Nathaniel
“YOU NEED WHAT?” CALUM nearly screeches, and I pull the phone from my ear for a moment just to preserve my own eardrums.
“I’m going to need a few more visits to California,” I answer calmly. “I have to stake this guy out, get some more information.”
And fuck him a few times, but Calum doesn’t need to know that.
“Why can’t you just take him out? I really don’t understand.”
I sigh, fiddling with the laptop on my lap as the TV plays on mute before me. “There’s something that’s different about him. He’s horrible, sure, but… I feel like there’s something else I can uncover.”
Calum won’t understand me; I know this. He doesn’t know that Landon is an evil, manipulative little thing that has a core so unreadable it’s driving me nuts.
And yes, he absolutely deserves to have this power repressed.
I know this, and I will do it myself. But before I do, before I take a piece of him and he never speaks to me again, I have to understand him.
Understand and enjoy those parts of him I’m trying to uncover, even if the rest of the time I think he’s unbearable.
“Well, he does have an uncle,” Calum offers.
“Huh?”
“Yeah. He has an uncle. The system says that two people have inherited his gift since his great-grandfather, whom we failed to repress, by the way. It’s Landon and his Uncle Benji.”
“Okay,” I draw, unsure of why I’m being informed of this. “Have they sent out a repressor to stop his uncle? Is he bad?”
Calum sighs. “We haven’t been able to find him. We got some information—the guy uses his gift to further their family business, so we wanted to stop him—but he then disappeared. Almost as if he knew we were coming.”
“Alright. I’ll use this time to find the uncle, too. Tell the council I’ll need more time now that I have two targets.”
It’s perfect, really. I know that they would have been at least a little suspicious that I was taking my time, but now, I have a scapegoat. Benji Presley.
“Alright, Nate. I’ll get it all sorted out,” Calum says. “But, uh, just be careful. You know how Joseph can get, and you seem a little… invested.”
“I’m not invested,” I snap. “I’m curious.”
“Sure,” he concedes. “Whatever you say, man. I’ll book your next flight. When do you want to go?”
We get the logistics sorted out, with my leaving at the end of the week, considering I do have a job on weekdays. Then I hang up the call and stare at my muted TV, my mind reeling.
I’m not invested in Landon; I’m interested in what he’s hiding. And if he’s not hiding something, there are aspects to him I’m not fully aware of. Like that secret soft part of him, the one that was so willing to agree to my demands. Well, some of them.
Or his involvement with Julian, and how he seems so angry about the situation but not… sad. Something else is doing that to him, and though he seems to hold it close to his chest most of the time, I was able to sense it. Some part of it, at least.
I want to know what’s devastating him. I want to rip it from his body and feast on it, if only to feel his pain so intimately.
Landon is a fighter; the kind of guy who won’t submit even as he’s under you, taking your cock. And that, I am very interested in.
The man likes a fight, and I’m so willing to comply.
The work week is slow. Between Julian’s recovering from his broken ribs, Atlas being glued to his damn side, and Atticus’s broodiness, I feel as if I’m moving through molasses.
But finally, Saturday morning arrives, and my flight to California is a quick one. I rent a bike from the car rental at the airport and sling my backpack over my shoulder, heading into the city and toward Landon’s condo.
I can’t walk up to the door, as I’m pretty sure that Susie might be home around this time. It’s a Saturday morning; they’re probably still asleep. But I can certainly wait until I see Landon leave the house; then I can follow him and confront him.
Landon has a plan. He intends to make my life as much of a hell as I’ve made his—and for some reason, I doubt invading my space is all there is to it. I just have to figure out the rest.
And before he succeeds, of course. Not that he’ll be able to coerce me again—not when I can slap a hand over his mouth and shut him up. For such a strong power, it is pretty easy to deflect.
I park my substitute bike in the parking lot across the street from his condo, eyeing his front door as I take my helmet off.
I’m unsure how long I’ll have to wait for him to come out, but—
The front door opens, and I tell myself it’s going to be Susie so that my hopes don’t rise. But surprisingly, it’s not anyone I know at all.
Some blond-haired guy—a gym bro, if you will—comes walking out. He looks pleased with himself, grinning ear to ear as he descends the two small steps that lead to the door.
Then Landon does appear, leaning against the entryway as he laughs, saying something I can’t understand.
