Run This Town 04 - (Watch Me) Save You Page 8

  “Do you need anything before I leave?” She operated the business flawlessly, didn’t need his help. But he offered it every second of every day.

  “Everything is fine.” She shook her head.

  “And you?” he asked softly. “Are you fine?”

  She froze at the impromptu question then nodded. “All is good.”

  Yeah. He pursed his lips. “Okay, I’m going home to get some rest. Call me if you need anything.” She would call, but only as a last resort. His mother was quite like him in wanting to fix it all herself.

  He left the dry cleaners and headed over to his place. His place wasn’t too far from the store, a deliberate move on his part. He didn’t want to live under the same roof as his mother, but he couldn’t bear to be too far away either.

  The five room apartment on the second floor of a five story building was empty. He had a bed and a card table with four chairs he’d bought at a chain superstore. The kitchen was decked out with the latest appliances, though he only went in there to grab beers from the fridge. Now as he stood in front of the open fridge staring unseeing into the yellow-lighted interior, he saw Quinn.

  Was he okay? Was he sleeping?

  Why the fuck did Tek care?

  He slammed the fridge door closed and walked into the bathroom, stripping and drinking. Awkward, but he got ’er done. Red finger marks decorated his hips. He didn’t even turn his back to the mirror to look. He knew what he’d find.

  Annika was a fucking terror to fuck with. Tek only tolerated the crazy chick when he absolutely had to. He didn’t like touching her, but like her stepbrother, she knew what he wanted. He’d gotten it, even though he’d been more than happy to walk out that fucking downtown Atlanta hotel at the end. He’d never been interested in Annika, or in playing between her legs. What he’d wanted was to be who he’d wanted to be, to make his exterior fit what his interior had been crying out to be that day.

  So out came the dark wig, the garter and the stockings, the panties and the dress paired with heels. Makeup had been on point, his face beat down. It never went away, that feeling of relief that made his shoulders sag when he stepped out the bathroom and all he got was acceptance.

  It all boiled down to that. Being accepted. Stavros gave him that, as fucked up as she was, Annika gave him that when he needed it. Israel and Elias didn’t understand it, but they didn’t judge. To say they accepted him might be a tad much. But they had his back.

  Of all the people in his life, of all the people he knew and who knew him, those two men had his back. And despite how he felt about Elias, Tek had their backs, too.

  He went into the shower with the beer. Stepped under the water with it tipped to his lips and drank while holding his breath. He didn’t move until the cold, bitter liquid was all gone. And then he put the empty bottle off to the side and cleaned his body.

  As much as someone as filthy as he could get clean. And all the while he thought of Elias while hearing Quinn’s screams.

  By the time he was finished in the shower, night had fallen. Tek got dressed, ignored all the missed calls on his phone, and got in his car. He drove, mindless, sightless, and when he blinked he was in front of that place, the old house. The one he grew up in. The one he kept, bought and didn’t set foot in unless it was to torture himself. He parked and got out, using the silver key on his keychain to open the door. The house was dark, musty, dust making him cough. He didn’t have to turn on the lights to make his way upstairs.

  Three of the twelve steps creaked under his weight.

  Familiarity that had his throat working.

  On the second floor, he walked slowly down the hallway, eyes wide in the dark, phantom words and actions haunting him. He headed straight for his old bedroom and sat on the floor, using the glow from the lighter in his pocket to illuminate the small space. No furniture. Just the raggedy carpet that he sat on.

  Nothing filled the house but his memories.

  Fucked up thing was, he remembered the time before. When he was loved, protected, coddled even. He remembered being the one to make his mother smile, to make his father proud. He remembered it all. Back then his father had been doing the counterfeit thing, clothes, handbags, shoes. They’d lived in relative luxury because of it.

  Compared to what he did now, his father’s business back then had been harmless. Victimless. Tek hadn’t heard of him being violent or dangerous back then. Now, he was. The old man didn’t fuck around these days. He expected Tek to follow with that status when he took over.

  When.

  At one time it had been a question of if.

  Not now.

