He rolled his eyes. Anybody who thought girls were cleaner than boys had never lived with three dancers. There were always tights hanging, hair ties everywhere, and the bathroom was a crime scene. If he didn’t clean it, it just didn’t get done, and he hadn’t been in the mood to clean since…
Bowie took in a deep breath and blew it out. Nope. He wasn’t going there. He needed dinner. He had to keep up his strength and stamina, especially after Diego’s dire warning. He hadn’t eaten since he’d forced down his tuna wrap between barre and rehearsal. He looked back into the messy kitchen. Maybe he’d just order something.
He wandered to his bedroom, grateful when he saw Odette wasn’t home. The girls were rarely home anymore. He tried not to take it personally. He used to party with them all the time. It was a good way to de-stress after a long day. Dance all day, dance all night. Get up and do it all over again.
Now, they went out to get away from him and the little black storm cloud he’d become. He didn’t blame them. If he could get away from himself, he would. He kept waiting for the crash. He’d seen enough episodes ofLaw & Order: SVUto know that no two victims behaved the same after an assault but, somehow, they all ended up falling apart eventually. Was that just for dramatic effect? Was he already falling apart and didn’t know it? How did some people live through this and just keep moving forward like the ground hadn’t shifted under their feet? He really wished he had Detective Olivia Benson to tell him everything would be alright.
He toed off his shoes, wincing at his sore feet. There was a time when every popped blister had felt like a badge of honor, but tonight, his feet just hurt. He examined the worst of them before peeling off his clothes and hopping into the shower. He was too tired to stay in there long. Besides, the balls of knotted hair clinging to the shower walls were making him ill. Why were girls like this?
After he finished, he bandaged his wounds and pulled on a pair of short red boxer briefs. He used to love the way he looked in them. Now, when he looked in the mirror, he just saw handprints all over him, even though the ones on his body had healed. He curled up on his mattress, scrolling through his food options before taking a look at his bank account, which reminded him eating out wasn’t an option.
He didn’t feel like eating anyway.
That was the problem. Bowie rolled over to face the wall, clutching his pillow to his chest. He didn’t care about eating, didn’t care about dancing, didn’t care about anything except the dangerous man who’d just walked him home. Javier de la Fuente. Bowie liked the way it flowed, just like Javier. He was certain Olivia Benson wouldn’t approve.
Javier had a natural gracefulness to him, one born from pure confidence. He walked like a man who knew people would always move out of his way. There was no sidestepping, no saying excuse me. He just strolled, hands in his pockets as he walked, fully expecting Bowie would slow down to match his pace…and he had.
Of course, he had. Bowie had never met anybody like Javier. The way he talked, like he had every answer to life’s mysteries and he got his amusement from watching others try to figure it out. The way he looked at Bowie like a snake might look at a mouse who’d just been dropped into its cage. Bowie wasn’t even sure if Javier knew that was how he looked at him, like Javier was just a natural born predator and everybody else was prey.
The thought should have scared the shit out of him. A month ago, Bowie would have run screaming in the opposite direction if somebody like Javier had approached him. A month ago, Bowie had a healthy dose of fear when it came to guys like Javier, not the tattoos or the gangbanger aesthetic, but the unrepentant criminal record. Javier might rescue dogs and babies, but he didn’t seem like any kind of reformed sinner.
But it didn’t matter. Only one thing scared Bowie anymore, that asshole in the town car. Everything else left him numb. Nothing drove him to get out of bed in the mornings except his love of dance. But even that seemed lackluster. Everything was lackluster, except Javier.
The ex-con. Bowie didn’t know why he’d gone to jail. Did the organization he worked for even check? It must have, right? Bowie knew it didn’t matter. Javier was exciting, like dancing on the edge of a knife blade. Being around him made him feel something, and after two weeks of outward pain and inward numbness, that was everything.
Javier looked him in the eye. He looked him up and down like he was picturing him naked, his mouth set in that crooked smile that did things to Bowie’s insides. What he didn’t do was act like Bowie was a victim. No big sad puppy eyes. No meaningless platitudes about everything happening for a reason and how it gets better with time. Just a promise that he’d never hurt him…and would make anybody who did pay dearly. That was what he’d implied.
And Bowie believed him.
He buried his face in his pillow and groaned. Was he being stupid? Javier wanted him. Bowie didn’t have to be a mind reader to see that. He’d called him angel. Normally, things like that would annoy Bowie. Terms of endearment implied an intimacy they didn’t have, but the way it had rolled off Javier’s tongue was…exciting, like a promise. Javier was a slash of red in his world of black and gray.
The idea of the two of them together was absurd. Bowie was a ballet dancer and Javier was, at worst, an active member of a gang and, at best, an ex-con. But none of that trumped the way his heart skipped knowing he would see him in the morning. It was something to look forward to, something to dream about that didn’t include reliving the worst night of his life.
“I’ll even let you tie me up.”His offer had been unexpected, probably just a joke, but Bowie couldn’t stop thinking about it. His sex life up until that point had been less than vanilla. It was like sugar-free vanilla frozen yogurt. Javier was seven layer death by chocolate.
Bowie flopped onto his back, his cock twitching. What was Javier hiding under those baggy clothes? He closed his eyes, picturing him, doing his best to remember the way he looked at Bowie, the scent of his soap, the warm rasp of his voice, the way his lips moved when he spoke.
Javier, tied up and helpless. No, not helpless. But bound. Bound and naked. Bound to the bed? No. A chair. A chair with no arms so Bowie could slide into his lap. Yeah, he could slide into his lap and feel how hard he was for him. Bowie ran a hand over the outside of his underwear, stroking himself lazily, grateful his body even reacted. He slipped a hand into his underwear, closing his fist around his dick.
“You should have just been nice.”
The voice came out of nowhere, growled into his ear, the sharp scent of cologne choking him. He wrenched his eyes open, yanking his hand free, looking around before realizing there was nothing there, just another flash. He blinked back tears, swallowing the lump of fear choking him.
It wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve this. He reached into the bottom drawer of the tiny bedside table he shared with Odette, hand closing around her monster-sized prescription bottle. She didn’t mind. Her father was also her doctor, and he was unscrupulous when it came to both jobs. He was always more than happy to hook his daughter up with whatever pills kept her thin and quiet and at the top of her game.
He dropped the two tiny pills into his mouth, swallowing them dry, and then grabbed his phone and the now faded soft business card, finding Javier’s cell phone number before tapping out a text.Tomorrow at 5:30, right?
He didn’t even care how desperate he sounded. The man had only left him an hour ago. His heart raced as three dots began to bounce across his screen almost immediately.
Javier: I’ll be there, angel.
You don’t have to,Bowie typed, mentally kicking himself. What the hell kind of push and pull game was he playing? Come save me, wait no, don’t. He was pathetic.
His phone vibrated with another message.Five-thirty. Bright and early. Wear those cute pink fuzzy house slippers.
Bowie snorted, the sound loud in the silence.They’re not house slippers. They keep my feet warm. Gotta keep my body warmed up all the time or my muscles get stiff.
Javier: We wouldn’t want that. So wear your pink fuzzy not-house slippers so you can keep your feet warm.
