Page 4 of Lover
“Nightie, night.” Shannon plopped down onto the couch, pulling first his boots then his jeans off, finding the pajama pants and comfy shirt he kept at Taylor’s tucked between the pillow and blanket. His skin held a sticky layer of bar sweat, and his hair was slicked back with product, so he decided to hop in the shower to wash the remnants of their night at the club off his body, rather than painting the sofa with mousse and musk. The hot water felt amazing, relaxing him and soothing his aching back. Between finals, dance class, and a quick workout at the campus gym earlier in the day, his muscles were layered with knots of tension.
When he’d arrived in Austin three years ago, Shannon was scared and alone but far from desperate. The complete change in lifestyle was comforting and welcome. Living in a swanky penthouse prison, wearing the finest clothes, and having an Amex with no limit had never appealed to Shannon. He’d left his family and moved in with Bruce on the promise of love and a life with a man that longed to care for him. Or so he’d thought. What Shannon had gotten instead was an abusive, domineering, controlling man with a hair-trigger temper that believed he could decimate Shannon’s self-worth one day, then buy him a fifteen-thousand-dollar watch the next and make it all better. Of course, the watch and the few other expensive baubles Bruce had gifted him with over the years didn’t sell for what they were truly worth. Shannon had sold them to a very shady character he met through a coworker back in Seattle. But the money he got at the time was worth millions to him.
Unable to plan his trip out—for fear his captors would literally chain him to the bed—Shannon spent the first week in a hotel close to the college while he found work, signed up for classes, and searched out a reasonably priced apartment in a safe building. The city was amazing, especially the campus, and it was refreshing not to have to live his life constantly second-guessing every decision he made, terrified there would be repercussions. Still, looking over his shoulder and jumping at his own shadow were bad habits that took longer to break, even with the counseling he’d received on campus. And every once in a while, he’d wake up covered in sweat, throat hoarse from screaming, pulling free from a nightmare where Bruce and Tuan had found him.
Turning off the water, Shannon reached for a towel, dried off, then knotted the cloth at his hip. Wiping the steam off the mirror, he stared at his reflection, eyes lingering on the slight indentation above his left cheekbone—just one of many scars left behind to remind Shannon of the three years he’d spent with Bruce. “Stop it, Shan. Don’t go there.”
He quickly dressed, shuffled into the kitchen, and filled the electric teakettle with water, flipping it on and pulling a mug from the cabinet and the tin of chamomile tea. It seemed to take forever for the water to boil—probably because he stood over it, so he could flip it off the second the water started rolling, certain the loud beep that came with the heat would wake Taylor. Steaming mug of put-me-to-fucking-sleep goodness in hand, Shannon curled up on the couch with the latest copy ofOUTmagazine, flipping through the pages until his eyes started drooping. The lethargy came on so quickly that he didn’t even bother turning the lamp off, just curled up under the comfy blanket and drifted toward a memory he wished he could forget.
***
Shannon heard the keyin the door, but he didn’t dare move. Legs locked, he stood staring out at the lights of the city, so alive and vibrant with the deep, blue background that shrouded Seattle as the sun set. The view from the penthouse was spectacular, but it was hard to see beauty when he was almost constantly locked up in his gilded cage. He could hear the faint sounds of revving engines, the blare of horns, life continually moving around him while he stood still, almost dormant.
He could see Bruce’s reflection in the glass as the man closed the space between them, a bouquet of black magic roses in one hand, a small, gold gift bag in the other. A slight shift of his eyes showed his reflection and the bruising on the left side of his face. The color of the fresh, stinging wound vied with the deep crimson that bled into the black-tipped petals of the flowers in the same hand that had knocked him on his ass the night before.
Deep, even breaths kept him steady on his feet. The pain inhabiting almost every inch of Shannon’s body kept his mind clear. How much longer could he endure the sharp sting he’d come to equate with love? Hell, he could fade into the wallpaper, being seen but not heard, and probably still draw his lover’s wrath.Lover, my ass!Shannon nearly forgot himself and snorted.
His attempt to remain still, almost lifeless, was thwarted when Bruce stepped up behind him and reached around his body, holding the stunning arrangement of roses in front of him. Shannon shivered involuntarily, his body remembering the pain from the previous night, his muscles quivering from fear where once, not so long ago, his limbs had shaken with anticipation. Bruce’s reflection smiled at him tenderly. “I know darling. I missed you today as well, and I’m sorry we quarreled last night.”
Somehow, Shannon managed a small smile, taking the offered flowers. “Thank you. They’re beautiful,” he whispered, his throat still sore, the skin around his neck still carrying the imprint of Bruce’s fingers from their “quarrel” the night before.
