#trust ik what he means when he brings up every single person in the room omg

[jackmkelly]

i really reallyyy like the scene where jack goes to pulitzers alone and finds out kath is his daughter and stuff because you fully watch him break. not in the way he was broken during crutchies arrest or santa fe where he was alone but we get to watch in real time his facade fade. he walks in only to immediately be insulted and without missing a beat returns the same energy to pulitzer and continues to do so until pulitzer reveals kath is his daughter. then he tells snyder to come out. then the delanceys hold jack still so he cant try running. and then ONLY thing jack can come up with in response is “you stink” . THEN pulitzer brings up crutchie. Then he brings up davey and les. and we dont hear a word from that kid for the rest of the scene. he didnt even have it in him to make a comment to or about the delanceys.

[keanureevesisbae]

Protection Chapter 6

Summary: Mia and August are in the safehouse, but Mia has a plan, since she really doesn’t want to be here. 

August Walker x Mia Makaruku (ofc)

Wordcount: 5.4k

Warnings: Mentions of stabbing and guns.

Masterlist // Protection Masterlist // Previous Chapter

1 hour at the safe house

After the three hour drive, August and I arrive at this safe house. It’s the middle of the night and normally I’m in a deep and nice sleep, spooning Bobo and dreaming about some sort of male celebrity to ease my mind. That is not the case now, despite my brain being dog tired, but it’s also running over time.

The safe house is like every ordinary house, but maybe that is exactly what we need. We need to fit in with the rest of the world, not sticking out like sore thumbs.

Bobo is already acclimated to the place, curling himself up on the sofa, purring loudly as he is about to drift off to sleep.

Me on the other hand, can’t relax for shit. I’m pacing (no, not pacing, limping) through the living room, desperately hoping to remember something. It doesn’t matter what. Maybe something about my family, something that is a dead give away I’m not part of this weird family who had access to the safe. Maybe something about what happened between the crash and me sitting on the curb, holding my arm as I was waiting for help.

Or something that would get me out of this place.

August was my safe haven for the drive here, but I don’t know what to think of him. Do I believe him when he says he’ll protect me? Yes, especially what happened to me on the parking lot.

Do I trust him?

I have no idea…

Is he soft and kind to me?

Yes.

And is that everything I need for now?

I hate to admit it, but yes…

I let out a deep sigh. While I keep on wishing I need to be with someone who I feel safe with, it’s brutally obvious that… August is the only one who can both protect me and make me feel safe. I think about his strong arms wrapped around my body, my forehead resting against his chest and him allowing me to hold his hand. I know that’s not what he wants, or at least, what he would initiate, but he lets me. He lets me hold him, lean on him and cry on him.

And that sure means something right? He understands and gives in to my needs.

I turn on my foot, but since my brain is nearly frying itself, I forget this one hurts. I wince and sit on the floor, holding my ankle tightly. Tears trickle down my cheeks, without me actually crying.

I just want to go home, to my own psychical therapist who could help me out. I need normalcy back in my life.  

‘What are you doing?’

My head jerks up, to discover August standing near the kitchen, leaning against the wall. The softness I felt during the way here, it disappeared. Maybe because I wasn’t responding well to it, or because I was responding to it a bit too much. I have been a snotty and hopeless mess since early Monday morning, when I found out about the file.

‘I was pacing.’

He walks into the living room and stops in front of me. ‘You need to be careful.’

‘Well spotted. I can see the CIA training taught you well.’

August sighs. ‘I think you need a new gauge on it.’ He holds out his hand and with a groan I take it. He pulls me up, but when I’m standing, his arm glides underneath my knees and back, carrying me to the kitchen. He does it so effortlessly and without a thought. Maybe that softness is still there. Maybe he does care. He places me on the counter and takes off my shoe.

‘That hurts,’ I hisses.

‘I know,’ he says. He opens a few cabinets, but doesn’t see what he was looking for. ‘Wait here.’

He wanders out of the kitchen and comes back with my mug. The one with the flowers. The one I left at his place. He fills it with water and holds it in front of me, together with a strip of painkillers. ‘Did you bring this with you?’ I ask him, as I wrap my fingers around the mug.

He nods.

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s home and I figured you could need it.’ He ushers me to take the painkiller and I do what he asks me to do. I lean back, with my head against the cabinet doors. He grabs a dusty barstool and places my foot on his lap.

‘August,’ I whisper.

‘Yes?’

‘I don’t hate you.’

He looks up. ‘I know.’

‘I’m just scared.’

‘I know that too.’ He takes off my sock and bandage and checks my ankle, that is swelling and turning red. ‘I think I need to provide you with a brace. Or do you have one with you?’

I shake my head. ‘I left it at home, I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t apologize,’ he snaps and I tense up. Just because he isn’t apologizing, he all of the sudden has this personal vendetta against me doing it. ‘I’ll try and arrange something. For now a new bandage will do.’

While he prepares the new bandages, I carefully place my hand on his cheek as I lean forward. He lets it happen and maybe I’m totally hallucinating, but I think he is leaning against my hand. ‘You sure you’ll protect me?’

‘I will,’ he answers in a dead serious tone.

‘Even Bobo?’

August looks up and bites back a smile. ‘Especially Bobo.’

5 hours at the safe house

I’m back at the crime scene, but this time I’m not a young girl anymore. I’m the me of today. I walk around the car wreck, spotting the limb bodies of other me’s family. I notice a young girl sitting on the curb. Me on the curb. Clutching my arm and simply staring at the wreck, as someone without a recognizable face drags away the body of a teenage boy, while another man drags away the body of a man.

They look deceased, but as of right now, they could be unconscious.

A woman, who is just as unidentifiable as the other men, crouches down in front of me. ‘Vanaf nu, is jouw naam Mia,’ she tells me. From now on, your name is Mia.

The young girl—me—shakes her head. ‘Nee, dat ben ik niet.’ No, I’m not.

‘Jawel, luister goed. Als iemand er naar vraag, jij heet Mia. Mia Makaruku. M-A-K-A-R-U-K-U.’ Yes, listen carefully. If someone asks, you’re Mia. Mia Makaruku. M-A-K-A-R-U-K-U.’

With a jolt I’m wide awake. I look around me, expecting to find Bobo for some emotional support, but he is not here. I could use a hug, to be honest and Bobo is the one that I wished was right here to hug me. I slip on some warm socks and get out of my bed. No, the bed in the safe house. It’s not mine. It smells musty. My bed always smells like lavender.

‘Bobo,’ I whisper shout, ‘where are you?’

I see August’s door is opened ajar and I peek inside, only to see Bobo curled up on the windowsill, while August isn’t asleep. He looks up and flicks on his light. ‘What’s wrong?’

I want to make a stupid remark about Bobo sleeping here and how they are becoming close buddies and how it should make me jealous, but it can’t seem to leave my lips. I simply lean against the doorframe and fumble with my shirt.

‘Mia, what’s up?’

‘I had a memory,’ I whisper, but it’s loud enough for him to hear. I close the door and I walk over to his bed. I sit on the edge, staring at Bobo, who is still asleep and doesn’t really care I walked in. Looks like I’m traded in for. Nice to know that my lovely cat will trade me for someone with testosterone. ‘My name is not Mia Makaruku.’ I tell him what the memory is about. I don’t feel tears coming up, but to be fair, I have cried for hours on end.

August sits up straight next to be on the edge. ‘You know what your real name is?’

