He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have.
“The question is, can you control yourself?”
“Yes,” he answers cautiously.
“Even if some Joe gets in your face, waving a broken beer bottle?”
“I won’t put myself in that situation.”
“And if an armed extermination team comes hunting you?”
“There might be a few bodies left in my wake.”
I slap his shoulder and congratulate him, calling over my shoulder to George, “He’s completely rehabilitated. You’ve done a great job. We’re leaving, and I know you are needed at Lewd Larry’s. The place is yours to hold together until further notice.”
George takes the news well, grumbling under his breath about lack of appreciation, but I can tell he’s also biting at the bit to get to the club. An hour later, I’m pulling up to the artist’s loft I bought him. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t,” he promises, beaming like a kid on Christmas morning. “What’s happened? I was expecting to be Doctor Psycho’s prisoner for many months to come.”
“You have to stick to your therapy schedule.” We stay in the car, heater blowing warm air on us. I don’t want to go inside until we come to an understanding about a few things.
“Yeah, yeah,” he whines. “Now answer the question.”
“It’s Celia. We had a scare today, thought she might lose the babies, and I realized as much as I feel responsible for you, my place is at her side.”
Nikos looks concerned when he asks, “Is she all right?”
“For now. She’s going to be required to have one-hundred percent bed rest, at least for a while. Garrett and I will take turns staying with her and taking care of his business.”
Nikos nods. “Garrett being the man you share her with?”
“Yes. We’re a committed ménage. After today, we’ll be living together.”
“I never meant to take you away from your family so long. Thank you.”
I squeeze his thigh. “Thank you. Now, let’s go inside. I want to get you settled so that I can get back to her.”
Our car doors echo when we slam them closed, shattering the silence. Two dogs on opposite sides of the street react, further dissipating the quiet. I point out hidden security measures on approach, security cameras, pressure alerts that react to a change of weight on the sidewalk. No one will come near his front or back doors without his knowing well in advance.
“Self-destruct?” he asks.
“Of course. Once we’re inside I’ll show you all the bells and whistles.”
After ushering him in, doubt is evident on his face. “I lived like a king before coming here. My apartment overlooked the beauty of Shanghai.”
I almost laugh, but don’t. I’ve brought him to a lost corner of the city, a gritty, rundown underbelly currently being reclaimed by artists and musicians. I’ve probably made a mistake, no doubt drugs are prevalent. Do I really expect him to abstain?
The loft seems little more than a derelict dump. Paint peels from the walls both outside and within, although the main room has been recently painted the color of a bruised plum, purple verging on black. There is a shit-green velvet sofa, obviously left behind because the back upholstery is torn and vomiting white stuffing.
He plops down in its center and I expect it to disintegrate under his weight. “I like bright light, clean lines, ultra chic. I like the best money can buy. Opulence. Luxury. My place in Shanghai had an indoor lap pool, a sauna, a hot tub for twenty.”
With an approving pat on the seat cushion, he stands to inspect the rest of the space, moving to the kitchen area. He turns around and is back in the long, wide living area with its single sofa. He laughs. “My bedroom in Shanghai was bigger than this entire space.”
I try to see the loft as he is seeing it. The kitchen is no more than a cubby corner where a mini-microwave sits on top of an apartment-sized refrigerator. There is a single sink that would have been better suited in a sixties era bathroom, as it is a pastel shade of pink with exposed pipes beneath. Opening a narrow door, which might be a pantry, he finds the toilet.
“It’s sparse,” I admit.
“My enemies will not look for me here,” he tells me. “It’s perfect.”
Relieved, I lead him around the room, pointing out all of the state-of-the-art security measures he overlooked, including a bolt hole and hidden armory. He whistles at the display of weapons. “Now this, dear brother, is what I’m talking about. I could rule a small country with this much artillery.”
“Yeah, well the plan is for you to not have to use it. Daniel is dead.” Reaching into my jacket, I pull out his new documents: driver’s license, passport, social security card, banking information, credit cards. You are now Joshua Lambert.”
He takes the proffered documents.
“You grew up in Seattle, Washington. Your dossier is on this microchip, along with every detail you need to know about yourself.”
