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“This won’t be quick, will it?” he asks, still whispering.
I feel like shit that I woke him. Like me, Quin only functions on a few hours a night, owed to the years we spent on twenty-four-hour duty for Savage. “Don’t worry about it, man. I’ll call—”
“Shut up. Let me step in the hall.” I hear rustling on the other end, but in a few seconds, Quin is back on. “Okay, what’s up?”
Sighing, I run my fingers through my hair, tugging at the ends. I don’t know what to say to him. How to reveal the one secret I’ve been holding on tight to. It’s not like my friend will judge me. But it’s ridiculous. I’m a forty-year-old man. I shouldn’t be harboring these unrequited—and weird—feelings about a man in his twenties that I haven’t even spoken two words to before tonight.
“Hey,” I hear Quin call. “Talk to me. You need me to come down?’
I snap out of my haze. “Nah. I’m just … trying to figure out how to say it. It’s … Abel’s friend.”
“What about Abel’s friend?”
“The one I told you about. It’s Abel’s friend. Damon. The one who we saw at Abel’s graduation.”
“Damn, man,” Quin comments, and I can imagine him running his hands through his long dreadlocks, pulling them to the side like he does when he’s thinking. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I saw him tonight. At the ball.”
The line is quiet for a moment, then I hear, “What? It was a masked ball. How did you know it was him?”
Letting out a long breath, I tell Quin what happened after I killed Mamba. I’m not sure what I expect, but what he says is not it. “He works at Velli Corp. Why not go see him there?”
I sputter, not really knowing what to say. “Umm … nothing stopping me from walking through the front doors? Nothing at all?” I ask sarcastically.
Three years ago, I was a permanent fixture in that building. Quin and I guarded our boss Savage—or Joseph Benavelli the third—while he worked his noncriminal job. While it’s been a while, I’m sure some of the people that worked there then are still there and know I should be dead. Quin suggesting I should go there is a little insane.
He chuckles softly in my ear—probably keeping his voice down so he doesn’t wake Red. “Michael, you know that place as well as I do. You know how to get in and where the cameras are. Not much has changed in three years for a place that size. I can check the blueprints to be sure, but I’m willing to bet everything is the same.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “That may be true, but he was terrified of me, Quin. You should have seen his face.” I don’t think I’ll forget the look on his face for the rest of my life. His fear was palpable. I loved seeing that look on the faces of my enemies, but not Damon. Not with his wide eyes and sweet face contorted with terror and apprehension.
Quin is quiet for a while and I soak up the silence, hoping he has a plan. Hoping he has something that will help, even just a little. I just want to see him one more time. To give the mask back, to explain, to talk to him, something.
It’s not like I thought of Damon every day or anything. I would feel a strange sense of longing if Abel mentioned him, or when someone I tried to be with didn’t measure up to how I thought Damon would be. From what Abel says about him, the stories he tells, Damon seems like a great guy. I want to know for myself.
Finally, Quin speaks up. “Call Abel. In the morning, call Abel and ask him what to do. That’s his best friend who thinks he’s dead. When you talk to Abel, you can go from there.”
While that’s a good call, I don’t want to upset Abel. I told him and Savage I was coming back to California and they begged me to be careful. Well, Abel begged. Savage merely grunted and told his tiny husband I could take care of myself. I saw the look of longing in Abel’s eyes. I thought it was on account of me coming back here, but maybe it was because of Damon. Maybe he wanted to see his best friend in the flesh to know he was okay.
“Yeah,” I say, sliding down on the bed to get comfortable. “I’ll call him in the morning. I have Damon’s mask. I’d like to return it.” Quin’s chuckle turns into a laugh. “What?” He doesn’t answer. Just keeps laughing until he hangs up the phone.
As soon as I wake the next morning I give Abel a call. “Michael,” he singsongs in my ear. “How’s California? When will you be back?”
“Uh … I need to tell you something.”
A pause. “I’m going to video call you.”
Before I can say anything, my phone is buzzing in my hand. I move it from my ear and press the button to add Abel on video call. His pretty face illuminates my screen. His eyebrows are dipped and scrunched in concern. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, nervously, tugging on my hair for a moment. “I, uh … I saw … Damon last night.”
Abel’s eyes grow wide, and he puts a hand to his mouth. He shakes his head back and forth and I notice tears welling. “I’m sorry, you did what?” he asks when he moves his hand.
I go through the story with him, minus killing Mamba. While Abel knows what I used to do for Savage, I don’t think telling him I killed someone will be something he wants to hear.
When I’m finished, Abel’s eyes are soft and sad. “I’m sorry he was afraid of you. If it makes you feel better, I was afraid of you when we met.” I give him a dry look and he laughs. “What I’m saying is, things can change. I love you like a brother. More thanmybrother, if I’m honest.” Abel’s eyes take on that haunted quality they usually do when he thinks about his piece of shit brother, Cris, and what he did to him. Even though it’s been years, it’s still hard on him.
When he shakes himself, he looks like his usual upbeat self. He narrows his eyes, then they go wide and he gasps. “Michael, is there something you’re not telling me?”