I shake my head. ‘That was all I wanted to tell you.’ I want to stand up again, but August grabs my wrist and forces me on his bed again. ‘What?’

‘I know it’s hard.’

‘How?’ I ask him. ‘Because this all happened to you when you were younger? Did you have a promising career, that was put on hold because someone swooped into your life and all of the sudden you realize you are not who you think you are?’

He doesn’t say anything, but I simply pull my wrist out of his grasp, grab Bobo and march back into my room.

1 day at the safe house

I came to the conclusion that in no way, I can stay here in this safe house.

August is keeping a close eye on me and I have to tell him what I’m going to do every single time I leave the room. Even when I just need to pee! This whole situation is suffocating me. I wished he would just be a bit more relaxed, less controlling and just back the fuck off.

Ever since I had my first memory, I have been thinking about it, nearly giving myself a painful headache. But I don’t remember anything.

When I was wandering through the house, I confiscated a letter opener, to use it as some sort of weapon. Who knows if I might need it one day. And that one day might come sooner than I think.

I’m sitting in the living room, as the blinds are closed, leaving us with the lights on, in the middle of the day. I can barely sit anymore, so I walk towards a wall and do a handstand against it. I hear some bones in my shoulders crack.

For a top athlete, going from intense training to nothing, it’s unhealthy. I read about those people who get heart attacks after they retire and get a heart attack within the first week of doing nothing, after a very intensive job for forty years.

While I’m not suspecting a heart attack anytime soon and I shouldn’t compare this situation to retirement, I’m keeping it in mind.

Is it your left arm that starts to hurt when you have a nearing heart attack?

‘What are you doing?’

I roll my eyes, but he doesn’t see that. ‘I would swear you’re blind,’ I say, as I get back on my feet. ‘I was bowling, you happy now?’

August doesn’t say anything. He simply walks over to the couch and sits on my spot. Man spreading is tame in comparison with what he is doing. I think it’s a good thing this man wears pants, because I could’ve looked right up his ass and do an internal examination, without trying.

That’s quite the picture, Mia… What are you doing to yourself?

I turn around and let out a gasp when the doorbell rings three times very short. August stands up and ushers me to come over. I don’t understand why, but he looks pissed and I better listen to him. I limp towards him and he pushes me behind him. When he opens the door, he simply takes the package after signing for it and closes the door. ‘What was that about?’

‘Better be safe than sorry.’ He opens the package without using scissors (which is weird, because I would’ve needed a scissor or a knife to open it, but to each their own) and hands me my new ankle brace.

‘Oh,’ I say, when I see he actually arranged a real good one. Maybe he cares in his weird way… ‘Thanks.’

He doesn’t say anything about it. ‘I’ll start lunch.’

3 days at the safe house

It has been two days since I found the letter opener and I don’t think he suspects a thing. The hours pass by without a mishap. I let him check my ankle twice a day, I try to get him to like Bobo (no success so far and that’s all on August) and we watch the stars every night, since that’s the only time he lets me out of the house.

Pretending I made peace with the situation, gave me enough opportunities to plan my escape. Even when he made me a hot water bottle the other night because I was shivering, even when he suggested to cut the onions, so I wouldn’t get teary eyed and that time when he carried me to bed.

Even when he makes me feel like no one else made me before, I cannot stay here. I have read the files, I have seen where he hides our passports, I know where he hides his guns. I can escape.

Especially now, since I don’t want him near me anymore.

The only way I can actually lock him up, is by luring him into the basement and that sounds painfully scary, I admit, but I have to try. I’d rather die trying, than give up and sit here like I’ve given up on life.

I have to leave him.

Everything is all set and done in my bedroom, ready for me to leave. If I can’t hide it in my room (the car keys, the file or the passports and of course his guns) I know exactly where to find it.

I’m standing in some tight black leggings and a cropped sweater in the basement, trying to find something on the top shelve I could desperately need and I can’t reach. Pasta sauce? That seems like something I could use.

I have made some food in these past couple of days and I have yet to make some pasta. It sounds like me to try something new.

Normally I wouldn’t wear something that accentuates my ass this much, but I have to distract him some way, so maybe this’ll do. I don’t know, I have never done this before. Sure, I’ve kissed, but never anything further than that. Being a professional athlete, you barely have time to date.

Or that’s just me, I don’t know. Other girls seemed to find time to date…

My heart is pounding painfully fast in my chest. You can say about August Walker whatever you want, but that man looks terrifyingly experienced. He seems like the type of man who can rip you apart and you’d beg him to do so again.

It’s now or never, Mia.

‘August!’ I yell.

It takes a second before he answers. ‘Yes?’

‘Can you help me out?’

Asking him for something, is the way to his heart.

I hear his descending footsteps and I turn around, to see him approaching me. ‘Can you reach the pasta sauce for me?’ I ask. ‘I wanted to make pasta tonight.’

August simply nods and stretches himself to grab the package from the top shelf. ‘Anything else?’

I bite my lip, before shaking my head.

‘There is something on your mind,’ he says. ‘What is it?’

This man reads me like a book. I hate it. ‘Nothing, it’s silly, really.’ That and I might chicken out right now. Maybe this isn’t such a fantastic well thought out plan, though I thought about it non stop for the past forty eight hours.

But, am I seeing this correctly? Is he smiling? ‘Tell me this then: why are you wearing this?’

Oh shit, he is too good. Fuck, I just blew my cover, simply because it’s too much. ‘What?’

August places his large hand in the dip of my waist, his fingers touching my bare skin. ‘You never wear this.’

I clear my throat. Now is not a good time for that heart attack you were thinking about a two days ago, I tell myself. ‘Oh, I…’

‘Come on,’ he whispers, ‘you can tell me.’

I swallow hard, all of the sudden not so sure about this anymore. I shouldn’t let him intimidate me, but it sure does. It might have to do with this authoritarian lining I hear in his deep voice.

‘Tell me,’ he says, ‘did you plan this?’

I finally find my voice again, yet it’s not a very secure one. ‘Maybe,’ I whisper shakily.

‘Why?’

‘It’s you, really,’ I say and that is not a total lie. I mean, I have seen him pretty up close these passed few days. And since I’m a functioning human being with a heart beat and certain—slightly nasty—dreams about him…  It seems reasonable to be planning this, right?

August nods, before lifting me on the empty table I wished in my initial plan he would place me. ‘If I start, Mia, I don’t think I can stop.’

‘I don’t want you to stop,’ I whimper, already completely at his mercy.

I curse myself.

He chuckles and bites his bottom lip, his eyes turning a few shades darker. He takes off his shirt, revealing his strong and broad chest, covered with chest hair that I only saw glimpses of.

Am I sure I can do this? Am I sure I can do what I plan to do?

‘What?’ I ask him.

‘You look like a deer caught in the headlights, Mia.’

‘Oh,’ I gasp, which is a dead giveaway that I am indeed a deer caught in the headlights.

His strong hands force my legs open. ‘It’s a good thing I sometimes find you adorable.’

Now I’m actually offended. ‘Why only sometimes?’

He smiles. ‘Maybe always.’

I shouldn’t do this, I think to myself. I feel sorry for him now, he looks so approachable and finally he shows me who he is deep down. The August Walker that I knew was in there, hidden by the walls he has built. The August Walker I saw glimpses of since the day I met him. Okay, maybe not since the day I met him, but since we went to that basketball game.

I place my hands on his broad chest and let my nails drag over his skin. August bridges the space between us and the second our lips touch and his tongue enters my mouth, I hook my feet together behind his hips.

