Chapter 2 EZRA
Jacques was the last person I wanted to see right now.
I wanted closure, obviously, but I also didn’t need him to be here, telling me everything was going to be good, building a fantasy with me, and then leaving after all that comfort and care just to abandon me for ten days.
All I needed now was my childhood teddy, Mr. Thimble, and a good glass of wine.
It had all happened intensely. My therapist, Dr. Ramirez had told me there was a lot of need in my life, especially where there was a need to fit in, to find a place and a community.
It was always something I’d struggled with.
I wasn’t Korean enough for the Asian kids, and I wasn’t white enough for the country club my father had forced me to go to with him.
I’d once been asked to clean a table, thinking I was there to work.
I never fit in, I never found my place. So when a guy like Jacques walked right into my life, all that roughness to him, and told me I was his little kitten and I didn’t have to worry about anything ever again . . .
I was stuck in that waiting zone when Jacques finally showed up at the door, a box of chocolates and a bouquet of flowers in hand. “I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered.
My arms folded over, and I held them intensely in place. I had to stay strong. “Do what?”
“Apologize,” he said, looking around like the doorbell camera from next door was going to catch this amazing, magnificent apology he was about to give.
I looked him up and down, all six foot four of him. Fuck, that was apology enough, right? Him showing up when he could’ve just walked down any street and found someone else. My standards were on the floor, and he was about to walk all over them. “Come in,” I grumbled.
“Thank you,” he said, leaning in as I dodged his kiss. “Come on, kitten. I think we’ve both had a pretty awful go of things the last two weeks, but I’m here.”
Closing the door behind him, I briefly closed my eyes and inhaled the musk he travelled with, mixed in with the red roses. “What happened to you?” I asked. “Like, no bullshit. What happened?”
“I know you’re mad,” he said, smiling at me. “But I can explain, and I’ve always been honest with you.”
“Yeah, honest,” I mumbled under my breath.
He took me into the kitchen, leading the way like he’d been here . . . twice before. “I think these things need water,” he said. “And I promise you, I’ve never told a lie.”
Leaning against the doorframe as he grabbed a large pint glass and filled it with water for the flowers, I shook my head. “One of the first things you told me was that you killed people.” I let out a laugh. “That’s not true.”
“It is,” he said, straight-faced. “It’s not like, everyone. I get paid to take people out. Usually heads of rival gangs, but sometimes businessmen. It’s really just whoever pays the most.”
“Shut up.” It was all I could muster. “You’re fucking with me.”
“Kitten,” he said, his face so soft when I knew just how punchable it could look—from the bruises and how many times his nose had been reset.
“Don’t swear. Come on. I get that you’re mad, and I get that you think I was ghosting you, but I’d never.
I—I really was in a hospital. It’s a—a secret one.
” His voice turned quieter, and he looked around like someone was listening.
Jacques told me from the start he was honest, completely honest, and he’d never lie to me . . . but I thought he’d been crossing his fingers at the time because nobody can live without lying occasionally. “I need you to just tell me everything,” I said.
“Let’s go to your bedroom,” he said. “Play some music.”
* * *
It was so out there that it had to be true, or at least contain some form of the truth, and I could see the trace outline of where rashes had been leaching at the ink pigment from his tattoos, and inspecting further, where cannulas had been.
My mind felt like it was going to explode with all the new information, and during it all he held me, cradled my head to his chest and stroked his fingers through my hair, like he’d been telling me a bedtime story.
“I feel free,” he whispered.
“Are you not allowed to talk about Sanc—” I began as he placed a finger to my lips and shook his head.
Fleetwood Mac continued to play through the TV speakers, but it made sense for him to be worried—albeit paranoid.
And I knew there was some cross over with certain psychoses, but I had no choice but to believe him—he had been gone for ten days.
If he’d just been wondering around playing pretend assassins through some induced psychotic episode, I might’ve expected even a butt dial from him.
“I don’t know if I was followed,” he whispered in my ear. “In all honesty, I was worried someone had found you and your connection to me, and it had put you in danger.”
