Fifteen Shades of Gay (For Pay) (23 page)

And no particular curiosity.

Marc let Paresh loop the leather strap around his throat. When it was in place, Sven said, “Now, Marc. You’re quite a specimen. Which one of your companions should get down on his knees and show his appreciation?”

Marc pretended to consider, but no one was surprised when he nodded at Caleb. Except perhaps Caleb himself, whose face split in an unfeigned grin. Before Sven could issue further directions, Caleb was on his knees before the body builder. Pulling down Marc’s Speedo, which had served the function of concealing absolutely nothing, Caleb opened his mouth and got to work. The sight, clearly erotic for Paresh, stiffened most of the men in the room. But Sven was unaffected; between his jeans and his open-legged stance, one could determine his arousal at a glance. And Andrew, far more discomfited than provoked, only pretended to watch, his gaze focused on the beige carpet at Marc’s feet. Minutes passed. When Marc started to groan, Sven snapped his fingers.

“Now.”

Andrew made himself watch. Caleb hugged Marc’s tree trunk thighs; Marc held onto the boy by a handful of curls, forcing Caleb’s mouth to work faster. As Paresh pulled the ligature tight, Caleb stiffened, close to orgasm but still audibly breathing. Gritting his teeth, Paresh upped the ante, squeezing until the leather cord almost disappeared into Marc’s massive neck. The big man jerked twice, eyes wide, veins bulging. Then the room went utterly silent except for the sound of Caleb, slurping and snuffling as he managed to swallow every last drop.

Paresh released the ligature. Chest rising and falling like a bellows, Marc staggered, falling to his knees. There he continue to pant as Caleb, momentarily forgotten, wiped his mouth and waited for praise.

“Well?” Sven sat up straighter. Though still not visibly aroused, his gaze had turned avid. “Tell us. How was it, Marc?”

“Fucking… fucking amazing,” Marc gasped. As Paresh and most of the others cheered, Caleb leapt to his feet.

“My turn!”

Sven studied the boy. “I’d hate to leave marks on that perfect white neck of yours. Let’s demonstrate something else. Know what Kinging is?”

Caleb nodded, all huge eyes and eager smile. Andrew suspected Caleb would have claimed to know what antidisestablishmentarianism was, if such worldliness would have guaranteed him Sven’s seal of approval.

“I think Kinging works best with soft junk,” Sven continued. “Caleb, you’ll lie on your back. Marc will sit on your face as he beats you off. If he works the pressure just right, you’ll start to fade just before you go nova.”

Slipping out of his swim trunks, Caleb broke open a second popper and inhaled deeply. “I love these things.”

And I’m done
. The finality of Andrew’s decision came to him all at once.
I don’t care if I get blackballed forever. I’m out.

He was almost to the foyer when Paresh tore his eyes off the action—Marc’s thighs bearing most of the load as he settled himself over Caleb’s blissful face. “Andrew. What are you doing?”

“If he wants to leave, let him go. It’s not a problem.” Sven’s voice was cold.

“Andrew, do you need a break?”

Ignoring Paresh, Andrew headed for the guest room where the escorts had changed from street clothes to swim wear. He had just located his jeans when Paresh entered.

“You don’t have to storm out. Just go to Sven and tell him you need some air. He’s very accepting, really, as long as he’s treated with respect.”

“I’m not being disrespectful. I’m opting out.” Swapping swim trunks for boxers, Andrew stepped into his jeans. “This assignment doesn’t work for me. Period.”

“Think, Andrew. Please,” Paresh said. “If Sven takes offense, I won’t be able to help you. I can’t disobey him.”

“I don’t expect you to.” Zipping up the jeans, Andrew donned his sweater, pulling it over his head. When he could see again, he wasn’t surprised to find Sven standing behind Paresh, towering over the smaller man. A stealthy approach in those gold-tooled cowboy boots was probably impossible.

“I’m glad to hear you aren’t tempting Paresh into disobedience.” Large hands closing over Paresh’s shoulders, Sven bent to kiss Paresh’s ear. “I can’t imagine what agonies of conscience you’d suffer, knowing you left Paresh due for a correction. Is that what this dramatic exit is about, Andrew? Your conscience?”

