Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
As Ethan staggered back from the men’s room, the pulsing chaos of Lucy’s slammed into him, knocking the breath from his lungs.
The air was thick with sweat, spilled liquor and the acrid tang of vape smoke. Neon violet strobes slashed through the darkness while the relentless thud of music vibrated beneath his boots.
“Ethan, you okay, brah?” Devon’s voice cut through the din, a lifeline in the haze. He rose from the booth, lights glinting off his towering frame. “Probably best if we sit you down,” he laughed, grabbing Ethan’s arm and guiding him back to the booth.
Ethan collapsed with an undignified thud, his elbow grazing a stray shot glass, sending it spinning.
Devon watched him struggle with amusement. “Here, got you another shot and a beer.” He slid a bottle across the table, nudging the small glass beside it.
“No. No, I don’t want anymore,” Ethan groaned, rubbing his temple. The ache in his head pulsed sharper with every beat, and his tongue felt like sandpaper against his teeth. The thought of yet another drink turned his stomach inside out. “I’ve had too much already.”
“Man, you team guys these days,” Devon teased, laughing loudly. “Lightweights. C’mon, dude, don’t let the side down. It’s still early.”
Ethan sighed, the weight of his hangover was already settling in and though he knew he really shouldn’t drink anymore, it was hard to resist when Devon was so damn persuasive.
He downed the shot in one, wincing at the burn that spread from his throat to his chest, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What the fuck was that? It tastes disgusting.” His stomach lurched, and he grabbed the beer, gulping it fast, not for want, but to douse the vile taste scorching his throat. The cold fizz did little to settle him, just sloshed with the rest churning around in his stomach.
“Steady,” Devon chuckled. “Don’t want you passing out on me, not yet.” He gave a mischievous grin as he leaned in close, the velvet booth groaning under the weight of his shift. “It’ll help perk you up, if you catch my drift,” he whispered, then slid his palm over Ethan’s thigh, warm and deliberate circular motions that slowly climbed up, testing and teasing.
Ethan barely registered, his head swam and the sounds around him warped—distant shouts, a synth riff slicing through the haze, the clatter of glasses behind the bar like gunfire in his skull.
Devon was bolder now, his movements charged with confidence that bordered on arrogance. His hand slid down, deliberately cupping Ethan’s groin and massaging with firm, unapologetic pressure. There was no hesitation, no subtlety—it was him laying claim, insistent and commanding.
He kissed hard, his mouth demanding and relentless, a force that felt more conquest than connection. And for one hazy beat, Ethan responded—booze blurring the boundaries of what he wanted versus what he allowed.
The intrusion registered, and Ethan froze.
He rubbed his head, nausea clawing up his throat, the taste of that last shot still lingered long after. His head filled with a foggy haze, the room tilting as Devon’s lips again crashed against his own.
There was a flicker of something, a fleeting shadow of the fire he’d felt before, but that undeniable gravity that Logan commanded with just a glance or the brush of his hand—this wasn’t it.
A knot of discomfort began to twist in his chest as his mind struggled to push through the alcohol-induced haze, grasping at clarity like a drowning man reaching for air.
This was all wrong, and Ethan’s body remained limp. No hardness answered Devon’s persistence; no surge of arousal beneath his touch.
Frustration simmered.
He wanted Ethan. He craved him with an intensity that bordered on obsession, but this drunken, pliant version wasn’t enough. There was no fight here, no resistance to overcome or passion to ignite. Ethan was passive and the pursuit quickly became more effort than reward.
With an irritated sigh, Devon pulled back, though his hand lingered, squeezing in a way that felt more possessive than affectionate.
The moment was suddenly shattered by a voice which cut through the din of laughter and music. “There you are… I’ve been lookin’ for you!” Brick’s voice carried over the noise.
He strode toward them, his plaid shirt was rumpled and there was a sheen of sweat glistening on his brow from dancing.
His keen eyes took in the scene and his expression darkened as he spotted Devon’s hand sliding away from Ethan’s groin—not quite fast enough to go unnoticed, but casual enough to feign innocence.
“You okay, man?” he said firmly, his voice low but steady as his gaze flicked between Ethan’s pale face and Devon’s smug posture.
Ethan struggled to respond, his head lolling as he nodded sluggishly. His words felt unwieldy, and they stuck in his throat like molasses, as he tried to form a coherent answer. The alcohol had taken him over, and he was drowning in a heavy fog that made even blinking feel like an effort.
“He’s fine,” Devon interjected, his tone easygoing and almost dismissive of Brick’s concern. “Too much to drink. I was just going to get him some water, then take him home.”
Brick didn’t look convinced. His jaw tightened as he studied Devon with open suspicion—a wariness born from their earlier conversation that now flared brighter under the circumstances. “You two know each other?” he asked pointedly.
Devon leaned back in the seat, crossing his arms over his chest in a display of relaxed confidence that felt more calculated than natural. “Kinda,” he replied with a casual shrug. “I know a friend of his—Logan Lockwood—we go way back.”