The way this man kisses… I have never been kissed like this. Never have I ever been so overpowered, so dominated.

I’m getting too sucked into this moment, that for a second I forget my plan. He buries his face in my neck, his tongue running over the delicate skin. I bite my lip to keep my moans in, but somehow one escapes.

‘Such a needy little girl,’ he grunts in my nape, before going out of his way to leave his marks on me.

When he kisses my lips again, he seems distracted enough, I think to myself. My hand goes underneath the edge of the table, where I taped the letter opener…

But I can’t find it.

‘You were looking for this?’ he asks when he pulls back. His fingers twirl the letter opener around.

Oh fuck, I screwed up big time.

‘I admire you thought about this,’ he says, ‘but I’m not a total idiot.’ He lets the sharp tip drag over my cheek, causing me to pull back.

‘You knew?’

‘Of course I knew,’ he chuckles. ‘I’m a CIA agent, I notice everything you do. I’m trained to do such thing.’ He pulls back completely and I let out a groan. While he puts the letter opener in the back pocket of his pants, he grabs his shirt from the floor. ‘Shame, Mia, that I can read you like a book, but yet again… I appreciate the effort.’

He turns around with a cocky grin and I clench my jaw. What an asshole. I look around me and see a block of wood next to the table. I jump off the table, grab the wood and rush towards him. I am not giving up, because if I did so, I wouldn’t have become the soccer player I am today.

I was, I mean, because I’ve come to the realization those soccer playing times might be over.

August must’ve heard me (he is a CIA agent after all), but I’m mid swing already and the edge of the block hits him on his temple. I watch as the enormous man falls like a bag of potatoes and I stare at his limp body on the floor.

Did I just kill him?

Before I jump over him to go up the stairs, I quickly check his pulse in his neck. Okay, there is a heartbeat. I climb up the stairs and lock the door.

It’s game time.

I rush to my room, grab my coat and the carriage for Bobo. I figured I would bring him to a shelter, before I would get on the plane, because I’m not leaving my precious orange cat in a safe house with August Walker.

Within record time I have got my bag ready, the file and I grabbed the fake Indonesian passport I need. ‘Come on, Bobo,’ I try to coax him and the dumb ass actually goes into the cage.

‘Mia, don’t fucking do this,’ I hear August yell, as he is trying to force the door open.

Okay, it’s quite a relief to know he really wasn’t dead.

I grab the car keys and when I walk passed his room, my eyes fall on his weapon holster. The one last thing I need. I grab his gun and though I have zero idea on how to use it, I can just do what they do in movies.

Just pull the trigger, right?

I grab the carriage with Bobo, only to hear August breaking out from the basement. The door collapses in front of me and I see his eyes are dark, but not filled with lust like they were a few moments ago.

Filled with absolute rage.

‘Don’t even fucking think about it,’ he growls.

Before I even think, I grab the gun out of the bag and point it to him. My hands are shaking. ‘Let me go,’ I say.

‘Mia, I can’t let you go.’

‘I don’t want the CIA to help me,’ I tell him, as tears run over my cheeks. Way to make your point, Mia. ‘I just want my normal life back.’

‘You can’t and you know that.’

I do know that. ‘I want to find answers on my own,’ I continue, ‘and on my own, doesn’t involve you. I hate you, August Walker, I fucking hate you.’

I can see it in his eyes, that he tells himself that it’s not true and it’s not true. I don’t hate him, I just need to get out of here. He clenches his jaw. ‘Give me the gun, Mia.’

I shake my head. ‘No. Step aside or I’ll shoot.’

Even I’m not convinced…

August walks up to me and places his hand on the barrel, pulling the gun against his chest. ‘Do it then.’

My finger is on the trigger, but… I’m too weak to shoot him. I hand him the gun, before hiding my face into my hands. I lean with my back against the wall. This is so embarrassing. Why on earth did I think I could escape?

I hear August opening the door of the carriage, followed by the soft steps of Bobo.

‘Talk to me, Mia,’ he says, causing me to look up. When our eyes meet, he isn’t mad. He looks so disappointed. but I’m not sure if he’s disappointed in me or himself for letting this happen.

I take a deep breath. I don’t know what to say about this situation. ‘How is your head?’ I ask him, noticing some blood running over the side of his face.

‘It’s okay.’

I simply take his hand and drag him with me to the kitchen. He sits on a lower stool, so I can actually reach his face, without having to wear pointe shoes. I see a small cut on his temple, the source of the stream of blood and I grab the kit he used on me so many times. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say in a soft tone. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking.’

‘Don’t apologize.’

‘But I have to, August. I hurt you.’ I clean the wound, before grabbing the special bandages to pull wounds like this back together.

He sighs deeply. ‘You did what you thought was best. I can’t argue with that.’ His tone is low, raspy, but also soft.

He doesn’t sound angry at all, while I expect him to be. I mean, I kinda wanted to stab him.

‘It’s just that I… I just want to get out of here.’

August nods. ‘I know that and we will go. Eventually.’ When our eyes meet again, I see the hurt. Fuck, I hurt him so badly. Guilt washes over me and there are a million things I could say to him. But he doesn’t let me. ‘Don’t beat yourself up over this.’

He can indeed read me like a fucking book and I should hate that. But I’m actually quite relieved as of now.

‘I’m not beating myself up.’

‘You are.’

I push back some of his hairs, my fingertips running over his scalp. He melts against the touch and shuts his eyes, letting out a deep sigh.

‘I won’t escape anymore,’ I whisper.

‘I know.’

‘It’s… I don’t know what possessed me. I mean… I hit you in the head quite hard.’

He shakes his head. ‘Don’t you worry about it. Besides, I’m actually pretty relieved. I now know you can defend yourself properly.’

‘Properly?’ I can’t help but chuckle and I see a tiny smile form on his lips. ‘Don’t over exaggerate. August, I just… I feel so useless here. I don’t remember a lot of stuff. I just sit here and wait. I haven’t done that in a long time.’

He nods. ‘You are not useless.’

‘I need to do something with my time. It’s awful sitting here, with you breathing down my neck.’

He smiles. ‘How about I teach you some basic self defense tips?’

‘Please,’ I say. ‘Honestly, you could ask me to do some embroidery and I would take it.’

He places a hand on my back and actually forces me to sit on his thighs. My eyes enlarge, causing him to chuckle. ‘I meant what I said in there,’ he says. ‘Both the deer caught in the headlights part and the needy little girl part.’

Yeah, I just want to disappear and I wished that could be arranged. ‘Could we maybe not mention that. Like, ever again? I’d like to maintain some form of dignity.’

His lips graze over my cheeks. ‘Had I not found the letter opener,’ he whispers, ‘how far would you let me go?’

‘Not far. I was gonna stab you, August,’ I chuckle, but it’s a nervous one, since I can hardly focus as I sit on his thick thighs. ‘Why?’

‘Because something tells me… You’ve never done that before.’

That can’t be good. I feel like my self confidence just disappeared into thin air. ‘Was it that bad?’

‘No, no, no!’ he quickly says. ‘It’s just that your heart rate was out of the roof and… You seemed nervous.’

‘I kinda was. But mostly because I needed to stab you.’

‘Liar.’

‘I’m not a liar.’

‘You are,’ he says, before placing a kiss on my cheekbone. It’s so soft and tender, almost a full 180 of that kiss he gave me in the basement, a place I will never go back to again, because I’ll probably die of shame. ‘And that’s okay.’

