Chapter 2
BOLTON
The water in the bath is almost scalding; the scent of the lavender Epsom salt is a perfect balm to my aching muscles.
Cal takes his clothes off, then carefully lowers himself behind me.
I lean against his chest, nuzzling my cheek into his chest hair as his strong thighs rub against mine.
We’re quiet as he washes my hair, working the shampoo into a thick lather.
It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but one curated through years of conversation.
There’s something beautiful in choosing to interact via presence.
The electricity between our skin and the thrumming of our hearts is our words.
His fingers massage my scalp, and I can’t stop the moan that escapes my lips. They tighten around my hair, gently pulling my head to his shoulder so he can peer down into my eyes.
“Stop moaning before I do something about it,” he teases me. The rasp in his voice does things to me—it inspires me to make bad decisions.
I ignore my muscles’ protest and turn to face him, sitting myself in his lap. The shift brings his hard length right under my ass.
“How are you ready to go again? I feel like I got hit by a Mack truck,” I whine.
“Because you basically did,” he chuckles. “You told me not to go easy on you. You even begged for it, if I remember correctly.”
“I actually begged you to split me in two and rearrange my insides,” I correct him.
He nips my earlobe, and I feign injury. “Semantics, lightning bolt.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t brought up Melton yet,” I comment. “I feel like we’re ready to strike...”
It’s been a little over a month since we killed Keller in one of Cal’s secret warehouses—yes, there’s more than one—after he told us Maurice Melton runs the illegal human trafficking ring he worked for.
We’ve done our research on him, staked him out, and hired private investigators, but we haven’t found any concrete evidence.
Not a bank record or detail out of place.
To the rest of the world, he seems to be an upstanding citizen who works in banking, but we know what he is.
“We can’t fuck around and find out, Bolton,” Cal reminds me for the hundredth time. “We need concrete evidence before we take him down. Keller could have given us Melton’s name to settle a score or cause us trouble. I don’t want to take his life unless he was involved in Eloise’s death.”
I sigh, hating his answer even more than the last time he gave it to me. I guess I should be happy my killer husband has morals and isn’t a spree killer…but I know this asshole is guilty. I’d bet a year’s worth of royalties on it.
“He’s guilty. I feel it in my gut, and my gut is never wrong. He gives off creeper criminal vibes.”
“You poison your gut with too much dairy for it to be right one hundred percent of the time,” Cal reminds me.
“Excuse you?” I grab his face with one hand, smooshing his cheeks together. “Dairy is an integral part of the food pyramid.”
He takes my hand in his and nips at my fingertips. “Not when you’re lactose intolerant, Bolt.”
“Asshole.” How dare he rub my weakness in my face.
He grabs my ass, digging his fingers into my cheeks.
“I appreciate your support in this, Bolt. Having you by my side while we hunt these fuckers down means everything to me. But how about we table any talks of Melton until our long weekend is over? We won’t be able to get up here for Valentine’s Day in a couple of weeks, so I want to enjoy this while we can. ”
“Deal.” Cal’s right. We need to enjoy the little time we have together because as soon as we get back my publisher has me doing serious promotion for their new gay romance imprint. And thinking about his dead sister and her murderers is a romance buzzkill.
“Since you want to enjoy our time together so much, Daddy, why don’t we get out of this bath and get dirty all over again?”
He sloshes water over the sides of the tub as he stands, then picks me up like I weigh nothing, throwing me over his shoulder. Seriously, how can he be so strong after chasing me through the woods?
“We still haven’t broken in the new restraint system in the basement. Let’s see how long I can edge you until you cry.”
Admittedly, I was so into our scene earlier, I didn’t even see a new restraint system. But for my husband, I’ll try anything once. Sometimes even twice if I’m feeling frisky.
He takes his mask off the bathroom vanity with his free hand and carries me through the bedroom.
“Okay, masked intruder. Do your worst.”
“Welcome to Hit The Spot Podcast, where we talk about LGBTQ+ romance that really…hits the spot,” Mikey D says in a playful tone, the same way he opens every segment.
I’ve listened to his podcast for years, and it’s surreal to be a guest. “Today we have best-selling author Bolton Blue on the show. Welcome Bolton!”
