Chapter 3
Nikolas
I’ve lost my mind. This is insane.
But there is something refreshing about not having to hide who I am. Nikolas Stavros has been dead for nearly a decade, and I made my peace with it.
Except that, evidently, I didn’t.
I glance at the young man, who is lightly snoring on the passenger’s seat.
Early to mid-twenties if I had to guess.
His arms are wrapped around his thin torso, and his blond head is propped against the cold window.
He looks like one of those beautiful angels from the icons in my church, fair-skinned and fair-haired and with eyes that bore right into your soul.
It’s only when he smiles in that impish way that you can see him for what he is—a little devil in disguise.
I chuckle quietly to myself. Who is he really? What is his name? Where the hell did he come from?
I maneuver the SUV off the dirt road and onto the asphalt as trees and fields give way to houses and flowering gardens.
My safehouse is on the edge of town, no more than five minutes from here.
My hand clutches the gear stick, but I force down the need to step on the gas.
It would be a dead giveaway if anyone is on the lookout for us, so I need to play it cool the rest of the way.
I need to remain calm and pretend everything is normal and I am just going home at three in the morning.
Somehow, I manage it. After backing into the driveway of the small cream-colored bungalow, I cut the engine and just sit inside the car, observing the young man next to me.
His blond ear-length hair shines under the streetlight, though his face is cast in shadow.
Still, I can make out his delicate features, his small but regal nose, his long eyelashes and full lips.
He could well pass for a model, or an actor, or a singer, or even a professional swindler.
Did he tell me the truth about the stone?
Is he really running from the people who attacked the church, or could it all be some kind of an elaborate con to get me to let my guard down?
But why, after all these years? And how would they know about my soft spot? Why would my enemies attack now? They have no reason to think I am alive. I staged my dramatic death perfectly. And if they didn’t buy it, surely it wouldn’t take them a whole decade to figure out I how I did it.
I squint at the darkness outside as different scenarios play out in my mind, then I study my companion once again. He looks innocent enough, and he’s not a big man either—I can easily deal with him if I need to.
Or was this part of the con? Throw a defenseless young thing my way to trick me into a false sense of superiority?
I look from the man to the house and then back.
Surely, if he was a professional, he wouldn’t let himself just fall asleep in my presence.
It leaves him open and so easy to kill. I replay the chaos from the church attack.
Yes, if this man was a professional, he’d know how to handle a gun, and he most definitely wouldn’t just stand there in the middle of a gunfight, asking to be shot. Right?
But still… No. No. He’s not some assassin on a mission to murder me. This has to be my paranoia overreacting. Not everyone who gets close to me is out to get me, just most, but especially not young pretty boys offering blowjobs to priests.
“Are you gonna sit there and stare at me or are we going inside? I kind of really need to pee,” the man says, a slow smile stretching his lower face before he opens his blue eyes.
My stomach does a somersault. I’ve never been caught in the act so blatantly before. “We’ll go inside.” I push open my door. Then I pause with one leg out of the vehicle as I observe the man fumbling to undo his seatbelt. Yeah, there’s no way he’s been sent to eliminate me. “What’s your name?”
Those blues shift to me, tired but lively. “Thomas Hale. But everyone calls me Tommy.” Tommy offers his hand. “Nice to meet you, Nikolas, and thanks again for agreeing to help me. It means the world to me, for real. Also, the blowjob offer still stands, if you are interested.”
I roll my eyes as he winks suggestively, fighting off a chuckle.
It still feels strange to be called by my real name, but there is a charm to it.
A recognition of who I am without a hint of envy or fear.
I am a stranger to Tommy, and even though he seems to know of me, there is no judgement being passed, no pre-determined opinion being shoved in my face.
Or, alternatively, Tommy simply doesn’t care about my past, which is both commendable and concerning. Then again, a little insanity never hurt anybody, right?
Feeling a twinge of heat in my cheeks, I nod and exit the SUV.
I contemplate getting the door for Tommy, but think better of it and instead jog the short way to the bungalow’s patio.
The key sits under the blooming cactus pot as usual, and just like the last time I was here to restock the old cupboards and fridge, the front door creaks like a dying seal when I open it.