At the mention of Logan’s name, Brick’s tension eased slightly. Not completely, but enough for him to nod slowly in recognition. “You know Logan?” He replied cautiously. “He’s our boss. I work with Ethan.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “You in the teams?”
Devon nodded once, his tone steady when he spoke again. “Was—Team Six,” he said simply, letting the weight of those words hang between them for emphasis before adding, “IED in Kandahar fucked me up.”
“Hell, that sucks,” Brick said after a beat, genuine sympathy softening his tone despite the unease in his eyes.
Unsettled but unwilling to press further just yet, he shifted his attention back to Ethan. His frown deepened as he took in the younger man’s posture—the glassy sheen in his eyes and the way he seemed barely able to keep himself upright.
“How much has he had?” he asked, cutting through whatever small talk might have followed.
Devon waved off the question with another shrug that bordered on indifference. “More than enough,” he said, gesturing to Abbey and Lisa who stood close by—the two women giggled loudly as they swayed together under the dim glow of neon lights.
“Who’s your friend?” Abbey chimed in from across the booth, her smile wide and flirtatious as she eyed Devon from head to toe with appreciation. “He’s kinda cute.”
Brick didn’t take his eyes off Ethan long enough to respond immediately and waved her off without looking back. “I’ll be right there,” he said curtly before addressing Devon with renewed focus. “We were going to take him with us,” he said, his voice carrying just enough edge to make clear exactly what ‘taking’ meant. His gaze lingered on Ethan’s slouched form as he added, “but it doesn’t look like he’s going to keep up the pace tonight.”
Ethan didn’t respond when Brick clicked his fingers and his head lolled forward, his chin almost brushing his chest.
“Hey…” Brick tightened his jaw, and concern flickered in his eyes as he crouched slightly, trying to meet Ethan’s gaze. “You okay, buddy? Do you want to go home?”
Ethan still didn’t reply and Devon stepped in as though the situation were nothing out of the ordinary. “He’ll be fine with me,” he said with a soft laugh that carried just enough charm to disarm any suspicion. “I’ll get some water, sober him up, then share a cab. No big deal.” He gestured to two men in leather jackets leaning casually against the bar. “Those guys are friends of mine. They can give a hand if I need it.”
Brick hesitated, uncertainty written across his brow as his lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes darted between Ethan and Abbey, who was now tugging impatiently at his arm. “Are we going?” Her glossy lips jutted out in a pout that would’ve been cute if it weren’t so insistent.
“You sure you’re okay with this?” Brick’s tone was cautious, but edged in relief. “I mean, he’s not exactly light work tonight.”
“No trouble at all.” Devon flashed an easy smile, the kind that seemed practiced but effective. “There’s no need for him to cramp your style. Those two look quite the handful.”
His words were friendly enough, but there was something that felt a touch rehearsed. Brick glanced back at the girls, who were giggling at something on Lisa’s phone, their voices high-pitched and tipsy. “Yeah,” he let out a reluctant sigh. “Handful’s one word for it.” He offered Devon a quick half-smile then frowned at Ethan. “Thanks, man,” he said sincerely. “Sorry—I didn’t catch the name?”
“Devon,” Devon replied, extending a hand that was steady and firm.
Brick took it, giving it a brief shake before nodding. “Brick... it was good to meet you. Any friend of Logan’s is five-by with me.”
“Likewise.” Devon gave a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe we’ll catch up sometime, grab drinks with Logan?”
Brick shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck as if unsure how to respond. “Uh... sure. Though this ain’t really our usual spot.” He gestured vaguely toward the bar. “Ethan… he had some flyer—free shots—so here we are.”
“Brick…” Abbey whined, as she tugged harder on his arm, her expression shifting from pouty to exasperated. “Are we going? We’re bored.”
“I’m comin’ now,” Brick replied, his gaze lingering on Ethan for a beat longer. “When he sobers up, tell him to call me.”
Devon clapped Brick on the shoulder with just enough force to feel familiar without overstepping boundaries. “Don’t worry, he’s in expert hands.”
Brick loitered a second before finally letting Abbey and Lisa drag him away. Their laughter quickly lost in the throng of bodies on the dance floor.
Devon turned back to Ethan, who was slumped in his seat, barely conscious. He lifted his chin and tilted his face toward him. “Hey, you okay?”
There was something almost predatory in the curve of Devon’s lips as he leaned in close and pressed them firmly against Ethan’s mouth.
Ethan’s eyes fluttered, but there was no response. He didn’t react, not even a twitch.
“Shit,” Devon muttered as he pulled back, frustration flashing across his face. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as he tried again. “Hey, Ethan… you hear me, brah?”
There was still no response aside from the shallow rise and fall of his chest. “Just fuckin’ great.”
Devon groaned as he drained the last of his beer in one long gulp and slammed the empty bottle onto the table. Fishing his phone from his back pocket, he scrolled through his contacts.
Hitting call, the line connected after only two rings. “Hey…” he spoke with a mix of irritation and urgency. “It’s Devon... Yeah, I know it’s late,” he said sharply before lowering his tone. “But I think you might have a problem.”