Miles was glad he had two days off to get the restraining order sorted before having to return to work, and he got word Wednesday evening that Dallas had been served with it. Minimum distance of one hundred yards, which meant he couldn’t legally come to Bentley or the ranch ever again as long as Miles was on the property. He solemnly hoped that was the end of it.
And Reyes had, of course, been amazing the past few days. Being attentive but not overbearing. Sensitive to Miles’s mood, which had actually improved a lot since Monday’s scare. The horse ride and screaming at the wilderness had done Miles a world of good, and he looked forward to getting back to the grindstone on Thursday morning.
Going back also reminded him that he’d neglected Art Milo’s social media accounts recently, and chatting with his followers was great publicity for the saloon. Thursday night, while Reyes was working late dealing with a guest emergency, Miles logged on. He answered questions and made jokes with fans, then sorted through the private messages. The blatant come-ons he deleted without responding. Someone else begged for the recipe to the sauce he put on the buffalo burger, and he sent back a cheeky reply of “butterfly wings and fairy dust.”
Miles liked hiding behind a pseudonym. It gave him a chance to be someone else for a little while and play.
One of the messages was from someone named Greg Garin, and it contained an attachment. Miles usually deleted those without reading them, but the brief text his phone showed wasn’t addressed to Art. It was addressed to Miles A.
Goddamn Dallas, has to be.
Even though he had a no-contact order, Dallas was trying to work around it using the anonymity of the internet.
Miles’s finger hovered over the delete key, but his curiosity won out. He opened the message, which was brief. Miles A., we need to talk. Trust me.
“The fuck we do,” he said, his voice bouncing around the silent cabin. He studied the freeze-frame of the attached video clip, his insides going wormy. It was of the back of a head of very dark hair. Like his own. With a deep inhale, followed by a long exhale, Miles pressed Play.
And nearly vomited on the floor.
The fifteen second clip was of Miles blowing some guy, while Dallas looked on in the background. And fuck, Miles was definitely the one going to town on the guy, but he had no memory of this moment in his life. Had to be last year’s birthday. Not only did Miles not remember that night, but now it looked like he’d been into whatever they’d done.
How could I be into it if I don’t remember? It had to be drugs.
Old shame tried to sneak in on silent feet, but Miles beat it back. Nothing that happened to him that night was his fault. But knowing Dallas had fucking filmed him? New anger and hate blazed through his chest. Miles was pretty sure he hadn’t consented to sex, much less to being filmed. What did Dallas hope to achieve here? Threaten to unleash the video online and destroy his reputation? So the fuck what? Miles lived a quiet life out here, and there was no actual proof linking Miles to Art Milo and the saloon.
And even if there was, he’d quit before he allowed his poor choices to affect Bentley and all the people who depended on that town for their livelihood, including local Garrett business owners.
No, Dallas didn’t get to have his way anymore.
Miles deleted the message and video, and then blocked the user name.
Confused and annoyed, Miles pounced on his boyfriend the instant Reyes walked into the cabin. Reyes seemed delighted by this aggressive side and submitted to a fast blow job against the door. Miles sucked him hard, and then sucked him dry, swallowing the load and loving every moment of it.
“You must have had a good day,” Reyes said when he had the wits to speak.
Miles helped him tuck his tackle back into his pants. “I liked going back to work. You know, for a job I happened into, I really do love cooking.”
“What’s that saying? You find a job you love, you’ll never have to work a day in your life.”
“It’s true. You feel that way about the ranch, right?”
“I do.” Reyes kissed him long and hard. “Hi.”
“Hey back. Everything okay with the guests?”
“Yes, thank God. Someone got bit by a snake when they wandered off-trail this evening, but it wasn’t poisonous and they’re fine now. Just needed a little extra attention and reassurances.”
“I’m glad. Not that they got bit, but that it turned out okay.” Miles leaned against Reyes’s broad chest, absorbing his heat and strength into himself. Reyes looped his arms around Miles’s waist. “Missed you.”
“I could tell by the greeting.” Reyes kissed his temple. “I always miss you when we’re apart. You’ve taken a piece of me that I’ll never get back, except by being with you.”
“Saying romantic things like that will get you laid, mister.”
He groped Miles’s ass. “Oh?”
“Oh yeah.” Miles pulled back and flashed a flirty grin. “How’s your refraction time, old man?”
With a soft growl, Reyes picked him up in a familiar fireman’s carry and took Miles into the bedroom.
