Chapter 3
Cesar
He’s too thin. Not that he’s unattractive.
But if it were up to me, I’d put him on a regimen of nutritionally-dense foods, with plenty of protein, broth for collagen, and lots of fresh vegetables, to help with whatever deficiencies he must surely be dealing with.
I’ve shadowed him for the past twenty-four hours and know he hasn’t had a single bite of food in that time.
At this rate, he might collapse from hunger and exhaustion, but even then he would be in no danger. Not on my watch.
The cops must have gotten his name based on the registration of the abandoned car.
It’s Elijah, but he goes by Eli on social media, so that’s how I choose to think about him as I watch his shoulders from the back of the bus.
Most people won’t be able to recognize him from the old photo publicized all over the media.
Since it was taken, his features have sharpened, giving his already narrow face a fox-like appearance.
And most importantly, there’s no brown left on his head, just a mix of dark and bright grays.
It’s unusual on a man as young as him. Silver dusted over dark steel.
A bold choice. Most men his age would have cropped it shorter to not bring attention to it, but he’s grown it into a wavy mop that reaches past his ears.
Then again, maybe he just can’t afford a barber.
The padded jacket he’s wearing is two sizes too big and mended in at least three places.
Worst are the shoes, with one of the soles opening like a mouth when he walks.
But now that I’ve memorized his scent, I could follow him anywhere, even if he managed to disguise his appearance.
He doused himself in some cheap orange and cinnamon perfume he picked up from a street seller, but as unpleasant as the intensity of that aroma is, the natural musk of Eli’s body is shining through the more the deodorant wears off.
I can’t quite put my finger on it yet, but as I trail him, checking out places he touched, the scent of sand or…
dust is quite prominent, as well as a hint of natural sweetness, which I long to taste straight from the source.
That’s not why I’m following him, of course, and Eli’s likely as interested in men as the vast majority of the male population, but I am free in my fantasies and imagine myself on top of his slender form, face buried between his shoulder-blades, and dick getting warm in his crack.
I spread my legs to take pressure off my half-hard cock and try to think of something else, because this is not the right time for pleasure.
Eli doesn’t seem to have anywhere to go, and I’ve been shadowing him since yesterday.
It’s a miracle no one’s recognized him yet, but if that happens, I’ll be there to protect him, like I already did during that first dash from the murder scene.
It’s the least I can do for someone who put an end to my service.
It’s regretful I didn’t get to be at Arthur Sullivan’s side when he died.
The smell of his blood would have been rich with adrenaline and cortisol, but I’ve seen it happen, and that's all the closure I require. I’m no longer on his leash, but after years with the invisible chain around my neck, I can’t help but feel attached to the one who freed me.
Especially when he’s so in need of my help.
Running out of the gala, he was like a drunken rabbit pursued by a pack of proficient hounds. He would have ended up torn apart if it wasn’t for my intervention with the giant tree. When you save someone’s life, it’s a special kind of bond that develops. You’ve invested. You can’t let go.
I don’t know what to do about this sudden new attachment, but I am adrift without Sullivan, so I might as well go with it for now, admiring the frail, inexperienced killer who accomplished what I wasn’t able to despite my background as an assassin, bodyguard, and even torturer. Whatever Sullivan commanded, I did.
When the bus stops and Eli gets up, I do the same, lured by the aroma of his flesh.
He needs gloves. His fingers are so slim and pale I can just about imagine their touch.
I’d suck on each one with pleasure and warm them in my mouth.
It’s not what I’m following him for, but I’m not one to push away intrusive thoughts when they’re of the tasty variety.
I’m not sure where he thinks he’s headed, but we’ve stopped in Nowhere, Oregon, and he’s been traveling north, so he might be hoping for an escape to Canada. In those shoes, he won’t make it without losing toes.
His hood is up when he walks fast down the street decorated with Christmas lights. It hides his steel-gray hair which is the perfect length for grabbing. Maybe he has some kind of accomplice in this town? I’ll find out sooner or later.
Instead of heading straight for whatever place he might have in mind, Eli stops in front of a bright shop window, and the television screen reflects its colors onto his pale face.
