Love Most Inconvenient 3

Love Most Inconvenient

DJ Manly

Published 2010

ISBN 978-1-59578-733-0

Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509

Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2010, DJ Manly. All rights
reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise,
without the prior written permission of the author.

Manufactured in the United States of America

Liquid Silver Books

http://LSbooks.com

Email:

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Editor

Lynne Anderson

Cover Artist

April Martinez

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of

the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual
events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Blurb

Brody is happy to take a break from his city clinic to tend to the rehabilitation of a

soccer player until he meets the man, a spoiled, stubborn superstar with attitude.

Noah, a magazine publisher, is on a mission to drag all celebrities out of the closet,

until he meets Ace, the hot drummer of a top rock band, who decides enough is enough.

Yan, a vulnerable young man doing time for his older brother, finds himself in

danger. In desperation, he attempts to solicit the protection of the only person tough
enough to keep him alive: an ex-gang leader who expects to be paid for his services.

Love Most Inconvenient is the third installment of D.J. Manly’s anthology series

from Liquid Silver Books.

Dedication

To my readers.

Story One

Man On

Chapter One

“He’s bitter,” the coach told him. “You’ll be earning your money with Vic.”
Brody Montgomery considered that for a moment. “I’ve dealt with athletes before.

It’s disheartening to lose an entire season.”

“Heartbreaking really.”
“And with a player of Vittorio Barilla’s status, I’m sure he’ll be sorely missed.”
“The season is pretty much shot for the Angels. Without Vic, we don’t stand a

chance of winning. But shit happens. And that’s why we’ll be sparing no expense to get
him ready for the next season.”

“Of course he may never be what he was, Mr. Scott. You do understand that. I can’t

guarantee anything.”

“We can only hope.”
“Those kinds of breaks can be tricky, especially for an athlete.”
Terrance Scott nodded. “It’s taken some kind of talking to get Vic to accept the fact

that you’ll be moving in there with him for a while. He swears up hill and down that he
can do this on his own.”

Brody skimmed the medical file he’d requested from Vittorio Barilla’s doctor. “He

snapped the left ankle and heel. The tibia is broken in the right leg. It’s going to take a
while to build the strength up, and regain the muscle. The cast has been off just three
days?”

“Yes, and already he’s frustrated with not being able to put any weight on it.”
“It’s too early for that. We have to build the strength up in his legs and also restore

the balance. The file says the bone healed nicely so that’s the good news.”

“I prayed to the good Lord every night.” The coach put his hands together as if he

was about to pray again. “I’ve had the equipment you requested moved to his house, Mr.
Montgomery. And there is a heated pool, along with the floats you asked for. I put them
in the shed outside. If there is anything missing, you call me straightaway. And don’t let
Vic get away with trying to bully you.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll get my things together and be there at Mr. Barilla’s

house early this evening.”

“You have the map. It’s a little out of the way. Vic likes his privacy.”
“I’ll find it,” Brody assured him.
“Look.” Scott moved closer, lowering his voice. “I don’t know how much you know

about Vic Barilla.”

“Not much I’m afraid. I don’t follow soccer. I know that he’s a champion player.

I’ve seen his face plastered around. That’s about it.”

“He’s a winger. It’s a very important position. But it’s not about the game. Vic is a

bit of a … well … a bit of a bad boy.”

Weren’t all champion athletes?
“When he’s off the field, he likes to party hard and not always with girls,” he said,

then cleared his throat and continued in a lower voice, “if you get my … ahem … drift.”

Brody got it.
“He was partying pretty hard the night he had the accident on his bike. We’ve kept

the details from the press, so I expect your discretion concerning all the things you may
hear and see there.”

“That’s part of my job. You have no worries there.” Many of these star athletes were

partiers in their downtime. As for liking guys, that really was a nonissue. Brody knew he
was gay at the age of eight.

“Remember, he’s not himself. He will probably act like an asshole. He’s got a bad

temper.”

Brody held up a hand. “No one is ever exactly thrilled to see the physiotherapist.

Physiotherapy is hard work, and often painful. I won’t be intimidated.”

“Good, because when it comes to sports injuries, you came highly recommended.

They say you’re the best in the business.”

Brody thanked him for the compliment, and the coach gave him a few more details

and then left his office. Brody sat back in his chair and thought over what the coach had
told him. It was never easy to deal with an athlete who had an oversized ego and would
fight his treatment every step of the way. But it wouldn’t be the first time. The pay was
fantastic, true, but some would ask why give himself the aggravation, especially since his
clinic was doing so well.

What really appealed to Brody about this job was that it would take him out of the

city to a quiet, secluded house north of Jersey. He’d be away from Frederick, another
spoiled bad boy Brody had helped three years ago after Frederick had suffered a broken
arm playing pro football.

They’d had a secret affair. Brody had ended it because it was going nowhere, not to

mention that it was tearing him apart. But Frederick wouldn’t let go. He still expected to
show up at Brody’s house at two in the morning for a fuck then leave afterward to return
to his latest girl, like nothing had happened.

Brody tried his best to resist when Frederick came around but he wasn’t always

successful. That’s why the distance would be a good thing. It would be good for
Frederick to see that Brody wasn’t always going to be there every time he came
knocking.

There were many high-profile athletes in the closet, and they had no intention of

coming out of it any time soon. Blame it on the world of sports or on their own macho
self-image, but gay sports heroes were poison to the men who loved them.

Later that afternoon, he packed a bag, got into his car, and headed across the bridge

to Jersey. He’d left Sandra Uri in charge of his patients. She’d worked for him for several
years now and was perfectly capable of taking over for him while he was gone. He had
complete confidence in her.

Several other physiotherapists would be on call when Sandra was in need, so all the

clients would be taken care of while he was away. He told Sandra he’d be back on
weekends to check on things and that she could call him to consult if she needed to. He
gave her his cell phone number, the number that Freddy didn’t have. He didn’t want the
man calling him while he was away.

Barilla’s house was more isolated than he’d thought. After pulling off and checking

the map a few times, Brody finally found the way which led to the sprawling bungalow at
the end of a long road. The house was shadowed by trees and in front was a large pond on
which several ducks swam. It was peaceful and serene, and Brody decided that he was
going to love the peace and quiet.

As he swung his silver Chrysler Sebring up into the driveway and pulled to a halt, he

spotted a man pruning rosebushes beside the veranda. A middle-aged woman in an apron
sat on the stoop with her chin in her hand. She stood as Brody got out of the car.

The man with the clippers turned around now and grinned at him. “You must be

Montgomery?”

There was a warm breeze and the air smelt fragrant and fresh. Brody breathed it in

and held out his hand. “Yes, but you can call me Brody.”

The man shook his hand. “Stanley Jones, and this here is my wife, Claire.”
Claire held out her hand as well. “Welcome, Brody. We’re glad to see you.”
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow as he took her hand in his.
“Since the accident,” Stanley Jones announced, “that big shot soccer player has been

acting like a real ass. He almost had Claire in tears the other day.”

“Shush,” Claire said, “lower your voice. He’ll hear you.” She looked at Brody. “He’s

not that bad. It’s been tough on him, this accident. He’s not a bad fellow deep down, just
young.”

“Don’t care if he does hear,” the man was muttering as Claire went on with her

defense. “No excuse for bad manners.”

“He had a great career ahead of him. He’s scared, that’s all,” Claire added. “You’d

be too,” she said to her husband, knocking him in the arm.

Stanley peered at Brody. “You’re a big fellow though. He shouldn’t be able to mess

with you too much.”

Brody smiled.
“Ever play any ball?”
“I played football in college.”
“Damn,” he said, “you must be six foot six, and all those muscles, bet you played

quarterback.”

“You got it. And I’m only six-three.”
“You have to be strong, I suppose, to do what you do, lifting people and all.”
“Yep.”
“Okay, Stan,” Claire chastised. “Don’t be keeping Brody here jawing all night. He

probably wants to settle in. Come with me, Brody.” She smiled. “I’ll fix you right up.”

Stan went back to his clipping as Brody followed Claire into the house. “How long

have you worked for Mr. Barilla, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Only three years,” she said. “Mr. Barilla bought this house from the Clem family.

Stan and I worked for them for sixteen years. He was a senator, Mr. Clem. When he sold
it, Mr. Barilla was nice enough to keep us on. We have our own little house out back.
And what with the soccer, Mr. Barilla was hardly ever here. He really is a nice young
man, Brody. He’s just frustrated being in that wheelchair and all.”

“It’s understandable,” Brody commented.
They walked down a long hallway and Claire pointed out this room and that. “We

put Mr. Barilla in this room here because of the doorway and it’s the one closest to the

bathroom. The house is able to accommodate the wheelchair pretty well. Some man came
earlier with all kinds of equipment for the exercise room. Here,” she said, stopping
suddenly, “I’ve fixed this room for you, right beside Mr. Barilla.”

“Thanks, Claire.”
“I’ll let you get settled. There’s a bathroom and shower adjoining your room. It will

make it easier to help Mr. Barilla shower. God knows he doesn’t want me to help him,
and he had the nurse in tears the other day. He’s fired two.”

He nodded.
“Are you hungry?”
“No, I’m fine.” Brody sat down his suitcase. “Where is Mr. Barilla now?”
“In the games room, I imagine. He’s always watching reruns of soccer games.”
Brody nodded again.
“If there’s anything else, tell me. And you don’t have any special dietary restrictions,

do you?”

“No.”
“Okay,” she said and closed the door behind her.
Brody took some things out of his suitcase and sat down on the bed. The room was

very nice, large bed with gold-colored curtains and matching spread, night table, lamp, a
nice bureau. This would do fine. Even if it appeared he had entered the house of the brat
prince. Oh well, he’d asked for it.

Brody stood and went over to the mirror, his hairbrush in hand. He glanced at

himself in the mirror as he brushed his windblown blond hair, already too long for his
taste, brushing the edges of his broad shoulders. In the heat of the moment once, Fred had
told him he was beautiful, but right now, with his hair looking straggly and his face in
need of a shave, he didn’t exactly share that opinion.

What he was most proud of was his body. He studied himself for a few minutes after

taking off his T-shirt and then put on a fresh one. He’d kept himself in good shape since
his college days, and at thirty, his pecs and abs looked pretty spectacular. It wasn’t too
late to find someone, someone who, unlike Freddy, would want to share his life.

He sighed and laid his hairbrush on the bureau. It was time to meet the brat prince.
It wasn’t hard to find the games room. He could hear the sports announcer screaming

out the plays of the game long before he reached the open door. When he did reach it, he
hesitated a moment, surveying the young man who sat in a wheelchair a few feet away
from the gigantic television set. He remembered seeing his picture not so long ago on the
cover of some men’s magazine. Brody recalled that Barilla stood about five-nine and
weighed around one hundred and sixty five pounds, all of it lean muscle, before the
accident. The man before him had jet-black hair and velvety brown eyes. His hair wasn’t
curly but it wasn’t exactly what you’d call straight either. It had a little bit of a kink to it
which probably made it unmanageable, probably not unlike the man himself.

“That’s one hell of a television set you got there,” Brody said suddenly, walking into

the room. “What is it, an eighty-four inch?”

Vittorio Barilla glanced at him sharply. “Who in the hell are you?”
“Brody Montgomery, your new physiotherapist.” He held out his hand.
Vittorio ignored it. He gave Brody a hostile look. “I don’t need physiotherapy,

thanks, so you can turn around and go home right now.”

Brody folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall. “So, you’re just

going to get up out of that chair and walk?”

“That’s right.”
“Let’s see you do it.”
“What?”
“Let’s see you do it.”
“I don’t feel like walking right now.” He turned his attention back to the game. “I

told Coach a hundred times that I didn’t need help. I think he’s developing a hearing
problem. I can do this on my own when I’m ready.”

“So, you’re a faith healer as well as a soccer player.”
“Are you being smart?” Vittorio demanded crossly, glaring at him. “I don’t like your

attitude and I don’t like you.”

Brody shook his head. “You know, it’s hard to believe that you’re the bad boy who

terrorizes the staff and reduces women to tears. You don’t look so tough sitting there.”

“Hey, look you,” Vittorio replied, pointing at him, “this is my house. I’ve a good

mind to get out of this chair and … and…”

“Do it. I’m waiting, scary guy.”
“I’ll just have Stan throw you out of here then,” he muttered, calming down

somewhat.

“I’m a lot bigger than the gardener. I don’t think he could do it. So, I guess I’ll see

you tomorrow morning then?”

“I told you I don’t need whatever you’re peddling.”
“Well, like I said, get out of that chair and kick my ass out the front door. If you do

that, I’ll believe you.”

“Fuck you.”
Brody laughed. “That’s what I thought. Do you need some help getting into bed?”
“You going to tuck me in, and sing me to sleep?” he snarled.
“I’m not a singer.”
“Well, you can suck my cock if you like; at least that way, you’d make yourself

useful.”

Brody laughed again. “You’ll have to call a different kind of professional for that.

But I’ll keep it in mind. I’ll be in the room next to you; shout if you need me.” Brody
turned to leave.

“Don’t hold your breath, asshole,” Brody heard Vittorio say as he walked out the

door.

Brody had a smile on his face as he lay down on his bed. Vittorio Barilla wasn’t so

bad. He could tell the man was all talk, and really kind of cute for a brat.

Vittorio didn’t call to him in the night, but Brody didn’t expect him to. As it turned

out, when he walked into the game room the next morning, Brody found Vittorio in
exactly the same place he’d left him. Vittorio had fallen asleep in his wheelchair in front
of the big screen.

Claire came into the room suddenly and glanced at Brody. “That’s the way I found

him this morning. I checked in with him before going home last night, to see if he wanted
me to help him to bed. Stubborn as the day, he is. It’s a wonder he don’t fall out of that
chair.” She clicked her tongue and hurried over to him. “Look at the position of his neck,
going to be stiff.”

“That and my dick,” Vittorio grunted, trying to straighten up.

“Mr. Barilla,” Claire said, giving the young soccer player a disapproving look, and

tugging on him to get him to sit up straight.

Brody came over to help her, wanting to laugh out loud.
Vittorio was still half-asleep and in a nasty mood. “Leave me alone, woman,” he told

Claire. “Jesus Christ.”

Brody looked at Claire. “It’s okay, Mrs. Jones, I’ll deal with Mr. Nasty here. Why

don’t you get us some coffee?”

“Call me Claire, Brody.”
“Claire, sorry.” He smiled at her. “Lovely name.”
“Thank you.” She blushed and hurried from the room.
Vittorio scowled at him. “Quite the charmer, aren’t you?”
Brody raised an eyebrow.
“You’re not being paid to charm the staff.”
Brody laughed. “So, what am I being paid for, to discipline nasty little boys with stiff

dicks?”

“I’m going to forget you made that comment, and I don’t need disciplining, thanks,

and may I remind you, this is my house.”

“I know that. Where’s your pool?”
“Out there.” He hooked his thumb toward the window. “Can you swim?” Vittorio

narrowed his dark eyes.

“Yeah, I can swim.”
“Too bad. I was going to invite you to dive in, hoping you’d drown.”
“Nice. Anyway, we’ll be doing that together after breakfast.”
“Drowning?”
“No. Getting in the pool.”
“I’m not getting in the pool with you. You can forget that.”
“I can’t forget it. I have a good memory. Are you scared?”
“No, I’m not scared. Why in hell should I be scared?”
“Good.”
“What do I need to get into the pool for anyway?” Vittorio glanced at him.
“Isometric contraction is really the best way to build and strengthen muscle. Given

the severity of the breaks and the fact that the casts have only recently come off, we have
to start easy. Working out a little in the water will be less painful, and will lubricate
your—”

“Lubricate my dick,” he grunted. “I don’t need you to help me exercise in the pool.

You just show me what to do and I’ll do it.”

Brody raised an eyebrow again. “It’s not that simple.”
“To lubricate my dick? Sure it is, you just got to know how to suck cock, that’s all.”
Vittorio seemed to think that was really cute. He also probably thought it was going

to scare him away. “Is that so?” Brody replied.

“That’s so. Want to give it a go?”
“Sure.”
Vittorio’s eyes widened. “I’m not kidding.”
“I’m not kidding either.” Brody tilted his head. Vittorio really imagined that he’d get

all freaked out and run off like a little boy with his tail between his legs. It was hilarious.

“Well”—Vittorio looked uncomfortable—“I am kidding, okay, and if you’re, well—

queer—you’d better keep your hands to yourself.”

“I’ll try and control myself.”
“You got to do something, I suppose, to earn your keep.”
“That’s right. Or maybe I just want to get you into the pool where I can cop a feel.”

Brody poked his head out in front of Vittorio’s face and raised both eyebrows.

“Don’t be disgusting,” Vittorio grumbled, but there was a hint of a smile on his face.

“I wouldn’t let you grope me if you were the last man on earth.”

“Well, since I really don’t wish to test out that theory of being the last man on earth,

I guess I’ll have to take your word for it. I’m crushed, but I’ll live with it.”

Claire Jones came in with a tray now, bringing the conversation to an abrupt halt.
“There are bagels and cream cheese, and hot coffee,” she announced. “Oh and fruit,

Mr. Barilla, the doctor told me to make sure you ate your fruit.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled.
“And Brody, Stan says he can help you get Mr. Barilla into the pool later if you need

him to.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Brody replied, taking a cup of coffee. “I can manage.”
“What, you going to carry me in your arms like Rhett did to Scarlett in Gone with the

Wind?” Vittorio snickered as Claire placed the tray on the table beside his wheelchair.

“I loved that movie,” Claire sighed.
Brody sipped his coffee. “I’m afraid I’m not as romantic as Rhett Butler. I’m just

going to wheel your chair out and tip you into the pool.”

Brody saw the startled look on Vittorio’s face. Claire was smiling as she left the

room. That was one for him.

“I hate bagels,” Vittorio announced suddenly, after only eating a few bites. Brody

grabbed the back of his chair and began wheeling him in the direction of his bedroom.
“Where in hell are you taking me?”

“Is there anything you do like?”
“No, and I want to know—”
“If you must know, I’m taking you to your room to strip off those clothes.” He

whirled the wheelchair into the bedroom. “Now, where are your trunks?”

“I can dress myself, thanks.”
“Fine, do it then. But tell me where your bathing suit is.”
“In the top drawer of my bureau,” he admitted.
Brody paused to look at the photographs of Vittorio on the wall. Most of them were

taken on the soccer field. The shelf over the bed was loaded with trophies. Brody picked
up one of the photographs that was sitting on his bureau. Vittorio was smiling, balancing
on his haunches with a ball between his knees. God, he had the greatest smile. He was
really a sweet-looking guy.

“That was last year,” Vittorio said suddenly. “We had just won the World Cup.”
“It’s a great picture.” Brody put it back down.
“You a soccer fan?”
“Sorry, football.”
“Football, eh? You look like you could have played some.”
“I did back in college.”
“You miss it?”
“No,” he said. “I wasn’t very good. You miss soccer, don’t you, Vittorio?”

“Vic, please. No one calls me Vittorio.”
Brody tilted his head. He really felt that Vittorio wanted to say something more. He

waited.

“I might never be able to play again, you know, not like before. I’m going to lose

some speed and strength. You got to have strong legs to play this game. My strength is
that I’m fast.”

“You can’t give up. We don’t know if you’re going to lose that much strength and

speed. If you work hard, well…”

Vic nodded solemnly, looked down at his hands. For a moment, Brody thought he

might be crying.

“Hey,” Brody announced, “it’s not just your legs that count here. You got to have a

pretty hard head to play that game too, don’t you? And I don’t see any weakening when it
comes to that part of your anatomy.”

“Okay, okay.” Vic looked up at Brody with a smirk. “I deserved that.”
“Damn right you did.” Brody laughed then leaned down in front of the other man.

“Look, Vic, I can’t guarantee that you’ll be the same as before but if you’ll cooperate
with me, I’ll do my best to bring you as far as you can go. It’s going to mean a lot of
pain. You got to work. And your attitude is everything.”

Vic grinned. “Are you trying to tell me something there, big guy?”
“I think you already know.” Brody stood, dangling the swim trunks in front of him.
Vic snatched them away from his hand. “Give me those.”
“Now, either put these on yourself or I’ll do it for you, and since I’m the last guy on

earth you want groping you, you better get a move on.”

Vic smirked. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
“I’ll go change.”
“And Brody, I didn’t mean that about…”
“It’s okay.” Brody waved that away. As he left the room, he was thinking it would be

better if Vic did think that.

When Brody came back out of his room dressed in a pair of navy blue trunks, he

could hear Vic still struggling with his. Brody knocked lightly on the door. “Don’t bite
off my head there, champ, but could you use a hand?”

“Maybe just if you could…” Vic trailed off and swore.
Brody chuckled as he came in.
Vic’s pants and underwear were on the floor and his trunks were sitting at his knees.

He placed his hands modestly over his genitals as Brody approached.

“Now, if I only had a camera.” Brody grinned.
“You want to die?” Vic threatened between clenched teeth.
Brody felt as if he might die looking at Vic at that moment. He’d already seen more

than Vic had intended him to. And Mr. Soccer had a great cock. “Lift your butt,” Brody
instructed, reaching for the trunks. God, he has a great ass too.

“How fucking embarrassing.”
“What?” Brody eyed him as he pulled the trunks up over Vic’s butt. “To have some

guy pull your pants on for you?”

“Should be the reverse, shouldn’t it?”
“Vic, you’re not flirting with me, are you?” Brody stood back. He was aware that

Vic was assessing him. The guy might have broken his legs but his libido seemed just

fine.

“Get over yourself,” he muttered. “Look at my legs. They’re so white and scrawny.

And I’m helpless like an old man.”

“They’re not scrawny at all.” Vic still had the legs of an athlete, and due to their

previous muscle mass, he’d lost less conditioning than most would have in the same
predicament. “It’s normal for them to look like that. And that has nothing to do with you
checking me out. Come on.” He wheeled Vic out of the room.

“I was not checking you out.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Is this where you dump me into the pool?” Vic joked as Brody pushed open the

patio door and they emerged into the sunlight.

“It might cool you off, and I will dump you in the pool if you don’t behave yourself,”

he warned.

“Then I guess I’d better be a good boy.” He was looking at Brody again, this time

with a wicked glint in his eye. God, he must have broken a lot of hearts already.

Brody held his tongue, deciding it was best not to encourage him. He moved the

chair over to the side of the pool and put on the brake. “I’ll go and get the floats.”

“Floats? You mean like you put on a baby?”
“Just like you put on a baby,” Brody replied with a grin. He went over to the little

shed on the other side of the pool and opened the door. The coach had promised to supply
everything that was on Brody’s list, and it was all there. He took out two of the floats and
closed the door. “This one goes under your butt,” he said, “the other goes on your back.
I’ll get you into the pool and put them on then.”

“Aren’t you afraid I could drown in the meantime?” Vic sneered.
“Not if you hold onto me real tight.”
This time, Brody didn’t miss the look. It was definitely the once-over, with the pause

in all the right places. Vic cleared his throat. “You have a great body,” he said.

“Thanks,” Brody muttered, trying to make it sound casual.
“You have great definition in your chest and your arms. You’re a big guy, tall, I

mean,” Vic said quickly, but his gaze was directed much too low to be measuring his
height.

“Come on,” Brody said hastily. He put his arms underneath Vic and pulled him

down to the ground, positioning him at the edge of the pool with his feet in the water. He
placed one float over Vic’s shoulder, brought it around and tied it in the front. Then
Brody crawled down the ladder and waded around in front of him. He was suddenly
standing between Vic’s legs, and he was acutely aware of it. He couldn’t help but notice
the boner Vic had going on, a definitive bulge barely contained by the tight black
spandex briefs he wore. Christ. Okay, Brody, you’ve been in this position before, did
therapy with a lot of guys who had erections. You didn’t lose it.

“Put your arms around my neck,” Brody instructed.
Vic met his eyes. He put one hand on Brody’s head and stroked his hair then did the

same with the other. Suddenly both hands settled on Brody’s shoulders. What in hell was
that all about?

“You got a boyfriend?” Vic’s tone was soft, a little seductive.
“Ah yes,” he said. “No, I mean, not really. Hold on to me.” He grabbed Vic’s arms

and pulled them around his neck; then he put his arms around Vic’s torso, lifted his legs

into the water and put them on his hips.

“Which is it, yes or no?”
“Sometimes,” he said, pulling Vic forward. For a few seconds, Vic’s groin was

almost pressed against his face. He turned his head and lowered him down off the pool
edge and into the water.

Vic clutched onto him, one hand back on Brody’s hair, the other on his shoulder. His

thighs tightened a little around his waist.

With the other float in his hand, Brody positioned it under Vic’s butt, aware of the

contact as he did. “There,” he breathed, loosening the hold Vic’s legs had on his hips.

“You’re going to let me go?” Vic laughed then, the water on his face and chest

looking like diamonds.

“No, I’ll never let you go. Keep your hand on my shoulder for balance. We’re going

to work your legs. Isometric exercise must be performed at all angles for an injured leg,
so I want you to cross your right leg over your left. Flex your quadriceps while you apply
resistance with the other leg. Here, I’ll help you.” Brody extended Vic’s leg at a ninety
degree angle. “Okay, we start like this and work our way up. Your quads are going to
burn, so be prepared.”

It was tough, and Vic really strained like hell to do as Brody coached him. He wasn’t

able to hold each position for more than ten seconds, but it was a start.

“I hate this,” he grunted, perspiration bathing his forehead.
“I know,” Brody said compassionately. “But we need to keep doing these. The water

will help. Ideally, you should be holding it for forty seconds.”

“Forty seconds? You got to be kidding me!”
He was exhausted when Brody lifted him out of the pool and back into the chair.

Brody wiped the water off his legs, arms, and chest with the towel, then handed it to him
to dry his hair.

Vic was quiet as Brody took him back to his room.
Brody found his clothes and handed them to him. “You okay?”
“I’m as weak as a kitten. How in hell am I ever going to play soccer again, Brody?”
“You will,” Brody told him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I promise you. It’s only

the first day.”

“When do I get to use the weights?”
“One step at a time, okay? Later, we can try this again. We can do it in the chair if

you like. Just relax for now.”

“My quads are burning.” Vic rubbed his thighs with his palms.
“I’ll massage them for you later.”
“Ah.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling. “You a massage therapist too?”
“I do have some expertise, given my profession.”
“Our team trainer gave massages but he was ugly as sin. I’d much prefer you

massaging me. You know, Brody, you might turn out to be a good man to have around
after all.”

Brody shook his head with a grin. “I’ve heard that before. I’m going to put some

clothes on now, and may I suggest you do the same, Romeo?”

Vic laughed. “The view from where I’m sitting is pretty scenic. You can walk

around naked if you like.”

“What, and frighten the housekeeper?” He raised an eyebrow comically.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Vic drawled, “she might like it.”
The teasing had gone way over the line, and still Brody found himself standing there,

indulging in the banter. Vic was a flirt, but he was so damn cute, and at this moment, he
would have loved to have dragged those trunks down and had himself a little taste.
Brody, down boy. These thoughts running through your head are anything but
professional. Walk away.

“You wear those trunks well,” Vic was saying now, as if he’d read his mind. “I bet

you wear being naked even better.”

“How does one wear being naked?”
“Some men just do, and they’re very comfortable without clothes. Are you

comfortable being naked, Brody?”

“Depends on who I’m being naked with, I suppose.”
“With me? Would you feel uncomfortable being naked with me?” He met his gaze

and held it.

Definitely, unless I was fucking that round little ass of yours, of course. He cleared

his throat. “Get dressed. We’ve got more work to do after lunch.” He forced himself to
walk out of the room before Romeo could reply.

Brody felt winded when he got to his room. And he knew very well why. When he

took his trunks down, his cock practically bounced in the air. He was sure that Vic had
noticed and that’s why his attention was always on his goddamned crotch. “Might as well
be back in high school,” he muttered, annoyed. He took his cock in hand for a few
minutes and squeezed it, trying to soothe the ache. It didn’t help.

When he heard the sound behind him, he knew it was Vic’s chair, and there he was

stark naked, holding his dick in his hand.

Vic didn’t turn away, and he didn’t avert his eyes either. Instead he said, “Can I help

you with something?”

“No,” Brody snapped. “And don’t you believe in knocking?” He scrambled for his

pants.

“The door was open.”
Brody turned his back to Vic. He pulled up his pants hastily and did up the zip.
“It’s okay, Brody, really. The water always makes me hard too. You make me hard.”
Brody saw Vic lick his lips as he turned back around to face him. “I’m here to

work.”

“I know that, but all work and no play…” He trailed off.
“Vic, lunch is ready. Let’s go.” Brody grabbed a fresh T-shirt, whirled Vic’s chair

around, and pushed him into the dining room.

Vic was laughing.
“What?”
“You. You were so embarrassed. It’s not the first time I’ve seen a man masturbate.”
At that moment Claire came into the room with two steaming bowls of soup. She

came close to dropping them. “Ah … soup is on, boys,” she said, hurrying back out. “I’ll
bring the sandwiches,” she called over her shoulder.

Brody sighed heavily. “I was not masturbating. Watch what you say.”
“Why? Oh yeah,” Vic muttered as Brody pushed him up to the table, then took a seat

opposite him. “I’m scandalizing the housekeeper. So, if you weren’t masturbating, what
was that?”

Brody scooped up some chicken noodle soup and blew on it. “I was just holding my

dick, if you don’t mind, and it’s really none of your business what I do with my own
dick.”

“Okay.” Vic grinned. He raised an eyebrow.
Claire appeared then with the sandwiches, which brought the discussion to a halt.
“Bon appétit.”
Brody ate his soup and one of the tuna sandwiches Claire had made. Afterward, they

had their coffee outside. Vic was unusually quiet so Brody just enjoyed the solitude and
the foliage that surrounded the house.

“So what’s your sometimes boyfriend like?” Vic asked suddenly.
“He’s an asshole,” Brody said without thinking.
Vic laughed. “Really?”
Brody glanced at him and nodded.
“Mine too.”
“I didn’t know you had one. Thought a soccer player like you played the field?”
“Ha, ha, funny guy.”
Brody laughed.
“I used to a lot but then I thought I was in love with another player, an archrival at

that.”

“Ah, that didn’t work out.”
“He was ah … too much like me.”
Brody met his gaze.
“Too much of a player.” Vic laughed. “See, I can make jokes too.”
“Yes, ha, ha.”
They both laughed some more.
Vic sobered, looked off in the distance. “He hasn’t even called since the accident.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged.
“That night, you were…” Brody trailed off. It wasn’t really his business.
Vic looked at him. “I caught him with another guy. I was upset. I drank too much,

and…” He shrugged. His eyes were sad.

Brody reached out and squeezed Vic’s forearm. “He didn’t deserve you.”
He nodded. “He wasn’t worth this, that’s for sure,” he said, waving his hands over

his legs.

“Speaking of that”—Brody stood up—“you, young man, have a date with me on the

walking ramp.”

“I can’t walk, Brody,” Vic said as he looked up at him, his expression vulnerable.
“You will, my friend,” Brody replied, grabbing the back of his chair. “You will.”

Chapter Two

“Okay,” Brody said, pulling Vic up out of the chair, “place both hands on the guard

rails. I’m right behind you.”

His legs were wobbly but Vic had great upper body strength, so it wasn’t too much

of a challenge to hold him up. Brody stood right behind him. “Now slide your left leg
forward,” he urged. “I don’t want you relying too much on your arms, Vic; relax them a
little.”

“If I do that, I’ll fall.”
“I’ll catch you if you fall,” Brody told him, his hands settling on the other man’s

hips. “Do you feel me?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “I feel you.”
“Good. Okay, slide the right foot, just a little bit, that’s it.” Brody reached down and

applied some pressure on Vic’s calf. Vic’s arms were straining. “Hold it right there, I’m
coming.” Brody ran around and met him in the front.

