Chapter Twenty-Four
Troy
I’m dragging a suitcase down a fancy patterned hotel hallway that weighs as much as I do. The wheels keep sinking into the carpet. “Kitten, what the fuck do you have in here?”
“Mostly cookbooks. I know they’re heavy, but one of these days I’ll have a real kitchen again, and I didn’t want to leave them with Gina. Do you want some help? I didn’t ask you to drag my baggage down the hallway.”
I turn to where Adam and Wes are trailing behind. Adam’s only carrying Wes’s laptop bag because neither of us wanted to give him anything heavier. He may be out of the hospital, but he’s still seeming awfully tired. We all have been, honestly.
“I do not need help. Unless you wanna help me take my pants off.” I make my eyebrows bounce, hoping he’ll laugh.
Wes frowns but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge the joke. It’s making me kind of crazy that we can’t seem to chase the defeat out of his eyes. Am I being too much? Or not enough? He’s moving in with us, so something must be working.
We’re starting to wear him down, I think.
As much as I’ve been dying to stir up a little something between all three of us, most of what we’ve been doing together has been sleeping.
There’s been some team masturbation in the shower, but primarily we’ve all been resting or watching movies.
Adam needs to heal, and so does Wes, even if he says otherwise.
It’s awfully fucking domestic.
“Are you sure you don’t need help?” Adam’s raising his eyebrows at me. He’s annoyed that we’re being protective, but how can he blame us?
We all cluster together in the elevator. I’m satisfied by the way Wes watches Adam while I’m watching him.
Wes cuts his gaze over to me. “What?”
I sort of smile, while biting my lips together so I don’t say what I’m thinking.
He’s still pretty squirrelly about the idea of all three of us being in a relationship, even though we basically are.
If I told him it filled some long-empty spot deep inside of me to have a third as part of our “us,” he might never come back to our apartment.
And we want him there. It’ll be easier to talk him into staying if he’s already moved in. I haven’t even thought much lately about the other reason I wanted Wes and Adam together so much.
Which is…good. I hope.
Lately, everything’s been nice. Normal. Even if it didn’t start out that way. Am I delusional for thinking maybe this could all really work? Worse, I need it to work. I need this thing between the three of us, because now I don’t know if any of us would be the same without it.
“I don’t get it,” Adam says. “You said most of your stuff is either in your trunk or still at the house you shared with your ex. Why bother packing up an entire suitcase full of cookbooks?”
Wes lifts one shoulder. “I knew whatever I left behind I’d risk losing. That suitcase also has all the mystery books my brother wrote that I haven’t had time to read. I tried to make sure I wouldn’t leave behind anything important. And you can’t keep books in a car; the humidity would be terrible.”
There’s pain on his face. He won’t say so, but it’s obvious he’s still feeling shitty about the rift he created between him and Fallon.
“I’ve gotten the impression Fallon’s not exactly hurting for cash,” I tell him. “If you lost them, he could probably give you new copies.”
“They’re not replaceable.” Damn, the stubborn set to his jaw is fucking sexy.
Kind of arrogant—I can see why PJ thinks of him that way—but it’s making my jeans tight.
Then he hits me with “The publisher changed the covers a few years ago. I like the originals” and the swelling in my chest stuns me silent.
Whatever’s happened between them, Wes loves his brother. It shows even when he doesn’t want it to. In spite of all the hissing and the claws, our kitten’s all fluffy on the inside.
Within seconds of stepping off the elevator, I hear a familiar voice. One I’d rather avoid.
“Troy. Adam.” Joseph Rigby approaches dressed in his standard uniform of beige cashmere, his flat-bottomed dress shoes making an annoying, echoey tap-tap-tap on the hotel’s polished floors.
At first I consider speeding up a little. We could pretend we didn’t hear him. Except Wes is the one who stops first, and I can almost hear him wondering who this person is. Or maybe he knows, since Rigby spends a lot of time on the VIP floor. Maybe he’s wondering if Rigby is one of our customers.
Which, unfortunately, he is.
Awkward.
I stop short. “Mr. Rigby. Hello.”
“Joseph, please. How many times do I have to tell you, Troy?” He grasps my shoulder in a way that’s obvious and familiar. Next to me, Wes goes rigid.
