Solace (Devastation Trilogy Book 2) Page 4

  She laid the papers in front of me and I glanced through them. It basically gave Ms. Blaine the power to file papers for Mom, and—

  “This says it gives you custody of me.”

  She nodded. “If necessary.”

  I glared at her. “I’m not letting you take me away from my mom.”

  She glanced at the door again, then grabbed her cell phone and called something up. She turned it so I could read the screen. It was a news article, with a picture of a man I vaguely recognized, albeit he looked far older than I remembered him.

  The headline was what caught my attention, and it was dated just over two weeks ago.

  Family Tells Judge in Lawsuit That Cattle Baron Terrance Ronald Near Death

  Reading through it, it heavily quoted the man’s son, Terrance Ronald, Jr.

  My much older half-brother, who I never knew existed.

  Apparently, there’d been an ongoing, bitter lawsuit between the Ronald family and other family members over property rights. From what I could gather, the Ronald family was very, very wealthy, and this case involved hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of land.

  As I met her gaze again, it immediately clicked in my head what she was saying. I felt the need to whisper as rage filled me. “You think they had my sister murdered?”

  “I’m saying it’s awfully suspicious that when I contacted the Rutherford County Sheriff’s Office this morning to find out what progress had been made in the case, a detective implied that it’d behoove me to accept the official findings due out next week, and to convince you and your mom to accept them, too.”

  Cold rage gelled in my stomach. “They haven’t arrested anyone for it yet!”

  “Oh, but they did. They picked up a guy living nearby, who was on probation for child molestation. He ‘confessed’ to the crime and he was going to be formally charged for it and arraigned.”

  “Was?”

  “He mysteriously committed suicide in custody the day before yesterday. Suicide note and everything. They’ve closed the case already.”

  It felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “And you don’t think he did it?”

  She grimly smiled. “I don’t believe in the Tooth Fairy or Santa, either. You look a little old to believe in them yourself.”

  I slumped back in my chair. “I don’t understand. How do you know all of this?”

  “Father Benjamin called me yesterday morning and asked me to look into it. He knows I do pro bono work.” Her gaze narrowed. “You’re a smart kid, but if you’re as smart as I think you are, you will not talk about this, and you’ll keep quiet and let me help you. Otherwise, it could be you and your mom who are next targeted.”

  “You said Mom wouldn’t be a target.”

  “She could be, if she asks questions or gets loud. You don’t understand—Emma went and tried to talk to your father the day before she was killed.”

  She pointed at the paperwork in front of me. “There was a priest there who overheard some of what happened. A friend of Father Benjamin’s. Long story short? Emma didn’t get to see your father, but she talked to Junior. She was demanding money for you and her and threatening to go to the press about it.”

  Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Get your mother to sign this damn paper so I can help both of you, or you will be next.”

  Chapter Four

  Now

  Anxious doesn’t begin to describe how I feel when I leave Casey’s house. She’s…

  Well, I could tell the news about the breath play pissed her right the fuck off, no matter how calm she appeared when I left. I didn’t realize that would upset her so much. I knew she didn’t want to do it with me, but as with everything else that’s happened over the past few weeks, I thought she’d be okay with it if George did it.

  Hell, he plays with me a lot harder than she does—which I love—and she’s been okay with that. And she didn’t specifically forbid me from doing breath play with George when all this started. I mean, I get it, she’s cautious.

  My mind reels as I head home to take care of everything I need to do, and…

  I don’t hear anything from Casey, or from George.

  I hope that’s not a bad sign, but I would also hope if something drastic has changed in our situation that she’d do me the courtesy of letting me know before I walk into an emotional buzz saw. Especially considering how important tonight’s fundraiser is for George. We can’t have ourselves an “incident” and get him upset right before we leave. That’s not fair to George, if anything.

  Most of today’s tasks don’t take me very long to accomplish. Catching up on e-mails regarding cases I’ve handled for the firm, follow-up stuff, questions from the few legal clients I’m still on retainer for—which are few, and they are also clients who don’t present a conflict of interest. Also, updates on some pro bono cases I’m representing. Then work-work, fielding staff e-mails that came in overnight and skimming through ongoing e-mail chains to stay abreast of the latest developments. Reading reports from committee meetings and pending bills.

  Finally, all of that is followed by more mundane chores, like laundry, and dusting. Another reason why a small apartment is better for me at this time in my life. It’s cheap, and I don’t have maintenance expenses.

  I wanted the better car first, because that’s a highly visible and tangible expression of my position. And with my salary currently taking a hit, since I’m a public employee and not a full-time attorney, it turns out it was a smart move after all. I also invested in a good wardrobe for myself. Not obnoxiously pretentious or bespoke expensive, but decent quality and tailored to fit. It means I look the part.

  No one can tell how I spent my childhood.

  No one questions my bona fides.

  No one knows I’m an orphaned bastard.

  When people ask about my parents, I tell them the truth—they’re dead. That usually propels the conversation onward in other directions, so people don’t feel uncomfortable. It also means no one knows I’m a first-generation American. On my mother’s side, at least.