On Saturday morning, Miles decided to purge the private messages again while Reyes was in the shower. All the usual stuff, from personal solicitations to questions about food, and some of it he answered. As he was going through them, a new message containing an attachment came through from a Lewis Lance.
He glanced at the bathroom door, which was shut, the shower still running. Nervous and frustrated at the continued harassment, he opened the message.
We need to talk. Surely you don’t want your adoring fans to see this side of you.
Swallowing the need to scream, Miles played the video.
The camera was in the same static position as before, showing Miles bent over, hands braced on something out of sight, and someone penetrating him from behind. The clip was only a few seconds long, but the moans of two different men were obvious and loud—and one of them was Miles.
He dropped his phone on the bed and bolted outside, into the slim space between his cabin and the next, and he tried to breathe. To forget what he’d seen, that it even existed, but he couldn’t. Despite not remembering anything, the video seemed to prove Miles had been enjoying himself. If it got out, he’d look like some kind of cock-slut who’d wanted it all, and how the hell could he prove he didn’t remember?
I can’t.
He also wasn’t going to violate his protection order by contacting Dallas, so he went back inside, blocked the user name, and logged out. He did not, however, delete this one. Just in case he needed it later.
But the next evening, when he checked the account again, he had a video message from a Kerry Kennedy. Reyes was up at the big welcome barbecue they did every Sunday night for the new crop of guests. Miles went most of the time, but today had been a particularly busy, stressful day at the saloon, so he’d decided to stay home.
Home. This little cabin with Reyes truly is home.
A home Dallas was trying to ruin, because he was a crazy fuck.
He played the clip and kind of wanted to hurl, because his video self was on his knees, mouth open, while someone came on his face.
“Jesus Christ.”
Miles paced the cabin, hands trembling, stomach a mess of acid. He fucking hated Dallas for doing this to him. For forcing contact, because Miles wouldn’t risk hurting the reputation of the ghost town. Too many people he cared about depended on it.
He typed a response to the handle: What the fuck do you want from me?
A reply dinged back two minutes later: One more night with you, baby.
Fuck you, and fuck off. Leave me alone!
Miles blocked the user, but he didn’t delete the messages. This was blackmail, plain and simple, but Miles had no actual proof Dallas was behind the anonymous user names. And who would care other than his friends? The cops who’d handled his restraining order acted completely put out by the whole thing, which had made Miles feel about two feet tall. If Reyes hadn’t gone with him, he probably would have called the whole thing off.
Reyes could help fix this.
Maybe.
But he’d be mad Miles had been hiding the messages for a week, instead of reaching out for help, and he couldn’t stand the idea of Reyes being angry at him, or disappointed in him. He needed Reyes’s continued support, so Miles didn’t fall apart completely. Reyes was the only glue keeping him together right now.
When Reyes came home around eight, Miles pounced, kissing him hard against the door and groping at his crotch. “Need you to fuck me,” he whispered between kisses. “Please.”
“Mmm.” Reyes nipped at his chin and palmed Miles’s ass. Miles tried to kiss him again, so Reyes couldn’t look too closely, but damn it, Reyes knew. He gently pushed Miles back a step and studied his face. Miles looked away. “What’s going on?”
“I just want to be with you.”
“No, something else is going on, because in all the months we’ve been together, you’ve never said that to me.”
Miles’s gut cramped. “I’ve asked you to make love to me before.”
“Yes, you have, but you’ve never asked me to fuck you. Not like that.” Reyes cupped his chin and forced Miles’s head up. “Talk to me, mi alma. What’s wrong?”
Miles jerked away and put several feet of space between them. “I had a bad day, and I wanted to feel good with you. Sorry if sex with me is offensive right now.”
“I didn’t say that.” Reyes watched him with open concern that threatened to expose all the secrets Miles was hiding. “I know you, Miles, and I know when you’re upset. Did Dallas do something?”
And there was the crux of every major problem in Miles’s life right now. His chest got tight, and Miles fought the urge to cry. Reyes pulled him into a strong, firm hug, warm hands rubbing his back in steady circles.
“You can tell me anything,” Reyes said. “You know that.”
“I don’t want you to see it.”
“See what?”
Miles choked. “Video.”
Reyes went perfectly still. “Video of what?”
“Me. The night I can’t remember.”
The deep growl Reyes let out rumbled right into Miles’s chest, and his insides quaked. But Reyes only held him tighter and pressed a kiss to his temple. “May I murder and bury him in the back forty now?”
Miles’s response turned into a dry sob, and he buried his face into Reyes’s neck.
