Scott Sherman - Third You Die

I faced the camera, but as slightly as possible. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and subtly shook my head back and forth. Maybe some movement would make my image blurrier.

The bulldog listened to the voice on the phone. His eyes narrowed.

“Mr. Haven,” he said to me.

“Uh-huh?” I didn’t turn to face him. I could see him in the corner of my eye and that was enough. I could no longer remember why I’d thought him a friendly bulldog at first. Now, he seemed quite growly. Maybe even rabid. My nerves were out of control. If I had to meet his eyes again I was afraid I’d fall to my knees and confess everything.

That wasn’t the only reason I didn’t want to turn my head, though. If Lucas was buying me as Brent, I didn’t want to chance that seeing me in profile would ruin the illusion.

The bulldog hung up the phone.

The guard to my left was suddenly at my side. Shoulder to shoulder.

Shit.

“If you’d go with Mr. Smith…” the bulldog said, nodding toward the guard.

I shifted my weight to the balls of my feet and tried to remember how far behind me the front door was. Should I make a break for it? I didn’t know where Mr. Smith intended to take me, but I was pretty sure I didn’t want to go there.

“… He’ll call the elevator for you,” the bulldog finished.

He looked at the guard. “Floor twenty-two, Matthew.”

“Very well, sir. This way, please.” For the first time, I saw the guard straight on. He was actually pretty cute, very tall and thin, with a long, horsey face that looked equally dopey and bright. He spoke in a clipped British accent that increased his adorableness by a factor of five.

His eyes twinkled with a manic energy that he struggled to keep hidden. He looked more like a mad scientist than a security guard, but I had no doubt he could handle himself if a situation turned hairy.

Much to my relief, this one didn’t.

“Thank you,” I said to the bulldog. Now that I was cleared for entry, he smiled again and looked friendly. I resisted the urge to pat his head.

I followed Matthew Smith to the azure-doored elevator, one of the few spots of color in the otherwise neutral entranceway. He called it by punching a six-digit number into the keyboard. No simple “up” and “down” arrows at El Santuario. Another layer of security.

I wondered if the people who paid millions of dollars to live here realized how much their luxurious homes felt like a jail. I felt lucky not to have been strip-searched before gaining entry, although, had Mr. Smith been doing the search, it might have been fun.

“Do enjoy your visit,” the mad doctor instructed me as the doors of the blue box he’d called for me opened. He gave me a little wink that made me wonder if he knew more about Mr. Ford than a simple name change could conceal.

“I intend to,” I lied.

For such a new and high-tech building, the elevator seemed to be taking an awfully long time to reach the twenty-second floor. But then again, maybe it was my nerves stretching out the minutes like a prisoner on the rack.

In any case, it was long enough for me to have the increasingly intense suspicion I was walking into a trap. But what? I was probably just being overdramatic.

The doors opened with a ping that made me jump. Nervous much? I pinched my arm. Get over it. I stepped into the chicly stark hallway.

Just as the doors of the elevator closed behind me, it occurred to me what was wrong.

What if I was mistaken about Lucas using a new alias?

Maybe Mr. Ford wasn’t Lucas at all.

Maybe it was The Patron who’d allowed the guard to send me up.

The Patron with a secret worth killing for.

I ran through the conversation with the bulldog again.

I said I was here for Lucas and he called upstairs.

Whoever answered, the guard called him “Mr. Ford.”

But he hadn’t said, “There’s someone here to see you, ” had he?

He’d said, “There’s someone for your apartment.”

At least, that’s what I thought he’d said. I wasn’t paying that much attention, as I was mostly focused on not wetting myself.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

Was that why Mr. Ford wanted to see me on the video? Because he knew it couldn’t be Brent?

So then why let me come upstairs?

Because he’d seen me and determined I wasn’t a threat?

Hadn’t I just been thinking how lucky I was not to look imposing?

Now, I wished I resembled a more muscular John Cena.

This was crazy. I was crazy. What was I doing here?

Freddy was right.

Tony was right.

I had no business playing Boy Detective.

I turned back to the elevator, relieved to see that on the residential floors there were no secretly coded keypads, just the same two boring buttons you find in every other building.

I was just about to press “down” when two hundred pounds of muscle ran down the hall and grabbed me.

The force of the impact, and subsequent restraint, knocked the wind out of me. I couldn’t breath. Or scream. Was I about to “disappear” too?

“Brent!” shouted an excited Lucas Fisher/Ford. He swept me off my feet and twirled me around. “My god, I thought I’d never see you again!”

Already woozy with panic and self-doubt, I was completely disoriented by this sudden embrace and dizzying spin. I didn’t even notice he’d gone from turning me to carrying me until we were inside his apartment and he’d kicked the door closed behind him.

“Oh baby, I missed you so much.” He pushed me against the door and brought his face around for a kiss. His body pressed against mine with a comfortable intimacy. Well, comfortable for him. For me, it was a little on the awkward side. Although, I suppose I should have been grateful that his initial embrace in the hallway, although overly enthusiastic, was the product of horniness, not hostility.

The tenderness of his touch played in sharp contrast to the hardness of his muscles. His pecs, abs, and quads felt like granite.

The other hardness he pressed against me was equally impressive. Had it been meant for me, I’d have been appreciative. As it was, I felt guilty, like I’d stolen his erection from someone more deserving.

His handsome face, even better-looking than on video, was radiant with joy.

Until a cloud eclipsed its brilliance.

Uh-oh.

There it was.

The second glance.

“Wha…” he began. He blinked in confusion. “You’re… you’re not…”

Suddenly, the arms that embraced me pushed me roughly against the door.

“You FUCK!” he screamed. “Who the FUCK are you?”

And… there’s that hostility I was worried about.

He reached down to put his hands around my neck. He didn’t tighten them. Not yet, at least. But I wasn’t about to take any chances.

Lucas had almost a foot in height and at least sixty pounds on me. I knew from years of self-defense training that wouldn’t do him much good.

I swept my arms up between his and quickly spread them apart, removing his hands from my neck. Had I felt truly threatened by Lucas, I’d have probably just kneed him in the balls at that point. It had the advantage of being a move I could pull off quickly and it always worked.

But once I did that, I doubted we could have a friendly discussion.

Instead, I dropped to my knees, darted between his legs before he had time to process what was happening, and was now in position behind him.

I considered pushing him against the door and bending his arm back to keep him in place. That way, he’d be forced to listen. But again, I decided on a more peaceful approach.

Because in the space of a moment, I knew Lucas hadn’t hurt Brent. Whatever his feelings for the boy were, he was unmistakably overjoyed at the thought of a reunion.