Inside, the air sits stale and dusty. With the curtains closed, the only light comes in through the open door, a streak of bright orange that gives the whole interior an ominous finish, like something straight out of a horror movie.
“This is… Wow, truly, but do you mind showing me the bathroom?” Tommy says as he flicks the light switch on. He places the bag from the church on the small table in front of the old leather couch and crosses his arms.
“First door on the right, just past the washing machine and dryer.” I point in the direction of the narrow hallway.
Once I’m alone, I grab the bag and open it. Inside it are money and a fake passport, some gold jewelry, a burner phone and a number. When I wrote it down, I did so with the intention of never calling it, but as it turns out, life has other plans.
Retrieving the old piece of paper, I sit on the couch. I always keep the burner phone charged, so after inserting the sim card, it turns on with no issue. All that is left is to dial the number.
“Hey, you mind if I take a shower? We got time for that?” Tommy shouts from the bathroom. “And do you happen to have some spare clothes that might fit me? Mine got all torn up.”
When I shift my attention to the hallway, steam is billowing out from the propped-open door of the bathroom. I shake my head, a smile teasing my lips. What’s the point of asking if we have time when the shower is already running?
“Go for it,” I say, studying my ripped silk robe. I almost tripped to death multiple times during our escape, and the poor thing shows it. Not to mention all the damage it took from the destruction of my church. I could use a change of clothes as well. “I’ll see if I can find you something.”
Leaving that phone call for later, I trudge over to the master bedroom.
It smells like dust and detergent. The curtains are drawn and the floorboards creak as I walk into the small bathroom that comes with the room.
I glare at my reflection in the mirror over the sink.
I look like a mess, just like Tommy. There is soot and mud in my hair, on my face, all over my robe.
One sleeve is hanging on for dear life by a few threads, and a giant hole has opened on the side, all the way down from my flank where I can see dried blood.
Right, this won’t do. I need to get myself back in order because there is no telling when we might get another chance to shower.
I quickly wash myself and dress in a pair of dark cargo pants and a black shirt before Tommy even finishes whatever song he is singing in the shower.
Or trying to sing. He’s kind of tone-deaf.
Humming the rhythm under my nose, I rummage inside the wardrobe until I find a white shirt and a pair of jeans that seem like they might almost be a fit.
After placing the clothes on top of the washing machine, I return to the living room.
The burner phone sits on the table where I left it, taunting me. I stare it down as if doing so will make it disintegrate along with my problems.
“Ah, fuck it.”
I make the call, then destroy the phone.
My brief conversation, which was mostly one-sided, went as surgically as I expected it would, no questions asked.
That part is for later, and I most certainly am not looking forward to it.
But, well, no point worrying about such things just yet—for now, I have a destination.
“They are a bit big on me, but they’ll do for now,” Tommy says, padding into the room. His cheeks are a bit rosy from the hot shower, and the slightly oversized clothes make him look even smaller. “But, uh, maybe we can stop somewhere on the way south, so I can grab some things?”
My old pants and shirt look annoyingly cute on the man.
In a ‘he’s wearing my clothes, so he belongs to me’ way that my lizard brain finds extremely hard to ignore.
Shit, I really don’t need that kind of headache right now.
But… I bite the inside of my mouth. I haven’t given into carnal pleasures for a very very long time, and now I am stuck with this pretty little devil, who already offered me a blowjob as a thank you.
With a heavy sigh, I stand and get us some food from the cupboard by the window, tossing it inside the bag. God help me. This will be a very long drive if I can’t get my sexual frustration under control.
“We’ll see. We’re already risking a lot by lingering here. It’s only a matter of time before they find this place. Catch.” I toss a packet of corn chips to Tommy. “You can eat in the car. Let’s go.”
Tommy fumbles to catch the packet, wincing as he sways and his left arm scrapes the rough wall.
“You alright?” I lift an eyebrow.
“I…” He clutches his elbow and tries to flash me a grin, but it comes out as a half-frown. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s nothing.”
It sure as hell doesn’t look like nothing. I snatch the bag with our stuff from the small table and throw it to Tommy.
