My date—I couldn’t even remember her name, and she’d just been the date since I picked her up—dragged me off to talk with her friends. I only went along because it took me in the opposite direction of the District Attorney and State’s Attorney.

  “Simon, what is it you do?” A Ken Doll whose name I didn’t bother remembering either asked.

  “I’m a detective with the Cold Case Unit. Before that, I worked Homicide and Organized Crime.” The corners of my mouth twitched as the men snarled, not finding me working in a more respectable occupation like finance or some other profession good enough while the women seemed more interested. Badges were like magnets sometimes.

  “Didn’t you work that serial killer case? The one who killed those prostitutes?”

  “Yes, and they were underaged boys, and the term would be sex workers, Chad.” I heard a snort close by and didn’t bother turning to see where Marcel was roaming.

  “Charles.” The douche corrected me like I gave a shit.

  “What are you working on now?”

  “I can’t discuss active investigations. It compromises the case.”

  And so it went, so on and so forth until I was about to pull my hair out. But finally, it was time to leave. While my date used the little girl’s room, and those were her words, I stood in the foyer with her wrap.

  “I don’t think you made friends with Chad. Call me after you drop her off and tell me where you want to go. I’ll ditch as soon as you’re clear.” He told me and then walked off before I had time to reply. Her place was only fifteen minutes away, five minutes to hopefully politely tell her that I wouldn’t be coming up, and then freedom. I could last that long, or I fucking hoped.

  10

  DOUGLAS

  “You don’t look right.” I growled as I stretched my arm out to free his curls of their product prison, and he batted my hand away as he tried to take a bite of his burger that he dipped in barbecue sauce. I’d arrived at the same diner we came to that night of the second body dump, and Mama Sue had snarled at me again. Him, well, the perfect Simon got love and hugs, and I pretended not to be slightly jealous when he tucked his face against her neck. All his stress had visibly disappeared and I wanted to be his safe place. Yet that was too much to ask of the man who saw me as only an acquaintance and an annoying one at that.

  “I should start shaving it again.”

  “That would be a crime. So, tell me the real reason you were at the charity event.”

  He sighed as he shoved a few fries in his mouth. “My parents ordered me to attend and escort the daughter of the man they probably want votes or promises from.”

  “Whoring you out for the political cause.” I tried to joke to get rid of his frown. I’d gotten addicted to his small smiles.

  “Story of my life.” I frowned at his harsh laugh. “What about you, Marcel? Why here?”

  “That’s a long story.”

  “I got time.”

  “I met Donna, my ex-wife, just out of boot camp. We had similar backgrounds, single dads, all brothers, the military for her was a family tradition. Me, not even close. Growing up, I knew I’d end up at my dad’s construction company, but senior year I ran into a recruiter. Enlisted and shipped off a month after I graduated. I disappointed the old man with that one. He wanted me to start right up with the company full-time.”

  I loved my family, my dad and brothers were all I had growing up, and my mom’s death screwed my dad up so badly that he never let a woman close again. He’d thrown himself into his work, and in the process, made working for the company a requirement from the time I was fifteen with clean up and training. I hadn’t minded all that, but my brothers were just like him, and I wasn’t. Escaping had been my only goal.

  “Can’t see you as a construction worker, but okay.”

  “Brat. As I was saying, Donna and I were both nineteen and hot-headed. We got married right before I shipped off to Iraq. We spent so many years of our marriage separated, and we didn’t see any problem with that. She was on her way to command, and I was just fine working as an MP. When I returned to the States, for the first time in probably our entire marriage, Donna and I were in the same place for an extended period of time.”

  “Got sick of you, didn’t she?”

  “God, you’re just lovely tonight.” I glared as he smirked. “No, she got sick. We both freaked out. She was losing weight, so we made an appointment, and when we went, surprise, at thirty-five and after sixteen years of marriage, we were going to have a kid. It was one of the things we’d agreed on. Neither of us wanted kids. But when we found out she was coming, we were ecstatic.”

