Chapter 30 #2
It’s subtle, almost impossible to notice, but I notice everything about him, all the time, so of course I do.
Ever since we had sex yesterday morning, he’s been…
not really avoidant, because he’s been sticking close to my side.
But his eyes slide away from mine too quickly, his bratty words feel hollow and distracted. He’s got something else on his mind.
Is it the blackmail? Perhaps.
But considering the timing…
An ugly sensation twists in my gut and I have no name for this emotion.
But my mind is fixated on the idea that my experience with Tommy–my first time having sex with a man, the most incendiary experience of my life–might not have been as good for him as I originally thought.
He isn’t acting like he wants another round.
All day yesterday, he was pensive. Last night he came into my room without any argument, like we both knew he was sleeping with me now, but he curled up against my side without a word.
Today, he’s been putting on an act of normalcy, but I can tell the difference between his real brattiness and false bravado. He’s hiding something.
From me.
I can get better, I think to myself. If I wasn’t good enough, if I was disappointing, surely I can improve.
A plan of action levels me out, but my stomach still swirls with something I don’t know how to articulate.
I’m staring right at him, but Tommy’s looking out the window of our limousine, staring at the rain and the nighttime city lights passing by, as we make our way through traffic to the fundraiser.
He usually lets me stare, but fidgets under it, like he’s letting me know he can feel me.
Right now, he’s totally still. Lost in his thoughts. Like he can’t feel my eyes on him at all.
“What’s wrong?” I finally ask. It’s hard to even hear my voice over the pouring rain pounding on the car. It muffles the world around us, closing us in together, making this feel achingly intimate.
“Huh?” He blinks at me like he’s coming out of deep thoughts. “Oh, nothing. Nothing’s wrong, why?”
“You’re not acting like yourself.” The words almost hurt coming out of me. What is this emotion? This pain? Is this what it feels like to be insecure? To doubt myself?
To be afraid?
“I’m not?” He wrinkles his nose, sounding genuinely surprised. “Well nothing is wrong. I’m fine.”
“You’re quiet.”
“I can’t always be loud,” he scoffs, his eyes twinkling at me with sardonic mirth. It would be so easy to let this go, to let it slide, to believe him. I want to believe him. But even as emotion-blind as I am, I can spot patterns of behavior a mile away, and he’s not acting the same.
“You’re not being bratty.”
“Do I have to be?” he asks, his amusement fading into a soft frown. “Is that what you want from me, all of the time? Is that the only Tommy I can be when I’m with you?”
“No,” I’m getting frustrated with myself for not being able to put this into words.
I’m making this sound like it’s his fault, like I’m pointing out a flaw.
That’s not at all how I mean it. But I don’t know how to say what I feel.
I can tell him what I’ve observed because that’s measurable, quantifiable. But for feelings?
I have no words at all.
“Then it’s fine, isn’t it?” he pushes. “If I can be bratty or quiet, if I can just be Tommy, and I’m telling you right now that nothing is wrong, can we drop it?”
His question is sharp, and I clench my hand into a fist at my side, hating the bile I can taste somewhere in my soul. “Of course.”
Tommy hesitates. He opens his mouth, shuts it. His eyes burn like they always do. He’s still himself; I can see him so clearly, right in front of me. But he decides not to talk to me. He turns away.
It feels like blood loss. I’m sick to my stomach.
I’ve always thought of Tommy as fire. He’s consuming and bright and painfully beautiful. But right now, he might as well be smoke. I can see him, taste him, breathe him in…but he’s slipping through my fingers.
Beads of sweat break out under my dress shirt and suit jacket, and I thumb the air conditioner controls to full blast. Why am I sweating? It’s not that warm in here. Why is my heart beating stronger, faster?
Emotions, obviously. Physical manifestations of emotions.
But it could be anything. Even with these clues, they all feel the same.
Muddy and murky and mixed together. How could I possibly pluck the right one from the pile and think, ‘this is the one that I’m feeling right now’? They’re all so similar.
“Are…” Tommy clears his throat, still watching the dark rain hit the glass. “Are you mad at me?”
“No.”
“Are you…alright?”
I don’t know how to answer that without making it sound like I’m accusing him of something. All I have are my observations. I know he’s acting different, but I can’t even begin to tell him how it makes me feel. Before he came along, I wasn’t even sure if I felt anything at all.
