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“I’m impressed. You lasted almost forty-eight hours without going completely batshit crazy,” Roarke grumbles from beside me as he drives us into Dominion, so I can nocturnally stalk my loved ones. “But after dealing with you last night–”

“I could have pestered you, Aaron, and Cort all night again. But this was a billion times faster, since I wouldn’t have believed you in the first place,” is muttered dryly.

Ready or not, my days are numbered at Misery Castle. Kent Preston joined his wife and daughters this afternoon, bringing nothing but inconvenience and annoyance with him. Secret Service, background checks, guards stationed everywhere.

Inconvenience, because no one can go room to room without answering a dozen unnecessary questions. Kent was present for the evening meal, which led me to leave the castle, because it would have taken a half hour just to enter the dining room.

Annoyance, because we are all criminals of the highest order. Not a one of us are innocent, even the teenagers. We could all end up with life in prison if anyone looks too closely. Our acts helped to put Kent into the White House, but I doubt the government would send us a thank you note.

Stressed out, on edge from the invasion, emotions all over the place, I’m falling back on a coping mechanism that never fails to soothe me. Nocturnal stalking.

“I could have gone alone tonight, but you insisted.” Sometimes having an enforcer with me at all times is insulting in the extreme. Safety concerns or not, it’s just another version of prison that leaves me feeling emasculated.

“I sure as hell could’ve driven my own ass around in my own SUV,” I bite out, glaring at the side of Roarke’s face as he drives my car. “As for the insanity, I think we all can live with my OCD as long as I’m no longer suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder. One seems simpler than the other. Let’s just humor me, shall we?”

“Sure,” Roarke grumbles, but he doesn’t sound like he’s agreeing with me at all. “We all humor you constantly. It’s a fulltime occupation.”

“I’ll work on it. Why do you insist on driving me around as if I’m a child? There must be some warm bed you’d rather inhabit in the early morning hours versus coddling my ass.”

“You know how your OCD drives you to do stupid shit?” Roarke looks at me sideways in the darkened car. Fingers wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, his knuckles turn white from the force. “Well, it’s my mission in life to keep you from doing any more insanity-driven shit.”

“Why, though? You must hate me because of how I treated Katya.” I ask out of more than just curiosity. Roarke concealed his connection to Katya, then stood by while disapproving over how I treated her. Over the years, I had often wondered why he looked like he wanted to snap my neck. Now I know.

Aaron hero-worships me, loving me like a brother, but he does whatever I say without a second thought. That would be fine if I were an egotistical asshole who needed a yes-man, not someone who is objective about my toxic behaviors.

Roarke is unemotional and logical. He tells me no often, refusing to do as I wish if he thinks it’s madness. Roarke always does what he thinks is right.

Both loyal and caring, combined, my enforcers are perfect for me.

“Because I love your crazy ass,” Roarke admits, sounding hurt that I’m not taking his emotions into account. “I was a member of Shadow Haven years before you were born. I knew your fate and mine were sealed together, so I tried to treat you as my baby brother. I’d care for you no matter what, but someone asked me to make sure you were safe at all times.”

“Who?” Turning in my seat, I stare at the side of Roarke’s face, trying to get a read on him. I hate not knowing everything– it makes me feel like people are talking behind my back. Powerless.

“Katya and Cort both asked me to watch over you.” Acting sheepish, Roarke finds the road highlighted in the headlights intriguing. “It’s not obligation or loyalty. I honestly enjoy your company, because I love you.”

“You love me?” Using Cort’s coping mechanism, I deflect with humor. “Roarke, you’re a big guy, attractive enough. But you’re hardly my type.”

“Ha-ha! Very funny. You’re not my type either, asshole.” Roarke’s snort ricochets around the car like a gunshot. “And we both know how you’re drawn to pretty rich boys or girly men, and I ain’t either.”

“Are you calling Cortez feminine?” I bait Roarke into an inescapable trap. Huffing a laugh, I anticipate their reactions. “I’m so going to tell Cort you said that.”

“Girly Man is Pretty Rich Boy’s partner. Don’t purposefully be obtuse. Cort is just Cort– if you tell Cort I said he was feminine, I’ll kick your ass out of this car while driving over the speed limit, then back up and run you over half a dozen times.” Roarke’s threat sounds teasing, but he’s still enraged over my treatment of Katya.

“You honestly don’t think I’m cute?” Roarke pouts, sounding hurt. Baffling.

