Chapter 23

 

 

THOMAS PACED around Randy’s office. He’d been there for an hour while Randy returned to the front to take care of his bar. He couldn’t make sense of the mess, and that wasn’t like him. He shook his head and made himself focus.

If Charles was alive, if he was truly back to burn down Thomas’s new life, then Thomas had to make a plan. He had to figure out how to handle it differently this time. Thomas had an important staff position with the United States Senate. Surely there were resources that could help him. Or he could leave. He could use his money and position and try to draw Charles after him and away from the people he knew.

He didn’t want to go, but he had to consider it.

All of his life, he had been sure and confident—the lucky one, gifted. Even when he was a child called Jason, he knew he was good-looking. People went out of their way to do things for him, just to be around him. He grew up in the luxury provided by his grandfather’s success in business and his father’s acumen, and he accepted the luxury as though it were an accomplishment—his birthright.

He was smart too, and his intelligence was honed at the best schools his parents’ money could provide. When he was fourteen, he had sex for the first time, with one of his younger teachers. Jason had set his sights on Mr. Creed, sure that was the right man to educate him—not in trigonometry, but in how to exchange pleasure. Creed was shocked at his approach, but he caved within a week. Jason learned what he needed to know and moved on to his classmates.

It was delightful. It was a game. He was careful in his selections, and he tried to be kind. The captain of the football team had never even considered sex with another boy until Jason seduced him over a weekend study session. When it was over and the football player was overcome with the beginnings of guilt, Jason soothed it away and assured him it was just an exploration, nothing to worry about or regret. And it worked. Jason was the coolest kid in school, so if he said it was all right, the football player could accept that.

Dozens of others followed, all eager to be with Jason. When he decided to find out whether he was bisexual, girls were just as easy to get into bed. In college and then law school, it was the same—anyone he wanted came to him. A few bed partners got close, and he permitted it for a time, just to try out the shape of a relationship, to see if that was a coat he might like to wear. It never was, though. Within a few days or a week at most, he would disentangle himself as gently as he could and try to convey regret as he showed the man to the door.

He was rich, handsome, and smart, and the world opened itself up to his explorations.

And then Charles Rumson happened—a whim, like so many others Jason had indulged, but with terrible unforeseen consequences. He could still remember when he spotted Charles in that bar in downtown Seattle, standing by himself against the wall. He was thin, dark, and yearning.

Seeing Charles in a gay bar didn’t exactly surprise Jason. They had met in passing over the years at the country club or various events that warranted the presence not only of their respective parents, but of the offspring as well. He had seen Charles’s hungry looks at him, but those were so common that Jason accepted them as tribute, and he always had other shiny things to distract him and never considered a tumble with the shy, awkward Charles.

But that one time, when he hadn’t settled on a partner for the night and looked over the crowd, seeing Charles alone and lonely stirred a bit of feeling in Jason. An urge to be kind, to help out a childhood acquaintance, to perhaps ease him into the world of gay life caused him to catch Charles’s eye and beckon him over. He still remembered the flash of relief and pleasure that crossed Charles’s face when he realized Jason Scarborough wanted him to come closer.

After two drinks the look changed to adoration.

Even if that made Jason a bit wary, he pushed his concerns aside. It was too late that evening to go after anyone better suited for some fun, and Charles was nice-looking even if he was a bit thin for Jason’s taste. He remembered leaning down to whisper in Charles’s ear, “Do you want to get out of here? Maybe go play around at my apartment?” The look in Charles’s eyes—burning excitement, so close to fervor—should have warned him. He was thinking with his dick by that time, but he specifically recalled saying to Charles, “It’s just this one time. You get that, right?”

Charles nodded, but the fire in his eyes was undiminished.

He followed in his own car to Jason’s building, and as soon as they were in the bedroom, he threw himself at Jason like a drowning man. He practically choked Jason with tight arms around his neck as he kissed him with a tightly closed mouth. Right away Jason knew the sex would be a disaster, but he still tried. Charles was aggressive but unsure—limp like a fish one moment, then trying to force Jason’s cock up his ass the next. Jason finally calmed him down a bit, got him to stretch out on the bed, and held him as they jerked off together. Charles rolled his head into Jason’s shoulder and cried as soon as he came, while Jason awkwardly patted his back.

