Desperate Enemies 3 (15 page)

Then the Porsche's cab was awash with light. A car was coming! Sawyer leaned over Dane's body again, without realizing it, securing Dane's head on his engorged shaft. “Stay down, stay down, stay down,” he growled like a mantra through clenched teeth. Dane relaxed his throat and took the punishing onslaught of Sawyer dick, breathing furiously through his nose.

“OH FUCK! TAKE IT, DANE. TAKE ME. SWALLOW ALL OF ME!”

The car passed without incident as Sawyer passed the point of no return. His hips bucked up into Dane's face, shaking the car.

Dane's cheeks bulged as the load filled his mouth and then was swallowed. He didn't take his mouth away until the dick had gone soft and the tremors of orgasm had receded.

Minutes later, Sawyer eased the sports car out of its hiding spot. After they turned the corner, the dark Cadillac, parked further down the street, sprang to life. This time, it followed far behind with headlights off.

* * * *

The address turned out to be that of a ramshackle two-story house, long since abandoned, not only by its owner but by the neighbors as well. Unkempt lots of overgrown grass bordered the structure on either side, leaving it dark and solitary. The air outside was still.

Carefully, the boys ascended the porch steps and pulled at the rusted knob of the front door. It was unlocked. They stopped just inside, looking into the oily blackness of the room before them.

Then the room brightened, lit from behind them, from outside. A car pulled up, nose in toward the sidewalk rather than parallel to the street. Dane and Sawyer tensed for trouble as they squinted into the halogen luminescence. A figure stepped forward with a smirk that was unmistakable to Dane—Kyle Montana.

“Kyle, you shit!”

“Let's just get this over with and we're done.” The college student walked past the couple, into the gloominess of the house. His lighter flicked once, twice and then stayed lit. “Guys at school sometimes use this place for pledging.” He walked about, lighting candles that were scattered here and there. Soon, the room, clearly a living room, was alight. Kyle turned to Dane. “Let's get this party started.”

“I should kick your ass.”

The redhead lifted his hands. “Just to let you know, I have some friends in the car. Don't cause any shit and there won't be any.”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a memory stick. “Hope you brought your wallets. Here's the first item for sale.”

Neither Dane nor Sawyer needed to ask what was on the device. It was a copy of their sex tape. The one Dane cursed himself for not erasing when Sawyer asked him to.

“How much is it worth to you?”

Dane stepped forward. “Let me ask
you
a question, dickhead. How much is the little gay video you made with me worth?”

Kyle's smile faltered. “I erased it. It's gone.”

“Uh-uh.”

“Don't fuck with me.”

Sawyer shrugged noncommittally, “We're not. Before you took his stuff, Dane, here, emailed your video to his business partner in New York.” Kyle looked from Sawyer to Dane in panic.

“Tell you what,” Dane offered. “You shove that flash drive up your ass or someplace where it'll never be seen again, and we'll make sure your skin flick never sees the light of day.”

This wasn't how Kyle had expected things to go. His heart was beating so hard, it echoed in his ears.

“Your choice, Kyle.”

The kid stood there, frozen. Not sure what to do. Dane tapped Sawyer's shoulder and they turned to leave. “Fine. Have fun explaining the video to your friends and family.”

“Wait!” Kyle looked down at the memory stick.

Then a gruff voice barked out from the shadows, “Oh please, you're not going to fall for that, are you? They're bluffing.”

From the darkness of what might have been the kitchen or the dining room, Danvers Converse stepped forward.

He explained to the three puzzled faces, “Forgive me, but I thought I'd come in the back way; you're familiar with such a concept I assume.” Then he pulled out his billfold. “Tell you what, kid.
I'll
buy that thing from you . . . for, say, one thousand dollars.”

Kyle's eyes widened with greed.

Converse's eyes narrowed at Dane and Sawyer. “That is, unless these boys want to try and outbid me.”

Sawyer silently cursed. Rose Emerson's plan would have worked perfectly; they were up to the acting challenge. But who could have foreseen a second, more powerful writer changing the script? And adding his own twist. Clearly, the car that had been following them earlier had contained Converse.

Kyle Montana held out the flash drive in one outstretched hand and awaited payment with the other. Converse, bald, slightly ruddy in the face, stepped regally forward, counting out ten one-hundred-dollar bills. As the college student's hands closed on the cash, the older man snatched the memory stick. It immediately disappeared in his suit pocket.

