Dad? It’s not true, right? You wouldn’t be so cruel to me if you were gay.” Then I remember what Mitch said about the stalker.
“He’s a self-loathing, in denial, psychopathic, closeted gay man with a serious fixation on you. He thinks he’s in love with you, Gavin, but he hates you for it.”
But Mitch meant the stalker, not my dad.
“You sent those notes because you hate me for representing what you refuse to admit you are,” I guess. “That’s why it was so important for me to ‘be a man’ like you. So no one would see me and figure out that you were gay too.” My dad shifts uncomfortably on the couch and I know I’ve hit the nail on the head with my conclusion. “So what the hell does that have to do with you?” I snap at Troy. Gun or no gun, I want fucking answers.
“Denny lets me fuck him and he admitted what he was doing to you. I simply helped his cause.” The man says it like it’s no big deal to terrorize his lover’s adult son. “It’s not your father’s fault that you’re so fucking tempting.” His eyes roved up and down my body, making my dick practically crawl up inside me with revulsion.
“Gavin, I didn’t know he was doing those things until the media reported—”
“Shut the fuck up, Denny!”
In a heartbeat, Troy’s heated gaze turns cruel and angry. “Fucking fag!” He yells at my father. Then Troy stands up, looming over me like the specter of death. “Stupid blonde cocksucker!” Raising the hand with the gun, he brings it down to make contact with my cheek.
Pain explodes across my face, the sheer power of his hit sending me tumbling off the couch. My shoulder cracks against the tile floor at the same time my dad jumps up, shouting, “Leave my son the hell alone!”
“Sit down, Denny,” Troy growls, pointing the gun at my father. With his attention elsewhere, I swipe my foot out, hooking it under Troy’s. He topples to the ground next to me.
“Gavin!” My dad cries out, making a move to help, but he’s a split second too late. Wolski is already on his feet. Dad holds up a hand. “Stop, Gavin. He’s better trained and stronger than you, even if he is twenty years older.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Troy roars, his face a deep shade of purple. I freeze in place, twisted sideways on my knees. “Both of you goddamn cocksuckers shut up!”
Jesus, in denial much? I guess in his sick mind, if you’re the one fucking you’re not a fag.
“Troy…”
“Denny, keep your fucking mouth closed!” He uses the gun to gesture towards a hallway and smirks. “Now, we’re going to have some fun.”
Mitch
“Goddammit, Gavin!” The urge to roll down the window and chuck my phone as far as it will go is nearly overwhelming. Steadying my nerves, I hit redial. Voicemail clicks on again. “Son of a bitch!”
“Do you still want to go to the house?” Hank, my burly and equally sleep-deprived and cranky, bodyguard asks.
I’ve been wearing the same clothes for over twenty-four hours, including at a crime scene, I haven’t eaten since lunchtime yesterday, I reek like a locker room after a football game, and Gavin won’t answer his phone. Before I go to my next destination, I have to clean myself up. “Yes, to the beach house, please.”
When we get to the house and I determine that Gavin is in fact not here, my level of agitation becomes unbearable.
“Where the fuck is he?” I shout to no one in particular. “
Turning to Hank I shout out orders, pointing at him. “You, go home and rest! Get one of the other guys out front and in the car waiting for me!”
“Yes sir.” Hank hurries outside to locate a colleague.
After a lightning fast shower, I pull out my phone and call Sasha. Van Zandt is the one I should be calling, but if I lose my shit over Gavin’s absence, I don’t want it to be to a total stranger.
“Mitch?” Her voice is groggy. I woke her up.
“Sasha! I’m headed to Gavin’s father’s house. Can you tell Van Zandt and Halifax to head over? Dennis Walker has to be the one with the answer to all of this shit. He’s the only link between Gavin and our suspect.” I’m shoving my feet into a pair of shoes and leaving the house while I talk.
“Should you really be going back there, Mitch? The man isn’t going to talk to you.”
What if the suspect got Gavin? Fear stabs right through my heart, making me irrational. “I don’t have a choice! I have to go, Sasha! Just send the fucking Feds and stop fucking thinking for a second!” My breath catches and I have to strangle a sob. It becomes harder to pull air into my lungs, the pressure around my throat tightening. Of it’s own volition, my hand reaches for my collar, needing to relieve the strangling sensation. It falls uselessly to my side when I realize I’m not wearing shirtsleeves or a tie.
“Okay. Okay, Mitch. I’ll do it right now,” she acquiesces quickly.
I get into the car I climbed out of not twenty minutes ago. Without saying another word, I end the call.
A big bruiser named Tyrese climbs behind the wheel. “Where to Mr. Hale?” He puts the key in the starter and waits for orders.
I suck in a deep breath so I can calm down long enough to speak. “Tyrese, do you have any defensive driving experience?”
The man’s unflappably serious façade cracks, a huge smile spreading across his face. “Tons.”
“Okay.” I rattle off the address. “Get there as fast as you can. Fuck everything else.”