Charles whispered through his tears, “I wanted to do more for you, Jason. I’m so pathetic.”

Jason did his best to soothe him. He whispered in return, “It’s just nerves, Charles. Everyone’s first time is a bit awkward. You’ll see. The next guy you’re with will be so much easier and better.”

Charles craned his head back, his eyes wide as he met Jason’s gaze. “You’re so kind, Jason. So beautiful. Even my mother wants you. I heard her talking to one of her friends at that museum gala. I can’t believe I get to have you.”

That was the first real sense of alarm Jason felt. “Charles, this was fun, but remember, I told you it was just a one-time thing. Okay? And you really can’t talk to your mother about it. You know that, right?”

Charles just put his head back on Jason’s shoulder and wrapped one arm tightly around Jason’s waist. Jason lay on his back and tried to think of the easiest way to clean Charles up and get him out the door. When he nudged Charles, though, he had fallen asleep. Against his better judgment, Jason let him stay the night.

That was the beginning of the end of his life as Jason Scarborough. All of his accomplishments, his education, his good fortune deserted him. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get rid of Charles. The harder he pushed, the more he strove to be an asshole and drive him away, the tighter Charles clung.

After the scene at his law firm, he received a summons from his father. They met in Mason Scarborough’s office with its floor-to-ceiling views of Puget Sound. He could still hear the disgust in his father’s voice.

“I could give two shits who you sleep with, Jason, but this is unseemly, and it reflects poorly on our family. I’ve had a call from Augie. He’s worried about your future with the firm.”

“Why is August Drake calling you?”

“Don’t be naïve. You were hired because of your name, and when you soil that name, you do harm not only to your own prospects, but the rest of us as well.”

“I thought I was hired because I’m a good lawyer,” Jason muttered, but his father waved it away.

“Your legal skills are irrelevant to this discussion. When you lie with dogs, you wake with fleas.” Mason’s voice rose steadily, and there was an angry glint in his eye. “You have made a mess of this in every way possible. Rumson Global is an important part of my plans, and you will not be permitted to ruin that because you let your dick make your decisions.” Mason slapped his palm on his desk hard enough to make a family photo fall over.

“What do you want me to do, Father?” Jason demanded. “I’ve tried the police, and they tell me there’s nothing they can do.”

“The police? Good God. What are you thinking?” Mason raged at him, and Jason felt his own temper rise.

“I’m thinking I need to get this little shit out of my life and make him leave me alone.”

“We’re just months away from completing the baseball stadium project with Rumson Global. I need that to go smoothly so Nathaniel Rumson will continue to partner with us. I expect you to handle this quietly and keep the police and the press far away. If this boy wants you to fuck him, then by God, fuck him.”

Jason stared at his father, speechless. Mason pressed the button on his intercom. “Donna, we’re done in here. What’s next on the calendar?” Dismissed, Jason got up and left the office.

Between the constant notes and deliveries of flowers and messages on his car, and the knowledge that his father wanted him to play the whore to keep his business deals alive, Jason was drained and exhausted. In a moment of weakness, he finally responded to one of Charles’s messages and agreed to meet him for coffee. Even now, sitting in Randy’s office, he could picture the shop, could smell the roasting coffee beans in the air. He could see the burning excitement in Charles’s eyes when he presented Jason with an expensive Omega watch. He could also see the other patrons turn their heads to stare as he angrily refused the jewelry and practically begged Charles to leave him alone.

“Please, Charles. It has to stop. You’re ruining my career and my life. We’re nothing to each other. Nothing. Please stop calling me.”

Charles just sat there, hands around his cup of coffee, smiling beatifically. “Oh, my beautiful Jason, I get it. I understand that you need me to prove how much I love you. I should be ashamed for these foolish gifts I’ve been bringing. Of course you don’t need another watch. You need a man who understands you and who loves you unconditionally. That’s me, Jason. I’ll be there for you forever, as long as it takes for you to know that you can trust me.”

Jason put his face in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. He tried to be dignified as he said, “Leave me alone, Charles. I don’t want you. I don’t love you, and I never will.”