  Tek was taking over. He just didn’t like how he had to go about it. The process was all kinds of fucked up and especially degrading when his father knew who Tek was. He might not want to acknowledge it, but he knew. And he spat on that by insisting they honor the pact made between his father and an old friend to satisfy a debt from way before Tek was even born.

  Maybe being in charge would turn him into a man. Is that what his father thought? Would make him give up the dresses, the wigs, and the lipstick? He’d tried that and hung himself.

  Elias had rescued him.

  Elias had saved him.

  Tek couldn’t not be who he was, not completely. Which was why dealing with Stavros was the better alternative. He didn’t like it, but at least he had an outlet. At least he got to be himself there.

  Did he want to be fully female?

  No. He just wanted the option to be whoever he woke that morning to be. Male or female. He’d thought back in the early years that maybe he was Trans, born into the wrong body. An explanation for why he never felt right in his own skin, why he ached and bled to be someone else. Why sometimes he heaved a sigh of relief with just a smear of lipstick on. But that didn’t make sense, because he liked being Tek, too. Liked being a man and doing the things society said were male.

  He adored his male body in those moments. Loved the clothes and his voice and his thoughts. Loved that everything aligned and fit so perfectly. But inevitably it would go away and he’d wake up needing to be in a dress, wanting his exterior to fit the interior. On those days he was never quite right, off center, off his head.

  And on those days, a bullet to the brain sounded so good.

  No one understood that.

  He flicked the lighter, shadows flickering as he gazed up at the low beam in the ceiling. It had been positioned directly over his bed back then. And that had been the beam he’d tossed the rope over when he’d decided to end it all.

  He bit his lip and the lighter puttered out. Heels digging into the threadbare carpet, he closed his eyes.

  He’d just gotten out from Rikers after spending far too long in there for killing one of his father’s men. An act of self-defense, trying to protect himself from being violated. Something no one believed, or wanted to believe. Then his mother had confronted him, telling him she hoped he was prepared to be a good son, the proper son this time around. A son his parents could be proud of.

  So Tek had tried. He’d tried to not be that dude who wanted to really reach for the lipstick and the heels. He needed to be a man for his parents. They’d love him again. He repressed it, repressed all the urgings, all the aches, all the needs. Again and again. Over and over.

  Denial. He’d denied himself. And he’d pretended. Until it cracked, that smooth, fake façade. It shattered and he’d collapsed under that weight. The weight of his lies, the judgment, the ache to please, to be accepted, to be loved again. To have love again.

  It all blew apart like a fucking bomb and he’d found himself here, in this room, a rope around his neck and his toes brushing the floor as he swung.

  Like a pendulum.

  Giving up had felt… defeating. Letting go had been… relieving.

  He hadn’t struggled while his life had played behind his eyes. The assaults from inside Rikers, too many, far too many. He’d been cowed by the helplessness of it, until he’d suddenly had not one but two
protectors. His time with Elias had been all there, too. All twisted up, two strands, good and bad. Humiliation and love. Sex and companionship. Violence and comfort.

  How had he been able to detangle himself from Tek and their time inside Rikers so easily? How had he been able to walk away and love someone so completely as he loved his Lucky? How had he done it? Tek needed that secret. He needed to know.

  Even outside Rikers, Elias had been there to save Tek.

  He’d been there, fear and horror in his eyes when he’d raced into the room to see Tek hanging from the rope. He’d flung something at the rope above the beam. A blade of some kind, because the next thing Tek knew he was on the floor, coughing, crying.

  Elias had cried too. He’d held Tek and rocked him, cursing him in the same breath that he used to apologize, to voice his love.

  But it wasn’t the love Tek wanted. Never the love he wanted.

  His phone went off, vibrating in his jacket pocket and bringing him back to the present. He blinked in the darkness, surprised to find his lashes wet. He pulled his phone out, checked the caller’s identity, and frowned when he didn’t recognize it.

  “Yeah.”

  “So that’s how you repay someone for letting you stay in their home? You steal their shit?”

