My Lord's Judgment (3 page)

“I think I have some shorts that’ll fit you.
They’re the stretchy basketball kind, and they might be tight, but
maybe they’ll be okay for now.” They weren’t actually his. He’d
swiped them from his foster brother. They were huge on him, but
comfortable as hell, and he was only able to keep them on by tying
the string as tight as he could.

Samael smiled his thanks, and Bran froze.
Damn, but the man was gorgeous.

“Umm… thank you?” That didn’t sound like he
was thanking him for clothes. Oh, hell! He said that out loud? He
felt the heat take over his face and knew he was probably the shade
of a ripe tomato.

“Sorry. I…um…”

“No, don’t worry about it.” The man smiled
again, and Bran could swear his knees went weak.

“So, umm… let me get you those shorts.” He
had to get out of there, before he embarrassed himself further. He
went to his bedroom and called out from the door, “Would you like a
shower?”

“Oh, yes, please. That would be
fantastic!”

Oh Francis Ford Crapola, he was getting hard
thinking about the hottie in his shower, all steamy and wet and….
He groaned. He needed to put the brakes on that train of thought,
immediately. He breathed in a few times and tried to think un-sexy
thoughts. Finally, he grabbed the shorts, stopped by the closet to
get a clean towel, and headed back to the main room. Samael was
standing where he left him, looking around.

Brandon practically shoved the stuff at him.
“Here you go, bathroom’s there.” He pointed to the door next to his
bedroom. The guilty look on the big man’s face, made him feel bad.
Bran didn’t want him to think he wasn’t welcome, even if that was
somewhat true.

He tried to smile and knew it fell flat.
“Sorry, rough night. Make yourself at home.”

“Thanks.” Samael nodded, walked to the
bathroom and shut the door behind him.

Brandon closed his eyes for a minute. Okay.
What to do first? Ah, yes. Call DJ Fidiot. He pulled his phone out
of his back pocket, and dialed while walking. It was ringing by the
time he flung himself on the couch. One. Two.
The asshole better
pick up, dammit
. Three.

“Bran, baby… whatuaaaaahh!”

Bran rolled his eyes. Of course, Chris was
drunk. What else was new?

“Guess who I saw tonight?”

“Who, baby? Tell meee?” God, the douche was
so trashed he was practically singing all of his words; and Bran
could hear lots of party noises in the background, so obviously the
night wasn’t nearly over.

“Stop calling me baby,” he snapped, losing
his temper. “Carlos, Chris. I saw Carlos, and two more of Master
C’s goons. No, let me rephrase that, I saw their fists and guns.”
Brandon growled out.

“Awe, that’ssss too b—oooo ….” The voice was
still talking, but not to him. He was telling someone to come
closer, and there was high-pitched giggling. Huh, a woman tonight,
then.

“Chris!” Bran yelled into the phone. “Chris?
Don’t you get it? You’re going to get me killed!”

Dial tone.
The asshole hung up on him!
He yelled out and almost threw the phone, until he realized that he
would need it, so he grabbed the pillow next to him and chucked it
instead. “Fuckin’ Asshole!”

“Are you alright?” Brandon looked up to see
Samael come out of the bathroom, still partially wet, wearing only
the black shorts. And they
were
slightly tight, enough so
that he caught more than a glimpse of what lay underneath. Samael's
hair was combed back, still dripping. Bran finally got a good look
at his face, until a drop of water caught his attention. It was all
downhill after that, literally. The water droplet skirted around a
strong peck, before bumping over and down the eight pack and
disappearing into the low-riding shorts. He thought that maybe he
was drooling. Knew for sure he was staring, but couldn’t help
himself. Samael was a wet dream come to life.

The sex god cleared his throat, which brought
Bran’s gaze back up to indigo eyes, sparkling with humor. His lips
twitched and he repeated, “Are you alright?”

“Huh?” Brandon looked at the phone still in
his hand. “Oh, yeah, I mean… no. I don’t know.”

He buried his face in his hands, trying to
think of what to do next. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to
get the money from Chris. Twenty-four hours was not a lot of time,
and twenty thousand dollars wasn’t chump change. Who could he call?
No one he knew had that kind of money lying around, and they
wouldn’t give it to him if they did. Shit!