“I like guys who like guys,” I answer without hesitation. “If I were a female who wanted to be protected, you’d be the first I’d hit up. Since I can protect myself…” I trail off. “Did I really hurt your feelings just now, because I said you weren’t my type?”

Roarke always confuses me. As close as we are, never questioning we’re family, blood tie or not, I don’t know him like he knows me. He was older, elusive and cool. I wasn’t a part of MdJ yet, not needing protection around the clock, with the Frosts and Jessups at Shadow Haven.

Roarke attempted to grab onto a life of his choosing, going off to the police academy. Afterward he accepted a job with Dominion’s police force. But he ended right back where destiny demanded. When I learned of MdJ’s existence from Aunt Pearl, Roarke lost his chance at a life of his choosing. My bendable ethics and insanity compromised Roarke’s job.

“You’re such an ass sometimes, Ez.” Reaching over, Roarke swats me upside the head. “I see you as my brother, fuckwad. I protect you because we’re family. I protect you because Cort asked me, now Katya has too. I’m your conscience– your moral compass. I hang around you because I enjoy your company.”

“Earlier, I was thinking how I was trapped in this life. How I have no privacy or autonomy. As soon as Pearl told me my fate, everything has been scripted for me. I was one of the lucky ones who could blame mental illness for my temper tantrums. But I’ve always seen it from the side of the elder or heir, never from the servant.”

“It’s a good thing I grew up in this life, more than a decade older than you, or I might be insulted by your word choice.” Chuckling, Roarke hits me upside the head again, as we wait at a stoplight. “We all have a role to play in life, Ez. Money and power are not free. Everyone has their own crosses to bear. Those not in power have more freedom, they just don’t know it. Money has only brought you strife.”

“I sometimes wonder what it would be like to live in a trailer in West Virginia, after listening to Faith’s stories from her childhood. It sounded safer, simpler. Free.”

“We enforcers, we have more power and freedom than those of you who believe yourselves to be in power. Most of us have families, kids, and day jobs that empower us–”

“You need a life, Roarke.” The impact of my life on so many others hits me like a ton of bricks, saddened my lifelong companion has never had a real girlfriend. I ruined his dream of law enforcement. I seem to ruin everyone who comes in close contact with me. “Life is more fulfilling when you love what you do and have someone you love.”

“I do love what I do, Ez.” Sighing like I exhaust him, Roarke reaches over to clasp the nape of my neck, squeezing in a soothing rhythm. “Your moods are all over the place, which is why you will not be alone for more than the time it takes to shit on the pot.”

“I’m trying to see how everyone else sees me, because how I view myself is flawed. It’s arrogant of me to assume you’re happy being by my side, while I struggle over getting my life in order. Maybe you want a life of your own. A wife. Kids. A career that isn’t babysitting a grown, highly educated, man-child.”

“I may not be a cop, but I can do more working for you without all of the red tape, politics, and rules. Heading Dominion Security with Caleb, I get to work with other ex-cops, military men, and intelligent criminals. I enjoy my work at Restraint, while Aaron is more into the administration duties there and at your offices. We play to our strengths.”

“You’re both excellent at your jobs,” I whisper with great appreciation. “I doubt I tell you that enough. I try to pay you more and more to compensate you for your efforts, but then you don’t get the opportunity to spend it.”

“Ezra. Ezra. Ezra. I grew up in Shadow Haven, never missing a meal, always as spoiled as you were. Not coddled but spoiled. Same education. Everything.” Roarke laughs outright at me. “As for being an ex-cop, I’m just glad I’m no longer in the position where I might have to arrest my friends,” he mutters wryly, amusement thick in his voice.

“There’d be no one left on the outside– prison would be full of Dominion’s inhabitants.” We share fits of hysterical laughter over that sick truth.

“I enjoyed the high of controlling those around me, and being a cop allowed that. But this way of life feeds my needs even more. I’m ecstatic we’re now all allies aligning against a common enemy– it makes progressing more rewarding.”

“What about a girlfriend? No way would a woman put up with you having to shadow me nonstop. I could stay at Shadow Haven in the evenings, only make you follow me during business hours, so you could get a girlfriend.”

“Ha! As for the love of my life, when I find her, I’ll find her. Until then, French Kissed Kink is the shit.”

“You pay for sex?” Beyond surprised, I come to realize I don’t know Roarke as well as I should.

We spend countless hours a day together, but those hours revolve around me, protecting me and doing as I want, and I never ask what Roarke does when Aaron takes his place at my back.