This part he knows. We’ve both been so many people in our lifetime that becoming someone new is easy. Sometimes it’s a relief. A do-over. Becoming Thomas was mine, I hope he sees becoming Joshua as much of a blessing.
“Pay very close attention, you do not leave this loft. In a few weeks, assuming all goes well, I’ll loosen the leash a little, but for now, plan on being tightly reined.”
“No problem.”
“Of course, I will stop by every morning on my way home from the club and George will come by every evening on his way to work. I’ll have food deliveries arranged…and
entertainment
if you want.”
His lips twitch and I realize he is trying very hard to not laugh. It seems I have been his entertainment of late. He assures me, “Just food. For now.”
I hug him. “By the way, we’re not brothers.”
He hugs me back. “I’ll be a good boy, Ari. Trust me.”
* * * *
Back at the penthouse, Sophia and Garrett are already in bed sleeping. Without undressing, I lay beside Kitten even though I’m not tired. I am torn by my responsibilities. Helping Nikos get resettled I worry that I have pushed him to do more than he is ready for, but if I hadn’t and anything would have happened to make matters worse for Sophia and the babies, I’d have never forgiven myself.
Sophia kisses my shoulder and I realize I’ve wakened her. She asks, “Everything all right?”
“Everything is perfect now that I’m here. God, I’ve missed you.” The bathroom light was left on to illuminate the room, and seeing her face she looks absolutely exhausted. “Are you okay? Any pain?”
“No pain and I haven’t bled anymore.”
“Good. That’s very good. Try to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
She wraps her arm around me.
“Trying to sleep here,” Garrett says with a sarcastic growl, before rolling away from us. He is snoring softly before his rollover is complete.
She snickers and whispers, “I’m glad you’re here.”
I kiss her gently. “Are you eating enough?”
“Yes. Too much.”
I smile, rubbing her swollen stomach. I know she’s eating more than she was because the babies are growing. I slide down her body, kissing her stomach, whispering to my babies in Greek. I make promises to them I hope I can keep and am rewarded by feeling them move for the first time. She twists her fingers into my hair, saying, “I like when you talk to them.”
I kiss my way back up her body, wrapping around her. “I wish I could make love to you.”
That makes her blush and smile, but the worry she is feeling about our unborn babies doesn’t leave her eyes.
“Everything is going to be fine,” I tell her.
“An ultrasound technician came by while you were gone. The doctor will look at them in the morning but from what the tech said I suffered a fairly mild placental abruption. Master said that can be fairly common with twins in the second half of a pregnancy.”
I am comforted that she is offering me assurances, but suddenly tears well up in her eyes. “I don’t want to have a C-section. I know that Master would have never agreed to the Primal Birth in an outdoor setting, but I was at least hoping for a natural birth. I thought I still had time to talk him into a doula. None of that is going to happen now.”
“Sh-h.” I kiss away her tears. “Let’s get through a few days, talk to the doctor, and find out what your options are going to be.”
I hug her closer, knowing that isn’t what she wanted to hear. It seems a long time before she is sound asleep. I stay beside her, stroking her when she whimpers. I offer her assurances even in her sleep. “Everything is going to be okay.”
Hours later, I am glad when Garrett awakens. We sneak quietly from the room, allowing Kitten to sleep. He dresses, telling me he plans to go to the club tonight but he takes the time to catch up and discuss shared concerns, he drinking coffee, me tea. He says, “Thank you for bringing Doctor Wang to us, he seems capable.”
“He practices both Eastern and Western medicine.”
“Yes, well we’ve had a revolving door since you left. An ultrasound technician, a nurse, an herbalist and acupuncturist.”
Garrett scowls when I chuckle.
“Did the acupuncturist do any harm? Or the herbalist?”
“No,” he answers. “She actually seemed more relaxed after their sessions.”
“Good. You know she’s going to be devastated if she has to have a Caesarian birth. We need to do whatever we can over the next few days to make things easier for her. We need to alleviate her fears, not add to them.”
Garrett stands and pours himself another cup of coffee. He lifts the tea pot asking, “More tea?” to which I decline before he returns to the table. Sitting, he sighs. “Jackie was here, and she brought a woman with her they met at the Primal Birth Center. It was quite
enlightening
. Incense. Candles. Chanting. It was all very New-Age-Hippy-Something.”