Charles just smiled and tsked at Jason’s words as though they were nothing but a challenge.

Then came the break-in at his apartment, the horror of finding Charles naked in his bedroom surrounded by monstrous dildos, his panicked run to the front desk in his building, and the smell of scorched coffee in the police station as he filed the complaint and sought a restraining order. The two weeks that followed felt like a victory, and his new phone numbers and his piece of paper directing Charles Rumson to stay at least five hundred feet away from him at all times seemed like magical talismans. Jason actually began to relax a bit, to think it might be over. He might be safe.

Until the ambush a block from his apartment. No, Charles never actually threatened to harm Jason or the man he brought home with him, but Jason could see it in his eyes—the betrayal Charles believed he had suffered, the sense of righteous fury. If Charles had not been stupid enough to approach them in public, Jason honestly believed someone would have died that night. He remembered the sense of relief when the police appeared and arrested Charles. And again he actually thought it might be over. That time it would be over.

As with the restraining order, though, relief was fleeting. By morning the local newspapers had picked up the story of the only son of one of the wealthier men in Seattle stalking the photogenic son of another wealthy man. Jason was summoned again to his father’s office and berated for his foolishness and for the damage he had done to the family business.

“Not only are you a faggot, but you’re a pussy as well,” Mason screamed at him. Spittle flew out of his mouth. “Unable to handle one pissant like Charles Rumson. Jesus Christ. If you couldn’t fuck him, you could at least have found a quiet way to take care of this. Beat the shit out of the little pansy, or hire someone to do it if you don’t have the balls.”

Jason tried one more time. “He would have stabbed me if he got me alone,” he said flatly.

Mason’s face showed all the scorn he felt. “Then you would have deserved it, and we would be the wronged party instead of Nathaniel Rumson.”

Jason got up and walked out. He hadn’t spoken to his father since.

August Drake called him in the next afternoon, and Jason knew what was coming. A secretary showed him into the corner office, where he found August sitting behind his desk. Newspapers were spread all over the surface, and his own face looked up at him from a half-dozen tabloids. He waited.

“Jason, how our lawyers conduct their personal lives is germane to our practice here,” August said. His steel gray hair was perfectly cut and arranged, and more steel glinted in his watery blue eyes. “The firm must instill in its clients the confidence that our lawyers are men and women of good judgment, sound legal ability, and profound discretion. I wish I could say this business of you sleeping with men was irrelevant, but in truth, I find it revolting. Regardless, that’s not the reason for our conversation. This publicity is.”

He gestured at the tabloids. “You have made a spectacle of yourself, and by extension, of this law firm. A quiet end to our association would be in everyone’s interests. You may remain on the rolls for, let’s say, three months while you find employment elsewhere. In exchange we expect you to make your exit quietly. Nondisparagement on both sides is assumed. Are we agreed?”

Jason left without an argument. What would have been the point?

He kept to his office as he began his job search, but it did not go well. Headhunters in the Seattle area knew his name and could give him no assurances they would be able find a new placement. They suggested he look away from Seattle—perhaps New York or London. Even then, with his family name, they weren’t confident another law firm would take the risk.

Then came the suicide—endless footage of Charles climbing to the hood of his Porsche, reading poetry and odes to Jason all over Seattle, and then the wreckage of the Porsche at the bottom of the cliff. The police and ambulance removing the body. Pleas from the Rumson spokeswoman to respect the family’s privacy in this dark time.

Despite the disintegration of his personal life, all Jason could feel was relief. Perhaps when the coverage died down, he could begin to rebuild a career and find a place for himself again. Money wasn’t an issue at all. His trust fund, his ownership interest in the family business that was willed to him by his paternal grandfather, and even his savings from the law firm ensured he could wait it out. He just needed a safe place to lie low and regroup.

Then his mother called. “Jason,” she said, “this business has taken a terrible toll on your father. I got your note about coming back to the house to live for a while, but I don’t think that’s in anyone’s best interest right now.”

“Are you serious? That’s my home.”

“You’re a grown man, Jason. You’ve made choices, and now you have to accept responsibility for them, instead of running home to hide.”

“I was the victim, Mother. I didn’t ask Charles Rumson to come after me, to ruin my career and make a tabloid freak of me. Why does no one understand that?”

