Page 43 of Dual Surrender

“What’s come up?” Rich asked. His tone made Kevin shiver, and Sam, too.

“Someone I know was attacked over the weekend and he’s been staying here to recuperate.” Foster picked his words like he paused to look up the implications of each definition before he spoke.

“That’s concise,” I muttered, making it clear, to me at least, that I knew Foster was not being truthful.

“Attacked by whom?” Rich asked.

Foster shrugged.

“Where?”

Another shrug.

“When is he leaving? Is he putting you in danger?” Rich asked.

“I’m fine,” Foster said abruptly. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Where is he?” I asked.

“Probably sleeping. Or listening. He’s in the guest room.”

“I think we should meet him,” Rich suggested.

“He’s recovering from almost being murdered. You don’t need to meet him.”

“Foster.”

“I appreciate the concern, but it’s misguided. You are my friend, and I care what you think, but I promise this is under control.” Foster leveled a look at Rich that was so aggressive and bold, it left Rich speechless.

But Foster didn’t realize how much he’d said by saying nothing.

“Besides,” Kevin said gently from beside me, small frown on his mouth, “we know who he is.”

“Kevin!” He puffed out a breath and looked to the ceiling.

“Who is he?” Rich pressed.

“The guy from New Year’s,” Foster said.

Foster snatched the wine bottle off the table and stalked off into the kitchen, with Rich staring blankly at his back. There were footsteps, muffled conversation, and then Rich stood.

“Don’t,” I protested weakly.

“I don’t like this.” Rich ignored me and followed Foster into the kitchen.

“Is this bad?” Sam asked, stare flickering from where Rich had disappeared to where we still sat.

“Could be.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Kevin offered Sam a reassuring smile. “Let the men we love and trust take care of this for us.”

“That’s sound advice,” I murmured, giving Kevin’s hand a squeeze.

“I’ll try to follow it,” Kevin assured me, shifting his weight, reminding us both of his earlier punishment. At this rate, I was going to have to keep him in chastity all the time or he’d be walking around with a giant hard-on every day.

Rich walked back into the living room, his expression unreadable, and Foster followed shortly after, a fresh bottle of wine in his hand.

“So.” He handed the bottle to me. “What did you want to know?”