  “That must have been a shock, but you did pretty good with that one.”

  “We did. She’s the perfect blend of both of us, but we have no idea where she got her attitude from.” He snorted and added more ketchup to his already drowning fries. Only sociopaths didn’t dip. “As always, Donna and I were the perfect team. But three years after Savannah was born, I retired with my twenty and became a full-time dad, joined the police force, but as much as I loved my wife…ex-wife, it wasn’t the same. We’re still the dream team, co-parenting skills are gold medal-worthy, we agreed on a friendly divorce. A year later, she was transferred, and Savannah went with her. I turned into the summer and shared holiday parent, and I hated it.” He focused on me as I spoke, nodded as he ate, and not one snarky comment slipped from his lips. It had to be a record. “A few years ago, I got a call. Donna was headed to Japan. It was her dream position, but our daughter had friends she didn’t want to leave. A year out from high school. She was getting to that age where she didn’t want to be dragged all over the world. So I put in a transfer, sold my house, and moved here.”

  “Big change, Chicago to here.”

  “It was. But I hadn’t seen Savannah since the summer before except for video chats, and I show up, and my baby is grown. She’s wearing makeup. She has a bra. I was traumatized.” I grinned as he nearly choked on the bite of his burger he’d just taken.

  “She’s a good kid. She knows she’s loved.”

  “We didn’t do too badly. What about you?”

  “Long story.”

  “Like you said, we got time.”

  “I was political capital. My parents’ political leanings are right-wing, but they hide how vehemently they detest people who aren’t like them. Shows bias, and they have approval ratings. Mother wants to be U.S. Attorney General. Their marriage was more like a business agreement. Both were from old money, founding families of the original town.”

  “They’re always on the news. Weird to have them as parents, especially with the job you chose?”

  “They hate it with a passion, which is weird because they’re as cold as can be. Especially since their Harvard educated son shit on his law degree to do this.”

  “Law degree? You’re a lawyer?” I pretended to be shocked, but with his mind and the way he loved to argue, it would’ve probably suited him more than being a cop.

  “Didn’t get my license to practice. Instead, I took that nice piece of parchment and applied to the police academy almost immediately.” He finished off his food and pushed his plate aside. “I was raised by nannies until I was five, and they shipped me off.”

  “Where?”

  “England, to an old family friend. And a year later, I was accepted to a prestigious and pretentious English boarding school. I was there until I was eighteen. I applied to Oxford just so I wouldn’t have to come home, but Harvard or nothing.”

  “You’re such the stereotype for the poor rich boy.”

  “Hey, I didn’t like it. The only times I was allowed home was when they needed my face on campaign literature or to parade me around in front of cameras. Perfection is a painful trap.”

  It suddenly all made sense. “Is that what happened tonight?”

  “My parents think it’s past time that I marry and add perfect grandchildren to the photo ops. It’s a nasty eugenics project. They’re throwing the most supposedly genetically superior women at me.”

  “Aren’t you interested?” I didn’t know why, but I held my breath waiting for his answer. There was a lead weight in the pit of my stomach.

  “No, not that I wouldn’t be, but it’s hard to explain.”

  “Expectations? You mentioned it before.”

  “I was born with expectations. There was this list, a timeline of when and how to make these accomplishments.”

  “Nothing happens on a timeline, baby, nothing.”

  “Graves, Simon, and now, baby?”

  “I do what I want.”

  “I’ve kinda noticed that.” He called Mama Sue over as I finished off my meal, and he ordered three different desserts.

  She took the plates and said she’d be right back. “What’s the deal with Mama Sue?”

  “Her son was a cop back in the early eighties, killed in the line of duty. She adopts any of us that come in. He was gay, and his boyfriend at the time was all she had left. When he died, the boyfriend crumbled and went home, married his high school girlfriend, and had kids. Left her alone, so she takes care of us. She told me one night that I reminded her of him. She showed me a picture, and that man was a beast with a good fifty pounds on me and gorgeous, but she said we had the same temperament.”