“Um, mister, I have their camera equipment and computer in my trunk. I can make you a good deal on that too—”

Converse dismissed Montana with a flick of his hand. “I believe I have everything I came for, thank you.”

“Don't take this personally, Mr. Block.” The silver-haired man approached Sawyer, facing him down. “It's business. And I'm a businessman. You boys were never going to live happily ever after up on that hill. Wonderland is not a fairy tale. And it has no place for fairies like you. But I'm not a heartless prick . . . not if I can help it anyway.” He pulled out a few more bills and pressed them into Sawyer's hand. “Go and have a nice lunch tomorrow, someplace fancy.” He sneered. “It'll be the last time your adoring public will see you before you're. . . well, exposed. As it were.”

That's when Dane stepped forward, just as Dylan had shown him. Always step into a punch, and aim for a spot on the other side of your opponent's head. Dane's fist collided against Converse's nose with a sharp crack. The blow sent the man on his ass.

“You son of a bitch! You broke my dose!”

Dane was inclined to agree, judging from the blood that gushed over Converse's upper lip. He was about to step forward and take back the memory stick when a double-click of metal against metal drew everyone's attention to the archway where Converse had first appeared. A man dressed in a dark sports coat stood there, a pistol in his hand.

Without taking his eyes off of the three boys, the new arrival reached down and helped Converse to his feet. “We have to go, Mr. Converse. Now!”

Converse violently shrugged off his assistant. But before he melted back into the dark, he pointed to Dane. “You'll pay for this. I promise you.”

Kyle Montana decided that this was his cue to leave as well. He didn't get far, though. Sheriff Patterson and two officers from the Wonderland police were already waiting outside. Kyle's friends had already been detained. Danvers had slipped away.

Dane stood with Sawyer in the doorway of the rotted house. Rose was right about one thing—it
does
help to have connections. That evening, the boys returned home with their stolen property and the $1,000 that Kyle had tried to blackmail from them. As Rose's character so eloquently put it in
Cat and Mouse,
“Sometimes, to get the upper hand, you have to do something underhanded.”

* * * *

Paolo laughed and poured himself another glass of wine. “Oh, I wish I could have seen you pop that bastard Converse in the face!”

Dane smiled. “It felt great, I have to admit.” He made a mental note to ask Jack about letting Dylan DeMille run a self defense class at his yoga studio. “Aaron would've been proud of me.”

He walked around the room to collect his thoughts. Here, in Aaron's house, Dane couldn't stop thinking about his brother. On the far wall was a photo of Paolo and Aaron, a vacation shot from Mexico or Aruba. They looked so happy. Dane touched the glass, forming a connection to his lost brother.

“Did you know that Converse and George Saunders were lovers?”

Dane's head whipped around. “What?”

Paolo brought Dane up to speed on the meeting at Jack and Edgar's house. Dane was floored. He always assumed that
Converse
was the focal point of this mess on Eldon Court. But more and more, it seemed like crazy old George was the center of things. Married guy. Beautiful starlet mistress. A vindictive gay lover.

And don't forget. . .

Dane plopped back down on the sofa, across from Paolo. He didn't want to get ahead of himself. “Let me tell you what happened next. Sawyer left early the next day for Los Angeles. The L.A. Fashion Awards were two days ago.”

Upon arriving in the City of Angels, Sawyer retrieved his luggage and grabbed a cab to the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills. The late afternoon traffic in West L.A. was a bitch, leaving Sawyer with nothing to do but worry about Converse.

His clicked on his cell phone and scrolled through his list of contacts, finding “Tyler Wood” almost immediately. Sawyer wanted to congratulate his client on the award he'd receive tomorrow: Designer of the Year. But he also wanted to break the news about that sex video. Better Tyler hear about it from Sawyer himself than. . . well, God,
any
body else. The call went straight to voice mail.

The cab picked up speed as it finally turned off Santa Monica Boulevard onto Doheny Drive. In moments, he arrived. So, too, had the rest of the industry. A phalanx of cabs and town cars were lined up in the circular driveway, each discharging a slew of beautiful people dressed in a calculated laidback style. What Sawyer liked to call classy-trashy.

It took far too long to check in and reach his room. God, he needed a drink. But Sawyer really wasn't in the mood to mingle. He was seriously eyeing the minibar when his cell phone chimed. A text from Dane read, simply, “Call me.”

