Desperate Enemies 3 Page 2

  “Aaron, don't!” Paolo screamed.

  Maybe it was the sound of his lover's pleading voice or maybe a rational part of his mind, but just then Aaron's wrist went limp, the gun no longer aimed anywhere but the ground. That's when Rich rushed him, strong arms wrapping around Aaron's body. A jittery Aaron screamed out, panicked at the sudden move, and he and Rich went down to the carpet. Marc saw Converse shield himself behind Russell.

  “No, no. Stop, someone. . . help them. . .”

  Paolo was screaming helplessly.

  Marc couldn't move.

  What was happening before his eyes occurred in slow motion.

  A blurry flash of a third person leaping forward caught Marc's eye. It was Parker, landing squarely atop the grinding bodies of Rich and Aaron, muscled arms struggling to pull the two men apart and somehow trying to wrestle the gun away from whoever had possession of it. But then an explosion rocked the room as the gun blasted, once, twice, a third time, shots ringing out, a splat of blood spurting all the way up to the ceiling fan, still turning, twisting in the air.

  “Oh my God,” someone shouted as the wrestling match on the floor ended, bodies slack. Someone in the group fainted; Marc heard the body drop.

  Hesitation hovered over the group, no one sure how to proceed. Then Dane and Sawyer burst forward, pulling Parker off, revealing the two bodies beneath him, neither of them moving. Marc saw all that red blood. . . draining, pooling. He saw the twisted tangle of limbs, the pale expression of death. That's when he too fainted.

  * * * *

  Two days after the disastrous gallery opening, the once young, sexy, vibrant Aaron Walters was laid to rest in a peaceful, sorrowful ceremony attended only by close friends and family. Only one member of the Eldon Court community could not be there to say good-bye, as Rich North was still recuperating from his gunshot wound, his collapsed lung still causing him to be listed in critical condition. Converse's team had taken a hit as well, as the persnickety Russell Allen had taken a bullet that would have otherwise hit his boss in the head; the taller man's heart had been pierced and Allen was dead.

  Wonderland had been drenched with rain for days, as though the clouds cried for the unnecessary loss of life, for the pain and sadness which had been unloaded upon the residents of Eldon Court. For Dane and Sawyer, the shock of Aaron death changed them; Aaron was Dane's brother and he'd already once lost another. For Jack and Edgar, the loss of their friend brought a newfound determination to stop the so-called progress of the Wonderland Palaces. For Marc Anderson, he was saddened by Aaron's death, worried about his friend, Paolo, and how he would survive without the love of his life. But mostly he worried about Rich and his recovery, and, in the back of his mind, he still wondered about that tense moment at the gallery when Rich and Parker arrived at the same time. Had they been together? No confirmation, but he knew, in his heart, he knew.

  Would Marc be able to trust Rich again?

  Could life return to normal on Eldon Court?

  Would Danvers Converse's plan to destroy them come to fruition?

  Marc knew he could no longer hide inside the house. He had to face the future, and to do so, he had to face the truth of the past, no matter what it revealed. Finishing his morning coffee, the memories from the gallery and the fears that lurked inside his dreams buried for now, he realized he had only one destination in mind.

  The hospital.

  Rich was coming home soon.

  Marc wondered if either of them was ready for that.

  * * * *

  Rich North hated hospitals, always had, even when he'd only ever been a visitor. Now that he was a patient and had been forced to call Wonderland Medical Center home for the past week, well, hate had taken on new meaning. There was only one exception to make his stay more comfortable: the cute young male nurse who gave him sponge baths.

  It was nearly noon on this Monday, the start of a new week, the sun was shining inside his room, teasing him about being released, leaving Rich frustrated. He wished he could just be outside, perhaps on the beach, instead of sitting dirty in his bed all these days, the damn tubes still connected to him, the beeping monitor the doctor's form of water torture. When his door opened and he saw the male nurse, whose name was Christof, he smiled.

  “First friendly face today,” Rich said.