“I’m so glad to see the two of you,” Rigby continues, oblivious to the tension. “Adam. I heard you were ill. I’m relieved to see you’re all right.”
His grabby hand moves from my shoulder to Adam’s. He pats my best friend’s cheek before sliding that same entitled palm along the side of Adam’s neck.
Okay, no. We don’t let clients touch when we’re not on the clock. “Adam, we need to go.” I grab his arm. Next to me, Wes releases an audible breath. “Sorry, Mr. Rigby. Appointments to keep.”
“Of course.” Rigby nods, but he looks pissed. The guy’s a little tight-lipped about how he makes his money, but I’m sure he’s in the sort of position where he doesn’t often hear the word no. Lots of our clients suffer from the same affliction.
I call it “Entitled Asshole Syndrome.” Tough condition to live with, I’m sure.
“I was concerned after I heard what happened,” he murmurs. “I only wanted to be sure the two of you were all right.”
That fast, Wes is tense again.
Rigby heard about what happened because he’s the client we were supposed to be spending a second night with at the Premiere when we all got slugged, drugged, and tossed into a van.
Brennan must have called him. The guy’s a little annoying, but he’s our highest-paying customer and we wouldn’t have wanted him thinking we ghosted.
His statement leaves things wide open for interpretation, and I can practically see Wes drawing conclusions.
“We’ll, uh, see about rescheduling as soon as we can,” I assure him. Which won’t be for a long while if we can help it. Maybe never.
I’m thinking the three of us need to establish what we can all handle as far as Adam and me working in this business before going forward. Doesn’t feel right going on with things as usual.
I glance at Wes and then at Adam, trying to let them both know. Adam nods, but Wes looks like he’s about to shoot smoke from his nostrils.
“Oh. My apologies.” Rigby holds his hand out. “Mr. Monroe. We haven’t officially been introduced. I hardly recognized you out of your traditional work attire.”
Wes hasn’t moved his clothes to our place yet, so he’s been borrowing stuff from Adam. Wes and Adam are about the same height, but Wes has more muscle, so even when wearing Adam’s baggiest sweats and loosest T-shirt, everything fits tightly on him.
His blush tells me he’s still feeling self-conscious. Personally, I think he looks hot as hell.
Ever the professional, Wes shakes Rigby’s smarmy-ass hand. Even though the dick seems like he’s trying to put Wes in his place by saying he knows he’s an employee here.
“Hello, sir. I hope you’re enjoying your stay.”
Guess you can’t take the hotel out of the boy…
“Oh, I definitely am. One of my favorite places to stay. An excellent full-service establishment.” He gives Wes a wink, which…come on. Gross. He makes it worse by adding, “I believe you dropped by my room the last time these two were visiting me.”
“I thought your name sounded familiar. That must be why,” Wes murmurs.
Oh. Shit . Adam told me about that. I hadn’t noticed Wes was there. Didn’t think Rigby had, either. We must not have blindfolded him well enough.
Wes is clearly used to dealing with people like this, though.
In spite of him being dressed like an activewear model, he straightens his spine and raises his chin, smiling politely.
“Anyway. We aim to please here at the Belle Argo Premiere.” Then his face turns hard in a way I’ve never seen it. “If you’ll excuse us. We should go.”
Funny how he made “we should go” sound an awful lot like “Go fuck yourself.”
Honestly? I fucking love it.
Rigby chuckles, finally stepping away. “Of course. I’ve got meetings anyway, but I do hope the two of you will be in touch about rescheduling soon.”
Adam nods his acknowledgment without saying anything more. We wait until he’s turned his attention away from us before we head for the door. Wes is practically vibrating, but doesn’t say another word.
“Wes.”
Unfortunately, he’s got the longest legs of all three of us, so he pretty easily pulls ahead in the parking lot. While trying to figure out how to discuss this with him, I’m scanning the area for any signs of movement. After all, this is where we got jumped.
It’s clearly on Adam’s mind too. “Has there been any word about the guys who took us?”
Up ahead, Wes’s shoulders stiffen. He doesn’t turn around, though, until we reach his car.
