Chapter 2 #2
“We have sensors on top of the fence all around, cameras, and guards patrolling at night with dogs. One of those almost ate that idiot kid when he went roaming around in the garden, drunk out of his mind. He said he wanted to paint the full moon… Jesus, good thing the dogs obey their handlers to the letter.”
They went back the main security building, close to the one where the server room was, and Martin gestured him into a common room with a kitchen corner, and some tables and chairs.
“This is our common area and the briefing room is there. Just in case you want to mingle and shoot pool with the others.”
The skin had started crawling on Duncan’s back but he just forced a polite smile. “Sure, why not.”
“Coffee?”
“No, thanks. I’d like to pack out, eat something, and crash. If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. You’ll be busy enough soon. Here are the car keys with the license number on the tag. You have a gun?”
“Yes.”
“Great. See you tomorrow.”
“Thanks for the tour.”
“Remember, I’m your man if you’re lost.” Winking.
Duncan just hoped that that wink didn’t mean anything because sure as fuck he didn’t need anything at all.
He walked up to his flat and opened the door, that eerie calm, soothing, even if everything was foreign, still, and felt like a dream.
He unpacked though, found that tiny dressing room, relieved at the sight of the ironing board.
He took another bag to the bedroom, packing out his personal items into a dresser, and shoved the vibrator into his bedside table’s drawer.
A tiny flame of vengeance glowing in his bleeding heart.
He went then to cook a quick meal, some pasta with a cheese sauce, a few groceries he had taken from their fridge. That fuck has to clean up the cake… smiling above his pain. He wiped at some rogue tears because sure as fuck he would not cry.
Sitting down to eat in that silent flat, the pasta just turned sour in his mouth when finally, swallowing that warm bite, he broke down.
Crying, letting his shoulders rock with his sobs, he buried his face in his hands.
Howling softly, his throat aching. Rocking a bit because there was nobody there to see him like that, because it had always helped, even if all his life, people had told him that he had looked like a lunatic.
It felt good, soothing, to just rock himself, like when he had been a kid and he had needed peace, alone in his room whilst his parents had been fighting downstairs.
Objects breaking against the walls. Bodies slammed into them.
Cries, shouting, howls, sobs, blows raining on flesh.
Rocking, his hands wedged on his ears. Eyes shut tight.
His thumb wedged in his mouth. Tempted… he almost pushed it in his mouth when he caught himself, calming, taking deep breaths to stop rocking, stop crying.
Jesus… fuck… wiping his tears off, he stood and took some paper wipes, blowing his nose.
He drank a large glass of water, feeling a bit better.
Focus. He flexed his trembling hands, and walked to the dressing room to iron his shirt and choose a tie.
Prepare his shoes too, his gun and holster.
Checking the gun, a routine, soothing, bringing back that discipline he had lost in that dark room. Fuck me…
Scolding himself, he went to take another shower and went to bed, trying to find sleep in that foreign bed, empty of that warm body he used to snuggle up to, caress the hair on that soft belly, tease him, push his mouth to his lips to steal a kiss, let him grab his hips and…
Fuck. He almost jerked off, almost… but didn’t want to relieve his stress this way, even if it seemed the only sane thing to do, to just wank it out.
Pathetic… Grazing his cock, but it didn’t seem in the mood, half-hard…
it would be half-assed, at best… Shit. Bundling the pillow under his cheek, he closed his eyes, evening his breathing. Disaster…
That disaster of a night when he couldn’t stop tossing and turning, waking from that light sleep, watching the ceiling, to fall asleep again.
Minutes like hours… and then the alarm. Shit…
Shower, piss in the shower, teeth, raking his hair, avoiding those tired eyes in the mirror, that misery plain on his face.
Get a grip. Dressing, pulling his holster on, his suit jacket.
Tie. Not even looking as he tied it, walking to the kitchen.
He opened the fridge, scooping some yoghurt in a bowl, a large portion of muesli, some strawberry jam on top.
He ate it, fast, then downed a glass of orange juice.
Brewing some coffee. A dash of milk. Drinking a large mug, he felt better as the food found his blood and the caffeine fired up that tired brain.
He made some in a thermos and left, walking to that huge garage. A man was there, and they shook hands.
“I’m Hank, the mechanic and garage manager.” Puffing a bit, he seemed in his late forties.