I want to say something, but then I hear a loud meow and August growling. ‘Stupid cat, stop doing that!’

‘The attack thing on your leg?’ I ask him.

‘Yes, what a stupid idiot.’

‘Hey, don’t talk to him like that!’ I look over and see Bobo peeking around the corner of the kitchen island. ‘I can’t believe I genuinely thought I could take Bobo with me on my little adventure.’

August pulls me closer to him. ‘It shows your character, Mia.’

I meet his eyes again. ‘You’re not mad at me anymore?’

‘I haven’t been mad at you. I know you don’t want to stay here and that is a mutual feeling. I just have to know I can guarantee your safety.’

I nod. ‘When do you think we can leave?’

‘Next week somewhere?’

‘Is it allowed for me to get wasted or am I bringing the operation in danger if I do so?’

He smiles. ‘One drink, that’s the best I can do.’

I don’t want to do it, but I press my lips against his. A quick peck, nothing compared to the kiss earlier. But it’s all I can do right now. ‘Can we start now?’

5 days at the safe house

‘What’s that?’ I ask August, when he places a box on the table.

Ever since my little escape debacle (I let August swear never to mention it again and so far he lips were sealed), time doesn’t go by as slowly and August actually trusts me now. I don’t have justify myself for every step I take. He teaches me some self defense, but I’m a very slow learner and he tries to be patient, but really isn’t.

It’s nice being around August, especially when he tries to be nice to Bobo.

He is just a bit uneasy around the cat.

‘It’s for you,’ he says, not making eye contact.

‘It’s not even my birthday,’ I say.

August simply shrugs. ‘I can give you gifts, right?’

‘I mean, if you want, you won’t hear me complaining. I love gifts.’ I grab the box and pull it closer to me. It’s not really tightly closed, so I can easily open it. I peek inside, only to discover a…

A soccer ball?

‘Are you serious?’ I ask him. ‘Why?’

‘Because I know you miss soccer,’ he tells me. ‘I know I can’t bring back full stadiums, screaming fans and a better opponent, but this is the least I can do. Just remember: take good care of your foot.’

‘Of course, of course.’ A smile appears on my face and I take it out of the box, balancing the ball on my hand. Memories flash through my mind. My first soccer ball, the first goal I made in amateur soccer, after that professional soccer.

I walk around the table and I give him a kiss on his cheek. Ever since kissing one another after the basement event, we didn’t do that anymore. But now feels like an appropriate time to do so? Maybe not, but it’s happening now.

I can’t go back now.

‘Since I can’t use my foot, you want to throw it with me?’

‘Of course,’ he says. However, before we can start, I sense he wants to say something to me. I wait, but he shakes it off. ‘Never mind. Let me move the couch, so we have more room.’

10 days at the safe house

I am in a deep sleep, when I hear some rumbling sounds in the background. I open my eyes, but I figure out it’s one of August’s nightly escapades. He does that quite often in the middle of the night. Just wandering around, moving around some things and sometimes I even hear him exercising. I wonder if he ever sleeps.

Not me though, when it’s dark outside, I’m sleeping.

I turn around and try to drift off in a nice sleep again, hoping to go back to that lovely dream again, but then my door opens. I jolt awake, when August enters my room. ‘Easy now,’ August says. ‘You’re coming with me.’

‘What’s happening?’

‘I got your clothes, your stuff, everything. Even your creepy cat worked with me and got in his carriage.’ He hands me a thick sweater and helps me in it. My head is still a bit drowsy and my body barely works. August lifts me up and I place my head against his shoulder.

‘I can walk,’ I mumble.

‘I know, but you’re sleepy,’ he whispers. ‘Besides, I don’t mind.’

That shouldn’t make me smile as much as it does.

He carries me to the car and places me in the passengers seat. He starts the car and with an illegal speed he drives off. I look over my shoulder, to see Bobo in the carriage.

‘What’s happening, August?’ I ask him. ‘Why are we leaving?’

‘We might’ve been found,’ he says, his eyes not leaving the road.

I nod. I grab his hand from the steering wheel and I hold it in both of mine. ‘I trust you,’ I whisper. ‘I really do.’

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

previously on...

Chapter 1! Reader's job has no chill and Wanda means well (Tony does too), but, as we know, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Reader discovers the source of some peculiar things and can't help but be overcome with curiosity. F-bombs galore!

Fun fact: this story's main soundtrack is Claire de Lune, for some reason. Usually I can't stand classical music.

I didn't anticipate my first day at the bodega to be remarkful in any way but I was quickly proven wrong. My expectations were low: few customers, some of them flat-earthers of the garden variety, perhaps one or two of those 'witches' from social media blogging platforms and an overzealous Satanist or two, since I was pretty sure I saw an Ouija board and a silver pentagram hanging in Odette's office on the day of the interview.

Boy was I wrong.

We averaged a customer every fifteen minutes with each person requesting increasingly strange items: healing quartz and sage were on the closer end of normal; I felt like I had teleported to Hogwarts and was now attending Professor Snape's Advanced Potions class, having to race between the high shelves and memorize the exact location of each and every ingredient. In the end, I sacrificed a few dollars and bought one of the beautiful, leather-bound notebooks off Odette to write down the shelf and position number for the most commonly requested items and planned to begin memorizing them at home.

There's a little bit of Ravenclaw in all of us, I supposed. My curiosity only extended further: sometimes, a haggard looking person would come up and declare they had an appointment with Odette and was quickly whisked away by my boss to her office, coming out looking slightly less haggard in about half an hour or so.

I adapted to the routine fairly quickly, choosing to make my personal peace with the strange customers and Odette's mysterious meetings: after all, I got the job because I needed money - who was I to judge her for doing Tarot readings and spiritual séances for an extra dollar?

The bodega's atmosphere did grow on me rather quickly, as I had thought it would. It was warm and homely even on the rainiest afternoons, there was an unlimited supply of herbal tea, free of charge, and I grew to appreciate it just like I learned to find the positives in my job at the café. That remained a constant, mildly interesting affair too - my regulars, especially the superheroes, had started coming in during the morning hours and we were able to resume our chit-chats without a hitch.

Wanda still fished for my most recent, memorable reading and Dr. Banner left his incomprehensible scribbles on every napkin within an arm's reach for me to return to him on his next visit. The fully grown man with multiple PhDs didn't fail to blush like a schoolgirl every single time it happened, causing Mr. Stark to double on his own salacious jokes, should the engineer have had come with. They often came together, blabbering things I couldn't even fathom understanding even with the help of Google.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Wanda sounded surprisingly chipper for it was freaking seven in the morning.

I blanched, banging my arm against the display door painfully with a softly muttered, "Fuck!".

The witch frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I muttered, hoping my face wasn't portraying the mixture of confusion and fear that I felt. "Something weird happened at my other job yesterday, I'm still processing," I replied honestly, looking to the side.

In fairness, I didn't know what to think. The situation wasn't something that should have shocked me, with aliens and magic people an abundance in NYC, but seeing it with my own two eyes had been jarring.

A limping, paranoid young man had arrived for an appointment with Odette shortly before closing time; I had escorted him to her office without as much as a blink, only noticing he was dripping oddly colored blood when the door behind him had closed. I cleaned it up, dead set on confronting Odette about the obviously injured person - the blood, it was more of an attempt to clean it, since it merely stuck to the rag, refusing to wash off it with water or any of the organic cleaning solutions kept under the sink.