“You chose to let that man into your bed. Everything after that is a direct result. Nathaniel and Nan have lost their son. Try to have a sense of proportion.”

Jason remembered feeling physically ill as he said, “And now you’re willing to throw away your son so Father can try to get a business deal with Rumson Global.”

She sighed. “You were always so dramatic, Jason, even as a little boy. When will you grow up?” And then she hung up on him.

He remembered sitting on the sofa for hours, staring out the window and trying to understand how his life had come to that—how the golden child had ended up so alone. Did he deserve to lose his family and his career because he brought Charles home one time? In his heart of hearts, he started to believe it.

When the apartment got dark that night, he turned on a lamp and the TV for company. The lead story was about Senator Grace Gilbert being in Seattle for some event. Inspiration dawned. It was worth a shot, so he reached out to her constituent office and dropped his family name for all it was worth. Grace met with him the next day, they hit it off, and she launched the vetting process for him to join her staff. At the end of May, he relocated to Washington, DC as Thomas Scarborough and started to build a new life on the ashes of the one Charles had destroyed.

Thomas differed from Jason in more than name. He didn’t even realize how much until Zachary laid into him after their second time together and exposed the lies Thomas had told himself. In the weeks since, he often found himself thinking about the man he had become. Where Jason was casual and relaxed in his sexual encounters, Thomas was controlling and predatory. When he wanted sex, he made the overtures, he guided the action, and he made damn sure the men he pursued and caught understood the rule from the beginning—he didn’t date, and he didn’t do repeats.

He even tried for a while to give up sex, but quickly realized that years of being the golden boy had ruined him in a way he never expected. He craved the attention and the adulation his looks brought him. After his parents threw him away, he needed even more to feel desired and wanted.

And yet, almost as soon as an encounter began, when he reached that delicious moment of knowing the man he had targeted was his, he began to panic. What if he missed the signs again and the man turned out to be like Rumson? No matter how sexually fulfilling the experience, a part of Thomas always had his eye on the clock and an exit strategy in sight. He refused to let anyone stay the night, in case that was the secret of where it really went wrong with Charles.

His rational brain decried that superstitious thinking, but the rules gradually calcified. Thomas couldn’t give up the validation he got from sex, but he would no longer even consider the possibility of a relationship. Perhaps he was punishing himself by pushing men away as quickly as he drew them in.

Until he met Zachary and found himself asking him to stay for the night. Until he surrendered to the longing he saw in Zach’s eyes and his own desire and brought him home a second time. Until he relaxed his tight control and gave himself to Zach in a way he had never done with anyone else, man or woman. Until he found himself daydreaming about an Italian vacation with a lover who could have stepped from a Renaissance painting.

Even if that dream would never come true, Zach had given him hope again. Maybe someday there could be another like him, who would cut through his bullshit and help him repair the damage Rumson had wrought.

 

 

HE WAS evaluating his options, waiting for Randy to return, when his phone chimed. At a glance he saw the message was from Zachary, and another wave of remorse swept over him. He was probably still angry and needed to vent. Well, Thomas had it coming, so he sighed and looked closely at his phone.

But when he read the message, he frowned:

 

Do you think about me?

 

Thomas narrowed his eyes. That wasn’t the kind of thing Zachary had ever said to him—in person or by text. Before he could think of a response, his cell chimed again with another message:

 

I think about you all the time because I have nothing and you are everything.

 

His heart began to pound and his palms to sweat. Thomas ran to the office door, opened it, and called loudly for Randy as a third message chimed.

 

You know how much I like selfies because I’m so shallow and vapid.

 

Randy reached the office. Wordlessly Thomas showed him the cell phone, and an image popped up. It was Zachary, lying on his stomach, his shirt off and—oh God. Thomas saw his hands were bound by rope, his eyes were closed, and his mouth was slack.

“No, no, no…,” Thomas moaned. Randy gripped his shoulder hard. Before he could say anything, another image appeared. That one again showed Zachary shirtless and the top of his hips, also bare. Blood pooled on the floor beneath his head.

Randy lunged for his office phone, but it rang first. Cursing, he picked up the line and barked, “Vaughan. I’ll have to….” He froze at the words he heard over the line, and he turned to face Thomas. His eyes were wide. “It’s for you.”