I’m watching with narrowed eyes, trying to understand even a bit of the conversation they’re having, as the guy leans back toward Landon from the bottom of the steps, his hand trailing down Landon’s bare, muscled chest and lingering just above the waistband of the low-hanging sweats he’s wearing.
He’s touching Landon as if he has the right. As if Landon is an extension of him, his property. And Landon is smiling, leaning into his touch as he says something. It’s undoubtedly funny or filthy because the blond man throws his head back, laughing.
It is very clear that Landon has a type: muscled men with easy-going personalities, like Julian. Not like me. Sure, I’m bigger and stronger than both of those boys, but I’m not easygoing. I’m not casual.
I’m dominating and possessive and rough—ready at any given moment to teach a bratty little boy like him a lesson. I thought for a moment, back at my house, that Landon liked that I was older. That I was willing to boss him around and tame that sassy side of him.
Could it be that he didn’t like it? Is he looking for a different kind of fight? I’m vibrating with anger, livid beyond any sane measure as I watch the guy climb into his car and drive away.
Landon goes back inside, shutting the front door behind himself.
I’m thirty-four—I don’t need this kind of push and pull. If he wants to sleep around, offer himself to someone else, so be it. I’m not his boyfriend, and I’m certainly not his friend. This anger is misplaced; this anger should be honed in on who he is, what he’s capable of.
Climbing back onto my bike, I leave the parking lot and head toward my hotel. Plans have changed; instead of getting him alone with me, instead of sating the desire I previously held, I’m going to watch him from afar and then take him out. Just as I said I would.
But then, as I’m rounding the intersection that is by the hotel, I see a shop. Pretty Baby, the store reads, and I can see that by what is displayed in the window that it’s not a children’s store.
A thought forms in my mind; a curious and enticing plan takes root deep within me, ready to come to life.
Maybe I won’t keep my distance after all. I think Landon is in need of some… help.
One of my favorite things about being friends with the investigation department’s lead is that he can always find what I need.
Within minutes of my arriving back at my hotel, Calum has sent me Landon’s phone number. It has a California area code, obviously, and as I type out my message, I’m feeling pretty smug.
Nathaniel 11:15 a.m.
Come to the same hotel I brought you to last time. Same room. You have thirty minutes.
I hit send, staring at the screen a moment or two longer before I shove the device into my pocket and begin to ready everything I need.
Sure, none of what I’m about to do will help further my investigation. But what it will do is satiate a cruel, primal part of my soul that is currently seething at what I saw not that long ago.
And also my libido, but that’s irrelevant.
The council won’t be able to figure out what I’m doing anyway.
I used my personal card at the store, and there are no cameras in this hotel room.
As far as they’ll know, I’m here doing some serious organization work.
And I do intend to ask him some questions while he’s here, so it’s not all in vain.
The minutes tick by, and by the time I am completely set up and sitting on the chair in the corner of the room, sipping on a glass of water, his time is up.
No response from Landon. It doesn’t even show that he’s read my fucking message. But I wait—patient and calm. The punishment he’s going to receive will only lengthen the longer that I have to wait.
I know he’ll come—if not just to tell me he’s here to kick my ass. Which would be a welcome experience, mind you. I’ll strong-arm him into submission either way.
And just as I thought, ten minutes after his given time slot, a knock sounds at the door. As I open it, keeping my expression neutral, he speaks before I can chastise him.
“Oh, did you say thirty minutes? I thought you meant forty.” He’s smirking, his hip cocked as he keeps his thick arms locked over his chest.
I grab one of those arms and yank him inside, slamming the door.
“You’re asking for trouble,” I inform him, spinning around to face him.
“Oh, am I? Because I’m pretty sure it was you who got my number without permission and started making demands like a lunatic,” he says lightly, making his way further into the room. “It’s as if you want me to punch you again.”
Landon is kind of… limping. Well, not limping—it’s more like he’s just spent four hours working out his legs, and he’s trying to baby the muscles.
My eyes narrow, and something like dread fills me.
“Get fucked last night?” I ask, and my tone is most definitely betraying me, showing him my anger.
Landon looks over his shoulder, his grin widening as he shrugs. “Something like that.”
He appears to think he’s won something. His masterful plan is coming to fruition, and he can’t possibly be happier.