***
He hadn't had so much fun in
years
.
Simon had chased the little smartass all over town, staying close enough to irritate, to infuriate, and the madder the kid got, the more fun he had.
He'd been on his way to Alaska when Rick had called, said that Jonas needed them and they had to go. Lousy prick, calling him, letting him hope for a second that...
Eh. Whole thing was dead now.
He lit another cigarette, stood at the bar watching Primary Dipshit Number One drink, sipping at a Coke. Still, if it stayed like this? He wouldn't be bored.
The kid moved through the dancers to the other side of the bar, rubbing up against a big guy in leather. Money and a
small packet changed hands, leather dude's hands coping a feel or twenty.
He called Rick, watching. "Hey. Drugs?"
"Bring it back, we'll test it. Old man doesn't want arrests either. You at a bar?"
"Yep. Rosa's on 27th."
Don't, Rick. Fucking don't ask.
He hadn't touched booze in over three years, and he wasn't going to start today.
To his surprise, Rick didn't. "You need someone to pick up a car?"
"Not yet. He's still okay."
He walked across the dance floor, following Ken and leather boy toward the bathroom, slipped the packet from Ken's pocket. "When I know it's not poison? You can have it back."
"What the fuck? That's mine!" Ken tried to get the packet back from him.
"Yep. And once it's checked, you can have it back. Think waiting period." He met leather boy's eyes. "Good evening, I'm O'Neal, Mister Templeton's security."
"I want the fucking stuff
now
, O'Neal." Ken glared for a moment and then turned to leather boy. "I've got loads of cash and I'll give you a blow. In the men's room where we can have some privacy."
He met leather boy's eyes. "And I have ten years on the LAPD and contacts out my ass. Capiche?"
Leather boy held up his hands. "Sorry, Kenny, leave your lapdog at home next time."
Oh, that pissed the kid off. Big time. Ken glared at him and pushed past him, heading hard for the door. He chuckled and followed, his car parked close with the handicapped sticker while the adorable had to wait. Ken drove off with a squeal when his car finally showed, pulling up at another bar a few blocks away.
The kid started drinking heavily.
He buzzed Rick again. "Send someone for the kid's car. I'll get him home or in a cab, but he's not driving."
"Vin's on his way. You need a break?"
"No. I'm good. Who's watching the other one?" "Mike's here. I'm about to go find food." "Cool." He hung up without another word.
He watched Ken drink some more, watched him rub up against several guys in what was no doubt supposed to be dancing. Then one of the guys he was 'dancing' with dragged Ken off the floor and toward the back.
Simon unsnapped his holster and followed, quick as a bunny and nowhere near as fluffy. Ken was laughing, drunk off his ass as this guy pushed him up against the wall
in an alcove beyond the bathrooms, hands tugging down Ken's jeans.
The strobe lights from the dance floor made the shadows dance and the bass from the music was making the floor vibrate. He moved close enough to see if the guy had a weapon, to see if Ken changed his mind. What the guy didn't have was a condom or any lube, two fingers going ungently into Ken.
"Hey! Ease up, asshole." The words were slurred, but clear enough. "And cover your fucking prick or get lost."
"Bit far along for that, isn't it?"
He stepped forward, watching. No one hurt his primary.
"Come on, baby, you're going to love what my prick does to you."
"No barebacking!"
"Who's gonna stop me, baby?"
"That would be me, jackass." He gave the bastard a grin, let him see the pistol.
Ken glared at him. "I can take care of myself, O'Neil, go away."
The asshole with his primary wasn't so cavalier though, he backed off, doing up his jeans. "Hey, I don't want any trouble."
"I appreciate that in a man. Thank you."
"Damn it, O'Neil! What the fuck is your problem?" Ken was drawing his pants up, working them closed with clumsy fingers.
"You have the problem, son. You chose to make this hard."
"Speaking of hard, if you're going to chase off anyone who's going to fuck me, you'd better be ready to do it yourself. Come on, O'Neil, drop your trousers and show me what you've got."
He snorted. "You're fine, kid, but I'm working and, while I might -- and I mean
might
-- fuck you in a safe place? This isn't happening."
"Thanks for nothing, asshole." Ken pushed past him, going to the bar for another shot of something and then storming out.
"Where the fuck is my car?"
He shrugged. "I was with you, bright eyes."
The kid could bitch tomorrow -- when Rick was on duty. Of course in the meantime, he was going to have to listen to Ken ream out the valet, the valet's boss and the club's manager. And then the kid started talking about calling the police.
"You want to wait 'til we get you home so you don't go to jail for drunk and disorderly?"
Ken's eyes narrowed. "Someone stole my car. I think I'll call from the scene of the crime."
"You sure it's stolen, kid?"
Come on, pretty boy, test me. I'm getting fucking bored.
"I left it with the fucking valet and now it's not here." Ken waved the ticket under his nose. "What do you think happened to it?"
"Aliens? Mafia? Maybe it was scared of being crashed by a little drunk."
"Fuck you!" Ken pulled out his cell phone and started pressing buttons.