The world may not revolve around me, but until recently, I acted as if it did.

“Why don’t you troll Restraint in your free time? You could easily get a girl who wants you for you, not someone you have to pay. You’re a virile man in your prime– any woman would be lucky to have you.”

“What personal time? I spend all of my time with you. When I’m not, I’m feeding my needs: food, sleep, hygiene, entertainment, and fucking. The day French Kissed Kink opened was my lucky day.”

“Paying for it isn’t an issue for you?” Dr. Zeitler comes out to play, intrigued over this new side of Roarke I’m getting to know. “Personally, I would feel low about myself, as if no one else thought me worthy or attractive. It would tank my sexuality.”

“I don’t mind paying for it, because I get what I pay for, which isn’t the case when dating. I’m not looking for a girlfriend– I’m looking to get off with someone.”

“Looking for a woman like Kris?”

“Yeah, but they all say they’re like Kris, but they’re really like Fate. No insult to Fate, because she would be upfront about the marriage and babies thing. But these women use sex as a weapon, say they want sex and understand how it’s only sex between us, then start needling me to pick out a ring after we have sex.”

“That’s bait and switch– that’s not fair at all!”

Roarke chuckles over my odd reaction. “I don’t have the time to spend three dates just to get a disappointing kiss. Ten dates to get a reluctant blowjob, where they act like they need an award for doing something they despise. Now that makes me feel bad about myself. Weeks on end for dissatisfactory sex with an insecure woman, where she thinks I owe her a wedding band because of a ten-minute fuck. I don’t have time for that shit. It’s not worth it– I’d rather jerk off.”

“Women make men wait that long?” Eyes popping wide, I can’t fathom it. “Maybe it’s different for gay guys. If we’re horny, we don’t have all these societal rules to follow. It’s about the high of sharing an orgasm, even if it’s thirty seconds after meeting. And there shouldn’t be such a thing as a reluctant blowjob. If you don’t like it, don’t do it. But it makes no sense to for a straight woman to act like they don’t like dick. Seriously, what the fuck?”

“They’re selfish, lazy creatures, Ezra.” Roarke looks at me like a fellow bro, and I suddenly understand the gratifying nature of being around others who feel the same way.

“I enjoy pussy licking, just as much as they do, but they’re too fucking lazy to reciprocate, with a dozen excuses after getting off. That happens more than not, where I get them off and end up leaving with a hard dick in my pants. That’s their choice, but they shouldn’t get to act offended when I don’t call them back. Their choice– my choice not to deal with manipulative headcases. Sure, men can be assholes too. But I’m not the asshole in this scenario, so I shouldn’t be treated as one.”

“If any part of it is reluctant, no sex should be had. Cut your losses– this is coming from Dr. Zeitler. That’s manipulative, coercive, toxic behavior, and it will be used in other parts of life too.”

“Trust me, dating for a straight guy is not the same as it is for a gay guy. The security guys, not just the enforcers but the paid outside employees too, this is a topic that comes up a lot. We’re not disrespecting women– we make sure we’re on the same page, and they lie and say we are, hoping to trap us, like their pussy is made of gold. Paying for sex is no-stress and freeing. Caleb was telling me about his triplets–”

“Sisters?” is muttered in revulsion. “Okay, that’s even too gross for my deviant ass.”

“Fuckwad.” That heavy palm hits me upside the head again. “Sandy, Di, and Darcy are not real sisters. We just call them the triplets because they do their clients together and have choreographed shows on stage.” Wiggling around in his seat, Roarke tests the bounds of his seatbelt. “I’m fulfilled, and no doubt Caleb would agree.”

Hmm… maybe everyone is wrong about Caleb’s crush on my wife. But if they aren’t, this obsession with the world’s oldest profession is disturbing. After all, I have the sneaking suspicion Caleb owns part of French Kissed Kink.

“I’ve never paid for sex. Not judging, but the concept makes no sense to me.” Confused, I’m trying to wrap my head around paying for gratification.

“Yeah,” Roarke drawls out. “You don’t believe in paying, because you just steal sex. If they say no, you go deaf.” He taunts me, his words piercing deeper than he suspects. “Honey, we’re home!” Roarke sings as he pulls into our reserved parking spot in front of The Green Building.

“Do you trust me enough to give me some space? I want to lie down with my son for a few minutes.”

“Our trust goes both ways. I’ve got to grab my tablet from our office– I’ll see ya in an hour.” We split ways, Roarke heading across the street to Edge while I enter Stanton’s building.