“Is he texting you? Because that’s grounds for arrest,” Reyes asked, his voice so gentle that Miles started unwinding a bit.
“No, not texts. Anonymous social media names. He’s sending them to my Art Milo account as private messages.”
“Do you still have them?”
“Two. I deleted the first one he sent. I guess I thought ignoring the problem would make it go away.”
“I wish you’d told me when you got the first one.” The hurt in his voice made Miles want to cry. “You didn’t have to keep this from me.”
“I know. I just...it’s what I needed at the time. To wait him out, but he’s not letting this go. He just keeps pushing me.”
Reyes untangled them and led Miles to his bed, so they could sit side by side. That same hurt was etched all over Reyes’s face, but it was also tempered by concern and distant anger. “Do you trust me?”
“With my life,” Miles replied. “I trust you, and I love you. I just... I didn’t want you to see me like that. With other men.”
“So instead, you’ve been hiding this from me and dealing with it alone. For how long?”
“A week.”
Reyes sighed. “Miles...”
“I know!” Miles launched off the bed, grabbed his phone off his own bed, and tossed it at Reyes. “Fine, have a look.” Getting angry at Reyes probably wasn’t fair, but Miles was so mixed up, he didn’t know what fair was. He was angry at Reyes for making him feel guilty, angry at Dallas for pretty much everything, and angry at himself for falling into the same old, bad habits of hiding his pain from the people he loved.
Reyes picked up the phone like it was a snake that would bite him. Found the app. Miles covered his ears with his hands, because even though the clips were short, they had audio, and he didn’t need to hear that shit again. He also couldn’t look at Reyes anymore, because after watching both clips and reading the texts, Reyes’s face was practically purple with rage, so Miles walked into the living room.
He stared out the only window, seeing nothing, keenly aware of the angry man less than ten feet away, uncertain what to say or do next. He knew exactly what Reyes had seen, but he had no idea what was going on inside his head. Or where that anger was truly directed. At Miles for being a shameless slut? Or at Dallas for daring to film them? Both?
“Miles,” Reyes said, his angry voice close behind him. “You need to call the police.”
“What?” He spun around. “Why?”
“Because extortion is a crime, and so is filming someone without their consent.”
“We haven’t seen the whole video. We don’t know I didn’t consent.”
Reyes’s scowl deepened. “Even if you gave some kind of verbal consent, the fact that you cannot remember what happened, even with visual cues, means you were either too drunk or too drugged to give proper consent for anything.”
“But it’s my word against his that I don’t remember.”
“Something you would sign on legal police documents that are admissible in court.”
“What if it doesn’t go to court? What if the cops don’t take it seriously, like they never take rape cases seriously? And even if the case goes to court, he’ll probably get off. Look at that case right here in Santa Clara county two years ago. There was physical proof he raped that girl, and he only got a few months. There is no proof that I did anything with Dallas and that other guy except participate and apparently enjoy my part in a fucking orgy.”
Miles took in a deep breath, because his rant had lit a new anger deep in his chest. Even if he reported this, Dallas would get off. He got away with everything.
Because no one ever calls him on his bullshit.
“Miles, how do you know the other guy in these clips wasn’t also wasted or drugged? Do you know for sure he consented to everything? What if he’s out there with the same doubts and fears as you, and he’s too scared to come forward?”
“What if he’s the one who slipped me a roofie?” Miles retorted. But on the heels of Reyes’s questions, Miles saw other, horrible possibilities.
That there were, in fact, other guys like Miles out there. Guys who’d bought into Dallas’s charm and good looks, and who were also tricked and assaulted. What about the guys Dallas would target in the future?
“Do you really think Dallas is going to stop hurting people?” Reyes asked, too damned reasonable.
“No, he won’t. He gets off on manipulation and control, and he needs to be stopped.”
But why does it have to be me?
Reyes slid a hand around the back of Miles’s neck and gently squeezed, but didn’t speak. They existed in that silent, powerful moment, while Miles let his thoughts somersault through his mind. Reyes pressed his forehead to Miles’s, warm breath fanning over his lips. Miles wanted to close the distance between them, to kiss his boyfriend and make this entire problem fade away for a while. To simply exist and enjoy and forget.
But he couldn’t forget.
If not me, then who?
In that moment, Miles knew what he needed to do.
Reyes’s phone rang before Miles could voice his decision. “Fuck, that’s Judson’s ringtone,” Reyes said.
“Answer it.” Miles turned away so Reyes could take the call.
