Run This Town 04 - (Watch Me) Save You Page 13

  The need to escape choked Quinn like a brutal fist, Tek’s words bouncing around in his head.

  “You should go outside more. Get out, meet people…”

  Quinn took a deep breath and jumped to his feet. No time like the present, yeah?

  He didn’t remember dressing, but apparently he did, because when he glanced down at himself a little while later he wore pants and a black shirt he’d buttoned incorrectly. He didn’t bother fixing that, instead he shoved his feet into a pair of loafers near his bedroom door and grabbed a zippered pullover along with his wallet and car keys.

  Behind the wheel of his car, he didn’t give himself time to think about just what it was he was about to do. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and backed out the driveway.

  A few months before he had his breakdown, he and his partner had been called to a bar after a brawl broke out. A bunch of people had gotten hurt, seriously enough to warrant Emergency Room visits. Quinn didn’t remember the name, but he quickly recalled the address. So he drove there.

  Brockett Pub. The sign was actually missing a T in Brockett.

  A loud motorcycle pulled out just as he turned into the parking lot so he hung back and slid into the space vacated. Then he sat in the quiet car. He didn’t know why he was there. Or maybe he did.

  Running from the nightmares.

  He avoided his eyes in the rearview mirror, squared his shouldered, and got out.

  The place wasn’t crowded, nor was it empty. Three flat screen TVs hung suspended from the ceiling in the middle of the room, each one showing a different type of competitive sport. It wasn’t dark, but he had to squint to make out faces further away. He ignored the low hum of voices and made his way to the bar where he ordered a shot of the Apple Whiskey Low was always raving about.

  He grabbed it and turned, gaze sweeping the room before he found a table tucked away in a shadowed corner of the bar. He bee-lined for it and let out a sigh once his ass hit the seat. Back against the door, he sat with a vantage point that had his eyes on the entire place, from the bar to the front door.

  He wasn’t the bar type. Not anymore. That shit had been reserved for back in college when he was sowing his wild oats. The Quinn from those days… He missed that dude.

  He tightened his fingers around the shot glass in his hand and glanced down at the dark liquid. Back in college he’d had no problems drinking, getting drunk. He could use the liver from back then because he wanted to get wasted again. Shitfaced enough to not know where and who he was.

  He brought the glass to his mouth, tossed it back, and moaned.

  Fuck, but that was good. The taste was… Tek. He figured if Tek had to be a flavor this was it. Dark and compelling, setting fire to Quinn’s belly while his head spun. He blinked and jerked his gaze toward the bar, catching the bartender’s eye and lifting the glass in a bid for more.

  Much more.

  By the time he’d downed the second glass, Quinn had already ordered a bottle of his new favorite drink. His head was fuzzy, his stomach was warm, and he was relaxing into his seat. He leaned back and sighed. If Tek could see him now. Quinn wondered if he’d recognize him. Did Quinn still look as if he was losing his mind? Because he didn’t feel like that, not now. Not with all that good liquor in him. He felt… nice.

  Relaxed.

  Thirsty for more of that whiskey.

  Crown Royal.

  He’d never be able to disassociate it from Tek. To Quinn they were one and the same.

  “Buy you a drink?”

  His eyes popped open at the lazy drawl. A stranger stood over him, a stranger with a particular gleam in his eyes that Quinn couldn’t misinterpret. Good looking, too. Strong nose, angular jaw with a bit of a scruff. Dark hair brushed shoulders clothed in a dark shirt paired with equally dark pants.

  His eyes remained on Quinn, pinning him to his seat.

  Quinn didn’t get the chance to answer since the bartender appeared right then with his drink. “Renzo.” The burly man, skin the color of dark coffee, nodded to the guy eating up Quinn with his eyes then made a quick exit.

  “I buy my own.” Quinn stroked a finger down the glass bottle filled with whiskey. “But I appreciate the offer.”

  The other man’s lips curved. “There’s more where that came from.”

  Was Quinn drunk or was dude’s voice rumbling deep inside him? “Whiskey?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Offers.”

  Had to be the liquor, but Quinn found himself smiling. He felt outside of himself, watching himself stare up at the stranger, holding his gaze, never backing down even though his belly cramped at the prospect of what it all could mean.