“I’ve heard that often enough,” Vic grunted. “I’m coming.” He managed to grin

through the effort.

“I bet,” Brody said with a laugh. “Okay, right foot now, come on.”
Vic grunted but moved it a little. “Damn, it hurts.”
“Supposed to. Go. The left, come on.” He motioned to Vic, taking a step back.
“If I get to the end, what do I get?”
Brody laughed. “A slap on the back.”
The muscles in Vic’s arms were trembling from the effort. Sweat saturated his T-

shirt, his forehead. He stopped. “I want a kiss.”

“What?”
“A kiss. If I get to the end today, I want a kiss.”
He was never going to make it to the end today, so there was no harm in promising

him that. Brody’d kiss him on the forehead. “Fine. If you get to the end today, you get
a…”

The other foot moved forward a few inches farther than before.
Brody paused, lifting an eyebrow. “That was good. Can you do it with the…”
The other foot pushed forward as well, causing Brody to take a step back again.

Damn.

Vic smiled at him, his chest heaving. He wobbled a little, then straightened. Another

step; this time the foot actually lifted off the surface.

Brody clapped his hands. “Yeah! You go, boy!”
The other foot lifted but didn’t move forward too far. Vic’s chest heaved. He grunted

and let out a yell, pushing again.

Vic was halfway to the end. He was straining; the effort was too much.
“That’s enough,” Brody told him.
“One more,” Vic growled and pushed forward with both feet. He spring boarded

forward right into Brody’s arms.

Brody laughed and straightened him up. Vic felt like a wet rag doll.
Vic was laughing and looking up at him. “Nice place to land.”

As Vic’s body sagged against his, Brody pushed the damp hair off the other man’s

forehead. He couldn’t help feeling a certain amount of tenderness for his client at this
moment. “Come on.” He hauled Vic upward. “Put your hands back on the rails. I’ll get
the chair. We’ll call it a day.”

Vic held on but it was an effort. By the time Brody brought the chair around, his legs

were trembling. Brody reached over and grabbed hold of him just in time, pulling him
toward his chair and sitting him down in it.

“I did okay?” he asked, smiling up at Brody.
“Yeah, you did really well. You’re a trouper.”
“I didn’t get my kiss, though.”
“You must be thirsty,” Brody replied. Ignoring his comment was the only way he

could think of to handle it. “Let’s get something to drink.”

“Hey, can you make nachos?”
“Nachos?” Brody was glad Vic had let the subject drop. “Sure. It doesn’t take a

rocket scientist to do that. Why?”

“Housekeeper goes home at seven. I want nachos tonight. We can sit on the sofa, and

you can give me that massage you promised.”

Brody cleared his throat as he wheeled Vic into the living room. “I have to do that on

a massage table. I’ll get it out of the trunk later.”

“Depends on what you’re massaging.” Vic smiled at Brody just as he was intending

to leave the room to find Claire.

Brody paused. He’d have to nip this in the bud now before Vic got the wrong idea.

“Vic,” he said, meeting his gaze, “nothing is going to happen between us. I’m your
physiotherapist, that’s it. Okay? I just want you to be aware.”

Vic looked down at his hands for a moment.
Brody held his breath. It was a delicate situation. He didn’t want this to affect Vic’s

progress. If it was going to interfere, he’d have to find him another therapist. And he
didn’t want to have to do that.

Suddenly, Vic looked up at him, a smile on his face. “Okay, Brody, if you say so.”
“So, you’re going to cut it out, right?”
“Cut what out exactly?”
“The flirting, the innuendos.”
“No. This is the way I see it, big guy. I’m the vulnerable one here. You could take

advantage of me at any time, and I couldn’t fight you off, even if I wanted to. You’re in
no danger of that from me, not in the state I’m in. Now, if this was before the accident”—
he paused and pointed at Brody—“I’m telling you, you wouldn’t have stood a chance.
Earlier, I would have had those swim trunks around your ankles within … ah … let’s say
… ten seconds. But … since you’re not the one in the chair, I figure flirting and
innuendos shouldn’t be a bother. So, that’s my response.” Vic folded his arms across his
chest and beamed at him.

“And all that just to say that you intend on continuing to flirt with me?”
“Exactly. Just so I’m sure you understand.”
Brody shook his head. “Okay.”
“We could rent some gay porn, just so I could refresh my memory,” Vic called after

him as he left the room.

“Oh, I’m sure you remember fine,” Brody muttered as he entered the kitchen. “Hi,

Claire.”

“Oh hello, Brody. Can I get you something?”
“Lemonade would be nice, thanks, if you have it.”
“How is Mr. Barilla doing?” Claire asked, going to the fridge and taking out a large

pitcher.

“Just fine actually, better than fine.”
“Is he giving you any trouble?”
Oh yeah, but nothing I can discuss with you. “No, he’s fine.”
“Good.” She handed him two glasses. “I put two plates of chicken salad in the fridge

for later. You can eat when you want. I’m going back to the house now. If there is
anything, call me. The number is on the fridge.”

“That’s fine.”
Brody came back to the living room with the two glasses. He handed Vic one. Vic

was watching a comedy show on television.

“What? No soccer?”
“Can’t watch soccer all the time. Thanks for the drink.” He took a sip. “My legs are

really killing me.”

“I’ll take care of that. I’ll go out and get the table.”
“Is Claire gone?”
“She said she was going, left supper in the fridge.”
“She finishes at five. She and her husband need some time alone.”
“That’s considerate of you.”
“I know, and you thought I was just another arrogant jock.”
“Something like that.” Brody laughed and went outside to get the folding table.
After setting it up, Brody helped Vic lie down on the table. “Don’t I have to take off

my shorts?” Vic asked.

“I’m massaging your legs, not your dick.”
Vic’s mouth opened in surprise then he burst out laughing, leaning back on his

elbows.

Brody lifted an eyebrow. “What?”
“You. You’re full of surprises.”
“Better than being full of something else. Now, lie down and stop talking. Close your

eyes and relax.”

“Okay, boss. Work your magic.”
The only problem with legs is that the top of them were dangerously close to

something else, which Brody was having a hard time not thinking about.

Vic’s thighs were still well muscled and the more he massaged them, the more his

gaze centered on the distinctive bulge between his legs.

The massage deepened into the muscles of Vic’s calves and shins and he moaned,

probably from a combination of pleasure and discomfort. And that bulge between his
thighs became more conspicuous.

It was normal to get hard during a massage; it was not normal for the masseur to get

turned on by it. But Brody was, really turned on, and he found himself concentrating a
little too long on his upper thigh, separating his legs and massaging inside the thigh, his
hand at one time brushing the tip of Vic’s erection.

Vic’s breathing deepened. Each time Brody’s knuckles brushed his cock, his hips

moved off the table slightly. Oh God, I want to taste it. I want to pull down these shorts
and run my tongue up his shaft.

Brody withdrew his hands, stepped back, and took a breath. “Roll over,” he said

abruptly. “I’ll do the back of your legs.”

“Brody,” Vic groaned. “Please.”
Brody sucked in some breath. He reached for his shoulder, moved him onto his

stomach. “You’ll be all right.”

“That’s not what I mean, Jesus Christ.”
“Place your face in the opening.”
“It’s in the goddamned opening.”
Brody swallowed as he looked at the swell of Vic’s ass in those nylon shorts. I could

just take a bite out of one of those hard globes of his. God, I want to fuck that ass.

Vic was lifting his hips up off the table, his hands struggling to push down his shorts.
“What are you doing?” Brody demanded.
“Brody, Christ, have mercy. Either stop fucking massaging me, or fuck me. I’m so

damn horny.”

Vic’s shorts were down below his ass. Brody stood there mesmerized by the sight of

it. God, a perfect ass. And his for the taking. He almost placed his hands on it, just to feel
it, to massage the rock-hard globes, so round, so inviting, but instead, he tugged the
shorts back up. “Massage is over.”

Vic pounded his fist on the side of the table. “Damn you, Brody.” He struggled to

turn around onto his back then met his gaze. “Look at me. Look at my cock. You’re just
going to leave me like this?”

Brody averted his eyes. “It’s perfectly normal for men to get hard during a massage.”
“It wasn’t the massage. It’s you,” he snapped. “It’s the way you were touching me.”
“I’m sorry if you think I did something wrong.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit, Brody. You want me as much as I want you. So why

can’t—”

“Because you’re my patient. Because it’s unethical. Because…”
“Because?”
Because damn it, I’ve been hurt once, and after this is over, you won’t need me

anymore, just like Frederick. All he needs is his football, and his showcase women. God
damn, a guy like you could break my heart.

“Because what?” Vic insisted when Brody didn’t answer fast enough.
“Because I have a boyfriend.”
“Yeah, you told me, a boyfriend who’s an asshole!”
“Yes.” He nodded with a sigh. “He’s an asshole. Come on, I’ll help you off the

table.”

“I’d like to take a shower. As you can see”—Vic glanced down at his shorts—

“thanks to you, I need one.”

“Okay.”
“I also need your help to get into the shower.”
Brody nodded again. Great. This is the last thing I need right now, this guy naked in

a shower.

“There’s a chair in there, but if you want to get in with me—”
“I’ll put you in the chair.”

“Now you look irritated.”
Brody pulled him off the table and sat him in his chair. “I’m not irritated.” He

pushed the chair in the direction of the bathroom. “Can you get undressed by yourself?”

“I only have to take off my shorts.”
“Get them off then,” he told him as he parked the chair in the bathroom. “I’ll start the

shower.” Brody pulled back the curtain and turned the water on. He checked the water
temperature, taking longer than necessary to adjust it. He knew when he turned around
that Vic would be naked.

This time Vic wasn’t hiding. He sat in his chair, his legs spread, and his cock still

hard. And Brody had never seen a more seductive man. He swallowed.

“You like what you see?” Vic asked, framing his cock with his hands.
“Yes,” Brody whispered. He couldn’t lie. “Happy?”
“I could think of ways to be happier. Are you good at sucking cock?”
Brody cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m good at it.” He held Vic’s gaze.
“Show me how good.”
“Vic … I…”
“Show me,” he hissed. “For Christ’s sakes, stop being a physiotherapist for a few

minutes and—”

Brody dropped to his knees in front of him. He licked his lips, reached out, and

touched the head of Vic’s cock with his finger. God, give me strength. But he had none.

Vic grabbed Brody’s hair. “Please,” he pleaded. “Put it in your mouth. Please, baby.

Make love to my cock with your mouth.”

Brody closed his eyes. He leaned forward and placed his lips over the tip of

Vittorio’s perfect cock and sucked it into his mouth.

Vic pulled his hair, muttering something that sounded Latin but was probably Italian.
Brody moved closer, held the base of Vic’s cock with one hand and took the shaft

deeper into his mouth, opening his jaws until he felt the velvet tip hit the back of his
throat. His hands smoothed up Vic’s inner thighs as he pulled him downward in the chair,
sucking hard now, using his tongue as his lips slipped up and down the solid, creamy rod.
Paradise. He tasted like paradise.

Vic thrashed in his seat, his head going back, crying out as his cock shot into

Brody’s mouth suddenly. Brody pulled away, going back on his haunches, wiping the
cum off his lips. He watched Vic for a moment, letting his gaze drink in the man’s
sculptured chest, his rock-hard nipples, the definition in his biceps, his thighs. He was a
beautiful man with a face of an angel. Brody wanted to run his hands up over that chest
and touch those nipples, lose himself in kissing those full lips of his.

“God, that was good,” Vic managed, his breathing rough. “Oh God, thank you,

Brody, thank you.”

Brody stood, deciding that he’d better not indulge himself. He’d gone far enough,

too far actually if he was honest with himself. “Don’t mention it. Let’s get you into the
shower.”

“I haven’t done anything for you. Take me to bed. Fuck me.”
The look in his eyes quickened Brody’s pulse but he had to put a stop to this. “Stop

it, Vic.” Brody reached down and pulled him up to his feet. Holding Vic in his arms
naked like that was almost too much. His cock ached with need. Damn it.

“Don’t you want to?”

Brody lifted one of Vic’s legs up over the tub then the other. Sucking a man’s cock

was one thing, but fucking him was quite another. “No.” He sat him down in the plastic
shower chair. “Take your shower. Call me when you’re done.”

“Brody!” Vic protested.
Brody took the opportunity to seek sanctuary in his room, where he could breathe

normally. He sank down on the bed and placed his face in his hands. Filled with remorse
suddenly, he chastised himself for his weakness. Okay, it wasn’t too late. He just had to
be firm. And in two days, he’d leave for the weekend and put some distance between
them. They’d both forget all about it soon enough.

Fifteen minutes later, Brody returned to the bathroom and Vic was sitting in his

wheelchair, a towel over his lap. His hair was damp but brushed back neatly, and there
were a few water droplets on his chest. He grinned up at him. “If I’d waited for you, I
would have shriveled up like a prune.”

Brody laughed faintly. “Sorry. Look, Vic, about before—”
“It was nice. You have some talent.” He met his gaze.
“Yeah, well … I’m not here for that.”
“I hear you. So, guess I’ll have to exercise my hand.”
“Good idea.” Brody steered Vic out of the bathroom and into his room.
“You too?” He glanced up at him.
“I’ll be fine.” Brody cleared his throat. “Can I help you get dressed?”
“No. It would be better if you preferred I didn’t get dressed,” he said with a sigh,

“but I’ll be good. Do you want to watch a movie with me tonight?”

“Ah, I think I’ll go to bed early. I’m kind of tired.”
Vic nodded. “Okay.”
Brody knew Vic was disappointed but he couldn’t encourage this. He didn’t want the

incipient sexual tension between them to interfere with what he’d come here to do.

As he crawled into bed, he tried to tell himself to sleep but he tossed and turned. He

knew when Vic came to bed, evidenced by the sounds of him straining out of his chair
and settling down in the next room.

Brody stared at the ceiling. No more fucking jocks.
It was almost three thirty before he fell off to sleep.

* * * *

In the morning, Brody turned on his phone and checked his messages. For some he

simply switched the callback number to the clinic, then called Sandra to find out how
things were going.

“Things are fine with the patients,” she said, “but Frederick Stein has been a pain in

the ass. He’s called here three times, and come by twice. He insists on knowing where
you are. I don’t know what to tell him, Brody. Are you having a thing with that
quarterback?”

Sandra knew he was gay. He’d told her a long time ago but he’d never told her about

Frederick. “Kind of,” I muttered.

“Shit! I thought he was straight,” she exclaimed. “He’s always surrounded by

women in the tabloids.”

“Yeah, well, never believe what you read. I’ll call him.”
“Good. Aside from that, all is well. How’s the soccer player?”

“A challenge.”
“He’s hot.”
“Yeah.”
“Be good,” she teased.
He was way past that. “I’ll try. See you Friday night. Want to get pizza after work?”
“You buying?” she asked, laughing.
“Yep. But no double cheese,” he teased.
She laughed again. “Cheapskate. I’ll be waiting. Got to go.”
“Okay. Bye,” he said. He stared at the phone for a few minutes then dialed

Frederick’s cell phone.

“Hello,” a flirty woman’s voice answered. Brody heard Frederick mutter, “Give me

that,” in the background, and then he came on the line. “Hello?”

Brody sighed. “Hello, Freddy.”
“Brody? Hang on.”
“You hiding in the bathroom, or is it a closet?”
“Where are you? And stop that.”
“I’m working. Stop harassing Sandra.”
“I am not harassing her. Is that what she told you? The bitch.”
“She is not a bitch. She happens to be a very good friend of mine, and a loyal

employee. You have no respect for women, except when they’re on their backs.”

“She could have told me how to reach you, given me a number.”
“No, she couldn’t have, because I told her not to.”
“What’s the big mystery? Brody,” his voice softened, “baby, I miss you.”
“Doesn’t sound like you’re lonely.”
“You know that girl means nothing to me.”
“Tell her that.”
“I miss your cock so much. I miss having you inside of me and—”
“Oh Frederick, knock it off. I’m working, and I won’t be around for a while so you’ll

have to be content with your groupies. And we need to talk.”

“Talking is not what I need from you.”
“We need to end it.”
He laughed. “How many times have you said that?”
“But I mean it.”
“Where are you? I’m coming there. We’ll talk and … I promise, honey, I’ll—”
“Don’t go to the clinic anymore. Do you hear me?”
“I want to see you. I won’t rest until you tell me where you are.”
“I’ll be back Friday night. I’ll call you. We’ll talk.” Brody closed the phone.
“That was telling him,” a voice said in the silence.
Brody glanced up to see Vic sitting in his chair just outside the bedroom door.
“That was a private conversation.”
“Your door was ajar. Couldn’t help but hear. You’ll end up fucking him on the

weekend.”

“Like I said, that was private.”
“Okay.” Vic shrugged. “Didn’t realize you were leaving me on the weekend. What

about my therapy?”

“Coach will be here. I’ll leave instructions.”

“He’s not a professional.”
“He’ll just do light things. We need to work hard the next three days.”
“Um, I’m ready.”
“And no more fooling around.” Brody pointed at him. “I know you’ve been lonely

since the accident, but…” He trailed off.

“Yeah, I have, but what’s your excuse for taking advantage of a poor handicapped

guy?”

“You’re about as handicapped…” he muttered.
Vic laughed out loud. “Breakfast is on. Ready?”
“I’ll be right there,” Brody said.
Brody took a quick shower, put on his swim trunks and a T-shirt, and went down to

join Vic on the terrace for breakfast. Claire had made French toast and there was fresh
fruit and coffee.

Vic was being very charming today and Claire was relaxed. She put the pot of coffee

on the table and disappeared, humming a little tune.

“She likes me, I think,” Vic commented, putting a piece of syrupy toast in his mouth.
“You’re charming her. Any reason Mr. Hyde has suddenly turned into Dr. Jekyll?”

Brody eyed him.

“You did a nice job on my cock.” He started laughing when he noticed Brody’s

expression darken. “Chill out, Brody, I’m teasing you. I’m feeling optimistic for a
change, like I’m actually going to be walking again soon.”

“I’m glad,” Brody said. “Now finish up so we can put some action to those brave

words of yours.”

“And if I make it to the end of that contraption today, do I get my kiss?”
Brody shook his head. “You’re going to get something all right if you don’t get

moving. After breakfast, we’re headed for the pool.”

Things progressed well in the pool. Brody was determined to keep his mind on the

task at hand, and Vic worked really hard at the exercises. Each time he paused and
attempted some flirtation, Brody would get tough, and tell him to keep working.

He let Vic rest for a while. They had lunch and then they were on to walking. Again,

Vic did very well, and Brody felt encouraged at the end of the day. They ate supper
together and Brody retired to his room around eight o’clock.

Chapter Three

The next morning, Brody got up early and went for a run. Vic was sitting in his chair

on the porch when he came back. “Hey,” he said.

“Good morning. You ready to work hard today?”
He grinned. “Of course. So, how is it going, this avoiding me thing?”
Brody wiped the sweat off his face with a hand towel he’d shoved in his back pocket.

He looked up at Vic. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”
Brody walked up onto the porch. “I’m here to get you walking again, and that’s all.”
“If we want each other, I don’t see—”
“Spoiled little jocks usually don’t see,” Brody grumbled.
“Hey,” Vic said as he reached out and grabbed Brody’s hand when he walked by,

“that’s not fair. I’m not your asshole boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I was out of line. Get your suit on. We’ll do the

exercises before breakfast since you’re up so early.”

“Okay.”
Vic worked really hard during the following two days. They finished early Friday

afternoon and Brody went to his room to pack his suitcase.

When he came out of the room, Vic was sitting near the door. There was a strange

look on his face and he didn’t speak for a few minutes.

“What’s with you?” Brody asked.
“Mr. Hyde has come back.”
Brody chuckled. “Oh yeah?”
“Are you going to fuck him?”
Brody was taken aback by the question.
“Don’t ask me who; you know who,” Vic said.
“No. I’m going to end it if you must know.”
“I don’t believe you. Do you love him?”
Brody hesitated. He felt strange talking to Vic about this. “I … I don’t know,” he

said. That was the truth.

Vic nodded. “Don’t feel guilty about leaving me here alone all weekend.”
Brody grinned. “You’re not all alone. The coach will be here, and so will Claire

and—”

“Like I said, don’t feel guilty. Just go and have a great time without me. I’ll just be

sitting here in my chair, dwelling.” He lowered his head.

A smile played around Brody’s lips. “I see.”
“Tears will be in my eyes, but like a brave soldier, I’ll hold them back.”
Brody stifled a laugh. “Vic, don’t hold your breath if you’re not awarded an Oscar

for that performance, okay?”

Vic looked up at him with a grin. “Okay. See you Sunday?”
“I’ll be here,” he said, giving him a quick salute before he took the door.

* * * *

Sandra had done a fine job of looking after the clinic, and they had a great time

together over dinner. She didn’t ask him too much about Vittorio Barilla and he was glad
about that.

He called Frederick when he arrived home, and got the man’s message machine. He

was almost relieved. He decided to go to sleep around midnight, but was woken up
around two o’clock by the doorbell.

He knew who it was before he answered the door.
Frederick seemed sober for a change, even though he was badly in need of a shave.

He had a concerned expression on his face when he walked in. “You’re going to leave
me, aren’t you?”

Brody narrowed his eyes. “No hello?”
“Don’t fuck around, Brody.”
“I’m not fucking around,” Brody growled, half-asleep. “Why is it you always feel

the need to come and see me in the middle of the goddamned night?”

“I just got your message.” He walked over to the sofa and shrugged out of his jacket.
Brody pulled the terry robe he’d thrown on tighter around himself. There was no way

in hell he was fucking Freddy tonight, but that’s what he told himself every time.

Frederick turned and looked at him. “I know I’m a fuckup, but I love you.”
“That’s not enough.”
“You want me to come out? I’m a fucking football player. Do you know what that

would mean?”

“I didn’t ask you to come out. I asked you to give up the women.”
“I don’t enjoy being with those women, Brody. I have an image to project. They

expect it of me.”

“It’s a cop-out. It’s your way to hide. That’s all it is.” Brody crossed his arms. “I’m

always the one who waits in the wings until everyone else has their turn. I’m tired of
being second, Freddy. I want some guy to put me first for a change.”

“I will,” he said, coming closer. “I promise. I need to hold you tonight, Brody. God, I

missed you.”

Frederick placed his hands on his shoulders but Brody pushed them away. “Not this

time.”

“What do you mean, not this time?”
“It’s over,” Brody said, shaking his head. “I can’t do this anymore.” He walked over

to the window and looked out into the darkness. “Please, Freddy, leave, and don’t come
back.”

He could hear him putting on his coat. “You’ll regret this, Brody. You love me.”
“Good-bye, Freddy,” he managed, and a few minutes later, he heard the door close.

* * * *

He arrived at Vic’s later than expected on Sunday. Terrance Scott came out on the

porch as Brody drove up the driveway. He lifted a hand as Brody took out his bag and
made his way up the stairs.

“How are you doing, Montgomery?”
“Fine. Yourself, Coach?”
“Great. I wanted to tell you that Vic’s attitude has certainly improved. He did seem a

little anxious today, however. He worked hard, though.”

“Glad to hear it. I hope to get him in shape soon.”
“How long are we talking?”
“At this rate, three weeks, maybe four, and he’ll be walking on his own, maybe with

a cane, then retraining for the muscles. Well, that can be done with you … so…”

The coach slapped him on the back. “Come in. We’ll have a beer before I take off.

Vic,” he called out, “the therapist is back.”

Brody smiled at Vic as he walked into the living room. Vic smiled back. “Hey,

Brody.”

“Hey. I hear you were a good boy.”
“And you?” Vic raised an eyebrow.
The question didn’t go misunderstood, although Terrance Scott seemed oblivious.
Brody ignored the question. They sat around drinking their beer for a few minutes

then Terrance Scott said his good-byes.

When they were alone, Brody asked Vic where Claire was.
“She and the hubby went to visit the neighbors. They play bridge.”
“Oh.”
“So, are you going to tell me about your weekend? Since I have no life, have mercy.

Let me live vicariously through you.”

“Nothing to tell.”
“Did you see him?”
“Who?”
“You know who.”
“And you want to know because?”
Vic grinned. “Just curious. So, do I win my bet?”
“Were we betting on something?”
“You fucked him, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t.” Brody met his eyes. “Happy?”
“Actually, yes,” Vic said.
Brody’s gaze locked with his for a minute then Vic looked away.
“Is it over?” Vic asked, moving his chair around the room.
“I guess so.”
“Guess?” He stopped and turned the chair around. “Either you ended it, Brody, or

you didn’t. You did say he was an asshole.”

Brody laughed suddenly.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just you, worried about my love life.”
“I don’t want to see you hurt. You’re a good guy, good-looking, sexy, kind, and you

deserve to be loved by someone who will cherish you, appreciate you. You know?”

Brody swallowed. “I do now.”
Vic chuckled. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get carried away.”
“I notice you kind of have a flair for the dramatic.”
“It’s the Italian in me.”
“Oh. Okay, I won’t be surprised if you break out into an aria at some time or

another.”

“Opera? Please. No, I can’t sing. No worries.”
“Thank heavens,” Brody replied, picking up his bag. “Well, I’m going to get settled

in, hit the sack. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay,” Vic said with a laugh. “Sweet dreams.”

* * * *

Brody woke up smiling, although he wasn’t sure why. He realized after he got out of

the shower that he was actually glad to be back.

The week seemed to fly by with Vic making great progress, even taking some steps

all on his own. They’d settled into an easy kind of back and forth, and Brody kept them
focused on work. But he wasn’t immune to the exchange of glances, or the times Vic
touched him in a way that seemed more intimate than therapy related.

Brody resisted Vic’s invitations to spend the evenings with him. Instead, he went to

sleep early and ran in the mornings. He knew it was his way of working off tension, and
he was well aware of what kind of tension he was working off.

When Friday rolled around, he took his time leaving. He sat with Vic, Claire, and

Stan on the veranda and made small talk until almost eight o’clock.

When Claire and Stan retired, Vic asked him if he was intending on making the drive

back tonight or if he was going to wait until morning.

“I am a little tired.”
“We had a good week, didn’t we?”
“You’re doing so well. You won’t need me soon.”
“I’ll always need you,” Vic said, looking at him.
Brody was about to say something but then Vic wheeled closer to him and placed his

fingers on his lips. “Don’t say anything. Stay with me tonight. I’ve been good. I haven’t
tried to kiss you or … it’s not been easy.” He removed his fingers from Brody’s lips. “I
think about you all the time, think about touching you and kissing you. I know I’m not
supposed to but…”

Brody stood suddenly. He reached down and scooped Vic up into his arms and took

him inside. He didn’t think about what he was doing, because if he had, he probably
wouldn’t have done it.

He brought Vic into his room, slammed the door shut with his foot, and lowered him

onto the bed. Their gazes met for a moment and Brody backed off just long enough to
pull his T-shirt over his head.

Vic reached for him, brushing his fingers over his chest before grabbing his head on

both sides and pulling Brody’s mouth down to his. They kissed deeply, the passion of it
taking Brody by surprise. It was a kiss saturated with intense need, and it wasn’t one-
sided.

Brody straddled Vic’s hips with his knees, Vic’s hands moving down his flanks and

clutching his ass, smashing their groins together.

“Damn it, Brody,” Vic groaned, “help me get these bloody shorts off.”
Brody wasn’t sure whose shorts he was referring to so he reached down and pulled

off Vic’s first, then removed his own as Vic impatiently urged him with his hands.

Both naked, Brody settled his body down on top of Vic’s again, moving Vic’s arms

up over his head, and lowering his lips to the other man’s throat.

Vic moaned with pleasure. “God, you feel good,” he breathed. “Don’t stop.”
Brody entwined his fingers with Vic’s and continued to kiss his neck, then moved

down to his chest where he licked around the circumference of both nipples.

Vic lifted his hips off the mattress. Brody could feel his erection bumping his own.

Brody released Vic’s hands and rose up on his knees. He let his gaze wander over the
other man. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly, trailing his hand over Vic’s stomach to the
base of his cock.

“No, you’re beautiful,” Vic said, looking at him with shining eyes. “Stay like that a

moment, on your knees. Stroke your cock for me. God, do it, Brody.”

Brody smiled at him, taking his own cock in hand and stroking himself up and down

a few times. He licked his lips. It felt great and it was turning Vic on something fierce.

“Look at me,” Vic urged, “look at my cock. It’s in convulsion.”
Brody laughed and leaned down to kiss the head.
“Come up here. Move my head to the side of the bed. I want to taste you. God,

Brody, I don’t know what I’ve fantasized more about, me eating your cock or you
fucking me with it.”

“Well then,” Brody said softly, “let’s not keep you waiting.”
Vic chuckled as Brody swiftly moved him to the side of the bed, his head hanging

over. Brody stood beside his head.

“That was a sexy thing to say.” Vic raised an eyebrow, looking up at him.
“You’re a sexy guy.” Brody grinned, reaching over and very gently cuffing Vic’s

erection.

Vic closed his eyes. “Oh, that’s nice.”
Brody trailed the head of his cock over Vic’s lips and then reached over again and

played with Vic’s cock.

“Um.” Vic’s tongue came out and touched Brody’s cock.
Brody closed his eyes. “Open your mouth.”
Vic opened his mouth and Brody lowered the head of his cock into it.
Vic sucked it in with a pop, then swirled his tongue around the head.
“Spread your legs,” Brody told him. “Um, yeah, that’s nice. Now I’m hot as hell.

Suck it. Deeper.”

Brody’s shaft disappeared a few more inches inside Vic’s mouth. Brody moaned,

bent his knees, grabbed Vic’s face and began to fuck it gently, letting go of one side
occasionally to torment Vic’s cock.

Brody watched Vic’s cock pulse, saw his throat muscles working, felt himself

coming. He reached over and began to cuff Vic’s cock a little more and held on just until
Vic’s body went into spasm. Brody moved off Vic’s mouth and crawled onto the bed. He
lifted Vic’s ass as he was still in the throes of orgasm and rimmed him good with his
tongue, using some of his own cum to lubricate the sensitive entrance.

“Fuck me,” Vic urged. “God, I’m almost hard again. Um, yeah, Brody, come on. Do

it.” He was reaching wildly for the nightstand, and suddenly an array of condoms flew
onto the bed, along with lube.

Brody chuckled and opened the lube. Without fanfare, he put an oily finger up inside

of his ass, and Vic’s hips went into a frenzy. Brody held him prone as he fucked him with
his finger then put two more up inside of him and found his prostate. “Oh God, oh God,”
Vic said, panting, his cock hard as rock again. He was a sight to behold, helpless in his
hold as Brody continued fucking his ass with his fingers.

Keeping his fingers inside of him, Brody threw a condom at him. “Open it, will

you,” he ordered, grinned.

Vic groaned. “Um, damn, you bastard. Damn it.” He fumbled with the condom, then

struggled to get to a place where he could roll it onto Brody’s cock.

Finally it was in place, and Vic motioned to him. “Kiss me, you sexy bastard.”
Brody laughed and leaned down to kiss him. “Back or front?”
“I want it dirty. Go for it. Take me on all fours. Think I can stay up.”
Brody winked. “I’ll hold you. Come on slut.” He grinned.
“I’m your slut. Shit, Brody,” Vic grunted as Brody brought him up on all fours, “you

could fuck me all night.”

“I just might.” He lowered his mouth to Vic’s neck and nibbled him there. Brody had

withdrawn his fingers from Vic’s body, and he positioned his cock to enter Vic.

“Brody?” Vic breathed, just as he was about to delve inside him.
“What?”
There was silence, then he said, “Oh never mind, just go. Take me. Go!”
Brody wasn’t prepared for what it would feel like being inside of him. Suddenly he

felt like he was on a roller coaster ride that was threatening to go off track. At one time as
he rode Vic, he felt as if he were high, riding the clouds, somewhere peaceful yet
breathtaking, someplace he’d never want to come down from.