I sniff the air. “I thought I smelled patchouli.” Garrett rolls his eyes, and I smack his arm. “Lighten up. It was for Kitten’s benefit, not yours.”
He thinks he’s won the battle. In his mind there is no doubt that she will have a C-section and that it will take place in a modern, sterile hospital. I don’t even want to broker that subject now. I take a sip of lukewarm tea, trying to think of a safe subject.
“Will you be here all night?” he asks.
Something’s up.
“Yes.”
“I need to go into the club, take care of some things. You will be fine here alone with her?”
I fake a chuckle, my suspicion rising. “We will be fine.”
When he is gone, I phone Farris. “Keep an eye on Garrett for me. I want to know who he sees, every person he talks to, and if there is a single particular person he is spending more time with than the others.”
“I don’t have to watch him to tell you the answer to that one. One man. Dean Anderson. He’s a client, real high roller. Pays Garrett for four hour time slots every time he comes in.”
“Huh. How often does he come in?”
“Three times so far this week.”
“Is he scheduled for tonight?”
“I can find out.”
“Do that and I want to know everything there is to know about the man from the day he was born.”
We disconnect. I’m not happy. The thought Garrett is involved with someone, not just work related is almost unbelievable because Garrett isn’t that guy. He isn’t a player. He loves and he loves hard. I just hope he comes to his senses as I did when faced with the opportunity for Eva to return to my life. It was tempting. She was my first love, and until I stood face to face with her in Lewd Larry’s I’d believed I’d never loved a woman so deeply…but then I realized I loved Sophia and Garrett
more
. I chose the ménage because I considered what Sophia and Garrett mean to me and I realized
they are my family
.
And now Sophia carries my twins.
My chest swells with emotion as I watch her sleep. It will be many hours before she wakes and as I lie beside her, feeling the small babies move within her, I am filled with inconsolable grief for my other children.
“To let the brain work without sufficient material is like racing an engine. It racks itself to pieces.”
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,
The Adventures of the Devil’s Foot
Garrett
Driving to the club, two things are equally apparent: my dick is rock hard and my hands are sweating. I called Dean before I even pulled out of the parking garage, asking him to meet me at The Attic. I should not have a client on speed dial. It’s my rule, no fraternizing with clients. By twisting facts, I allow myself to believe that I am not fraternizing—we have not had sex—still, I’m walking a very fine line. A very fine line indeed. That isn’t why my palms are sweating.
I’m wracked with guilt.
Did I really just leave Kitten’s bedside to meet a man I barely know? What is wrong with me? She could have lost the babies. She might still.
She needs me and yet I feel so powerless around her, especially with Thomas there. But I won’t blame Thomas. I am the one at fault here. I admit that I am a horny mother-fucker who is thinking with his dick more than his brain of late.
I should be with her.
I’m literally shaking when I arrive at the nightclub. Want and need feeding off guilt and loathing. It’s a heady combination. I’ve sat in on lectures Doctor Psycho gives for our staff of Dominants, alerting them to red flags when dealing with clients, most of which are married and going behind their partner’s back to have a BDSM experience. There is a certain level of sexual excitement generated by the mere act of sneaking around and the threat of getting caught. We are warned to avoid inappropriate contact between sessions. Innocent ‘bumping into’ the Dominant who led their session on numerous occasions in other areas of Lewd Larry’s might be an indicator of obsession, a stalking mentality, or it might be as innocent as an infatuation. Any instance would need an immediate intervention by staff, usually George but sometimes Morgana or Lord Fyre. I rarely get involved in such issues.
My calling Dean more than crossed the line…
George would ask me if my reasons for wanting to top Dean more and more often stemmed from a fear of commitment, seeing that our ménage is being forced to evolve. We have been lovers, partners, but now, with the addition of babies, we are being forced into the role of family and our threesome definitely challenges the guidelines of what is considered normal—and I could argue that I’ve never worried about being seen as deviant, who cares, it’s just a word—except in this instance it might mean we were unfit to keep our children. Is that why I’m running, because I fear a hypothetical fight with bureaucracy that might or might never happen?