Shattered (4 page)

Chapter Six

“Embracing Fate”

Kaplan dropped on his back on the huge, soft bed. His fingers trembling, Abel plucked loose the buttons of the man's shirt, tugging the front open as his mouth touched down on his chest, teeth grabbing a stiff nipple, causing the man gasp and arch, then groan deep.

“Oh my god.” Kaplan's breath burst out ragged. He grabbed Abel's head and kissed his hair as the boy's mouth devoured his chest, his warm, wet tongue tracing a path down the center of Kaplan's rippled stomach. The man tensed fiercely when Abel tugged open his pants then slid off the bed, dragging Kaplan's pants and briefs with him, discarding them.

The man's eyes were on him as he slowly removed his clothes. There was no music, but he didn't need music to master the role of seducer. His clothes gone, Abel crawled back onto the plush white satin comforter and pushed open Kaplan's legs. His chest rose and fell with his quick breath, eyes eager, yet almost fearful that Abel might stop at any moment. But he wouldn't stop. There were no reasons left for him to resist what had become his fate. Kaplan was taking care of him far beyond the confines of their contract. Maybe this was as close to being loved as he would ever get.

“Shit.” Kaplan moaned as Abel's soft, skillful hands took hold of his cock and moved up and down the shaft. His hips raised up a little and he began to push through Abel's fists. “Oh god...you have the hands of an angel.” His fingers gouged the slick, soft comforter, then gripped fistfuls of the fabric, panting harder. Though he had the right to command Abel to do as he pleased, he let the boy move at his own pace.

Abel leaned close and blew softly up along the underside of the man's cock then dragged his tongue over the head, tasting his seeping juices. The man jerked at the feel of his tongue and gripped the comforter with more desperation, hips lifting eagerly, urgently. Abel teased him a little more, licking up and down his cock before taking it in his warm, wet mouth.

“Oh fuck!” Kaplan gasped hard, arching, head shoving back into the thick pillows. “Fuck, baby! Yes!”

When the sudden image of him and Devlin in the VIP room tried to push in, Abel shoved it away quick and with malice. Stay out of my head, dammit! He kept his eyes open and looking up at Kaplan, staying in the here and now. He didn't want to go anywhere else. Not ever again.

Fingers slid into his hair, stroking gently as Abel sucked the man – not because he was obligated, but because he wanted to. His hands rubbed over Kaplan's hips then caressed down under him, massaging his ass cheeks. He pushed his mouth further down on the man's cock, working him with more urgency.

“Oh my god!” Kaplan choked on a gasp and gripped his head. “Oh god, Abel! Yes, baby! Fuck!”

Sucking up his shaft slowly and with force, dragging a deep, powerful groan from the man, Abel pulled off him then crawled up, turned around and straddled him in the reverse position. Kaplan grabbed his hard, wet cock and guided it to Abel's tight entrance. “Fuck.” Abel gasped and clutched the man's knees as his thick, solid member squeezed inside him. “Uuhh!”

“Fuck!” Kaplan yelled, gouging Abel's hips as he drew the boy down onto him, shoving himself upward at the same time. “Oh my god! Abel...baby, you have the sweetest ass in creation.”

Abel held onto Kaplan's thighs and began to move his hips in slow circles, working the man's cock deep inside him, helping him seek out his sweet spot. A sharp gasp burst from him when it was discovered and he stroked with more fervor, rocking back and forth, rolling his hips smoothly, almost fluidly.

“Oh fuck yes...” Kaplan shuddered, his strong hands holding Abel's hips, guiding them, thumbs rubbing down over the upper swell of his ass cheeks. “Oh god, baby, there can't possibly be a more beautiful sight than this right here.”

Sitting up straighter, Abel laced his fingers behind his neck as his body swayed and curved as if he were dancing, moving on Kaplan's cock with erotic elegance and grace. His eyes closed but his mind remained there – in Italy, in the Cavalieri hotel with the breath taking view – and with Horatio Kaplan. He was barely aware of the warm tears sliding down his cheeks, and didn't try to wipe them away. Whatever their source...they weren't brought on by pain – but a sense of being wanted for who he was, even what he was, and having nothing to hide from this man who desired him so deeply, so...completely.