He extended the phone, and Thomas took it with a trembling hand and brought the phone to his ear.

“H-hello?”

“Hello, Jason.”

Thomas sagged to his knees and dropped his cell phone as he did. It was Charles. The same fervor lit his voice, the same—

Another text chimed. Randy picked up the cell, and they both stared in horror at the image. The picture was angled to show Rumson smiling up into the camera as he straddled Zachary’s nude form. His hair was auburn, and the beard was gone, but there was no doubt.

From the phone still against his ear, Thomas heard the hated voice. “Do you like my selfie, Jason?”

“Please don’t hurt him,” he begged.

“I’ve missed you so much, Jason. All the tests you placed before me. All the other men you pretended to want until I understood what you needed me to do with them. Oh, my Beloved. It’s almost time. I’m almost ready for you. I’m almost worthy.” Thomas heard the quiver of excitement in Charles’s voice.

Randy asked quietly, “How did he know you were here, in my office?”

Thomas nodded. “Charles, how did you find me? How did you know to call me here?”

Charles giggled. “I always know where you are, Jason. Now, that is. Technology and money are wonderful things together. Here, look.”

A new message popped on Thomas’s phone from a source that identified no cell number. It was a still image of the bar at Mata Hari and of Randy serving a customer.

Randy was looking at the phone over his shoulder and said, “This was ten minutes ago. I just served that guy a martini.”

Charles giggled a second time. “And how about this one?”

The next picture showed the inside of Thomas’s apartment, looking toward his living room from near the door. Thomas shook his head and moaned. Charles had been in his apartment again.

“And my favorite.” That image showed a map of Washington, on which a line in blue connected the Senate office building where Thomas worked to the parking lot outside of Mata Hari. That was his route today, Thomas saw. Charles was able to track his car too.

Focus. Focus on Zach. Thomas fought to keep his voice under control and not to scream his frustration and fear into the phone.

“How did you get Zachary there with you?” he asked.

Charles giggled again—a high-pitched, watery sound that grated on Thomas’s nerves. “I invited him for dinner, and he came right over.” His voice grew mock-stern. “He was a naughty boy and wandered around my home while I was being a perfect host.”

“Why do this, Charles? What do you want from me?” he asked, trying to project calm.

Perhaps it worked because Charles’s voice was softer, more controlled, when he spoke again. “What I’ve always wanted, my Beloved. Jason, we belong together. Ever since we were little boys. It took me so long to solve your riddles, but I understand now. I know how to show you how much I love you. Just a few more preparations and we’ll be ready. But Jason, you have a soft heart.” His voice dropped lower, and his tone held a quiet menace. “I don’t want you to do anything foolish like calling the police. This creature, Zachary. He would suffer. Do you understand?”

Thomas nodded and said aloud, “Yes. I understand.”

“Good. Don’t disable my cameras. Don’t stop using your cell phone. Don’t change cars. I’ll know, and I’ll be very, very cross with this cretin.”

Thomas heard the sound of leather striking bare skin and the faintest moan of pain. It came from Zach. He’s alive.

“Of course he liked that,” Charles said, scorn and disgust in his voice. “He’s going to love what I do to him, just like the others did. I’m doing it for you, Jason, so you can see why these stupid, stupid men aren’t good enough for you. You’ll see how much he loves it, and you’ll understand why I had to show you.”

“Charles, please stop. Please don’t hurt Zachary.”

There was an element of pain in Charles’s voice when he answered, “I watched you, Jason. I saw your face. I heard you.” A slight hitch of breath, and then he spoke again in a more even tone. “This one means something to you—even more than all those other men you took into your bed. That’s why I have to go further. I have to show you, Jason. I have to prove to you how worthless he really is. I’ll call you when I’m ready, and I’ll tell you where to come. No police. Nothing. Not that bitch who’s been investigating. Tell me again you understand.”

Thomas swallowed hard and said, “I understand. I won’t call the police.”

“Good. Good. Now, Jason, my Beloved, I’ll be in touch.” The call ended, and Thomas looked up at Randy. His throat was dry, and his eyes burned.

“What do I do?”