“Hey, Judson, what’s up? Fuck, I’m on my way.”
The sudden sharpness in his voice alarmed Miles into turning back around. Reyes looked pale, which was difficult with his complexion. “What’s wrong?”
“Arthur had another heart attack, Judson thinks, and he isn’t breathing.”
“Get Colt. Judson said they’re in Arthur’s room.”
“Okay.”
Reyes bolted out of the cabin and raced toward the main house’s back door. Miles dashed to the cabin next door and knocked hard, hoping Colt was home and not still in the city with Avery. Colt yanked his door open, annoyed until he saw Miles’s face.
“Arthur had another heart attack, and Reyes needs you,” Miles said. “Arthur’s room.”
Colt ran, and as Miles chased after him, he noticed Colt hadn’t stopped to put on shoes. The back door opened into a big kitchen, which had a staircase to the second floor. While Miles had been in the house a number of times, he’d never gone upstairs. Colt knew exactly where to go, though, so he followed him down a wide hallway to an open door.
Arthur was on his back, his shirt open, and Reyes was helping Judson with CPR, doing the chest compressions while Judson breathed. Shock and fear jolted down Miles’s spine, but he shoved them away so he could concentrate and be fucking useful.
“He’s got a pulse, but he isn’t breathing,” Reyes said without looking up. “Ambulance will take too long to get out here.”
“Truck,” Judson said, stark fear in his eyes and voice.
“We’ll carry him down,” Colt said. “Miles?”
“I’ll pull a truck around to the back door,” Miles said without being assigned the task. “Has anyone called Mack?”
“Not yet,” Judson replied. “Reyes was closer, and I needed help stat.”
“Okay, I’ll call him, too.”
Miles palmed his phone as he ran, hating being the one to tell Mack this awful news, but he should be there, no matter what happened to his grandfather. It took Mack six rings to pick up, and when he did, he sounded out of breath. “Hey, man is this an emergency?” Mack asked.
“Arthur had another heart attack,” Miles replied as he plucked a set of truck keys off the wall by the back door. “We’re getting him into the truck now.”
“Christ, how bad is it?” Another voice, most likely Wes’s, was asking questions.
“It’s bad. Meet us at the hospital, okay?”
Mack made a distressed noise. “Yeah, okay. We’re on our way.”
Miles ended the call, and then flung himself into the cab of the first truck he saw. Took two tries to get the right key into the ignition, and he resisted peeling out of there, only because he didn’t want to alarm the ranch guests. Arthur wouldn’t want that, and neither would Judson. He only had to wait by the back door for a few seconds before the three men carried Arthur out. Miles put down the tailgate and helped them get Arthur into the truck bed. Reyes and Judson resumed CPR, while Colt got into the cab with him.
He drove at a reasonable speed, until just past the guesthouse before increasing. He couldn’t exactly floor it down the ranch trail to the main road, because all the bumps and grooves would jostle Arthur too much and make CPR difficult, and they needed to keep breathing for him.
They needed to try, damn it.
Colt called ahead to the hospital, so they’d know to expect them. Mack, Wes, and hospital staff were waiting at the ER entrance with a gurney when they finally arrived, and Arthur was taken from them. Mack followed, grilling Judson and Reyes as they went.
“I’m going to park the truck,” Miles said to Colt and Wes. “Go.”
He took the few minutes parking to bring himself down from the adrenaline high of getting here, allowing his hands to shake and his pulse to race, while he took deep breaths. But he couldn’t dawdle long. Reyes needed him. So did his friends.
His family.
They were in a tight huddle in one corner of the waiting room, everyone centered around Mack, who was fighting tears. For the first time since they got the news, Miles could focus on comforting his boyfriend. He pulled Reyes into his arms and hugged him as tightly as he could. “You did good,” he whispered. “Getting him here.”
Reyes shuddered, his arms squeezing Miles around the middle. “Scared for him.”
“Judson said he heard Arthur fall, and he called me right after, did CPR right away. We finally got him breathing again in the truck, but...”
They both knew the but when it came to not breathing for an extended period of time.
Wes and Colt were hugging Mack from either side, while Judson paced. Miles simply tried to remain present and not worry, to keep his boyfriend standing when his expression was one of a man barely holding it together. “Is there anyone else I can call?” Miles asked.
“Patrice should know,” Judson replied. “But I’ll call her when we know something more.”
“Okay.”
Miles wanted to be more useful, but in that moment, there wasn’t anything he could do except hug Reyes and prepare for whatever came next.