Page 59 of Vail

“Okay. I’m not sure how much Jordan has mentioned about me.”

“Nothing,” Hartley told him.

Sylvan nodded. “Well, I’m an author. Not a very successful one before I met Jordan. I was in a bookstore in East Dremest that has since closed. I had a table and was hoping to meet readers and sign a few books. Only, no one came to see me. It was awful and fed into my overall anxiety. Luckily, the kind woman who ran the store kept me company. She told me how her business had dwindled over the years and she was retiring soon. Her husband had passed, and her daughter was urging her to move south where she lived, where the weather was warmer. Anyway, as I was packing up what I’d brought with me, a man walked in. I didn’t pay him any mind, kept to myself as I gathered my belongings.

“He stopped at my table and asked what I was doing. I told him I was there to sign books but was about to leave. We got into a discussion about what I wrote. I told him gay romance but on the lighter side. I didn’t tell him at the time but so much of my life had been watching others through my apartment windows, wondering what their lives were like. When I went out and walked on the street with them, I didn’t have the courage to talk to anyone or make friends. So, I created them in my mind and put my stories into books. Jordan asked to see a book. I handed him a copy, waiting to be made fun of. I knew who he was, of course. When he reached into his pocket and withdrew a fifty-dollar bill, I wasn’t sure what was happening.”

Hartley grinned. “I love where this is going.”

“Jordan wanted to buy my book and asked me to sign it. I told him to keep the money. He was the only person who had visited me outside of the owner, and it was only by coincidence he happened to stop in that day. But Jordan wouldn’t hear of it. I accepted his money, and he went on his way. Six months later, I ran into him again, this time at a florist. It was my mom’s birthday. She had passed a few years prior. I like to take flowers to her grave and talk with her. Unbeknownst to me, Jordan liked stopping into the local businesses and asking how they were. I was seeing a side of him I hadn’t known existed.”

Every word Sylvan said reinforced why I loved Jordan as much as I did. Yes, he was currently downstairs most likely killing the man who hurt us, but he wasn’t only that person. Jordan cared about the community and the people in it.

“After speaking with the owner, he saw me waiting to pay. He told me he read my book. Jordan Altair read my flirty romance and he liked it. I could hardly believe it. He asked me to have lunch with him. I told him another time because I had to get to my mom’s grave. Jordan surprised me yet again by paying for the flowers and driving me to the cemetery. He even said hello to my mom and told her she raised a good son she could be proud of.”

Okay, now I was welling up with tears. This story was so sweet, I’d have to find Jordan and hug the shit out of him later. Hartley wasn’t faring much better. He swiped at his eyes and sniffled.

“We went to lunch at Jordan’s restaurant. If you haven’t eaten there yet, he should take you.”

“He told us he has a steakhouse,” Hartley said. “But we haven’t been.”

“It’s amazing. Some of the best food I’ve ever had.”

“Continue,” Hartley prompted.

“Right. So, after we ate, Jordan asked me about my books, and we fell into an easy conversation. We connected. Not the way you three have, but as friends. Over the next few months, we kept in touch. Or Jordan kept tabs on me. I was about to be evicted due to not being able to afford rent. My books weren’t selling, and I couldn’t find a job. It was a terrible situation. Jordan showed up at my apartment and offered me a hand up. He said he was purchasing a piece of property and was looking for a person to oversee it. He’d give me free room and board as well as pay for food. But there was a caveat of him using it as a safe house. Knowing what he did, I wasn’t surprised. Me agreeing to this came with a level of secrecy I was used to since I wasn’t social to begin with. In all honesty, it was a dream come true.”

“How are your books doing today?” I asked.

“They sell like I can’t believe. I use a pen name and keep my personal life separate, but with the help of Jordan getting my books into local cafés and spreading the word, I’ve developed a great following.”

“That’s amazing,” I told him. We hadn’t heard of Sylvan before this but given how private he was, I wasn’t surprised.

“Jordan gave me a new life, one I dreamed of. I didn’t have to worry about bills or anything but writing. And when he needs me to, I craft stories for him as well.”

“You do?” Hartley asked.

“How do you think he covers up so many of his crimes? I give him the stories and his people create the scene.”

“Oh my god, that’s fucking brilliant.”

“It allows me to tap into the darker side of my mind. It’s also a nice change from writing what I usually do.”

I smiled. This day started good, became horrible, then was good again. Well, at least for us. For the man downstairs, not so much. But I wasn’t worrying about him. Not when I had someone like Sylvan in front of me, who told me a story that warmed my heart so much I’d never forget his words.

26

JORDAN

Knowing Vail was upstairs with Hartley while I was down here about to torture this piece of shit wasn’t comforting. Yes, I liked that Vail and Hartley were safe and close, but I didn’t like that I had to do this with them here. It was one thing to do small shit. It was quite another to kill the man before me.

I nodded to Sheldon, who ripped the tape from the man’s mouth. He started cursing the second he could speak. Spit flew, threats were made, as if he had any place to do so.

Sheldon had him propped up against the wall where he sat with his back to it. It was only the three of us in here, with Alton now upstairs and Reghan standing guard so no one entered. Only those with the code could, but I didn’t want anyone else down here. Not even Sylvan had the code, and the home was in his name.

“How did you think this was going to go?” I asked the man. He wouldn’t tell us his name, not that I expected him to. There was no identification on him.

“Fuck you,” he spit.

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