I had to leave the rag in a paper bag, acutely aware of the fact it could not have belonged to a normal person. My best guess was that a man was a mutant - NYC had plenty of them living behind a blue wall. Odette's office wasn't soundproof: I heard a pained yelp and then a vocalisation of relief as whatever was causing the man to bleed had been removed. In a few minutes while I was closing the cash register, he came out looking almost brand new - and as I paid him a more careful look, he was missing his scleras, leaving his eyes to look slightly terrifying.

And then he winked at me, a surprisingly human, boyish gesture - the smile that crawled up my face was purely automatic. I was sure it looked frozen. He disappeared without a word as Odette herself emerged from the backrooms, a tired sheen to her brow.

"Did you manage to clean up?" She asked, eyebrows raised at the lack of stains on the hardwood floors.

"It stuck to the rag," I replied, eyeing her warily. "The rag is in the unmarked bag next to the sink. I didn't know what else to do with it."

"Sometimes it does that," her sigh was very telling. This was to be expected to become a regular occurrence. She motioned for the notebook I got to keep track of everything in the store, rattling off a recipe for a cleaner and solvent combo, made purely from the items she had inside the store, giving me stern instructions to add the ingredients in the exact order I was told. I sighed but added the footnote. Odette was a far cry from the greasy git from Hogwarts so she deserved the benefit of the doubt at least.

I didn't dare to ask any more questions about the strange man; not that day, not after I had suprised Wanda with a quick recap of my story. It's not like I had anything against mutants - as long as they were peaceful and didn't harm humans with their abilities, I was content to co-habit, share my space and even be friends with them. A very nice old lady who came by three times a week had gills peeking out of the top of her turtleneck and she was just the most polite, sweetest thing.

Wanda's curiosity was understandable and not suspicious in any way: I was under the impression she was a mutant, too, along with her twin brother - so the feeling of dread that blossomed within me as soon as the two suited figures entered the small store I attributed to the larger size of the man and vulture eyes of the woman. They both appeared extremely out of place with their black two-pieces and badly hidden pistol holsters, topped off with badges I couldn't take a good look at without losing my customer service facade.

I decided to play it dumb, self-conscious of the thudding of my heart in my ribcage. My body screamed 'danger' at me. "Hello, how can I help you?"

The woman cast an observant look over me, my plain clothes, lingering on my star-patterned scarf and matching hair band. "Are you the owner of this store?"

"No," I frowned, not liking where this was going. "Do you have an appointment with Odette?"

"We'd like to see her," the man pointedly moved his arm, exposing the gun and the badge.

I dropped the nice act, staring him down in earnest. I never liked self-righteous, pushy government officials; even less so, when they didn't follow protocol and started the conversation with demands instead of proper introductions. As I shot a quick text to Odette, noting that there were 'strange people in uniform' looking for her, my suspicions were only confirmed when the woman looked around the store with eyes that knew what they were looking for. Those two definitely weren't cops or even feds, they were straight up shady.

Odette all but flew to the bodega, the imposing, suffocating aura I'd seen only once on full display. It was hard to breathe standing so close to her; with muted satisfaction, I noticed both agents squirm, their fingers twitching, as they took in shuddering inhales through their, undoubtedly, lying mouths.

The whole spectacle was over quickly. I had managed to serve and quickly usher out Ike, one of the Satanists (yes, we did, in fact, have a few of those as regulars) with his paper bag full of powdered goat horn and a fresh cat skull under his armpit before the curtains parted and the two agents left without saying a word. I thought their eyes looked - wrong, like glass marbles, dull, lifeless and unseeing.

Odette dismissed my worries with a frivolously waved hand: "They won't be bothering us anytime soon," closing the door to her office - it reeked of strong incense and horseradish, for some reason. Like she'd been making some hell salad in front of the two nosy officials.

I took a deep breath in and then a deep breath out. The weirdness should've bothered me more, I knew, but I couldn't bring myself to decide whether I wanted to know what that interaction was actually about or live in blissful ignorance, where my boss might be some sort of a mutant or an actual witch that helps other mutants.

The longer I thought about it, the louder anti-mutant propaganda articles screamed at me: children being killed or abandoned because one day, they woke up and could fly or move things with their mind; every potential situation could end up like Carrie or Brightburn - two movies so blatantly obvious in their point to instill fear against children that could grow to work alongside Earth's Mightiest Defenders.

Needless to say, my conscious calmed down pretty quickly. I had felt the hairs on my nape stand up as soon as the agents entered the room and in my experience, a reaction like that was never good. I had been taught to trust my gut.

Odette had cancelled her visits for the day, holing up in her office as the whole store rapidly filled up with the stench of horseradish, old blood and sage. The occasional noise came from the office, interrupted by mumbling, and I was quickly told to just turn up the old, vintage radio if it bothered me.

I was too busy taking in the contents of her office - the table that previously stood in the far end of it, stood in the middle, folded out into the shape of a circle. Something was drawn on it, something the color of dried blood, and there were light candles, white and blue, littered on almost every possible surface. The air was clouded with incense smoke, so thick, it made my eyes water.

Odette's grin was sardonic as she met my eyes, wide and shocked, that had previously landed on what looked like a pot- or a cauldron, emanating the strongest bitter stench that wafted even through the lead curtain of incense. No wonder the whole store reeked.

Before she gently shut the door in my face, I caught the centerfold of the whole show - an extremely large, tattered, leatherbound tome with yellowed pages and a heavy metal padlock laying next to it. Overcome by stupor, I didn't manage to make out the intricate silver letters on its cover.

Needless to say, walking home that day was an adventure. In part, I was cautious that the agents would find me, follow me home, interrogate me - I've never been arrested even by usual cops and it was unlikely that shady government agencies were delicate in their approach. A larger part of my brain was wondering about the implications of what I had seen, I'd nearly chewed off my fingernails remembering the vacant, lost face expressions on the agents' faces.

As soon as I got home, I set to do some serious googling. And find information, I did. Plethora of minor details - candle colors, herbs used, deeply individual incantations and mythical deities that chose to work with a particular witch. It was nothing short of a whole science; I'd go as far as to say it was a complete lifestyle. The use of magick bled into every aspect of daily life, from sleep to food to communication with others.

Part of me felt incredulity at the implication of sacrificing so much to get results that might be the opposite of the ones desired. A larger, braver part of me - the very same that used to push me to explore abandoned buildings with my friends and drink booze given by a stranger - admired the work and the dedication my boss and her kind put into their work.

Having received my first paycheck and successfully having made it through rent day without having to make excuses, my conscious allowed me to treat myself to a few items - I decided to give into my curiosity and placed an order for a few books on modern witchcraft, happily waiting for the package to arrive next afternoon. I went to sleep with my head full and a new world at my feet to explore.

The books were late - or more like, never showed. The refund couldn't come soon enough. My curiosity began to reach unbearable levels the longer I worked the front desk at Odette's. These days I didn't need much assistance anymore, ready to help any new or returning customer with the help of my notebook. Time after time, I noticed a certain working order, a pattern to things if you may - and was able to recommend a few things here and there. In short, I stepped over my initial apprehension and dove into the world of natural remedies and energetic manipulation headfirst.