  “Waiting for someone?” the stranger asked.

  Quinn leaned forward, tightening his fingers to the point of pain around the bottle. “What if I was?”

  “If you were, I’d say…” He sank gracefully into the chair opposite Quinn and grinned. “I’d never keep you waiting if you were mine.”

  Quinn licked his lips. “Smooth.”

  A dimple appeared in the other man’s left cheek. “I know.”

  Modest too. “Renzo, is it?”

  “Lorenzo, actually.” He produced a card that Quinn didn’t look at. He simply took it and jammed into his pocket. He’d been slow to it, but now he recognized the man opposite him. He was notorious, after all. Deadly, too, if the evening news was anything to go by. Quinn never courted danger before.

  Tonight would have to be a first.

  “I’m Quinn.” The bravado the whiskey provided was beginning to wear off, and Quinn tasted the panic as it rose, but he ignored it. “So. Lorenzo.” He swallowed, memories bitter on his tongue. “Am I fucking you tonight… or nah?”

  He had to force himself not to twitch, flinch, or look away from Lorenzo’s gaze, to stick to the tough exterior he portrayed.

  “That depends,” Lorenzo said softly.

  Quinn strummed his fingers on the table, hoping his words came out as smooth and cool as he intended. “On what?”

  “Does my turn at bat come before or after yours?”

  The very idea of letting another man have control over his body had Quinn’s legs twitching, his fingers curling at the unbearable urge to run and hide. Keeping that need for flight off his face was getting harder and harder to pull off. “After.”

  Lorenzo jumped to his feet. “I’ll meet you outside.” Then he was gone, and Quinn was pouring himself another drink.

  Because… courage. He needed that.

  He gave himself some time. Counted to fifty. Then he was on his feet, unsteady but fuck, he was up. He walked out the pub with his bottle of whiskey opened. The liquid sloshed over the rim, wetting fingers that Quinn sucked into his mouth. That shit was too good to let even an ounce waste. He didn’t immediately see Lorenzo when he stepped outside so he walked to his car and recapped the liquor before placing it on the front passenger seat. He’d barely slammed the door shut when he felt a presence next to him.

  Don’t panic. Don’t fucking panic. But really it was too late. He turned slowly anyway.

  Lorenzo was there, eyes glittering, arms folded, lips curved. He was sexy and cocky and massive. That did nothing to turn Quinn on, but he wanted to be so he took a step forward into the other man’s personal space, close enough to smell his aftershave which wasn’t half bad.

  He unclenched his fingers and touched Lorenzo’s chest. Hot and hard, but the memory of Tek’s chest under his palm corrupted that sensation. Quinn moved his hand up slowly to Lorenzo’s throat. The other man watched him closely, his Adam’s apple moving. Quinn felt his restraint and before Lorenzo could change his mind, Quinn grabbed him by the throat and kissed him.

  Hard.

  Two things registered as Lorenzo’s mouth opened under his. One, the other man wouldn’t be content with being manhandled for very long, and two, he tasted nothing like Tek. Funny how that second point stung and had Quinn faltering more than the first. He persevered anyway, the pulse in
Lorenzo’s throat beating steady under his hold, his tongue touching Quinn’s and latching on.

  It wasn’t anything at all what Quinn wanted. His body didn’t respond, but Lorenzo was pressing closer, hands grabbing at Quinn’s back, holding him close as they kissed. His smell was wrong, the taste was too. And the tight grasp he had on the back of Quinn’s shirt made his heart leap into his throat.

  Fuck. The panic rose fast, about to boil over. He squirmed, trying to get away, but he could see how Lorenzo might mistake that for Quinn trying to get closer. The man had taken control, eating up Quinn’s mouth, tongue stabbing deep into him, his arousal grinding against him.

  And all Quinn wanted was Tek.

  All he wanted was Tek.

  “Unghh.” He twisted his head, trying to escape that voracious kiss, but Lorenzo was cupping his ass, grabbing him so tight, refusing to let go.

