Intoxicating, page 9
His father wasn’t even in the room when Wyatt finally managed his first agonizing breath. He could hear him rummaging around in his bathroom, but he staggered to the bed, resting on the edge as he practiced pulling air into his abused lungs and pushing it back out. Each breath burned, like his chest was filled with gasoline, but his father was unconcerned. He flung a wet rag at Wyatt, the edge catching the corner of his eye and setting off another fiery reaction.
“Wipe that shit off your face. What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you really this stupid?”
Wyatt assumed the question was rhetorical. They both knew nothing Wyatt said would convince his father of his mental acuity, so he just sat there, waiting for his father to explain himself. When his father said nothing, Wyatt rasped, “Why are you here?”
“Well, I stupidly thought you might be in a hurry to get that thing off your ankle, so I called in a favor, and there are two of Miami-Dade’s finest out there waiting to take that thing off of you and get rid of the equipment. I didn’t expect to find you in here playing makeup and painting yourself up like some two-bit harlot.”
Wyatt forced himself not to snicker at the word harlot. Who even used that word anymore? “Gosh, Dad, what a nice thing for you to do. So out of character. Was that the only reason you stopped by?” Wyatt asked, his voice full of mock appreciation.
His father’s blue eyes shifted to the floor, and Wyatt scoffed. Of course, it wasn’t.
“Now that you mention it, I need to talk to you about some things coming up with the campaign.”
Before Wyatt could ask for further explanation, the door to his bedroom creaked open to accommodate Linc’s large frame. Wyatt’s gaze dragged to him almost against his will. Linc frowned at Wyatt, and he felt another little piece of himself die. Now, his chest hurt for two reasons: his father’s abuse and Linc’s disapproval. He didn’t know which was worse. But Wyatt supposed it didn’t matter. He and Linc weren’t a thing.
When the senator noticed Linc standing there, he shielded Wyatt with his body like Linc hadn’t already seen him in enough makeup to make a drag queen jealous. “Wash your goddamn face and meet us in the living room when you’re presentable.”
Wyatt waited until they’d both left before he threw the towel across the room and reached for the makeup wipes in the first drawer of his vanity. As he erased his hours of work in a matter of minutes, he focused on making himself numb. If he didn’t care, his father had no power over him and neither did Linc. At least, that’s what he told himself. He was tired of feeling like a raw nerve all the time.
When he was barefaced again, he threw on a pair of white jeans and a navy and white long-sleeved striped sweater. His hand was on the doorknob when his phone chirped from the floor.
He picked it up, frowning at a text message alert from an out-of-state number. There was just a single line, but his heart tripped in his chest just the same.
I thought you looked hot.
He left the room with the barest hint of a smile on his face. Two plain-clothes officers stood in the kitchen with his father. Linc was also there, off to the side, arms crossed over his chest, like a sentry. He seemed to be doing his best to make himself invisible, but Wyatt could feel his eyes on him like a caress. It made it easier to smile and make small talk with the officers as they removed the contraption from his leg.
Once his father had taken the time to sufficiently kiss the deputies’ asses and ask for their vote in November, he walked them out. As soon as the door shut, his father’s affable nature and good ol’ boy smile slid off his face like melting wax, leaving only a sneer of disgust. “You could’ve cost me this election just now, boy.”
Wyatt resisted the urge to rub at the spot where his father had sucker-punched him. He refused to apologize. “You said you wanted to talk about the campaign?”
For a moment, it seemed his father wasn’t ready to let it go, but then he sighed and reached into his suit pocket. “This is an itinerary of all my speeches and state dinners. My campaign manager says it looks suspicious that you haven’t been to any of the fundraisers, and several people have commented on your absence.”
Wyatt found that hard to believe. Nobody ever seemed to notice he wasn’t in attendance. “Okay.”
His father’s cheek twitched in an aborted sneer. “Every event with a star next to it is a family event. You will make yourself available.” He turned on Linc, pointing a finger in his direction. “You will ensure he shows up and that he dresses and acts appropriately the entire time. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal,” Linc grunted.