  Tek grinned at the familiar voice, surprising himself. “Quinn.” He hadn’t anticipated Quinn ever using the number Tek had scribbled down at the last minute, calling himself an idiot as he did. Nor had he anticipated that call being so welcomed now.

  “I want my property back.”

  Quinn with a gun. Tek couldn’t let that happen. “It’s mine now.” His ass cramped so he shifted on the carpet. “How are you, Quinn?”

  “Short a gun.”

  Tek smiled again and lifted a hand to touch the gesture, mapping it with shocked fingers. “You’ll get over it.”

  “You son of a bitch.”

  And Tek couldn’t stop fucking grinning. “You want it back? Then get up, get dressed, walk outside your house.”

  Quinn went silent.

  “Go to the airport, get on a flight, and come… to New York.” He’d almost said come to me. “If you do that, Quinn, I’ll buy a hundred more guns to go with the one I took from you.”

  All he heard was Quinn’s heaving breaths in his ear, coming in short, sharp gasps.

  “Quinn.” God. Tek’s heart squeezed in his chest. So tight. “Talk to me.”

  “You think—” His words broke then Quinn tried again. “You think you’re so fucking smart.”

  Tek shook his head in the dark. “Not smart, no. But I know enough.”

  Quinn cleared his throat. “Is that why you took my gun? Because you think you know something?”

  Tek chose to ignore that question. “Who are you, Quinn?”

  The silence went on for so long, Tek feared he’d driven Quinn off the phone.

  “I don’t know who I am,” Quinn said finally. Softly. Voice so heartbreaking.

  Everything about him called to Tek. Everything about him made Tek want to fix him when he himself was the one lying on the floor, shredded. “What do you know?” he asked.

  “I know you’re the first man I let touch me in years.” The words were almost accusatory. “I know you’re the first person I let into my home. I know you’re the only reason I can go to sleep nowadays. You chase the nightmares away.”

  Tek swallowed, trying to figure out what to say. How to say it. “Why me?” he rasped. “All the things you just said… why me?” He wondered if Quinn would say it, if he’d acknowledge it.

  “I don’t know.” The frustration in Quinn’s voice cut at Tek.

  “Because I see you,” Tek whispered. He saw too fucking much of what he felt in Quinn’s eyes.

  “No.” Quinn’s voice rose, anger and fear blending seamlessly. “Don’t say that, because you don’t. You can’t, and I don’t want you to.”

  “Quinn—”

  “Bring back my fucking gun.” Then he was gone, leaving Tek with a dial tone and a hole in his gut.

  Chapter Nine

  Quinn made an appointment with a psychiatrist immediately after getting off the phone with Tek. He wanted to be helped, wanted to be whole, and he wanted Tek to not be the one to help him close his eyes at night. It was not fair the amount of time he spent thinking of that man who was still so much a stranger to him.

  He went outside, well to his front lawn, really. He felt the sun on his face, while hearing Tek’s voice in his ear. That guy talked too much, didn’t he?

  But Quinn missed his presence in his home with every fiber of his being.

  He went into the guest bedroom where Tek had stayed and stood in the doorway, staring at the bed. Well made.

  Everything looked untouched, like a force hadn’t been there. A force hadn’t swept through and turned Quinn inside out.

  He kicked off his sneakers and walked into the room, climbed onto the bed and laid there on his stomach, face buried in the pillows trying to get to Tek. Trying to smell him. He couldn’t find him, and Quinn made a frustrated sound.

  It made no sense, the emptiness inside.

  No sense.

  Missing this man he’d known for days.

  Days.

  Wanting him back there. In his house. In his bed.

  He closed his eyes and conjured up Xavier’s face.

  ****

  Tek felt the change the instant he boarded the private jet with Israel and his friend, Reggie, but he hadn’t expected to see a very straight Israel kiss Reggie. He hadn’t expected to watch them laugh and touch, and be so in tune with each other that they didn’t care Tek was also on the plane headed back to Atlanta.

  The shock of seeing Israel with another man was immediately taken over by jealousy, by anger. He’d hidden it all, though, as he’d confronted his friend. He’d looked in Israel’s eyes and seen that he was in love with Reggie, and Reggie with him. He offered no excuses, no explanation other than yes, he and Reggie were a them.