  No. No. Oh God. The other memories began flashing like red headlights in the dark. Quinn’s legs buckled, and only Lorenzo’s hold prevented him from sliding to the ground in a weak-limbed heap. He bit the other man.

  Lorenzo reared back. “What the—” He reached for Quinn who stumbled back, chest heaving, heart pounding. “Shit, man. Are you okay?” Lorenzo frowned at him.

  No, he wasn’t. He doubled over, clutching his stomach, and threw up. Right there at Lorenzo’s feet. Wasn’t that just the icing on an already fucked up cake?

  “You okay?” Lorenzo remained there, sounding more than a little concerned. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? Because I’m—”

  Quinn shook his head and turned away, but Lorenzo caught his elbow.

  “Hey, listen. It’s all good.”

  “I’m sorry. I have to—” Quinn jerked away and hurried over to the driver’s side of his car, rushing in quickly before he did yet another thing to embarrass himself. He should’ve fucking known better. Why did he even bother? He started the car then slumped when Lorenzo appeared, crouching to peer into the car window.

  “Take care of yourself, Quinn.” He touched Quinn’s head. “And don’t hesitate to use that card when you’re feeling better.”

  Quinn just drove off, because really. What else was there to say?

  Ten miles later he was home, stumbling through his front door, the bottle of Crown Royal clutched to his chest. He washed his face and mouth in the kitchen sink, kicking off his shoes and yanking off his shirt afterward. Then he made his way to the couch where he sat, eyes closed, the bottle of whiskey to his mouth. To wash away the taste of his embarrassment, but also this was kinda the closest he got to Tek, wasn’t it?

  The burn in his throat, the warmth in his limbs, the sweat on his brow. Even the slick of his palms reminded him of Tek. The last time he’d tried picking up another man it had all been about the assault, the taste and smell of it taking him over. Now the memories were still there, but they only came after the recollections of his kiss with Tek. Of their time together.

  That shit terrified Quinn more than anything else.

  With one hand holding the drink to his lips, he used the other to fumble for his phone and dial. Five rings then voicemail. It wasn’t a personal message, just the automated female drone informing Quinn that the person he was trying to reach was unavailable and that he should leave a message, so he did after the prompt.

  “You wanted me to go out, right. Meet people?” He licked his lips, tasted Tek under the whiskey. “I thought you should know that I did. I went out. I drank liquor that made me think of you, the way you taste so fucking fine. You get me drunk.” He paused to swallow a mouthful of the Crown Royal. “I met someone. He didn’t taste like you. Didn’t feel like you. I was touching him and wishing he was you. He was kissing me and all I wanted was you.” He bit the last word out, an accusation. Another sip on the liquor and he opened his mouth, but the voicemail beeped, cutting him off.

  “Fuck it.” He slammed his cell down on the couch next to him, eyeballing the liquor. He was losing the last strands of control he had left. That man was making him lose it. And all Quinn wanted was what that almost-empty bottle of alcohol couldn’t conjure up.

  Tek.

  He snatched the phone right back up, hit redial. When the voicemail gave him the go-ahead he spoke again.

  “Tek…” All the words abandoned him, evaporating so he was just adrift in the emotion and alcohol. “Xiao Chen.” He shook his head, inhaled the crisp Apple Whiskey. “I would like to kiss you again. Slower this time. Longer. Deeper. Until you can taste me forever. Because I can, you know? I can taste you forever.” He hung up. Holding the bottle upside down, he stuck his tongue out to catch the last few drops then he tossed it aside and collapsed face-first onto the couch.

  Something woke him, a sound. Maybe a nightmare? But he came awake with a jerk, lashes lifting slowly. The room was in shadows, outside not quite light yet, but he made out the form seated opposite him in the armchair.

  Quinn’s heart shot to his throat and he pushed upright on the couch. “Tek?” He lifted a hand without looking, feeling his way along the wall behind him until he got to the light switch that he flicked on.

  It was Tek. Face hard and his eyes dark, the glint warning of danger. He wore a gray hoodie pulled up over his head and he sat with his knees apart. Faded jeans on but his feet bare. Quinn frowned at him.

  “H-How did you get in?”

  “Why don’t you ask me how I felt when I heard your voicemail message?” He didn’t so much as move, shit, Quinn didn’t even see his lips shift either.

