Chapter 5
Gutter Rat
Rune appreciated that Elet was interpreting most of the conversation for him, but he was having trouble concentrating on mentally translating the endless stream of complex signing. He interrupted once to ask him to slow down, but there seemed to be too much to say for it to slow down enough for Rune’s boner-induced delirium.
He, David, Elet, Shea and Oliver were in an office. The ever-present security guards waited at the door, facing out. Paper lay on the desk. David and Oliver were hashing it out but Rune just kept staring.
Oliver was actually younger than him, just by a year or two, though he looked older. He looked straight out of a high-end men’s fashion ad with a five-o’clock shadow on his chiseled jaw, chocolate brown, perfectly styled hair sculpted into place, a mid-length, black woolen coat that fell open to reveal a crisp white button-down shirt with three buttons open at the neck, untucked over tight black pants, polished boots and a silver wallet chain hanging at his hip. It was just the right ball-busting mix of elegant, sexy and badass, keeping Rune hard and unable to stop staring. Because it wasn’t just the clothes. The way Oliver held himself, the intimidation techniques that seemed so second nature, Rune was convinced Oliver wasn’t even doing it consciously. Standing beside David, who had the power and ability to buy and sell them all like cattle, trained in the finest schools and board rooms, Oliver held his own, standing straighter, squaring his shoulders, clenching his jaw and charging the air. There was something dangerous about him. David hid his danger well, under many layers. Elet didn’t try as hard, but being David’s best friend had rubbed off over the years, marking him as elite.
Oliver though… his body was hard. Rune had felt it, so he had some first-hand knowledge to work with. His amber and green eyes, his expression, his body language—they blared warnings loud and clear that he wasn’t someone to fuck with, which Rune thought was kind of ironic, given the situation.
Especially because Rune knew he was a gutter rat. His looks and charm had gotten him in the door at Manse, way back when, but his attitude and willingness to break the law and do things like make a living as a dealer had gotten him the boot. Now what was he? Hopeless, mostly. And broke, in many forms and senses. He was a penniless, damaged asshole begging for scraps from the richest of the rich.
Maybe they all got off on his ballsiness, basically kicking Oliver’s ass when he’d been trying to intimidate and impress.
He was like a party trick. The entertainment. Hired for a few laughs, then sent out on his ass when it wasn’t fun anymore.
Rune knew from what Elet was translating that they were filling Oliver in on the backstory Rune had typed out in his email, sharing some of the necessary info. They were treating this like it was legit, and Rune still wasn’t able to believe it for a minute.
He gave up trying, slouching back in the leather couch, picking at his nails, legs spread to reveal a hard-on he had no reason to hide in present company.
Elet smacked Rune’s leg, scowling down at him for the attention lapse.
So Rune flipped him off.
And Elet hit him again. Then David yelled something and Rune rolled his eyes.
When Elet stepped back and David crouched down in front of where Rune sat, then Elet and Oliver cleared the room entirely, Rune felt some dread. A heavy pit sank into his stomach and the need to run rose back, clawing at his will.
Inches away, touching Rune’s knee, David let his lips shape his words carefully.
What’s wrong?
Rune bit his tongue, feeling like a bug under a microscope—something gross, caught, and twitching.
David nodded to one of the guards, who pulled the door shut, closing the two of them in.
Even Rune could tell the stillness had intensified.
Rune sighed, pulled out his phone and typed.
He doesn’t want me. He just feels sorry for me.
He let David take the phone to read it without raising his gaze. But then David grabbed hold of Rune’s chin and forced eye contact. It was kind of incredible how confident David was. It was all right there in his eyes. Not a doubt in the world. Must have been nice.
David relented long enough to type a message:
Oliver doesn’t fuck around. Not with something this serious. Doesn’t have it in him. Doesn’t lie. Doesn’t waste the energy. One of the smartest people I know. He wouldn’t be here, learning as much as he can about you, if he wasn’t interested. You proved yourself. This is just technicalities. You’ll be okay, Rune. I promise. You can trust him.
Rune took the phone back, reading, then couldn’t raise his gaze again but just sat there, huddled over the device, clutching it like it was his last lifeline. David pulled him in, kissed the side of his head, and Rune nodded. Finally, he looked up and David gave him an encouraging sort of smile. Rune slung an arm behind David’s neck and hugged him, pouring his gratitude into the contact. Fingers tangled in Rune’s dark hair, David clutched the back of his head and kissed his hair again, then patted his back and let go, nodding toward the door.
Rune nodded. David gave the word and the others returned.
While David filled Oliver in, Elet gave Rune a disappointed look, so Rune signed an apology. Holding his closed hand in the A handshape with his thumb held next to his index finger, his palm facing his body, he circled the center of his chest to show he was feeling sorrow.
In just a few minutes, they were filling out the forms to cement the agreement making Oliver officially Rune’s Dominant. All of David’s carefully crafted rules applied, protecting both Oliver and Rune. It was all spelled out in black and white, from Rune’s safe sign—the shaka sign which resembled the American Sign Language letter for Y, and was widely familiar to even those who didn’t know ASL as the sign for “hang loose”—to the miniscule list of what was off limits for both of them.