***

The phone stared back at him from the desk. Frank Avery's number scrolled through his head on a loop. He had made up his mind to make the call, but now that the moment of truth was staring him in the face – he hesitated. He'd been paying the private investigator for five years to work on hunting down Craig's killer, expecting that if the man was ever located, he would be someone cold and unfeeling, a danger to society who needed to be put away, sent to death row for his cold blooded act of murder.

A burning ran down the ridge of his nose and his eyes filled. But he hadn't been prepared to discover the killer in a beautiful young man whose eyes were the windows to Devlin's heaven on earth. He had been ready to hate the man when he found him, make sure he was prosecuted to the full extent of the law and locked away forever. But falling in love with the man instead? That was a fucking curve ball he hadn't expected and sure as hell hadn't been able to dodge.

In his mind, he'd conjured up a monster, a hateful image of a man, someone void of emotion who didn't know the meaning of love or how it felt to hurt or grieve. But instead...he'd been handed Abel – exposed, admitting his guilt, his neck beneath the guillotine blade with Devlin's hand on the lever. And now finally at the moment he had been waiting five years for – he choked.

What was he to do when the monster turned out to be a kid who was willing to take desperate measures to care for his sick sister? A boy with the face of an angel...and the heart to match? And who felt like heaven in Devlin's arms? What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?

His hand slid over his mouth, vision blurring. Shifting focus, his gaze moved to the computer monitor and settled on the file sitting on the desktop – Savannah's Pics. His chin trembled as he gripped the mouse with a shaky hand and opened the file, bringing up the photos the girl had taken in the hospital room. He opened the photo viewer and slowly clicked through them. He paused at the photo of Abel, sitting on the edge of her bed, head ducked a little and looking embarrassed to be photographed.
Hey...don't want to break it first thing off, do ya?
Devlin bit his lips between his teeth as the tears rolled down his face. As if.
Baby, you're fucking beautiful
. He remembered the thought that had ran through his mind at that moment, so crystal clear even now.

Devlin swallowed hard and rubbed h
is face then clicked to the next one – himself.
Can I take your picture
? Devlin smiled though the memory hurt like hell. It had been a perfect moment.
Sure. I mean, I know I'm cute.
He ducked his head, a shuddered sob fighting its way up his throat. When he raised his head again and went to the next picture, he broke and dropped his face into his hands, sobs tearing through him, choking him. His hands slid up through his hair as his head lowered to the desk and he cried as the photo of him and Abel, standing side by side, stared back at him like a cruel joke by a heartless God.

Breathing hard, he sat up, wiping at his face and clearing his throat. He grabbed the phone and dialed in Avery's number. When the man answered, Devlin cleared his throat again. “It's Devlin Grant.” he said thickly, his wet eyes resting on the photo displayed on the computer screen, focused on Abel's smiling face and bright eyes. He was walking on air just then. So was I. His chest squeezed and a fresh flood of tears threatened to flow. “I ne
ed you to do something for me.”

***

“Wow.” Kaplan rubbed his hand over his sweat slick face, breath quick, ragged. “that was just...” he laughed low and shook his head. “wow.”

Abel's heart raced erratically from the intensity of their...activities. He shuddered when he realized he had almost thought of it as love making. But even if it had been more than mere fucking – he wasn't about to let the word love anywhere near it. That's one place he had no wish to ever go to again.

“Yeah.” he whispered. He gazed at the high ceiling, gradually coming down from his euphoria. Though he had pushed away the pain of all he was trying to escape from, it held on with a weak grip. He didn't have to think about it in detail for it to still hurt. Kaplan's fingers touched his temple, wiping away a tear.

“If you want to talk about it...” he murmured.

Abel swallowed hard then licked his lips slowly. “There's nothing to talk about.” he whispered.

Kaplan studied his face. “You really loved him.”

“It doesn't matter anymore.” Abel's throat worked, battling a sob.

