Page 25 of Blackmail
“I don’t think he had those on when he came in,” says PJ, who’s standing there holding a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste with his mouth hanging open.
Donny’s nose is gushing blood. He flails and manages a shitty hit, but the guy’s got an ugly-ass ring on that opens up a cut on Sebastian’s cheek. That motherfucker.
I get up to try and help Sebastian, ready to jump on Donny’s back and see how he likes getting choked out for a change, but Sebastian lands another punch. This one knocks Donny back against the doorframe, right near where Michael’s standing, clearly trying to figure out what happened while he was outside.
When Donny hits the ground, he doesn’t move.
Sebastian nudges him with his shoe and shakes his head. “I did warn him,” he mutters.
Then he turns and motions to the rest of us. “I suggest we get out of here before he wakes up.”
Chapter
Ten
SEBASTIAN
“Dammit, that stings.”
Both Simon and my first aid kit are back in my bathroom. I swear he’s enjoying torturing me while he cleans up the cut on my cheek.
“Stop your whining. It’s not even that bad.”
“I know it’s not that bad, so you don’t need to waste your time babying me.” I gesture vaguely at the scar on my face. “I’ve had worse. Obviously.”
“So I see.” Which isn’t an agreement to stop. He just hums a little and continues with his work.
“Tell me, mister businessman,” he says while dabbing at my face. “What’s a guy like you doing spouting nutrition studies and knocking out bad guys? Kind of had you pegged as the sort who would yell ‘My dad has money!’ in an emergency.”
“You’re getting me confused with Tony.”
Simon laughs. “I don’t see that happening.”
Maybe it’s my bitterness speaking, but it’s also the truth. Tony’s parents don’t have money anymore, but once upon a time, he would have. I’m beginning to hate that I let his panic over his father’s financial ruin get to me. Perhaps I let my need to be a hero cloud my judgment.
“Seriously, though,” Simon grumbles.
“Seriously? The man who raised me is in the restaurant business. He and my mom were very into eating plant-forward, living off the land, yada yada. I grew up hearing all sorts of things about food. And as for the other thing, my sperm donor was a violent man. I learned to defend myself. I’m not a fan of guns, but I can use one. I never leave home without some sort of weapon.”
“Hmm. It’s weird to think your parents and my parents might have had something in common.”
“They never leave home without a weapon?”
“What? No.” He laughs again. I like the sound. “I grew up in a religious community. Farming was the whole way of life. Living off the land, only what the Lord provides. Lots of vegetables.”
“Ah. Can’t imagine it would be easy to grow up gay there.”
Simon’s body goes still. “No,” he says quietly. “It was fucking awful.”
I’m curious to ask more questions. How did you get the scars on your back? Did they punish you? But his body language is guarded now.
“Is Simon your real name?”
He raises one eyebrow, pinches the skin on my cheek, and applies a butterfly bandage. Then he whips off the gloves he found in the first aid kit and gathers up the tape and other items he used.
“It’s what it says on my driver’s license,” he finally answers.
“I don’t know if that was a yes.” His answer only makes me more curious.
