Run This Town 04 - (Watch Me) Save You Page 5

  If he didn’t sleep the nightmares couldn’t come, could they? They couldn’t terrorize him, those vile men and their words couldn’t consume him. They couldn’t make him scream and wake up choking on his own vomit.

  His houseguest had yet to make an appearance. Quinn didn’t know where Tek went last night and he didn’t care. All he cared about was that if he did fall asleep, the other man might possibly not be around to see him lose his shit.

  Again.

  On the other hand, with Quinn’s luck, Tek might show just in time to watch him meltdown.

  He scrubbed the kitchen counters and the stove, cleaned the oven, even though he hadn’t cooked, let alone baked anything, in months. Probably ever. He didn’t remember baking.

  Was he a baker?

  In his past life, he was hardly domesticated, which was why Xavier had hired Carol. She did the cooking, the cleaning. Basically she handled all the housework. He needed a Carol.

  Fuck. He missed the old one.

  Missed the old life.

  The husband who fought to help him get better, who fought to help him heal and who fought to free Quinn when he didn’t even want that. He missed the man he used to be.

  Quinn stopped and tossed the dishcloth onto the counter top. He stood, palms flat on the smooth surface and stared down at his fingers. Especially those on his left hand. His ring used to be there. He’d kept it on, during the attack, during the months after when he tried to pretend he wasn’t as broken as he actually was. He’d only taken it off recently, when he woke up one night from his nightmares, mad at everyone. Especially Xavier, for not protecting him, not saving him, not fighting harder for him.

  He grabbed the kitchen phone where it sat near the breakfast bar area and dialed the number from memory. Xavier’s old cell phone number. Quick, before the panic rising inside him hit its limit. Phone to his ear he waited.

  “We’re sorry, the number you’ve dialed is no longer in service.”

  He’d expected that message, but he still cried out and threw the phone across the room, watching it splinter. Like him. Come apart. Like him. His legs folded under him and he sat on the floor. Somehow he always ended up on the floor. The last place he wanted to be, but damn if he could change it. He needed help, but damn if he could ask for it.

  Lethargy and exhaustion kept him from moving and he gave in, hugging his knees up to his chest and laying his cheek there. He’d close his eyes, rest them for a quick second.

  He sank into the bloody darkness faster than a sponge soaking up water.

  “Kill yourself. That’s the only thing left for you.”

  They took his fingers, folded them around the warmth of the gun, and positioned his finger on the slim trigger. He didn’t want to leave, he hurt, but Xavier would make it better. Once he got back, once he got home. Their home. Quinn didn’t want to leave it, but after what they’d done to him, how could he face his husband again?

  How could he be whole again?

  “Kill yourself.”

  The insidious chant floated to him, becoming the only thing he heard. A promise from the pain, the anguish. Reprieve from the shame. Xavier would understand, he was that type. He’d understand why Quinn had to leave, he’d understand why Quinn couldn’t live like this. He’d understand.

  The multiple presence behind him moved away, gave him room. So sure he’d do it, he’d move his finger, put pressure on that trigger. He would. His only means of escape. He’d take it.

  Quinn squeezed the trigger.

  Click.

  Empty.

  Their laughter bellowed, making the room even colder, making him shiver.

  He sobbed then. Despair was his only friend, desolation and anguish pouring from his eyes. After all they’d done to him tonight, this, his last chance of escape gone, this is what broke him.

  “Quinn.”

  He hiccupped. Xavier was there. He’d save him. He always did. He always saved Quinn.

  “Fuck, Quinn. Come on, man. Look at me.” He touched Quinn’s cheek. An unfamiliar caress, one that had Quinn lifting his head from his knees and scrambling to his feet.

  “No.” He staggered, hip knocking against the counter. Tears wet his cheeks, but he refused to think about that. “Don’t touch me,” he snapped at Tek.

  The other man’s jaw tightened. “Are you okay? Should I call someone for you?”

  He looked disheveled, hair all over the place and sticking up, eyes red-rimmed. The black leather jacket he wore was ripped, his knees streaked with dirt, the same dirt he was tracking on Quinn’s polished wood floors. He wanted to lash out about that, but Quinn had to gulp air into his lungs.

