71. Ryan Fairview
R eturning the cow’s head was… an experience. Logan, Ronan, and Dakota were quite the characters, and they were all gorgeous.
Cal made me wear a mask at first, but the second we got out of the car, Ronan screamed my full name, basically proving they already knew who I was.
It had been an odd experience. Watching a bunch of serial killers… network. I suppose.
Ronan had only cared about getting the cow head back, but Logan, on the other hand, was more interested in Cal and his motivations.
Once Logan found out that Damian had abducted Cal as a child and essentially groomed him to kill people, Logan’s demeanor had softened considerably.
Dakota’s dad apparently also worked for Apex, and they had been spending time digging into the organization and uncovering all the evil shit they were involved in.
After sharing some of their files with Cal, we agreed to form an alliance. They told us to call them if we ever decide to make a move against the mercenary organization. They seemed more than willing to help.
On the car ride back, Cal was quiet and uncharacteristically grim.
“Why don’t we put some music on?” I asked, and he glanced at me, pursing his lips before turning on the radio.
I frowned.
“What about your robot music? You haven’t listened to that in a while…”
Cal’s eyes darkened, and his fingers tightened on the steering wheel. I watched his knuckles turn white as he swallowed.
“I’m not in the mood.”
I narrowed my eyes on him.
“You haven’t been in the mood since you were tortured, Callum. Are you going to tell me what’s up with that?” I asked, doing my best to be gentle, but I was unable to keep the concern out of my voice.
His gaze snapped briefly to mine before returning to the road.
“Why do you care, Ryan? You hate my music. Everyone does.”
The bitterness in his tone was worrisome. He’d never seemed upset about people teasing him for being a basehead before. Now, it felt like maybe it did bother him that nobody ever liked it when he listened to something that was clearly a core interest of his. My heart squeezed in my chest, and I reached out, laying my hand on top of his on the steering wheel.
He tensed for a moment, but I laced my fingers through his and tugged his hand in my lap, leaving him to steer with his left hand.
“If you like it, then I like it, Cal,” I said softly, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“What? No, you don’t. You said it sounds like ‘robots fucking.’”
I chuckled and nodded. “Well, it does sound like that. Maybe it’s not the kind of music I would choose for myself, but I like listening to it with you. I like when you tell me about all the different DJs and who you’ve been to see live. I like the look you get on your face when a big… What do you call it? A big drop is coming up, and you get all bouncy.”
I was smiling now, thinking of how he used to jump around and bob to the music as he drove.
I missed it.
He had a small smile on his face now, too, and his eyes kept darting from me to the road.
“Yeah?” he asked, and I nodded.
“Yeah, angel. If you want to listen to some of your music, put it on. I don’t mind.”
His smile disappeared, and he squeezed my hand before pulling away.
“I can’t,” he said, his voice getting tight and rough. He swallowed so hard it sounded like it hurt.
“What do you mean you can’t?”
He paused as if contemplating whether or not he wanted to tell me what he was thinking, but after a minute, he caved.
“When I was chained in the tub, Damian played dubstep every time he came in to hurt me.”
His words rolled over me, and my blood went ice cold.
“He what?” I gasped.
Cal nodded, looking sad and vulnerable.
“Yeah.” The word came out gravelly, like it was a struggle for him to speak. “I’ve tried a few times since to put it on, but it always triggers a flashback. I can’t listen to it anymore.”
“Angel… baby…” My heart was fucking breaking in my chest. I wanted to tell him to pull over, so I could crawl into his lap and wrap my arms around him… but he was still healing, and I didn’t want to accidentally hurt him.
He glanced at me, and his lips curved again in a small smile. Reaching out to touch my face, he brushed his thumb tenderly across my jaw before returning his attention to the road.
“It’s okay, Ryan. I don’t need dubstep. I have something even better.”
“And what’s that?” I asked, still reeling from the fact that my angel had been so badly traumatized, and there was nothing I could do to fix it.
We pulled into Fairview, and he gave me one last look before getting out of the car.
“You, baby,” he purred, leaning in and brushing a soft kiss against my lips.
“As long as I have you, I don’t need anything else.”