“Hey Mikey, long-time listener, first-time guest.” What the fuck, why did I just say that? I can feel my face turning red from embarrassment, but Mikey laughs.
“So usually you write male/female dark murdery-mystery, thriller, serial killer romance. You’re known for nuclear spice and plot twists that have you guessing and gasping until the last chapter. But that’s about to change.”
I cross my left leg over my right and try to relax my posture, suddenly aware we’re being recorded for his social media channels.
My publisher provided me with some talking points, but gave me free rein on how I wanted to present myself, and suddenly I’m regretting it.
What if I embarrass myself or get cancelled by accident?
I think of Cal’s words from last night, holding onto them like a life raft.
“Baby, just be yourself. People will love you just as you are. And if they don’t, they can fuck off. Their loss.”
“Yes. I’m excited to announce I’m signed with Knightmare Publishing’s new LGBTQ imprint.
You’ll get the same crazy plot twists that’ll make you want to throw your e-reader at the wall.
And the same level of depraved, morally grey and black characters.
But now my books will be male/male murdery-mystery, thriller, serial killer romances. ”
“Truly titillating," he comments with a smirk.
“A hard ride from the moment the corpse hits the floor until the killer is cuffed,” I quip.
“You’re hilarious, handsome, and a brilliant writer?
Killer combo, friend. Your career is well established within the male/female romance reading community.
You’ve made the best sellers list with multiple books, won awards, and created characters that authentically speak to the female experience. What’s prompting the change?”
“As an openly gay man, I want to write stories about my community, my experiences. I want to be the change and inclusivity the industry desperately needs.”
He beams a toothy white smile at me. “Yes, that’s what I’m talking about, Bolton.”
We go back and forth for a while, and he asks if I’m working on any new projects yet.
“Absolutely. It’s actually about a married couple. They’ve been married for six years—think they know everything about each other. But little do they know, they’re both harboring dark, morbid secrets capable of destroying the life they built together.”
I literally have chills. You don’t have a teaser on you?”
I can feel the blush rising from my neck to my cheeks. “Of course I do. I brought the whole first chapter too, so you can read that on your own.
Mikey bounces in his chair. “Holy moly, I may have just shit my pants. I can’t wait. You heard it here, folks. I get to read the first full chapter, while you peons get an excerpt. Go ahead, Bolton.”
I open my phone to a later chapter, picking a safe-for-work passage to read on air.
“I thought I knew the man standing above me. The thoughtful, straight-laced financier who was never late coming home from work and never missed a dinner. The gentleman who opened doors and pulled out chairs. The husband who always mowed the lawn and brought the trashcans down the night before trash day so I didn’t have to.
But the person I’m kneeling before can’t possibly be my Connor.
This imposter has my hands and feet bound as he circles me like a predator eyeing his prey.
His eyes are ablaze with something more than passion—something close to madness, like he can barely control himself.
Everything from his posture to his walk is different, more calculated and precise.
My heart beats against my chest with every step he takes, as if it’s trying to escape.
‘What did you think you’d find when you followed me here, mouse?’ The nickname used to be cute, an endearment because of how small and quiet I am. But in this mocking tone, it sounds like he’s taunting me.
‘Not…you. I thought I’d find my husband, but you’re someone else entirely.’ Dramatic, but true. This man is not my husband. Or at least he isn’t the man I made my vows with six years ago.
‘Oh baby, you found your husband. The version of him who always lurked beneath the surface. The dark, depraved parts he hid from you.’ He extends his hand to me, then laughs when he realizes I don’t have a free hand to take it with.
It’s a cruel, awful sound that makes heat bloom across my face.
‘Let me introduce myself to you. I’m Connor Garcia, your husband in all his fucked-up glory.
You better learn to love me, baby. Because ‘til death do us part.’”
“Bolton Blue! No, you didn’t. I have fucking chills. Chills, I tell you! Feel my arm!” Mikey shouts.
“I can confirm for the listeners out there, his arm has goosebumps.”
“Where do you come up with these complex, deliciously dark male leads? You do the ‘he’ll burn the world for me and laugh at the flames’ kind of guy right.”
“Sometimes, you can’t make up the devotion. I based a lot of my male characters off my husband. He’s a normal guy, I swear, but he has this all-consuming intensity I admire.”