His profile’s sharp, with a large yet narrow nose, and uneven lips.
The top one is larger, and rather chewable.
Mouths like that are addictive, and I know I’d get hooked if I ever got the chance for a taste.
As I drift closer, attempting to be one with the shadows, the reason for his interest becomes obvious. If he has any sense, he’ll have already discarded his phone, and it’s only now that he gets to catch a glimpse of the shit he’s in.
The cops have long identified him, scoured through all the evidence in his car, concluding the killer’s homeless, twenty-five, and the media even came up with a catchy name for Eli, dubbing him the ‘Festive Fugitive’.
I watch him stiffen, then blow warm air on those pale hands.
I wouldn’t mind if he wanted to slide them under my sweater for warmth.
But the moment the screen goes on to show a portrait of Sullivan, Eli walks off, his wrecked shoe slapping loudly with every step.
I promised myself I’d watch from afar, make sure no one interferes with his escape.
That seems like a reasonable thing to do for a man who ended Sullivan for me.
Only I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours either, so my mind is getting a little too dazed with fantasies of ‘what if?’.
Eli had a snooze on the bus, but I couldn't allow myself the luxury of rest. He’s become my priority as soon as I understood what he’d done, and following him without revealing my presence is a struggle.
He’s not dressed right for this snowy weather.
He doesn’t seem to have any escape plans, and here I am, hoping he is not as clueless as he appears.
At this rate, he’ll make some terrible blunder, and I’ll have to save the day.
Then, I’ll have to be close to him, tempted by his scent and the shape of his ass. I’ve seen its outline when he bent over, and if it were Friday and he—a stranger at the sauna, I’d have dived my face between those tempting globes long ago.
I understand what his goal is when I spot a food truck boasting about their seasonal roast turkey sandwiches. I can only hope he buys two, because he could use some protein in him. He should also take a third to go if he’s smart.
I wish I knew more about him. It would help me navigate my task of keeping him safe.
Eli passes the empty wooden benches where customers can sit down to eat by the warmth of an outdoor heater and approaches the truck.
It’s decorated with festive lights, and every twinkle reminds me that I’m stuck without my last Christmas gift from Sullivan.
But I’ll worry about that once Eli is safe.
I stand back, watching him order his food, and then coffee, and the sight of a bank card makes my blood run quicker.
He can’t be this ignorant. If he uses that thing, the cops will be here in under five minutes, so I step forward, ready to stop him, but he catches himself on time and stuffs the offending plastic back into his ratty wallet.
With this emergency avoided, I let myself relax, but the single fiver Eli plucks out next won’t be enough to cover his meal. He’s fiddling with the coin purse under the watchful eye of the truck owner, but both he and I already know Eli doesn’t have enough cash on him.
I told myself I wouldn’t interact with him, just protect him from afar like a guardian angel.
But now I find myself stepping forward, with my own wallet out.
“I’ll also have the signature turkey sandwich, and a coffee,” I say and put a large bill on the money tray.
“My treat,” I add when Eli turns his big gray eyes to me.
They’re large, with dark rings around the paler iris, and appear almost iridescent in the glow of the twinkling lights.
He’s even more handsome from up close and just my type.
“Are you sure?” he asks from behind the scarf he pulled up high to be less recognizable. “Thank you,” he adds without waiting for an answer, because he’s desperate to eat. Obviously.
I smile. “Isn’t Christmas the time for good deeds?”
He looks at his shoes with a frown, probably imagining his own ‘good deed’ from yesterday.
What was his grudge against Sullivan? The police haven’t yet leaked much about that.
It shouldn’t matter, but the closer I am to him, the more I want to find out, and I already crossed the boundary of talking to him.
Even his voice is pleasant to the ear—much lower than I expected, and it has depth and darkness to it, like strong black coffee. It’s as addictive already.
Eli takes a deep breath. “I suppose it is. I’ve had a… rough day, so thanks for this, really. I don’t usually need help.”
I should let him go. Wait for my food and scurry off to continue watching him from far away, but he glances at me again, curious what I might want, so I clear my throat and shrug. “I want to see you eat. Hope that’s not too strange?”