CHAPTER FIVE
Just my fucking luck.
That was all Gabriel could think as he sat on the thick carpet in his most expensive suit staring at Short, Blond and Cute opposite him. This man, Cam Stafford—this weirdo who wore dark glasses—owned the hotel. Another rich fucker who was messing with Gabriel’s well-ordered life.
He checked his phone again. Still no damn signal, and Stefan would blow his nut when Gabriel didn’t make it to his eleven-fifteen.
Shit. Stefan will have to deal with the fallout, and I’ll pay for it
But it was his fault. He was the one who’d got stuck in a stupid elevator.
Quietly there was relief mixed in with the panic; Gabriel didn’t even like threesomes that much, added to which he very seldom saw a large percentage of the cash, not after Stefan’s overheads. Of course, following that train of thought had him very aware that he’d just negotiated money that would have put him that much closer to the target he was aiming for.
Freedom from owing a single cent of blood money to anyone.
He banged his head against the wall, and caught Cam looking his way.
“What?” he demanded of the man who’d trapped him in this godforsaken hole of a space.
“Are you okay?” Cam asked.
“Am I okay? Jesus. I’m stuck in an elevator and I can’t get over how fucking creepy it is the way you were watching me in the hotel.”
Cam looked confused, and Gabriel wanted to smack the confusion right out of him. Of course, he wouldn’t; Cam was a paycheck, and Gabriel was all about the money. Added to which, the guy was pretty and clean, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get it up for him if it came to it. As long as he had his mouth shut. Maybe he could gag Cam when they were fucking.
Stefan’s voice was in his head. Maybe you should stop fucking swearing and pretend to have some respect for a client. They always fall for a man on his knees who shows them respect.
“You’re a prostitute,” Cam said.
Gabriel lifted his chin. Here it came, some grandstanding shit about Gabriel’s place in this world.
“And?”
“Someone in your line of work could bring drugs into my hotel, so of course security was watching you.”
Gabriel sighed. Someone wanted to call him a hooker, a prostitute, a whore, then that was okay—he was all of those things and worse. But drugs? That shit wasn’t right. He didn’t take drugs, not willingly anyway. And he was for sure not having anything to do with the trafficking of them. He’d lost way too many people through that kind of poison.
Just people he knew. Not friends, Gabriel didn’t have friends.
With the possible exception of Stefan, who stubbornly remained in his life despite Gabriel’s best tries at driving him away. The worst times were when Stefan held him so gently, cradled his face, and told him how close he was to leaving him on his own after he’d messed something up.
No, not friends, just people who drifted in and out of his life ending up dead from drugs.
“Statistically there’s a correlation between sex work and drugs,” Cam continued with a small shrug of his shoulders.
Jesus, the asshole sounded so dry. “I have a statistic for you,” Gabriel said before he could stop himself. Before the Stefan in his head could stop him.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, it’s guaranteed that only douches wear sunglasses indoors. One hundred percent always.”
Cam snorted a laugh. “I like that,” he said, and slipped the offending glasses off and into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.
His eyes were an incredible icy blue framed by long, dark lashes. Add in the plump, kissable lips and he was the entire package. Clearly he’d shaved today, but his five o’ clock shadow was darker than his hair. That was the only thing out of place on an otherwise perfectly put-together man. The kind Gabriel might even give a discount to if he had any control over the situation.
“Better?” Cam asked, gesturing at his face.
Gabriel stayed silent; he didn’t think Cam actually wanted an answer, and Gabriel knew when to keep quiet.
Tonight couldn’t get any more surreal, and the elevator was way too small a space to be trapped in. Stefan wasn’t just going to be pissed, he was going to worry. Since that major fuckup four weeks back, when Gabriel had messed himself up and ended up not being able to work for ten days, the deal was you shared addresses, you fucked, you left, and then you freaking texted that you were out. He checked his phone again; there were no bars, and he couldn’t get a thing out to Stefan, which meant Stefan was probably considering visiting the room where Gabriel had just left a very happy business guy on his first trip to Dallas.
He banged his head back against the wall; now the night was surreal and a clusterfuck of epic proportions.
He wanted to ask what the hell Cam had been thinking, trapping him in this fucking elevator, but it didn’t seem Cam had been thinking at all. They sat in silence; he wasn’t used to talking to clients. His mom had always said he’d done enough talking as a kid, but that particular character trait had been beaten out of him after she’d died. Every word he said now was measured, and he’d run out of the energy for small talk.