The sounds of their labored breathing vibrated off the walls, and suddenly Vic called

out his name, just once, then released his pleasure with one long moan. Brody came too,
his entire body shaking as if he was suddenly in an earthquake and the earth split and he
was being carried down, landing on a soft green place where everything was silent and
still.

Brody pulled Vic close in his arms, lay there with him in the darkened room. No

words, just utter peace. He swallowed, feeling humble suddenly. He kissed the top of
Vic’s head, and felt his hand search for his. He took it, squeezed it gently.

* * * *

When his eyes opened again, sunlight was streaming through the window. He rubbed

his eyes and sat up. He was alone. Maybe he’d dreamed it all. If he had, it had been a
damn good dream.

He stretched and yawned, then hopped out of bed, wondering where in the devil Vic

had gotten to. He threw on a robe and went on a hunt. He found Vic’s chair outside the
exercise room. This worried him a little. “Vic,” he called out. “Where are you?”

“In here,” came the reply.
Brody rushed into the room to see Vic standing in the center of the walking bars.

“How did you … are you all right?”

Vic grinned at him. “I’m fine, baby. Look.” He pushed one foot forward then the

other, then tottered a little; he let go, hands out in the air. “Look, babe, free fall!”

Brody rushed over to his side but Vic was laughing. He grabbed the bars and blew

Brody a kiss. “Say you’re proud.”

“You shouldn’t have done this alone.”
“Brody. I wanted to surprise you.”
“Why is your chair outside? How did you get over here?”
“Well,” he said, leaning on the bars, “confession. I tried to walk it but I ended up

crawling a little then I pulled myself up and—” He started to laugh. “You should see your
face.”

Brody stepped up in front of him. He put his arms around Vic and kissed his

forehead. “Someone deserves a spanking.”

He held on tight. “Promise,” he whispered, and bit his ear.
Brody grinned. “Can you walk to the end?” He released him.
“Do I get my kiss?”
“Maybe.”
“And do I get to look at what you got under that robe?” Vic lifted an eyebrow.
Brody shook his head. “We’ll see. Let’s see what you got, stud.”
Vic took a breath and moved forward. He took his hands off the rail and took two

more steps. “Look, Daddy, I’m walking. Open your robe.”

“You are incorrigible.”
“Open it now, I need inspiration.”
Brody undid the sash on the robe and let it hang open.
“Yah baby. Your cock is sublime.”
“Don’t sing.”
“I just might.”
“Come on, enough gawking, move.”
He pushed forward again, his balance looking pretty good. “Off.”
“What?”
“Take it off.”
“What if Claire should…” Brody looked toward the open doorway.
“She’s doing the shopping in town. Come on, please, I’m begging now.”
Brody shoved the robe off his shoulders. That’s when Vic started to sing his aria.
“Good Lord.” Brody laughed, throwing up his hands. “I’ll kiss you if you stop.”
“You’ll have to do more than that.” Vic continued his rendition of Puccini’s Madame

Butterfly.

“Okay, okay, anything,” he called out, laughing.
Vic stopped singing and he walked right into his arms. “Take me to your room and

fuck me hard and long and—”

“Vic.” Brody laughed, fending off his kisses. “We need to work.”
“You can give me a workout in bed and then we’ll get back to this. I’m walking,

babe.”

“Yes, I see that. Come on.” Brody supported him and they slowly made their way to

the chair.

“Now,” Vic said, taking a seat, “time to have some fun. Claire and Stan will be gone

for at least another hour. I can scream and no one will hear me except the squirrels.”

“You’ll frighten them,” Brody said, running with the wheelchair to the bedroom.
“Not as much as if I sing.”
“That’s true.”
In the bedroom, Vic put up his hand when Brody went to help him. “I can do it.” He

pushed himself up and took the two steps to the bed. “Now,” he looked up at him, “strip
me and ravish me.”

“Shit.” Brody looked around. “Did I just leave my robe…”
“Yep. You’re naked and that’s just the way I like you.” Vic reached over and pulled

him forward, between his legs. “If you work with me like this, I’ll be walking faster.”

“Right.” Brody smirked. “We’ll spend our time in bed.”

Vic moved a hand up and over Brody’s cock. “Oh yeah,” he breathed, “and there’d

be nothing wrong with that, my big, beautiful hunk. Sounds like my kind of exercise.
Stand still and let me play with your cock a little. Um, like that. Wish I had a toy like this
as a kid. I would have become a ball handler sooner.”

“You are a funny guy.” Brody closed his eyes as Vic pressed his cock to his lips. He

didn’t know what in hell he was doing anymore, only that he didn’t want to stop. And as
Vic drew his cock into his mouth, he forgot absolutely everything.

Two hours later, they were in the pool, and Vic was really working hard. He also

took full advantage of his position by slipping a hand inside Brody’s swim trunks. They
were fucking in the shower before supper, and after the meal and some massage therapy,
back in bed.

He wasn’t sure who was getting more of a workout, him or Vic. The week sped by,

and when the weekend came, Vic persuaded him to stay. And he could be very
persuasive.

Two more weeks and Vic was walking without help, although he could only walk for

short periods of time before tiring.

Claire announced to Brody one morning that Vic was a “changed man.” The coach

was happy with Vic’s progress and surprised Brody with a really nice bonus.

One Friday afternoon, Brody thought he’d better bring up the fact that his time here

was drawing to a close. Terrance Scott had already arranged for Vic’s personal trainer to
take over with the weights.

Sandra had left several messages for him and although he hadn’t gotten back to her,

he knew it was time for him to get back to the clinic. He wasn’t sure how to tell Vic. In
truth, he didn’t know what in hell was going on with the two of them. Vic was fun to be
with and the sex was great, but he was a professional athlete and they were bad news.
And Brody was still conflicted over Freddy.

The late afternoon sun shone off Vic’s hair as Brody came outside to join him by the

pool. Vic’s eyes were closed. It seemed like he was dozing. He opened his eyes, however,
when Brody approached and smiled at him. “Hey, big guy.”

“Hey,” Brody said. “Tired?”
“Um, but good tired. What do you want to eat tonight? We’re on our own. I booked a

room in New York for Stan and Claire and sent them on a little vacation this weekend.
It’s their wedding anniversary.”

“That was sweet.”
“That’s the Dr. Jekyll surfacing.” He reached for Brody’s hand. “You bring out the

best in me.”

Brody swallowed and squeezed his hand.
“Anyway”—Vic grinned—“we have the entire weekend alone. We can be naked by

the pool and—”

“Vittorio.”
“Oh, oh. No Vic?”
“I can’t stay. I have to get back to the city. Your personal trainer is coming on

Monday and—”

“He’s not as cute as you.”
Brody smiled. “Sorry.”
“So.” Vic picked at the armrest on his chair. “That’s it?”

Brody sighed. “It was probably a bad idea for us to get involved like this.”
“A bad idea?” Vic looked up at him.
“You have a career. You’re a star. And I have a clinic and … we’d never see each

other.”

“You’re blowing me off then.” Vic looked back down.
“No. I mean, we can still be friends.” It sounded hollow. And it hurt like hell. But

Brody couldn’t do this again.

“Fine,” Vic said stiffly. “Whatever you want, Brody. You might as well get going

then.” He still didn’t look at him.

Brody sighed. “Vic.”
“Don’t. It’s okay. I get it. Go on. Thanks for all you’ve done. I couldn’t have done it

without you.”

Brody nodded and walked back inside to the room where he hadn’t slept for the last

two weeks. He took his bag out of the closet and began to pack. Maybe he shouldn’t
leave Vic all alone. Terrance was away this weekend at some convention.

When he came out of the room, Vic was standing at the bar pouring himself a drink.
“Are you angry at me?” Brody asked him.
“No,” he said. “I’m angry at myself.” He sipped the drink, then turned and looked at

him.

“I’ll stay the weekend if you like. I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“Are you staying for me, Brody, or for yourself?”
“Do you want me to stay or not?” he snapped.
Vic slammed the empty glass down on the bar and crossed the floor. He grabbed

Brody’s face between his hands and pushed him back against the wall, kissing him hard
as he went. After a deep, lengthy, passionate kiss, Vic released him.

“That was some answer,” Brody said softly, a smile forming on his lips.
Vic’s chest was heaving. “Well, if you’re staying, you better earn your keep. I’m not

paying for it.”

“I’m a whore now?”
“Yeah.” Vic nodded, laughing slightly. “Be my whore this weekend.”
Brody ran a hand over Vic’s hair. He placed an arm around his waist and pressed

him close. “My pleasure,” he groaned, then kissed him hard.

“And Brody,” Vic said, meeting his eyes, “if it’s the last weekend we ever spend

together, then…”

Brody swept him up in his arms. “I know,” he said softly, and took him into the

bedroom. “I know.”

The soft sighs had a calming effect on his heart rate as Brody settled down into the

pillow, dragging Vic’s slick body closer. Suddenly it was like he couldn’t get him close
enough and he kissed his mouth hungrily while Vic reached between Brody’s thighs and
stroked his penis.

“I love your cock,” Vic murmured, kissing his chest slowly as his hand played there.
“I noticed that,” Brody said with a chuckle.
“You did, did you, and you know what I noticed?” Vic crawled on top of him.
Brody grunted. “What was that?”
“You love my ass.”
“Oh yeah.” He chuckled again. “I do at that. It’s an ass made for fucking.”

Vic moved his lips down to Brody’s belly.
“May I ask what you’re up to?”
“You may not.”
He placed a hand in Vic’s hair. “Okay.”
Vic licked Brody’s balls and drew them into his mouth. Brody hissed something

between his teeth and moaned. “Shit, Vittorio.”

It didn’t take long for his cock to respond as Vic licked and kissed it.
“Now that you’ve got me there, what do you intend to do with it?” Brody muttered.
Vic looked up at him. “Ride it.”
Brody laughed as Vic straddled his lap. He leaned down, hair in his face, kissed

Brody’s mouth, moving his tongue around his. “You are a bad boy.”

“Um. You make me a bad boy. Hand me the lube, cowboy.”
Brody grinned and reached for the lube. Vic took his time lubing Brody’s cock and

then moving a slick finger up inside of himself. Suddenly Vic jumped off him.

“Hey, hey, where are you going?” Brody protested. He was totally erect and horny as

hell. Who wouldn’t be, watching Vic lube himself like that?

“I have these.” Vic came back with a set of handcuffs.
“Vic! You are a naughty—”
“Oh shut up, handsome,” he muttered, lifting Brody’s arms and snapping the cuffs to

the headboard. “Now you’re mine.” He straddled Brody again, moved his hands over his
chest, and twisted both nipples as he brushed Brody’s cock with his ass a few times,
teasing.

Brody swallowed.
“Horny?” Vic asked him softly.
“Oh yeah.”
“You are so sexy cuffed like that, so hot.” Vic kissed him again, nibbled his nipples,

licked a line down to his cock, then took his cock in his hand. “One more thing.”

“You’re killing me here,” Brody grunted.
Vic laughed and hopped off the bed again, his erection causing his cock to stand

straight out. Brody licked his lips. Then he heard a buzzing sound. “What in the hell…”

Vic smirked, brandishing a large buzzing contraption in his hand which was shaped

like a cock. “All lubed and ready for your ass, baby.”

“You’re putting that up into my…”
“Bottoms up, big guy.” Vic lifted one of Brody’s legs and began the progression.
Brody’s neck strained back as his anus objected to the invasion. Vic pressed up and

onward, opening him suddenly like he’d never been opened before. Brody groaned.

“Does it hurt? Is it okay?” Vic asked. “I want it to feel good.”
Brody licked his lips. “Feels um … um … good, yeah. Deeper.”
Vic pressed a little more and finally found the right spot. The pressure vibrated up

against Brody’s prostate and he saw stars. “Okay, do it, get on my cock,” he grunted.

Vic straddled him and the impact of Vic’s ass capturing his cock and that vibrator in

his ass sent him into spirals.

He’d had men fuck him before although he was for the most part a top, but he’d

never fucked a guy and had something in his ass at the same time.

He kept his hips up; the contraption was cutting into his ass, but the pleasure of Vic

riding him and that vibration made him forget the discomfort.

Vic was yelling as he moved up and down on his cock in rapid jerks now and

Brody’s head pressed deeper into the pillow as a series of gasps and moans let go into
what sounded like a blow horn when he came.

“Oh God,” Vic shouted, “Brody, damn it, Brody, um … um … yeah…”
Brody shuddered with a long groan, and Vic’s hand reached between his legs to

move the vibrator in and out of him, creating an entirely new sensation of pleasure.

Vic was off of him and had rolled him to the side where he kissed his shoulder and

began to fuck him in earnest with the contraption. “Just relax and enjoy it, baby,” he
cooed. “God, you have a fantastic ass. Mine is not the only one made for fucking. I’m
getting hard again just watching that contraption fuck your ass. Can I? Can I fuck you,
Brody?”

“Um, God, yeah … yeah … come on.” He swallowed, his cock swelling again.
Vic pushed the contraption in and out again a few times. Brody groaned, panted.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Vic, come on.”

The contraption came out of him slowly. Vic held Brody tight to his body and buried

his cock inside of him. For a minute Vic didn’t move. “What’s wrong?” Brody asked.

“Nothing, I … give me a minute.”
“You’re not too tired?”
“No, I…”
Brody could have sworn he heard a sob, but then suddenly Vic started to move inside

of him, his soft moans resounding in Brody’s ear. A hand came around to play with his
nipples, pulling and twisting as he picked up his pace. He pulled Brody’s leg up to get
deeper and then started pounding him. “Say you’re mine, Brody,” he grunted. “Say
you’re mine!”

“Vic, Vic … yeah … yeah!”
Vic came inside him, filling him with his warm cream, which soothed the emptiness

his cock left when it exited his body.

Vic rolled him onto his back and sucked his cock until Brody came as well, and then

lay there tenderly licking him until Brody fell into a deep sleep.

* * * *

When he awoke, the handcuffs were gone and Vic was curled up beside him. Brody

moved closer to him, rubbed his jaw against his cheek. He looked so beautiful there.
Warning bells went off inside his head. He had to leave today. He stretched his arms
above his head, which prompted Vic to move his head onto Brody’s chest. “You need to
shave,” he muttered.

Brody rubbed his face. “I know. Did I give you whisker burn?”
“Oh yeah. You make me burn all right.” Vic grinned, looking up at him. “Um, nice

morning erection.”

“You going to do something about that?”
“Damn right I am.”
“Come up here, devil boy.” Brody pulled his mouth to his and kissed him hard. “You

taste like cum.”

“So do you,” Vic accused, laughing.
“No wonder you’re such a star soccer player, you’re quick. You don’t miss a trick.”
He laughed, his hand slipping down to squeeze Brody’s cock. “I’m a winger. I’ve got

to be quick. Wingers are the fastest players on the field.”

“Um.” Brody kissed him again. “Fastest players in bed too, it looks like.”
Vic moved his lips down his chest, pausing suddenly as the doorbell rang. “Who in

the hell is that?” he groaned.

Brody checked the alarm. “It’s only nine.”
Vic swore, searching for something to put on. “I’ll get rid of them.”
Brody stretched again in the bed, closing his eyes, fondling his cock lightly. It was

probably a salesman or something.

A few minutes later, Vic returned. He flicked on the light. His expression was tense.

“It’s for you,” he said.

“Me?” Brody sat up. “Who is it?”
“Someone named Freddy.”
Brody blinked. “Freddy?”
“Your boyfriend?” Those two words could have frozen water. “That the reason you

wanted to get back so fast?”

“I told you it was over.”
“Well, someone needs to tell him that. He’s really upset. He’s been drinking. And he

told me he can’t live without you, so…” Vic headed to the door. “You better go to him
before he dies.”

Brody sighed as the door slammed shut. Fuck. Freddy. What in hell!
Brody went to his room and pulled on some shorts. Freddy was sitting outside on the

front porch when he came downstairs. His face was in his hands. “Freddy, what in the
hell are you doing here? How did you know I was here?”

Freddy stood up. Vic had one thing right. He looked like shit. “Don’t leave me,

Brody. I love you.”

Brody muttered under his breath. “I told you, it’s over, Freddy.”
“I came out to my coach. I told him no more girls. I told him I was in love, with a

guy. Brody, I put it all on the line for you. You have to be with me. I’ll kill myself. I can
… please, Brody.” He went down on his knees, sobbing like a baby.

Brody closed his eyes. He placed a hand in Freddy’s hair. “Okay, okay, get up. We’ll

talk about this at home. Now, calm down.”

“Can we drive back together?” He wiped his eyes. “Please? I don’t think I can…”
“I’ll ask Vittorio if we can leave my car here. We can arrange to have it picked up

next week. Give me a few minutes and we’ll go. Get in the car, wait for me.”

“Baby,” Freddy said. He hugged him. Brody patted his back and released him.
“Go on. I’ll be right there.” He watched until Freddy got into his car and then went

back inside.

Vic was in the living room. He’d probably been watching everything from the

window.

“He’s in bad shape. I’m going to take him home. Can I leave my car here until…”
“Sure. No problem.” Vic wasn’t looking at him. “He really loves you. He gave up

everything, came out. That’s a big step.”

“Yes.”
“Are you happy?”
“No, I’m not fucking happy.”
Vic looked at him.

“I didn’t tell him to come out here like this.”
“But you’re going back with him.”
“Do I have a choice? I can’t leave him in this state. He’s not … stable.”
“You still love him.”
“I didn’t say that. I said I can’t just send him away. Listen Vic, I—”
Vic put up a hand. “It was nice. Now we both have lives to get back to. Just leave,

Brody. It’s only natural I’d develop a crush on you, given how dependent I’ve been on
you for…” He trailed off. “You can see yourself out,” he muttered and walked outside to
the backyard.

Brody sighed. He almost followed him but to say what? Freddy was waiting and he

had to take care of him, even if he knew he didn’t feel the same anymore.

Ten minutes later, he was in the driver’s seat. He cast one look at the house to see if

he could catch a glimpse of Vic but the man was out of sight. He started the engine and
drove down the road.

Freddy reached for his hand. “I forgive you for fucking him. He was a nice little

piece of ass.”

Brody glanced at him and jerked his hand away. “You forgive me?”
“We’ve both done some things but that’s over now. We can be together. Brody, I’ve

missed you. I’ve been an idiot.”

Brody kept his eyes on the road. It would have been impossible, Vittorio and him,

wouldn’t it? Even if Vic did love him … did Vic love him, or was it like he said, just a
crush?

“Are you listening to me, Brody?”
Brody flicked his gaze toward Freddy. “Can we not talk for a while, please?”
Freddy nodded, and they drove in silence.

* * * *

It wasn’t easy to make Freddy see that it was really over. For almost three months,

Brody stayed by his side and helped him deal with his sexuality, even attending
counseling sessions with him, but he warned Freddy that he wasn’t going to sleep with
him again.

Sandra had told Freddy where he could find Brody that day. Freddy had confessed

everything to her, and she told Brody that she felt sorry for him. Brody forgave her for
that, but he wasn’t sure he could ever forget the look on Vic’s face when Freddy had
showed up.

He’d driven back to Vic’s with Sandra to get his car but there was no answer when

he rang the bell. So he just took his car and left.

What with the clinic and Freddy’s clinginess, the time flew by, and the only time he

had to think about Vittorio was when he crawled into bed at night. That’s when he missed
him the most. He thought about calling him but it was obvious that Vic didn’t want to
hear from him.

Then one day Terrance Scott stopped by the clinic. Brody was surprised to see him.

“Hey, Coach,” he said, “what brings you here?” He found himself looking expectantly
behind him, thinking maybe Vic would stop by to say hello too.

But the coach was alone.
“I have another injured player, nothing severe, but with the job you did on Barilla,

I’d like you to handle it.”

“It would be my pleasure. I’ll have my secretary schedule the appointment. How is

… ah … Vittorio?”

“He’s leaving the American team. We’re losing him.”
Brody lifted an eyebrow. “How come?”
“He’s decided to play for Italy. He’s making the announcement on the sports channel

tomorrow night. Keep it under your hat.”

“Why would he want to play for Italy? I know he’s Italian but he was born here. I

thought…”

“I have no idea. He just came to me shortly after you left and said if he was in shape

to go back to the game, he wanted to go to Europe.”

“It’s a long way.”
“It’s a big loss. He’s not going to be easy to replace, but of course the Italians are

ecstatic.”

Brody was lost for words.
“Why don’t you come to the party tomorrow night?”
“What party?”
“After the announcement, the boys are giving him a send-off party. He’d love to see

you.”

Brody wasn’t so sure about that. “Where is it?”
“At the hotel; here”—Coach handed him two invitations—“bring a date if you want.

Now if you’ll just point me to where I can book those appointments…”

“Oh, sure.” Brody fingered the invitations in his hand and led Scott to the front desk.
Sandra was happy to be invited to a night out even if it was for a “bunch of jocks,” as

she so carelessly called them. “Hey, that bunch of jocks constitutes the majority of your
patients,” Brody said, laughing, as they got out of the car and walked into the lobby of the
hotel.

Sandra placed a hand on his arm. “And how many of those morons have broken our

hearts?” Sandra had had her own heartbreak with a basketball player.

Had Vic broken his heart, or had they broken each other’s? It didn’t matter. Vic was

leaving. And there had never been any promises made. “And we never learn,” he sighed.

“Um.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, glancing at the huge glossy

photograph of Vittorio Barilla in the lobby. “Like him. Why didn’t you just tell him you
love him instead of wasting your time playing nursemaid to Freddy?”

Brody stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
Sandra turned him around and made him look at the picture. “Him. You’ve been

mooning around ever since you came back like a lovesick puppy. Does he feel the same
way?”

“It wouldn’t have worked.”
“How do you know? Did you try?”
He shook his head. “I’d been through crap with Freddy and—”
“But he’s cuter than Freddy.” She hugged his arm. “And you love him, honey. Why

don’t you tell him?”

“Because he’s leaving.”
“Give him a reason to stay. Have you called him?”
He shook his head. “He didn’t want to see me that day we went out to get the car.”

“Come on,” she coaxed, handing the doorman her invitation. “Let’s say hello. I’ll tell

you right away if he’s carrying a torch.”

“A torch?” He grinned, handing the doorman his invite as well.
Sandra giggled and pointed to some chairs where they were to be seated for the press

conference. The room in the back was set up for a big party with a podium; dinner and
dancing would follow the announcement. Brody recognized a lot of professional sports
figures as he looked around the room.

When the lights went down and the cameras all began to flash, Brody’s pulse sped

up. There he was, his Vic, his dark hair shiny and well-groomed, walking steady and
secure. He stared into the camera and announced that he had been “recruited by the
European Soccer League. I’m sad to leave the United States, my home, but I’m ready for
a change. And I want you all to know that although I’ll play my best for my new team,
my heart will always be here.” He said a few words in Italian for his Italian fans and then
began to answer questions.

Sandra reached for Brody’s hand. “Oh Brody,” she said, placing her head on his

shoulder, “why did you let him go?”

He cleared his throat, not aware that there were tears in his eyes. “Maybe I…” He

faltered. “Maybe it was the real thing but I was afraid he’d break my heart. I don’t know.
I was a fool.”

“And now you have a chance to…”
“I can’t. I can’t just walk up to him and…”
“I told you, I’ll tell you if he’s carrying the torch.”
“The torch…” He laughed. “Right.”
It took forever to get close enough to Vic to say anything. At the end, they waited

patiently, Brody at his shoulder, as Vic spoke to some sportscaster.

When Vic turned around, they came face-to-face, and Vic’s eyes widened. He looked

a little stunned and for a moment, he didn’t speak.

Sandra nudged Brody. “Hey,” he said. “How are you?”
“F-fine, you?” Vic asked, his gaze never leaving his.
“Great. I heard you were … actually, your coach invited me.”
Vic didn’t reply. He just stood there.
“Well,” Brody said, “good luck. I—”
Someone grabbed Vittorio now and whirled him around. Cameras snapped again.
Sandra drew Brody away from the commotion. “Damn, Brody, that’s not a torch he’s

carrying, it’s a goddamn inferno. Go and talk to him, drag him off if you have to. Don’t
let him go. He wants you.”

“Sandra, are you sure?”
“I’d stake my job on it.” She met his eyes and shoved him toward the crowd. “Go

and get him.”

Brody elbowed his way back into the crowd. When he reached Vic, he grabbed his

arm and pulled him back. Vic turned around in his arms and they were crushed together.
Brody looked down at him. “Don’t go,” he said. “I love you.”

Vittorio shook his head, indicating he couldn’t hear him. “What? What did you say?”
“I said I love you,” Brody told him, louder.
Vic pressed harder against him. “Say it again.” He blinked. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I said I love—” He stopped, narrowing his eyes when he saw that Vic was laughing.

“You heard me the first time, didn’t you?”

“Um, I did.” He nodded with a big smile. “I just wanted to hear it again. Say it again,

baby.” He wound his arms around Brody’s neck and hugged him tighter.

Brody smiled. “I love you. Don’t leave me.” He lowered his head to Vic’s, pressing

their foreheads together.

Vic buried his fingers in Brody’s hair and dragged his mouth down to his. “God

damn it, took you long enough to figure it out.” He kissed him passionately as flashbulbs
went off around them.

Brody was kind of dazed when Vic released him. “That’s so you don’t forget,” Vic

told him, taking his hand. “Now, come on; I have a farewell party to attend in my honor.”

“Wait, you’re still going to Italy?”
“If you don’t want me to go, say so.” Vic held Brody’s gaze.
“How long will you be gone?”
“Not long. How about a vacation in Rome?”
“Or a honeymoon?” Brody raised an eyebrow.
Vic’s eyes misted over. His mouth trembled. They were both oblivious to the people

around them. “Is that a proposal?”

“Could be.”
“Sex will be great when I get back to the US.”
“And when I fly out to Italy.”
“I’ve only got another year or two in me, Brody. After that, I’ve already been offered

a coaching job here in the US. I’m slowing down.”

Brody hugged his shoulders. “You’ll always be my champ, babe.”
“In bed maybe,” Vic replied, chuckling.
“Now, go on,” Brody said, “your fans are waiting.”
“And you?”
“I’ll wait for where you shine the best.” He winked.
“I’ll bring the cuffs,” Vic teased, then allowed himself to be whisked away.
“So, have I lost my date?” Sandra grabbed him suddenly.
“No. I think Vic will share. Thanks, sweetie.”
She hugged him. “So, I still have my job?”
“Oh yeah, and it looks as if you’ll be playing boss more often than you thought.”
She looked confused.
“Come on, let me buy you a drink and I’ll tell you all about it.”

The End

Story Two

Man Closet

Chapter One

George was like a puppy at his heels, rattling off everything that had happened in the

office over the last two days. Noah had been in San Francisco trying to get an interview
with a high-profile city councillor who’d been hiding in the closet for years.

“George,” Noah said, turning around to look at him, “could you at least let me have

my coffee first before you bombard me with a shitload of things I can’t possibly fucking
remember?”

“You didn’t get the interview, did you?” George frowned.
“No, I didn’t get the interview,” he grumbled. “But I’m not through with Harry

Morgenstern yet.” Noah walked into his office, ignoring his secretary’s attempt to give
him a file.

George followed him. He was probably the only one who’d dare, given the vibes

Noah was sending out. Noah plunked down behind his desk and took the plastic cover off
his coffee. George took a seat across from him.

Noah glanced over at George Osgrove. They’d been best friends since university

where they’d met when they were both enrolled in the journalism program. People used
to call them Mutt and Jeff. Noah was tall, dark, and muscular with a classically handsome
face. George was short and round, had bad skin, was prematurely losing his hair, and had
the worst eyesight of anyone Noah knew. When one looked at George, they only noticed
two things: his big round glasses and his enormous smile.

George might have looked like a frightened little nerd, but he was far from it. Noah

saw more than most people did. George had balls. Just two days after they’d met in class,
George walked right up to Noah in the cafeteria and said, “I want you to fuck me.”

Noah had been speechless, a position he rarely found himself in. And that night,

Noah found George, naked, and in his bed at the dorm, equipped with lube and condoms.
But nothing had happened. Noah had had a boyfriend, and by the time that relationship
was over and done with, George’s crush had faded and he and George had become fast
friends.

The one thing they both did have in common was their politics. They were

committed to equal rights and were very proud to be gay. They marched the marches and
participated in the protests, and came out to anyone who’d listen. And the one thing
neither one of them could tolerate were those so-called “straight men” who liked to fuck
gay men out of “curiosity.” Closet cases became Noah and George’s mission in life. And
out of that disdain, they founded Hide magazine, which was dedicated to drawing out and
exposing closet cases, primarily celebrities or public officials.

Upon graduation, they continued publishing Hide. Neither of them had ever expected

to make a living out of it, but the magazine became a huge success, affording Noah and
George nice houses, exclusive sports cars, and everything they could really want in life.

Noah and George now employed almost fifty people and were reaching their five-

year mark. They were planning a big celebration soon. Life was good except when they
didn’t get an exclusive.

Each time Noah was unable to accomplish the task of exposing one of these closeted

bastards, he took it personally. The guy he’d been seeing when he and George met was
one such case. They’d met in high school. Danny had played football, dated cheerleaders,
and fucked him on the side. When they got to university, Noah had been sure that Danny
would come out. It never happened. He couldn’t help thinking of all the men out there
with broken hearts because of these closeted pricks.

“Politicians are tough,” George was saying sympathetically as Noah drank his

coffee. “Did you even get to speak to him?”

“For a few minutes.” Noah smirked. “Then I got thrown out of the party he was

attending. I landed in the mud, ruined my Armani suit. I have a good mind to send the old
queen a bill.”

George laughed. “That’s my boy. You need more ammunition. Anyway, are you

ready for some good news?”

“Sure.”
“Two words: Ace Taylor.”
“What about him? Wait, let me guess, the record company sent us another

threatening letter warning us to cease and desist?”

“Yeah, but that’s not it. That guy we contacted last summer in Reno, ah…” George

checked his clipboard. “Lindsey Peters, the one who claimed to have slept with Taylor in
his hotel room after the concert?”

“Yeah, the one who wouldn’t agree to do the interview?”
“Well, he phoned me yesterday. He says he’s changed his mind.”
“Well, well.” Noah sat up in his seat with a smile. “How much does he want?”
“He says he’s willing to negotiate.”
“Offer him ten grand,” Noah said, “but we want full disclosure. I want all the dirty

details. Get our lawyers working on it right away so there will be no legal backlash. Are
you sure this guy can prove he was with Taylor?”

“He says he can.”
“Why’d he change his mind?”
“What do you think?” George smirked. “Taylor never called him back.”
A few hours later, after Noah finished catching up on the work he’d missed while he

was wasting his time in San Francisco, he dragged out the file he had compiled on Ace
Taylor. Taylor was drummer for the rock group Savage Heat.

The man was hot as hell. He was twenty-four-years old, six foot three and solid

muscle, with long wavy brown hair which he usually wore in a ponytail, and killer eyes.
He had that rock star look, brutishly handsome with an arrogant smile, but beautiful,
almost gentle eyes, a startling turquoise color, which George swore up hill and down
were the result of colored contacts. Noah, though, believed that Taylor’s eyes were the
only authentic thing about him.

He was a heartthrob. Women threw themselves at him when he came into a room,

rushing security to jump him onstage. He was often photographed with half-naked girls
hanging off of him, and yet, rumors abounded that Ace Taylor enjoyed hot man sex, and
the hotter the better.

His macho image pissed Noah off, reinforcing the idea that big, tough he-men like

Ace couldn’t possibly be gay. He wanted Ace out of the closet, exposed, naked, and held
up as proof that not all gay men were limp-wristed girlie boys prancing through the
posies.

