AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Jayce
Iknew him.
Logically, I knew I didn’t actually know him… but I couldn’t stop watching him. Nick’s greasy fucking fingers running along the length of his body in a slow motion that had nothing to do with finding a hidden weapon and everything to do with taking advantage of the situation infuriated me.
It was ridiculous, because anyone with eyes would have noticed the slight lift to the blond man’s shoes. He had something hidden in the sole, and I was silently hoping he’d kick Nick’s nuts in with whatever it was.
He just stood there and took Nick's bullshit instead. Every passing second his dark eyes stayed fixed on me, I felt something drawing tight in my chest, ready to snap.
I couldn't shake the familiarity. I’d seen his face a thousand times in my dreams. Sometimes, he was softer — sometimes, he was shorter than me, and he looked up with eyes more green than brown and lips that trembled. Sometimes, I was gently patching up cuts and bruises littered across a small frame.
Sometimes, I was making those wounds, and he was making the most delicious sounds while I did it.
And sometimes, he was the one who wounded me. He was taller then, with lean muscles and eyes that looked… haunted.
The many facets of his face, innocent or dangerous, played through my mind on repeat every night. When I was assigned to keep an eye on the newest man trying to squirm his way into our territory, I couldn’t quell my shock when I saw his face.
His eyes were darker this time, almost brown, but I recognized the soft shape of his lips and the way his hair curled at the ends because he needed to cut it.
I recognized him.I would always recognize him — I didn't know why or how, but I knew I would.
I’d been ready to beg off the assignment in favor of keeping a closer eye on Nick and his dogs at the car shop, but my interest was instantly caught and kept.
Clayton.
His name was Clayton, but everyone called him Clay. He lived in an apartment five miles from the shop, and from what I could gather, he worked for a retired lawyer named Keyton, who was very interested in borrowing money from the Holden family so he could feed a gambling and drug habit.
It was Clay’s bad luck that his boss was shit at winning, and Clay’s worse luck that he sent him to the body shop as payment when he couldn’t come up with the cash for his next fix.
It was obvious what was going to happen as I watched the ledger turn red, but a part of me hoped Keyton would man up and at least trade himself for his own mistakes. Instead, he disappeared into his house and sent his newest employee to pay for his sins.
Men like Keyton never had the balls to trade themselves. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at Clay when he entered the body shop, and I couldn’t stop myself from walking over to him when it was clear Nick was going to try to give him a fucking hand job in front of the door on the pretense of patting him down.
I should have pointed out where Clay was hiding a weapon, but I used Nick’s weakness against him and held up my hand instead. It served a dual purpose — he made a quick retreat down the stairs, and I could wedge the door open so the buzzer didn’t sound when I followed them.
Business always worked the same way — they’d taunt Clay for a while, and they’d make sure he knew exactly what was going to happen to him. Someone as pretty as he was would be worth more than enough money to make up for what Keyton borrowed. The problem was that men like Keyton didn’t stop borrowing… and now Clay was the collateral.
If they got bored, they’d start taking body parts — it was amazing how many people were in the market for all types of pleasure and pain.
A pulse of anger rocked through me at the thought, and I ducked to the medical kit and grabbed a roll of gauze. They had until I wrapped my hand, then I was going down after Nick. It was in direct violation of my orders — I knew I was going to catch shit for it.
I didn’t care.
I’d deal with the fallout later, and there would be fallout. There was always fallout where Marcus Holden was concerned — he ran his ring of drugs, trafficking, and darker things with a firm hand and no sympathy. If you stepped out of line, you’d probably breathed your last breath.
I was ready to step over that line and leave it behind me if it meant I could get down to the basement to stop them from sampling the new wares before selling Clay off to the highest bidder.
There wasn’t any logic to my choice, or any real reason for me to make such a destructive decision. I was in a good place, being under Marcus Holden’s protection. He’d taken me off the street, and I knew he’d done it because of how I looked and how it was obvious I’d grow. I’d been a teen when he pulled me into his home and gave me expensive clothes and my first hot meal in two weeks.
I was over six feet then, and I’d flourished under his care.
Crossing him was a mistake I’d pay for, but I was banking on the fact that I wouldn’t pay as much as Clay would if I left him in the basement alone.
He’d been in my dreams for a reason — I’d been assigned to follow him for a reason. Seeing him so close solidified a truth I’d been ignoring all along.
Clayton was mine.
It didn’t have to make perfect sense — it didn’t have to make sense to anyone or anything but the voice inside me that was breathing venom, knowing he was down there without me while I wrapped my hand to keep from bleeding everywhere.