When he finally looks at us, his body shudders.
“That Liam guy called me. Not much information we hadn’t figured out, though.
Illegal porn, people being taken, and it turns out a few bodies were found behind the facility where we were kept.
He said most showed signs of overdose. The rest are nowhere to be found.
He’s thinking they were transported overseas.
They’re looking into it, but there’s a chance those people are gone for good. ”
“Jesus.” Adam scrubs his hand over his stubble. “We got lucky.”
“Really fucking lucky.” I nod my agreement.
“He did say—” Wes’s voice trembles. “—that the guy who seemed to be calling the shots there had a burner phone that had only ever made calls to a few numbers. Two were the guys we, uh, killed.” He looks around before saying the last part quietly.
“But the last one was to a number they haven’t been able to trace.
Possibly a buyer, but he thinks more likely whoever was pulling the strings. ”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” I say. “Some of these rich fucks we trick for—you know, the ones with fuck-you money? Get-away-with-murder money? They see everyone else as another product they can buy. If they can’t find someone to dance the way they want, they pay somebody.
And if they can’t pay someone to do it willingly, they’ll pay someone to do it unwillingly. ”
“Yeah.” Wes looks down at his shoes. “As someone whose job it is to kiss their asses and smile while doing it, it feels especially gross.”
His fists clench tight enough to whiten his knuckles.
“Hey. What’s important is we’re all okay.
” Adam, ever the peacemaker, reaches over and loosens Wes’s hands, threading their fingers together.
Adam’s got this sweetness that makes it easy for him to get what he wants.
I think it’s the real reason his dad hated him so much.
Still, even I’m sort of surprised when Wes relaxes and takes his hand.
“We may be okay, but how many other people weren’t?” Wes’s face is etched with pain.
Right there in the parking lot, his knees buckle.
That suitcase and Adam’s hand are the only things keeping him from hitting the ground.
“Jesus, we almost died. How many other people did? I should’ve spoken up about my suspicions sooner.
Should’ve made peace with Fallon in case something happened.
I should’ve contacted Liam sooner, or?—”
“Hey. Cut that shit out,” I growl. “You tried, remember? You said that Max guy blew you off every time you brought it up.”
“I could have pushed harder, though. I could have escalated things when Max dismissed me?—”
“Stop.” Adam grips his chin, forcing Wes to meet his gaze. “We don’t want to hear you talk shit about yourself. Don’t make us punish you.”
“Kitten.” He lifts his gaze to mine. Even in the middle of this serious moment, I have to admit, I’m loving this. I called him Kitten. And he fucking looked at me . Adam said he did it back at the hospital, too.
Wes may think he’s holding out on us, but he’s already on board. We’ve hooked him and tossed him on the deck.
He’s all ours now.
I bump my forehead against Wes’s big shoulder. “We can’t go back in time. All we can do is make new choices.”
For a second he looks like he might be gearing up to argue more, but then he stops.
“That’s actually kind of wise,” he says.
I give him the finger. “I have my moments. Blame my mom. She was into that self-discovery stuff.” Not that it helped her in the end.
He and Adam exchange a look. Probably because I haven’t mentioned my mom around Wes before. Well. Whatever. There are a lot of conversations to be had. It’s one more on the list.
First, though: “You know what? It’s kind of been a day and we’ve all been tired as hell. I say we go home and watch something awful.” I glance at Wes. “We can order from that ramen place you like.”
Wes’s eyes widen. “Really?”
Jesus, the fucking hope and surprise in that single word. Maybe his ex and his parents weren’t all that bad, but everything I’ve seen from Wes since the beginning is that the poor guy is starved for touch, for love, for approval. And yes, for ramen. Nobody fed our kitten where it counted.
Every time one of us does the smallest thing, like throwing his favorite beer in the cart at the grocery store or bringing him coffee before his shift, or if we praise him in any way, you’d think the heavens had opened up.
What the hell made this guy think he didn’t have any value?
In the dark of night I privately wonder if it wasn’t the real reason he volunteered himself when we were all taken. Even more privately, I wonder how big of a piece of shit it makes me that I’m glad it all worked in our favor.
In the end, I just hope we’re enough to keep him.