I shook my head, rubbing it against the side of his face for a moment. “You don’t have to worry about me,” I told him. “I have someone on my side already.”
“You do?” he asked, brows coming together intensely. “Who?”
“I can’t say right now, but I will soon. I promise.”
He let out the gentlest of laughs. “I told you everything,” he whispered. “You mean to tell me you can’t let me in now?” His face hardened in a way that worried me, my belly turning slightly. “Nobody can protect you the way I can.”
“I can tell you, but it’s—”
“Just tell me.”
“The FBI.”
He laughed harder now, his entire chest vibrating and rocking me.
“Oh, kitten, I can protect you better than them,” he said.
“I’m guessing this has something to do with all those boxes you had in here?
” He tilted his head. I hadn’t really accounted for how perceptive he was, I was just letting him use my body as a playground—and I was using his as an amusement park.
“It’s more than that,” I told him. “And I was going to tell you, if you’d picked up your damn phone.”
“Language, kitten.” He used it to disarm me. Saying it so often reminded me of the fun we had in this room, this apartment, during those long-extended dates.
“Sorry,” I said, resting my head against his chest again.
“There’s something going on at the company I work at.
You know, the whole NDA stuff, big pharma, yadda yadda.
Anyway, I found something, a whole lot of something, and—” My throat tightened, recalling the box with the papers in.
“You gotta promise this stays between us.”
He stared at me. It was an obvious answer, I knew that. I was being silly asking him. “I told you everything,” he said. “And if you don’t want to say anything, I’ll respect that. I just needed to know who you thought could protect you better than me.”
I wrapped an arm around his waist. I knew he could.
All those muscles had to have a use. Even though they were covered with tattoos, I’d found exit and entry wounds from bullets, alongside knife wounds—the silvery marks of healing they produced were often a different texture.
“The drugs the company is making are killing people,” I told him. “All of them.”
“All of them?”
“Yeah, and it’s why I tried calling. I had all these crazy thoughts and conspiracies about you,” I said, snorting back laughter now that I knew it wasn’t true—at least, I hoped not.
My belief in this underground place was still rocky.
“Part of me thought you worked for the company, that you were getting close to me to see what I knew. Then part of me thought you were just a dick, sorry, and just wanted to use me for sex.”
He stroked my head a little more. “I can’t say I’d never do that, because I’ve definitely used people for intimacy,” he whispered, tugging the zipper of his hoodie down.
He wasn’t wearing a T-shirt, and his skin looked like its own graphic T-shirt.
I laid my cheek to his skin now and listened to his heartbeat.
“Since we’re being honest, I was in the tree outside your apartment.
I fell into the poison leaves. Sumac. I think I was in some type of intensive care. ”
“What?” I yanked my head away.
“I wasn’t exactly stalking or anything, I was just—you didn’t text me back, and now I know you were in Nevada. But—” He paused, his body vibrating slightly.
“Jacques?” I patted a hand on his chest. “Jacques?”
He seized and spasmed, foam coming out of his mouth.
A summer internship at a care home and first aid training taught me what I had to do.
Springing into action, I cushioned his head, laid him on his side, and the next step was to call 911.
I froze. I didn’t know if that’s something he’d want me to do.
I tried asking him, and it was stupid, I shouldn’t have even tried.
I did some breathing exercises, holding his body on his side—he was a lot of mass to keep propped up.
It ended moments later. He came through it all groggy and stiff. “What—” he started, sucking on his teeth. “What the fuck happened?”
I lay beside him, staring at him, cupping his face with one hand and holding him on his side with the other—not like I was doing much with that one hand. He could’ve turned over away from me and my weak hands would’ve given way. “You had a seizure,” I told him.
He laughed. “No, I’ve never had a seizure before.” Attempting to lift his head, he dropped it back against the double pillows. “Fucking hell.”
“Language,” I mumbled, hoping to lighten the mood.