“Shit! The fuck man?” Tommy struggles to catch it, but somehow manages. His eyebrows bunch together and he presses his lips into a tight line as if he’s in pain, but more importantly, there is now a wet spot of blood on his left elbow.
The smartass is hurt, isn’t he? Why the hell is he trying to hide it?
I fish out the first-aid kit from the cupboard under the sink. “You are hurt. Show me.”
“It’s nothing, really. Let’s go. You said it’s not safe here.”
It’s not, but I also can’t risk dealing with an infection later. Who knows how bad the injury is?
“Sit down and show me.” I gesture toward the couch.
“I’m fine, seriously.”
I click my tongue, getting annoyed now, and level him with a hard look. “You agreed to do as I say. Stop protesting and let me treat it now so it doesn’t become a problem later. I’d hate to have to chop off your arm because you were careless.”
Tommy’s blue eyes go wide. They match the color of the sky on a sunny, cloudless day, and they make me crave the warm sunshine on my skin.
For a moment, I’m transported back into the past, to a time when I was proud and cocky.
I am sipping ouzo in the rose garden on the hill, watching the ships and boats sway in the turquoise Mediterranean Sea as salty air kisses my cheeks.
This is one of the last peaceful moments of my prior life, a reprieve I didn’t dare remember all these years.
“No way. You are joking,” Tommy huffs out, hugging himself as a shadow of doubt worms its way into his features. “Right?”
“I am not.” I sit on the couch and pat the space next to me. Then I pull out the disinfectant and some bandages from the first-aid kit. “Now let me have a look.”
Begrudgingly, Tommy sits down and takes off the shirt, removing the piece of cloth he’s wrapped around his elbow. A nasty cut runs through it, bleeding profusely. It doesn’t look too deep, but not treating it properly can still cause all kinds of complications.
“I’m gonna count to three. This is gonna sting a bit,” I explain, dousing the wound immediately.
“Jesus Christ!” Tommy shoots up, groaning in pain. “You said you’d count to three! What the fuck? This burns like a motherfucker!”
“I lied.” I wrinkle my nose. Wetting some cotton with more disinfectant, I grab Tommy’s wrist and pull him back down to the couch. “Press this to the wound.”
As he complies, I get the bandages ready. Once I’ve wrapped them around the cut and secured them in place, Tommy puts his shirt back on.
“Um, this is ruined. Sorry… And thanks for treating my cut.” He lifts his arm to inspect the dried blood. It has trickled further down the fabric, making it impossible to conceal.
That won’t do. I toss the car keys to Tommy. “Get the car running. I’ll be a moment.”
“O-okay.”
I swing by the bedroom once more. All I find is a black hoodie, but it’s better than walking around in a bloodied shirt even if it means dying from the heat. Once we change cars and pass the border, we can probably get Tommy some clothes that fit him.
“Here, put this on. It will be a bit hot, but at least it won’t look like you murdered somebody.” I settle in the driver’s seat. The car is on, just like I instructed.
Tommy grins and takes off the shirt. “Except that I was the one who almost got offed.”
I freeze, unable to take my eyes off the expanse of pale skin that reveals itself to me.
It looks so silky and smooth, so fucking inviting.
I saw him naked earlier, and I was fine then, but here, in the confined space of the car where I can smell him in the air and sense his nervousness through the pores of my skin, it’s impossible to ignore it.
This urge in me to reach out and caress him, to drag my fingers across his stomach, his ribs, his chest, to feel the tiny shivers I am confident my touch would elicit.
“You…” I clear my throat, my head spinning as I berate myself for the way my voice came out all scratchy. Fuck. I really need to get myself under control before it slips completely out of my hands. “You should try to get some sleep.”
As if on cue, Tommy yawns. “Yeah. I think that’s a good idea. Wake me up when we are there or, you know, if we need to run or something.”
He gets comfortable after he buckles his seatbelt, leaning against the door and closing his eyes.
His long lashes fan out across his cheeks, and he looks even more like a doll, beautiful in an ethereal kind of way and peaceful, as if the world won’t crash down on us if we took just one tiny wrong step.