Page 8 of His to Take

In that sense, Ajax was right up his alley. The rugged, masculine demeanor, the strength that radiated from him — he had everything that Dylan found enticing in a man.

If only he wasn't kidnapping him.

Uncertain and trying to conceal his fear, Dylan couldn't resist a sarcastic remark. "So, you always bring pretty young things to hotel rooms, big guy?"

Ajax shot him a stern, no-nonsense glare. "We're here," he said instead of bothering to reply. He produced a cardkey and slid it into the slot, opening the door with a click. He turned to Dylan. "Get inside."

Dylan did as he was told, shivering as he crossed the threshold. Inside was a whole suite, with a separate bedroom and a kitchenette.

It was nicer than Dylan's apartment, that was for sure.

It would have been even nicer if Dylan wasn't expecting to die.

Once they were inside, Ajax locked the door and put the keycard back in his pocket. He put his bag on the couch bythe door, slid the briefcase underneath it, and pointed towards the bedroom. "I'll be sleeping on the couch. Don't touch my briefcase — it's strictly off limits. The room's yours."

He reached into the back, and tossed something at Dylan. Dylan caught it automatically: a bag with a small stash of clothes. Some shirts, some socks, underwear…

"Those are for you," Ajax pointed out, mistaking his silence for confusion. "We're not exactly going to be going to the laundromat."

Dylan stared down at the muddled assortment of clothing. His brows knit with a mixture of confusion and trepidation. "Uh… Why am I getting my own room? And new clothes? These are too big for me, by the way. They'll hide my girlish figure."

Ajax's expression remained blank. "For the next week, we're holing up here. I'm going to keep watch over you until your… companion," he hit the word with a hint of disdain, "leaves town."

"My companion? Who do you m— oh. Logan?" Dylan eyed Ajax warily. "I really have to stay here for a whole week just because of that asshole?"

"Right now, he's asking around town, trying to find you." Ajax locked eyes with Dylan. "You can guess why."

"To say sorry?"

Ajax didn't reply.

Dylan winced. The way that Logan had looked at him from the floor after Dylan had hit him, his eyes crazed, seething…

Yeah, Dylan could believe that the guy held a grudge. Fucking psycho. "So you'renotgoing to hurt me?"

"I told you that back in the bar." There was a hint of frustration in Ajax's expression at that. "He will, though, if he gets his hands on you."

"No way. Like, not seriously." Dylan laughed nervously, not able to hide his growing agitation. "I could tell that he was rich,but that makes it even harder for him, right? If he beat my ass, I'd just go public with it. Shit, if he's really that high and mighty, I'd get some tabloid deal and tell the world that he kicked my ass because he was embarrassed his dick didn't work."

"He wouldn't give you the opportunity to do that."

"To go public? What do you—" Dylan belatedly realized what Ajax meant. He snorted. "Oh, come on. He wouldn't seriously kill me. He couldn't get away with that."

Ajax looked him in the eyes. "Who would care?"

Dylan froze.

Ajax's words hung heavy in the air. Dylan stared at him, searching for a hint of reassurance, but found none.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks – there really was no one in his life who would care if he died.

A bitter laugh escaped Dylan's lips, a sharp contrast to the panic welling up inside him. "Who would care?" he repeated, his voice dripping with a mixture of disbelief and despair. The realization gnawed at his insides, a cold, hollow feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. "You're right. No-one."

If he never showed again, his roommates would throw his stuff outside and get someone else to pay the rent. His boss would just assume he'd skipped out without warning like so many of the restautant's hires, and find someone else to scrub dishes. Kai would wonder about him, Dylan knew. He was a good guy… but despite their easy camaraderie, they weren't exactly tight friends.

And since he'd left home, his parents hadn't looked for him once. In their eyes, he was already dead.

The room felt suffocating. His pulse quickened, and he could feel the tremor in his hands as a wave of anger bubbled up from within.

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