The engine comes alive, the loud roar ripping through the early morning silence. “My pleasure,” he responds, right before burning rubber out of Gavin’s driveway.
By the time we pull in front of the long drive, I’ve tried Gavin’s cell at least a dozen more times with no response. My nerves are frayed, my body is so tired it’s about to give out, and my pulse is so fast it feels as if I might be having a heart attack.
A huge tree trunk of a man comes rushing up to the car as Tyrese throws it into park. I spot Gavin’s Range Rover further up the driveway.
“Anders? What’s going on?” Tyrese asks.
“I just heard shouting and was about to go inside when you pulled up,” the man explains.
“Let’s go,” Tyrese grunts,
reaching into his waistband and pulling out a handgun.
“Wait!” I level my gaze on the new guy, Anders. “Why are you here?”
“Mr. Walker asked me to bring him.”
Fuck me. Gavin is inside the house. I unholster my Glock and charge towards the front door. I haven’t gone two steps when another car pulls into the driveway.
The doors swing open and Van Zandt and Halifax jump out, looking as shitty as I feel. “What the hell is going on?” Halifax shouts when his eyes find my weapon, then Tyrese’s.
“Gavin is in there. He hasn’t answered his phone in over an hour,” I explain, turning to stalk up the drive. They can fucking follow me if they want to hear the rest. “I came to talk to his father and Anders here was about to go inside when we arrived.”
“I heard someone scream,” Anders elaborates, now holding his own pistol in his hand.
“Fuck,” Van Zandt mutters. “Let’s go.”
Anders and Halifax go around back, while Tyrese, Lex, and I take the front.
Lex reaches out and tests the front door. “Unlocked,” he mouths. I nod. Using his fingers he counts down—three, two, one—silently, he pushes open the heavy door. Leading with our guns, we each enter the foyer.
We spread out, Lex going left, Tyrese going straight, and me going right. I check a small office and head back to the foyer when the shouts break the excruciating silence.
Goose bumps rise up on my skin and my stomach churns with acid. Gavin’s voice. Gavin shouting. Terror like nothing I’ve ever felt ripples up my spine. My mind slides into the ingrained training from the FBI academy. Whisper quiet, I lead the other two down a long hall.
Another shout echoes through the empty rooms.
“Fuck you, asshole!”
It’s Gavin again. His yelling helps me narrow down his location in the sprawling mansion.
“Troy, don’t do this!”
A chill flutters through me. That’s Dennis Walker’s voice. I glance back at Van Zandt. His hardened gaze meets mine and I know he’s thinking the same thing as me—Troy Wolski, our suspect, is in the house.
The loud reverberation of a gunshot stops me in my tracks. Without another thought, I flat-out fucking run towards the noise.
Van Zandt nearly collides with me when I come to an abrupt halt at the end of a long hall. It takes about a half a second for my eyes to zero in on the knife being held to Gavin’s neck, a thin rivulet of blood dripping down the beautiful skin of his throat. My entire fucking world collapses into that single point of contact.
“Don’t fucking move!”
Everyone freezes—Tyrese and Van Zandt behind me—Halifax, Anders, and Dennis Walker are in the room and already have their hands up in the air.
Troy Wolski. Ex-Special Forces, trainer for military films, stalker, serial killer, and all-around-psycho is pressing a knife to my loved one’s throat while pointing a very large caliber handgun at the men in the room.
“Put your weapons down or I’ll open his carotid,” Wolski hisses, spittle flying from his mouth. Gavin flinches when Wolski shifts, opening up a new cut, sending another small trickle of dark red to collect at Gavin’s collar.
“Don’t hurt him,” I manage with an amount of confidence I don’t feel inside. Slowly, I lay my Glock on the thick carpet at my feet. “See? We’re putting down our guns. Let him go.”
I hear Tyrese and Van Zandt’s weapons hit the floor as well. Briefly, I wonder whether Anders or Halifax fired the shot because it sure as fuck didn’t come from Wolski’s fifty caliber monster.
Halifax sneers and out of the corner of my eye I see his chest puff up. “What the fuck do you want, Wolski?”
Motherfucking Halifax!
“Grant, shut up,” I snarl. If he gets Gavin hurt or killed I will make sure he never eats again without the help of a straw.
“You,” Troy growls, leveling his hand cannon on me. “You’re the boyfriend, aren’t you? Was it real for you or was it all just a scam like it was reported?”
I don’t move or let even a flicker of emotion cross my face. “Who are you?” I shoot back.
The bastard laughs and the knife shakes, causing Gavin to close his eyes and cringe.
“You fucker!” I shout, my body tense and ready to pounce. The deep-seated need to lash out and kill roars inside, waiting to be released. My hands clench at my waist.
“That answers my question.” Troy sneers, holding his gun steady, aimed directly between my eyes. “Do you love him? Would you die for him?” The monster drags the flat of the blade down Gavin’s throat. The rasp of the metal over his short stubble fills the room, the only sound besides the thundering of my heartbeat in my ears.