"We've already had that conversation, Ken." He called Vin. "Kid's calling home. Pissed. Drunk."
"I got the car parked, Boss. We're gold. Fucking
fine
ride." "Cool. Primary Two okay?"
"Pouting. Mike's bored already."
"Poor baby." He watched the kid try to work the phone. "Bay? Pick the fuck up."
Ken looked at the phone and shook it and hit another button and put it back at his ear. "Bay? Finally! Someone stole my car and the asshole Brick shithouse sent after me doesn't give a shit... What do you mean you don't give a shit either? Don’t you fucking hang up on me! Bay! Basil!"
"Come on, Ken. I'll give you a ride home and you can scream at him there." Mike was bored after all.
"What about my fucking car?"
"We'll deal with your fucking car at the fucking house." "This is the scene of the crime. I'll deal with it here!"
"Your car is in the driveway of your house, you drunk little shit." He was getting irritated and he really needed a burger.
"You asshole! You fucker! You knew all along!" Ken shouted in his face, started pushing at him.
He sighed and reached up, pressing on Ken's carotid artery until the kid passed out. He really hated screaming.
He hauled Ken up, nodded to the valet. "Have a good evening, boys."
He got Ken in the backseat and headed for the closest Burger King before he took the little shit home.
Chapter Three Ken groaned as he woke.
Oh, fuck, he hurt.
He was dying, he hurt so much.
Even blinking hurt, his eyes opening on moonlight coming in through the window.
He was in bed. Naked.
Hurting. Alone.
Where the fuck was Bay? And why hadn't his twin made sure he had something so he didn't wake up in pain like this?
He vaguely remembered going out on his own and that fucker taking his drugs, ruining his two shots at getting fucked, and something about his car.
"Bay?" Oh, fuck, his own voice was loud. He winced over at the clock. 3:37 a.m.
Where the hell was Bay? "Bay!"
He managed to sit up, swaying a little until the bed stopped spinning so hard. Standing was even worse and he stumbled toward the door that connected his room to Bay's.
It was locked.
"Bay!" He banged on the door. Why the hell was his door to Bay's room locked? "Bay!"
The door to his room opened, that evil fucking red-head looking in. "You okay?"
"Screw you. What the hell have you done to my brother?"
He banged on the door a few more times, starting to shout, no matter how much it hurt. "Bay! Bay!"
"Last I checked, he was asleep."
His eyes narrowed. "Why'd you lock his door? And why isn't he waking up? Bay! Bay! Bay!"
"His door was locked when we got home." Red head rolled his eyes, turned his head, spoke to someone out there. "Primary two is okay?"
"Yeah, Boss. Pacing. Fine."
"Cool. Night, kid." Then his door was shut. How
dare
they? How dare they ignore him?
He went to the door, half expecting it to be locked, but it flew open. "Where's my stuff?" That would help his head at
least and then he could go tear Bay's damned door down. His twin
never
shut him out. Never.
Two sets of eyes looked over -- the red-head and a huge ass biker looking thing. "Your stuff?"
"You stole my property. Twice," he added as he remembered the missing Porsche. "But I'm talking about the bag of goodies you stole at Rose's."
Red looked over at the biker. "Vin run that shit yet?"
The biker nodded. "Cut with arsenic, man. Not cool. It's gone."
"Fucking shit! Get me something for my fucking head."
A green bottle was held up, O'Neal -- that was the fucking red head’s name -- smiling. "Excedrin?"
Ken grabbed it, tearing the cap off and trying to remember what all Bay usually did to help. Water. "I need fucking water, too."
"He's a demanding little shit, Simon."
"Yeah, I noticed." O'Neal handed him a bottle of water.
"If you hadn't messed with my shit, I wouldn't be here, demanding. Assholes." He took the bottles of pills and water and slammed the door behind him, wincing and whimpering as the sound fucking hurt.
The sound of laughter emanated from the outer room.
Fucking assholes. He'd show them. When his fucking head didn't hurt so fucking much.
He downed a half dozen pills and drank all the water before trying Bay's door again, but thumping and calling out got him nothing.
He made his way back to bed and curled up with a moan.
He amused himself with plans of kidnapping and torturing the old man until he finally drifted back off to sleep.
***
Rick was up, sitting with Vin and Bob, eating some fruit and planning their day while Simon and Mike slept. "Primary One's going to be a bear today, you two stick to him like glue. I'll be with Primary Two."
"Mike says the kid had a meltdown last night. We're hoping he sleeps." Bob winked, chuckled.
"Shit. The other one paced all night." Vin shook his head. "I'm going to do a quick run of the perimeter, check their windows again."
"Good idea. I'll page you if the sleeping beauties find a prince." He speared a piece of melon, grinned at Bob. "How's the baby?"
"Crawling, three teeth. Looks like her momma."
"Thank God." Rick smiled at the big guy, the tease comfortable, familiar.
The alarms went nuts, Primary One's bedroom window. He drew his weapon, Bob already calling Vin as he burst in the room.