  Tek’s eyes widened. “Quinn?” He stepped forward.

  Quinn shook his head and backed up, holding out a hand for him to stop. “Don’t come near me.” What he intended to be a shout came out as a pained croak instead.

  “Fuck, man.” Tek rubbed his jaw. “You don’t look good.”

  Hysterical laughter bubbled up then quickly died in Quinn’s throat. “And what, you think you look so hot yourself? Fuck you.”

  Tek’s mouth twisted. “What do you need? Tell me and I’ll get it done.”

  Quinn forgot about his battle to breathe easily and stared at the man opposite him. He looked as if he hadn’t slept either. But that wasn’t what had Quinn pausing to attempt to compose himself. The last man who’d offered to take care of his needs had been Xavier.

  What did he need?

  To sleep without dreaming. To wipe away the memories from his mind. Nothing Tek could do.

  “Quinn.” Tek’s concern registered in his tone. “When was the last time you ate? Or slept?”

  He bristled at that question, but as quickly as that sentiment rose, it fell. Thing was, Quinn was exhausted. Too wrung out to do anything except lean against the counter and open his mouth, let the words come.

  “I’m tired. I don’t want to eat, I want sleep,” he said. “I want to sleep without the nightmares.” He met Tek’s eyes. He expected pity, but found understanding instead. Why? “You asked what I needed. You can’t make it happen, but hey—” He shrugged. “An uninterrupted sleep.” He braced, waiting for the next logical question which would be about the nightmares, right? Why was he having them or something like that?

  “I can try to help you.”

  Quinn was too surprised to repress the disbelieving bark of brittle laughter. “And how would you do that?”

  “Uh…” Tek looked taken aback for a second. “We can talk.”

  “Sure. Since we’re best friends and all. I’ll tell you my secrets and you’ll tell me yours, yeah.” Quinn rolled his eyes.

  Tek’s eyes flickered. “Why don’t we go someplace that’s not your kitchen, huh?” He jerked a finger in the direction of the living room. “Couch?” He began walking toward it without waiting for Quinn to say yes or no.

  He’d definitely say no. Soon. Right now, he trailed behind Tek, grimacing when he saw the dirty footprints on the floor. He itched to grab the mop from the utility closet feet way.

  Damn it.

  Tek shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the arm of the couch before taking a seat. Quinn mentally rolled his eyes, but he sat next to him. Tek slid to the floor, leaving Quinn alone on the couch.

  “Okay.” Tek sat alongside the couch, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, bracing his weight on his hands that he’d placed flat on the floor as he leaned back. “I’m gonna bore you to death with so much shitty talk you’ll have no choice but to fall asleep.”

  Quinn snorted. Falling asleep wasn’t his problem. “How do you know Israel?” he asked Tek.

  “We’re friends. Go way back. He helped me out of a few tight spots, so I owe him.” Tek didn’t look at Quinn, his gaze was on his dusty boots.

  “Why did you need to stay here with me? Why not a hotel?”

  Tek jerked his head up. “I thought this was about me boring you to death with nonsensical talk, when did this turn into an interro
gation?” But he didn’t sound upset.

  “Didn’t intend to interrogate you,” Quinn said. He leaned back against the cushions. “This is much more interesting, don’t you think? I get to learn more about the strange man I let into my home.”

  “You know I can leave if you don’t want me here.” Tek was serious, his voice and expression, when he looked at Quinn. “I don’t want to impose.”

  “Too late,” Quinn said. “But it’s cool.” He took a breath. “I’m… I like my space. I prefer to be alone these days.” Even though it was the last thing he wanted.

  “Something happened to you.” That wasn’t a question. “That’s why you can’t sleep, and you don’t like to be touched, and you have the nightmares.”

  Quinn let his lips curl as he stared at Tek. “You deserve a medal for coming to that very difficult conclusion.”

  Tek gave him a brief nod. “I know about going through bad things, believe me. So I’m sorry.” He turned somber enough for Quinn to believe him. “And I know about not wanting to talk about it, so go ahead. Interrogate away.”