Rubbing his mouth, Kaplan sighed but said nothing as he tucked his arms under his head. What did you expect? A heart to heart with the man? Abel rolled onto his side, his back to Kaplan, lips tightening as he fought the tears. He might play nice...but you're still only here for one reason, one reason only. Don't fall into the trap of thinking he actually cares about you. He's just protecting his investment.

Chapter Seven

“Secrets Untold”

The man's body curved and swayed, the music flowing through him as naturally as blood through his veins. Cole watched as Gabe sent the men into a frenzy, his perfectly sculpted muscles glistening with sweat, shimmering beneath the strobe lights, flexing fluidly just under the surface of his heated skin as he moved gracefully, teasing, taunting, tempting...coaxing the men out of their cash as they clambered for just a quick feel of his cock as their fingers shoved the money in.

Cole's breath went static in his throat as he watched the man execute a perfect routine. Now, more than ever, he was a beautiful sight to behold. When he grabbed onto the pole and seemed to glide around it, his eye caught Cole's very intense stare – and he winked; A silent promise of sexual ecstasy to come. Something none of the other guys would ever get from him.

His crotch swelling tight, Cole shifted on the stool and reached down, adjusting himself. Then jumped a little when Max suddenly dropped onto the stool next to him. Cole cleared his throat and rubbed his hand over his mouth, his eyes still following Gabe's ever move, lingering on the man's barely contained cock, clearly solid as granite. Dancing always made Gabe ultra horny. Some of their hottest sex had been right after one of Gabe's stage performances.

“I talked to Kaplan.” Max spoke up, breaking Cole's concentration. “He has a private villa in Rome. He's willing to set Abel up over there until we figure out what's going on here.” he sighed and picked up the glass of scotch Carl set before him. “If it comes down to Abel needing to stay there for awhile, then he suggested Savannah go and be with Abel. He said he can set her up with the doctors over there so she can get treatment and her medications.”

Cole picked at the label on his beer bottle. “Why?” he asked tightly. He looked at Max. “Why is he willing to do all this for Abel? He's already paying for his ass, what else does he expect to get out of it?”

“Look, Cole.” Max sipped his scotch. “I know you hate the whole arrangement between Abel and Horatio, and I'm not fond of it either. But it was Abel's choice. And Horatio...he isn't a bad guy. He's...” Max downed another swallow of his drink, then cleared his throat. “he's come through for me on more than one occasion. In fact,” he looked at Cole. “if it wasn't for his financial backing, the Phoenix would have never gotten up and running.”

Cole nodded, his eyes drifting back to Gabe who was finishing up his routine. “So because of that, you now feel obliged to pimp out your boys to him?” Cole raised his beer to his lips, swallowing the slightly warm liquid. “Or was that part of the agreement? He help you out, and you look the other way while he solicits special favors from the club boys?”

“It's nothing of the sort.” Max said, a bit of tightness to his voice. “All of you are free to engage in whatever extracurricular activities you so choose. I don't own you.”

“Well,” Cole muttered low, “Abel is too good to end up being wasted as a paid for piece of ass. He deserves more.” he shook his head. “He deserves more than all of this.” he swept his hand around absently, indicating the club. “He's meant for...greater things. Me and Gabe, and most of the other guys here, it suits us. But Abel...despite how good he is at the dancing and seducing...it's just not him. He's never belonged here, not in that respect anyway.”

“I know.” Max murmured. He twisted his glass on the bar. “I think I will see if our Dr. Grant will meet and talk with me.” he picked up the glass and took another drink. “Just get everything laid out on the table as to wha
t he intends to do about Abel.”

***

Abel's feet halted of their own accord when he and Kaplan entered the Cavalieri's dining room. The size alone stole his breath, but then the blue lights overhead, casting a gentle hue down on the tables, transforming the white tablecloths, napkins and chairs into a soft sapphire. Gleaming, elegant silverware graced the tables beside the pearl white plates and crystal glasses.

Stopping beside him, he could feel Kaplan's eyes on his face. “This is an amazing hotel, is it not?”

“I've...heard about places like this.” Abel said quietly. “Read about them in books, but...it was hard to believe they really existed. Or that...” he swallowed thickly, “that I would ever see it with my own eyes.”