  When she returned with the desserts, she placed all three in front of him and leaned down to kiss the top of his head. For a split second, I saw the longing and hurt, as if that simple affection gave him something he’d never had. And from what he’d told me, he probably hadn’t.

  “You going to share?”

  “Should’ve ordered your own, Douglas.” Even as he snarked at me, he pushed the plates to the center of the table. Friends, I could deal with just friends.

  Hours later, and probably another sleepless night, I laid in my bed staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t get that night out of my head. I’d walked the edges of the ballroom, bored out of my mind, and then I’d spotted him. Simon was gorgeous in his suit and perfectly styled hair, but I knew what it looked like when the thick waves were set free. Anyone else probably wouldn’t notice, but he’d barely concealed those eye rolls of his as he interacted with his parents, date, and anyone else he was forced to talk to.

  My guilty pleasure of the night was when I’d trapped him between my larger frame and the wall. His head had fallen forward, and his hair had brushed my lips. The strands were silky, and until he’d pulled away, I’d almost rested my forehead on the top of his hair just to memorize the texture. He hadn’t worn cologne, but whatever shampoo or body wash he used smelled so good, and I’d wanted more of him.

  My impulsive invite for dinner slipped out, and I was shocked he’d accepted. In that diner on the strip, something about that area made him freer. All the tension he naturally carried disappeared when he crossed into the neighborhood.

  I spread out my hand on my chest and stroked downward over the hard curve of my stomach. How long had it been since I wanted like this? I combed through the tight curls at the base of my cock and then ran my fingertips along the length where it rested to the left. My back arched slightly. I bet Simon would let me love on him, slow and gentle for hours.

  I didn’t miss orgasms. I could get those fine on my own, but I missed the warmth of someone in bed with me. Physical and emotional intimacy. Simon was touch starved. I could see it—feel it in my gut. And he’d be terrified or pissed off, maybe both, if he knew how badly I wanted to touch and kiss him. I moved my hand away from my dick. I wanted to savor the need and my partial erection.

  Getting off was never my main goal when it came to sex. That release was fleeting at best, but the buildup, praising your lover…that was the best part. I swore I knew he’d be beautiful held on the edge. No more in a hurry than me to get it over with.

  Donna and I had a great sex life, but there were things I loved that she hadn’t. We’d compromised, but I still craved what I’d never had. I’d laid in my bed edging myself, chest heaving with the need to take a breath, but stopping right before I shot over my stomach. I’d do it for days until I ached enough that I’d firm my stroke until I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my shout hidden.

  My dad, my brothers, and friends I had, I never understood when they talked about sex and quickies or rough sex. It wasn’t my thing. How could that be more than momentarily satisfying? Pound one out, come, and then roll over and go to sleep. Where was the fun in that?

  Through all the conversations and their so-called bragging, I’d just nod and feel sorry for their bed partners. No wonder my sisters-in-law were cranky all the damn time. I called Simon a brat but had no urge to be a Daddy. I didn’t want to discipline or instruct someone, so being a Dominant wasn’t my thing. I wasn’t averse to playing in the bedroom, catering to my partner’s needs, but all I wanted was a person who would understand that no matter what I looked like, all six-six and two-hundred-seventy pounds of me was just a man who wanted to cuddle and be gentle.

  The dichotomy wasn’t lost on me. I was a hard-assed retired Marine turned Homicide Detective. Most people wouldn’t look at me and say that’s a man who’s affectionate with a kink for making love for hours without getting off, but I didn’t care what people thought.

  When I left work behind, I didn’t want to pretend to be something I wasn’t, especially when I came home to a partner and my kid. I wanted a relationship and everything that entailed, but I was almost fifty with a demanding job. I had no desire to date when I knew it wouldn’t go anywhere. If someone had told me at sixteen that I was going to be a man who didn’t think orgasms were that great, I’d have laughed in their faces.