  Shame twisted Tek’s insides. If he hadn’t approached him, Israel likely would have never openly acknowledged it to Tek. That realization didn’t sit well, at all.

  “You don’t have to hide from me, you know,” he said firmly. “Just because I’m… different doesn’t mean you two have to stifle it in my presence.”

  “Nah, that’s not it. And you can table that different bullshit,” Israel snapped. “Nothing’s wrong with you. I just don’t know if Reg is down for all that.” He waved a hand. “Hell, not sure if I’m okay with it, either.”

  “I wouldn’t mind.”

  Tek jerked his head up. Reggie stood behind Israel’s chair, both hands braced on the back as he gazed down at Israel. Jesus. That look in his eyes kicked Tek in the chest. It was unfair, fucked up that even Israel, who’d been resolutely straight up to this point, had a love that Tek would never receive.

  Israel tipped his head back until he and Reggie locked eyes. His gaze was serious. “Reg.”

  Reggie shook his head. “I wouldn’t mind it.”

  Tek rose and backed away. “I’m gonna—” He motioned then hurriedly strode off. He left his friend to be with his man, hiding out in the very back of the plane, knees hugged to his chest. Unfair. But that was his life, wasn’t it?

  He stayed where he was until the plane touched down at Hartsfield-Jackson, and disembarked first, keeping his gaze from staring at the happiness Israel and Reggie couldn’t contain. Joe picked them up in a black SUV. Tek had chosen him to take them to the low-key hotel they were staying in while Israel had a meeting with Renzo Vega. He made the introductions then they all climbed into the vehicle.

  “Yo, so that’s your plane, Is?” Joe asked as they made their way to the nondescript motel Israel secured for them.

  “Nah.” Israel answered from the backseat. “That’s my man Reggie’s shit.”

  “I don’t own the plane, bruh,” Reggie said. “I just invested in the company.”

  “Shit, man.” Joe sounded awestru
ck. “That’s nice, real nice.”

  Reggie grunted. Tek did recall Israel saying that Reggie was the major investor in the charter company.

  “You fellas need anything while you’re here? How long are you here for anyway?” Joe asked. “You need some girls?” He threw Tek a sideways glance. “Men?”

  Reggie chuckled from the backseat.

  Tek shook his head. “We’re good, Joe. No time for pleasure this trip.” But there’d be pleasures to be had at some point.

  “Just let me know,” Joe said to Tek. “I’ve got a great hookup. Finest bitches, man.” He whistled. “Fine as hell.”

  “We’re good,” Israel said. Reggie dropped his head on Israel’s right shoulder as they rounded a particularly wicked curve.

  Someone spoke from the backseat, words Tek couldn’t decipher over the sound of something cracking. Then the SUV lurched. Tires screeched, the sound letting him know their vehicle wasn’t the only one on the narrow, wickedly curved road.

  “What the fuck?” Israel shouted.

  Tek turned toward Joe, making out the bullet hole is his friend’s head just as the windshield crashed inward.

  Tek ducked, unbuckling his seatbelt. Glass rained down onto him. He didn’t know where the threat was coming from, but he wasn’t taking chances. He grabbed for the Berretta tucked into his ankle holster, and the Glock 43 in his waistband.

  Israel and Reggie were shouting from the back. The SUV shook under the spray of bullets. Seemed like they were surrounded, being shot at from all sides.

  “Reg.” Israel was yelling for Reggie. “Reggie. Tek. Speak.”

  A fiery blow to his side stole Tek’s breath, preventing him from answering Israel’s distressed call. He gasped and looked down. Blood bloomed against the white of his shirt, warm and sticky. Crap. “Shit.” He grunted at the pain, tasting blood and glass on his tongue. “I’m hit.”

  As quickly as the bullets came they went. A thick silence that didn’t last long. Footsteps outside crunched the glass underfoot and low voices rumbled.

  “Tek,” Israel spoke in a stage whisper. “How bad?”