“Here, this is for you as well.” The gold gift bag dangled from Bruce’s fingers. As soon as Shannon took the bag, Bruce snapped his fingers. “Tuan, come put these in water.” He snatched the bouquet, turning and walking across the room.
Shannon’s eyes met Tuan’s in the glass, the look of contempt he saw in Bruce’s henchman’s dull eyes not surprising. Taking the flowers, Tuan disappeared down the long hallway. “Put them in the antique red Baccarat Crystal vase,” Bruce called out, turning and winking at Shannon.
Shannon averted his gaze, concentrating instead on the bag, moving the tissue paper aside and gently lifting the black, felt box out. Pushing the lid back, he gasped. An exquisite black and gold watch sat nestled on a tiny black pillow. “Bruce, I...wow, it’s...” He didn’t know what to say. Part of him truly loved the gift—the part of him that still truly loved the man that gave it to him. Or at least the man Shannon had thought he was. Then there was the part of him that was disgusted and repulsed, something deep inside him trying to claw its way out.
“Here, let me.” Bruce removed the watch from the box, sliding it onto Shannon’s wrist. When he looked up and their eyes met, he saw fresh tears in Bruce’s obsidian gaze. The man was a world-class actor. Gently, with more tenderness than he’d shown Shannon in months, Bruce brushed his knuckles over his cheek. Ironically, it was the same hand that had caused the damage to his face. “I really am sorry, darling. I promise you. It’s the last time, okay?”
Shannon nodded, though he knew it was a damn lie. And when Bruce pushed him back onto the bed, entering him slowly, playing his body like a broken-in guitar, Shannon hated himself for enjoying it.
***
Jolting awake, Shannonsat up quickly, his hand going to his wrist, certain he could still feel the weight of the watch there. He held his breath for a moment, listening to see if he’d woken Taylor up, but all he heard was a soft hum coming from the fridge. Lying back, he stretched his long legs out, resting them on the arm of the couch. He sighed, closed his eyes, and remembered that night. It was the beginning of the end for them—the last time he could remember feeling any love from or for Bruce. His promise that it wouldn’t happen again lasted for six whole days, just long enough for Shannon to stupidly start to believe him and let his guard down. After that, there were no reprieves, no more empty promises.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever said this, but...thank you, God, for giving me the strength to break free,” Shannon whispered. He hadn’t prayed in...he couldn’t remember how long. But it was only by the grace of God that he’d managed to keep his wits about him long enough to get away from that life in Seattle. And his guardian angel had been working overtime, keeping him safe in his new home. By now, Bruce must have moved on, found someone new to break. He sent another thought up to the heavens, a silent one, praying that whoever was stuck under his abusive ex’s thumb would find some peace like he did.
Chapter Four
Rory 2014
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“Iam so done with allthis rain. It’s like a goddamnTwilightmovie, minus the sparkling vampires and the hot wolf shifters usually running around half-naked.” Rory kicked his black rain boots off, dropping the matching raincoat onto the floor beside them. They were soaked, as was he, to the bone, shivering and dripping on the carpet.
Connie shoved past him, ignoring his cursing protests at being manhandled. “Forks isn’t far from here, ya know. You could drive up and do one of thoseTwilighttours they do there.”
“Fuck. You.”
She snorted. “Unless you grew a pussy since I last checked, ain’t happening, partner.”
“You kiss your mother with that mouth, Consuela?” Her head snapped up and if looks could kill, he’d be lying on the floor beside his sopping wet rain gear, lifeless. A string of curses the likes of which would make a sailor blush flew from her mouth, a mangled mess of English and Spanish, followed by a purple Wellie that hit the wall when he ducked into the bathroom to shower. He and Gonzales had been in Seattle for a few weeks now, and he was pretty damned sure that it’d been raining nineteen of the twenty-one days.
Another missing persons case had caught Connie’s attention, the details eerily similar to the unsolved murder back in 2005 that had been linked to the 2006 disappearance of Howard Tullor Junior.
Eight years later, young Howard was still missing, and Grandpa Dickweed was still halfway up the director’s ass, pissed because the FBI hadn’t found his grandson yet. So all Rory and Connie had to do was say the words “Tacoma” and “Tullor” in the same sentence, and they were on the next plane to Washington.
Cummings was shadowing both Frank and Taylor, and an agent that just came back off maternity leave was covering Gonzales with Valerie and Charles Stone. As far as Taylor and his parents knew, Marta was visiting her family in Mexico through the end of the year. The three of them had been assigned to Frank, Taylor, and the Stones for eight years, and there hadn’t been any problems. Rory was starting to think that the unsub responsible for murdering Taylor’s parents was in the wind for good. There’d been talk around the office back at Quantico of them being reassigned, but the director assured them that it wasn’t happening. The orders came from higher up the food chain, and that was disconcerting as well.
