Page 32 of Grind

Dex, Frank’s elusive nephew, who had already failed to arrive for two days in a row. Just great.

Ezra opened his mouth, but then a stronger gust of wind made him shiver, and tickled his nose until he sneezed. “Sure.”

Frank’s eyebrows rose when he assessed Ezra from head to toe. “Are you wearing wet clothes?”

Ezra sighed. “Yes.”

Frank shook his head and pointed to the door as if Ezra was a dog. “Why? I told you, you can wear mine while yours are drying. I know they’re too big, but what’s it matter for a few hours? And didn’t I give you one of Dex’s old hoodies?”

Oh yes, the red and purple monstrosity with a cartoon poop pattern. No, thank you. Ezra might be in a dreadful situation, but he hadn’t yet lost his dignity.

“I wear your clothes when I’m cleaning, but they don’tfitme. These make me feel good,” Ezra said, peeling the damp sweater away from his stomach.

Frank urged him inside with a gentle gesture that was nothing like the barely held-back fury with which he’d thrown the glass. “Okay, well, there’s a pile of used clothes someone brought the other day. They’re in a shipping container, so they wouldn’t have gotten wet. I’ll ask Jag if it's safe to go there.”

Used clothes? From a junkyard? Was this Ezra’s life now? Could Frank not see that Ezra was withering from the inside?

He wanted to protest, but Frank frowned and raised his hand to shut him up as he looked toward the wide road leading here from the gate. And then Ezra saw it too—a van heading their way. Tension passed through his body, but it dissipated when Frank’s face relaxed.

“Should I hide?” Ezra asked to be on the safe side.

“Nah, my buddy Shane is finally back from a dog training course he organized. He’s the one with the house by the North gate.”

Over the few days here, Ezra got some basic information on the setup of the massive junkyard, including a very stern request on where he shouldn’t go. Most places really. Frank claimed it was for safety but Ezra had no doubt the rules had more to do with hiding illegal activities from him than anything else.

Shane was a man Frank had known half his life, and he lived at the junkyard with his boyfriend Ros, who was a sculptor, though Ezra had his suspicions that anyone who lived here, including Jag and his man, Dane, was knee-deep in crime.

Ezra was happy to see a new face nevertheless, and as the van decorated with cartoonish dog figures stopped in front of them, he stood alongside Frank despite the breeze turning him into an icicle.

A tall, handsome man with dark hair and the face of a hot scoundrel slid out of the vehicle first, approaching them in fast strides. Green eyes settled on Ezra from above a crooked nose that somehow added yet more charm to the stranger’s magnetic presence.

“Is that him?” the man asked before squeezing Frank’s hand, which confirmed that he was who Ezra thought.

“Yeah, Ezra, Shane,” Frank said, leaving Ezra to wonder just how much Frank’s friend knew about him. “And that’s Ros and Cerberus.”

On the other side of the van, a man in his twenties got out alongside an American pit bull. While the dog wagged his tail and followed Ros, Ezra still stood that bit closer to Frank, because the animal wasn’t on a leash, and the last thing he needed on top of the mess he was already in was scars from a dog bite.

Ros smiled at them as he approached. He was… very pretty. A large, shapely nose made him look refined, and his skin was clearly getting some hydration. His very long dark hair was arranged into two dutch braids, and a T-shirt with a cartoon pit bull positioned like the Mona Lisa added to his playful charm.

“Hey! I heard Frank had a guest.”

From up close he looked even more beautiful, with clear skin and shiny eyes. His presence made Ezra relax, glad there was someone around who he could relate to. “Nice to meet you. My name’s Ezra.”

Ros shook his hand, and while his fingers were dotted by a few cuts and scars, which could be expected of someone making sculptures out of junk, his nails were trimmed and polished.

“How long are you staying?”

Frank cleared his throat. “That’s… to be arranged.”

Shane grinned at Ezra and wiggled his eyebrows. “You keeping Frank on his toes? Good! Maybe he’ll even clean his house.”

A playful dig but well-deserved, so Ezra offered Shane his most charming smile. “He won’t have to anymore. I know how to take care of everything.”

Ezra let that hang in the air, and Ros cleared his throat, gesturing for the dog to stay at his heel when he noticed the tension in Ezra’s body. He was perceptive.

Frank huffed. “If I had time to arrange things—”

Ros waved it off. “We all know you’re busy. That’s why we came over. That’s a great belt, by the way. Where did you get it?” he asked, pointing at the accessory Ezra had gotten Frank for his birthday.