Authors: Bailey Bradford
“Drake, there’s other testing methods that might be a good idea to schedule.” Ian wasn’t going to act like the HIV threat didn’t exist. It did, and if Drake had it, they would have to deal with it together. If he didn’t, then Ian wanted him to know that, too. He wanted Drake to have some peace. “I’ll go with you, if you’ll let me. Get tested, too. I should anyway. I’d like to talk to Rigo, too—”
“What?” Drake whipped his head around so fast it made Ian a little dizzy. “Why? Do you mean talk, or, like, beat the heck out of?”
As much as Ian would love doing the latter, he couldn’t, or more appropriately, he wouldn’t. “I mean talk.” He wanted to see if Rigo was lying. Granted, he might not be able to tell. If Ian had any hacking skills, he’d try to find Rigo’s medical records. Of course, he’d need Rigo’s name and some other information first, not that it mattered. He wasn’t a hacker.
“You think he’s lying?”
Ian didn’t answer for a moment as he considered his own thoughts. “I don’t want to say that. I might just be hopeful that he is, but, Drake, even if you are positive, I’m not going anywhere. I want you. I…” Oh shit, the words were clogging in his throat again like they hadn’t in a while.
“It’s okay, Ian, it’s okay,” Drake murmured, caressing Ian’s chest. “Whatever it is, it’s okay.”
Ian shook his head and forced the words out. “I care about you—a lot, Drake. More than I ever thought I’d care for anyone. It scares me, but not bad enough to send me running. I just want to be with you.”
Drake blinked rapidly, then he was practically climbing up Ian as he kissed Ian’s neck and face. “Me too,” Drake rasped. “Me too.”
Ian couldn’t remember ever being as happy as he was at that moment.
Chapter Eleven
The day after their walk around the ranch, Drake made the call to schedule an appointment at the clinic in Bozeman Ian had suggested. He was glad they’d be able to see him and Ian both the following day. Ian agreed to take a sick day so he could go. Anything, he said, for Drake.
Drake was falling in love with the man. Not the same kind of love he’d thought he’d been in before, where he’d tried desperately to turn himself into whatever dream man his ex had wanted him to be. There’d never been any pleasing them. Drake suspected he’d sought out men who’d treat him like shit since he’d felt unlovable—unworthy of loving touches, of tenderness.
Not now. Now he was addicted to the way Ian touched him, looked at him, spoke to him. Hurt him.
Geez.
Drake had never known how much he’d like pain with his sex. Last night, Ian had used a smaller leather paddle on Drake’s balls. Drake’s head had almost shot right off his neck when he’d come despite the cock ring he’d been wearing. His balls were a little sore, but every time they twinged, his cock got hard.
Ian’s cell went off and he answered it while they were sitting on the corral rail, watching Rocky gentle another new mare. The buckskin had tried her best to stomp Rocky into the ground. Rocky hadn’t been willing to let that happen.
Drake hadn’t heard Ian’s phone ring, so he was assuming it had been on vibrate. Smart, considering any sudden or loud sounds might freak the horse out. Drake couldn’t help but hear Ian’s end of the conversation, and since Ian kept looking at him and smiling, Drake assumed that was okay. Ian ended the call then hopped down. “Come on. We need to let Troy know that Fred Senior won’t be going to trial. He’s entered a guilty plea for assault rather than possibly face an attempted murder charge.”
“That’s crap,” Drake grumbled as he got down.
Ian shrugged and tucked his phone away. “Not really. I doubt the attempted murder charges would have stuck anyway. There’s no way to prove Fred intended to kill his son, just that he did beat him.”
“It still sucks.” Drake took Ian’s hand and they walked to the house. Troy was out front, working on installing a porch swing.
Ian told Troy what he’d found out, then added more. “It seems like Fred Junior has been moved to a private facility. His uncle is saying he only wants what’s best for his nephew. Maybe so, or maybe he’s trying to put an end to the scandal.”
Troy wiped sweat off his brow and tapped the screwdriver against his palm. “Maybe. Anthony—Fred Junior, I mean—might have ’fessed up to his uncle about graffiti-ing up this place.”
Ian almost looked surprised at that. “It was the kid?”