For a split second, Andrew was tempted to answer honestly. But why? Whatever Sven was about, Andrew doubted it had much to do with honesty. Instead, Andrew met Paresh’s eyes.

“Look out for Caleb. He doesn’t have the sense God gave a goat. And he’s only s—”

“Shit!” a man cried from the living room. That hoarse voice could only be Marc’s. “Caleb! Caleb!”

“Seventeen,” Andrew finished. In almost any other circumstance, the dawning fear on Sven’s face would have been priceless. Now the sight only tipped Andrew’s rising fury over the edge.

“Don’t just stand there! Get out of the way!” Leading with his shoulder, Andrew bulled his way through Paresh and Sven, hardly feeling the impact or Paresh’s cry of pain. Fully dressed except for his bare feet, Andrew burst into the living room to see Caleb, limp on his back with his eyes closed. Only Marc dared touch him. The other escorts hung back, frozen.

“Caleb!” Screaming the boy’s name, Marc shook him like a rag doll.

“Oh, fuck no,” Julio moaned.

“Marc! Stop shaking him! You—” Andrew pointed at Julio. “Find the lights! Somebody else, get a phone. Call 911!”

Federico darted around the sofa, narrowly evading Andrew in his haste to reach the guest room. Andrew hoped Federico was going for his mobile, not his street clothes and a disappearing act. But that concern had barely formed before a wave of abject panic swept it away. Caleb’s lips were bluish; his narrow chest was still.

Kneeling beside the boy, Andrew fought to string together one or two ideas. CPR. CPR was what the situation called for. CPR. Something Andrew had learned in high school, then taken a refresher on at Sloan-Kettering not three months ago. CPR was what he’d learned. CPR stood for cardiopulmonary resuscitation. Beyond those two words, dangling before Andrew’s eyes as if some cruel god had captioned Caleb for added pathos, Andrew had no idea what the steps to CPR were. Much less how he’d ever managed to get certified.

Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap…
.

The swimming pool’s blue glow made Caleb look dead already. And maybe he was. If only a lifeguard sat in that tall seat, a trained professional who knew how to use that CPR kit.

The kit!

Andrew squinted at the red box he’d noticed while tending bar. He’d assumed it said CPR, but now he saw it was marked with three different letters. AED.

“That red box!” Andrew cried, pointing at the kit as Julio finally brought the room lights up. “Somebody get it for me! Now!”

J.J. was outside and back too quickly for Andrew to doubt himself. Opening the kit, J.J. gaped at the buttons, electrode pads and warning labels. “You know how to use this?”

“Nope. But I’m pretty sure it’ll tell me.” Andrew hit the big red button. Instantly a female voice addressed him.

“Tear open package and remove pads.”

Andrew grabbed the foil packet marked “child” first. Tossing it aside, he located “adult” and ripped it open.

“Select one pad. Remove plastic liner.”

Fingers shaking, Andrew managed to comply.

“Place pad on bare upper chest….”

Unsure how he comprehended the voice—she was, after all, competing with that endless litany of
oh crap, oh crap
—Andrew somehow got both sticky electrode pads in place.

“Analyzing patient,” the female voice said. “Do not touch patient.”

“You heard the woman,” J.J. warned Marc, giving the big man a push. “Get back!”

“Shock will be delivered. Stand clear,” the voice said. “Shock will be delivered in three. Two. One.”

Andrew not only heard the sizzle of electricity, he smelled it, a combination of ozone and singed flesh. When Caleb jerked, Andrew jerked too, swallowing hard to keep his own heart in place.

“It is now safe to touch the patient,” the female voice intoned. “Deliver thirty compressions and two rescue breaths….”

Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap….

“Move it.” Pushing past J.J., Federico dropped down next to Caleb, his mobile phone flush with his ear. “Gonna do CPR. Hang on.” Handing off the phone, Federico began chest compressions, counting aloud. When he reached thirty, he tilted Caleb’s head back, opened his airway, pinched his nostrils shut and breathed into his mouth. After the second breath, Caleb made a choked noise and started to splutter.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, thank you. Thank you.” Sighing, Julio slid his arms around Marc. Red-faced and sagging with relief, the big man could do nothing but cry.