  Still, despite everything I’ve done in my life so far, I cannot manage to eradicate that toxic little voice inside me that screams I’m nothing but an imposter.

  That I don’t belong here.

  That sooner or later, they’re going to realize their mistake and get rid of me.

  Finally, I can go for a run. It’s been a couple of days since I’ve had a chance to do that, either out on the streets or on the treadmill at Casey’s. I work a lot of long hours and eat a lot of crappy food, so this is the way I counteract that. I throw on shorts and a hoodie, grab my earbuds, and activate my running app.

  It’s fucking damp and cold today, but it’s not raining. That means the harder the run, the warmer I’ll be.

  Yes, I might be a masochist. Why do you ask?

  I blast Macklemore and Tink today on shuffle—don’t judge me—as I pound down the sidewalk and try to clear my mind.

  Problem is, my mind’s only clear lately when I’m with George. Even being with Casey never allows me to unplug the way being with George does.

  I run five miles but don’t take my shower when I get back, because I’ll take it at George’s. Thanks to the cold weather I’m not drenched with sweat.

  Since I hear nothing from Casey, or George, I’m feeling more than a little nervous when I pack to return to George’s just after four. I had thought I’d be staying at Casey’s last night. When I left for work yesterday morning, I didn’t grab my tux or dress shoes, any of that, because I’d planned to come home today.

  I make one last check that I have everything I need, then I shoot Casey a text.

  Heading to George’s, Ma’am.

  If there’s a problem, I’m sure she’ll let me know.

  Hopefully she’ll let me know.

  She’d let me know, right?

  Of course she would.

  I hope.

  On the way, I stop to buy some lube and condoms. We’ll need them t
his weekend.

  I fight the urge to adjust myself while standing in the check-out line as I think about all the people around me in the store, what they’d think if they knew who I’d be using them with.

  The thought simultaneously thrills and terrifies me. I mean, George takes his career seriously. Despite him mentioning a poly triad last weekend, I know he has no serious plans to change how we’re handling this thing between us. I have to stay a secret, especially before the election. Maybe being governor wouldn’t be as important to him if Ellen hadn’t wanted it so much for him.

  Or, should I say, if Casey hadn’t told Ellen it should be important.

  Meaning I’m once again thinking about whatever “talk” Casey had with him today.

  I pass the Executive Protective Unit detail stationed outside the development’s front gate. Like the residents, I have a barcode decal on my SUV that allows me entrance without having to plug a code into the front gate.

  Casey still hasn’t responded to my text, so I’m assuming we’re good to go. When I reach George’s driveway, I punch in my gate code and hold my breath until it starts to swing open.

  This is a good sign, right?

  I’m sure she would have warned me otherwise, yet I’m feeling apprehensive as I reach up to my visor to hit the button on the clicker for George’s garage door. It’s not even all the way up yet when I see the door to the house open, and there stands George, in sweatpants and a T-shirt.

  He hits the button on the wall to close the door as soon as I’m all the way inside. I haven’t even shut off my engine yet before he’s walking over.

  He looks like he’s been crying, which really worries me. I shut off the car, open my door, and when I step out, he’s pulling me into his arms, hugging me tightly, desperately. The ragged sound of his breathing rips at my soul.

  I hold him, closing my eyes and realizing yes, he needs me.

  While also hoping that I’m never forced to make the choice between him and Casey.

  Honestly? I think I did lie to Casey this morning, even though I didn’t mean for it to be a lie. I don’t want it to be a lie.

  She loves and wants me, but let’s be honest—she doesn’t need me. Not the way George does. I’m not simply a cum dump for the guy. He truly seeks solace with me, and I soothe his aching soul.

  There are few callings in life more noble than being able to comfort someone deeply wrapped in misery. Having survived my own misery, it makes me acutely aware of what it can do to a person’s soul.

  I lean against my car when I realize it’s me now holding him. He’s six-two to my five-ten, broad-shouldered where I’m slender. I reach up and rub his scalp the way I did this morning, the same way he does to me, and as Casey also does.

  It makes him melt against me.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Sir,” I tell him. “I want to be here, with you.” Because I think that’s what he needs to hear right now.

  If I’m supposed to know what was said between him and Casey, one or both of them will tell me.

  Even his voice sounds shaky, and I’m not used to that kind of vulnerability from him. “Thank you, boy.”

  We stand there for another long moment. “Shower, Sir?” I ask.

  He lifts his head from my shoulder, looks at me with those blue eyes of his, and slants his lips over mine in a greedy, hungry kiss that damn near makes me forget my own name. Now he’s pressing me against my car, and I feel his cock harden between us.

  I guess I’m well-trained, because mine hardens, too. Before I know it, we’re not just kissing, we’re grinding against each other, damn near close to ripping the clothes right off our bodies where we stand.

  He finally lifts his mouth from mine, but he keeps me pressed against the car with his body.

  This is something I don’t have with Casey, being physically overpowered. I submit to her because I want to, because I love her, because she and I both need things on opposite ends of the scale, so it works for us. She’s tough and scrappy, but I have a few inches and pounds on her, and I’m stronger than her. If I wanted to, I could overpower her against her will.