It made all the sense that Odette would start to take absence from the bodega as my training progressed. On the days she had fewer or no appointments, she would don her favourite scarf and trot out the front door, large purse in tow, to run errands or restock on the rare, pricy items that couldn't get delivered directly to the shop. I'd grown accustomed to locking up on my own; the spare key to the entrance door was my pride and joy, the dull silver a warm comfort hanging on a chain around my neck. Its antique design made a fairly pretty necklace.

The customer coming to pick up a special order hardly disrupted my time. I had Janis Joplin blaring from the old radio, my skirt swayed to the rhythm of the song together with me. The elevated mood while working in the shop was something I appreciated fully - with a kind smile, I departed for the backrooms to search for the package with the customer's name, not finding it anywhere near the proper place. A call later, I was opening Odette's office and extracting the paper-wrapped shoebox from the fridge, passing it into the customer's arms with utmost care: 'FRAGILE. KEEP REFRIGERATED AT ALL TIMES.' read on it in Odette's sharp cursive.

The bell above the door rang as the woman departed but I was already inching behind the curtain, overcome by sudden inquisitiveness.

The book. It stood right in the middle of Odette's desk, shut, but missing its padlock, beckoning with the thick gothic letters spelling out 'PRACTICAL ALCHEMY'. I noticed it as soon as I stepped into the office, confused and puzzled by my own unbearable desire to approach it immediately. I knew something was amiss, yet, my legs had a mind of their own and my hands firmly placed themselves upon the heavy cover of the book, seemingly without the input from my brain.

"What the hell..." I muttered to myself, finding the books contents to be - for the lack of a better word - peculiar. "Protect a babe born on all Hallows Eve..." I numbly mouthed the first words that my eyes registered. The pages made a soft noise as my shaking fingers turned them, one after the other. "Bestow healing upon a barren womb... Punish a thief..." There were - spells, and potions, and so many plants I've never even heard about before.

The pages turned and handwritings changed - at the start, words were written out precisely, the cursive neat and sharp, obviously written by an ink pen. Some things were scribbles, pencil or charcoal, so barely intelligible I had to guess about a third of the words written. Towards the end of the book pages made with a typewriter appeared - blocky letters and numbers, language modern, ash and cigarette smell coming from the paper.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The longer my hands touched the pages, the stronger the tingling sensation became - I failed to notice it at first, attributing it to the exhilaration of finding something so strange yet so precious, but as I was finishing a page that contained a fairly short spell for protection of a witches' home, the discomfort of my palms rose into a mild stinging pain.

"Fuck," I yelped, casting a look at my fingers. They were hot, angry, as if I had briefly touched boiling oil - and the skin on my fingertips began to blister, little white pustules forming where I had gingerly held the pages of the book in place. "What the fuck?" Was my reasonable question to nobody in particular.

The books contents were, no doubt, interesting but I was more concerned with the state of my hands - had I ignored the pain for five more minutes, I might have had to go to the hospital to treat what was beginning to look like a second-degree burn. I slammed it shut none-too-gently, placing it exactly as I found it and winced when barely a second of touching it brought on more excruciating pain.

The healing peppermint oil salve I knew people bought for mild burns only soothed the initial sting, so I had to suffer until I clocked out, stopping by a drugstore on my way home to purchase some much-needed burn cream. And while it didn't make it worse, I knew that my next day at work was going to be Hell.

Most thankful, however, I was to my voice-to-text option on my cell. Not only it allowed me to communicate with my friends without hurting my abused skin even more, but it also dutifully saved the short, simple spell that was supposed to protect my house. There was no harm in trying it, I supposed, after seeing what I didn't doubt was the book's own protection wreak havoc on my snoopy little hands.

The tag list is open until the story is finished.

@couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

[pedroscurls]

Title: Fatal Attraction (Part 12.)

Character(s): Ike Evans, Ben Diamond, and Diana (original female character) Summary: Diana performs and is finally rescued. Word Count: 2,693 Warning: None. Author’s Note: The plan has now put into action... Enjoy! 

Throughout the week, Diana was lucky enough that Ben didn’t bother her. Her bruises had now disappeared and as Saturday neared, she was more than ready to showcase her talent again. She wondered if Ike felt bad for her, which was why he was doing all of this in the first place. She was pregnant and Ike was the father, but her main concern was trying to get out of this mansion before she started showing.

Diana’s morning sickness continued throughout the week, but with her stress lessening substantially, it wasn’t as bad as it was a week ago. Now, she was able to eat without having to toss it back up; she was also having midnight cravings that she couldn’t fulfill. Diana hoped that her show at the Miramar Playa would have some notable guests in the audience that could remove her from this dangerous environment and toxic relationship.

The morning of her performance, Diana was woken up by quiet knocks on her door. She slipped a silk robe to cover her frame and stood from her bed, padding her way to the door to reveal Ben on the other side. He was holding a tray of food and a glass of orange juice, and he was smiling.

“Ben?”

“Morning, Mrs. Diamond. It’s the big day,” he chuckled, stepping into her room without permission.

Out of instinct, Diana pulled the robe tighter around her frame and stared at him, biting her lower lip in anticipation from this sudden visit. “Thank you for breakfast, Ben.”

He set the tray down on her dresser, turning around to get a good look at her. Ben inched closer, his hands hovering along her sides as he gently rested them on her hips. “Something is different about you, baby. You’re glowing…”

“Excitement. I’m just excited to perform,” she lied.

“Hm…” Ben smiled. “Seems like it’s something else. Is it something else, Diana?”

Diana shook her head immediately. “What could it be, Ben?��

“You tell me, baby.”

“You’re overthinking. It’s nothing, Ben.” Diana laughed nervously, walking to her dresser to pick a strip of bacon from the plate. Once she looked over her shoulder at Ben, she noticed that his eyes had darkened slightly. She was aware that the lie she had given him wasn’t believable and Ben knew.

“Well, whatever it is, please remember that you are mine.”

Diana nodded hesitantly. “Of course, Ben. I married you. You’re my husband.”

“Good, because you know how I feel about liars right, baby?” he threatened.

“Y—Yes, Ben…”

He smiled, tilting his head in amusement. “All right then. I’ll let you eat your breakfast. I’ll be bringing you to the Miramar Playa later tonight.”

“Are you going to attend?” Diana asked.

“Tonight? Of course, baby.”

Once he left the room, Diana quickly locked it behind him. She sighed and stared at the food, her stomach growling immediately. Before, she was always hoping that Ben would show up to her performances, but now that he was going to attend one, she wished that he hadn’t.

The excitement was now replaced with dread. Diana didn’t want to look out into the crowd and notice Ben judging her for every move she made. She just hoped that Ben would hide himself in the shadows and allow her to do what she did best: Sing.

Diana spent the entire day preparing herself for tonight’s event. She tried to calm herself down, but the only thing that worked was if she thought about Ike and the short time they spent with one another. She would close her eyes, count back from twenty, and imagine Ike’s strong arms enveloping her frame. She imagined his warm breath breathing against her ear, his deep voice, his dimples, his naturally sparkly eyes, and most importantly, Diana imagined the way he looked at her.

Ben looked at her like she was some sort of trophy, like she was a piece of meat and nothing else. Ike looked at her like she was the entire world. His eyes would soften and a small smile would line his lips; it was enough for his dimples to show.

Diana knew it was wrong to compare both men, but the more she did, the more she realized that she had fallen for another man other than her husband. Oddly enough, she was more than okay with the idea of being married, yet falling in love with another person. Ben had controlled her the moment they moved to Miami, but she had been too naïve to notice it.