Wyatt wanted to puke. It was a fundraising dinner that had started the events leading to his accident that night. The incident with the cater-waiter in the bathroom. He hated those dinners. It was just shaking hands and kissing old ladies while they begged him to let them set him up with their granddaughters. He didn’t want to do that shit anymore. He just couldn’t. “I don’t think you want me around there, Dad. What if I do something super gay?”
His father gripped him by the back of the neck, dragging him forward until their foreheads touched and Wyatt could smell the coffee on his father’s breath.
“Wyatt Edgeworth, you will show up when you’re told and you will do as you’re told or so help me, the next program you enter will make Light of God look like goddamn Disney. Do you fucking understand me?”
Something deep inside Wyatt withered, but he bared his teeth in a demented smile. “Yeah, sure, Dad. Whatever you say.”
When his father released him, Wyatt looked at Linc over the man’s shoulder. Every vein in Linc’s arms strained under his skin, and he clenched his jaw tight enough for Wyatt to worry he might hurt himself.
“Things would be so much easier for you if you’d just learn to do as you’re told and stop all this attention-seeking nonsense,” his father muttered.
“Sure, Dad.” Wyatt didn’t have the strength to fight with him today. “I need to go get ready. Charlie and I are meeting for a late lunch,” he lied.
His father puffed out his chest, like some preening bird, giving a dismissive sniff. “I need to get back to my office, anyway.”
Once he left, Wyatt closed the door and leaned against it in case his father tried to come back. When he was certain the man was long gone, he gave one last look in Linc’s direction, then went back into his room and closed the door.
He was wrong. This fucking apartment wasn’t his prison, his family was. As long as his father was alive, Wyatt would never be free. The thought had him crawling back into his bed and pulling the covers over his head. He just needed sleep.
He’d worry about everything else tomorrow.
“I’m telling you, Jackson, it’s a bad idea. Having Wyatt at his father’s speaking engagements and fundraising dinners? It’s a recipe for disaster. The kid’s gonna snap.”
Jackson rested his arms on his desk, his fingers steepled together in front of his chin. “The kid’s gonna snap? It’s you who looks too tightly wound, brother.”
He wasn’t wrong. Linc was a wire on the verge of snapping, his shoulders tight, his jaw aching from his clenched teeth. He needed an outlet. Something other than punching a heavy bag or bench-pressing extra weights. If Wyatt had truly belonged to Linc—in every sense of the word—Linc would have poured all this energy and rage into fucking Wyatt, taking him apart and putting him back together, using him over and over until they were both too exhausted to think about the mess their lives had become.
But he’d ended it…because it was the right thing to do. The smart thing to do. Necessary. He needed to finish this job; his sister needed him to finish this job. But everything in Linc screamed that Wyatt needed him more. Of course, that could just be his dick talking. He just didn’t fucking know anymore.
“He hurt him,” he finally said, continuing to pace the length of Jackson’s office.
That had his friend’s attention. “Hurt him physically? You saw this?”
Linc gave a single jerk of his head. “No, I didn’t see it, but I could tell. He’s abusive. The guy gave me carte blanche to beat the gay out of his kid. It’s not a real leap to think that he’d put his hands on him.”
Jackson gave a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Linc—”
“Don’t tell me it’s not my business, Jack. I’m not going to stand by and watch that fucker hurt him,” Linc barked.
Jackson’s head snapped up. “You think I’d tell you to ignore something like that? Am I that kind of guy? I got into this business to help people, to protect them. But you need to be careful.”
“Careful?” Linc repeated.
“Yeah, careful. That man is a state senator. Yes, he’s a son of a bitch and yes, most people loathe him, but he has reach. We’re in a very red state. He could make your life and mine very complicated…never mind what he could do to his son. If you think you’re getting too close to this, I’ll find you another client, one you’re less likely to become attached to. Believe me, I have plenty of those.”