  “Yeah, Margo and Tricia sent me in, they said you respond better to me,” Christof said, his thatch of white-blonde hair and bright smile a highlight of his winning bedside manner. He moved to the edge of the bed, checked the chart and laughed.

  “What's so funny?”

  “The doctor's note. Says she can't wait until you're released.”

  “Well, finally she and I agree on something.”

  Christof pushed the discarded food tray out of the way, brought over his own tray of sponges and warm water he'd rolled in with. He helped Rich with his gown, sliding it down his torso, exposing his chest, still partly covered with bandages. Dipping the towel in the water, Christof wrung out the excess before he began to wipe at Rich's skin. Beneath his underarms, on his face, Rich sighed with newfound pleasure, like this was the best feeling in the world. Maybe not the world, but here in this hospital, Christof's touch was a definite highpoint. Rich felt his cock begin to stir. Thank God that part hadn't been shot.

  Still, Rich didn't like the way he looked. He needed a shave; he'd let his beard grow as a reaction to the doctors having had to shave his chest. The damn bullet had entered his chest beneath a rib, nicked his lung before exiting out the back, completely and fortunately missing his heart. And, he thought again, his cock, which now was hardening thanks to enticing motions of the sponge in Christof's hand. He dipped it again in the water, the warm sensation nice against his bare chest.

  “You know, you should keep it this way,” Christof said.

  “Keep what what way?”

  “Your chest. I can see all the hair starting to grow back. Too much.”

  “Don't let my boyfriend hear you say that.”

  Rich scratched at his chest, feeling stubble. Marc would be pleased to know his hair was growing back; he loved luxuriating in the thick mat. Hey, where was Marc, anyway? Usually at this time of day he was already itching to get home, tired of Rich's mood. Itchy, that's how his chest felt. He'd been hairy since his late teen years and now it was almost like he'd regressed to being that naive fifteen-year-old again. Fifteen, when he'd gotten his first blow job from another boy at summer camp. . . what had been his name. . . Johnny Lee? Yes, had a Southern accent, said he'd always wanted to be a cowboy. He'd been real cute, dark-haired and with a hot body and Rich had come in his mouth before reciprocating.

  “Uh, Rich, something on your mind?” Christof asked.

  “Huh?” Rich asked, but then he understood. His cock was so hard his hospital gown was tented. “Oh, well, guess the sponge bath is causing a certain reaction. . .” Rich shifted slightly in his bed, his gown lifting to expose his thick, hard cock. “Like what you see?”

  Christof actually laughed aloud. “No wonder the female nurses went running away, thing that size.”

  Rich wasn't sure if he'd overplayed his hand, if he'd offended Christof or even guessed wrong about his sexuality. Saying nothing else, Christof took the sponge and rubbed the warm water against Rich's cock, drenching his thick pubes. A thrilling sensation he hadn't felt in more than a week got his blood flowing, his cock growing to its full, impressive size. Christof stroked it, first with the sponge and then he let it slip away, using his hand instead.

  “Yeah, that's it, stroke it,” Rich urged.

  “I think someone's feeling much better, huh?”

  “Yeah, better, better. . . oh yeah, more, more.”

  Christof leaned down and opened his hungry mouth, taking the cock inside. Rich thrust fast, pushing inch after inch of hard cock deep down Christof's throat, grabbing his head and holding it down. Christof sucked and sucked, easily devouring Rich's cock with sudden energy. Briefly the cute nurse looked up.

/>   “The door, it's not locked.”

  “It's okay, I like to live dangerously,” Rich said, “besides, I'm close, so close. . . come on, suck my cock, you know you want it—and I mean all of it.”

  “Yeah, it's so big and thick, tastes so good,” Christof said, his head dropping back down, mouth sucking hungrily at the thick shaft, bobbing up, down, up, slurping with an intensity that would have Rich climaxing in no time.

  True enough, Rich cried out as felt his cock pulsing, and that's when Christof lifted his head, clearly not wanting to suck down a heavy load of come. Instead, Rich watched as gobs of come shot out the red tip of his cock and shot all over Christof's face.

  Falling back against the soft pillows, Rich sighed heavily. “Wow, I think you just healed me in one fell swoop.”