  Quinn thought for a second. “How did you get in just now? I didn’t give you a key.”

  “Borrowed the spare you had hanging on the hook in the kitchen.”

  Huh. He hadn’t even noticed the spare keys missing. “How come you never make any sound when you walk?”

  Tek laughed. “Dunno.” He lifted his head. “Can I ask a question now?”

  Quinn shrugged. “Depends.”

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “Going on three years.” He’d bought the place with the separation money Xavier insisted on depositing into his account. Sometimes he thought of it as guilt money and he hated Xavier for it. “How do you know Israel?”

  “My mom and I own a dry cleaners that’s next to his restaurant in Queens.”

  Quinn nodded. He knew Israel owned a lot of restaurants and mechanic shops in New York. “Where did you go last night?”

  It wasn’t his imagination that the question had Tek tensing, albeit slightly. “Spent the night with some friends.”

  How friendly could they be if he couldn’t stay with them and had to bunk with a stranger instead? “Is Tek your real name?”

  Tek stared at him, unblinking. “I’ll answer that if you answer mine first.”

  Quinn froze. “What-what’s yours?”

  “Is Xavier the same Xavier who’s Israel’s cousin?”

  He blanched, panic rising fast.

  “You don’t have to answer,” Tek said quickly.

  Quinn swallowed to wet his dry throat. “I’m sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for.” Tek shifted on the floor. “Want to know how to operate a dry cleaners? I’m sure it’ll be the best bedtime story you’ve ever heard.”

  A smile threatened to curve Quinn’s lips so he wiped it away discreetly with the back of his hand. He closed his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Doubtful that Tek could help him, but he allowed the other man to speak on and on in his quiet yet strong voice about dry cleaning regulations and displeased customers who never read their tickets when using his services.

  Compared to the voices in his head, Tek’s voice was more pleasant. Far more interesting, too. Quinn didn’t think he intended it, but Tek was comforting, the steady drone of his voice as he talked and talked. Quinn let him go, liking the sound. Another person in his house. He’d gotten used to having Xavier around, then he’d had to get used to not having him around, to having only his shadow and memories for company.

  Now, Tek was here. For maybe another day or two, but if they continued like this, Quinn could deal. He sighed, lashes drooping as he let Tek put him to sleep.

  ****

  Tek knew the instant Quinn fell asleep. His body slumped to the side, chin brushing his shoulder. He got to his knees, thankful to be off his ass. The wood floor wasn’t a good look, not after the night he’d had. He tugged on a surprisingly heavy Quinn until the other man was actually lying on his side on the couch, then Tek got to his feet and covered him with the little red blanket that had been folded on the back of the pewter gray couch.

  He moved to the armchair on the other side of the room and sat, facing Quinn. He looked worn out, beaten down, like a man who hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a very long time. What happened to him? Scared to sleep, to be touched, toting a gun with him everywhere he went?

  Nothing good, Tek knew that dark look in Quinn’s eyes. He knew it, and he’d gotten used to it always being there when he looked into the mirror. Quinn, he didn’t seem like someone who had the fortitude to deal with the things Tek saw in the depths of his haunted eyes.

  Why had Israel sent him here? Tek wanted to know, but he didn’t want to take his attention off Quinn for a second. He didn’t know how, but he wanted to find a way to help the other man sleep. He wanted to help him rest. Help him.

  Which was such a crock.

  Why though? Just because Tek was fucked up didn’t mean he couldn’t recognize and help someone. Anything to get his mind off his own shit.

  Mei-Lei wanted to meet with him. She’d left him a message asking for a response. And if she was calling then her father would be soon. That call Tek couldn’t send to voicemail. While Renzo Vega did his thing and operated under the illusion that he was in control, the real power struggle was happening right under his nose and he had no idea. In order for Renzo to do his thing, he needed what Tek had. He’d get clued in, as soon as Tek assumed the lead.

  Nothing he looked forward to doing. Everything he had to in order to save the woman who didn’t want to own him as a son. Not if she had to claim him, all of him.