My lack of an answer must be answer enough for him. He reaches over, still without looking, and grabs my hand. His shoulders hunch up near his ears, like he’s embarrassed.
“Nothing is wrong, alright? I know I’m being squirrely. Just…let me process it, okay? Nothing is wrong.”
“Do you need something from me, Tommy?” I ask him, letting him interlock our fingers together, my heartbeat slowing down. If he’s reaching out to me, that must mean something, right?
“I…”
The car pulls to a stop under an awning leading to brightly lit, wide-open double doors.
The historic church building was renovated into an event venue, but the brick facade and decorative stained glass were kept in the renovations.
The two-story building has an old-world bell tower that hasn’t been used in decades, and everything is lit from within like there are spotlights inside.
A valet rushes to get the door for us, an umbrella in his hand.
He opens Tommy’s door.
Before he gets out, Tommy looks at me, and the dark fire in his eyes takes my breath away.
“I just need you to keep me,” he says quickly. “Like you promised.”
And with that, he pulls away and hustles into the venue, looking for Kira. I stare after him, and only get out when the valet leans down to look at me.
“Sir?” he asks.
I wave him aside and stalk into the church. Keep him? Tommy has nothing to worry about.
Is that what he’s feeling? Worry?
Am I failing a test without even realizing it?
Does he still not know he’s mine?
Shit. The Daddy-boy dynamic has been so good for me.
For us. It clears the gap in my emotional void, giving clear cause and effect patterns to our dynamic; push and pull, tests and corrections, pleasure and pain.
But if he needs something else from me, something less clear-cut, something more…
emotional? I don’t know if I’ll be able to pass that kind of test.
I let a doorman take my raincoat and sear the entire building with my glare.
The first floor used to be the main church, where services were held. The stained glass isn’t glowing because it’s so dark and stormy outside, but it’s still lovely next to all the modern art.
Massive, walk-through art pieces made of glittering crystals, beaten gold, neon plastic that’s carved in fluid shapes, and marble pillars with glowing seams running through them are scattered in the large space.
Most of the younger crowd is posing for photos, taking advantage of the interesting backgrounds created by the setup.
I spot Tommy joining Kira near a floor-to-ceiling art piece made of fluttering paper scraps and fabric ribbons.
I will him to look my way, to prove that he can still feel me.
He kisses Kira’s hand, takes a subtle look around, and his eyes land on me.
I’ll keep you alright, I try to promise him with my eyes. He licks his lips nervously and turns away.
That’s fine. If this is some kind of test, I just need to figure out how to pass.
And Tommy, as usual, has given me the biggest clue already.
He wants me to keep him. If he’s trying to hint that he’s about to run away, or that he wants another chase, I’ll give that to him.
If he’s trying to warn me of an incoming fit of temper or some kind of ultimate pushback against my authority, I’ll be ready.
I’m not sure what he’s feeling, but he’s good at giving me hints. I just need to be patient and listen carefully. Once I act, it will be decisive. I’ll know what to do if I can just pay close attention.
There’s a second-story overlook where the choir used to sing above the church-goers, and I spot the older generation mingling up there. With a sigh, I take the spiral staircase, knowing that I’m expected to join them.
I’d much rather be with Tommy, picking him apart, putting him back together, spanking him until he knows he’s mine and no other emotional tests are necessary.
But I also know that the reason we came here still matters. I need to give the blackmailer another chance at Tommy, and they won’t approach him if I’m hovering.
Tommy and Kira made several plans to split up during the event under the guise of mingling, getting air, grabbing drinks, even getting something from the car if nothing else works.
Meanwhile, Yosef and my team are blending with the crowd, with the valets, with pedestrians on the street.
My ‘eyes in the sky’ team are hacked into every traffic camera within a three-mile radius.
When the blackmailer makes contact this time, they won’t get away.
“Mr. Sokolov!” I’m greeted enthusiastically by some general acquaintances. I join them, impassive and unmoved. These people make me feel nothing. Never have. Never will.
The person who brings me to life is downstairs, possibly needing me to understand how he feels right now, and I can’t.
I might not understand most emotions, but I do recognize frustration. My temper starts to fray and I hold tight to my self-control.
I just have to get through tonight. That’s all.
By the time an hour has passed, the mantra is near-constant in my mind. I’m itching to get my hands back on Tommy. To question him, to push him, to make him react in a way I can interpret.