Noah studied the glossy photograph of Ace’s handsome face and smiled. Ace had

always refused Noah’s offer to be interviewed. And due to the fact that Noah was well-
known as Hide’s publisher, he was refused entry to any of the backstage parties after the
concerts, although he’d seen Ace onstage many times. But now, what with the man who
was willing to tell all about him and Ace Taylor hitting the sheets, things were about to
change. “Your ass is mine, beautiful,” he whispered. “You just wait.”

* * * *

Lindsey Peters came in the next morning on a first-class flight from Reno, paid for

by Hide magazine. He was tall and lanky, a little older than Noah had expected, and
looked as if he belonged back in the sixties.

“I’m going to take you to lunch, Mr. Peters,” Noah told him, having had his secretary

make reservations at a nice little French restaurant nearby.

“Sounds good; I’m starved,” he said. “And please, call me Lindsey.”
“Lindsey, fine, and please, Noah.”
George gave Noah the thumbs-up as he headed to the elevator with Lindsey, and

Noah grinned back.

They descended to the parking lot and Noah drove to the restaurant, making small

talk as they went. He inquired as to Lindsey’s flight, and what he did in Reno.

“What else?” He laughed. “I’m a blackjack dealer.”
Once they were installed in the restaurant with menus in hand, Noah edged closer to

what he was dying to ask Lindsey. “George tells me that what made you change your
mind about going public had to do with your relationship with Ace. Is this revenge?”

Lindsey glanced around. “No, it’s not for revenge, although the son of a bitch fucked

me and then wouldn’t even take my phone calls after.”

“Why did you wait all this time? Why didn’t you come to us before?”
“I kept hoping he’d call, you know.” He looked down at the table.
“Can you prove you were with Ace?”
“Damn right I can. We weren’t alone.”
Noah raised an eyebrow. This was getting even more interesting.
“You weren’t the only one he fucked that night?”
“It was at a party, after a Savage Heat show. The show was at the casino, a special

favor to the boss, Brian Jacobs’ brother-in-law.”

“The casino owner is related to the lead singer of Savage Heat?”
“That’s right. It was kind of a wedding gift to Brian’s sister.”
“Okay.”
“After the show, the band members hung around the casino, signing autographs,

playing games and such. Ace eventually came over to my table.”

“And he propositioned you?”
“No. I wish. I’d been trying to catch a glimpse of him all night. I had such fantasies

about him. When he finally came over, I could scarcely hold the cards. He played for
quite a while. He did pretty well, but he ended up losing it all in the end. It wasn’t a lot of

money, and he took it well. I wanted him. I didn’t know if he was into men or not, and I
didn’t care. I knew rock stars were less uptight, and they got into all kinds of things, and I
wanted, no, I needed Ace to get into it with me.”

“So then what happened?” Noah couldn’t help feeling excited. His cock had

stiffened even thinking about it, and he told himself to concentrate.

Just then the waiter came back. Impatiently Noah ordered a salad, and Lindsey went

for the filet mignon. At that price, his info better be good.

“So?” Noah insisted. “What happened?”
“We were all invited to the VIP suite for a party after. The boss had reserved the

entire top floor of the hotel. An hour into it, everyone was either stoned or drunk. I still
couldn’t get near Ace. He was surrounded by people. And then at one point, I looked for
him and he’d disappeared.”

“He was busy?” Noah raised an eyebrow.
“Oh yeah,” Lindsey breathed, nodding and leaning closer. “He was busy all right. I

walked down the hallway to where the pool was. There were three naked men by the
pool, and one of them was Ace. I sucked in some breath, stopped dead when I saw them.
They’d all been in the pool because they were wet, and damn it, the moonlight was
shining down on Ace, and I just about…” He paused, shifted in his seat. “I almost came
right there and then. He has one gorgeous body, and the other two men were helping
themselves to it. One was sucking his cock. The other one was busy kissing him all
over.”

Noah swallowed, reached for his water glass and took a drink. He adjusted his tie.

“Go on.”

“I undressed. I didn’t think about anything except touching him. I wanted Ace to

fuck me. That’s all I could think about. I think I actually pushed one of the guys aside. I
lowered my cock over Ace’s mouth. He leaned his head back, looked into my eyes, and I
trailed my cock over his lips. When he opened his mouth and tilted his head back, I
lowered my cock into his throat. He…” Peters paused. “He deep throated me. Man, he
was no novice. He’d done that before.”

Noah drank some more water. He felt the sweat on his forehead, the wetness in his

underwear. Damn. “Then what happened?”

“I came. And one of the guys sucking Ace impaled his ass on Ace’s cock. Ace

released my cock and fucked the guy, eventually sitting up and lifting him up and down
on his cock. Damn, he was in control, and he’s got muscles in his arms like … wow …
there’s no question he’s a drummer.”

“So you watched?”
“Oh yeah, I watched and I came. And then he turned on his belly and crooked his

finger at me. The guy he’d fucked was on his back, finished, but Ace wasn’t. He was still
hard and ready to go. He fucked me over the balcony at the hotel. He spread me there,
and as I looked down at the traffic, he took control of my ass. And I’m telling you, I felt
as if it was the first time. He’s rough and tender all wrapped into one. And he can go, and
go.”

“And then?”
“That’s it. I saw him in the morning, and he took my number. He told me I had a

nice ass. I called him a few times and got no reply.”

“Is there anything on Taylor’s body that only someone seeing him naked would

know about?”

“He’s got a small drum with two drumsticks across it tattooed on the inside of his

left thigh. I noticed it when I was licking his balls, just before he fucked me.”

“Excellent. Those other guys who were there, do you think they’d do an interview?

Any idea who they were?”

“There’s something you should know,” Lindsey said just as the waiter came to set

down two plates of food in front of them.

Noah nodded at the waiter, impatient for his departure. “What? What should I

know?”

“One of those guys who was out there on the roof that night was Brian Jacobs.”
“Shit.”
“Um. He seemed pretty wasted, and I really didn’t recognize him right away. He was

the one bouncing on Ace’s cock.”

Noah grinned. He sat back in his chair. This was far better than he expected. Gotcha.

Chapter Two

Back at the magazine, Noah summarized Peters’ story for George. “Now, put Peters

up in one of the better hotels, have the contract prepared, and based on what I told you,
develop the interview questions.”

“Ah, why do I get the impression you’re going somewhere?” George lifted an

eyebrow.

“I am. I’m going to Los Angeles.”
“To do what?”
“To see Ace Taylor. According to my sources, Savage Heat is working on a new CD

in the studio. Mr. Taylor is at home.”

“Taylor has never granted you an interview before. And why in hell would you want

to see him, now that you have him exactly where you want him?”

“To let him know I have him exactly where I want him, and to see if he wants the

chance to come out before we go public with Peters’ interview.”

“That’s not like you.” George narrowed his eyes. “What if Ace decides to sue? He

could hold up the entire thing for months, even years. What if the informant is lying?”

“He’s not lying, and Ace Taylor won’t sue. And given what I got on him, Mr. High

and Mighty will finally grant me an audience. Alice,” Noah called to his secretary, “get
me on a flight to LA today. I’ll call you when I get in,” he said to George with a grin.

“What about payment for the informant? How much should we—”
“Hold off on that. How much we pay Peters will depend heavily on how much Ace is

willing to put out.”

George lifted an eyebrow. “Put out?”
“Figure of speech, my friend, figure of speech.”
It was seven in the evening when Noah checked into the hotel. He put down his

suitcase and dialed the number for Anthony Fortuna, one of the managers at Ground
Sound Music, the music company that produced Savage Heat.

Speaking to Fortuna was as close as Noah had ever gotten to Ace Taylor, as the man

often acted as Ace’s messenger boy. Fortuna’s cell phone rang several times before the
message machine kicked in. “You’ve reached Fortuna. Leave a message if it’s urgent.”

“Oh, you might consider this urgent, Anthony.” Noah smiled into the receiver. “This

is Noah Daniels from Hide magazine. I have some interesting information concerning
Ace Taylor. I’d like to give him an opportunity to comment before I publish the
interview. You might want to call me back.”

His phone rang twenty minutes later. “Hello, Anthony,” he said.
“You were that sure I’d call back?”
“Yes, if for no other reason than curiosity.”
“What do you want, Daniels?”
“I have a verified source who has agreed to talk to Hide about Ace Taylor. His name

is Lindsey Peters. He’s agreed to give Hide an exclusive interview. He has some really
interesting things to say.”

“Like?”
“I can’t tell you that. I’m here in town at the Hilton, and I want to talk to Ace Taylor,

face-to-face.”

“Ace has no interest in speaking to a hack like you.”
“Okay, but he might change his mind. I want you to give Ace a message for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Tell him his drum tattoo between his legs is very attractive and that his fans will be

really interested in the love affair between him and Brian.”

“Huh? What?”
“Well, at least I know you haven’t been sucking his cock.”
The phone went dead.
Noah put down his cell phone and sat back on the bed with a smug smile. Now all he

had to do was wait.

He was half-asleep when the pounding came on the door. He opened his eyes and

stretched. “Hold on,” he groaned, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. It was after
eleven o’clock and it felt like much later.

Noah stumbled to the door, annoyed when he noticed there was no peephole. “Who

is it?” he demanded.

“Ace Taylor.”
Whoa. Noah literally took a step away from the door. The voice on the other side

was deeply male, and deeply pissed off.

“I don’t know if I should let you in or not. You sound angry, Mr. Taylor.” Noah

smiled but glanced at the chain lock to make sure it was in place. Taylor might be pissed
off, but he was here outside his hotel room, Ace Taylor himself; that meant Peters’ story
had something to it.

A string of curses suddenly assaulted his eardrums, then something hit the door hard.

It sounded like thunder and the chain lock rattled.

“I don’t want to have to call security.”
“Don’t be such a coward, Daniels; open this fucking door. You wanted to see me,

and now’s your chance. I’m here, in the goddamned flesh. At least have the balls to face
me like a man.”

Noah laughed. “That sounded very cowboy, like you’re calling me out for a

showdown at the OK Corral.”

“Look, I promise not to beat the shit out of you. We need to talk.”
Noah took a breath and slid the chain back. He turned the lock and stood back a

little. “Okay, it’s open.”

The door swung wide like a tidal wave, causing Noah to take a few steps back. Ace

Taylor stood there, his eyes filled with anger.

“Come in.” Noah attempted a smile then walked over to the window as if he was

going to look out. He ran his gaze over the length of Taylor as Taylor closed the door.

His hair was loose, hanging about his shoulders. It looked a little wet like he’d just

gotten out of the shower, or a pool. Maybe it had been raining outside. He wore faded
jeans and black leather boots with an oversized jean shirt haphazardly tucked into his
belt.

Ace Taylor didn’t say anything for a moment. He just looked at Noah, his mouth

curling into a sneer. “Can you tell me what your problem is? What have I ever done to
you for you to hound me in this way? I don’t even know you.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Noah said, shrugging. He felt overdressed in his rumpled

blue suit. His tie was still hanging around his neck, the first few buttons of his cotton shirt
open.

“Nothing personal? I’d say commenting on the fucking tattoo I supposedly have

between my legs is goddamned personal.”

“Lindsey Peters told me that.”
“Who?”
“Oh my God,” Noah accused, shaking his head. “You don’t ever remember his

name, do you?”

“Should I remember it?”
“You fucked him.”
“I fuck a lot of guys. I can’t remember all of their names.”
“Then you don’t deny it.”
“Don’t deny what?”
“That you’re gay.”
“Why in hell should I deny that I’m gay?”
“I don’t get it. If it’s not an issue with you, why haven’t you agreed to come out in

my magazine?”

“Because who I fuck is my business and I have no intention of coming out in any

magazine.”

“You’re ashamed. You don’t want the world to know. It would damage your image

with the ladies.”

“What in hell are you talking about? I don’t sleep with women.”
Noah walked away from the window. “You’re a sex symbol.”
“I’m a rocker. It comes with the territory. Women like to have their pictures taken

with me.”

“You hide in the closet because…”
“I’m not hiding in any damn closet,” Taylor snapped.
“Fine. Give me an interview then. If you’re gay, be proud, and do something for the

cause.”

“Fuck the cause. I’m no activist. Go play your violin to someone else.”
“My violin? Do you realize that there are gay men in other countries who have to

hide their sexuality or face death?”

“Yes. I know that.”
“Do you know what you coming out could do for them?”
“Nothing, not a goddamned thing. Do you think some Saudi Arabian judge really

gives a shit about who a rock star in the US sleeps with?”

Noah shook his head. “It’s men like you who—”
“Men like me?”
“Yes, men like you who don’t fit the homophobes’ notion of what being gay is all

about. You can do away with myths and stereotypes and yet you stay in the closet.”

“Ah, so I get it. You think men like me make being gay more acceptable to the

breeders? As long as we fit the gender stereotype and don’t wear high heels to bed …
well then, maybe, straight people will tolerate us? I don’t give a damn what breeders
think of me.”

“You’re preaching.”
“Me? You’re the preacher here, buddy, and Hide magazine is your pulpit. Making

gay men acceptable to homophobes? I’m sorry. I have no intention of playing the game.
So forget it.”

“I have proof that you’re gay. I have a guy right now eager to tell all in an exclusive

interview. He even knows where your tattoo is.”

“Really? Is that so?” Ace met Noah’s gaze. The rocker reached down and began to

undo his belt.

“What—what are you doing?”
“I’m taking off my pants.”
“Why?”
The zipper was coming down now. Noah felt his hands go clammy. This was Ace

Taylor, and he was taking off his pants in Noah’s hotel room.

“Jesus.” Noah swallowed.
The pants fell down to Ace’s ankles. Thankfully, the white briefs stayed in place.
“Come here,” he demanded.
“Ah … why?”
“Just come over here,” he insisted, “unless you’re scared.”
Noah moved closer. “I’m not … ah, scared. I can take anything you dish out.”
Ace turned one leg outward, then the other. “There. Do you see a drum?”
He couldn’t see much of anything. All he could do was stare helplessly at the

substantial bulge in Ace’s shorts.

“Daniels,” Ace snapped, “focus! You see a drum?”
Noah shook his head. God, he had to be at least eight inches soft. “N-no … no

drum,” he said breathlessly.

“So, what does that tell you?”
Noah raised his head, looked into those eyes. “Are those contacts?”
“What?”
“Contacts? In your eyes. Do you wear contacts?”
“No. Why?”
“You have beautiful eyes. Unbelievable.”
The corner of Ace’s mouth quivered a bit. It looked like he wanted to laugh.
Noah shook himself and stepped back. “Get dressed, will you please?” He turned

toward the window again. His cock was straining against the zipper of his tailored pants.
It was getting painful.

“Your contact is full of shit.”
“Do you have a tattoo?”
“Yes.”
“Of a drum?” Noah turned back around just as Ace was doing up his pants.
Ace undid the first three buttons of his shirt. He moved it aside, revealing his left

pectoral. There was a small tattoo of a drum with two drumsticks crossing it. “Here’s
your drum.”

Noah went up to him, studied the tattoo, then traced it with his finger. “It’s very

nice.”

“Don’t you see? Your boy probably saw me with my shirt off.”
Noah drew his finger back. He looked up at Ace. “He was drunk. He was probably

just confused. But I believe him. I believe you fucked him over the balcony on the roof of
that hotel in Vegas.”

“I fucked him on the roof … over a fucking balcony?”
“Yes. And you weren’t alone. Brian Jacobs was with you.”
“He said that?”
“Yes.”
“Leave Brian out of this.” Ace pointed at him.
“Why? Are you lovers?”
“I didn’t say we were lovers. Don’t twist my words. Crucify me if you like, but leave

Brian out of it. I’m asking you to do this as a favor to me.”

“I can’t do that.”
“What difference does it make to you?”
“It’s my job.”
“Yeah, you’re on a fucking witch hunt.”
Noah came closer, angry now. He looked Ace in the eye. “I’ve dealt enough in my

life with you closet cases. They are the worst kind of homophobe. You set the cause back
one hundred years.”

“Now I’m a homophobe as well as a closet case?”
“Well if the shoe fits, buddy. You know, when I was fourteen, I got the shit beat out

of me for kissing a boy on the school grounds. Later, one of the seniors who beat me was
caught in the backseat of the coach’s car, blowing his cock. No one stays in the closet if I
can help it.”

To his surprise, Ace placed a hand on his shoulder.
Noah didn’t even realize that he was shaking until Ace said, “I’m sorry that

happened. It shouldn’t have.”

Noah met his eyes. “I’m fine.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to explode like

that.”

“Look,” Ace said softly. He kept his hand on Noah’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you got

beat up for a kiss. That’s just wrong, but spreading my sex life all over the media is not
going to make that go away. And Brian … Brian is having a hard time dealing with being
gay. I’ve been trying to help him. If you put his name in your magazine, it will destroy
him. Do what you want to me, but leave him out of it, please.” Ace released Noah’s
shoulder.

They were standing very close together and Noah could suddenly feel the sexual heat

slowly building in the room.

“Stay with me then.”
Ace’s eyebrow went up. “What?”
“Stay with me tonight … I mean…” He cleared his throat. What in hell am I saying?

“We can discuss it.”

“Why, Mr. Daniels.” Ace smirked. “You’re not propositioning me, are you?”
“No, I…” He shook his head. “I meant to talk, just to talk.”
“If I stay with you,” Ace smiled faintly, “we won’t be doing much talking.”
Noah flushed.
“If I fuck you tonight, will you leave Brian out of your article?”
Right now, I’d burn down the magazine. “I, ah … never … that’s not what I meant.”
“But it’s what I meant,” Ace said, meeting his eyes. “Take your clothes off, Mr.

Daniels, and I’ll give you what you want, what you really called me to your hotel room
for.”

“You really are one arrogant—”
“Yes,” Ace said, grabbing Noah’s loose tie on both ends and pulling him forward, “I

am, but you’re one crafty son of a bitch.” He slipped the tie off and let it fall to the floor.
“Now”—he pushed Noah against the wall, his mouth just about to capture his—“do we
have a deal or not?”

“You’d prostitute yourself for…” But Noah couldn’t finish. His heart was pounding

in his ears, and Ace was breathing into his mouth.

“I find you attractive. You want to fuck me. I think we might be able to make a deal.

You want to think it over?” He was undoing Noah’s shirt.

Noah swallowed, shook his head. “No.” He grabbed Ace’s face and started to kiss

him. “You got yourself a deal.”

They were horizontal in minutes. It didn’t take Noah long to take off Ace Taylor’s

clothes. He struggled with his own pants on the way to the bed and Ace pulled him down
to the mattress. Noah was dizzy, on fire, a raging fever driving all rational thought from
his head. Ace Taylor was one sexy, seductive, mind-blowing lover, and there wasn’t an
inch of anywhere that felt neglected.

The room reverberated with their heavy breathing and eventually Noah’s shouting,

which he was sure was heard three doors down.

Ace lubed his ass with his tongue, his cum, and with half a tube of something else,

and then possessed him. That was the word. Ace’s big, thick, meaty, succulent cock just
possessed his ass, and made that ass his slave.

When he pulled out of him and flopped on his back, hands under his head, Noah was

sure he was going to be in need of artificial respiration. He sounded like an asthmatic
who’d just run a marathon and, if the truth be known, Ace had done most of the work.

“Jesus,” he ended up whispering as he lay there beside Ace. “That was…” No words.
“Nice. That was nice.”
“Nice?” Noah scoffed. “Probably standard fare for you.”
Ace turned his head and glanced at him. “Enemies again?”
“No. So, what do you want exactly for me to kill the interview?”
“Will you?”
“No.”
“You won’t drag Brian into it?”
“So you are having a thing with him.” He felt the jealousy flare and he told himself

to calm down. Ace Taylor was not his boyfriend, and he’d never be.

“We are not having a thing.” Ace sat up. “And don’t you insinuate that in that trashy

magazine of yours.”

“Hide is not trashy.”
“It’s one step up from a tabloid.”
“It is not. That’s not fair.”
Ace looked down at him. “I want to meet that guy who claims I fucked him … on

top of a building or something.”

“A balcony … over a balcony, and I can’t do that.”
“Can’t arrange a meeting, or won’t?”
“Either you fucked him or you didn’t.” Noah sat up now too.
“I didn’t fuck any guy on top of a building, and especially not over a balcony. I have

vertigo.”

“What?”
“Vertigo. I get dizzy when I’m up too high. I’d never fuck a guy over a balcony.”
“You were drunk and stoned.”
“When was this alleged high altitude fuck anyway?”
“Last year.”
“Impossible.”
“What, you joined the priesthood last year?”
“Yeah, right. I look like a priest. No, idiot, but I gave up drugs and booze two years

ago. I don’t drink anything stronger than diet cola. He’s full of it, your source. I want to
meet him. If he’s telling the truth, he shouldn’t be scared. And don’t tell him about the
sober part.”

“I can ask him but—”
“If you print that without me talking to this chump first, I’ll sic my lawyers on you.”
“Not nice.”
“You’re not nice.” He grinned. “In fact…” Ace pulled him closer and kissed his

neck.

Noah shivered.
“You’re a bad boy.”
“Oh yeah?” Noah breathed, his hand moving over Ace’s thigh to that big, beefy dick

of his. “How bad do you want me?”

Ace pushed him back on the bed, Noah’s neck along the edge. Ace straddled his

shoulders and dipped his cock across Noah’s mouth.

Noah extended his tongue and licked around the head.
“You want it?”
“Oh yeah, I want it, in my mouth, in my ass.”
“You got it, baby.” Ace leaned down and melded his tongue with his, then massaged

Noah’s jaw until it widened. “I’m going to fuck you all night long, in every position, and
then maybe, just maybe I’ll spank you.”

Noah felt his cock pulse. Um. That he liked. Ace’s big strong hands on his ass, a

little pain mixed with lots of pleasure.

Ace’s cock sank into his mouth, pushing deeper until he felt it hit his throat. It was

too big to go in all the way but he’d do his best.

Ace started to fuck his face, supporting Noah’s head as he did. Noah watched his

face contort, heard the hisses coming from between his teeth. Noah repelled his gag
reflex, tasted the cum running down his throat, and then Ace pulled back, dragging Noah
up to his chest where he kissed him deeply and then pulled him forward across his knee.

Strong hands came down on his ass, one, two, and three. “Like that?”
“Ah yeah.” He was ready to come.
Ace continued his light slapping and at the same time he lubed his asshole with one

finger, then two. Noah almost hit the ceiling. “How do you want it baby, dirty or neat?”

“Fuck me, fuck me dirty.”
Ace went up on his knees, dragging Noah with him. He squeezed Noah’s cock in his

hand and plunged his own into Noah’s well-lubed opening. As he fucked him, his hands
were everywhere, on his cock, his nipples, pulling his hair back. Noah felt completely in
his power.

At one point, Ace pushed him forward to the wall and pounded into him. The sounds

of their fucking rocked the entire room, and their cries sounded almost savage.

After Ace pulled out, they fell asleep, Noah at the bottom of the bed, Ace at the top.

* * * *

When Noah woke up, the shower was running. He was aching all over from being in

positions he’d never been in, but it was a damn good ache. He pulled himself up off the
bed and saw that his cell phone was flashing. He checked his messages. He had ten. He
knew at least half of them had to be from George. He closed the phone.

Instead he wandered to the bathroom and watched Ace Taylor showering through the

glass door. Yum. That was better than anything.

Bravely he walked over and slid back the door. Ace winked at him and Noah stepped

in behind him. “I’ll do your back.”

“That’s not all you’ll do,” he teased.
Noah chuckled and began running the bar of soap over Ace’s shoulders, his back,

between his ass cheeks. Noah slipped one hand around to soap his cock.

“You’d make a good slave,” he murmured, urging him on with the cock stroking.
“Oh yeah? Want to fuck your slave?”
Ace turned around in the shower. He laid a hand on Noah’s shoulder and encouraged

him to face the wall. He slapped his butt a few times. They both laughed.

Ace soaped in between his ass cheeks now, stroked his cock, nuzzled his neck and

then lifted one of Noah’s legs as he drove his cock up inside of him.

“Oh God,” Noah grunted; the impact left him breathless. Ace supported his weight

with one hand and drove into him deep and constant. They both cried out almost at the
same time, Ace’s hand on Noah’s cock, as Ace pumped himself into Noah’s ass then
moved away.

Ace finished his shower without a word and got out. “All yours,” he said. “What

time is the plane?”

“Plane?”
“Your flight to New York. You can cancel that if you want. We’ll take the jet. I

don’t fly commercial. Too many people know me.” He stopped in front of the mirror,
rubbed his jaw. He had that great shadow, sexy.

Noah quickly rinsed and folded a towel around his waist. He followed Ace into the

main room of the hotel. “I’m not taking a jet. I’m going back to New York alone.”

“We had a deal. And I more than lived up to my part, I believe. So I get to talk with

the stool before you.”

“You’ll just pay him off,” Noah accused.
Ace pulled on his jeans. “No, I won’t. I need to know if he really was with me or not,

and I have some suspicions.”

“About what? Why don’t you just say your side of the story?”
“After him? Why do you want to print lies, Noah?” He placed his hands on his slim

hips. “Are you interested in the truth or just selling magazines?”

God, if only the sight of him didn’t give me heart palpitations.
“Both actually.”
“I’m coming to New York, with or without you, Noah. And if you try to print

anything about Brian, we’ll sue. And my boys are bigger than yours. I’ll take that tabloid
down.”

“Don’t threaten me, Taylor.”
“It’s not a threat.” Ace raised an eyebrow as he put on his shirt. “It’s a promise.”
“Just to protect your lover.”
He smiled. “You’re jealous.”
“No. I couldn’t care less who you fuck.”
Ace laughed.
“Arrogant, conceited, full of yourself and—”
“And?” He came closer, placed a hand under his chin. “You love my cock.”
Noah glared at him and slapped his hand away.
Ace laughed again, doing up his shirt. “So, we go together or not?”
“I’ll fly home on my own.”
“Afraid I’ll accost you at thirty thousand feet?”
“Not at all. I thought you had vertigo.”
“Not in a plane.”
“Um. Anyway, I need to call George and see if he can get our informant to meet with

you. And it won’t be until tomorrow.”

“That’s fine. And prepare him, you mean.”
“I won’t manipulate him.”
“No, only pay him. And he will meet with me. It’s what he wants.” Ace grabbed his

jacket and winked at him. “You have a great ass, Daniels.”

“Yeah, and you are a great ass, Taylor.”
“Touché.” Ace laughed again and left the hotel room.

Chapter Three

“Let me understand this,” George repeated over the phone, “you were in a hotel

room with the drummer from Savage Heat doing God knows what, and you agreed to let
him talk to our informant? Are you out of your mind? What did he do, hypnotize you?”

That was one way of saying it. “He says the informant is lying. The tattoo isn’t on

Ace’s thigh. It’s on his chest and he doesn’t have any others.”

“How do you know that?”
“It’s complicated. Look, Ace Taylor is on his way to New York now. I want you to

phone Peters and make sure he has his facts straight about that night. I don’t want Taylor
manipulating him and we both know how easy that would be.”

“Okay. I’ll get right on it. See you soon. And ah … am I going to get to meet Ace

Taylor?”

Noah sighed. “Yes, yes.”
“Oh God, I better go home and change then,” he said and hung up.
Noah rolled his eyes heavenward. It wouldn’t be until tomorrow.
On the way back, Noah fell into a restless sleep. When he opened his eyes, he could

have sworn that Ace Taylor was beside him, touching him.

When he got off the plane and into the taxi, he was exhausted but he went to the

office anyway. George was the only one there. The man practically lived there. He
looked up in anticipation when Noah walked in. “Oh, only you.”

“Thanks a lot. The golden boy won’t be here until later. Did you talk to Peters?”
“Yep. He said everything was cool.”
“What did he say about the tattoo?”
“He got confused, that’s all. He insists we be there when he faces Taylor.”
“Damn right we’ll be there. I won’t let Taylor bully him. He doesn’t have to worry.”
“He didn’t sound worried. So”—George grinned—“did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Come on, Noah. Did you fuck Taylor?”
“It was rather the other way round.”
“You dog!”
“It was just sex,” Noah said, shrugging. “No big deal.”
“No big deal. Ace Taylor and no big deal? What I can’t figure out is … well, no

offense, but isn’t he pissed at you?”

“What did you find out about Brian Jacobs?” Noah asked, deciding to avoid the

question.

“He and Ace have been friends since childhood. Jacobs has had a lot more problems

with drugs than the other band members. He’s been in and out of rehab three times.”

“Sex?”
“He’s been married twice; neither marriage lasted more than a few months. He’s

rumored to be straight with a sex addiction.”

“Sure. Jacobs is in the closet. Any indication that he and Taylor are more than just

jamming together musically?” Noah almost held his breath on that one. Somehow the
idea of Ace screwing the lead singer didn’t sit well at the moment.

George shrugged. “If you were Jacobs, wouldn’t you want to be Ace Taylor’s sex

slave?”

Noah cleared his throat.
“Hey.” George laughed. “You did that already.”
“Shut up. Well, I’m going to pay a visit to our boy at the hotel. Coming or not?”
“Sure, but isn’t this overkill? I just spoke to him.”
“I want to speak to him again. Hey, it will be good exercise for you to get out of that

chair,” Noah said, smirking, “with all those doughnuts, you’ve put on a few, haven’t
you?”

George threw his half-eaten doughnut at him as he rose from his seat. “Oh shut your

pie hole. We’ll take my car.”

When Noah stopped in front of Lindsey’s hotel room, he heard voices. He looked at

George. It was obvious from George’s expression that he heard them too because he
mouthed, “What the hell?”

“You did warn Lindsey about not talking to anyone before the interview, didn’t

you?”

“Of course I did. He even signed the disclaimer.”
“Well, looks like he isn’t honoring it.”
“Probably just some cheap trick he picked up for the night.”
“Well, for a cheap trick, he’s doing a hell of a lot more talking than fucking.” Noah

knocked at the door.

The talking ended abruptly and there was silence.
“Come on, Mr. Peters. I know you’re in there,” Noah growled. “Open this door.”
The chain rattled against the wood and the door opened. Noah couldn’t have been

more stunned if Dracula himself had stood there in front of him.

“Come in, Noah.” Ace Taylor opened the door wider. “And eh … Mr. Osgrove,” he

nodded at George, “nice to meet you.” Ace Taylor walked down the carpeted entrance
and into the main room where Lindsey Peters stood poised in the corner.

“He knows my name,” George said, beaming at Noah.
“Don’t you see what’s going on here?” Noah muttered, looking over at Ace and

Peters. “Isn’t this nice and cozy? How much is he paying you, Peters?”

“It’s not about that,” Peters replied.
Ace met his gaze. “You see, Lindsey and I also have a cause, Noah. Our cause is …

if a guy wants to languish in the fucking closet then it’s not your place to pull him out of
it.”

“Who are you really?” George demanded, moving closer to Lindsey Peters.
“I’m Ace’s cousin. You should have done your homework.” Peters folded his arms

across his chest.

Something felt horrible in the pit of Noah’s stomach. “You weren’t on a roof with

Ace, and Brian wasn’t there either. It was all a fabrication.”

“But if you wanted to keep Brian out of it, why mention him at all?” George looked

confused.

“We knew you were one step away from focusing on Brian,” Ace volunteered. “I

don’t have time to play these kinds of games, Noah. I had to make sure that you backed
off from me and from all the guys in the band once and for all.”

“This won’t stop me,” Noah retorted angrily. “It’s only going to make me more

determined to fry your ass, and that closeted canary, Brian Jacobs, as well. I know why
you’re protecting him.”

“Do you now?” Ace glowered at him. “Oh yes, that’s right, we’re supposed to be

lovers.”