Much as Sawyer loved Dane's sexy voice, he yearned to
see
his lover. Actually, he wanted much more than that but visual gratification would have to do. He pulled his laptop from his carry-on bag and pressed the power button. He then activated the Skype application to place a video call back home.

“Hey Saws.” Dane's image appeared onscreen. He was wearing a white T-shirt and khaki shorts. A wave of homesickness washed over Sawyer.

“Hey sweetness. You called?” Dane's face couldn't hide the bad news. “Oh no.”

“Yeah. It's all over the Internet.”

The model backed away from the table and blew out a long breath.
Damn you, Converse.
Just then, a sharp rap at his hotel door broke the tension. “Now what?”

Dane offered reassurance. “Sawyer, no matter what—we're in this together.”

“Yeah. . . even on video.”

The knocking became more urgent.

“Hang on, Dane. . .” He opened the door to find a middle-aged man with recently colored hair, expertly styled in a vain attempt to hide his balding pate. His face was also colored in shades of red. Max Melbourne, Sawyer's agent, was fuming.

“I can't believe this!” He huffed into the room. Sawyer closed the door behind him. “I. Just. Can't . . . believe it!” Melbourne spun on his heel and faced Sawyer. His hands rose in mock adulation. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the great Sawyer Block. Handsome. Straight.” The agent laughed derisively.

“Max, I—”

The older man pointed with accusation. “You lied to me, Sawyer. You lied to everyone. And now, you're damaged goods. EVERYbody has seen that tape of you and that, that escort!”

“Escort?”

“Escort, prostitute! Whatever!” Melbourne shrugged off his jacket. “I've got a good mind to drop you from the agency.” He shook his head. “And what is Tyler Wood going to say? If I lose his account, you're going to pay, mister! The only modeling work you'll get is a circular for JC Penny, I'll see to that.”

“But Max—”

“FUCK YOU!” He took a menacing step toward Sawyer. And when that didn't make the model flinch, he swung and slapped him with an open hand. “Fuck you!” For a moment, Melbourne looked almost apologetic. An idea was working in his mind. Then it went to a darker place. “In fact, that's just what I'm going to do.” He began to unbuckle his trousers. “I gave you the best assignments. Made you who you are today.” His pants dropped to the floor.

Sawyer's head was spinning. “I made you
money
! My sexuality has nothing to do with this.”

“It has EVERYTHING to do with it, you dumb fuck! Hot straight guy. That's why I made you
earn
every assignment you got. The harder you fucked me, the better the jobs you got. That's the way it works in this business. The money, well, that was a bonus.”

For services rendered.
Max didn't say it but Sawyer could hear the cold words in his head. He backed against the table, shocked.

“Now you're just another lousy model who works for me. You know what I do to the other guys I represent? I fuck
them
.”

“You fuck them over.”

“No, I just fuck them. And they take it because they want me . . . no, they NEED me to represent them.” He grabbed Sawyer. “Now I'm going to fuck you too.”

“Max, stop!”

They struggled. Sawyer remembered Dylan saying that most fights last less than two minutes, though it seems a lot longer in the heat of the moment. The human body tires out quickly, the human spirit fades if it doesn't sense a clear advantage. Maybe faster if your pants are tying up your ankles, Sawyer hoped. When Melbourne grabbed his star model by the throat, Sawyer efficiently knocked his hands away by sharply raising his arms. That backed the agent up a few steps.

Hey, this MCMAP stuff really works

Max squinted at Sawyer, “Come on, take it like a man. Or you're out. . . so to speak, and I doubt anyone else will represent you now.” He feigned an advance on Sawyer. “Your contract with Tyler Wood is as good as dead. I'm going to offer it to Ray Rhodes.” Ray was Sawyer's stiffest competitor at the Melbourne Agency.

Sensing a thread of defeat in Sawyer, Max Melbourne rushed the model.

Sawyer tried to remember all the things Dylan had taught him. But the most important escaped him—stay calm. As Max pressed forward, Sawyer decided to try that throw he and Dane had been practicing. He stepped forward, toward his aggressor, reaching out to grab the older man's wrist. But just as he had done against Dane, Sawyer planted his foot incorrectly. The maneuver ended in a stalemate. Rather than throwing Max, he ended up face to face with him.