“Duncan. I’m…”
“Spencer’s new toy. I know.” He pointed at a black and chrome car. “That’s the one. All clean and fuelled up.”
“Thanks.”
He sat in, checking around a bit. It had that dark window you could lower or pull up.
All the windows tainted black. Great. Starting the engine, it rumbled to life.
He put the address in the GPS and drove out, following that path down to the gate.
The guard just let him out, waving, and Duncan felt a bit more at ease, the gun wedged against his ribs, steering that large car bringing some comfort.
Focusing on the task and not on the mess that his thoughts were when he had let them loose.
Tired a bit, but the sun was up and it seemed already the start of a great day.
Steering to the front of the hospital, he parked the car and walked to reception.
“I’m here to pick Spencer Galloway up.”
“Room 12…”
“Second floor. I know, thanks.”
Duncan went up and walked to that room, bracing himself, he breathed a couple of breaths before knocking.
“Come in…”
Duncan pushed the door in, meeting those mocking, dark eyes. Spencer was sitting on the bed, wearing what seemed like silk pyjamas and a black silk robe with jade green patterns and edges. He had trainers on, black too, swinging his feet on that high bed, his fingers laced.
“Ah, right on time.” He gestured at some papers on the bed. “My discharge papers.” He jumped on the floor, swaying a bit. “Just pick them up and let’s go.”
You could carry them yourself, you fuck. “Of course.”
He walked there and picked up the papers, turning, blinking at Spencer already at the door, so he hurried there, and held the door for him.
Spencer turned his head back with that mocking smile. “I can open a door.”
“That may be so, but I’m in charge of your life, and if I think I need to hold the door for you, I will.”
“Fuck… how elaborate.”
Chuckling, he swayed down the corridor and Duncan bit his tongue not to tell him to change into clothes from his pyjamas. Fuck.
He followed that swaying form, his lilting gait. He was tall, but not as tall as Duncan, and maybe there was more meat on those bones from what he could see in that bed. Maybe. Hard to tell, hidden in those large clothes.
Duncan opened the door for him, and led him to the car, opening the door too. Spencer slid in and kicked his shoes off, curling up on the seat.
“Let’s go home. I’m fed up and need a drink.”
This early? “Right away.” He closed the door, and sat in, looking back in the mirror, right into those defiant eyes. “Buckle up, please.”
“I never buckle up.” He had raised his voice, his eyes blazing. “Shut the divider and your fucking mouth too!”
Duncan’s hands stayed on the steering wheel, but his eyes never left Spencer’s. “You buckle up or we’ll stay here until you do.”
“You have to obey me! I’m your boss!”
“No. Your father is, technically. And you buckle up, or we can both sleep here because I’m not moving until you’re safe. I also don’t want your knees in my spine if I have to break hard, or somebody runs into our back.”
Spencer chuckled. “Fuck you… I could ask Dad to fire your ass as soon as we get home.”
“Yes, why not. Good riddance.”
Their eyes, blazing, but Spencer took the belt and slowly pulled it across his chest, clipping it closed. “Happy?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Now, pull that divider up. I don’t want to look at your fucking face.”
Duncan pushed the button and that black glass slid into place. Spencer’s voice came through the interphone.
“Stop for coffee at a Starbucks. I need a triple latte with extra whipping cream and chocolate drizzle. There’s a card in the glove box.”
Duncan fished it out and started the car, pulling the nearest Starbucks up on the GPS. One on the way home. Cursing inwardly, he pulled out and drove carefully, trying not to think what Spencer was doing in the back, hoping he had stayed buckled in.
Once the coffee bought, he lowered the divider and handed it to him.
Spencer sipped at it. “Oh, heaven… it’s missing a dash of whiskey but this will have to do.” He glanced at Duncan’s eyes in the mirror. “Did you get the grand tour?”
“Yes.”
“And? You haven’t run away?” His lips curled up and he scooped a large portion of whipped cream in his mouth. It lingered on his lips so he licked at them.
Duncan swallowed. “No. You’re a job. And probably not the toughest one I had.”
Spencer looked at him. “Oh, don’t bet on that.” He flicked his hand at him. “Up, up… they don’t pay me to watch your face all day.” Laughing softly.
Duncan pulled the divider up, driving away, his jaw clenched. Motherfucker…