“Yup. Said it was his way of getting past the anger at first, then it was because he wanted Will’s attention. Turns out he spied on Will once or twice—hell, who knows how often?” Troy picked up his tea and took a drink of it. He swallowed and wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, then set his glass down. “Carlos and Will are pretty pissed at the kid, but I get it. Will’s something special to me and Carlos, and hell, I’ve been angry plenty of times but—” Troy snapped his wide-eyed gaze to Drake. “I mean—”
“I know what you mean,” Ian said before Drake could think of how to smooth over Troy’s fumbled admission to being in a ménage. Ian held one hand up. “It’s not my business, and I won’t go gossiping or anything like that. Y’all aren’t hurting anyone, and honestly”—Ian paused to chuckle—“man, I think Will needs two men to keep him in line.”
Troy snorted and rolled his eyes. “Nobody keeps that man in line. He’d have our nuts if we tried.” Troy stood up. “You’re all right, Ian. I wasn’t sure at first. You seemed kind of cold, I guess, but Carlos can be that way. Guess it’s a Dom thing. Whatever, you’ve been good to Drake.”
“He’s been better to me,” Ian said. “I’m trying to convince him to let me talk to Rigo. I just need the jerk’s name, but he seems to think I’ll hurt Rigo.”
“I’m standing right here,” Drake groused. “I just don’t see what good talking to Rigo will do.”
“Because sometimes seeing a cop standing in front of them will get people to tell the truth,” Ian explained. “Maybe he’s lying. If he’s always treated you like you’re his property, he might be making shit up to get you to come back.”
“That is incredibly fucked up, but I see his point, Drake.” Troy rubbed his chin and his eyes got a distant look to them. “It’s possible. I wouldn’t put all my faith in him lying, but what if he is?” Troy’s expression shifted like he’d just had a genius idea. “Shit! Shit! Drake, give me that fucker’s name. I got someone who can do a little poking around off the record, and from a distance, so Ian here won’t have to do it.”
“He doesn’t
have
to do it now.” Drake was feeling stubborn, that fear of hoping making him bitchy, though he was trying to press it down. “We’ve got tests scheduled tomorrow. Ridiculously expensive tests, but screw it, I’m worth it and so is Ian. What good is poking around about Rigo going to do?”
“It’d give you peace of mind if you knew without a doubt he was lying,” Troy pointed out, “But you know what? I understand you might have some morals that I don’t.” Then Troy tipped his hat and walked into the house.
Drake turned to Ian. “Was the implication that his morals were lacking in the snooping department?” He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
“Sounded like it. I can ask him not to.” Ian started for the door. His phone buzzed, and this time Drake heard it. “Shit.” Ian took it out and answered it. “Hey, Frank, what’s—” Ian’s complexion paled and he pressed his lips into a thin line as he listened. “I’ll be there in twenty. Thanks, man. God damn it!” Ian slapped the porch railing so hard it shook.
“What?” Drake asked, needing to soothe his lover. “Ian, what’s wrong?”
Ian shuddered, and for a moment Drake thought he might be crying, but it was anger verging on rage that showed in his pale eyes when he looked at Drake. “Someone tried to burn my fucking place down.”
* * * *
This wasn’t the way Ian had intended for Drake to see where he lived. Ian had wanted to bring Drake over eventually, but with Drake’s work schedule, it had just been easier for Ian to go to the ranch.
The fire trucks were still there, spraying water over Ian’s place and the other half of the duplex, which was similarly fucked up. Neither one of them would be habitable again.
Ian parked his truck and got out. Drake joined him and they began to approach only to have Frank lope over to join them. “Hey, Ian, and…” Frank arched an eyebrow expectantly.
Ian wanted to shove past Frank, but he knew he wouldn’t be allowed much closer to his place right now. He took Drake’s hand—screw whoever might not like it, Ian needed the comfort, and Drake would pull his hand free if he wasn’t cool with it. “Frank, this is my boyfriend, Drake. Drake, my partner Frank.”
Frank looked surprised for a moment then he said, “Well, I can see how introductions could get a bit confusing. Once you can get married, people won’t think you’ve got a guy on the side.”
At that moment, Ian truly liked his partner as a human being. He’d never really given Frank much thought outside of work, but the man’s calm acceptance and support made Ian want to hang out with him sometime.
“Thanks, Frank.”
Frank scoffed, “Nah. You wouldn’t have to thank me for being okay with you introducing a girlfriend.”
“If only the rest of the world thought like you do,” Drake said, holding out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, though I wish it were under different circumstances.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” Frank shook Drake’s hand then let it go. He turned three-quarters of the way around and looked at the duplex. Smoke was still coming up in tufts, and embers could be seen in the rubble. “The neighbours were out of town. Stan got a hold of them and they’re trying to catch a flight back from some town in Arkansas. Did you have insurance?”