“You son of … you set me up, wasted my time, my resources, and—”
“And you haven’t given me a moment’s peace with your bullshit crusade to out me

and everyone else. Like I told you, honey, I’m not in the damn closet but I’m not going to
be the poster boy for homophobes obsessed with what they consider fucking appropriate
masculine behavior.” Ace looked at the other two men. “Can you please leave the good
reverend and me alone for a few minutes? I have a proposition for him.”

Peters crossed the room to the door and George followed, closing the door behind

him.

“I’m not interested in any proposition you might have in mind,” Noah scoffed.
“That’s not what you said last night.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, I believe you said, ‘fuck me, fuck me.’” He smirked as he walked over to the

bed and perched there. He patted the place beside him.

“Like I said, fuck you.” Noah wanted to wipe that smirk right off his face.
“Suit yourself. Here’s the deal. You forget all about Savage Heat, as well as the

members of our immediate families. I don’t want to hear a whisper about any of us, do
you understand?”

“You’re dreaming, baby.”
“Am I?” Ace smiled.
God, he was too damned handsome. “Yeah, dreaming with a capital D. Like I said,

you’ve pissed me off now and that’s made me all the more determined to root you out.”

“That’s a shame.” Ace stood. “So, I guess I will have to go ahead with my press

conference tomorrow night.”

“Press conference about what? What could you possibly have to say except that you

like cock, and have been hiding it for years?”

Ace laughed. “I could say that, I suppose. Or, I could tell them how you lured me to

your hotel room and threatened to make my life hell if I didn’t fuck you.”

Noah’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t do that. Besides, you have no proof. It’s your

word against mine.”

Ace Taylor drew something out of his pocket. “It’s a portable movie camera. You’re

beautiful when you’re sleeping, and did you know, your cock is always hard?”

Noah’s eyes widened. “You son of … you had no right.”
“All’s fair,” he replied with a shrug, flashing him a picture.
“Give me that,” Noah growled, lunging for the camera.
Ace held it high over his head while Noah struggled for it. The movements forced

Noah to rub up against Ace’s hard lean body. He felt his cock harden and his mouth go
dry.

Ace laughed. “You can have it if you want it,” he said. “The pictures, I mean, not

me. And they’ve already been transferred to my computer so breaking this won’t do a
thing to get rid of the evidence. They make one hell of a nice screen saver.”

“Fuck!” Noah stood back, resigned to the fact that he’d been had.
“I’m not sure you know if I offered you the choice, if you’d take this”—Ace waved

the camera at him—“or this?” The smirk on his face reappeared as he grabbed himself
between the legs.

“Keep them both. Neither of them are what I’d call top scale.”
“Ouch.” Ace pretended to wince but he was still laughing. “You are so full of shit,

Daniels. It’s not even funny. So, do we have a deal or not?”

“I might just call your bluff.”
“You might, but realize that you have a hell of a lot more to lose than I do. I go

public with this and your rag is going to take a hit where integrity is concerned,
sweetheart. No one is ever going to believe anything you print again. As for me,” he
continued with a shrug, tossing the camera onto the bed, “I’m already considered to be a
decadent rock star; shagging a few guys is only going to widen my fan base, especially
since I am the victim in all this.”

“This conversation is over,” Noah snapped. “Take your sleazy cousin and get out of

here.”

He placed a card on the bureau. “That’s my private cell phone number. Don’t think

about giving it out because it gets changed every week. If I don’t hear anything from you
before tomorrow afternoon, look for me on the six o’clock news, baby.”

Noah took the card off the bureau then picked up the camera and threw it across the

room. It hit the wall.

“I’ll send you a bill for the camera.” Ace raised a hand and walked out.
George was waiting in the lobby when he came down. He took a step back when he

saw Noah’s face. “What … Noah?”

“Don’t.” Noah put up his hands. “Don’t talk to me. Don’t even look at me.” He

walked right through the lobby and out to the parking lot.

George drove quietly back in the direction of the office. They were almost in the

parking lot when he asked, “Can I talk now?”

“If you feel you have to.”
“This was a setup, right?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“And you slept with him, right?”
“He threatened to ruin me. And last night meant nothing. He just used me, set me up

and…”

George looked at him. “That’s what really bothers you, right? It was more than just

sex to you. You thought he meant it?”

“Ace Taylor was out to get me, and I got to tell you”—he put his hand on the door

and prepared to get out—“he got me good.”

Noah hardly slept that night. He kept remembering the sensation of Ace’s hard body

against his, his cock and what it had felt like inside of his body. And then the way he’d
looked at him today, with disdain and mockery.

The thing was, Ace was going to win. There was no way Noah could let him go on

national television with what had happened. Hide magazine would be finished. And he
wished that was all there was to it. But he knew it wasn’t. Sure, he was miffed at being
set up, but what really bothered him was that Ace hated him, that the night they’d spent
together had meant absolutely nothing to him, and that it would never happen again.

He’d lived out a fantasy with Ace last night, finally admitting to himself that part of

his pursuit of Ace had been personal, born of desire, born of the hope that they’d meet

and make love. And he knew now that this was all about Brian Jacobs, who was
obviously his lover.

Early the next day, Noah crawled out of bed and picked up the card Ace had given

him. The card read simply A. Taylor. He punched the number into his phone, taking some
satisfaction in the fact that it was a little after five in the morning.

The phone rang at least five times before a sleepy male voice said, “Hello?”
Noah closed his eyes. He remembered that sleepy male voice, so smooth and sexy,

whispering in his ear as he lay close to him in bed.

“Hello?” he repeated, then cursed.
“Don’t hang up.”
“Noah? Do you know what fucking time it is?”
“Yeah. I couldn’t sleep. I’d say I was sorry but—”
“You’re not.”
“Not really, no. I’ve thought about it, and I’ve decided to let it drop.”
“Okay, we’re even then. It’s over.”
Over. “I suppose it is. Brian’s a lucky guy.”
“Not so lucky. He’s fragile. He deserves a break.”
“He must love you very much.”
There was silence.
“Well, back to work.”
“Noah?”
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s okay,” Ace said. “Good luck hunting.” He hung up.
Noah sighed. He’d wanted to ask him for his pictures back but what was the point?

Ace wasn’t going to use them.

Two hours later, he sat in his office staring at the wall. George came in with coffee.

“Noah? Are you all right?”

“Fine.” He looked up, taking the coffee. “But from now on, Savage Heat is off-

limits, understood?”

George nodded.
“I’ll send a memo around as well.”
“Good idea. Okay, so … would you like to go downstairs to look over this month’s

edition before it goes to print?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” Noah said, picking up the file on Ace Taylor then taking it

over to the shredder.

Was it possible to fall in love with a man in one night? Noah would have never

believed it to be true before he’d spent that night in Ace Taylor’s arms. But eventually, as
the days and then weeks went by, he became convinced.

Hungry for a glimpse, any glimpse of Ace, he bought every music video he could get

his hands on and spent many evenings watching them over and over, anxiously awaiting
each close-up of Ace pounding away on his drums.

George came over one night when he had the video on pause where the camera was

focused on Ace. Sweat rained off his hair; his strong muscled arms gleamed.

“Oh my God,” George said, “how pathetic.”
Noah went to switch off the set.
“No wait, come on, let’s be pathetic together, haven’t seen this one.”

So they sat and watched the entire thing together, drinking whiskey sours.
“You’ve got it bad for him,” George told him, “must have been some night.”
“I don’t have it bad for him.”
“Hey, I’ve seen you moping around every day. I know. And it’s getting worse. Next,

you’ll be erecting a shrine to Ace in your bedroom.”

“Stop it,” he muttered. “You’re not helping.”
“Then go out, find a guy, fuck. You’ll forget all about that bad boy drummer.”
“You’re right. Let’s go,” Noah said, dragging George off the sofa by the arm.
“Now?” he croaked.
“Yeah. Now.”
The finding a guy and fucking bit didn’t work. It distracted him for the time he spent

actually doing the deed, but when it was over, he missed Ace more than ever. There was
no measuring up, no getting over. No guy compared to Ace Taylor.

Chapter Four

“I hate him.”
“Who?” George asked.
“Ace Taylor.”
“I’ve heard this before. What did he do now?”
“Nothing.” Noah walked into his office and slammed the door.
Later that morning there was a knock on his door.
“Come in,” Noah called.
Barbara, one of his best reporters just back from assignment, poked her head in the

doorway. “Hi Noah.”

“Hey, Barb.” Noah motioned for her to come in. “How was it?”
“Fine. I got the story but it’s not quite what we expected. I’ll tell you all about that

but first”—she beamed, sitting across from him—“I know Savage Heat is off-limits, but
this is too good to—”

“No. I don’t want to hear it.” He put up his hand.
“But boss, listen, it’s about Brian Jacobs. I got pictures.”
Noah’s eyes widened. “Pictures of what?”
“Brian Jacobs kissing a male prostitute outside the Ritz.”
“Where? Show me,” he insisted, leaning forward.
Barb passed the envelope across the desk. “I want the byline.”
“You got it if it’s good.” Noah grabbed the envelope and opened it. He pulled out the

glossy photographs and stared at them. “Holy shit!” No, there was no mistaking it. “This
is worth a gold mine. I love you!” he shouted, jumping up and grabbing Barbara. He
danced her around the room, which brought several of the other employees to his office,
wanting to know what was going on.

When George saw the pictures, he whistled then met Noah’s eyes. “What about the

deal you have going with Taylor?”

Noah grinned. “All bets are off.” He looked at Barb. “Write the copy. I’ll contact

Brian Jacobs’ agents to find out if they care to comment.”

They were really busy the entire day. He had all his messages put on hold. At the end

of the day, his secretary told him there had been one phone call from Brian Jacobs’ agent,
who had only said, “No comment.”

Noah’s cell phone rang as he was driving home. He saw “restricted number” on the

screen and narrowed his eyes. He pulled over and opened his phone. “Noah Daniels
here.”

“Hello, Noah.”
Noah squeezed the phone. He closed his eyes a second. “Ace.”
“You broke our agreement.”
“I have the pictures.”
“Look, I’m going to ask you to do this as a favor to me. If that night we spent

together meant anything at all to you, please don’t do this. Don’t publish those pictures. It
will devastate him.”

“And you? Were you surprised to see your lover with that prostitute?”

“Brian is not my lover, Noah. He’s never been my lover. We’re like brothers. We

grew up together, started this band together. And he’s always stood by me. All the drugs
and booze … the time in rehab … he’s finally clean. But this will set him back. He’s
fragile. Please, Noah, don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, Ace,” he said, but his voice faltered. “And don’t talk about that night.

You used me. It meant nothing to you at all, did it? How can you use this to…” He trailed
off.

“I did what I had to do.”
“Well,” Noah replied bitterly, “I’m going to do what I have to do.” He closed the

phone suddenly because he couldn’t let Ace hear the pain in his voice. He had to wait for
a few minutes before he drove back out onto the road because his eyes were blinded with
tears.

The following days leading up to the publication of the photographs were both

exhilarating and hectic. The lawyers for Savage Heat were battling it out with the lawyers
for Hide, and as the hour of publication grew closer, the legal team who’d worked
tirelessly for the entertainment industry’s bad boys of rock and roll backed down,
admitting defeat. Brian Jacobs’ time had come. He was about to be dragged out of the
closet kicking and screaming. No amount of money could get them to destroy those
photographs.

Barb had written a first-class article and even managed to get a quote from the

prostitute in question, who had asked to remain anonymous while confirming everything.

The staff was very excited, and proud at how hard they’d worked on this but just

twelve hours before the article was due to hit the printers, Noah’s enthusiasm began to
wane. Instead of celebrating with the gang down at the local bar, he sat alone in a bar
uptown where no one knew him, drinking quietly.

Ironically, a video of Savage Heat came on the big screen. They were performing

their newest hit, a song called, “Just Another Night,” and Ace Taylor played one hell of a
fantastic drum solo, one that caused the crowd to go into a frenzy, chanting his name like
the faithful would do for an idolized saint.

When it was over, Noah stood, wiped the residue of the last whiskey he’d drunk

from his lips and returned to the office. While the printing presses were still now, they
would be powered up in about two hours, and Brian Jacobs’ fate would be left up to his
adoring public.

Noah took the elevator to his office. He turned on his computer and stared at the

copy and the glossy photographs of the hot rock star molesting the half-naked whore in
front of the hotel. Perfect. The headline read, “Lead Singer of Savage Heat, Brian Jacobs,
Outed!”

For a few seconds, his finger hovered over the Save button. Then he moved on down

to Delete.

One stroke and the article disappeared like a puff of smoke.
He lowered his head. Barb would hate him. The staff would wonder if he’d lost his

mind. He couldn’t do it. If that night we spent together meant anything at all to you …
The thing was, that night had meant everything. And he couldn’t forget it. He would
never mean anything to Ace, but he’d let him know that he wasn’t the lowlife Ace
believed him to be.

The tears fell for a few minutes then he brushed them away. He had an article to

write and not a hell of a lot of time to do it. He had to do it before the copy went to print.
He brought up a blank screen and began to write.

When he was finished, he proofed it himself and inserted it into the space where

Brian’s exposé had been. The article was titled “Exposed: A Publisher Caught with His
Pants Down.” If anything, the title would get attention. He hadn’t mentioned Ace’s name.
He only wrote that someone he’d wanted to out for some time got the better of him. When
it came my turn to air my dirty laundry, so to speak, I paid the price. I didn’t want the
world to know that I’d bribed someone to sleep with me in exchange for my silence. How
shameful. But in all honesty, my reasons for wanting to out someone who was never
really hiding anyway were not professional. They were entirely personal. Now, this guy
wouldn’t look at me twice if he saw me on the street. I’ve lost him forever. So, what goes
around comes around, as they say. I still believe that closeted men need to come out. If
we’re going to make this world a more tolerant place, then the world needs to know that
the people they may least suspect to be gay, are. But. Maybe it’s not right to expose them
when they’re not ready. Maybe it’s the role of this magazine to support them when they
are ready. So I won’t make the closet more comfortable; I just won’t break off the lock.

Noah spent the rest of the night sitting at his desk, his feet up. He watched the

sunrise come up as the clack-clacking of the printers did their jobs. This edition would be
on the stands by late tonight.

George was surprised to see him when he switched the office lights on. “What are

you doing here?”

“I came in early.”
“I’m going right down now and pick up some copies.” He rubbed his hands together.

“I can’t wait.”

Noah closed his eyes. “Yes, you can,” he said under his breath as George left.
A few minutes later, George was back, frantically flipping through the magazine.

“Where is it? Where in the hell is it? It was supposed to be page nine. Did something
screw up?”

“It’s not in there.”
“What do you mean … it’s…?” He looked up. “Noah. What do you mean, it’s not in

there?”

Noah lowered his feet and stood up, stretching. “It’s not in there. I didn’t send it to

the printers.”

“This has to do with Ace Taylor?”
“No. This has to do with me.”
“I’m your partner. You didn’t even consult me.”
“You wouldn’t have allowed me to do it.”
“Damn right I wouldn’t have allowed you do it.”
“We need to change the focus of Hide.”
“What do you mean, change the focus? Have you lost your mind? Why mess with a

winning formula? You know how damn competitive this market is.”

“We need to encourage men who are in the closet, not frighten them, and reward

those who have had the courage to come out. Read the article on page twelve, and call a
meeting for later this morning. I’m going for breakfast.” Noah grabbed his jacket and left
his office.

Barb quit on him. He couldn’t blame her. And his employees weren’t sure what alien

had come down from Mars and taken him over. They were in shock. And so was George,
who listened with skepticism to Noah’s ideas for taking the magazine in a new direction.

“Who’s going to read this?” George asked after the meeting was over.
“Gay men will read it. I want interviews with athletes, pop stars, actors, politicians,

military men, priests even, those men who have been thrown out of their jobs, their lives
destroyed because of their bravery to stand up for who they are. I want stories that
inspire.”

“Ah, aren’t we going to have to change the name of the magazine?” George

muttered, jotting down everything.

“Yeah, we’ll talk about that.”
“You know, this just might work,” George said. “It took guts to write that article,

Noah. I admire that. Do you think he’ll read it?”

“I didn’t write it for Ace. I wrote it for me. And I hope so.” He smiled. “It would be

a fringe benefit. Maybe he won’t hate me so much.”

“I don’t think he ever hated you.”
“Thanks. Let’s get to work.”
What with changing the entire concept of the magazine, the following weeks were

brutal. Noah was amazed at the response he was getting from out gay men who were
hyped about being interviewed. They already had more than enough material for their
first edition.

One Friday night, just hours before the new magazine was going to go to print, Noah

went home for some much needed rest. He intended on being at the office early tomorrow
morning to examine the first printed copies.

It was a big risk. They could lose everything. But his staff was now behind him, and

George was as excited as he was.

When his cell rang at five in the morning, Noah immediately assumed that there was

some kind of a problem. He grabbed his phone and breathed into it, “All right George,
give it to me. What’s wrong?”

“Hi Noah,” a voice said into the phone. “It’s not George.”
“Ace?” He sat up in bed. His heart sang. “Ace.” He suddenly couldn’t get enough of

saying his name. “Ace? Is it you?”

“Yes.” He laughed. “It’s me. Too early?”
Noah smiled. “Paying me back for when I woke you that time?”
“You bet. And it’s the time zone. We’re in Europe.”
“Yes, I know.” He’d been keeping track of where the band was. “How was the

show?”

“Great. Listen, Noah. I want to thank you for not publishing those photos of Brian a

while back. I saw the magazine and I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t understand why you did
what you did until I read your article.”

Noah closed his eyes. “I meant every word. Ace, I know you hate me but—”
“I never hated you, Noah. And I wouldn’t have gone public with what happened

between us that night. I had no intention of doing that press conference. I was hoping you
wouldn’t call my bluff.”

“Because you are embarrassed about…”
“No, I’m not embarrassed. I … well … it was private, between you and I … and very

… special.”

Noah swallowed. “It was special for me too.” He cleared his throat. “The first edition

of the new magazine comes out tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I know. I read something about it, about how it’s an entirely new direction

for you. I think it’s a great idea. And Brian is doing well now. He’s got a boyfriend. And
he’s trying not to hide anymore.”

“I’m happy for him.”
“He’d like to meet you, Noah. He wants to thank you personally for giving him a

break.”

“He doesn’t have to. It’s okay.”
“I think he may give you an interview for your magazine. He wants to talk about his

journey, what it took for him to accept himself. He’s lost his family over this.”

“Oh no. I’m sorry to hear that. The interview would be great, but no pressure.”
“Okay.”
“Thanks, Ace, for calling me. It was nice of you.”
“Noah, I didn’t call you to be nice. I miss you.”
“You … you do?” His heart started thudding in his chest.
“Hell yes. I’ve been beating myself up for thinking that I really cared about someone

I thought had no integrity, and then you go and surprise me like this. Will you give me a
second chance? This time it won’t be about anything except you and me.”

Noah’s hand was shaking. He blinked the tears back. “Sure. We can … we can talk

about it … hell … Ace … no talk, okay? Just come back so … I can hold you.”

“I hear you, baby. Okay. I got to go. Good luck … I mean, break a leg with the new

magazine. Love the name. We have another month here and then we’ll be back in the
good old US of A. I’ll call you when I get back.”

“Call me before that?”
“If you want me to.”
“I want. I want.”
He laughed. “Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow night after the show.”

* * * *

Both Noah and George knew sales would be way down for the new magazine for the

first little while, and that there would be adjustments to be made. Hopefully they
wouldn’t have to lay anyone off. It had been stressful waiting for results and for a first
edition, it didn’t do too badly.

As soon as his day was over, he’d rush home and wait for the phone to ring. Ace

called him religiously almost every night, no matter what the time, and sometimes they
talked for hours.

After Ace hung up, Noah wouldn’t be able to sleep, and George would comment on

the dark circles under his eyes the next day. But in spite of the circles, he was happier
than he’d ever been in his life. He felt as if he was exactly where he was meant to be,
producing something that he could be proud of. He hadn’t abandoned his mission. He’d
just refined it. The fact that Ace was talking to him every night put him on cloud nine.
Soon he’d be back in the city and they’d hook up. He had no idea where it was going but
he was in for the ride.

Even George’s occasional lecture about not getting too hung up on a rock star didn’t

faze him. “Sure, Taylor has forgiven you for all that stuff,” George told him one

afternoon, “but Noah, rockers are surrounded by temptation and they’re flighty. It’s going
to be difficult to have a relationship with—”

“I know all that, George, but I have to give it a shot. I think I might be in love with

him.”

George gave him a skeptical look but Noah didn’t care.
He might not have been sure about the success of this new magazine, but he was sure

about Ace.

They talked about everything on the phone, their childhoods, their hopes and dreams,

and Noah told Ace his darkest secrets. It felt suddenly as if they’d known each other for
years, and Noah couldn’t wait for him to come back.

When the day finally came, Noah went to meet Ace at the airport. He had butterflies

in his stomach, and when he spotted the five members of the band getting off the private
jet, he rushed forward with excitement. Immediately the band was surrounded by the
press and curious onlookers. It was like a swarm of bees coming out of nowhere.

Noah stood in the background and waited, trying to catch a glimpse of Ace.
Suddenly Ace emerged from the mob, and he, along with Brian, walked over to

where he was standing. Noah wanted to throw himself into Ace’s arms but he held back,
nodding at Brian.

Noah was surprised when Brian reached over and gave him a hug. “Hey, Noah. I

need to thank you. It was really something what you did. And I want to return the favor. I
want to give your new magazine, Masculine Pride, a little adrenaline. I’m ready for an
exclusive.” He grinned with that rock star smile that made the girls swoon.

An interview with Brian Jacobs would really give the new magazine a shot in the

arm. “Wow. That would be great. Are you sure you’re ready?”

“I’m ready,” he said, looking at Ace. “And someone else is ready too, so I’ll let you

at it.” He grinned again and walked off to join the others who were now fending off the
cameras.

“Hey,” Ace said, smiling at Noah. He swung an arm around him. “Let’s go. I need a

ride. You mind?”

Noah slipped an arm around his slim waist and pulled him closer. “No, I don’t

mind.”

They walked together out to the parking lot. Noah could hear the flashbulbs clicking

away behind him.

“Don’t worry about that,” Ace said.
Noah found his car in the parking lot and they got in. When they were inside, Ace

leaned his head closer and kissed him gently on the lips. “I’ve been thinking about doing
that for a long time.”

Noah licked his lips. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Are you taking me home?”
“Oh yeah.” He nodded, starting the engine.
“Are we going to kiss on our first date?”
“Technically it’s our second.” Noah laughed, driving off the lot. “And we’re going to

do a lot more than kiss.”

“Is that so?” Ace teased, stretching out his legs. “You got this all planned out …

looks like this poor boy doesn’t stand a chance.”

Noah glanced at him and smirked. “Poor boy? There’s nothing poor about you.”

“I’ll just go with the flow.”
“Good.” Noah placed a hand on Ace’s thigh. “Don’t forget, it’s me who’s putting it

on the line here, falling for a bad boy drummer.”

“Is that what I am?” He was smiling.
“That’s exactly what you are.”
“And me? What about my risk?”
Noah chuckled, stopping at a light. “I’m a magazine publisher who might be on the

unemployment line next month. Nothing bad boy about me.”

“Oh I don’t know, your hand keeps moving up and up and…”
Noah slapped his thigh gently and pulled his hand back, sliding through the green

light.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he teased.
Noah smiled and put his hand back on Ace’s thigh. He was enjoying the sexually

charged banter. His mood bordered on elation, his pulse jumping, heart beating hard in
his chest. He felt breathless as he drove up in front of his house.

Noah took a deep breath and turned off the engine. He suddenly felt nervous, like a

groom on his wedding night. He glanced at Ace, and as if reading his mind, Ace touched
his forehead to Noah’s. “It’s okay, babe,” he murmured, “I’m feeling the same way. Let’s
take it slow and easy.”

Noah nodded. This was insanity, he thought as he got out of the car. All he’d

dreamed about since he and Ace started talking on the phone every night was fucking
him, and now that he was here, he had a supreme case of the jitters.

Noah slipped the key in the lock and stood aside to let Ace enter first. Noah switched

on a light, and they walked into the living room.

“This is nice,” Ace said.
“Dining room is just ahead, kitchen is at the back, and there are three … ah …

bedrooms, and a bathroom on the other side.”

“It’s modest. Not what I expected.”
“I’m not a flashy guy.”
“Except for your car. What happened to that great car you used to drive? I saw it

featured in a magazine once.” Ace sat down on the sofa.

“I sold it when I changed the magazine.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. It was worth it. Want a drink?”
“Diet Coke,” he said.
“Oh I’m sorry, Ace. I forgot the rehab stuff. I only think about Brian when I think

about that.”

“I was only in once, a long time ago. It wasn’t that bad. After I got out though, I said

no more drugs or alcohol. In my business, that’s a slippery slope. You go ahead. Have
what you want. It doesn’t bother me.”

“No, Diet Coke is fine for me. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
Noah got two cans of Diet Coke from the refrigerator and took a minute to compose

himself. When he came back out, Ace was sitting there with a DVD in his hand. “Where
did you get this?” he asked.

Oh God, it was one of the many DVDs of their concerts he’d bought.
“Nowhere.” He put down the drinks and snatched the DVD out of his hand. He’s

going to think I’m pathetic.

Ace chuckled. “That was our concert in Glasgow last year.”
Noah chucked it in the entertainment cabinet, embarrassed. “Well … ah, someone

gave it to me for … ah, research.”

Ace smiled, patting the place beside him on the sofa. “Research, eh? You don’t like

Savage Heat?”

“I love Savage Heat. I came to a few of your concerts.”
“Oh yeah?” He patted the seat again. “Come on, Noah, don’t tease me.”
“I’m not teasing you.” He laughed. He took a place beside him and snuggled up

close. “You look good enough to eat sitting here on my sofa.”

“Go ahead,” he urged, moving his lips across Noah’s cheek. “Eat me then.”
A little thrill went up his spine. He unconsciously licked his lips, feeling the need to

adjust his cock in his pants. He squirmed a bit.

This made Ace laugh. “Does it help?”
“You don’t miss a trick, do you?”
“Not usually.” Ace brought his arm down around him and pulled him closer. “We

can just sit here if you like. Wake me if I fall asleep.”

“Fall asleep?”
“Um, I’m very relaxed right now. And I haven’t slept much on tour. Some of the

other guys snore like crazy and every time I fall asleep on the bus, I get woken up.” He
reached over and took a sip of the Coke.

“Poor baby.”
“You don’t snore, do you?” He cocked an eyebrow, his head back against the sofa.
Noah played with a button on Ace’s shirt. “I don’t think so. Can I see your tattoo?”
He chuckled. “What a line. Sure.”
Noah opened his shirt with a smile, and ran his finger over the drum. “Tell me about

it.”

“I got it in Bangkok from this little old woman. She didn’t speak a word of English.

After she did the tattoo, she tried to rent me her daughter for the night.”

“She was very poor.”
“No, she wasn’t poor. Her daughter was a huge fan but her mother thought she

shouldn’t give it away.”

Noah laughed.
“It wasn’t expensive, about ten American dollars, but she lacked certain

biological…” He trailed off and laughed. “Her son was pretty hot, though.”

“You banged her son?”
He grinned. “He volunteered.”
Noah shook his head and traced the tattoo again, this time with his lips. “I bet he did.

Did it hurt?”

“A little, but not as much as my cock hurts right now.”
“I’ll see what can be done.”
“That would be nice of you.” He leaned his head down and captured Noah’s mouth.

They kissed slowly, deeply, savoring the taste of each other’s mouths. Noah slipped his
hand down to Ace’s zipper and slowly undid it as the kisses continued.

He was still a little nervous but the hesitation had left him and desire reigned. The

kissing intensified and Ace moaned as Noah’s fingers finally encircled his cock. Noah

straddled his hips and took off Ace’s shirt, kissing down his chest and then sliding to his
knees in front of Ace’s open legs. When he took Ace’s cock in his mouth, he sighed
inwardly. This is where he wanted to be. Ace had always been the one he wanted, even
before they’d met.

Ace took Noah down to the carpet when Noah had brought him almost to the edge.

The urgency of his caresses assured Noah he could no longer wait. Ace fished lube and
condoms out of his jacket pocket and went to work on his preparation. Noah was
practically on the ceiling before Ace skewered him with his cock, the gradual discomfort
turning into mind-numbing pleasure, his thrusts alternating between desperate pumping
and tender sensuality.

Noah came as Ace pulled out of him and suckled his cock to surrender. Resting on

the floor, they held each other, Noah’s eyes blurred with tears. “You make me a better
man,” Noah told him, kissing Ace’s sweaty temple.

Ace met his gaze. “No. You made yourself a better man.”
“I did it for love.”
“Or to get laid,” he joked.
Noah punched him playfully.
“You would have done it eventually. I just sped up the process a little. You know, no

one has ever accused me of making him a better man before. It doesn’t go with the
image, so don’t spread it around … or print it in your magazine.”

Noah rubbed one of Ace’s muscular arms, grinning. “It’s my next feature article.

Bad boy drummer does charity work.”

“Um,” he grunted, rolling on top of Noah and tickling him a little, “and what fine

charity work it is. It makes me want to be a full-time charity worker.”

They kissed again, then eventually moved into Noah’s room and settled down to

sleep. Noah held Ace as he listened to his breathing grow more shallow and watched his
chest slowly rise and fall. “I love you,” he whispered and then laughed as a sleepy Ace
mumbled, “I love you too, Daniels, now stop jabbering to yourself and go to sleep.”

The End

Story Three

Man Inside

Chapter One

My mother cried openly in the courtroom while my older brother sat beside her, his

arm tightly surrounding her plump shoulders. Three of my brother’s friends, wearing
their gang colors, sat in the back, watching quietly.

I listened to the judge’s sentence without any reaction. I couldn’t show any fear. My

brother would have beaten the crap out of me if I had.

“They’ll go easy on you, little brother,” Alvaro had told me when I got arrested.

“You’ve never been to jail, and you’re young. The judge will give you community
service or some such crap.”

Seven years at Experimental C Maximum Security Penitentiary, possibility of parole

in three. Those words resounded in my head. The judge had to ask me three times if I had
anything to say before they took me away.

I shook my head and glanced around to look at my brother. You lied to me, you

fucking cocksucker! That’s what I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to let the world
know that he was the guilty one, along with his gang members who were staring at me
now.

Alvaro had promised I wouldn’t do jail time if I took the rap for him and his gang

buddies. I’d be out on parole, he said, working with old people or something. The only
old people I was going to see were old cons who’d been wasting away in prison for years.

When two guards took me by the arm and led me from the courtroom, my mother

sobbed louder, crying, “My baby, my baby.”

Alvaro couldn’t even look at me. He turned his face away, and his three buddies

simply got up and left the courtroom.

Eighteen years old and I was headed to Experimental C. Although it was a maximum

security unit, which did house some violent criminals, it was supposed to provide more
opportunity for rehabilitation, training, and so forth. When I was convicted, my lawyer
especially requested that I be sent there.

The truth was, I was in shock when the verdict was returned. The judge said he

wanted to make an example of me, and he brought down the gavel.

I hadn’t actually committed a crime in the first place. I’d been trying to finish high

school, help my mother, and avoid the street gangs. But that’s hard to do when your older
brother is a gang member.

To say that I was scared shitless of going to prison was an understatement. My heart

was in my gut when that bus started to move away from the city. Shackles encircled my
ankles and my hands were cuffed together, and those weights made it quite clear that
there was no way out of this for me.

I knew what happened to young boys in these places. And I wasn’t a big guy, only

five-seven, one hundred and sixty pounds. My brothers’ friends had often teased me,
accusing me of looking more like a girl than a boy. They’d eat me alive up there.