Bran felt a hand land on his shoulder, and
peered over to see his guest seated beside him on the couch, face
full of concern. “What’s going on?”

He put his head back down again. He didn’t
even know this guy, and didn’t really want his business out in the
open. But honestly, what could it hurt? He would be dead soon if he
didn’t deal with it. Maybe Sammy boy could help him figure out how
to fix his little problem. Two heads were better than one after
all.

Sighing, he sat up and turned toward his new
friend. “I’m in crazy-big trouble, and I don’t know what to
do.”

The man grunted, “Sounds familiar. What kind
of trouble are you in?”

“The guy I was dating got busted with drugs,
and was charged for possession with intent to sell. The dude,
Chris, called me to bail him out of jail, promising me that he
would pay me back, but I didn’t have that kind of money, man. It
was insane.” Bran ran his hand through his hair, and then flicked
his neck so the bangs covered one of his eyes again. “So, he told
me to call the man he got the drugs from, said he would loan me the
cash.” He could hear the bitterness in his voice, loud and clear.
“Convinced me that he had it and would pay it back no problem. And
I believed him.”

“I am assuming he lied?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he did. I had a week to pay it
back. The second day Chris was out, I went to get the money. Found
him in bed with two groupies. Not one, but two. So, he double
cheated on me, I guess.” Bran shrugged and loosed a
self-depreciating chuckle. “When I looked surprised, Chris laughed
in my face. He asked if I actually thought he was faithful, then
cringed and said that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever
heard.”

Brandon could still hear him in his mind.
“Me? Come on, Bro? With all the fine ass I get thrown my way, I
am supposed to… what? Give it up? For you?

“When I asked him to pay me back, he laughed
again and practically threw me out. I haven’t been able to get it
from him, and don’t think I will.”

Brandon flinched at the light touch of
fingers on his bruised cheek. “I am assuming that the man you
borrowed the money from, came to collect and did not leave it with
just humiliation. He gave you this?”

“They. There was three of ‘em.” He observed
his guest, and watched as anger, severe fury, spread across Sam’s
features. He backed away as Sam jumped up, like the couch had burst
into flames under his ass.

“Cowards! Gutless, spineless cowards!” Samael
was pacing the floor in front of him, fists clenched, jaw muscles
pulsing. “You are no warrior that you could take on three men.”

Ummm, what?

“You know what? Don’t worry about it. I’ll
figure somethi….”

“No!” The big man interrupted. “You’re a good
man. You don’t deserve this. You’re a helper. Backing that scum you
called ‘boyfriend’, aiding me, a stranger you knew nothing of.”
Samael’s hands were now flinging around in agitation as he spoke,
making Bran more and more nervous. Before he knew it, he was
huddled in on himself in the corner of the couch, cowering.

“Those who help others in need, without any
gain for themselves, are more precious than gold. They are as rare
as a pure, flawless diamond.” He turned to Bran as he said this,
and as Brandon watched, the anger left and his shoulders
slumped.

Shit! Samael had scared his rescuer. He had
not meant to, he was just so angry! Angry at his exile, furious
about Brandon’s situation; frustrated that just because you were
good, loyal, and true, did not mean that you received your due. It
didn’t protect you from being wronged, from getting the short end
of the stick. Life happened, no matter who you were. It had its ups
and downs, and sometimes even went sideways. All you could do was
hang on for the ride and try not to crap your pants. Keep holding
on, be yourself, and not let it take your pride away. Not let it
change you.

Everything he said to Brandon was true. The
man was special, and he deserved way more than what he’d been
given. Now, Sam was adding to his distress. He was such an oaf!

Cautiously, as if approaching a spooked
horse, he walked up to the human and sat down on the couch. “I’m
sorry. I did not mean to frighten you.”

As Samael reached his hand over, Brandon
jumped before he'd even touched him. “You have no need to fear me.
I would never harm you,” he said softly. “I know you don’t know me,
but I am loyal to those that deserve it. You have earned that and
more by assisting me, when you could have left me to rot.”

Brandon searched his features for long
moments, saying nothing, before finally taking a deep breath and
relaxing some. This time when he touched the man’s forearm, there
was no flinch. “I want only to help you, as you did me. I don’t
have much to give - no money, nor belongings, but I do have my
body, and I will protect you and assist as much as I can.”

