Page 2 of Ready to Cash Out

Ugh, as if he was a fragile little puppy made of glass who was totally helpless and begging for a big strong man to save him.

Fucking vomit.

Trevanion B. Usher did not need any damn saving, and he certainly did not need anyone to take care of him. Being beautiful did not make him weak. Being young did not mean he was defenseless. He found the very idea insulting, and it was absolutely infuriating. The exact second a man said he wanted to be his daddy or take him home to make sure he was looked after was the same second Trev was done.

He’d kicked out a guy midstroke before.

Trev figured he’d try to settle down eventually, but he already knew his standards were set incredibly high. He wanted a man who would be his partner, someone who would respect him and treat him as an equal. Yes, he wanted to be adored and romanced on the regular too, but he wanted it to be because his man truly loved him, not because he saw Trev as some poor little flower who had to be shielded from the world.

Trev was many things.

Delicate was not one of them.

With the shopping bag from the drugstore in one hand and an iced coffee purchased with the headphone’s refund money in the other, Trev strolled triumphantly down the hallway toward his apartment.

Today really had been a great day.

Though his building was a dump, Trev still thought of it as home. He’d moved here after his mother died, and it was one of the few places in the world he felt safe. The hallways smelled of piss and mildew, and he didn’t trust the moody elevator not to kill him, but it was the only building in Perry City with rent under a grand and apartments that had solid wooden doors and thick iron bars over the windows.

With the amount of cash he kept here, he wanted to be damn sure it was safe, and not to mention protect his most valuable asset—himself. Perry City wasn’t exactly peak civilization. The crime rate was high, the police were corrupt, and the mafia ran everything. News stories of people getting their homes and cars broken into were a regular feature, so Trev left his car doors unlocked to save the assholes the trouble and hope they wouldn’t bust his windows.

His apartment, however, was on the third floor, had three deadbolts, and required two keys to get into.

He wasn’t taking any chances with his home.

As Trev came off the stairwell beside the dreaded elevator, he could see someone was standing by his door.

Great.

His landlord.

Camille Bransby was propped against his doorway, the fog of smoke from her cigarette filling the hall. She was a thin veil of pale white skin on a skeleton, probably a hundred years old, and she bared her big fake white teeth at Trev in a leering smile. “Hey T. How’s tricks?”

“Everything is fine, Mrs. B,” Trev replied sweetly. “Thank you so much for asking. How are you?”

“Swell. Just swell.” Camille flicked her cigarette ashes on the floor. It wasn’t as if the smoke detectors actually worked, so there was no fear of her setting them off. “The hell are you wearing?”

“Clothing, Mrs. B,” he replied, making sure to put an extra swing in his hips as he strolled up to her.

Trev was wearing a magenta hoodie he’d cut into a crop top, black denim shorts, and fishnets with a scuffed up pair of Doc Marten boots. His makeup was light, only foundation with black eyeliner and a hint of pink eyeshadow—the same pink eyeshadow he’d stolen from the drugstore today that matched his pink hair.

“And what are you wearing?” Trev gestured to Camille’s ever-present quilted purple bathrobe. “Is that your bedspread?”

“Very funny. That’s hilarious. It’s so funny I forgot to laugh.” She snorted. “Listen, I got a little job offer for you.”

“A job?” Trev batted his eyes. “What kind of job? Doing your nails? Maybe a makeover? Oh, do you want me to teach you how to put false lashes on? I promise I won’t glue your eyes shut.”

“Cut the shit, smart ass. This is serious.”

Trev let his charming facade drop, asking flatly, “What is it and how much does it pay?”

“A friend of a friend needs some quality entertainment,” she replied, “and it pays six months rent.”

Trev sipped his coffee to hide how his jaw dropped. Six months of rent was insane. He could save enough to possibly start looking at houses by the end of the year. That was too good of a deal to pass up.

It was too good of a deal period.

“Catch?” he pressed.

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