“You’re too innocent-looking to be convicted,” Alvaro had scoffed before the

sentencing. “The jury will take one look at that pretty little face and forgive. If I go
before that judge, he’s going to throw the book at me, little brother. I’ll go up for years
and never see the light of day again. It will kill Mama. Who will look after her if I’m
gone?”

Alvaro had never really done such a great job of looking after Mama. She’d bailed

him out of jail more times than I could count. It had all been lies. Alvaro had manipulated
me into confessing to a crime I wasn’t guilty of, not for Mama, but for himself. I’d had
no idea what was going down that night, no idea that my brother and his friends had a
shitload of heroin for sale in the back room of the pool hall.

I closed my eyes. I was all alone, not only in life, but on that bus. I was the only

prisoner, accompanied by two guards, one driving and the other one sitting across from
him, tapping his toe to some tune on the radio.

The scenery rushed by like in a dream, blurring into trees and then nothing before the

large concrete fortress of my nightmares sprawled out before me.

The bus screeched to a halt. I began to shake like a leaf, barely able to stand up as the

music-loving guard pulled me to my feet. “Oh,” he said, grinning as he looked me up and
down, “they’re going to love your tight little asshole inside, honey.”

I stumbled to the steps and then almost fell on my face as the guard propelled me off

the bus. A hand reached out to steady me then gave me a slight shove. “Move it,” the
guard said. “I don’t have all day. It’s time for my lunch break.”

His callous attitude spoke volumes. No one would coddle me here or give me any

compassion. I was a criminal, here to be punished, and I’d have to learn how to survive or
I’d never come out alive.

When I arrived, they took off the shackles and the handcuffs. A burly prison guard

barked at me, “Now you’re ours. You’ll sleep when we say sleep, and shit when we say
shit. Obey the rules and we’ll get along; fuck with us in here, and you’ll regret the day
you were born.”

Not exactly inspiring.
Then the guard handed me deodorant, soap, and towels, and introduced me to a

prisoner assigned to orient me. “I’m Kimbo,” he said.

I found myself staring at a tall, heavyset Hawaiian guy with so many tattoos I

couldn’t even make out the features of his face.

I nodded at him miserably.
“Kimbo will show you the ropes,” the guard rattled on. “You’ll be bunking with him

for the first while until the warden decides to change you. You have an appointment with
Warden Michaels at four. So get moving.”

Kimbo steered me off down the long cement corridor. Everywhere I looked there

were guards and bars and alarms. “You’re lucky, kid,” Kimbo muttered, “you’re going to
cell block C. You’ll get to keep your hair the way you want and wear street clothes.”

“Who in hell cares?” I gave him an ironic look. “What do I give a shit if I get to wear

my own clothes or not? Look at this place.”

“Oh, honey boy.” He shook his head disparagingly. “If you don’t change your

attitude and get that monkey off your shoulder, you’re in for rough ride.”

I decided to ignore that. I had no idea what he was talking about back then, but I

know now.

My entrance to the prison was met with wolf whistles and obscene gestures. I tried to

keep my head up as I walked, still carrying the small package of towels and soap in my
hands.

“What’s your name?” Kimbo asked, perhaps trying to distract me from all the

commotion.

“Yandal, but everyone calls me Yan.”
“Are you a Porto Rican?” He pronounced it “porto”.
“Yes, my mother is. My dad took off when my brother and I were young. We’re not

sure what he was. We go by my mother’s name, Torres.”

Kimbo nodded.
When the electronic bars slid back and we were admitted to cell block C, I was

immediately submerged into a different universe. I knew that this was to be my entire
world for the next few years. It was overwhelming.

I wanted to cry as I followed Kimbo to my cell. We were confronted with an array of

whistles and obscene promises. Someone called me a “pretty little girlie boy”. I
swallowed hard.

“Ignore them,” Kimbo muttered. “Bunch of freaks.”
Cell block C was a circle with two floors. Upstairs in the center was the guards’

station and down below were tables where inmates played cards and watched a large
screen television. The cells were like glass, and would seal at night during lockdown. The
material was unbreakable but the guards could see you at all times. The cell I was
assigned was on the first floor and consisted of two single bunk beds, a toilet out in the
open, and a small writing desk with a chair.

“The bottom is mine,” Kimbo said. “I don’t like heights.”
I nodded and laid down the towels and toiletries on the desk. If I’d had a gun, I

would have offed myself. I’d hit bottom and the fear was more than I could handle.

“Come here,” Kimbo demanded, pointing at the see-through wall. “I’m going to tell

you who is who. It might save your butt. Well”—he smirked—“maybe not your butt, but
your neck. Ready, pay attention. I’m only going to tell you once. There are fifty-two
inmates in this cell block. Not all of them are here now. Some are in group, others in
solitary, some on work detail, but normally at countdown, there will be fifty-two. See
those guys over there on the left at that table?”

I nodded. He was referring to the white guys with bald heads. Some of them had

swastikas tattooed on their arms or on the backs of their heads.

“White supremacists, neo-Nazis. Stay clear if you can. The tough guys nearby are

bikers; they’re sometimes buddies with the Nazis when it suits them. The Nazis control
most of the drugs in here. Basically they run the joint.

“Those guys over there,” he went on, “the Spics—sorry, I mean Italians and Porto

Rican types—they hang together, and have some of the drug trade too but nothing like
the Nazis. And the blacks stick together over there, of course. Then there are a few
oddballs, old guys, and the sluts. The sluts are the three dressed like girls. They’re the out
gays. They’ve been had by everyone.”

“Where do you fit?” I sighed.
“I just try to stay out of trouble. Okay, so you want me to show you the kitchen, the

shower room, and the exercise room? We can go now.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I want to stay here.” I was about to turn away from the

window when I spotted a man coming through the gates. He was tall with long dark hair
to his shoulders. He didn’t walk; he strutted, a tough-looking figure with a well-muscled
body and a look on his handsome face that screamed he wasn’t to be messed with.
“Who’s that?” I asked. He took my breath away.

“Oh, that’s Diego Mendez. He’s in a class by himself. Stay clear.”
I watched as he walked to the stairs and mounted the staircase. I noticed how

everyone gave him room. “What do you mean?” I moved away from the window and
leaned against the wall. “Who is he?”

“Diego Mendez? You are young.” Kimbo laughed. “Mendez is a legend. He headed

one of the most vicious Spanish biker gangs of them all. He was part of the big boys
before he broke off and formed his own, and this caused a war. He was winning it until
one of his own men turned on him and led the cops to his door.”

“Why’d he do that, turn on him?”
Kimbo shrugged. “No one knows.”
“What happened to this guy?”
“The gang took care of him.”
“Does he like men?”
“You mean does he like to fuck men?”
“Yeah. That’s exactly what I mean.”
Kimbo narrowed his eyes. “In here, everyone fucks anyone they can. I have no idea

if he’s fucked his cellmates; they all get transferred. No one wants to bunk with him, or
rather, he doesn’t want anyone bunking with him.”

“He’s alone then?”
“Yeah, but if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, kid, you’re out of your

mind. No one messes with him, and no one goes near him. He’s deadly. Keep your
distance, and don’t think about asking to be in his cell.”

“Would you say that everyone is afraid of him? No one here would dare challenge

him, right?”

“Not unless they’re suicidal.”
“Then if I’m going to survive here, I need him to be my protector.”
Kimbo raised an eyebrow. “He won’t be your protector, kid. He won’t want anything

to do with you.”

“How long do you think it will be before those big Nazis gang-rape me, Kimbo?”
Kimbo lowered his head.
“How long?”
He sighed. “Twenty-four hours if you’re lucky.”
“They’re already plotting it. They keep looking over here and laughing. I’d rather get

fucked by one guy who may be able to keep me alive in here than be thrown to the
wolves.”

Kimbo actually looked sympathetic. “I’m sorry, kid. I understand what you’re

saying, but unfortunately the only one in here who could protect you may be the worst of
the lot, and he’s not into altruism. Talk to the warden.”

“And what can he do?”
“If you really feel threatened, maybe he can put you in protective custody.”
“But I can’t live in protective custody forever. Where does Diego Mendez work?”
“He works in the mail room.”

“Okay, if I ask for that work assignment, will I get it?”
“It depends. Maybe. But kid, listen—”
“What does he like?”
“Mendez?” He laughed. “You want to know what Diego Mendez likes? Nothing and

nobody.”

“How long has he got left in his sentence? How long has he been in here?”
Kimbo shrugged. “Let’s see. He came in two years ago. They threw together a case

against him but he wasn’t convicted of murder … ah … gang activities, drugs, armed
robbery; he probably got ten years. He’s not been in trouble since last year so he may be
up for parole in another five, but I’m not his lawyer. Want me to take you to the
warden?”

“No. I’ll go by myself.”
I nodded and left the security of my cell. I walked quickly to the exit, ignoring the

catcalls. I knew I had to do something. If it meant becoming the slut of the meanest son
of a bitch in here, that’s what I’d have to be.

When the warden looks at you with compassion, you know you’re in trouble. “Sit

down, son,” he said. Warden Michaels was a small man with narrow glasses and deep
creases in his face. He looked at my file and shook his head. “You’re with us for a
while.”

I nodded.
“No drug or alcohol problems.”
“No, sir.”
“Keep it that way. How’s it going with Kimbo?”
“Fine, but I’d like to request a transfer.”
“Transfer? You just got here.”
“I want to be transferred to Diego Mendez’s cell.”
The warden raised an eyebrow. “Repeat?”
“Diego Mendez. I want to be in his cell.”
“Do you know Diego Mendez?”
“No, sir.”
“Then why in the hell would you want to be in his cell?”
“I just do.”
The warden sighed. “You think he can protect you in here.”
I was surprised he’d figured it out. I nodded, swallowing.
“Mendez isn’t interested in protecting anyone, believe me. If I thought he would

protect you, I’d transfer you in a heartbeat. I think you’d be asking for trouble. No one
ever lasts in his cell.”

“Meaning they die?” That scared me.
“No, but they don’t stay. He’s not exactly the social type. Stick it out with Kimbo for

the time being.”

“Warden?”
“Yes?”
“I’m terrified.” Tears ran down my cheeks and I quickly pushed them away. Three

weeks ago all I’d had to stress about was an upcoming math test.

“You’ll be okay, son. You’ll have to get tough, that’s all.”
I nodded miserably. “Can I work in the mail room?”

“Mail room?”
“Yes.”
“Because Mendez is there?”
“No, I…”
The warden shook his head. “I caution you, Torres, Mendez is not to be messed with.

I’d keep my distance. I’ll consider putting you there. Now, you need to finish your high
school. We’re going to help you do that. I’ll set you up with the teacher who will give
you what you need to take your exams.”

I nodded.
“Here’s the schedule,” the warden explained. “Up at six in the morning, shower,

shave. Breakfast is at seven. At nine, there is cell count. In the cells, from ten o’clock to
eleven; lunch is at eleven thirty. You will study at least four hours a day and do another
four hours of work detail. Two hours recreation time after the dinner hour; you can play
games, watch television, or lift weights. You are responsible for doing your own laundry.
Lights out at eight o’clock.”

The warden stood. “Kimbo will help you if you get confused. I will decide on your

work detail and let you know tomorrow. Now, the guard will escort you to the cafeteria
for supper.”

“Thank you, Warden,” I said and left with the guard.
Fifty-some-odd men in a dining hall made it a pretty noisy place. And just as they

were congregated in the main room earlier, like sat with like. I spotted Kimbo sitting at
the end of one table with two older men, and I scanned the place for Diego Mendez.
Mendez was standing in the front of the line being served and when he walked away, my
gaze followed him to see where he finally ended up.

As I tried to keep track of his movement, someone bumped into me from behind and

I in turn nudged the guy in front of me, a big biker with a multicolored scarf wrapped
around his head.

I turned around to see one of those ugly Nazis leering at me. “Hi sugar,” he

murmured. “I can’t wait to take you out for a spin.”

“Watch it, boy,” the guy in front threatened.
“I’m … ah … sorry,” I said to the guy in front, trying to ignore the asshole in back.
When his hands clutched my ass cheeks, I stiffened.
“Nice,” he groaned. “You’re going to be my fuck hole.”
“Leave me alone.” I yanked away from him, bumping the guy in front of me again,

who suddenly turned around and grabbed me. I was sandwiched between the two of them
getting groped every which way.

“He’s mine,” the Nazi told the biker.
“Oh no, he’s mine,” the biker growled.
“Break it up, girls,” called a guard as he approached.
I tried to keep cool, shaking inside as I stood quietly to receive my overcooked meat

loaf and mashed potatoes. When I got my food, I quickly moved across the floor in the
direction of Kimbo, keeping my head down. Then I realized that I was walking past the
gang of Nazis. “Hey baby,” one of them said, “come to Daddy. You’re going to be my
bitch.”

My hands shook and I dropped the tray with a crash. There was loud applause and I

stood there, terrified.

“Bend over, beauty, and pick it up,” another one of the Nazis jeered. “Come on,

beauty.”

The guard was there now. “Pick it up, Torres,” he grunted.
I got down on my knees and began to pick up the food.
“Lick it baby, lick it,” one of the men coaxed, running his tongue around his lips.
I picked up what I could and hurried to the kitchen with the tray. “Can I have a

mop?” I asked a big African American guy.

The man handed me a mop. “Watch yourself,” he said.
I nodded and came back to the spot with the mop.
As I did, the men in front of me at the table made rude gestures and blew kisses. I

was practically in tears when suddenly I backed up and slammed into a hard body. It was
like banging into a concrete wall. Suddenly the men at the table fell silent.

I turned to look up into the face of Diego Mendez. He didn’t smile. In fact, he looked

pissed off. And even with that pissed-off expression on his face, he was one hell of a
good-looking son of a bitch.

“I’m a … sorry.”
“You are?”
“Yeah.” I nodded frantically.
Diego proceeded to ignore me. He glanced at the Nazis. “You weren’t just blowing

kisses at me, were you, Jack?” Diego’s gaze zeroed in on one man.

“Of course not,” the man replied, his smirk not quite as brave. “You’re not my type,

Mendez.”

“Glad to hear that.” He nodded, stepping around the wet spot on the floor.
The Nazis fell quiet and I hurried to bring the mop back to the kitchen, then caught

up with Diego Mendez before he left the dining area. “I want to thank you,” I said to his
back.

Diego turned around and looked at me. “You talking to me?”
“Yes. I want to—”
“I didn’t ask you to talk to me, did I?”
“No, but I—”
“Well then, bugger off, kid,” he muttered and left the room.
Later in the cell, I told Kimbo, “He did that for me.”
“You’re dreaming. Mendez does nothing for anyone but Mendez. He was just

flexing his muscles. He hates Jack Duncan. He’s the unofficial leader of the Nazis, and
when Mendez first came in here, Duncan challenged him. He swore he’d have Mendez
on his knees sucking his cock.”

“What happened?”
“From what I heard, Duncan became Mendez’s slut in the supply room. He got it

good. He was in the infirmary for a week. He never called him a pretty boy, or challenged
Mendez again.”

“He is a pretty boy,” I said. I’d looked in his eyes today, a deep brown, dangerous

and sensual, with a square jaw and a surprisingly soft mouth. I’d noticed a very fine line
running across one cheek, probably a war wound from the street but it didn’t detract from
his beauty; somehow it served to enhance it, to define him as a masculine animal.

“Don’t let him hear you say that. What did he say to you earlier?”
“He told me to bugger off.”

Kimbo nodded. “Sounds about right.”
“He didn’t have to say anything.”
“You’re dreaming, kid,” Kimbo repeated. “I’m going to watch a bit of the tube.

Want to come?”

“No,” I said, “go ahead.”
What I wanted to do was walk out of this cell and go up the stairs to Mendez’s cell.

Maybe I could make some kind of a deal with him, pay him. That was a joke; pay him to
be my bodyguard. I had no money. But my brother’s gang did. I could get money if I had
to.

With a big breath of courage I walked out of my cell and glanced up at the stairway.

I quietly took the steps two at a time, not sure where Mendez’s cell was, or if he was even
in it.

Some biker came up to me and offered me drugs. I shook my head. “Do you know

where Mendez is?” I asked.

“Mendez?” The biker seemed surprised. “What do you want with him? He can’t give

you anything I can’t.” He grabbed his crotch and wagged his tongue at me.

Gross. “Where’s his cell?” I ignored the gestures.
“Right there.” He pointed behind himself. “But he’s not there. He’s in the weight

room.”

“Weight room? Where’s that?”
He leered at me, moving closer. “I’ll show you, sweetie.”
“No, I’ll find him myself.” I pushed away from him and hightailed it back down the

stairs. I hurried through the main room, past the shower and the laundry rooms, and
spotted a sign at the end of the corridor that read Exercise Room/Gym.

I opened the door to the gym and almost got hit by a basketball. The last person I

wanted to see was that Duncan guy with two of his cronies. I craned my neck as I heard
weights clanging together in the background. I needed to cross the gym floor to get to the
weight room. I could see the back of a guard’s head, but he was standing just outside the
opposite gym door.

“Hey there, cutie pie,” Duncan said, grinning at me. He was ugly as sin and so were

his two pals. The three of them surrounded me.

I tried not to show any fear. “I’m here to see to Diego.”
“Is that so?” Duncan chuckled, moving even closer. “You hear that, boys? He’s here

to see Diego.” The other two started to laugh.

“I belong to him. He’s my—I’m his—in here, you get it? He’s waiting for me now.”

I looked over Duncan’s shoulder to see if the guard had entered the gym. He hadn’t.

“I don’t think he’s marked you yet.” Duncan shook his head. “You’re a prize honey,

my prize, and it will give me great pleasure to take you away from Mendez. We’ll see
whose slut you are.” Duncan grabbed me by the back of the neck and propelled me
forward. “Let’s take a little walk.”

“Come on,” I pleaded, “Diego will kill you.”
The three of them had me in their grip. I couldn’t do anything. The door to the gym

swung open and I was moving without touching the ground.

“Diego isn’t around now, is he?” one of the others grunted as they dragged me into

the shower room.

I intended to put up a fight. I wouldn’t make it easy for them. I took a punch to the

face and another to the gut. It knocked the wind out of me and I went to my knees on the
cold wet tiles.

My pants were being stripped off and someone stuck my T-shirt into my mouth. I

was fighting but it was a total waste of energy. This was going to happen. I tried not to
feel the pain, tried to block out the humiliation and the brutality of it, and prepared myself
for what it might feel like to be forced. But at the same time, I continued to resist, turning
my body at various angles, making it hard for them to get me into position.

Suddenly one of them hoisted me up and tipped me over the sink, bottom up. I

looked for something, anything to strike out with. There was nothing for me to grab and
then suddenly everything stopped. I was still being pressed down, my face in the sink,
spitting blood from my split lip, but there was no movement from my attackers.

The door to the shower room had opened and closed. Could it be a guard? I silently

prayed for that but with my luck, it was probably another member of the Nazi party,
hoping to join the fun.

Then suddenly, Duncan said, “You have to put in your claim. You haven’t had his

ass yet. It’s too soon.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I’ve come to take a shower.”
The voice was deep and male. It was obviously Diego Mendez. “Help me,” I

managed through the pain but a hand pressed my face farther into the sink and the words
came out muffled.

“This little boy is ours,” Duncan stated boldly.
“Knock yourself out,” Diego told him. “I hope you’re all very happy together but

I’m here to shower. I didn’t order any porn, so get the fuck out of here, Nazi, and take
your receptacle with you.”

Oh great. It didn’t look like Mendez was going to help me. Kimbo had been right

about that bastard.

“Go on!” Mendez raised his voice. “Get the fuck out of here before I throw you out.”
The door opened. “What’s going on in here?” That was a guard.
“Nothing,” Duncan said. Suddenly I was released.
The three Nazis walked out of the shower room, and so did the guard.
I raised my head, so racked with pain I saw stars. The shower was running and I

wiped my mouth on my hand and turned my head to see Diego Mendez casually soaping
himself under the spray.

If I’d been in my right mind, and under any other circumstances, my tongue would

have been hanging out. Diego Mendez had a gorgeous body. His skin was golden brown,
and the curves and valleys of his body were the stuff wet dreams were made of. Not to
mention his cock, which alone would have been every gay boy’s dream. But I was not in
my right mind. I was in shock, coming damn near close to being gang-raped, and this
bastard didn’t even have the class to ask me if I was all right.

When Mendez turned off the water and reached for a towel, I was glaring at him. He

paused in his endeavors and raised an eyebrow. “You want something?”

“You had no intention of helping me, did you? You knew what they were going to

do.”

He wiped his face and threw the towel aside. He didn’t answer.
“They’ll try again; if not those Nazi fucks, then some other bastard.”
Mendez reached for a pair of blue nylon shorts and put them on.

“Help me,” I pleaded.
He looked up as he pulled the shorts on. “Help you do what exactly?”
“Survive.”
“In here,” he replied, walking to the door, “the big fish gobble up the guppies. You,”

he glanced at me, “are a guppy.”

Mendez turned to leave but I reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. He

faced me again, his eyes intense. I removed my hand. He didn’t have to tell me. “I’ll pay
you.”

“Pay me?”
“Yes, to protect me. You can have me. You can fuck me whenever you want. I’ll get

myself transferred into your cell. I’d rather have you than Duncan.”

He actually laughed. “Well, I consider that a huge compliment, but I’m not

interested.”

“I’m not a virgin.”
He pursed his lips. “I don’t give a fuck. I said I’m not interested.”
“I’ll pay you a lot of money,” I insisted.
“No,” he said and opened the door.
“I’m going to die in here.” Tears ran down my cheeks.
He turned to look at me once more before he left the shower room. “If you don’t get

some balls, you’re right on that one.”

He was gone. I punched the wall with my fist and cursed his name. I knew he could

protect me and I wasn’t going to give up.

Kimbo tried to help me clean up my wounds and then we were called for bed count. I

was relieved to be locked in my cell. Tomorrow I was going to call home and ask Alvaro
to bring me some money on visiting day, and lots of it.

The following morning I didn’t go to the showers. I was too damn scared. We had

breakfast and I sat quietly with Kimbo. The guard came to get me and I saw the warden. I
knew better than to say anything about where the cuts and bruises had come from. I said
something about falling and the warden eyed me suspiciously. “Who did this to you?”

“No one. I’m fine. I want to be transferred to Mendez’s cell.”
“No. But I will put you in the mail room. You are to meet with your teacher today at

nine, then report to the mail room this afternoon at one o’clock.”

“Thank you, sir.” I stood up.
“Torres, if you tell me who did this to you, they will be punished.”
“Yeah,” I said, before I left the office, “and so will I.”
The teacher was an older woman named Mrs. Crosby and she was very tough. It

looked as if I was going to have a shitload of work.

At lunch I steered clear of the Nazis, and ignored some sleazy biker’s remarks about

using me to masturbate on. Mendez sat at the other end of the dining hall by himself,
looking at no one. I studied him occasionally while Kimbo talked about how he hated the
way the prisoners who worked in the kitchen made mashed potatoes. “They are like
slop,” he muttered. “Torres, you listening?”

“Yeah, slop. What time is it?”
“Twelve thirty.”
“I got to make a phone call.” I got up and put my tray away, and hurried off to the

pay phone. My brother answered, which was a good thing. I didn’t want to talk to my

mother. “Alvaro,” I said. “It’s me.”

“Yan, brother, are you okay? I’ve been worried.”
“Yeah right, sure you have. Anyway, I need cash.”
“Cash for what?”
“You come up here Saturday to visit me and bring me five thousand dollars.”
“I don’t have that kind of money. What you want it for?”
“Listen.” I gripped the receiver. “You want to see me in a coffin? I need protection

and it’s going to cost me.”

“From who?”
“Guys who want to make me their bitch, that’s who,” I snapped.
“I’ll make a few calls,” he bragged, “make sure that—”
“You can’t do jack shit. There’s only one guy in this block who these freaks are

scared of and he doesn’t come cheap.”

“Who? What guy?”
“A guy named Diego Mendez.”
“Diego Mendez? No shit!” Alvaro sounded excited.
“You know him?”
“Know him? He’s a hero, bro. He’s one of us, headed up the Matadors a few years

back, the big leagues. Someone turned on him. That stoolie ended up at the bottom of the
river, man.”

“Listen to me. Get me that money. You owe me.”
“How? That’s a lot of dough.”
“Listen, I’m in this hole because of you so I don’t care how, just do it,” I said, and

slammed down the phone.

Chapter Two

Diego Mendez was standing at the counter sorting mail when I walked in. He didn’t

even look up. There were three others working there, two African Americans and an old
guy I saw Kimbo talking to occasionally.

“So,” I said, moving closer to Diego, “what do I do?”
“About what?” he asked, not looking at me.
“Here.”
“Pick up a bag. You sort them. They all go to various cell blocks.”
I dumped the letters on the table beside him. “I have something for you,” I said softly

so the others wouldn’t hear.

He gave me the once-over. “Not interested.”
“Not that; well, that too if you want it, but I have money, five grand. What about

that?”

He put the letters down and stared at me. “You got five grand?”
“My brother is going to bring it to me. I’ll give it all to you if you make sure I make

it out of here alive.”

He met my gaze. I finally had his attention. “That’s it? That’s all I have to do?”
“Get me moved into your cell block.”
He picked up the letters again. “No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I’ll protect you but you’re not sharing my cell.”
“Why not? How in hell can you protect me if you’re not with me?”
“I bunk alone.”
“You think I’m going to molest you or something?”
He gave me an ironic look.
“It’s ridiculous so what’s the problem? I bunk with you, Mendez, or no deal.”
“Well, I guess you’ll be fodder then for Hitler’s sons.” He walked over to the other

counter.

I followed. “When I say I want your protection, I want it totally, Diego, and Duncan

must think I’m your boy. I want you to request that I—”

He put down the letters again. “Get the money and we’ll talk. Now go to work; the

guard will be on our backs if you don’t.”

I felt as if I’d gotten somewhere with him. Now, if only I could survive until

Saturday.

When it was time to go back to our cells, I grabbed Diego’s arm and pulled him

aside. He gave me that look but luckily I didn’t land on the floor. “Listen, can I have an
advance?”

“Advance on what?”
“I need your protection until visiting day. I got three days to go. You want your

money, then take care of me, okay?”

He didn’t reply, just walked away but I had a feeling he wanted that money enough

to try to keep me alive until the weekend. Damn it, Alvaro, you better have that money.

Duncan was behind me in the line at breakfast, and I looked around nervously for

Diego. When Duncan reached around to put a hand on my crotch, Diego showed up
beside him. “That’s mine, Duncan. I wouldn’t touch it if I were you.”

I saw Diego’s eyes glint dangerously, and had the satisfaction of seeing Duncan

withdraw his hand. “This isn’t settled, Mendez.” He pushed ahead of me in line and
Diego took his place behind me.

“Don’t say anything,” he said to me. “If you’re my slut, you do as I say, and you

don’t speak unless I tell you to.”

“Fine.”
“Now, get my breakfast and bring it to me at the table.”
“What?”
“Just do it,” he grunted and walked off.
“I need a second tray,” I told the guy serving. “I’m bringing Mendez his breakfast.”
“You’re Mendez’s bitch!” He laughed. “Hey,” he called out to anyone who was

within earshot, “Mendez has a bitch.”

Everyone laughed. And I was embarrassed as hell but I was still breathing.
I brought the two trays to where Diego sat and put them down, taking a seat across

from him.

“Come over here and sit beside me.”
“What for?”
“I said so. Come on.”
I got up and went to sit beside him. All eyes were on us. “Now feed me a bite of

toast.”

I stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.
“Don’t make them think you’re fighting me, or it’s over.”
I lifted the toast and he took a bite.
“Okay, that’s enough. Eat.”
“I don’t get this.”
“You don’t know the rules and you need to know them if you’re going to live. If we

play this game, you got to do what I tell you, or don’t waste my time.”

“Then I need to be in your cell.”
“I told you, I want to see the money first, then we’ll talk.”
“My brother knows you.”
“Really?” He didn’t seem too interested.
“He says you were something once.”
Diego didn’t comment.
“He’s in a gang, my brother.”
Diego took his tray and stood up. “Then he’s an idiot. He’s going to end up dead.”
I stood up as well and followed him.
He stopped and glanced at me over his shoulder. “Where you going?”
“With you.”
“To the can?”
“Look, I need to shower and … well, I’m too scared to shower alone.”
He sighed. “Okay, give me a minute and I’ll go with you.”
“Thanks.”
“Yeah, just get that cash.”
A half hour later, I was standing beside Diego in the shower room trying not to ogle

him or to get a hard-on. I failed on both accounts. Damn, he had a beautiful body but
while I was studying it, I spotted at least two places that might have been scars from a
knife and a bullet. He had had a tattoo once on his forearm but it had been grated off.

When the Aryans came in, Diego turned off the water and reached over and turned

off my taps as well. “Let’s go.” He threw a towel at me.

“Well, well,” Duncan said, looking Diego up and down, “aren’t you a sight.”
Diego wrapped the towel around his waist and I put mine in front of me.
Duncan stripped off his clothes and laid them aside. He and his three confreres

blocked the exit.

Diego made it obvious that he too was looking Duncan up and down. “Um, well,

well,” he echoed, “you, on the other hand, aren’t.”

Duncan’s expression darkened. “One of these times,” he sneered, “I’m going to have

that ass of yours, Mendez. It will be mine. You’ll be begging for more.”

Diego threw back his head and laughed. “You take my ass? You couldn’t handle my

ass, you Nazi fuck. Now, stop beating your chest, you ape, and get out of my way.”

Duncan put up his hands and stepped to the side but his move forced me to brush by

him in a very intimate way, and it was damn disturbing.

Diego stood in front of the sink and started to put shaving cream on his face as the

Nazi group laughed and went to the showers. Diego kept one eye on the mirror the whole
time.

“Aren’t you scared to talk to them like that?” I asked him.
“Of what?” He stroked the razor across his jaw.
“Those guys, what they could do.”
“No.”
“What if they jumped us in there? It’s three to two.”
“Ah, excuse me”—he glanced at me—“three to one.”
“Not nice. Okay, so I’m no superman but I could have helped you.”
“I doubt that.” He shook the cream off his razor and rinsed it. “Don’t worry. They

wouldn’t attack me like that. They’d wait to ambush me someplace quieter. Look,” he
said, pointing up.

I squinted. “Damn, there’s a camera. Isn’t that illegal?”
He laughed. “Not in here. And there are none in the shower room itself, as far as I

know.” He winked.

God, he was such a hunk.
We dressed and left the shower room. I shadowed him for a while, which annoyed

him. Finally, he told me to go away somewhere.

I went to see my teacher, then worked in the mail room, more than aware of the

looks I was getting from the Nazis and their biker friends.

That evening, I played checkers with Kimbo in the commons room. Diego was

upstairs in his cell. I made sure I knew where he was. When Kimbo beat me at the game
and we decided to call it quits, I quickly made my way to Diego’s cell.

He was reading on his bunk, not bothering to look up as I came in. “Whatcha

reading?” I asked.

He looked at me. “The Autobiography of Malcolm X.”
“Is it good?”
“Yeah.” He went back to reading.

“What if I don’t get the money? Will you just throw me to the wolves?”
He put the book down on his chest. “You need to toughen up.”
“How?”
“Learn to fight. How in the hell did you get in here anyway, a little girlie boy like

you?”

I sat in the chair by the desk. He didn’t say anything about that. “I’m not a girlie

boy.”

“You look like one.”
“I can’t help the way I look. I’m innocent. I’m in here for my brother.”
He laughed.
“What?”
“‘I’m innocent’ are probably the two most common words heard in here.”
“It’s true in my case. I took the rap for my brother. He said I wouldn’t see time.”
“Nice brother you got.”
“So, answer the question. Will you help me if Alvaro doesn’t get the cash?”
“Why should I?”
“To be a decent human being.”
“If I was a decent human being, I wouldn’t be in here.”
“Come on, Diego.”
“Listen, I’m up for parole in a year. Already you got Duncan looking to challenge

me again because of you. I’m trying to stay clean so I can get out of here.”

