Scott Sherman: Third You Die

And seize me he did. But not in an attack. In a grateful embrace.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Oh, Kevin, thank you. If those bastards hurt him, I want them to suffer. I want them to pay. If it hadn’t been for you, they would have gotten away with it.”

“You’re welcome,” I choked out, breathless from his crushing bear hug. Maybe he was trying to kill me.

He let go. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to crush you.”

“No problem,” I said. “I’m sure the ribs will heal. But, now, you need to think about yourself, Lucas.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, Mason may have made and sold a film with a sixteen-year-old star, but you screwed around with him onscreen.”

“Is that illegal?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. But you should. Do you have a lawyer? An agent? Anyone you could ask?”

“I don’t.” Lucas looked thoughtful and then grinned. “I have something better right here. My boyfriend. He knows everything about the industry.”

“He does?”

“He’d better. He’s one of the biggest directors in the biz.”

Really?

“I’ll go get him.” Lucas trotted down the hallway.

I thought about leaving before Lucas returned. I’d delivered the message I’d come to give. I didn’t need to meet the “boyfriend,” or whoever he was. I also wasn’t interested in getting to know anyone else in the adult film industry. I’d spent enough time swimming in that pool. Maybe it was better to get out before I drowned.

But I didn’t want to be rude.

“Kevin,” I heard from behind. “I knew we’d meet again.”

The voice was honey and silk, warm, sweet, and with a distinctly Latin sensuality.

It was also familiar.

By the time he’d come to face me, I’d almost placed it.

Kristen LaNue.

The last director Brent had worked with.

Of everyone I’d talked with at SwordFight, he was the only one who seemed to regard Brent as anything more than some commodity meant to be used and sold.

How had I not known Lucas was living with him?

I looked around. Other than the picture of Lucas’s brother, there were no photos anywhere. No posters of Kristen’s films. Not even the Adult Video News Award I’d heard he’d won for Best Director.

No sign of Kristen anywhere except…

Oh, yeah, the bathroom. The towels. I’d thought they were designer linens from a line meant to evoke the concept of good hygiene.

But “KLN” wasn’t a play on “clean.” It was the owner’s monogram.

I rose and gave him a hug. We exchanged brief greetings.

“What,” Kristen said, sitting next to me, his face drawn with concern, “is this that Lucas is telling me? It’s… incredible. Can it be true?”

Lucas settled next to him. Close, but not touching. I tried to get the vibe between them, but couldn’t. Was this a partnership of convenience or was there real love here? Beat me.

I filled Kristen in as best I could.

“My god,” Kristen said when I was done. His pallor was like chalk, his lips tight and trembling. “Lucas was with him on film. I filmed it. We thought he was a man, not a boy!”

He drummed his fingers on his knee. “Mason knew. He must have known.”

Lucas bobbed his head up and down. “Yeah, I think so, too. He’d do anything for a buck.”

Kristen took Lucas’s hand in his. “That bastard,” Kristen hissed. “He’ll get us all thrown in jail.”

Lucas moaned and looked ready to cry.

“Sweetheart.” Kristen took Lucas’s hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed the meaty knuckles. “We’ll be fine. I promise. But we need to talk to my lawyer.”

I stood. “I have to go to the police,” I said. “But I wanted to let you guys know first. Give you a chance to make sure you’re covered. You’re not the bad guys here.”

“We’re not,” Kristen agreed. “My baby wouldn’t hurt a fly. Would you, mi amor? ”

Lucas put an arm around Kristen. “I’d never hurt Brent,” he said. Then, almost as an afterthought, “Or you, Kristen. Ever.”

“I know.” Kristen patted his shoulder, and Lucas laid his head on it. They looked like they needed time together, alone, to console each other and figure out what to do.

“I have to go,” I said. “But will you fill me in on what your lawyer says? I won’t talk to the cops until the end of the day. That should give you enough time.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Lucas said. “I owe you twice now, man. We’ll call later.” He started to stand.

Kristen held him down with a hand on his knee. “Actually, Kevin, can you stay for a bit? It may be helpful for you to talk directly with our lawyer. He might have questions we didn’t think to ask.”

“Right.” Lucas reversed course. “Stay. Please.”

I had no idea how Kristen and Lucas got together as a couple, but I’d bet they met for the first time on set. At home, it seemed he still followed Kristen’s script.

“Sure,” I said.

“I’ll get the number,” Kristen said. “Lucas, will you help me bring in the speakerphone?”

Lucas nodded and they headed down the hallway, presumably toward the office.

I watched their retreating figures. They looked cute together. Lucas leaned into his older lover. Although bigger and stronger, he was clearly submissive to the worldly LaNue.

They seemed into each other. Why, then, was Lucas so ready to run off with Brent?

For that matter, hadn’t Kristen been flirting with me? Or had I imagined that?

I had no problem with people having open relationships, but these two seemed pretty active in their pursuit of others.

Was nothing what it seemed?

Lucas may not have been Laurence Olivier, but he was an actor. Maybe he regarded Kristen as more of a meal ticket than the love of his life.

If so, Kristen would have been an appealing sugar daddy. Rich, handsome, sexy, and I could see he pushed some of Lucas’s most obvious buttons. After all, he was a director. By definition, he liked to be in control.

And wasn’t control what Lucas most craved?

What did Kristen get out of keeping Lucas? Companionship and sex were the obvious answers. Maybe his need for running things at work also extended to his home life. If so, he’d found the perfect puppy to fetch his papers.

Then again, did it even matter? Who was I to be analyzing them? I doubted my relationship with Tony was any healthier.

A loud crash from the door Lucas and Kristen had disappeared behind shocked me out of my reverie.

“Kevin!” LaNue screamed.

I ran down the hall to Kristen’s office.

A long desk ran along one wall, littered with papers and eight-by-ten photos. Across from it was tens of thousands of dollars of video and computer equipment. Naked bodies writhed across monitor screens in a silent kaleidoscope of flesh.

Lucas lay unmoving, facedown on the floor. A small pool of blood surrounded his head. It got larger as I watched.

“What happened?” I asked, kneeling next to him.

“I don’t know!” Kristen stood in the far corner, hands behind his back, looking frozen. “We just got in and he… collapsed. Maybe he

… fainted or something. He’s a sensitive boy, you know. This may have all been too much for him.”

“He’s bleeding,” I said.

“What? Where?”

I pointed at Lucas’s head. I had no idea how bad his injury was. Should I turn him over?

“He must have hit the corner of that table.” Kristen brought one his hands from behind him and pointed to a corner of the desk. Sure enough, there was a dent and a splash of blood there.

“Should we call an ambulance?” I asked.

I leaned closer to Lucas. A funny smell. Like ozone. Electricity.

“Hey,” I said, “is something burning?”