“How was tonight?” Cam asked. “Was this guy one of your regulars? Because we don’t have a note that he’s stayed here before.”
Gabriel shot him a look of horror. The man wanted to talk about tonight?
Cam didn’t back down, only focused on him steadily, and Gabe felt compelled to answer.
“No.”
“No what? No you don’t want to talk about it, or no he’s not one of your regulars?”
“No I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Well, what else can we do?”
Gabriel’s words spilled out before he could stop them. “Two hundred cash for the best blowjob you’ll ever have.”
Cam merely raised a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “That seems a lot.”
“It’s worth it.”
“How do you do it differently from any other guy I’ve had?”
Oh jeez, had Cam just asked me for details.
Hell if Gabriel was going to give the idiot any kind of particulars on just how quickly he could get a man off.
“I’m not talking if you’re not paying,” he said firmly.
Cam fell quiet for a moment, and Gabriel thought he’d stopped. Then he started up again.
“You must meet so many interesting people.”
“Seriously?” Gabriel couldn’t understand what the hell was going on here. He wanted to tell Cam to stop making polite conversation.
“It’s what I do,” Cam said. “I can be polite, I mean.”
Had Cam read his mind? Gabriel shook his head. “You’re not paying me to talk to you, so I’m not talking.”
There. That would stop the idiot from talking and making things awkward for the booking tomorrow night. But no, Cam was reaching into his jacket and pulling out his wallet. He plucked notes from the side of it, and hell there was a lot of money in there. A couple of hundred at least. Old Gabriel would have snatched that, and for a moment he could see himself taking the wallet and running.
Running where, you idiot? You’re in a freaking elevator with nowhere to run to. “How much to talk?” Cam asked.
“Fuck you,” Gabriel snapped. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to be called on his shit. He wanted things not to be so messed up right here and now.
Cam slid the notes through his fingers, rubbing them, then passed over a handful. With practiced eyes, Gabriel could see it was two hundred dollars in tens and twenties. For a split second Gabriel ignored the money, then he snatched it from Cam and shoved it in his pocket.
“That gets you ten minutes. Mouth or hand?”
A tilt of his head was the only indication that Cam had heard him. “A man uses his mouth to talk, but not, I guess, if the audience is deaf. Then you could use your hands. But I’m not deaf, so you’ll need to use your mouth to answer my question.”
Gabriel spluttered in an effort to come up with an answer. What was Cam Stafford taking? He narrowed his eyes at Cam, who was focused very intensely on a point beyond Gabriel’s shoulder. In fact there was just something about the way he wasn’t looking at Gabriel that made him suddenly wary. Was the guy on drugs? His pupils looked normal, but what if he wasn’t the owner of the hotel and was instead some druggie who dressed well and would end up hurting Gabriel? Instinct had him shoving the money he’d just been given further into his pocket—no way was the asshole getting that back. He waited for this Cam guy to call him on it, but he was strangely quiet, like he hadn’t even noticed what Gabriel was doing.
Fear curled inside him, but that was okay—he could handle fear, and it made his senses sharpen. Cam didn’t look like a murderer, but Gabriel had seen the slickest and most expensively suited men hurt kids and adults alike.
“You’re fucking mad,” Gabriel said.
Cam’s gaze shifted a little from the wall to him, like he’d zoned in on Gabriel’s voice. “I can assure you I’m not mad. I own this place, I need a date for a family event, and you tick the boxes.”
Cam was a contradiction; he owned a hotel, yet he seemed so hopelessly naïve, hiring a hooker like Gabriel for some kind of expensive event.
“So you hired a complete stranger. How do you know to trust me not to take your wallet and leave you dead in this elevator?”
Cam did his raised eyebrow thing again and shook his head a little. “You’re a businessman. I am too. This is a business transaction, nothing more, and I’m worth a lot more to you than what’s in my wallet right now.” He didn’t seem too worried about being in an elevator with an escort who might or might not be on drugs. If anything, he appeared way too relaxed after making a booking that was a third over what Stefan normally charged for Gabriel’s services.
The elevator creaked a little and began to move downward, and Gabriel scrambled to stand upright, using the rail around the elevator to help him. Cam followed suit a little more slowly, and they stood in opposite corners of the elevator, looking at each other. Or rather he was looking at Cam; Cam was looking past him again. The car stopped, and Gabriel realized with horror that it was on the lobby floor. He never went down that far; preferred to stop a floor above and walk down. When you used the elevators opposite reception, they began to recognize you and any patterns you might have for return bookings. That way lay the cops if a hotel decided to get up in arms about it all.