“I heard you weren’t up for parole right away.”
“I’ve been working with potential gang members, doing some work for the gang

squad. The parole board upped my hearing. I may have a shot at a job on the anti-gang
squad when I get out. I can’t risk getting into it with Duncan and his Hitler boys over a
nice piece of ass.”

“I didn’t know,” I said. At least I was a nice piece of ass. “But you’d risk it for the

cash?”

“Damn right; it would give me a start when I got out. I haven’t saved that much in

here, only get two dollars a week.”

I nodded. “If I become your … you know … stay with you, will Duncan back off?”
“I doubt it. He’s always wanted to get to me. Now he has an excuse.”
“Why? What’s he got against you?”
“It’s just a fight for dominance. Nothing personal.”
“That tattoo on your arm, was that from your gang?”
“Yes.”
“Did it hurt coming off?”
“Yes, it hurt. I did it myself. But it hurt a hell of a lot more keeping it on.” He picked

up his book again.

“Please let me move in here with you, Diego. You can teach me to fight. Please?”
“I’ll talk to Michaels tomorrow.”
On my way back to the cell, Duncan caught me and placed a hand on my arm,

yanking me closer. “So, what’s it like, getting fucked by the beautiful yet deadly Diego
Mendez?”

“It’s a shame you’re never going to find out,” I replied, pulling away as I glanced at

the guard standing a few feet away.

“Listen,” he said, releasing my arm, “let’s call a truce. We can protect you from all

the other predators in here.”

“What’s the catch?”
“You help us nail Mendez. I want that sweet ass of his.”
“Forget it.”
“Listen, when he’s gone, you’ll be alone. Who will protect you then?”
“I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.”
“You have my word and that of the brotherhood that no harm will come to you. You

just have to lead Mendez to—”

“The slaughter? No thanks.”
Duncan’s lip curled into a snarl. “Then you’ve just made yourself my enemy. I want

you to give a little message to your boyfriend. He’s never leaving this place alive.”

The words sent chills up and down my spine. And I stressed about it all night

because I didn’t have an opportunity to warn Diego before bed count.

“I suspect Mendez already knows that anyway,” Kimbo told me in the dark as I lay

there on my bunk staring up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, I suppose he does,” I replied softly, but I didn’t want anything to happen to

him.

The next morning at head count, the guard called out, “Torres, you’re moving

today.”

There were some wolf whistles from the others standing nearby who had probably

guessed where, and a stony glare from Duncan.

Kimbo glanced at me and whispered, “How’d you manage that?”
“Money.”
“Money? You’re going to pay Mendez to protect you?”
“Damn right. Mendez is no altruist but he wants cash.”
“Where you getting this money from? I’m sure it’s not just petty change.”
“Can’t say right now. Tell you later.”
As soon as head count was over, I went in search of Diego. I found him standing in

line for breakfast but he was way ahead of me. I waited patiently with my tray and at the
first opportunity I broke out of the line and went after Diego. He was sitting in his usual
place in the corner, all alone.

I slipped in across from him with my empty tray. He glanced at my tray and then

away but he didn’t say anything. “Duncan told me that he’s planning to kill you,” I said
breathlessly, “that you’ll never leave here alive.”

He looked at me again, no expression on his face. “Is that so?”
“Yes, don’t you care? He asked me to help him, offered me protection to do it. I said

no.”

He went back to eating.
“Diego?”
He looked up. “Yeah?”
“He’s going to ambush you somewhere, rape and kill you.”
He laughed. He actually laughed. “What else is new? He’s been dreaming about that

for a long time, Torres. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“The guard told me I’m moving today.”
“Remind me to buy you a housewarming gift.”

“Get serious. Thanks for that.”
He shrugged. “If you get on my nerves, out you go.” He stood.
“Can I come with you to shower?”
“Are you going to shower without water the way you breakfast without food?”
I mumbled under my breath about him being a smart-ass and I heard him laugh. He

had a nice laugh, deep and hearty, and it amazed me how he could laugh after hearing
that someone wanted to kill him. But I realized that I didn’t live in the same world he did.

I watched him take off his clothes and climb under the water. There were two other

inmates showering close by and they were watching too. It didn’t matter if you were into
men or not; Diego’s body was something to behold.

I was hard again and I chastised myself for that. It was hard to hide and I couldn’t

jack off in the shower room.

I let the water run over me and tried to relax, thinking that might make my erection

subside. It didn’t. I could still see Diego out of the corner of my eye and when he moved
his soapy palms over his penis, my balls did the high jump. I couldn’t help picturing that
cock inside of me, or Diego’s hot mouth on mine.

I’d always dreamt of a big, muscular man with a beautiful face and a thick cock. I’d

always dreamt of being swept away, possessed … taken in a way that was all-
encompassing.

Diego would have made many of my gay friends at home beg for it. He was the

stereotype of the strong, silent bad boy who would take what he wanted when he wanted
and kick your ass out of his bed in the morning. He was never the guy you ended up with
but he was the one night of hot sex you never forgot.

He was saying something to me now and I shook myself out of my X-rated

Harlequin romance novel and stared at him, hoping to hell he didn’t notice that my cock
was standing at attention. But of course, how could he not notice?

“Are you finished?” he asked. There was a smirk on his face.
I nervously reached for the taps. “Yeah.”
“Nice,” he said softly, his gaze settling on my cock. “Very nice.”
We were alone. The other two were gone. Touch me. I cleared my throat. “I get that

way in the shower.” I picked up the towel and covered myself up. “It’s been a thing with
me, you know.”

He stood there leisurely drying himself. I looked everywhere but at his cock.
“A thing?” He gave a short laugh
“I…” I began to pull on my pants before I’d even dried off. “Yeah.”
He was laughing again as I followed him to the sink. When Diego started to shave, I

let my irritation show. “It’s not nice to make fun of people.”

He glanced at me. “You are just too cute.”
“Cute?” I croaked.
“You sounded like a little boy just then. Torres, this is not the fifth grade. You got a

hard-on, big deal. I get them all the time. You like my body. I get that. It just means this
place hasn’t stolen your humanity yet. Embrace it.”

I nodded. We didn’t speak anymore until we left the bathroom. “I have to go to see

my teacher. Guard told me I’d be moving in at lunch.”

He walked off.
Mrs. Crosby and I met in a private area in the library. She had grey hair and

spectacles which sat on the edge of her nose. She was looking at my school records. “You
were a good student, Yandal,” she said. “It’s too bad you got into trouble.”

What could I say to that? “Call me Yan.”
“I’ve made your work program and spoken to the warden.” She handed me a paper.

“I asked him to give you more study time. It won’t do to put you in the classroom with
the others. You’re much too advanced. We should be able to catch you up to graduate this
year if you work hard.”

I was pleased about that. “I was thinking about college.”
“We’ll talk about that. I’m sure we can arrange something via correspondence. What

programs are you interested in, Yan?”

I thought for a moment. “I think I’d like to do something in the counseling area,

work with teens in trouble, you know.”

“Very honorable, okay. I’ll see what’s available. Now we need to get to work,” she

said. “One step at a time.”

My time in the mail room had been cut to two days a week. I was required to work

on my studies for the other three. I didn’t mind. I felt secure in that room with a guard on
the door and the teacher was in and out to answer any questions.

That day I took my lunch and then was told to move my stuff to the cell on the

second floor. Again as I took the stairs, all eyes were upon me, and there were some
inmates calling out things like, “Look whose ass is going to be smiling tonight.”

Diego wasn’t in his cell when I walked in and I wasn’t sure which bunk to take so I

laid my stuff on the desk and headed for the cafeteria. As I did, two Nazis sandwiched me
and walked with me all the way to the kitchen. One of them goosed me and the other
whispered disgusting things in my ear. As I got to the cafeteria, I met a guard at the
entrance and pushed the two ugly morons to the side. “I’m Diego’s. Leave me alone.”

“You’ll be Diego’s all right,” one of them sneered. “You won’t be able to sit

tomorrow.”

I went up to the line and got my lunch, a mess of Chinese macaroni and salad. I

didn’t see Diego so I went to sit with Kimbo and two older men who seemed to be his
friends.

They were talking about some football game they’d seen and I listened politely as I

scanned the room for Diego. “Kimbo,” I said when the other two left, “do you know
where Diego is?”

“He had a bit of trouble with Duncan’s boys.”
I panicked. “He’s not in solitary, is he?”
“No, I don’t think so. Think he was called to the warden’s office.”
“Shit. He can’t go to solitary.”
“He almost lived there when he first came in.” Kimbo chuckled.
“Really?”
“Sure. Everyone wanted to challenge him. Everyone who challenged him, lost.

Eventually they stopped and he became less … I don’t know … he just stuck to himself,
didn’t take the bait.”

“Then what happened today?”
“I don’t know. I heard two guys jumped him. One of them is in the infirmary. The

other guy is with Mendez and the warden. They’re trying to figure it out. Someone is
going to solitary.” Kimbo stood.

“The guy in the infirmary, was he hurt badly?”
“I hear he’s being shipped out to the hospital. You don’t jump Mendez and get off

easy,” he said.

After lunch I went back to the books but I was nervous all day. Tomorrow was

visiting day, and that stressed me as well. I was going to call my brother tonight to
remind him to bring the money.

I finished studying and went back to my cell. On the way, it felt as if my stomach

was in knots. I found Diego lying on the bottom bunk with a book in his hand. I breathed
a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” I said.

He glanced at me. “What’s the prayer for?”
“You’re not in solitary.”
“Oh. No, I’m not.” He went back to reading.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“A guy is in the hospital.”
“No, he’s still here. They decided the wound wasn’t serious enough. He’s a big

exaggerator.”

“The other Nazi, is he in solitary?”
“Yep.”
“Diego?”
He looked at me again. “Are you going to talk all the time?”
I smiled. “Sorry. I’m just stressed out, that’s all.”
“Perfectly normal.”
“I admire you.”
“Oh yeah? Me, or my cock?” He didn’t look up when he said that but he was

smirking again.

“Get serious. You’ve really turned your life around.”
“Not yet.”
“You will.”
“Yes, I will,” he said.
“The top is okay for me,” I replied, indicating the bunk.
“Glad to hear it,” he said, but I knew it wouldn’t have mattered if it was or not.
I laughed. “You are full of it,” I said, then realized that was a brave thing to say to

Diego Mendez.

He didn’t comment.
“I’m going to phone my brother.”
“Be sure to be back by eight, dear.”
“Yeah, right.” I grinned at him and left the cell, going down the steps to the pay

phones. I had to wait in line for a few minutes and I noticed that Duncan was watching
me from where he sat in front of the large screen television. I could only imagine what he
was plotting.

The phone at home rang and rang but no one picked up. I slammed it down in

frustration, gave the phone to the next guy and then went back in line. Alvaro wasn’t
going to just ignore me.

The second time, the phone picked up on the third ring. “Alvaro,” I said. “It’s Yan.

You got the money?”

“I got half of it.”
“Half isn’t good enough.”
“It’s not easy. I’ll see what I can do tonight. I want to meet him.”
“Meet who?”
“Mendez. I want to meet him, shake his hand. He’s a legend.”
“He’s not into that gang stuff anymore.”
“Come on, Bro. Ask him. I told all the guys I was going to see him tomorrow.”
“I’ll do my best but I doubt it. Just bring the money,” I said, and hung up.
When the cells were sealed and the lights went out, I was really stressed out, more

stressed out than if I’d been in that cell with Duncan himself.

It didn’t hit me until I was settled into my bunk above Diego. We were totally alone

for the first time, in the dark, and my cock came alive and took on a mind of its own. I
was hurting, and my imagination was in overdrive.

I wanted Diego to crawl up onto my bunk, strip off my shorts, and make me satisfy

his every need, but a few minutes after the lights went out, I heard his breathing grow
shallow and I knew he was asleep. I was both relieved and disappointed and left with a
hard-on. Sometime during the night I tried to relieve that hard-on as quietly as I could,
muffling the sounds in my pillow.

Chapter Three

When the wake-up call came and the lights went on, Diego was sitting on the bottom

bunk, hands in his hair.

“Have trouble waking up?” I grinned at him as I hopped down from the top.
He looked up at me. “Trouble sleeping.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “You should try warm milk before you go to bed.”
“Warm milk?” He gawked at me. “Where am I going to get warm milk in here?”
“Doc could give you something.” I pulled on my T-shirt.
“Torres, you woke me up at three in the morning beating off.”
I must have turned three shades of red. “I wasn’t … I mean…”
He stood. “Look, I know what beating off sounds like, okay.”
The cell opened and everyone went out into the hallway for head count. It was

Saturday, which meant visiting day and scheduled leisure activities like basketball games
and such.

We went to breakfast, and I avoided Diego for a while, hoping he’d forget about

what I was doing last night. Visiting hours started at one o’clock, and I prayed my brother
didn’t let me down. It wouldn’t be the first time.

I lost track of Diego then found him in the laundry room doing his laundry. I was

hesitant to ask him if he’d be willing to meet my brother. When I got it out, he looked at
me and asked, “What for?”

“He says you’re a legend and he kind of told his friends that…”
“Well, he can kind of un-tell his friends.”
“It’s just that my brother’s gang admires you.”
“I’m the last person he should be admiring.”
“He’s in a gang, part of a street gang called the 48th Street Conquerors. He says

you’re one of them.”

“One of them?” he scoffed. “I never heard of them. These little gangs don’t mean

shit to the big boys, except as a way to get under-aged morons to run drugs for them.
Following your brother was the stupidest thing you ever did.”

“I didn’t follow him. I didn’t do anything,” I protested.
“Yeah right, we’re all innocent in here, falsely accused.”
“I am. I took the rap for him. He would have gone to prison. He said I wouldn’t see

time. I did it for my mother.”

Diego looked at me suddenly, really looked at me. For a long time, he didn’t say

anything.

“You don’t believe me, do you?”
“Maybe.” He seemed hesitant. “But I still don’t get it.”
“He’s my brother. I really believed I wouldn’t go to prison and he would.”
“Guess you were wrong.” He took his clothes out of the washing machine and began

to load the dryer. He shut the door on the dryer and walked out of the laundry room.

I stood there shaking. Those words finally sank in. What had I done? Why in hell

didn’t I just let Alvaro go down? I was thinking of my mother, thinking of what the other
gang members would do if I didn’t obey Alvaro. What a mess. What a damn mess.

When visiting hours came around, I impatiently paced in the waiting room. When

two o’clock came and I didn’t see my brother, I decided he wasn’t coming. I almost left
the room and then just as I was at the door, I saw him sauntering down the corridor, one
of his friends with him, a mean fucker named Juan.

“Hey, Bro,” Alvaro said, coming to hug me, but I hung back.
“You got the cash?” I asked in a low voice.
“Yeah, yeah, over here,” he said, escorting me to a table in the corner. “Not easy

getting in here.”

“Getting out neither,” Juan joked.
“You know Juan,” Alvaro said.
I nodded at Juan. “Where is it?” I asked Alvaro.
“I got half.”
“Half?”
“Where’s Mendez?”
“Not interested. What am I going to do with half?”
“Give him half. We’ll bring more later on. He really going to protect you, man?”
“Yes. I’m in his cell but he wants to be paid.”
Alvaro slapped Juan on the back. “Hear that, my little bro is bunking with Diego

Mendez!”

They carried on for a bit while I sat back, really pissed off that Alvaro had only

brought me half the money. He slipped it to me and I put it into my pants. “I want the
rest,” I told him between clenched teeth.

“We’ll get it,” he said, “but I want to meet him.”
“I’ll work on him. How’s Mama?”
“Okay; don’t worry. And I’m saving up for a good lawyer.”
“Right.” I knew it was bullshit. I fingered the money as I watched him leave.
I found Diego in the gym, throwing a ball around. “Hey,” I said, walking over to

him.

He stopped and looked at me.
“I got half.”
“Half?”
“Yeah, he’ll have the other half soon but he wants to meet you.”
He bounced the ball a few times and walked away.
Great.
I kept the money on me and hoped no one jumped me. I ate supper with Kimbo.

Diego ate alone as he usually did but I noticed he was watching me.

Later I found him on the bed reading, a different book this time. “You sure read a

lot.”

“Catching up,” he said.
“You didn’t read as a kid?”
“You kidding?”
“I have your money.”
“You have half my money.”
“Okay, but I said—”
“Don’t worry,” he replied. “I said I’d watch your ass; I’ll watch it.”
“Thanks. Will you meet my brother?”

“He doesn’t want to meet me.”
“Yes, he does.”
“He’ll regret it.”
“Does that mean you’ll meet with him?”
“If he brings the money and just him, not all his friends.”
“I’ll tell him. Kimbo asked me to play cards. Want to play?”
“No thanks,” he said.
I gave him the package. He took it and returned to his reading.

* * * *

Duncan and his boys sat nearby as I played gin rummy with Kimbo. One of them had

his arm in a cast. His face was black and blue and I smiled to myself. I knew who had
done that.

“Where’s your sweetheart?” Duncan had walked over suddenly.
I tensed as he dragged a chair up close to me and placed a hand on my thigh.
Kimbo also looked nervous as the banged-up guy came over with two others. They

all pulled up chairs.

“Take your hands off me. Diego won’t like it.”
“Diego isn’t here,” Duncan sneered. “You were made to be a whore, skin not quite

white with your girlie looks. Feel this.” Duncan grabbed my hand and placed it on his
crotch. I tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let me.

I didn’t even see Diego approach and neither did Duncan. Diego grabbed Duncan’s

head and yanked it back. He leaned down, his mouth near Duncan’s ear, one hand firmly
holding Duncan’s bald head in place. “How are you doing, Duncan?”

The guy with the cast on his arm jumped back so fast he knocked his chair over. This

created a diversion and gave Diego enough time to reach down and grab Duncan’s arm.
He twisted, causing Duncan to wince in pain. “Now,” Diego said with a smile, “don’t
touch my bitch or I’ll make you regret it.”

The guard was there suddenly but Diego was already standing up straight, with what

appeared to be a casual hand on Duncan’s shoulder.

“What’s going on here?”
The injured guy straightened up his chair.
“Nothing,” Diego said, “just a friendly game of cards. Right, Dunc?”
“Right,” Duncan said with a grin. “No problem here.”
The guard nodded and walked off.
“Now, may I suggest you go and find your own game,” Diego told him.
Duncan and his friends got up quietly and left the table.
To say that I greatly admired his strength of character was an understatement. As the

days went on and the weeks passed, I felt completely safe, even when he wasn’t even
there in the same room. He seemed to know everything and I suspected that he had other
people keeping an eye out for him as well.

To say also that I was falling for him big-time would have been another

understatement. I put it down to the fact that we shared a cell, that he was gorgeous, that
it was natural in this situation. But it was more than that. Although he wasn’t always the
most communicative man, he had his moments and I imagined that we were growing
closer.

He never laid a hand on me. Of course I wanted him to, but I had to admire him for

his restraint. Any other prisoner would have immediately made me his sexual plaything.
But not Diego.

My brother hadn’t come again and I couldn’t reach him at home. My mother didn’t

answer either, probably because Alvaro had told her not to. She believed anything he told
her, and he had a knack for scaring her, especially when it came to the authorities. She
didn’t speak much English, and of course that kept her vulnerable and dependent on him.

Diego didn’t say anything when I told him my brother hadn’t come. He had kept his

word and had my back. I trusted him completely, but I was anxious to give him his
money.

My studies were going well and I stayed close to Diego, thinking maybe I might just

make it out of this place.

I was becoming resigned to the fact that Diego and I were never going to get much

closer than we were. He wasn’t going to be my lover or my friend, simply my protector.

Then one night everything changed.
First it was super hot and the air conditioning was on the fritz. When the cell sealed

and the lights went out, it was hard to sleep.

Diego stood at the front of the cell, his two palms on the wall. His shoulders and

chest gleamed with sweat and his drawstring cotton pants hung low on his hips.

I imagined taking off those pants. He was a sight and even with this heat, I was dying

to pull his body close to mine.

Diego was restless. I watched him from the top bunk and I wanted to ask him if

something was wrong but he was in one of his “don’t talk to me” moods.

He lowered his head and pounded his fist on the wall once. He didn’t make any

noise. It was like some kind of silent scream.

“You all right?” I braved.
“Go to sleep, Torres.”
“Call me Yan, okay?”
“Just go to sleep.”
I hopped down off the bed. “It helps sometimes to talk about it.”
“Don’t you get it?” He turned and looked at me. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You keep everything inside and—”
He grabbed me so fast I didn’t see it coming. I was pinned against the wall. We were

both breathing hard and fast, and I wasn’t sure it was exactly for the same reason.

His dark eyes were alive with something and all I could think of was how close he

was. I wasn’t even thinking about the fact that he could have killed me right then and
there if he’d wanted. I only wanted him.

He released me and stepped back. His chest heaved; his dark eyes looked shiny. His

mouth trembled when he spoke. “My brother,” he said softly, “he died last night.”

“Oh God, Diego, I’m sorry. How?”
He walked over and looked out on the semi-lit corridor. “He was knifed to death in a

barroom by another biker.”

“Was your brother with the Matadors too?”
He nodded. “They won’t let me go to the funeral. They say it could set off another

biker war.” He pounded the wall again. “I can’t even say good-bye.”

I walked over and wound my arms around him, laid my head on his back. He didn’t

fight me. He stood there, allowing this intimacy for a long time.

When he straightened, I moved away. I figured I’d gone far enough. I prepared to go

back to my bunk.

“No,” he said softly in the darkness of that cell, “stay with me, Yan. Please.”
I turned around, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Make love to me,” he whispered. “Take away the pain.”
I nodded. “Yes. Oh God, yes, Diego.” I moved into his arms. He stroked back my

hair and looked down into my eyes for a second. He tightened his hold on me and
lowered his mouth to mine. He took it, made it his, dancing his tongue around mine and
pulling down my shorts. His hand tightened around my cock as he continued to kiss me.

I put my hands in his hair and moved with him onto the bottom bunk.
He laid me down gently and straddled my hips. His mouth and hands strayed

everywhere and I struggled to touch him as well, but he knew what he wanted and I
wanted exactly the same thing.

When he lifted my legs and placed his tongue inside me I moaned.
He lifted the sheet to my mouth and I got the message quickly. If I made too much

noise, it would bring the guards. I bit down on the sheet to muffle my cries.

His cock was hard and leaking. I felt the pre-cum on the edge of his penis as he lubed

my ass with a combination of saliva and pre-cum.

“You ever done this before?” He was breathing hard.
“Yes, but it’s been a while.”
“We don’t have to,” he whispered. “You can just suck my cock.”
“No, oh no, I want to. I want you.”
He smiled at me, a real, genuine smile and my heart almost went into spasm.

Everything was worth it to see that smile.

Diego lifted my legs. “It’s going to hurt.”
“I know, but just at first.”
“I don’t have a condom but I’m clean. I haven’t been with anyone for at least two

years and my last AIDS test was negative.”

“Me too.”
He chuckled a little. “I wasn’t worried about you.”
I felt his cock at my entrance and I tried to relax. He was a big guy but he was

incredibly gentle. I couldn’t believe it. He touched me, caressed my nipples, stroked my
cock, kissed me so tenderly it startled me and by the time it really began to hurt, it was
almost over. Then Diego lost control. He fucked me fast and furious and used my ass
exactly as I dreamt he would.

He pulled out at one point and put me on the floor on all fours and took me again. I

dragged the sheet with me and stuffed it into my mouth as I moaned with pleasure.

He fucked my ass, jerked my cock, and pinched my nipples all at the same time and,

bathed in sweat, I floated into ecstasy.

We lay there on the floor of the cell, no bloody air, just stifling heat and he held my

hand.

“Tell me about him,” I asked him when we both could breathe normally again. “Tell

me about your brother. What was his name?”

“Steve … he was my younger brother. There was only the two of us. I looked out for

him. All he wanted was to be like me and I was a … I am a no-good son of a bitch.”

“No,” I said, “you’ve changed, Diego.”
“He wouldn’t listen to me. He wouldn’t get out. He thought he could ride on my rep.

I knew this would happen.”

“Have you heard from your parents?”
“Parents?” he echoed, sounding bitter. “We have no parents. My mother died when

we were kids. Our father was a no-good drunk. He still is. I haven’t spoken to him since I
left home. He used to beat the crap out of me. I’d stand in the way so Steven wouldn’t get
it.”

I moved closer to him and hugged him, laying my head on his chest. “I’m so sorry.

You think the warden might reconsider about letting you go?”

He shook his head. “Michaels gave me permission. The police are the ones resisting.

I understand. I’m just sad, that’s all. I told my brother not to visit me in here until he
changed his ways. I regret that now.”

“You tried to help him.”
“Yeah. It didn’t do much good, did it?”
I fell asleep there but somehow when the lights flicked on in the morning, I was back

in the top bunk.

Chapter Four

Another week went by and still no Alvaro. I was beginning to suspect that he’d

abandoned me. I thought that what had happened between Diego and me would bring us
closer but Diego seemed distant afterward, perhaps regretting it.

I waited every night for him to touch me, but he didn’t.
One Saturday, Diego grabbed my arm and dragged me down a hallway. I was

excited, laughing. I thought he was going to take me into a supply room somewhere and
ravish me. Instead he took me into the weight room. “Okay, I’m going to toughen you
up,” he said, “teach you how to defend yourself.”

Not exactly the most romantic thing but it was definitely Diego’s way of telling me

he cared. Every chance he got after that he worked with me, taught me how to punch,
taught me how to fight dirty, and he stood by while I worked on building some muscle
mass. All the while the Nazis were watching and waiting.

It was six weeks later when Alvaro showed up on visiting day. I had managed to

leave him a message to tell him that Diego would meet with him if he brought the money
and came alone.

Alvaro came alone as I had asked him to, and the first thing he asked was, “Where is

he?”

“He didn’t know you were coming today. I’ll tell the guard,” I said. “But I can’t

guarantee he’ll come.”

“You said he would.”
“I said he would with notice.”
“I got your cash. It wasn’t easy. I’m taking money out of Mama’s pockets.”
“You took this from Mama?” I was horrified. “I don’t want it then.” I shoved it back

at him. “You fuck. You stole this from Mama. Give it back to her.”

“I took a little at a time. She won’t miss it. The gang provides.”
“I’m not taking money from my own mother.”
“Keep your voice down.” He was looking around. “So, you look good.”
I didn’t bother to answer. I knew he’d only come to see Diego, and he’d never really

cared about me, not the way Diego had cared about his younger brother.

We didn’t talk for a little while, and then Diego came in the door. He paused, filling

the entire doorway for a moment, and then entered.

Alvaro got up, acting like the king himself had appeared. He put his hand out for a

gang handshake but it was ignored.

“Alvaro, Diego,” I said.
“It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” he said.
My brother had never called anyone sir in his life. Diego Mendez must have one hell

of a rep.

Diego nodded, folding his arms across his chest.
“I want to thank you for protecting my little brother here. I owe you. If there is

anything I or my boys can do for you when you get out, name it.”

Diego began to speak in Spanish. “You are nothing and there is nothing you can do

for me. In a year or so, you’ll join your brother here or be dead. The Matadors care

nothing about you. They don’t even know you exist. You’re fodder. If they do know you,
they’ll use you. If you were smart, you’d take off those colors and choose life. What you
did to your brother is something only a coward would do. Get out of my sight and don’t
you ever ask to see me again, unless you decide to be a man and fess up to what you did.
You hear me?”

I stood there with my jaw agape and Alvaro actually looked embarrassed as Diego

stared him in the eye for a minute and then turned and left the room.

Alvaro walked out two minutes later without saying a word. He never ever said

good-bye.

That night when the lights went out, I was the one standing at the glass, looking out.

Diego was in his bunk but I knew he was awake. “He doesn’t care about me.”

“No, he doesn’t.”
I was surprised at the answer. My eyes stung with tears. “You could have at least…”
“What? Lied to you? If it’s any consolation, he doesn’t care about himself either. His

masculinity is wrapped up in that gang; it’s his identity and nothing is more important
than that … acting tough and being tough. It’s all he knows because underneath there’s
nothing else.”

The tears streamed down my cheeks. “I love my brother.”
“I know but you’ve got to let him go or he’s going to drag you down with him.”
Diego’s arms were around me suddenly and I turned to face him. He held me close to

him. “Oh God,” I whispered, “I want you so badly. Please, Diego, take me. Make me
yours.”

He reached down and stroked my hair. “No. First, you must belong to yourself

before you can belong to anyone else. Love yourself, Yan, and forget about your brother.
Keep studying and get out of this place, make something of your life.”

I tightened my hold on him and he kissed me, deeply, passionately, and completely

and I would have done anything for him.

“Please,” I whispered, my body trembling, “fuck me.”
He moaned against me and took my mouth again and suddenly our pants were on the

floor and I was moving with him to the bed. This time the sex was rough and fast but it
was what we both wanted, what we needed, and I woke up in his arms, realizing that the
lights would flash on at any moment. I woke him and stood, waiting as the call to rise
came.

We went about our day, my studies and his work in the mail room, and all our free

time was spent in training. I put on weight and I knew how to throw a punch. I felt more
confident. And I was completely and desperately in love.

I was pretty sure that Diego, however, didn’t return my feelings. He was nice to me,

protective, and as the weeks dragged on, he even fucked me occasionally but I was sure I
might have been anyone as far as he was concerned. It was more lust than anything else.

Then all hell broke loose. They always say that just when you think you’re safe,

that’s when you are in the most danger.

Diego couldn’t watch me every second although he had put his protective seal on me

which meant that most kept their distance. But Duncan was out for blood.

The Nazis, of course, had been biding their time. Diego was working in the mail

room and I’d just come out of my study lesson and was heading back to the cell. One of
the guards approached me and asked me to come with him.

“What for?” I asked.
“Stop asking questions and come on,” he barked, dragging me down the hallway.
I’d heard stories about corrupt guards, of course, and payoffs, so when he grabbed

me by the back of the neck and shoved me into the gym and closed the door, I knew what
was going on.

I tried to escape, but the door was locked. I turned around, my guts in knots. The

door on the other side of the gym opened and there was Duncan with three of his gang. I
desperately turned around again but it was in vain. I was fucked six ways from hell, and I
knew it.

“Hello, Yan,” Duncan announced. He smiled like a crocodile.
I prepared to fight them but they were four big guys. I could only fight so long and

that was it. I wasn’t going to win this one.

* * * *

When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t sure where I was. I was hurting all over and

hooked up to tubes. There was a police officer on my door and I knew that I wasn’t in the
infirmary. I was in the hospital.

Everything swam in front of me as I tried to focus, tried to open eyes that were

puffed shut. It all came back. All of them beat me, stripped me, humiliated me, made me
suck their cocks and then they all raped me, one after another. It hurt like hell. The others
had stood around, yelling obscenities. Then it stopped. Everything. It was like a fury, a
hurricane. Bodies flew across the room, and I heard Diego’s voice cry out in Spanish, son
of a bitch, hijo de puta! Then I lost consciousness.

I was happy to see my mother and not so thrilled to see Alvaro, but he seemed to be

genuinely concerned. When my mother left, Alvaro took a chair beside me. “Are you
okay?”

“I’ve got broken ribs, a broken arm, contusions, a concussion, and my face looks like

a Halloween mask. Besides that, I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry. Where in hell was Mendez?”
“He was in a meeting. The guard set me up. Diego saved my life. Now he’s probably

in deep shit. Do you know what happened to those Nazis?”

“No. But if Mendez got his hands on them, they’re probably dead.”
“I hope not.”
“What do you mean? They almost killed you.”
“Diego was getting out. He was changing his life. This is going to set him back,

maybe put back his parole. This is all my fault.”