That brought Linc up short. He wasn’t giving up Wyatt. He couldn’t trust that another guard would understand him, would know what he needed. That wasn’t happening. “No way,” he growled, slapping his hands on the desk.
Jackson’s brow arched. “Take a seat.”
Linc wanted to tell him to fuck off—he’d been this kid’s battalion leader—but instead, he just dropped into the chair before raking his hands across his face. “This kid has been through enough. His father’s an abusive, controlling asshole. He has one real friend.” Who hates me, Linc silently added, not sure why that mattered. “He’s lonely and depressed. I don’t know if he’s strong enough to handle these events and keep it together.”
“That’s not our call.”
“Can’t you tell the senator that it will be a logistics nightmare trying to keep him and Wyatt safe at these functions?”
Jackson snorted a laugh. “He’s not the fucking president. He’s a dick, but nobody’s actively gunning for him. Except, maybe you,” he added, giving Linc a pointed look.
“So, what do I do?”
“What can you do? SITFU, brother.”
Suck it the fuck up. He’d said it to his men a hundred times. Stop complaining and get the job done. He dug his thumbs into his eyes until colorful spots danced across his lids. “You’re right. But, man, on my mother’s grave, the minute I resign, I’m going to lay that motherfucker out. I don’t care if I go to prison.”
“And on that day, I’ll be there with bail money and a good attorney. Until then, adapt and overcome, Marine.”
Linc nodded. “I need to get back. It doesn’t pay to leave the kid alone for too long.”
His hand was on the doorknob when Jackson spoke one final time. “Whatever you’re doing with that boy…make sure you don’t get caught with your dick out, for all our sakes.”
“There’s nothing going on.”
“Bullshit.”
Linc’s face flushed. “I squashed it. I told him we can’t. It’s over.”
“Uh-huh. If you say so.”
Linc didn’t bother to argue, just jerked the door open and left. He really did want to get back to Wyatt. He’d been in his room for hours, ever since his father had dropped the campaign bomb on his head. History had proven leaving Wyatt alone with his thoughts for too long never ended well for anybody. Technically, he shouldn’t ever leave Wyatt alone, but Linc had needed to talk to Jackson before he committed a felony against a seated member of congress.
He called his sister in the Uber on the way back to the penthouse, but she didn’t answer, so he left a message and responded to some forgotten emails—mostly old Marine buddies congratulating him on his new civilian life. Before he’d retired, he’d looked forward to getting out and never seeing another fucking desert again. Now, he wasn’t sure he’d ever adapt to this world or if he even wanted to.
Linc should have figured out something was amiss when he passed a girl in the lobby wearing a cocktail dress and a flamingo-shaped pool float, but his mind was on the sad boy currently moping in the penthouse. Only when said girl followed him onto the elevator did he look up and frown. She grinned with way too many teeth and waved maniacally. She wasn’t alone. A girl in a dress so skimpy it looked like she’d fashioned it from men’s belts stood next to a guy in eyeliner, a red top hat, and a pair of skintight black leather pants that made Linc’s balls ache with sympathy.
Linc frowned. “This a private elevator. Penthouse only.”
“Duh. Wyatt throws the craziest parties. We’re so stoked he’s back!”
Linc could feel the enamel on his teeth eroding as he clenched his jaw until it popped in protest. So much for his sad mopey boy. Wyatt had rocketed straight into self-destruct mode. Linc glanced at his watch. He’d only been gone a little over two hours. Nobody could throw together a party that fast.
When they all stepped off the elevator, Linc stopped short. This was definitely a party. The double doors to the penthouse were thrown wide, and a loud thumping bass throbbed in time with the strobe lights flashing from somewhere in the corners of the living room. Bodies crushed together in the kitchen, and on the patio, topless girls ran around the pool, screaming and laughing. Couples were full-on fucking on the couch he’d drunk his coffee on not twelve hours ago.
Linc was too old for this shit. The vein in his temple throbbed along with the beat. He wanted nothing more in the world than to go find the source of the noise they called music and kill it. The girl in the flamingo pool float took tiny baby steps on her too-high heels, almost falling onto another girl’s lap. She pulled the lid off a bowl in the middle of the coffee table and gave a delighted squeal. “Oh, party favors.”