  “You broke in?” And how did he feel about that?

  “Ask me how I felt, listening to you talk about touching another man. Kissing him.”

  His body might not move but Tek’s voice sure did, it shook. Quinn tried to ignore it, he did. Because yeah, he shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have made that call. “Tek—”

  “Ask me, Quinn.” The anger in those words had Quinn tensing up, and he fell back onto the cushions as Tek got up and strode over to him. Three strides. He damn sure counted.

  He moved silently, like a predator stalking Quinn. It scared him, how could it not? But it excited him, too. Heat touched his skin, slid down to harden his cock and tighten his balls. The response sent him stumbling.

  “How-How did you feel?” He forced out the words as Tek went to his knees before Quinn.

  “Jealous,” Tek said softly. He stared up at Quinn. “Angry.” He unzipped his hoodie and the two sides fell away, exposing him. His naked chest.

  Quinn inhaled. Jesus.

  “If you want to kiss someone, you kiss me.” Tek rose on his knees until his head was level with Quinn’s chest then he grabbed Quinn’s left hand and brought it to his chest. “If you want to touch someone, you touch me.”

  He burned under Quinn’s palm, the smooth golden expanse of his chest quivering. Quinn curled his fingers, scratching his nails across Tek’s skin. He felt it when Tek shook, when he trembled, when he breathed. He could stay like this, Tek’s heart slamming up against his hand, his own body hot and tight and straining toward the man prostrate before him. That man staring up at him with hurt and lust in his dark eyes, tension in every sharp, delicious line of his body.

  Quinn could stay like this and he’d be content. He’d be as close to happy as he’d ever been.

  “You were drunk.” Tek cast a glance off to the side where the empty Crown Royal bottle lolled in the corner of the couch.

  Quinn licked his lips. “I couldn’t stop,” he confessed. “It tasted like you and I wanted—I needed to taste you again.”

  Tek’s nostrils flared and he closed his eyes right before his head dipped. He just stayed like that, Quinn’s hand over his heart, his head bowed.

  “Xiao Chen.”

  Tek’s head came up. “The only other people who use that name are my parents and they don’t say it the way you do.” He moved in closer between Quinn’s thighs. “I like it,” he whispered. “My name on your lips. I like it.”

  Quinn swallowed. “I’m glad.�
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  “What am I gonna do with you, babe?” The anguish in that question needed an answer, and all Quinn had was…

  “Kiss me, before this moment leaves.”

  Tek touched him, a thumb over Quinn’s lips. The bottom first then the top. Quinn pursed them and moved his head side to side, brushing against that finger.

  Tek groaned.

  Quinn liked it, the power he had over Tek, so he took more by grasping Tek by the back of his hoodie and yanking him up. Their mouths came together, trapping Tek’s thumb between them. Tek opened for him, and Quinn took that blatant invite, shoving inside, licking, savoring…

  The taste he’d been craving for so fucking long shot to his head. Like Crown Royal on ice, sweet and tart and God, the burn. He dug his fingers into the back of Tek’s neck, holding him still while he took and took. Tek groaned, low and rumbling, his hands grasping Quinn’s face.

  He had to know Quinn didn’t mind it, those hands gripping him. He had to know Quinn didn’t want them to stop this, not even to breathe, not if it meant he had to stop sucking on Tek’s tongue. Not if it meant he had to lose the press of lips and knees, the twist of tongues, and the pinch of fingertips.

  Tek was good at letting him lead, at letting Quinn just plunder his mouth. Starved as he was, he had no finesse, no smooth moves, just a fierce ache to get his tongue in Tek’s mouth, to let Tek’s flavor swamp his taste buds, make them sing, make him drool. He let his hands move down the other man’s back, to his ass, and he cupped Tek, squeezing him.

  Tek broke the kiss, but didn’t move away. He stayed in Quinn’s embrace, panting, his hot breath hitting him in the face. “Quinn.” His cheeks were flushed, lips wet and swollen and his eyes, they pulled Quinn in until he was well and truly caught in the dark, lust-filled web. Until he acknowledge that this, there was no running from this.