Bran’s hair was in his eyes again, hiding
him, even as he nodded his acceptance. “Okay, thanks,” he said with
a shy smile, and Samael’s chest felt lighter.

“What was your plan?”

“Oh, ummm…. I don’t know.” Brandon’s voice
was small and he looked at the floor. “I have twenty-four hours to
come up with the money, or …” He swallowed hard.

“Or what?” Samael knew, his gut told him that
it was bad, but he wanted the words.

“Or… I die.”

Sam took in a gulping breath. Yeah, that’s
what he had thought, but to hear it aloud had done something in him
unexpected. His heart sped up, and he felt sick. A world without
Brandon in it, felt wrong somehow.

“No. I will
not
let you die.” The
words were out of his mouth before he knew what he was going to
say, but they were exactly right. He would not allow anything to
happen to this extraordinary man, who was so full of life and
heart. Brandon was different, unique; and Samael didn’t know why,
but he was drawn to him, like a moth to the flame. He just hoped he
didn’t become engulfed and turned to ash in the process.

“How are you going to stop it? These guys are
no joke.”

Samael grinned wickedly. “Nor am I. Tomorrow,
we shall go and visit this man you were dating, and see if we
cannot talk some sense into him.” His smile faded, as he became
uncomfortable. “I will need some clothes, and a few supplies. Could
you…I mean, would you mind…” He couldn’t continue. He’d never asked
for necessities before in his long life, and now he was beholden to
this human. It was a very humbling experience, to say the
least.

“Yeah, sure. I can take care of that for
you—get you a few things. If you are going to help me, I will owe
you huge. So, no problem.” Brandon had hope in his eyes, and that
combined with his kindness, caused Samael’s throat to swell.

“Right.” He smacked his hands on his thighs
and stood. “Well, let us get some sleep, so that we will have our
strength for tomorrow.”

“Oh…umm …yeah.” Brandon looked down, flipped
his hair into his face, and got up. “Why don’t you take my bed, in
there?” He pointed at the door next to the bathroom. “I’ll take the
couch; cause there is no way you’re gonna fit on this thing.” The
man was grinning and that sparkle was back. Samael inspected the
small piece of furniture he’d been sitting on. No. Bent in half, he
still would not be able to lay on it.

He glanced back at his rescuer. “Thank you.
For everything.”

Brandon blushed and his ears turned almost
purple. And there was that hair flick again, hiding the man from
his gaze. So endearing. “You’re welcome.”

Samael moved to his assigned room, and opened
the door. It was well lived in. The bed rumpled, a pair of black
jeans and matching shirt thrown over the footboard, random things
spewed across the dresser top. There were a few posters on the
walls. An alarm clock and empty glass on one of the bedside tables,
along with a bottle of some clear fluid that he did not recognize.
Brandon came in behind him, flushing; he snatched the bottle, and
pushed it into a drawer as quickly as possible.

“Sorry. It’s a bit messy in here.” The man
was looking everywhere, but at him.

Hmmm. Wonder what that was about?
“It’s fine.”

“Okay, lemme just grab a pillow and sheet,
and I’ll be out of your way.” Brandon, loaded the items into his
arms and headed back to the living room with a soft, “Nite.”

As the door closed behind him, Samael just
stared at it. “Good night, Little Raven.”

Brandon had
a difficult time falling to sleep; he stayed in a semi-doze world,
where his mind could still twist and turn over the problems that he
needed solutions for. He couldn’t seem to turn down the noise
enough to drift off. Finally, after hours of torture, he slept,
only to dream a crazy mix of reality and fantasy. Sex with DJ
Jammin’ who turned into Samael, only for them to be interrupted by
Carlos and his goons, who then transformed into …angels?

He startled awake to a noise that couldn’t be
placed in the dream, and sat up drenched in sweat.
What the
fuck?!
Removing the sheet, and swinging his legs until his feet
touched the floor, he glanced around the room trying to remember
where he was.
Couch. Company. Right.
He scrubbed his face
with both hands, pushing back his hair; then jumped when a shout
came from his bedroom, startling him. Bran stilled and listened
hard, hearing the bed springs squeak and rustling noise, followed
by a loud “No.”