Kaplan smiled and touched the small of his back, his hand flattening gently against his suit jacket. His other hand gestured towards the room. “Shall we?”

They were met by the maitre d' and escorted to a table. When the waiter came over, Kaplan ordered breakfast for them both then reached over and covered Noble's hand with his own, squeezing gently. “Tell me honestly.” he said softly, mahogany eyes gripping Abel's amber gaze. “Are you enjoying yourself this time?”

“This time?” Abel asked.

Smiling, Kaplan lifted Abel's hand and kissed it. “As opposed to last weekend, Paris. I don't think we got off to a good start.”

Abel stared at him. Things had changed since then. Even Kaplan himself seemed different, to some degree. “I'm...having a better time.” he admitted.

Kissing his hand once more, Kaplan laid it back down. “That's good. I want you to.”

Abel nodded slowly and lowered his eyes. He almost wished Kaplan hadn't changed, that his only interest was in getting his money's worth. But so far, on this trip...he hadn't mentioned their contract, or the amount of money he'd paid out to have Abel in his bed. Once or twice, Abel had nearly forgotten this was a business deal, and not just some extravagant getaway. And that was dangerous – losing sight of reality.

“I will have to show you the Colosseum. It's an amazing structure. Few visit Rome without touring the Colosseum. It would be a shame for you to miss out on it.” He sipped from his crystal water glass. “It was the first free standing amphitheater and seated fifty thousand people.” he chuckled and shook his head. “that's a lot of people gathered together just to watch a couple guys slice each other up with swords.” he shrugged, “But I suppose it isn't much different than today, what with boxing, MMA, and such. Human beings seem fascinated by their own brutality.”

Abel just looked at him, listening, taking an odd comfort in the casual way Kaplan rattled off facts, and his own thoughts on the matters.

“To the defense of the gladiators, though,” Kaplan cocked his head as well as an eyebrow, “most of them weren't fighting of their own free will. The majority of them were slaves, condemned prisoners, or prisoners of war. They were forced to fight in the arena.” he chuckled, “Not nearly as gallant as fiction tries to make them out to be.” When Abel didn't reply, Kaplan smiled and sighed, “I'm boring you, aren't I?”

“What?” Abel shook his head. “No. It's interesting. I always thought gladiators fought in those places because they wanted to, for...macho purposes.” he smiled and shrugged, “Or something.”

“Sounds like a man thing.” Kaplan grinned then leaned back and tucked his arms behind his head and gave Abel a mock serious look, “Thank goodness, today money and power are the preferred weapons of male warfare, otherwise...I'm afraid I'd just be a stuck pig in an arena.” His eyes glimmered with humor as he gazed at Abel.

A quick recollection of Kaplan's nude body, quite cut and fit, Abel suspected the man could have h
eld his own in physical battle.

***

“More coffee, sir?”

Devlin glanced up at the waitress and smiled. “No, thank you.” She returned his smile and moved on to another table. Devlin glanced out the window; he was early. Perhaps to get his nerves calmed before Max Raines showed up. When Cole had come to the hospital and tracked him down, his first thought had been that Cole was back to finish the job he'd started at Abel's apartment. The rage was still there, simmering just behind the man's pale gray eyes. But Cole had merely delivered the message that Max wanted to talk to him. Upon questioning the man's identity, he'd learned that Max was the owner of the Phoenix club and, in a sense, Abel's benefactor.

No wonder the boy had felt so at home at the club. In some ways, it literally was his home.

Sitting here now, Devlin's guts twisted and knotted. His few visits to the club, he had never met Max. He didn't know what to expect. But if he was anything like Cole and Gabe, or even that guy, Dane – it wouldn't be wise to piss him off.

He twisted his half empty cup of cooling coffee then rubbed his eyes. How had everything come to this? Life had been great – somewhat mundane, but great. His future bright. Coasting along on his brother's faith in him, Craig's final act in this life being that Devlin's dreams were financially secured.

He was a fucking child molester!