Gavin’s eyes snap open, locking on mine. Fear mirroring my own shines wetly in the bright blue. Looking deeper, I see more than panic and terror. I see strength and devotion and love. Without breaking our eye contact, I answer. “Yes. I would die for him.”
His lids flutter shut again, a saddened grimace marring his beauty. Did he think I would lie? Deny my feelings? Never again. I won’t resist the pull or ignore what I know to be true.
“What’s your endgame, Wolski?” Halifax asks. “You can’t think you’re getting out of here a free man.”
I glare at Grant. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not going to warn you again,” I hiss.
He glares back. “What are you going to do about it, Hale? You’re not part of this investigation and shouldn’t even be here,” Grant snarls.
What the hell did I ever find attractive about this guy? He’s a complete asshole.
“Halifax,” Van Zandt warns from my other side. “Keep your mouth shut.”
“All of you shut up!” Wolski roars, swinging the gun around the room.
When Wolski’s body angles away, the gun not pointed at anyone specific, Gavin grabs the hand holding the knife and squeezes, causing Wolski to drop the knife. I fall to one knee, yank my secondary weapon out of the ankle holster and fire.
Gavin
“I’m so sorry, baby.” Mitch apologizes for the millionth time, clutching my hand while the doctor stitches the deepest of the cuts on my neck.
“Mitch, I told you to stop saying that. It was from my pressure point attack, not your bullet.” He hasn’t stopped apologizing since he killed Troy Wolski with a single shot to the head. At some point, the knife grazed my throat.
“Sir, if you don’t stop talking I’ll have to ask your friend to leave the room,” the doctor warns, pausing to shoot daggers at me.
“I’m his boyfriend, and I’m not moving,” Mitch snaps, his hand clamping down on mine until I feel my bones aching.
The doctor presses his mouth into a tight line and continues stitching. Thankfully, Mitch stays silent for the rest of the procedure.
By the time we get back to the beach house, I’m nearly asleep on my feet and Mitch looks like death warmed over. From the hospital we had to go to the local FBI office and give our statements. When I started to nod off during questioning, they said we could go and they would speak to us later. We stagger up the stairs and pass out on the bed fully clothed.
“Mitch,” I whisper, gently shaking him awake.
A low mumble is his only response.
“Mitch!” I shake harder.
“What? Huh?” He rolls to his back, rubbing the heels of his hands in his eyes. “Gavin? What’s going on?”
“The doorbell.” My face floods with heat and I’m grateful for the blackout shades in my bedroom. “I know he’s dead, but…”
Mitch reaches out, swiping his thumb over the bandage on my neck. “It’s okay, baby. I know.” He presses a small kiss to my lips. The heat of his mouth sends a shiver down my spine.
Kicking off the covers, Mitch swings his legs over the side of the bed. He looks down at his rumpled clothing. The doorbell breaks the silence again and Mitch shrugs. “I guess whoever it is will have to deal with us being unpresentable.”
I slide my arms around his waist, tugging him against me. The h
ard planes of his body feel so good under my hands. I lean in for another kiss, this time deep and wet, slipping my tongue into the heat of his mouth. When I pull back, breathless, I whisper against his lips. “You’re always presentable. I love you, and thanks for rescuing me.”
His hands tighten on my back, fingers digging in to keep me close. “I’ll always rescue you, Gavin. Just like you rescued me.”
The doorbell chimes again and I laugh. “Persistent, aren’t they?”
Reluctantly, I let go of Mitch and we head down the stairs. I reach for the knob but Mitch steps in front of me, pulling it open and shielding me from whoever is out there at the same time.
“Hello? I’m certain I have the correct address. Is this Gavin Walker’s home?”
“Mom?” I peek over Mitch’s shoulder to find my mother on my front step. “Oh my god!” Mitch steps back, which is a good thing because I might have barreled him over to get to my mother.
“Gavin?” Her eyes flood with tears as I pull her into a tight embrace. “Love, are you alright?” My mom’s voice cracks and she sobs. The sound of her so upset breaks the shell I’ve kept around my emotions over the last few months. Tears spill down my cheeks.
“I’ll take care of the cab,” Mitch says to no one in particular. By the time he comes back inside with my mom’s luggage, we’re in the kitchen and I’ve got the kettle on to make her a cup of tea.
“How did you get here?” I ask. “I mean, obviously you took a plane, but why now?”
My mom’s eyes cast down, her cheeks red with shame. “Your father phoned.”
I tense up at the mention of my dad. Mitch puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “How did he call you? He’s in jail,” I fume.
“Babe, it’s okay,” Mitch murmurs in my ear. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”
The stress spills out of my body. I’m too tired to stay angry with my father all the time. Letting go of the negativity feels so fucking good I should have done it a long time ago. “You’re right. He can’t.”