Page 26 of Grind
Ezra had never recoiled faster. “What the hell?” he asked, meeting the guy’s pale gaze. He was handsome from up close, with a symmetrical face and long hair hanging down his shoulders in a mess of strands and loose braids, but Paul didn’t look half bad either, and he murdered people.
“Jag!” Frank yelled as if he were disciplining a dog. “Move.”
Jag huffed and Ezra had nowhere to run when this stranger grabbed him by the arm and pulled.
Frank approached them with an expression carved in stone. “In case you get lost—you won’t, Jag will keep you safe—but just in case,” he said and handed Ezra a flashlight. “It will be easier to find you.”
Ezra itched to grab Frank, or hug him again to reinforce how much he needed help, but he didn’t know if he’d want to be touched in company even if the freak in armor had a boyfriend, who was to drive Ezra’s car. Washeas dusty as this guy?
“Where is he taking me?” he uttered, because if the Rolex was stolen, then who knew what othergoodswere moved through this lot? He’d rather not know where Frank got the money to buy his time.
If he could only go back a few hours and never go to Paul’s…
Frank sighed, already texting someone. “Just to one of the areas at the junkyard that are hard to access unless you know where they are. I’ll come for you once Paul’s gone.” He looked up from his phone and into Ezra’s eyes. “It’s going to be okay.”
He seemed so confident about it, Ezra calmed down a little, and he gave Frank’s thick forearm a final squeeze, making sure he remembered the warmth of his touch. “Thank you. I’ll be waiting,” he said, stepping back just as Frank’s pupils dilated.
Frank stalled, looking after him as Jag tugged on Ezra’s arm, taking him away from the light and toward the huge mounds of twisted metal. It was only now that Ezra realized how vast the landscape of old cars and disused appliances seemed, even in the dark. A man could get lost here forever, so maybe there was a method to this madness?
Away from Frank’s home, darkness became so thick it felt choking, but just as Ezra was about to seek a switch on the flashlight, Jag’s face lit up from a bright lamp attached to his head. “Follow me, Ezra,” he said and jogged toward a mound of rust-chewed cars.
It felt strange to hear his name on this weirdo’s lips, but there was no time to dwell on such things, so he complied until Jag reached the wall of metal and rubber and… slid into a crevice that surely wasn’t meant to be a passage.
Ezra lit his own flashlight and cast its glow on the vehicles making up the walls on either side of the path. Dirt and rot consumed each and every one, and he nervously glanced at his clothes. “Hey, is there no other way? Someplace less tight?”
Jag blew hair out of his handsome face. He appeared deceptively normal under the odd mish-mash of metal, plastic, and torn fabric, so maybe the two of them were more similar than it seemed at first glance. What if Jag also ended up here in a crisis and never left? Wasthisfuckery in his future? Would Ezra live out his days as some junkyard hobo?
“Why? You're not that big,” Jag asked, barely sticking out from behind the junk.
Ezra’s blood ran hotter. “What do you mean why? I’m gonna tear my clothes. This is—a Burberry coat,” he said, pulling on the lapel of his best outerwear. He’d worn it to Paul’s to look more professional, and this was what he’d gotten!
Jag offered him an empty glance. “What does it do?”
“What?”
“What does aBurberrycoat do?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake, of course this loony didn’t know what it meant to get somewhere in life through blood, sweat, and tears. Or rather, cum and sweat.
Ezra counted to ten. “I just don’t want to rip it, okay?”
Jag hummed. “Is it an heirloom? I can keep it safe for you,” he said and extended his dirty hand through the passage.
“So, is there no—” He jumped when a vehicle started behind him, because he was still out in the open, and if Paul arrived now and saw him... could Frank even protect him? Would he have risked confrontation with a murderer?
“Fine,” he said, but when he removed the coat, his gaze fell on the cashmere sweater, and the plaid pants, so he ended up turning the coat inside out and wearing it that way. “I’m coming. Are you sure this is safe?” Ezra asked, looking up at the pile of at least five separate cars, which might collapse on them any second.
“Yes, there are no traps here,” Jag said, leaving Ezra even more bewildered.
What fuckingtraps? What was this place?
But there was no time to lose, so he followed Jag into this metal maze, snagging his coat on a rusty pipe sticking out of a car right off the bat.
Nothing to do about that now. Ezra tried not to think what state his new boots might be in by the end of this obstacle course and focused on the future. He was neck-deep in shit, and if he failed to play his cards right, he might just drown. It was difficult to think straight when his brain fogged up with anxiety, but as Jag moved ahead through a labyrinth of narrow passages made out of everything from bottles to old boats, he came to the inevitable conclusion that information might be the key to survival.
He’d come here thinking he had Frank under his heel, but the man whom Ezra had known for the past year had clearly been a facade to a stranger who might still feel affection for Ezra, but who was an enigma.
And Ezra hated being ignorant about what made men tick. “You seem to know your way around here, Jag,” he said, making sure to be personal, despite the stranger freaking him out.