Linc strode to the table. Inside the bowl were prescription pills of every imaginable shape, size, and color. The girl took two or three without looking and dropped them into her mouth, swallowing them down with a cup she found sitting on the table beside the bowl. The wire inside him finally snapped.
He prowled the party until he found the source of the music, a guy with two turntables hidden in the darkest corner of the patio. “Party’s over,” he shouted when the deejay lifted one headphone.
“Fuck off, man. We’re just getting started.”
Linc didn’t have time for this. He lifted his hoodie, flashing the Glock holstered on his hip. “Party’s. Over.”
The guy’s eyes went wide, and he threw his hands up in surrender. Linc’s ears rang in the sudden silence as a hundred bodies froze at once, looking around in confusion. Linc stalked back to flamingo girl.
“Where’s Wyatt?” he asked.
“I think he went to his room with some girl.”
Some girl?
“You need to take your friends and your pills and get the fuck out of here now.”
She scoffed. “Who are you, even? Like, you’re not his dad…are you?”
Linc rolled his eyes. “I’m a cop, and I’m here to shut this party down. Do I need to show you my badge? Because I just watched you pull a handful of pills from a bowl and take them.”
Luckily, she didn’t call Linc’s bluff. “Fine.”
She stood on top of the table and waved her hands. “The party’s canceled. Grandpa here is a fucking narc.”
Linc watched as people started to mumble to themselves, as if unsure whether she was telling the truth or not. Linc lifted the waistband of his hoodie once more, wanting this fiasco over and done with before somebody called the real cops and a scandal broke out.
Things moved quickly after that, people filing out until all that was left behind was the typical post-party debris of food and half-empty cups. If Linc didn’t kill Wyatt, Graciela would. When the last person was gone, he called the front desk and informed them the party was over and nobody else was permitted to use the private elevator. Then he went to find Wyatt.
Wyatt’s bedroom was dark and empty. He frowned. Maybe pool float girl was wrong. Maybe Wyatt was in another bedroom. He was about to leave when he heard a pained hiss from the bathroom and a girl croon, “There ya go, baby. Feels good, huh?”
The door to the bathroom was almost closed, but a dim light wavered in the mirror’s reflection. His stomach churned, steeling himself for whatever Wyatt and this girl were doing to pass the time. He pushed the door wide, frowning at what he saw. Wyatt was lying in the large empty bathtub in only his unfastened jeans. The girl—woman, really—sat on the rim of the tub behind his head, naked but for a pair of black panties. Linc’s gaze dragged to the huge bruise over Wyatt’s diaphragm, but he forced himself to let it go, for now.
Wyatt’s eyes were glassy, his pupils so blown his pale green eyes looked black in the dim light. He held the remnants of a joint in one hand, but it was what the girl held in her hand that had Linc’s guts twisting. The razor blade pinched between her long black nails still dripped with blood—Wyatt’s blood, judging from the brownish smears on his neck and shoulder. Jesus Christ.
“You. Put your clothes on and get the fuck out. Now.”
“Who the fuck are you?” the girl asked, her gaze darting between him and Wyatt. She was clearly on something as well, but Linc’s only concern was Wyatt.
“The guy who’s going to have you arrested for assault if you don’t put your fucking clothes on and get the fuck out of here,” he said, voice a low rumble as he tried to control the adrenaline racing through his system telling him to pick the girl up and throw her out the door.
Wyatt snickered, his head lolling on his shoulders. “G.I. Joe!” he exclaimed in a faraway voice. “I was just thinking about you.”
The girl jostled Wyatt in her attempt to hurry to do as Linc said, dropping the razor blade into the bathtub as she clutched the red fabric Linc assumed was a dress to her overinflated breasts. “Just so you know, he asked me to cut him. I know what I’m doing. Would you rather he did it himself? That’s how accidents happen.”
“Go,” Linc all but roared, pointing to the door.