  Exhaustion took over and he slumped in the chair, keeping his gaze on Quinn. The other man was curled up on the couch, face resting on his fists, lips parted as he breathed in soft grunts. He needed a keeper. Much like Tek had needed a keeper inside Rikers.

  He took a deep breath and shook his head to dislodge the memories trying to cling to his already fucked up brain. The last thing he needed was to fall apart. And he would. He never revisited Rikers without falling apart.

  Quinn’s breathing got louder, choppier, and his body arched off the couch before falling back down. Tek raced over and dropped to his knees next to the couch, wanting to touch the man twisting and turning before him, but scared he’d just make things worse.

  “Ssh,” he whispered. “It’s okay.” But he doubted Quinn heard him, trapped as he was in his nightmares. Tek did what helped him back when he’d accepted help. He touched Quinn’s head, rubbed his nape with a couple fingers as he leaned over and spoke in his ear. “Wake up, Quinn. Open your eyes.”

  The sounds the other man made, raw, filled with pain and fear, tore at Tek. So fucking familiar he couldn’t stand it. He didn’t know how he remained on his knees in front of the couch when everything in him ached to get as far away from that sound as possible.

  “Quinn.” He applied a little pressure to the touch on Quinn’s nape, holding his head when Quinn thrashed, head rolling, eyes doing the same behind closed lids.

  “No.” The shriek tore at Tek as Quinn threw his hands up, a blocking technique, fighting his demons in his sleep. “Please.” Tears leaked out from under his lashes. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

  The begging did Tek in, moistened his own eyes. Too fucking familiar. Too goddamn raw. “Quinn.” He didn’t shout, but it was a near thing as he grasped Quinn’s shoulders and shook. “Wake up. I’m here. Wake up.”

  Quinn twisted, grabbed at the hand Tek had on his shoulder, squeezing his fingers tight. His eyes popped open, glazed, but tinged with the naked horror of whatever inhabited his nightmares. He blinked those eyes, lashes wet.

  “Tek.” His hold on Tek’s fingers tightened. Tek didn’t even flinch.

  He smiled down at Quinn. “That’s me.”

  A frown creased Quinn’s forehead. “I—” Awareness flooded his eyes followed by shame. “I’m—”

  “Don’t apologiz
e,” Tek told him in a fierce whisper. If he was another man he’d touch that wrinkle between Quinn’s eyes, smooth it out. Instead, he took a breath and sat back on his haunches, Quinn keeping a death grip on his poor fingers. He didn’t want to ask what happened to Quinn again, he knew the other man wouldn’t answer, so he chose to ignore what just transpired and cracked open the vault on his most dangerous memories.

  “Years ago, I went through something,” he said, bringing his gaze to where Quinn clasped his hand. Did Quinn realize he clung to Tek like a dying man fighting for one more day? “I actually chose to ignore it in my head.” He snorted a laugh. “Act as if it didn’t happen. But while I could pretend during the waking hours, when the sun went down, I was a captive to the memories, and the pain and anguish. I didn’t want help, but someone—” He cleared his throat. “Someone didn’t give me a choice. He just… took over, made me want help. Made me ask for it. And he gave it. And much more.” So much more that Tek didn’t realize he’d in turn given Elias his heart, a gift his friend never even knew he’d received.

  They fell into silence, until Quinn spoke. “Xavier is Israel’s cousin.”

  Tek nodded. He’d assumed as much.

  “We were… together.”

  “So what happened?”

  Quinn’s hold on Tek’s fingers slacked and he closed his eyes. “I died. The man he knew, the man he loved, died.”

  The heartbreak in those words opened Tek’s pores. “We’re not too different, Quinn. Trust me on that.” He looked pointedly at where Quinn held him, and when the other man blanched and tried to retreat, Tek stopped him. “No. The only thing that brought me back from my nightmares, and trust me, I thought I’d never escape—” Not that he had fully escaped that— “That something I went through? The only thing that helped was being touched. Being cared for. I had to want to fight them, the memories. I had to want to come back.”

  “Sometimes I don’t want to come back,” Quinn murmured. “Sometimes I’m disappointed when I wake up.”