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“I’m gonna go shower,” Vaughan announced, giving Judge a side-eye. He looked pissed, but it was hard to tell. Duke wanted to protest his man’s departure as Vaughan took the steps upstairs gracefully. He’d promised they’d shower together and take a nap… naked. Now all that’d changed and it appeared neither one of them were happy about it.
Judge pulled out two thick manila folders from his messenger bag and dropped them on the table. Duke took that as his cue to get ready to talk business.
Quick came out the kitchen with a plate of deli sandwiches and salads. “Hey. Where’s my boy?”
“He went upstairs to shower,” Duke answered, already sifting through the contents of the folder and not liking what he saw. As soon as he heard the water turn on upstairs his thoughts fled from work mode and went to images of a glistening, wet, sexy man who was all his. Duke’s cock wept for attention. For only one man’s attention. He wanted to tell his friends to leave, not caring if one of them paid the mortgage, and insist they come back in a month because that’s how long it would take him and Vaughan to recover from their honeymoon fuck period. At that moment he knew that he had to get out of Quick’s house and be alone with his boyfriend before they were caught doing something none of them would ever be able to forget, because the things he needed Vaughan to do to him bordered on obscene, maybe even illegal in some states.
Duke chewed a few pieces of lettuce, his stomach rebelling at the little bit of food he was able to take in while listening to his buddies go over both the bail bond and PI businesses’ latest cases. One in particular had Duke sweating; images of baseball bats and boards being slammed down on his body repeatedly forced their way to his mind.
Quick’s hand was on his shoulder bringing him back to reality. “Duke. You need to go after this guy.”
“Gotta get back on the horse, buddy,” Judge added.
“Don’t give me those bullshit clichés, Judge,” Duke gritted out. He knew how PTSD worked for the most part. He was terrified to go after another bounty. He’d almost died the last time. Was at death’s door with one foot over the threshold before god answered his prayer and sent an angel to save him. Now his friends were sitting there trying to convince him that he needed to go after the same guy that had beat the shit out of him and left him for dead.
“He’s suspected to have killed again, Duke.”
“I thought you said he was already in jail,” Duke barked at Quick.
“I thought wrong.”
Duke ran his hand through his still-sweaty hair. Which was odd since Quick had the AC pumping harder than in a restaurant kitchen. He was scared. Fuck me. “I need time to think, guys.” Duke stood up, leaving his partially eaten sandwich and salad.
“Duke. You still have a few weeks of recovery, man. No one’s saying go out there tonight. I can put my guys on surveillance, tap phone lines, and interview this bastard’s acquaintances. I mean, the whole nine yards. It’ll be a clean recovery. Put this piece of shit back in jail where he belongs. And you can show every fuckin’ one out there that you’re still the baddest bounty hunter on the East Coast. Imagine suffering an injury like you did, and then practically coming back from the dead and taking this asshole out. You’re back to being the motherfuckin’ man.” Judge tried to assure him and it was working. Judge always knew how to give a damn pep talk.
Duke’s mouth turned up in a sinister grin. In his mind, Duke knew what Judge and Quick were doing was right. It’s the same thing he’d do if one of his guys had been severely injured. He’d try to help them recover physically and then get back on the job so the fear didn’t take root and consume them. It was something he had to do. He wasn’t ready to retire and he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. He needed to put his star back on as soon as possible and get back out there.
“How’s Dana? I haven’t heard from him since I left the hospital.” Duke looked back and forth between his two guys.
Judge sported his usual poker face, making it obvious he was hiding something. But Quick. He was never a good bluffer. His sharp green eyes communicated any and every emotion he was feeling. And at that moment his expression contained a mixture of exhaustion, regret, and apology.
“Spit it out, Roman,” Duke demanded.
“It’s nothing we need to discuss right now,” Quick told him hastily, standing and clearing their lunch dishes. “You barely ate, Duke. You gotta keep up your strength, pal. Vaughan will have my ass in a sling if I don’t ensure you eat.”