“No.” Devlin's face pinched and he dropped his face in his hand, nails gouging his scalp. It couldn't be true. It couldn't. Nausea squeezed his stomach. How did one put to rest an accusation such as that? Even if it had to be wrong?

Images from his dream and...his memories...crept up. He shook his head, face pinching harder. God, I can't handle this...I can't...

“Devlin?”

Devlin's head jerked up, the man's face swimming before him. He blinked quickly, clearing his throat, swiping at his eyes. His vision cleared, a frown sliding across his brow. “Brandon?” He straightened, brow creasing. “Brandon Murray?”

“The one and only.” The man smirked.

“Oh my god.” Devlin stood and hugged the man. “I haven't seen you since...” he drew back and Brandon grinned.

“Since we were fifteen and getting drunk in my parent's basement the night before my family moved away.”

“Right.” Devlin nodded then chuckled. “Damn...seems like ages ago.”

“Kind of was.” Brandon laughed low. He glanced around, “You here alone? Can I join you?”

“Uh.” Devlin rubbed his mouth. Max would be showing up soon. “Sure. Yeah. I mean, I'm meeting someone, but they won't be here for another fifteen, twenty minutes.”

Brandon sat down in the chair across from Devlin as Devlin took his seat again. “So...am I interrupting a romantic lunch?”

“No.” Devin smiled. “Nothing like that.”

“So,” Brandon leaned back. “What the hell you been up to?”

“Oh nothing much,” he smiled, “College, medical school...now I'm an intern at the hospital.”

“A doctor?” Brandon released a short laugh. “No shit?”

Devlin shrugged, “Well, eventually. Getting there.”

“Fuck.” Brandon thrust his hand across the table. “Congrats, man.” Devlin shook his hand.

“Thanks.”

“I always knew you were destined for greatness. Hell of a lot smarter than the rest of us losers you hung around with.” Devlin shrugged and laughed low. Brandon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His smile wavered as he fingered the salt shaker. “So uh...what does...Craig think about you becoming a doctor?”

Devlin's throat knotted. He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. “He, uh...he was... so proud of me.” His lips tightened, eyes stinging. The tears sprang from multiple sources. Since his confrontation with Abel, it felt like he had two brothers – the Craig who supported him every step of the way, always telling him he could be whatever he wanted to be, pushing him when he wanted to give up...being his rock, his source of strength.

And then the Craig who...

“Was?” Brandon frowned.

Devlin released a slow breath. “Craig is...dead.” he whispered thickly. “He was...” murdered? Abel's face rose up too quickly and he licked his lips, swallowing hard. “he was...killed. By a...” fucked up kid who couldn't grasp Craig was just trying to help him. “...a kid at one on the orphanages where he was volunteering.”

When Brandon didn't reply, Devlin glanced up. The man was gazing blankly at the salt shaker, twisting it slowly. “A...kid...killed him?” Brandon looked up slowly. “Why?”

Something in Brandon's stare caused the tension in Devlin's guts to wind up tighter, but he couldn't say why. “I don't...”
He raped me! For two years he raped me! He wouldn't stop. I had to stop him!
“I don't know.” he whispered unevenly, suddenly feeling like he was lying.

Brandon rubbed his mouth slowly. “I'm sorry.” he murmured, but there was no note of sympathy in the man's voice.

Devlin stared at the man uncertainly. “Brandon...why didn't you stay in touch?” he asked quietly, “Why didn't you ever come to visit during summer vacation...like you said you would? You were my best friend and you just...disappeared without a word.”

Fingertips drumming anxiously on the table, Brandon cocked his head but avoided meeting Devlin's eyes. “I wanted to come back.” he murmured. “I mean, I wanted to see you, but...I was afraid of...” his eyes raised slowly, reflecting a glossy sheen. “...Craig.”

“What're you-”

“Dr. Grant?”

Devlin glanced up quick and stared at the nicely dressed man suddenly appearing at the table. “Yes.” his voice cracked as his throat closed.

The man held out his hand. “I'm Max Raines.”

Devlin's hand trembled as he shook the guy's hand, his eyes darting repeatedly to Brandon who was again gazing absently at the salt shaker.

I was afraid of Craig.