Oliver inked his signature first. Once Rune did the same and watched it dry, he felt strangely trapped and not as relieved as he’d hoped.
But before he could get himself together, he felt Oliver grip his shoulder and turn him so they faced each other. Using David’s white board, Oliver began writing a long message in small, sharp letters.
I learned ASL as a kid. One of my nannies was hard of hearing. My parents thought it would benefit me later, but I’ve forgotten a lot. I talked to Elet about ASL once, years ago, which is how they knew I can do it. I’m going to study my ass off to get up to speed. In the meantime, I want you to move in with me. I have the space. Over my dead body will you continue living in a storage closet. It’s not a discussion, it’s an order. You’ll have your own room and anything else you need. Just name it.
Rune took the board, wiped it clear and wrote: How? Are we going to be passing a board back and forth for months? During sex? You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.
Rune raised an eyebrow. His scribbled reply from Oliver read: Gimme a few days, sweetie, okay?
S-W-E-E-T-I-E? Rune finger-spelled.
Elet shook his head and rolled his eyes.
When Rune made eye contact with Oliver, he didn’t see any condescension or pity, just a warning that he had every intention to continue their sparring session as soon as it was possible, because he wouldn’t stop until he won and had Rune exactly where he wanted him—conquered, fucked and pleading.
Oliver gave him the barest hint of a smile—dangerous and intoxicating as it was.
Challenge accepted.
Elet signed without speaking from over Oliver’s shoulder: Watch your ass, sweetie.
Rune grinned and winked at him.
Then Rune gave Oliver a deferential nod of submission and acceptance.
They proceeded from the room. Oliver gripped Rune hard at the base of the neck and guided him out without giving him the slightest chance to get the upper hand again.
David was right, Rune thought. Oliver was fast learner after all.
“No. No way,” the grizzled old guy barked. He wore a leather jacket bearing the logo for something called The Born Soldiers across the back, with various patches and adornments on the lapel and sleeves. Oliver was impressed with his beard and general vibe the biker gave off. He also appreciated that Rune had someone watching out for him. “You ain’t leavin’ with this guy. No way. You don’t know him from Adam!”
“Adam’s a great guy though,” Oliver chimed in. “Bit of a queen sometimes, but still—”
“What?” The guy gave him a quizzical look. “I ain’t talkin’ to you.” Turning back to Rune, he opened his mouth to yell some more.
“I’m Oliver Hughes, by the way. And you are?” Oliver edged in, extended a hand, forcing an introduction as easily as he always had in his time spent digging up quotes and interviews when he was still writing for the Post. He’d placed himself between the guy and Rune, who watched with amusement. “I can tell you care about Rune, and I can assure you he’ll be well taken care of. Much more living space than the broom closet provides. Plenty of attention of whatever sort he’s in the mood for.”
The biker had been gesturing wildly while he spoke, though Oliver was pretty sure it hadn’t been actual sign language. Still, it was pretty informative in its own way. Now, the guy let his arms hang at his sides, squinting up at Oliver like he was a cop coming to drag Rune to jail.
“Tell me your name. Please,” Oliver interjected as the guy sucked in air to begin a new tirade.
“Max. Who the fuck are you? He ain’t a whore. He ain’t for sale. He’s got a home. He’s got people.”
“Mmm, see, I think as a grown-up, Rune gets to choose what he wants. We,” Oliver said, gesturing between him and Rune, “have come to an agreement. He’s coming with me tonight. We’ll be in touch soon. I’m happy to provide my number and address so you can contact me or find him whenever you like.”
Max jabbed a thick finger in Oliver’s face. “That’s rude. You ain’t even tryin’ to sign. You ain’t typin’ your words. That’s rude.”
“Well, I’m learning, but I think Rune gets the gist. Don’t you, sweetie?” Oliver smiled to Rune.
“He ain’t your sweetie. He ain’t nuthin’ to you,” Max argued.
Rune stepped forward, laying a hand on Max’s shoulder, his expression pleasant and good-spirited. He lightly slapped the side of Max’s face twice then signed something.
“The fuck is this, kid? He only wants one thing from you! You’re better than that! Just come home, okay? We’ll figure something else out.”
Oliver could tell Max wasn’t signing all of his words, and Rune wasn’t even paying much attention to those Max did sign. But there was love between them. It was clear.
Rune signed again and Max glared at Oliver.
“Max, what’s your number?” Oliver asked, drawing out his phone.
Growling, Max recited it.
Tapping into his phone, Oliver said. “Wonderful. You should get my message any moment now with all of the information you need. You’re welcome to come by in the morning, let’s say eleven, and check out the place.”
Rune went to the beat-up truck parked a few paces away and drew a duffel out of the back, slinging it over his shoulder. Oliver gestured to his black Jaguar, conveniently also parked nearby.
Max flapped his arms and made a desperate type of sound. Rune walked away, his back turned, so Max didn’t bother calling out again.
“Okay, Oliver Hughes. You listen to me. Rune has friends. He’s got a crew. You harm one hair on his head and we’ll come for yours. Get me?”
“Max, he came here tonight for a reason. He knows what he’s doing. Trust that, even if you won’t trust me. You know where to find us. Have a nice evening.”