  My dad and brothers were all for pushing me to meet someone, the Pansexual thing wasn’t fully acceptable to them, but they also hadn’t disowned me for it. Me and my kid didn’t fit with them, and they never really liked Donna. I snorted as I imagined if I ever brought someone like Simon, or actually Simon home for that matter. Model beautiful, white boy with a snarky attitude, they’d hate him, but Savannah would threaten them for even thinking anything bad about her newest favorite person.

  I let out a rough, heavy sigh and didn’t even know why I was thinking about Simon and my family. The man had made it clear that he was straight and not interested. I really needed to get that through my head. I wouldn’t break my heart on him, and I thought that was going to be the hardest promise I ever had to keep.

  11

  GRAVES

  “No more, no more,” I threw myself to the floor and held my hands out in a stop motion. I was tired, I needed about weeks’ worth of sleep, and it wasn’t happening. I’d taken everything, herbal, nighttime meds, and nothing kept me passed out longer than my normal two hours. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if I wasn’t living in some deranged hallucination because Douglas was being downright nice and polite, and it wasn’t normal.

  “Is this one of your investigative techniques that you’ve failed to mention?” He smirked at me from where he’d taken a seat on my desk. For a homicide cop with his own spacious squad room, he was spending way too much time in the dungeon with us again.

  “No, I’m having a moment.”

  “Did you break him, Douglas?”

  Stevenson strolled in with Doc attached to his back, and it wasn’t even strange. Stevenson’s baby’s feet rarely touched the ground. It was disturbingly sweet. That proved it. I need someone to knock me out. Some to force me into that sweet oblivion so I could at least get a nap.

  “I don’t think so, but he does appear to be having a tantrum.”

  “I’m not having a tantrum. I’m simply lying here to have a moment to think. A moment of reflection about what mistakes I made to get me here. Shush.” I loudly quieted them and closed my eyes. How long could a relatively healthy forty-three-year-old man survive with little to no sleep? I think it was four years so far, but I didn’t hold out much hope for my continued existence.

  “Vega used her facial recognition software she coded on your victims. Told the higher-ups she needed to do a test run.” Doc spoke up, but I didn’t open my eyes. “She got hits on all three.”

  With that, my eyes flew open. “Who?”

  “Vic one, Graham Shaughnessy. Vic two, Boyd Harker. Vic three, Nash Staitland. All low-level criminals with no violent offenses or connections to any gangs in the city.” Stevenson pulled files out of his backpack and handed them to Douglas, and then lifted Doc onto his desk. He sat down and then scooted close until he could hug Doc’s waist.

  “Why try to disguise their identity by burning off their fingertips and pulling their teeth?” Seemed a bit overboard when they’re not players.

  “No connection doesn’t mean there isn’t one. You still thinking someone’s trying to move in and start a war?” Douglas asked as he scanned the pages in the folders.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. I mean, they can move into power in the ensuing chaos. How do you do a hostile takeover?”

  “Several ways, but one is infiltration. Send someone in. They collect intel without you exposing yourself. Maybe the main player took them as a liability after they got what he needed.” Douglas set the files aside and stretched out his neck and shoulders. I grimaced, hearing a loud crack.

  “He, very sexist of you.” I pointed out.

  “Ha-ha, brat.”

  “Okay, say that they dressed the second guy up in the expensive suit, sent him into mix with Carmine’s people. Form some connections, but I don’t get why they’re only getting dumped at Carmine’s place.” Stevenson piped up, and that’s the question that bothered me the most. It didn’t make sense.

  “What about our main player wanting to bring the heat down on Carmine? Keep him occupied and under suspicion. He’s the Alpha around here. His family’s been running things around here since the nineteen-twenties,” Doc said as he laid his cheek on top of Stevenson’s head. You needed a damn crowbar to get those two apart.