“Yeah, but the papers on it were in my desk, which…” Ian didn’t have to say anything else. “At least I know who it’s with. Same as my truck.”
“Good.” Frank cleared his throat and turned back to him. “When the call went out, I heard it since I’m on the volunteer list. There was nothing going on at work, I was just doing more paperwork. Anyway, I got here right after the fire trucks. It was just a huge fireball, Ian. I don’t think it was an accident, either, so do you know of anyone who’d be out to get you? Or have you seen anything suspicious going on at your neighbour’s?”
Ian shook his head. “Not anything with the neighbours. As for anyone hating me, Frank, who knows? We’ve arrested people that threatened us both, right? Then there’s my brother—”
“And Fred Anthony Bell Junior,” Drake added.
Ian looked at him. “Why would you think that?”
“Yeah, what makes you think Junior’s a pyro?” Frank asked.
Drake nibbled his lip then let it go. “Well, I guess Troy hasn’t mentioned that Junior, as you call him, admitted to being responsible for all of the graffiti at the ranch. He also said he’d spied on Will out there.”
Frank hummed encouragingly and Drake went on talking.
“Doesn’t… Isn’t there some theory about crimes escalating, or the criminal’s activities escalating?”
“There is, and it’s true in a lot of cases. Very few criminals just commit one crime then walk away. I’m not talking about petty shit, but even then, a lot of people are repeat offenders. Graffiti in itself isn’t dangerous, but if he was pulling the whole peeping Tom routine, too, then that can be a precursor to much worse things to come.” Frank took out a pen and notepad and started writing.
“Frank, you told me the kid had been moved to a private facility,” Ian pointed out. The wind shifted and the smell of smoke was almost overpowering. Drake began coughing and Ian steered him back to the other side of the truck. Frank followed, waiting until they stopped walking to answer.
“I did say that, but Uncle Moneybags wasn’t willing to divulge the name of the facility, and anyway, I gotta wonder why the kid would be there. He wasn’t crippled or near death’s door. Makes me think it might be a psychiatric facility.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s crazy or dangerous,” Drake interjected.
Ian gawped at him. “Weren’t you just trying to pin this on him?”
Drake gave him an exasperated look. “No, I was just tossing out the name of a possible suspect. I hate that when people hear of someone being mentally ill, they automatically want to point the finger at them.”
“That’s not the case,” Ian began, but he shut up when Drake glared at him.
“Right. How many times do you hear it on the news, or when a violent crime is committed? Everyone speculates on the criminal’s mental health. Sometimes, a lot of times it seems to me, people are just freaking evil and mean. Every time we slap ‘crazy’ on with that, it adds to the prejudice against people who really are mentally ill.” Drake stopped and took a breath. Then he blushed and hung his head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all self-righteous. I just—my mom and grandma had mental health issues. Mom still does. They weren’t crazy, or dangerous.”
Considering the way they’d treated Drake, Ian wanted to disagree, but he understood what Drake was getting at. “It still bears checking into, honey.”
Drake looked up so fast his neck popped, his eyes searching Ian’s. Then Drake smiled slowly, and Ian’s worry over his loss, and who’d caused it, melted beneath the affection he felt for Drake.
“Aw, you two are so cute you’re making me nauseated.” Frank smacked Ian on the back. “My Darcy looks at me like Drake looks at you. You’re sunk, aren’t you, Ian?”
“Yeah, yeah, I am,” he agreed, still staring into Drake’s eyes. “It’s good.”
“That it is, son.” Frank nudged him. “Might want to cut it out before old Joe gets much closer. He’s kind of a bigoted asshole.”
“How can anyone be ‘kind of’ a bigoted asshole?” Drake asked before Ian could.
Frank shrugged. “Because he knows it isn’t politically correct so he does it behind people’s backs. If you aren’t white, straight and male, you’re shit.”
“Lovely.” Drake stood up straighter, as if he were trying to look more masculine. Ian wanted to hug him. Drake was all man no matter what anyone else thought.
“Frank, Ian.” Joe stopped and Ian gestured to Drake.
“This is Drake Cuttington, the cook at the Mossy Glenn.”
Joe’s pinched expression would have been laughable but Ian knew he had a new enemy, even if Joe would only ever be trying to stab him in the back. Those attacks were the hardest to see coming.