As Diana was getting ready, she made sure that her hair was perfectly curled and her make-up remained subtle. Pulling a red dress from the closet, Diana slid into the fabric and cleared her throat once she looked in the mirror.

She didn’t feel as confident as she did whenever she wore gowns as tight as this one, but Diana knew it was because she could imagine herself growing a baby bump in the matter of a few months. She wasn’t going to be able to wear dresses like this for a while, and she didn’t mind. It was time she stopped impressing Ben.

The red dress reached the floor and it sparkled with every move. With the thin spaghetti straps, the dress showcased her enlarged breasts. Diana knew it had gotten bigger since she had begun to feel the symptoms of pregnancy. Not only were they bigger, but they were even more sensitive.

There was a single knock on her door once she slid into her heels. Opening the door after she situated herself, Diana looked up at Al who grinned down at her.

“You ready? Ben’s waiting.”

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

Al nodded, leading her out of the room and down the stairs to the front yard of the mansion. Outside, Diana noticed Ben who was standing near an opened door dressed in a black and white tux. He looked proud and smug when he laid eyes on her. Little did Ben know was that while he may think he was the luckiest man alive, he wasn’t, and he never will be.

“You look gorgeous,” he grinned. “There’s that damn glow again.”

“Guess it’s the effect of makeup,” Diana laughed.

“Right. Well, let’s get this show on the road, baby. You’ve got a performance to do and I have money to make,” Ben chuckled.

Throughout the ride to the Miramar Playa, Diana felt her nerves build up. Not only did she feel her nerves, but she could feel bile rise in her throat at the thought of seeing Ike and Ben together in one room. She hoped that both men could keep their distance because she was sure that Ben had his suspicions.

Once they pulled up to the Miramar Playa, Diana stepped out and led to the changing room once Ben kissed her cheek. Now that she was alone, she shut her eyes and paced back and forth. This seemed all too familiar; she was waiting for Ike to barge through that door and kiss her, embrace her, hold her, and comfort her, but he never showed up.

Instead, it was Stevie that entered her room.

“Stevie?”

“You’re looking better,” he smiled.

“Thank you.”

“I just want to let you know that it’s going to happen tonight.”

“What?” she asked, furrowing a brow in confusion. “What’s going to happen tonight?”

“We’re getting you out,” he said simple. “After your performance, you’re going to go back to this room, but we will let Ben know that you never made it back. We’re going to manipulate all security cameras just in case he asks to see them.”

“But—”

Stevie shook his head. “I don’t have a lot of time, and neither do you. That baby you’re carrying could possibly be my brother or sister, and if you love my dad like I know he loves you, you’ll have to trust me.”

“I don’t want anything bad happening to you, or to Ike, or to anyone,” she sighed. “I’m okay.”

“Stop saying that!” Stevie exclaimed, sighing quietly afterwards. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. Listen, Diana… This is going to happen whether you like it or not. Now is the time to choose what side you want to be on.”

Stevie allowed the silence to last for a few seconds longer before turning on his heel to leave the room. Just before he opened the door, he turned to look over at her and said, “You’re out in ten. Good luck out there.”

Once he left the room, Diana stared at herself in the mirror. She was conflicted. She knew the right choice was to follow Stevie, but if Ben ever found out that Ike was behind all of this, he would kill him. With a heavy sigh, she left her room and decided that if Ike planned to get her out, she was going to see it to the end.

She approached the stage quietly, the spotlight flashing in her direction as the musicians began playing their instruments. Almost instantly, Diana slipped into her old persona. When she was singing, she was confident. Her hips swayed, and as she glanced to the crowd, she noticed Ben immediately sitting at a table with…

Ike.

He and Ben were talking quietly, but when they both looked up to see Diana staring at them, they cleared their throats and watched her sing. Ben grinned, sipping from his drink while Ike leaned back in his seat, staring at her with longing eyes that Ben noticed immediately.

Bel, who was also sitting at the table, quietly spoke. “She’s glowing, Ben. Did you finally put a baby in that broad?”

Ben grinned. “About time too. I just hope she doesn’t end up like the rest of my ex-wives, if you know what I mean,” he laughed, nudging Ike.

“I don’t know what you mean by that, actually,” Ike spat. “Your wife is a very talented woman, Ben. She definitely belongs on a stage, singing.”

Ben nodded, “I know.”

“Does she sing often then?”

“All the time,” he lied. “Around the house, while she’s cooking, while I’m fucking her.”

Ike tightened his jaw, glancing at the other man and forcing a quiet laugh. “Singing your praises maybe,” he urged. “Regardless, you are a lucky man.”

“Thank you, Isaac. Also, thank you for doing this. I’m surprised to see this many people wanted to see her perform,” Ben admitted.

“And there were more who weren’t able to get tickets. She’s a hit, Ben.”

“That’s great… Maybe we can make this a weekly occurrence.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ike nodded.

Throughout her set, Diana’s eyes always found Ike’s and Ben’s. She made sure to not make it too obvious, so she spent a few more moments staring at Ben than she did at Ike. Though, whenever her eyes met with Ike’s gaze, there was a hidden promise behind his eyes that oddly made her feel at ease.

When she finished, Diana bowed when she heard a series of applauses. She blushed and smiled, but descended the stage to walk to her Ben. The man stood from his seat and continued clapping, looking down at her with his usual grin.

“That was great,” he smiled.

Ike stood as well, nodding. “You did amazing, Mrs. Diamond.”

“Thank you, Ben. And thank you, Mr. Evans. I had so much fun,” she smiled.

Vincent approached the table to hand the table another round of drinks and nodded subtly in Ike’s direction.

“Thank you, Vincent. Please turn on the music and let’s have these people mingle and dance before Diana takes the stage again.”

“Of course,” he replied, turning on his heel to do as he was told.

Diana looked at Ike and cleared her throat quietly, feeling Ben’s arm snake around her waist. She stiffened momentarily, but his grip on her hip tightened threateningly. She sighed, relaxing into him forcibly and stared up at Ike.

“I’m so thankful that you managed to do this, Mr. Evans. I’m sure Ben is just as grateful as I am,” Diana said.

“I am grateful. Who said I wasn’t grateful?” Ben replied, narrowing his eyes. “I am more than grateful, Isaac. He knows it already. Don’t embarrass me.”

“S—Sorry…” Diana sighed, slinking away.

Ike tightened his jaw, pocketing his hands and clenching them tightly. He tried to remain calm, maintaining a small smile as he looked between the couple. “Don’t worry about it. Ben has been more than grateful to me since this performance began,” he reassured.

“See, darling? You’re the stupid one here. Not me,” he laughed.

Diana nodded, tears pricking her eyes. She looked up at Ike and gently pulled away from Ben, clearing her throat quietly as her voice came out in a whisper and shaky tone. “I—I’m going to go back to my changing room before my next set begins.”

Ben nodded, waving her away. “Make sure you hit that high note this time, all right, baby?”

“Yes, Ben.” Diana turned on her heel, not making eye contact with Ike. Ben watched her walk away and quickly reached out to slap her backside which made her jump unexpectedly.

“That ass is mine,” Ben grinned. “She’s just as sexy naked, Isaac. I’m truly a lucky man.”

Ike forced a smile. “You are indeed, Ben.”

Back at the changing room, Stevie and Danny were waiting. She took a deep breath and nodded towards Stevie. “I’m in.”

“Great. We have to move now,” Stevie said, gently taking her hand and leading her out of the room and to the elevators. Once inside, he pressed his father’s floor button and relaxed, staring at the floor.