The fact that Cam admitted security had been watching him left him cold
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. Cam was right, being a hooker was a business, and Stefan had got him cards because he was fucking good at his job of looking after Gabriel.
“My details,” he said as the doors opened. He held out the card, but Cam didn’t take it, so Gabe shook it then pressed it into Cam’s hand. The man might refuse to take it, but he wasn’t getting a single minute of Gabriel’s time without a deposit.
“Friday,” Cam said, and closed his fingers around the embossed ivory card.
Gabriel nodded and left, striding confidently through the lobby and out of the main front door. The prickle on his skin of being watched was enough to have him taking deep breaths as soon as he hit the sidewalk.
He walked away from the hotel shaken as fuck, didn’t even look back, and his usual awareness of the vicinity fled. Which was how he didn’t see the man until he was being guided with a tight grip on his arm into the space between the hotel and the fashion boutique next door.
That same grip pushed him against the wall, and he didn’t have time to shout or yank himself away—whoever had hold of him was too strong.
His chest tightened, his breathing shallow gasps, a million flashbacks searing themselves into his brain.
He wrenched himself free and turned to face his assailant, finding himself faced with salt and pepper hair, a neat beard, and icy eyes.
“I’ve watched you,” the man said, placing a hand around Gabriel’s throat and pressing just enough for Gabriel to bring his hands up to push him away. “And you listen to me, punk. I know who you are, what you are, and you touch Cam Stafford—you even think of stealing from him or hurting him—and believe me when I say I will hunt you down and I will kill you slowly and they will never find your body. Do we understand each other?”
Gabriel tried to get his fingers under his attacker’s grip, but the hold was way too tight. So he kicked into survival mode as every breath became harder to take. Then he nodded as best he could.
With one last shove, Tall, Gray and Intimidating released his hold and stepped back, then crossed his arms over his broad chest.
“My name is Six, you remember that, because I’ll be watching you. Now fuck off,” he snapped.
Gabriel touched his throat then let his hands drop to his sides. “Why don’t you fuck off first?” he asked.
This wasn’t some corner he was being thrown off. This behemoth with the short military hairstyle wasn’t a cop, or anything that meant he got to manhandle Gabriel. God knew why he thought it was a good idea to confront the man, though, and he had every expectation that he would be beaten to a bloody pulp.
What the hell did it matter? He’d survived worse before.
The man shook his head in what Gabriel assumed was disbelief. “I’m watching you,” he said, then turned on his heel and left.
But something inside Gabriel—some stupid, crazy bravery—had him pulling back his shoulders. “If that’s the only way you can get off.”
Big Man didn’t even stop and turn; in fact he gave no indication that he’d even heard Gabriel, but it didn’t matter. Because Gabriel had taken control of that situation. Didn’t matter that the guy he’d fronted looked like a linebacker; Gabriel was never backing down to anyone again.
He headed home, walking the entire way after sending a quick text to Stefan, who responded with a code that meant he was cool, and safe himself.
Gabriel wondered idly if the threesome he had been booked for had gone ahead. If so, had Stefan got one of the others in? Had Gabriel lost the chance of a possible repeat booking?
When he got home, there was no sign of Stefan, not that he’d expected him to be there; he’d be out there wiping up the money that should have been Gabe’s.
Frustrated with himself, with Cam and his booking, and with the thug who’d nearly throttled him, he stripped and walked right into his huge shower.
With the water beating down on his neck, he circled his throat with his hands, feeling the ghost of the other man’s touch, and he winced inwardly, feeling sick. Coming home to his place, behind his door, with the ability and the money to run, didn’t mean anything when the adrenaline subsided. He pressed hard on his throat with one hand, and the other circled his hard cock. He recalled the pain of the man’s hold, the fear, and at the same time he slipped his hand up and down his cock, setting a punishing rhythm even as he tightened the grip around his throat. He knew how far he could push himself as he closed his eyes and felt the pull of orgasm.
The only way he could get off was to feel pain. Didn’t matter what he’d told Cam in the elevator; pain and desperation were the only things that pushed him over the edge. His orgasm was explosive, the first one he’d had at his own hand in months; the first in a very long time.
And all because someone had treated him like shit and forced him back against a wall.
Suddenly exhausted, he turned off the water, wrapped himself in a towel and climbed into bed, hiding away under the covers.
And he cried.
That and sex were the only things he could do really well.