“You got a thing for him. He was the leader of the Matadors. He’s no fag.”
“Maybe not,” I said. “But things are different in prison.”
He didn’t answer. He just got up and left.
I was in the hospital for a month. The warden came to see me and asked me a lot of

questions. The guard was fired. “Warden,” I asked him before he left, “what’s going to
happen to Diego Mendez? He saved my life.”

“He’s been in solitary off and on. He’s not doing well right now. His parole meeting

that was coming up this summer has been put off. Jack Duncan died from his injuries,
and the three others were all badly beaten. One lost his eye.”

“They tried to kill me, Warden. He was just trying to…”

“I know.” He nodded. “It’s unfortunate. Right now they’re trying to decide if he’ll

get extra time or not.”

“That’s not fair.”
“There was a long history between Duncan and Mendez. This had nothing to do with

you.”

I didn’t believe that for one second. Diego only wanted to get out. He didn’t care

about the feud with Jack Duncan. He’d done this for me. He’d sacrificed everything for
me, and I couldn’t help feeling responsible for that.

On the day I walked back into section C, my bruises still evident on my face, I got a

sprinkling of applause. I wasn’t sure for what but I assumed it was due to the fact that
Duncan had had a lot of enemies, and in part I was responsible for him being dead.

I was directed to a new cell with a guy no older than me named Sam. He’d been

there only three weeks and I felt sorry for him. When I tried to say some words of
comfort, he looked at me and said, “At least I’ll get some hot sex in here.”

“You’ll get raped in here,” I told him.
“It’s okay with the right guy.”
I just shook my head and went looking for a guard.
“Where is Mendez?” I asked.
“Solitary,” the guard told me with a smirk. “His new home.”
“Fuck,” I said under my breath.
I spoke to Kimbo later and he caught me up on what I’d missed.
The three Nazis were back in circulation and they’d made a martyr out of Jack

Duncan, of course. “The war is on,” Kimbo told him. “They want Mendez dead. And
Mendez doesn’t seem to give a fuck anymore. He’s fighting with everyone, in solitary
half the time. His parole was denied.”

“I know,” I said. “Did he get more time?”
“It hasn’t been decided. There’s a hearing coming up soon. But his behavior isn’t

going to set well for him.”

“I have to see him.”
“Good luck,” Kimbo said. “Glad to see you’re okay.”
“Thanks.”
I practically got on my knees to the warden and begged to see Diego. “I think I can

get through to him,” I said. “Please.”

The warden finally agreed. He arranged a meeting between us in a closed-off area

and told us we would have a half hour to talk. “I hope you can get through to him. The
gang squad still wants him but if he doesn’t get his act together … I don’t know what to
do with him anymore. That’s why I’m letting you see him. He was our greatest hope in
here, but now…”

“Can I testify for him, tell the judge what happened and…”
“I’ll speak to his lawyer,” the warden said. “Good luck.”
Luck. I’d need a hell of a lot more than that.
When Diego walked in the room, that wild look in his eyes told me he’d taken a step

down from where he’d brought himself. He’d lost faith. And I had to give it back to him.

“Hey,” I said, tears in my eyes.
He gave me a hint of a smile. “You okay?”
I nodded. I wanted to hold him but a guard was just outside the door and he could see

us. “You’re not.”

“I’m fine.”
“What’s happening to you? You’ve got to get back on track.”
“What for?”
“So you can get out of here and—”
“I killed a man.”
“He was a bad man. He almost killed me. He would have killed you.”
“I still killed a man,” he said. “I thought I’d…” He stopped. “Doesn’t matter. I’m

never getting out of here.”

“Yes, you are,” I said. “You did this for me. You saved my life.”
“I couldn’t stand the thought…” He took a breath. “I didn’t want him hurting you,

Yan.” There were tears in his eyes. He looked stricken.

I didn’t give a shit if the guard was there or not. I went into his arms, held him for a

moment, then released him when I saw the guard staring. “You sacrificed everything for
me. I want to help you.”

“You can’t.”
“Yes, I can. Don’t throw it all away for Jack Duncan. He’s not worth it.”
“Watch yourself,” he said, “those Nazi fucks are just waiting to…” His fists

tightened.

“Don’t worry about me,” I said. “They’ll never hurt me again. I want to be your cell

mate.”

“No, stay away from me. I’m no good for you. Just like with my brother, I—”
“I love you,” I said, looking into his eyes. “Hear me. I love you. And when we get

out of here, and we will, we’re going to be together because you love me too.”

He lowered his head.
“Say it,” I insisted. “Tell me.”
He raised his head. “Guard,” he called. “I want to go back to solitary.”
My heart was breaking as I watched him leave but I was determined. I wasn’t going

to give up on him. Those Nazis weren’t going to win. Diego had lost his way because of
me. I was going to help him find it.

Diego came out of solitary two days later. I kept working in the gym and on my

studies. I was behind but I was determined to catch up.

When I went to his cell after supper, he was lying on his bunk looking up at the

ceiling.

“Not reading?”
“No.”
“I missed you.”
“Don’t.”
“Can’t help it.”
“Look, you don’t owe me anything, Torres.” He sat up and stared at me.
“I’m not here because I owe you. I’m here because I—”
“Well, don’t.” He lay back down. “Just do your own thing and forget about me.”
“Don’t let those guys get to you, Diego. You’re better than them.”
“No, I’m not. Now get the fuck away from me.” He was standing and he looked

ferocious but I wasn’t scared.

“Hit me if you want. I can take it. I’m not going away.”

He brushed past me and left the cell.
He did a good job of ignoring me the next few days and I was getting frustrated.

Then a week later, the little blond angel in my cell named Sam who was cruising for
some action announced to me that he was being transferred.

“Transferred where?” I asked, not especially interested. He’d already been passed

around by the Nazis.

He licked his lips and said, “Mendez. That big hunk is going to be mine.”
I sprang at him, not really aware of how much the weight training was paying off. I

had the little slut up against the wall. “Don’t touch him,” I warned him. “Diego belongs
to me.”

“That’s funny because he’s the one who requested I be moved there.”
I released Sam, staring at him in disbelief. I was pissed. I marched up those stairs

after head count and walked right into Diego’s cell. “What are you doing?” I demanded.

“Getting ready for breakfast,” he replied. “What the fuck do you care?”
“Don’t.”
“I’m hungry, Torres.”
“That’s not what I mean. Don’t fuck my cell mate.”
“He’s my cell mate now and I didn’t know he meant so much to you.”
“He means nothing to me and he means nothing to you. Don’t do this because you

think it will push me away.”

“He wants this,” Diego said, grabbing his groin. “What can I do?”
“Don’t be fucking crude. I know why you’re doing this.”
“Maybe you don’t.” He met my eyes.
“Then tell me.”
He sighed. “The Nazis are using him as their fuck toy. He’s going to be my source of

information. I can’t protect you if—” He stopped.

“Baby.” I softened, coming closer. “You don’t have to protect me anymore. I can do

it now. I’m stronger. I have more confidence. I—”

“You’ll get yourself killed and they’ll do anything to get back at me for killing Jack

Duncan. And if they think I still care, they’ll kill you. I have to show them that I don’t
care about you. Your survival depends on that, Yan. Now stay away from me.”

Tears sparked in my eyes. “And let you fuck that blond slut.”
“I’ll do what I have to do.”
“After knowing where his mouth has been.”
“I’ll make sure he uses mouthwash.” He smirked.
I could have punched him. “You’re breaking my heart.”
“Better your heart than your skull. Now get out of here, Yan.”
I walked off down the corridor, trying not to let my feelings show. I should have

been happy. He really did care, cared enough to keep his distance, to keep me safe, but I
was without him.

I was angry, angrier than I’d ever been, and I worked even harder in the weight room

that evening. That night, my body ached as I lay in my empty cell thinking of Sam in the
cell above with my Diego. And I couldn’t sleep. And in my sleeplessness, I came up with
a plan that would take care of those Nazis once and for all.

The next day at breakfast I watched Sam follow Diego around like a lap dog and

Diego paid far more attention to that blond boy than he needed to. I convinced myself

that Diego was trying to convince the Nazis that I was no longer his boy but he was being
too damn convincing. When that blond shithead placed a hand on Diego’s ass in the
lunch line, I almost lost it. I gritted my teeth. It hurt. It hurt a lot.

I avoided the shower room when I knew Diego would be there and braced myself for

my next move. That evening I walked right over to the table where the three Nazis sat. I
addressed the new leader. His name was Colin Delaney and he still bore the scars from
Diego on his face. That made me smile. “Colin,” I said, “can I speak to you in private?”

He eyed me then shrugged. I stood aside respectfully as he stood and we walked

together to a quiet corner. “What you want, slut?”

I swallowed that. I wanted to kick the shit out of him for what he’d done to me, but

real vengeance took time. “Colin”—I put a hand on his forearm—“Diego has thrown me
over for that blond whore. I need protection. He’s left me vulnerable.”

“Now you want us. Poor baby. That Sammy looks very satisfied.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I can help you get Mendez. You do want him, don’t you?”
He tilted his head. “Why would you do that?”
“In exchange for your protection and also because he dumped me. He’s going to pay

for that.”

“You want to be my bitch?” He placed a hand on my ass.
“Doctor says I can’t … you know, but maybe when I get the okay. We could be good

friends and…” I lowered my voice. “I give great head.”

“Um, I’m looking forward to that. Want to be in my cell?”
“Of course.”
“How you going to help me get Mendez?”
“We’ll work on that together. There’s one thing I can do that you can’t. I can seduce

him.”

He smiled. “Um. We’ll talk.”
“I can also do other things for you, like work in the distribution area. I’ll do it for

free.”

He nodded and walked away.
I turned to go to my cell and then I saw Diego. He was standing a few feet away,

watching. The look he gave me told me he wasn’t pleased with what he’d seen.

I walked by him and he reached out and grabbed my arm, dragging me under the

stairs. “What in fuck are you doing?”

“What? You have your comfort at night. Why can’t I have mine?”
“That guy almost killed you. He’s a fucking Nazi.” He was really angry now. “You

want him fucking you now? You’re doing this out of spite, jealousy?”

I pulled away from Diego. “You do what you need to, Diego, and I’ll do the same.” I

walked off and went to my cell. That was tough for me to do.

I kept working on my weights, punching the punching bag, copying the moves Diego

had shown me. I tried not to notice when Diego was with Sam, but Sam was making that
difficult. He was determined to throw his conquest in my face.

One day in the weight room Sam came up to me and said, “What did you do about

the whisker burn? Diego has that shadow going on but I’m chafed between the thighs.”

He gave me a smug smile and I almost threw him across the floor. “Get the fuck

away from me, cretin.”

“He’s hot,” he mocked. “He’s got a great cock, so thick and big, and he knows how

to use it. He told me I give better head than you.”

I reached out for him and he danced away, laughing. Colin came up to me and shook

his head. “He’s not worth it. Forget Mendez. His days are numbered. We have to talk.”

I followed him to the shower room. I was no longer afraid of him. I felt strong and

confident. Diego had given me that, had told me that I needed to learn how to defend
myself; that attitude went a long way to keep people from attacking.

Colin explained to me that he needed a carrier for some drugs coming in, and then

told me that he was “itching to kill Diego.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, giving him a tender kiss on the mouth, “I’m itching for that

too, baby. I want to be there when the deed is done. I can help you.”

He seemed surprised at the kiss. He grabbed me and pulled me hard against himself,

grabbing my ass cheeks. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you. I knew one day
you’d be mine. You were never his.”

Yes I was. I was his from the moment I laid eyes on him. “No. I was never his.” We

kissed deeply this time and I tried not to think about the need to vomit.

When the door opened, Colin was still kissing me. He took his time releasing me.

We came face-to-face with Diego. His expression was dark. I stiffened.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the great fallen leader,” Colin scoffed. He grabbed my ass

again and squeezed, making sure that Diego noticed. “This is mine now. I thought you’d
like to know. I fuck it so much better than you. Of course, I have the balls for it.”

I wanted to tell Diego that it wasn’t true, that this scumbag would never fuck me

unless he killed me first, but of course I couldn’t.

Diego pulled off his T-shirt. He smiled a deadly smile, white teeth gleaming, and I

tried not to stare at all those beautiful muscles moving under his skin. He said nothing.
He just walked past us as if we weren’t even there, undoing his pants on the way.

Colin turned to watch as Diego turned on the water and stood under the spray with

his back to us. The look in his eyes seemed glazed. Dirty bastard. “Someday your ass
will be mine, Diego.”

If Colin was waiting for a response, he was waiting in vain. Diego’s answer was

silence.

We walked out of the shower room then and I attempted to hide the fact that I was

trembling inside, in part from the tension, so thick in the air I could taste it. And in part
from watching the water stream down Diego’s hard naked body, a body I missed
touching much more than I could put words to.

“We’ll take turns fucking him until he bleeds,” Colin told me under his breath with

an evil grin.

Over my dead body. You’ll never touch him. I pretended to laugh as I returned with

him to the commons room, and he slapped me on the back.

“Are you going to become a Nazi now?” Kimbo asked me the next day.
I knew he didn’t approve but I couldn’t tell him the truth. “I just hang out with

them.”

“You’re selling drugs.”
I hadn’t been selling any yet. I didn’t completely have their trust and I had a feeling

that Colin wanted me to get a little closer before he handed over that responsibility. I
could keep the story going for a while about how I couldn’t have anal sex but he
wouldn’t buy it forever, and as for oral sex, I’d been putting him off, saying that we

needed to be alone, giving him any bullshit which would convince him and stroke his
oversized ego at the same time.

Meanwhile I was eating my heart out over Diego and his new fuck mate and trying

not to show it.

My studies were suffering and the teacher was coming down on me. “You won’t

graduate if you don’t pick up your bootstraps,” she said. But all my spare time was now
spent on building up my body strength. I could fight when the time came. I was sure of
that now. And all that mattered to me was keeping Diego alive until he was out of this
place.

I requested a meeting with the warden the following day. Michaels gave me a look of

disdain when I walked into his office. “I was just about to call you in here. I’ve had a bad
report from Mrs. Crosby. I’m disappointed in you. What in hell are you doing hanging
out with the Aryans?”

“I want to help you.”
“Help me do what?”
“The drug trade is in the hands of the Nazis. I’ve been invited to be part of their

gang, sell drugs inside.”

“You’re not a narc. You’re going to get yourself killed. What’s this about?”
“They want to kill Diego Mendez.”
“That’s nothing new, Torres.”
“If I can prove they’re the main drug dealers, won’t they be moved out of this cell

block, or to solitary?”

“Yes. And you’ll be dead.”
“Put me in protective custody until they’re moved out.”
“That could take a while. Once you give me the evidence, it has to go to trial. You’ll

be in protective custody for months.”

“That’s okay. Please, Warden.”
He nodded. “Bring the evidence and we’ll take it from there.”
I stood.
“Torres, if they suspect you’re a stool, no one will be able to save you, not even

Diego Mendez.”

“I understand. This is between you and me?”
“Of course.”
“And if anything happens to Diego, your man is Colin Delaney.”
“No one had to tell me,” he said. “Yandal,” he continued, his voice softer, “don’t

throw it all away for nothing. Get back to your studies. Get out of here, make a life for
yourself.”

I nodded. It wasn’t for nothing. It was for love.
“One more thing; can you transfer me into Delaney’s cell?”
“Are you sure?”
“You want evidence. I have to get closer.”
“This guy almost killed you.”
“I know, and vengeance will be sweet. Will you do it?”
“Yes,” he said, “I’ll do it.”

Chapter Five

The next day I was transferred into Delaney’s cell. Delaney continued to make

comments to me about what would happen when we were alone. But at least the others
wouldn’t harass me. Delaney had told them I was off-limits. “You’re mine. No one else
will touch you.”

“Okay baby,” I said, “but I still can’t … I’ll try to please you in other ways. Hope

you understand.”

He looked irritated. “When?”
“I have a doctor’s appointment in three weeks. I’ll see what the doctor says.”
“Three weeks?”
It broke my heart to see the look Diego gave me when he found out I was bunking

with Delaney. I tried not to focus too much on Diego, but Colin flaunted our association
at every turn. I tried to concentrate on my studies and keep up with my weights and
finally, three disgusting blowjobs later, Delaney gave me some drugs to sell.

The first buyer was Sam, who I discovered was an avid drug user. He didn’t say

anything about Diego to me, just handed over the money and took the stuff.

I was on the way to the laundry room one evening when someone grabbed me and

pulled me into the stock room. I struggled, punching the guy in the stomach, only to be
turned around and forced to look into Diego’s dark eyes.

I shook myself free. “What in fuck are you doing?”
“Great punch,” he said. “You’re getting good. So, what in fuck are you doing?” he

demanded. “You’re a drug dealer now?”

I backed against the wall. This was the first time we’d been alone in a long while and

the stock room was little more than an oversized closet. My breathing quickened and my
heart thudded in my chest. I wanted him so much.

“I’m Colin’s now. You have nothing to say.”
He grabbed me and pulled me up to his chest. “You’re Colin’s? I don’t think so.” He

kissed me hard and I melted against him, my arms reaching up around his neck and
pulling him in closer. I moaned against his lips as Diego undid my pants and reached in
to take my cock in his fist. He held it, squeezing it gently and I was already wet.

He pressed me against the wall and took down my pants, looking deep in my eyes.

His hand stroked my cock and I grunted, my eyes closing as my tongue came out to wet
my lips. “Are you sure you’re his?” Diego slid to his knees and took my cock in his
mouth and I released my load within minutes. He held my hand as he licked my cock and
my balls gently, pressing his face against my groin for a second.

I placed my hands in his hair. “I love you,” I told him in that dark room. “Don’t you

see?” The tears ran down my face. All the misery in here and Diego was the only light.

He raised his head and looked at me. “If you love me, don’t do this. Don’t you think

I know what you’re doing? You’re trying to protect me by aligning yourself with them.”

“I can nail them, baby,” I whispered as he stood, pulling up my pants as he went.
“No.” Diego shook his head.
I didn’t want to talk. I clutched him to me. “I want you. Fuck me. Fuck me, Diego. I

dream about—”

He placed a finger on my lips. “We can’t do that here. We can’t be seen together

now. Colin will kill you.”

“I’m tougher now, stronger, I—”
He grinned, touched my biceps. “I see that. But you’re not tough enough to fight off

Colin. He’s a forty-year man with a stack of makeshift weapons. And he has friends.”
Diego moved away. “Why did you start this? I’m sick with worrying about you.”

“Sam must help,” I said, my bitterness evident.
He laughed.
“It’s not funny,” I said miserably. “How can you fuck him?”
“He’s sucked my cock once. I never fucked him. He’s always too high anyway. He’s

a drug addict.”

“I know that. But if you’re not fucking him, why are you keeping him with you?”
“I used him to keep you away. I figured you’d be so mad at me, you’d stop caring.

We’ve both done what we had to do to keep each other safe.”

“And all it’s really doing is keeping us apart.”
“Baby,” he said, “you got to continue now. It’s too late to back out.”
“If it works, I’ll be in protective custody. We’ll never see each other, Diego.”
He took me into his arms.
“I have to have you at least one more time,” I groaned.
He kissed me. “Don’t worry. I’ll set it up.”
“When? Where?”
He moved me toward the door. “Soon. Go on now. I’ll come after.”
I left him reluctantly.

* * * *

I kept selling drugs, feeding as much information to the warden as possible. Two

weeks later, Michaels told me that they had enough to bring in a narc undercover. “All
you’ve got to do is set it up. Make sure those supremacists are with you during the next
shakedown. We’ll arrest you all at the same time. Before Delaney figures it out, you’ll be
out of reach.”

“How long before the narc gets here?”
“About a week. Hold on.”
I nodded and left the office.
“What did the warden want?” Colin asked me when he saw me coming down the

hallway.

“The warden? Oh, he’s on my back about my studies. Fucking teacher.”
He threw an arm around me. “Let’s play some ball.”
“I’m going to do weights. Join me? I love to see you use those muscles.”
He grinned. “You’re on.”
Diego was lifting weights when we walked in. Sam was spotting him. He looked

dangerously stoned. “Hey, there’s the ex,” Sam called out. “How you doing, Torres?
Missing your man?”

It was Colin who went after him this time and I prayed the guard didn’t send him to

solitary before the narc arrived. As it turned out, the fight was broken up and Colin
backed off.

Diego sat up, wiping the sweat off his face and chest as he did so. He motioned to

me with his head and I wondered how in the hell I was going to follow him.

Colin started using the punching bag and I watched Diego walk off.
Sam started skipping rope.
Suddenly the guard came over. “Torres. Come with me.”
“What for?” I asked.
“You’re wanted in the infirmary.”
I followed the guard curiously, always wary whenever a guard led me anywhere.

“There you go,” he said, opening the door to a private office located a few doors away
from the infirmary.

“This isn’t…” I began.
“I know,” he said, pushing me in, “enjoy. Mendez,” he called out, “you got a half

hour. Make it good.”

I smiled as I entered the office. The door locked behind me and Diego stood there

looking at me. There was one lit candle on the desk and a sheet draped over a battered old
leather sofa. “It was the best I could do,” he said.

“How?”
“That guard owed me a favor. I called it in.”
I ran to him, threw myself into his arms. “Diego,” I whispered. “I’ve missed you so

much.”

“I’ve missed you.” He kissed me hard on the mouth.
We undressed quickly and Diego laid me down on the sofa. He caressed and kissed

every inch of me. I trembled in his arms, my fingertips alive with caressing his skin.

He took out a tube of lube and slowly twirled his fingers up into my ass. “Where did

you…?” I groaned; the sensation was sending me to another plane. I wanted to ask him
where he’d gotten that but it really didn’t matter.

He found my prostate and I cried out, lifting my hips as he stroked it and ran his

tongue across the head of my cock at the same time. “Fuck me with your … yes, like that,
um … God … I’m going to come.”

“No,” he said, “wait.” He removed his fingers from my body, lifted my legs, and

pressed the head of his cock up inside me. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s okay now.” The fact that he was thinking about how I’d been forced, and how

that must have hurt, touched me deeply. I knew he loved me. There was no question in
my mind. “Do it, deeper,” I gasped. “Oh I love your cock, Diego. You could never hurt
me.”

He moaned as he went deeper and began to thrust. “Yan,” he grunted. “Yan.” He

said my name over and over and it drove me crazy.

I reared up and clung to him as he came inside me; my cum coated his belly as I

convulsed with orgasm. We held each other silently for a while and then Diego kissed
me. “Just remember,” he said, “whatever happens. I’ll always love you. You should have
never been here in this place.”

The guard unlocked the door a few minutes later and we struggled to get our clothes

on. Diego thanked him, leaving before me.

The guard waited a few minutes and then nodded at me. “Clean bill of health,” he

said and I went back to cell block C.

* * * *

The narc showed up as promised and I set up the operation. It went down like a

charm. We were all taken away at the same time, and I was put in isolation. Over the next
weeks, I was bombarded with questions and finally I was told a trial would be set.

It was lonely as hell being all alone but it gave me time to complete my studies. I

passed my exams and Mrs. Crosby gave me information about college.

I missed Diego and no one would tell me anything about him except that he was safe.
The trial was scheduled for early autumn. It was a long time away. I would have to

testify. Those Nazis were away from my Diego and he would be safe now until his
release. That’s all I cared about.

In early September the warden came to see me. He took me into the commons room.

The sun came shining through the window and I sat back, feeling the rays on my face.
“Any news on the trial and when I can get out of here?”

“Yan,” he said, “your brother is here.”
“To see me? He’s hasn’t visited for—”
“No.” The warden cut me off. “He’s here as an inmate.”
“What happened?”
“He made a full confession for the crime that you were convicted of. You’re a free

man.”

My jaw went slack. “I don’t understand. Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know. You can ask him yourself if you like. He’s asked to see you.”
I nodded. I was numb. I wasn’t sure how to feel about my newfound freedom. “What

about the trial? I’m still going to testify.”

“Yes. I was hoping you would.”
“Can I see Diego?”
He smiled, nodded. “I’ll have Mendez and your brother brought to see you today. I

don’t want you anywhere near cell block C. You’ll being released tomorrow with a full
pardon.” He shook my hand. “Good luck. And don’t come back here.”

“I won’t,” I said.
Later that day, the guard brought me back to the commons room and there was

Alvaro standing by the window. A guard stood at the door.

I spoke his name and he turned. “Yandal. How are you?”
“I’m okay.”
He went to hug me and I hugged him back briefly. “What happened?”
He shrugged. “I did the right thing. I became a man, took my responsibility.”
“I … I don’t know what to say.”
He smiled. “Just take care of Mama, okay? I haven’t always been a good son.”
“Watch yourself in here, Alvaro. There are some guys who…”
He smiled. “Diego is showing me the ropes.”
“Diego?”
“He promised to take me under his wing if I did the right thing.”
“Diego talked you into this?”
“I came up to see you and you weren’t around. He came in your place. He talked to

me, told me some stuff about what being a real man was all about. I thought about it. He
talks the talk … tough as nails but he’s been where I am now and he wants to save me
from that. He loves you.”

I swallowed.

“I had some ideas about guys like that, always worried about you being … you

know, that way, but Diego doesn’t fit what I had in mind, and he’s not embarrassed to tell
me who he is. He told me he loves you, little brother. And I’m going to make it out of
here, make a new life. Don’t forget me.”

I hugged him again until the guard broke us up and I watched as they led him off.

“Take care of Mama,” he called over his shoulder. “She misses you.”

That evening, the warden brought Diego. He told the guard to leave us alone, and

they both walked outside. The door closed and I went into Diego’s arms. He stroked my
hair, kissed my forehead. We didn’t speak for a while. Then he released me. “Hear you’re
getting out tomorrow.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “Thank Alvaro.”
“He admires you. That’s why he did it.”
“I’m being released myself in three months. The gang squad wants me to go into

training as soon as I get out. Six months. Never thought I’d be a cop.”

“I’d love to be arrested by you.”
“Never mind,” he said. “You better stay straight.”
“I’ll never be straight, honey, not with men like you around.”
He laughed. “You know what I meant.”
I sobered. “So will we see each other again?”
He nodded. “Of course. I promise. Meanwhile, I’m going to try and keep your

brother alive in here.”

“I appreciate that. Think there’s any hope for him?”
“He stopped calling gay men faggots. That’s a start.”
I laughed.
The guard came in. “Time’s up,” he said.
Diego reached out for my hand. He squeezed it. “Six months of boot camp may be

worse than prison. I got your mom’s number. Will I be able to reach you there?”

I nodded. “Even if I’m not living there, she’ll know where I am. I’ll come and visit

you here before your release. I want to be with you.”

He smiled. “I want to be with you.”
That was it. He left. I was released, but I had a hard time finding a job and I had no

way to get to the prison to visit. I spoke to both Diego and Alvaro by phone but that was
all the contact we had. The months dragged on. I went to trial and testified and the Nazis
got convicted and moved to a new prison. I was finally hired at a fast-food place and
brought money home to my mother, whose health was failing. I went to night school to
bring up my grades and started to apply to colleges. I doubted I’d get in. I needed a
scholarship but my grades weren’t good enough.

Diego called me before he got released and was now somewhere being trained to

work with street gangs. I feared I’d lost him. I wanted a decent job. I wanted a place of
my own, and I wanted to go to college.

Three months after Diego was released, my mother died. Alvaro was allowed to

attend the funeral and my uncle helped pay for the burial. I couldn’t handle the rent alone
so I gave up the apartment and I found an apartment to share with another guy.

The summer came and went and there was no word from Diego but of course he had

no way of reaching me unless he contacted Alvaro. Alvaro told me when he called me

that he hadn’t heard anything from Diego in months.

I figured he’d forgotten all about me. He probably had some hotshot job on the force

now and a battery of lovers lined up to take their place in his bed.

That night I was particularly low. I served the burgers and fries, filled the Coke cups

and tried not to dwell on my latest rejection letter from one of the nearby colleges. My
marks were good enough to make the list but I was on a wait list with a hundred people;
we might be accepted if any of the top candidates refused. It was better than an outright
rejection, but still offered little hope that I’d ever see a college diploma.

My coworker Jessica Brown saw him first. She nudged me discreetly and said,

“What a hunk.”

When he walked up to the counter, I dropped the french fries all over the floor and

Jessica sniggered, running to get the broom.

“Hey,” the kid at the counter said, “I want my fries, man.”
He stood there smiling at me, tall, beautiful, wearing faded jeans and a jean jacket.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he said.

I wanted to crawl over the counter and jump on him. Jessica thankfully brought the

customer more fries and then stood there staring at us. I’d told her about Diego, and she’d
figured out who this man was in a hurry.

“I’d like a cheeseburger,” he said, still smiling.
I couldn’t speak.
“Will you get the man a cheeseburger?” Jessica said, and chuckled.
There was a line forming behind him. Diego started to laugh. “Yan?”
“How did you…?”
He opened his jean jacket, flashed a shield, and winked at me. “I’m the fuzz. We

know everything. You like this job?”

I shook my head.
“You like me?”
I nodded.
“Well, then, let’s say we get out of here?”
“Go on.” Jessica pushed me. “I’ll handle this. It’s slow tonight.”
I didn’t bother walking around the counter. I crawled over it and wrapped my arms

around Diego.

There were some moans and groans in the line and some sighs.
Diego grabbed my wrists. He turned around and flashed his badge. “This man is

being arrested for unlawful abduction. Come on,” he said gruffly, dragging me through
the restaurant.

I was laughing my head off when we got outside. “What was that? What do you

mean, unlawful abduction?”

He held me close, kissed my mouth softly. “My heart. You’ve abducted my heart.

And now you’re going to pay.”

I held him tight, kissed him back. “I thought you’d never come.”
“I’m sorry about your mother. And this new career has been more challenging than I

thought. I always knew where you were. I wanted to come to you when I had everything
settled, a nice place for us to live. I’m here now, baby. What are you doing working in
that place?”

“I can’t afford college and I can’t seem to get a scholarship.”

He threw his arm around me and walked me over to a gorgeous bike. “Come on, take

a ride with me and we’ll talk about it.”

“I don’t want you paying for my school,” I said, then whistled at the bike.
He handed me a helmet. “I’ll help you out and you can support me in my old age.”

He grinned.

I hugged him again. He kissed the top of my head. “I’ve missed you. I love you so

much. I was so scared that you weren’t coming back,” I said.

“You paid me to protect you, remember? I haven’t used up that five grand yet.”
“It was only twenty-five hundred. You never did get the other half.”
He placed a finger to his lips. “Shush,” he said, and got on the bike.
I grinned and got on behind him. I wrapped my arms around his waist, laid my head

on his broad back. “Don’t leave me, okay?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured me and we roared off into the night.
The nightmare of cell block C was behind us now but with Diego a permanent

fixture in my life, I can’t regret ever being sent there. It was my destiny because he was
my destiny.

The End

About the Author:

D.J. Manly is first and foremost a writer, but is also a college professor, a small

business operator, and a sociologist who works as a consultant on research projects. D.J.
is a proud Canadian who lives in French Canada, and is fluent in both English and
French. Human rights are a great concern, and D.J. longs for a peaceful world free of
sexism, racism, and homophobia.

D.J. writes for the pure love of writing, and always with the reader in mind. If D.J.

doesn't enjoy reading it, it won't be written. Great characters, great sex, and a great love
are the elements you'll find in D.J's work.

There is nothing quite as exciting as beautiful men falling in love. Come taste D.J's

work, but be careful—you may become as addicted to reading it as D.J. is to writing it.
One reviewer wrote that reading D.J. can give you "third degree burns in an air
conditioned room." That says it all.

E-mail D.J. any time with questions or comments. Visit D.J. online at

www.djmanly.com

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