Page 27 of Grind
Jag looked back at him with a serious expression and pointed out a sharp piece of glass so Ezra would look out for it. “Of course. This is my territory. Nothing happens here without me knowing.”
“How big is this place?”
“Several acres, but it’s not as dense everywhere. You will be safe where I take you, don’t worry. Do you know Frank from outside?”
Ezra bit the inside of his cheek. He was the one asking questions, but Jag didn’t know that, and if this was to work, then his impromptu protector needed to get something in return. But what was Ezra to tell him? Even if this guy was gay and knew about Frank’s sexuality, most people didn’t want others to know that they paid for sex. He needed to lie. “Yes. I’m a... massage therapist.”
Jag stalled, but then kept walking, glancing back again and again as if to get a better look at Ezra. “I know massaging, but how do you do it as therapy? My mate sometimes likes retail therapy, but I don’t think those two are similar.”
Ezra knew everything there was to know about retail therapy, but Jag himself didn’t make any sense. He sounded like someone disconnected from the world. “Were you… born here?” he asked, suddenly terrified this was some kind of unlawful imprisonment situation, involving people being born in basements and let out to live in this modern wasteland.
Jag led him out into a clearing, but they walked at its edge, past several massive tractor tires. “Oh, no, I was born in a forest, far, far away from here, but I needed to run, and eventually got here. Frank saved my life, so I owe him a debt that goes beyond loyalty. We’re brothers even if we share no blood."
Ezra froze on the inside. “Is that what Frank demands of the people he saves?” he asked as his mouth dried.
“What? No. Frank is a good man, I stayed because the junkyard is a safe place. Also very entertaining, but you’ll find that out for yourself. Come. Come here,” Jag pointed his spear at a ladder on the side of a shipping container and was the first to climb it.
Ezra swallowed. So far out of the city, the sky above was dark and full of stars, and the crevices of the labyrinth surrounding him from all sides might just hide monsters that had crept behind them all the way here. He chose not to overthink it and followed Jag farther on, into a big truck. The old leather seat was sticky under Ezra’s touch, but he pushed away the sense of revulsion and followed Jag into the compartment behind the cab.
He stalled when fairy lights went on, revealing what used to be the driver’s sleeping quarters, with a single bunk and a folding table, which now housed a small pile of potato chips and coke cans. The place smelled musty and had old, dirty blankets covering the floor in an uneven layer, but on the upside, it did not contain Paul.
“Yeah? Frank is good?” Ezra asked, desperate to keep the conversation going, because whatever he could find out about this new Frank might be the difference between death and survival.
Jag invited Ezra to the blanket with a grand gesture as if it was a throne. “Oh yes, Frank is very fair. I have a home with a fridge of my own now, but he used to store my meat and I never noticed any disappear.”
What did that even mean? Ezra arranged his mouth into a smile and stood in the doorway, not sure if he wanted to touch anything without it being necessary. Was this a dream? If it was, and he’d fallen into a twisted version of Wonderland, Jag would be the Cheshire Cat.
“Oh, so he’s fair as the king of this little kingdom?” Ezra tried, hoping his joke would land. What he really needed to know was whether his kind, rule-following client was prone to violence in his real life.
Jag’s serious expression spread into a wide smile at the comparison, and he sat down, which had to mean they were at their destination. “Yes! That! Now you understand. He makes the decisions. He will help you. You never said what massage therapy is. Do you massage him? That’s…” Jag licked his lips. “An intimate thing to allow someone. But you are very pretty, so I can see why he’d like that. He is unattached after all.”
Some of the tension in Ezra dissipated. This was exactly the kind of information he needed. “Well, he is a handsome man. I would be interested if he’d have me,” he said, hoping Jag might repeat it to Frank like the blabbermouth he clearly was.
He’d given Frank a lot of massages. Everywhere.
Jag’s eyes opened wider and he moved like an animal about to attack. Ezra took a step back and bumped his head on something but was relieved to see Jag smile. “You would? I knew it. Iknewthere was something about you! I think you could be Frank’s type. Unlike me, he doesn’t need his mate to be sturdy. But he lives alone now, and he claims that he doesn’t care, but he could use company. I used to be like that. On my own, convinced that I didn’t need a mate, or even a home. It wasn’t true. A man isn’t whole until he has someone to protect, to provide for, and to mate with.”
Ezra exhaled, nodding, because this guy was way too intense to go into any kind of discussion with him. Especially since he might not understand concepts that were mundane to Ezra. But everything he’d found out so far led to the conclusion that Frank, who very obviously had a soft spot for Ezra already, could be his shield, and maybe even his permanent way out of this terrible situation. Ezra just needed to give him the right incentive.
He could do that.
After all, he’d been learning that skill all his life.
And since Frank was a beefcake, there would be no loser in Ezra’s game.
Chapter 9
Frank
Frankcouldn’tbelievethefuckery this night had proven to be. And a rollercoaster ride of emotions at that. He thought he’d never see Ezra again, and now the boy washere, at his junkyard, desperate for help.
Which told Frank Ezra trusted him to a certain degree, but also that he had nowhere else to go. It was an unspoken rule that Frank didn’t ask Ezra about his personal life, but now he was left with a severe lack of information. It had worked perfectly when they saw each other now and then and had inconsequential fun, but also meant Frank was in the dark about Ezra’s real life.
Worse still, since Shane was away at some dog thing, Dex was busy with his motorcycle club, and Jag had to take care of Ezra, Paul had him alone. And so he started casually asking about Ezra, which turned Frank’s back into a sweaty swamp. At least Paul had the courtesy to bring his bodies disposal-ready, unlike some people who thought they could dump a guy in a blood soaked trunk and wiggle out of paying extra for the cleanup.
Paul had definitely found the phone and knew Frank had been seeing Ezra, so Frank didn’t deny it, but he told Paul that they’d ended their arrangement because Ezra was going to LA. That didn’t mean Paul would stop his search, but it gave Frank a bit more time to work out how to deal with this fucked-up situation. Because Frank had known Paul long enough to be sure that the vengeful bastard wouldn’t let an accidental witness live long enough to become a liability in the future.
During the digging, Frank got to find out that the dismembered fucker was a mafia member stealing from his own family, but that fact wouldn’t help Ezra sleep better at night. Ezra would need years of therapy after this, because he was in no way used to the shit that was Frank’s bread and butter. He should have never seen what he had, and he should have never had a reason to come here.