He smiled. “I don’t know,” he said. “I know we were talking about how I’m here for you, but I don’t really know what happened after that.” He shook his head then complained about it aching.
“You told me you’d climbed my tree,” I said softly, smiling into his face. “I—I was so worried about you.”
“Did you call anyone?”
“No, no, no, I—I didn’t want to get into all of that,” I said. “Your life is probably way more valuable than some random A&E would care.”
He smirked. “It’s not,” he said. “Unless you think it’s valuable.” He winked at me then groaned, as if working his eye muscles hurt.
Stroking his face and scratching my palm against his scruffy facial hair, I stared into his aqua-green eyes. The whites were pink and glossy. “I do think it’s valuable, but according to you and that fancy place you said healed you up all nice, I didn’t think a 911 call would’ve been right.”
“You did the right thing,” he said. “I just—I’ve—”
“It’s okay, baby,” I said, seeing him struggle a little, chewing on his tongue for the right word. “Let me get you some water, and I can make you something to eat or I can order in. I burn water quite regularly. My mom gave me her rice cooker and I burned the metal pan inside.”
I’d never directly dealt with someone who’d had a seizure, but it wasn’t something I didn’t know how to take care of.
And of all the people for me to take care of, it was this giant of a man who’d stretched me out in so many positions I’d thought I was back on the gym team at high school, stretching my legs out on the floor.
“You can stay the night now,” I joked.
“I think I should,” he said. “Doesn’t this prove just how much I care?
I came right to you after waking up. I probably should’ve eaten and hydrated.
” He shook his head, and for a moment I thought he was going to seize again.
I placed a hand on his cheek. “I’m actually pissed.
I told the docs I didn’t want drugs, and I definitely didn’t want to be sedated. ”
As I lay there, staring into his eyes, I had so many questions for him, and the last thing I wanted to do was take advantage of him in this state.
“I’m glad you got better, and I hope you’re still getting better.
” I continued with my fingers, tiptoeing across his face and down to his hairy chin.
It was so prickly. “There’s this great place that does wonton soup. I could devour one of those.”
“Sounds good,” he said, brushing a hand down the side of his sweatpants. He grabbed his phone from his pocket. “I need to—”
I took it from him. “Bright screens might induce another seizure,” I said.
“It’s probably nothing,” he said.
“What drugs were you given?” My mouth became dry at the question.
He shook his head. “It’s not your fault.”
“It was from Nexovex, wasn’t it?”
“It’s not your fault,” he repeated.
He’d seen the files when I’d invited him over. He knew what I’d been doing. I pushed away slightly, almost falling off the side of the bed. “I’m trying to put this all together,” I grumbled. “Give me one second, please.”
He groaned as he sat upright, his dizzy head like a ball rolling on his shoulders, and he stared right at me. “It’s not what you think,” he said. “I just knew there was something fucked up about the company you work for.”
“B—b—before or after you came over?”
“After,” he said, clenching the side of his ribs.
And with all his skin on display, my eyes were rightly all over the place, trying to find somewhere to focus.
“You know it was after I came here, I saw the documents, I saw some of the stuff you’d underlined, and your notes.
It makes sense now, with what you told me about going to the FBI. ”
“But if you know, who else knows?”
“Nobody,” he growled. “I’m a vault. Especially when it comes to you.”
I shook my head. This was all far too intense, far too quickly.
There had to be another game, and there had to be something else going on.
Men like him didn’t fall for guys like me.
I pushed myself to stand from the side of the bed, leaving him there, his head cowering like he was now the one being submissive—but I wasn’t buying it.
I ran off with his phone in my hand, and his heavy-footed stomps followed after me.
“Ezra,” his rough voice came, followed by the stomps becoming louder. “Ezra. What are you doing?”
With the way the apartment was laid out, there weren’t many places to hide. I needed to hide. Jacques wasn’t who he’d said he was. He knew about me, about my research, and he’d even confessed to stalking me. I should’ve left the apartment. I could’ve left, but I didn’t.