He’s so good, I know he’ll give me all the clues I need. I just need to prod him a little more, and he’ll lay out exactly what this new test is. Like he always does, without even realizing it.
“Uncle Young-gi.”
I whirl. Kira blinks up at me, and I reflexively pat her on her head, as I usually do.
“Kira,” I greet her, my eyes over her shoulder, scanning for him. “Where’s Tommy?”
“This is one of our breaks,” she explains under her breath. “Giving him a chance to be approached alone. He’s just looking at the art while I visit with you.”
“Hm.” I know it was the plan, but I don’t like that he’s alone. Technically, he’s being watched by several of my people, men and women in the crowd, but I’m not with him, and that bothers me.
“He’ll be fine,” Kira says.
“I know.”
“Do you? You seem…worried.”
Worried? “Is that what this is?” I murmur to myself, putting a hand over my chest with a frown. Yes, that makes sense. Perhaps this is worry.
“You really like him, don’t you?” Kira leans closer, making sure she isn’t overheard. The ambient noise in the church is quite loud; a hundred or more voices all talking at once, strains of music in some hidden speakers, and the dull roar of the storm still raging outside.
“I…I’m going to keep him,” I reply, because to me, that answers the question. That’s measurable action, not murky emotion. “Does that…bother you?”
Her smile lights up her entire face. “Of course not. I think you’ve been good for each other. He seems happy. Like, really happy.”
“He does?”
“And he’s always thinking about you, or looking for you wherever we go. He was so worried when, well, the other night when we met with you,” she whispers, smart enough not to mention the blackmail out loud. “I think he actually might really, really like you.”
At a loss for what to do or how to process that, I pat her head again.
She laughingly moves out from under my hand. “I mean it!”
“I know you do.”
“So…?” she presses. “Are you going to talk to him about it?”
“About what?”
“About how you feel, of course!”
This is too close to what I was fretting about earlier. Honestly, me fretting? Wringing my hands? It’s incredible that I’ve been brought so low. I’m the leader of a bratva for fuck’s sake. But Tommy makes me worry. He has me on a string.
I’ll never let him leave. As long as he wants me to keep him, he’s mine.
My eyes seek him out instinctively, looking out over the first floor. Scanning, searching.
I frown and walk to the railing. “I don’t see him.”
“What?” Kira joins me and we both look over the crowd. “He’s probably just behind some art piece. I can go look for him if–”
“There he is.” I spot him, and my blood goes cold, then boils hot.
He’s not downstairs. He’s not on the second-floor overlook, either. He’s on a service stairwell behind the old organ that’s still on display, on the wall opposite where I’m standing. The stairs lead straight to an unlit door marked ‘rooftop, employees only’.
And he’s not alone.
“What’s he doing with Gregory and Leonard?” Kira asks, then gasps. “You don’t think that they could be…do you?”
“They’ll regret it, either way,” I growl, signaling the closest man I have on surveillance to follow me. “Stay here. I’ll take care of this.”
Emotions are mysterious things, hard to define.
But right now, the tight control I’ve had on my temper all night is fraying, snapping.
My focus zeros in on the door that Tommy just disappeared through as I cut through the crowd, two loyal men on my heels.
Is this anger? Is this fear? Is this hatred?
Rage?
Something along those lines. Maybe all of those things. Maybe none.
It doesn’t matter. The result will be the same.
He thinks he needs to ask me to keep him? That there’s a chance in hell I’d ever let him face anything on his own?
I’m about to prove how far I’ll go, how much I feel, even though I can’t say it in words. I’m keeping him alright. God help anyone who gets in my way.
“Sir, was this the plan?” one of my employees asks at my elbow. And it’s a good question, because the plan was to give the blackmailers a chance to get to Tommy.
But fuck that. I’ve been bending and breaking all night.
“Him being out of my sight wasn’t the fucking plan,” I snap back. “Don’t fucking question me again.”
“Yes, sir.” My man nods nervously as we weave through the crowd toward the stairwell. It takes all my self-control not to shove people out of my way.
This isn’t part of Tommy’s test for me, I’m fairly certain of that. But I don’t plan on failing him, whether he asks me for help or not. He’s mine.
He is the measure of what I feel, the object of my emotional storm. I’m fucking keeping him.
And I’ll prove it by any means necessary.