Danny stared at Diana, tilting his head as his blue eyes watched her carefully. “Why are you with a man like Ben Diamond?”

“He took advantage of my naivety. Promised me a better life than the one I was living… It wasn’t worth me dropping everything and anyone I knew and loved to be with a man like him. If I could take it back, I would, but at the same time, I would have never met your father,” she admitted.

“So, you’re really pregnant?” Danny asked.

“Took a test. It said it was positive. I’ve been having symptoms,” she sighed. “I can’t thank your father enough for doing this. Once I’m settled, I’ll be leaving and—”

“No chance in hell,” Stevie interrupted. “You’re family now.”

Diana nodded, biting her lower lip at the sudden warmth that overcame her. She felt safe with Stevie and Danny, just as she felt safe with Ike.

Ben flirted through the crowd, his hands lingering in places where a married man shouldn’t be touching other women. Though, he didn’t seem to mind nor care about being a committed man. He enjoyed the attention, but when the lights dimmed, Ben retreated back to his seat with Ike.

Ike was sipping on a glass of alcohol and waited for Diana to appear. Minutes passed and Ben was growing increasingly irritated.

“Where the fuck is she?” Ben growled. “I can’t believe how unprofessional she is.”

“Maybe she went to the bathroom. We’ll give her a few,” Bel suggested. “Being a pregnant woman isn’t easy, Ben.”

“I don’t think I was asking for your advice, Bel,” Ben spat.

“Let me see what’s going on,” Ike offered, standing from his seat. Just in time, Victor ran to the table and whispered into Ike’s ear. Ike feigned a shocked expression, panicking slightly. “Okay, notify the police, Vic.”

“The police?” Ben heard, standing from his seat. “Why does he need to notify the police?”

“We can’t seem to find your wife, Ben.” Ike admitted. “She never went back to her dressing room.”

Ben narrowed his eyes, tightening his jaw. “I knew I should never let her leave. Tear this goddamn place apart. We’re going to find her and when we do, she’s going to pay for it.”

Ike tightened his jaw, but nodded regardless. “We will notify the police just in case she left the hotel.”

“Thank you, Isaac,” Ben lied, flashing a small smile. “Now, let’s go look for her.”

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[vintage1der]

I started reading this book today and I can’t help myself, I have to share it with you, because anything that has me almost choking on my coffee with laughter deserves some attention.

The book is “Tell Me It’s Real” by T.J.Klune and here are some excerpts (this is only the first chapter!)

Chapter 1

Way Too Much Information About My Anatomy

JUST so you know, I don’t have a gargantuan penis.

Shocking, I know, right? Most of the time when you hear stories like the one you’re about to, the narrator is this perfect specimen of man, whether he knows it or not. If he doesn’t know it, it’s because he’s most likely damaged and needs some hot piece of ass to bring him out of his shell and to help him realize his outer beauty dwarfs his inner beauty. Or he knows he’s attractive and uses it as a weapon until the object of his lust-fueled heart breaks down that narcissistic wall with spooge and flowery words. Then they frolic off into the sunset and go live in Everything’s Perfect Land where everyone has a ten-inch cock and big balls that can create semen by the bucketful every hour, on the hour.

But if we’re going to be honest, I’m not small either. I was fourteen when I first noticed other boys in the locker rooms at school (and when I say “first noticed,” I actually mean when I first allowed myself to look to see if they would give me a stiffie—which they did), and I realized penises were like snowflakes—no two were exactly the same. Some were big, some were small. Some had hair around them and others were smooth. Jacob Sides had one that curved wickedly to the left, and every time I saw him in the hall, I couldn’t help but think, There goes Captain Hook, and would blush furiously, sure he would know that I was thinking about his frank and beans.

So the point is, I don’t have a Coke can for a dong, but I don’t have a Mike and Ike either. I’m somewhere in the middle. Average, if you will. Regular. Normal. Ordinary.

But then that describes the rest of me too.

I guess you should know what you’re getting into before we go any further. If you leave before the story is finished, I wouldn’t blame you. Too much. Okay, okay, I’ll probably call you a bitch behind your back. But hey, it’s behind your back, so you won’t even know about it. So feel free to walk away. Bitch.

Anyway, here’s the rest of me. Sorry for the info dump I’m about to take all over you.

I don’t have huge pecs, nor do I have stone-hard abs that you could attempt to grate cheese on. Those two things are so stereotypical amongst gay men that it’s almost offensive. I watched a porno once where this little twinkie dude went to some haunted house in the middle of nowhere (which really looked like a set from an all-white elementary school production of The Wiz—if you get the reference, you’ll know it’s not racist). The little twinkie had little pecs and abs and a huge penis that could have posed as a third arm if he tried hard enough. Anyway, the little twinkie dude then got gang-banged by fourteen ghosts (guys that started out wearing sheets with holes cut out for eyes and ended up wearing nothing but spunk), and I swear to God, every single one of them had pecs and abs that went on and on. For days. So after I finished watching said porno (which, by the way, wasn’t scary at all, especially since it was supposed to be about ghosts. Where was the story?), I decided that I could easily get pecs and abs, so I went to a gym not far from my house, intending to sign up with a personal trainer who would let my outer beauty shine through.

On the way there, I got distracted by the fact that a Dunkin’ Donuts had opened up right down the road from my house and they were giving away free donuts. It was as if God himself saw that my intention was to make my outer self match my inner fabulosity and didn’t think the world could handle such an explosion of amazingness. So instead of letting me get to the gym where I would have transformed myself into a walking sex god, he created a Dunkin’ Donuts out of nothing and then gave them away for free. I didn’t make it to the gym. I had a bear claw instead. And a maple bar. And some donut holes. And then some more donut holes.

So, I don’t have pecs or abs. Not even close. As a matter of fact, I probably have a bit more around the middle than I should. I’m not fat or anything. I’m more… husky. My doctor told me I could stand to lose ten pounds (okay, okay, he said fifteen) and that it would make me a healthier person. I thought he was a cute older thing, maybe forty, forty-five, and I flirted with him until I realized he was calling me morbidly obese.

“That’s not what I said,” Dr. Suddenly Getting Less Attractive said with a knowing smirk. “I said you could lose fifteen pounds and then you’d break all the boys’ hearts.”

I glared at him. “How do you know I don’t break their hearts now?” Kind of like how I want to break your stupid face.

“Do you?” he asked.

“All the time,” I lied. “I’m really a way hot bear. Bears need to have a little extra junk in the trunk and a bump in the front in order to maintain the bear lifestyle.”

Dr. I Don’t Know When To Shut My Mouth almost rolled his eyes. “You? Abear? You have, like, three chest hairs,” he said, reaching out to pull on one. It came off my bare chest almost immediately. “And this one’s a cat hair!” Which was weird because I don’t have a cat.

“It’s a new thing,” I said, insulted. “No-hair bears. We have monthly meetings and talk about how smooth our skin is and how our leathers start to chafe because of it. We’re thinking about switching to denim chaps and vests. Sort of an old-school look. I suggested we also get denim gloves, but it was agreed upon that was too much denim.”

“Paul.” Dr. Not As Gullible As He Looks rolled his eyes and said, “My partner is very active in the bear community. There’s no such thing as no-hair bears. Trust me. I would know.”

“You’re a homosexual?” I screeched at him, trying to put my shirt back on as quickly as I could. “I demand a straight doctor so he won’t judge me!”