  Except I don’t want to.

  George can physically overpower me, and I love that about him. I know if I needed him to stop, he would.

  I don’t want to stop him, though.

  “Do you have what you need to stay here through Monday morning?” he asks. “Leave for work from here?”

  “Yes, Sir, but I thought tomorrow night—”

  “We talked. Weekends are mostly mine, and weeknights are mostly hers. She’ll probably stop by for a little while tonight before she goes home.”

  I study him. “Are we all…okay, then?”

  He nods. “We’re okay.”

  “Did she chew you out over the breath play?” I ask.

  Finally, the hint of a smirk. “Sort of. From now on, she gets overrule rights on stuff like that.”

  “Yes, Sir. That’s what she told me this morning.”

  It almost feels like he wants to say something else, but then he kisses me again and I kind of forget about the rest of the world even existing. This kiss feels tender and sweet and more than a little hungry.

  Finally, Declan the deputy chief of staff makes an appearance in my brain and reminds me we’re on a schedule. “We need to take a shower,” I mumble against his lips.

  “I know,” he mumbles back. “Humor me.”

  Who am I to argue with my boss or my Sir?

  Eventually he sighs, resting his forehead against mine. “Promise me something.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Don’t let me go too far. I couldn’t bear to lose you and Casey. Please promise to stop me, or safeword, or whatever you have to do.”

  I stare into his eyes and hope this isn’t a lie. “I won’t let you go too far, Sir.”

  * * * *

  We have nearly two hours before the security detail arrives to pick us up. Sir helps me carry my things upstairs, then he pulls me into his arms again to kiss me. Before long, we’re stripping each other and heading for the shower in his bathroom.

  I know that I’m not the first person he’s made love to in there, but that I’m now his only means a lot to me.

  More than you’ll ever know.

  I’m the only person who’s managed to penetrate the thick walls of his grief. For the first time in as long as I can remember, in this one way I don’t feel like an imposter.

  George sees me, even if he doesn’t know everything about me. He wants me for who I am, not for what I can do for him politically or legally or professionally. I’ve seen his vulnerability, held him while he cried.

  The man has bared his soul and his soft underbelly to me. That’s genuine and rare and precious, in my mind.

  In the shower he backs me against the wall, both our cocks hard and rubbing together.

  And he smiles.

  That smile. With the steam billowing around us and the cool tile hard against my back, I feel my troubles fade away.

  “We’re going to play a game tonight, boy,” he says, Sir totally in the house now. His hand closes over the front of my throat, pinning me to the wall but not clamping down hard enough to choke me.

  Dammit.

  My cock, however, is hard and aching, hoping for fun.

  “A game, Sir?”

  His hand wraps around my cock and squeezes until I whimper. “A game, boy.” His voice drops. “I want to see how pitiful my boy looks begging me for release tonight.”

  Oooooh, fuck.

  My cock’s throbbing like crazy now. “Begging, Sir?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Ma’am left a certain something with me.”

  I literally shiver, because I see the way his eyes light up over my fear.

  Not full-on fear.

  The fun kind of fear.

  The good kind of fear.

  The kind of fear that shuts off my brain and makes my heart beat fast and hard.

  I try to rock my hips to fuck Sir’s fist, but he press
es his body against mine and pins me to the wall. “No. Tonight, I want you to hold it, boy.”

  “Hold it, Sir?”

  “That’s right.” He kisses me until I’m nearly desperate. “I own your ass now, don’t I, boy?”

  Something about the hard edge to his voice melts me. “Yes, Sir. You do.” That is in no way a lie, either.

  He absolutely owns me.

  He nips his way along my jaw, up to my ear. His whisper rumbles through my brain and straight to the center of my soul. “I promise I’ll always take good care of my boy. But there will be occasions, like tonight, where Sir wants to be a bastard because I want to be one. And because it’s fun.”

  No shit, my knees nearly give out.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He nips my earlobe. “That rule stays in place, by the way. No rubbing one out without permission. I won’t make you go weeks without, though. But you’re my boy. I take care of that. Or your Ma’am might, when you’re with her. If you’re horny, you come beg me for it. She and I won’t play you against each other like that, either. She might make you hold it while you’re with her, but you can come to me later and ask for relief. Depending on how eagerly you convince me, you’ll probably get it.”

  I whimper. I can’t help it—I’m damn near a puddle.

  He eases me down to my knees and fists my hair. “Take the edge off for your Sir, boy. I want to go to this thing tonight relaxed and smiling.”

  What do I do?

  I open my fucking mouth, that’s what I do. I’m greedy and drooling to suck his cock down my throat. I proceed to devour him. I hold on to his legs and take him as deep as I can and savor every hungry groan he gives me.

  I’m making him do that.

  Me.

  I look up and find him staring down at me with those gorgeous blue eyes and I realize that, yes, I belong to this man.

  I also pray that the two of them don’t end up at each other’s throats and force me into picking sides.

  Every ounce of my being hopes that.

  Because it’d break my heart to lose either of them, and it might kill George to lose me.

  Chapter Five