  Christof looked away.

  “Hey, no regrets, okay? This is our little secret...”

  “Keeping secrets, oh, just what we like. Do tell.”

  The door had just opened, new visitors announcing themselves. He quickly pulled the blankets over his exposed cock, took a fast look at Christof, who was busy wiping his face with the sponge; thankfully, his faced was turned away from the new guests and it seemed none were the wiser as to what had happened just moments ago.

  “Edgar, Jack, come to check on your wounded neighbor?”

  “Sorry we haven't been by, it's just. . .”

  “No need to explain, what with Aaron. . .” Rich said, his voice drifting off in the air. “In fact, I'd rather not delve into it all that happened. . . not now. Tell me, though, how's Paolo?”

  The longtime lovers exchanged hapless looks before Jack said, “Not good. He's got the house all closed up, shades drawn. We've only seen him once, but that was yesterday so at least we know he hasn't done anything. . . you know.”

  “Dumb,” Edgar said.

  “When I get out of here. . .”

  “Easy, Rich. There's time for retribution later. How are you feeling?”

  “I'm fine,” he said, waving off the concern.

  “So I see,” Edgar said, checking out Christof's tight ass as the nurse excused himself and left the room. “Cute in a surfer dude way.”

  “He gives me my sponge bath.”

  Jack's eyebrows rose. “Did you say ‘spooge’ bath?”

  “Funny, Jack,” Rich said. “So, what can I do for you guys?”

  “We hate to bother you with all this, but Converse, the Wonderland Palaces, they are still a threat. And Converse is like a wounded animal himself, bent on revenge for Russell's death.”

  “Yeah, Converse hid behind his aide and the aide bought it. Fucking coward. The police came by a few days ago, someone told them I was awake and on the mend, so they wanted to ask some questions. But there was very little I could tell them; I barely remember what happened. Do you know the latest?”

  “The police have closed the case. No charges filed. Everyone saw Aaron pull the gun.”

  “Why? Why would he do that? Jeopardize his livelihood—his life—that way?”

  “Converse had just fired him. Guess that was the last straw. Truthfully, I don't think even Paolo understands how it went this far.”

  “What a fucking waste,” Rich said, heart heavy with emotion. “But after all these weeks of threats and terror and blackmail, Danvers Converse pushed too far, and it was Aaron who snapped—and paid the price. As far as I'm concerned, Danvers has blood on his hands.”

  “Again.”

  “Right,” Edgar said, “that's why we wanted to stop by. Jack and I are going to intensify our efforts to finally get to the heart of the secret of Number Two Eldon Court. If it's true that Saunders's wife was the one who died—was murdered—inside that house, where is her body? And Parker St. John, just what is motivating him? Or who? Just to prove that Saunders is his father? Won't mean anything if Troy Saunders can prove he's the legal, rightful heir. And he's disappeared from what I heard—Sawyer was working with him, being photographed down at Converse's estate in Carmel, but that house is all locked up and Troy has gone under.”

  “Or Danvers has him hidden, covering his tracks.” Rich said.

  Edgar shook his head. “I think the key is Parker.”

  “So, then, what's the plan?” Rich asked.

  “Forget Parker, forget the plan,” said a new voice. “Rich needs his rest.”

  “Hey, Marc. . .”

  “Sorry, we just wanted to. . .”

  “Yeah, you can forget all this. Recovery first, then. . .”

  “Revenge?” Rich asked.

  “No. Look where that got us.”

  Marc was clearly not on the same page as the rest of them. So Jack and Edgar said their good-byes, but not before Jack winked Rich's way and said, “Marc sure doesn't have the bedside manner of your cute nurse, does he?”

  Both men laughed their way down the hospital corridor.

  Rich found himself blushing, even in the presence of his lover.

  “Hey, babe, where have you been?” Rich asked.

  “Button up that gown, Rich, you look ridiculous,” Marc said.

