Page 63 of Finding Michael

“Am I wrong?” Michael asked.

Michael might not have been wrong, but Tristan wished he’d stop talking. He wasn’t buying time, but rather pissing Dennis off.

“No.” Dennis aimed at Tristan. “But I’m not losing you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Tristan opened his arms and enfolded Dennis in his embrace. “I’m here. Michael, go.”

Dennis wrapped himself around Tristan. He held the gun, but wasn’t aiming at Tristan. “You ignored me and my messages.”

“I was writing.” Tristan bit back bile.God damn it.He worked the gun free from Dennis’ grip and put the firearm on the floor. He kicked it out of the way. “We don’t need that gun. I’m not going anywhere.”

Tears stained Dennis’ face and his cheeks reddened. “I’ve wanted to call you mine for so long.”

“We’re good.” He nudged the gun once more, pushing it farther away from Dennis. “Yeah.” He angled Dennis with his back to Michael. He wasn’t sure what to do, but he didn’t want Dennis getting an eyeful of the cops until the last minute. Besides, where in the hell were the police?

Michael scooted the revolver the rest of the way from Dennis, but before he could do anything else, the door to the penthouse flew open. Building security and police strode into the living room.

“What the hell?” Dennis squeezed Tristan hard. “What did you do?”

One of the officers rushed across the room to Michael. Another intercepted Dennis. Tristan collided with the sofa, but managed to stay on his feet. “I’m sorry, Dennis,” Tristan said. “I can’t be with someone who’d kill me or take my money.” He picked up Michael’s phone and handed it to the closest officer. “We’ve got the whole thing on video.”

“Tristan. No.” Dennis struggled against the policeman’s grasp. “I wouldn’t. It was the other guy. He did it. I wouldn’t hurt my Tristan.”

“Take him downstairs.” The officer led Dennis through the room. “We’ll need statements.”

Tristan wobbled against the couch. He saw the investigators in his home and photographing everything, but he barely paid attention. His life had been in the balance. His butler, one of the few people he’d trusted, had fucked him over. He scrubbed both hands over his face. When the police officer approached him, he answered every question, but his thoughts continued to race. He willed his stomach to settle and rubbed his clammy hands on his pant legs. When he’d decided to come home, he hadn’t planned on being held at gunpoint by his butler or bringing Michael into such a disaster. He’d begged Michael to come along, but then everything had blown up. He couldn’t shake the feeling of disgust. He stole a glance at Michael. Would he and Michael be able to continue their relationship after this or would the danger be the last straw for him?

“My heart belongs to you, Michael,” Tristan murmured. “Please let yours still want me, too.”

---