“Let’s get him on his side,” Federico told Andrew. Together, they curled Caleb into the fetal position, covering him with a duvet J.J. had ripped from one of Paresh’s guest beds. Away in the distance, sirens could already be heard. And in this rarified neighborhood, there was a good chance the ambulance was for Caleb.

“Son of a bitch.” Andrew stared at Federico. “You were amazing.”

“Well, I kind of went blank at first. Couldn’t do anything. Then I saw you with the defibrillator and it all came back.” Federico gave Andrew a crooked smile. “Thought I was just another pretty face, huh? I put myself halfway through nursing school before the economy blew up. Then I ended up doing this for a living.”

Somehow the words “for a living” made Andrew cognizant of his surroundings again. Turning, he saw Paresh standing only a few feet away. The man was so transparently stricken, Andrew’s leftover anger boiled away, leaving nothing but practicality behind.

“We need to clean up this room,” Andrew said. “Anyone who’s not dressed, get your clothes on. Someone take the poppers outside and chuck ‘em under a bush.”

“What do we tell the cops?” J.J. asked.

“The truth. We were partying and Caleb passed out.” Andrew touched the boy’s shoulder lightly. He was so glad to see Caleb breathing, he could’ve stood up to a police interrogation with a smile on his face. “It happens. Consenting adults and all that. As long as Caleb’s ID passes the sniff test, none of us should get arrested.”

Rising, Andrew made his way to Paresh. “Please tell me Sven won’t go all alpha on the cops. Try throwing his weight around and land us all in jail?”

Paresh shook his head, trying to surreptitiously blink back tears.

“Where is he? Did he go out to meet the ambulance?” The sirens, louder now, were definitely for Caleb.

“No. He left. The moment he heard Caleb was a minor. Supplying booze and sex… it’s a felony.”

So much for defending you unto death
, Andrew thought, and came within a hairsbreadth of saying it aloud. But somehow, delivering the perfect
coup de grace
through another man’s heart seemed ungrateful to whatever force had chosen to spare Caleb—God, the universe, or simple good luck. So instead Andrew slung an arm around Paresh, steering him toward the foyer.

“Go outside and flag down the ambulance. Cry over Sven later. Do your part for Caleb now.”

Lifting his chin, Paresh wiped his eyes, took a deep breath, and headed for the front door.

Chapter 14

If the male escort industry ever passed out awards for maintaining professional calm under less-than-ideal circumstances, Andrew expected a nomination. As he'd hoped, Caleb’s fake ID—as pristine as the boy had bragged during that “erotic housekeeping” assignment—was questioned by absolutely no one. Of course, Caleb had no health insurance, but Paresh took care of that, intercepting the hospital’s “financial readiness advisor” before she could launch a bedside investigation.

“Sir, are you telling me this patient is covered under your family’s insurance policy?”

“I carry no health insurance policies,” Paresh said.

“Then before treatment continues, I need to work with the patient to determine how he will—”

“I always pay cash. However, running this number may assist you with the credit check.” Paresh handed over his Platinum American Express card.

“I’ve—” The advisor closed her mouth with an audible snap, but not before Andrew guessed the rest of the sentence.
Never seen one of these before.
Then she made a call to the billing department and received a swift reply. After that, payment was never mentioned again.

Sometime around eleven o’clock, Caleb was declared stable and allowed to go home. Throughout the ordeal, the physicians barely spoke to the boy. When they conferred, it was mostly in whispers, casting an occasional glance in the direction of Andrew, Paresh and Marc, all of whom had stayed with Caleb in his blue-curtained exam room. The RN, however, got in a few choice words as the boy awaited discharge.

“Playing the choking game is bad enough.
Don’t
mix it with blow or poppers. Ever. You know what’s worse than dying at your age?”

Caleb, white-faced, shook his head.

“Surviving. Surviving with
irreversible brain damage
.” Hands on her massive hips, the nurse stared into Caleb’s eyes until she was sure her words had taken root. “It’s one thing to snuff it. Boom. You’re gone. It’s another to wake up with an arm and leg that doesn’t work, slurring your words and peeing into Depends!”