  Rich did feel exposed, more so with his lover inside the room. His chest bare, stubbly, he felt unfamiliar in his own skin. He could imagine how Marc felt. God, Rich thought, how do I tell him the truth? How do I tell him that I betrayed him, even after I promised him I wouldn't? A blow job from a cute nurse was one thing, a minor infraction compared to what Rich had done the night of the gallery show; and not just what he'd done, but who he'd done it with.

  Parker St. John.

  Damn him, Parker was the loose cannon in all this, a man with his own agenda.

  * * * *

  Parker St. John stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his dripping body, and then padded into his air-conditioned bedroom. On the bed stand was an Anchor Steam beer he'd uncapped after his morning of digging on the property, and now he took a healthy pull. Between the shower and the cool brew, he felt refreshed. He drank down the rest of the beer, set the bottle down and returned to the bathroom. The large mirror over the sink had cleared from the steam of his hot shower, revealing his handsome visage.

  He knew he was good-looking, his body in great shape.

  It was what was inside that worried him.

  His return to Wonderland had not gone as planned, not with Danvers Converse and not with the residents of Eldon Court. He was caught in the middle and didn't like it one bit; but he'd been told that was the way it had to be, he had to keep his distance to uncover who he could ultimately trust. Weeks later and after two men had died—one of them he'd slept with—he still didn't know anything. Along the way he'd set everyone else on edge, keeping them guessing as to his motives, being sucked into his world on a sexual level but none other. And it's not that Parker St. John didn't enjoy sex, he loved the power, the heat, loved the touch of another man's body, the way their eyes widened when he entered them with his long cock, how they reveled in the thick hair which coated his body. But that physical release was satisfying only on a surface level. He'd come to Wonderland and screwed around whenever he could, mostly with Paolo, a few times with Russell, and now with Rich—how unexpected that had been, and how fulfilling—but the one he wanted most was Marc. Marc Anderson, a man with brains and talent as well as a hot body. But of course taken, and not just taken but by the man he'd first shared his body with.

  Parker stared at his face, wondering if he should shave. He hadn't in days, and the thick bristles of his beard were growing on his cheeks and down his neck, practically connecting with the coarse hair that jutted above his neckline. He'd come a long way from the wimpy high school boy, so slight of frame, almost girl-like in his soft features. A strong workout regime combined with his hormones finally kicking into gear and here he stood, a masculine, muscular, hirsute and nicely hung example of pure manhood, and right now it was all staring back at him. He felt his cock lengthen suddenly, thicken, not a surprise as he was often horny after a good workout, and the back-breaking digging he'
d done beside the house certainly qualified.

  He moved back to the bed, where he let the towel slip to the floor. Lying on his back, he opened his legs and reached down to his hard, long cock. Wrapping his fist around the shaft, he jerked at it while running a hand over his chest, brushing at the thick, dark carpet, wishing it was Marc's hand getting lost in the thicket. Pinching his nipples and stroking his cock harder, Parker began to pant in anticipation of his orgasm. Yes, that's it, Marc, take me, take it all, take my huge cock, he thought as he ran his hand along his engorged cock. He spit into his fist for lubrication and then jerked harder, harder, Marc's face clear in his mind, his cries imagined but so real. With his other finger he reached his ass and poked at his furry hole. Then he thrust one finger in, a second, a third went deep into his hole, and he cried out at how fiercely he'd entered his own ass. He finger fucked himself, hard, harder, all while his eyes traveled down the hairy swath on his belly, seeing Marc licking the darker, middle trail down to the jutting, throbbing cock. Yes, he was close, close. . .

  Just then the phone rang.

  He ignored it, stroking more, more.

  A second ring, then a third.

  He pushed his fingers deeper into his pliant ass, crying out, demanding, pleading that he shoot his load high into the air, splatter his chest. . .

  Beep.

  “Parker,” a disembodied voice said, “Parker, I'm know you're there. Parker, it's Rose. . . I haven't heard from you in awhile. . . I'm not hanging up, I'll wait until you're done with whatever you're doing. . . Parker, are you in the shower? God, I hope you're not doing what I think you're doing, you're not that little teenage boy anymore, are you? Parker, Parker?”