Page 11 of Unhinged
“Your dad was a friend, but you’re pushing your luck. If I find out it was you, I’m gonna bury you in this tin can you call a home. You hear me, fucker?”
Before Noah could formulate a response, Gary turned, trudging back towards the entrance of the club.
Noah managed to get into the Airstream, shoving the flimsy lock in place. He gave another cursory look through the window to make sure Gary was gone before heading to the ugly floral couch in the tiny living area and popping the bench seat off, pulling the ugly camo backpack from its hiding spot.
Gary was a fucking moron. Noah had swiped it last night, and he spent so much time fucking his dancers he hadn’t even noticed it was missing until almost twenty-four hours later. He knew exactly what was in the backpack. A fuck ton of cash, all fake, a Ruger snub nose revolver, some scraps of paper, and his keys.
The keys were what he was after. He’d already made molds and taken them to Kevin at the key shop to have copies made. He’d also made a copy of Gary’s license, hoping his address was current. Somewhere in Gary’s house was the key to solving Noah’s mystery. A shudder wracked his body, like somebody had walked over his grave.
He’d planned to put the backpack back where he’d found it, but then Bailey and her girlfriend had conned him into hitting the club. Drinking, dancing, and partying seemed like a much better prospect than sitting in his beat up trailer, obsessing over his current project. He didn’t regret his decision either. If he hadn’t gone out, he never would have kissed Adam, felt his hands on his face, had him looking at him with that same overwhelming intensity he had the first night they’d spoken.
The night he’d tried to kill him. That night had changed everything. In some ways, everything was now so much worse, but some things were better, too. He no longer felt guilty for not saving his father. He now knew the truth about what happened to him as a child, for better or worse. Mostly worse. Definitely worse. Maybe not all of it. But enough.
What he couldn’t remember was probably best left buried, but that didn’t mean he was going to let it go. Because the things he did remember…well, they were fucking awful. Nightmarish shit that no child should have to endure, and Noah didn’t know much, but he knew he wasn’t alone. His father hadn’t been alone either.
Noah shook the thoughts away. He didn’t want to think about that tonight. He wanted to think about Adam’s lips on his and the way he’d sounded when he said he couldn’t stop thinking about him. It didn’t seem real. Noah was nothing special, small in stature, slender build, definitely no six-pack. He had blah brown eyes and freckles.
Adam was a fucking runway model. He used to be anyway. He looked more like a rock star with his inky black hair and painted fingernails and lashes so black it looked like he was wearing eyeliner. And those blue eyes, so pale they were almost white. He didn’t seem real. It was like somebody had ripped him from a teen drama. The bad boy. The supermodel. The killer.
Noah made his way back to the bed that took up the back half of his trailer, stripping down to his underwear before falling face first into the mattress, Adam still on his mind.
He supposed wanting to fuck his father’s killer was a level of fucked up that would probably require years of therapy that Noah couldn’t afford. But Noah had felt something between them that very first night. He’d known the instant Adam had taken control of the situation, had felt the balance in power shift even with Noah holding the gun. Adam could have killed him at any time. In the moment, that thought was as exhilarating as heroin. Sometimes, he wished he had killed him. Death seemed peaceful where Noah’s life was chaos. Death seemed preferable to loneliness. And Noah couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t lonely. Had he ever felt like somebody cared?
He rubbed his face on his pillow like he could wipe away his depression. He’d rather think of Adam. Adam with his big warm hands cupping his face and just moving him where he wanted him, like Noah had been made just for Adam’s pleasure. What did pleasuring Adam look like? His dick hardened. It definitely wanted to know the answer, too.
Even tonight, Adam had taken charge immediately, not because he wanted to throw his weight around or because he had some kind of alpha male complex. Adam just naturally dominated a space. And, God help him, Noah liked it.
Or maybe it was the drugs talking. Maybe sober Noah would find Adam saying he was probably going to hurt him not sexy, but, for tonight, Noah chose to fall asleep with a smile on his lips, replaying the memory of Adam’s kisses until he finally dozed off.
* * *
Noah woke to the hinges of his trailer door protesting. He jerked upright, his heart hammering in his chest as he watched a large figure stalk closer. Gary. He scrambled into the corner of his mattress but then ran out of space. It was too late to hide, there was only one way in or out. He slammed his hand down on the light, the forty watt bulb not taking away the horror of the situation but giving it a much more cinematic feel, like a Stanley Kubrick film.
Noah wasn’t sure which of them looked more shocked. Him or Adam. When Adam’s face came into view, a shock of awareness ran through Noah, part of him excited but the other half furious he’d just scared the shit out of him. “Did you just break into my house?”
Adam frowned, turning back to look at the door like Noah might be talking to somebody else. When he looked back, he shrugged. “Technically, I just pulled really hard and it opened.”
Noah’s mouth fell open at the matter-of-fact tone in Adam’s voice. “Have you ever heard of knocking?”
Adam crawled onto Noah’s bed, like it was a given he’d end up there. “I did knock. You didn’t answer.”
Noah pulled his pillow into his lap, hugging it, wondering if he was dreaming or hallucinating for the second time that night. “Maybe I didn’t want to see you. Did that even occur to you?” he asked, sounding unconvincing even to his own ears.
Adam’s brows furrowed together as he leaned into Noah’s space. “No, it didn’t. Why wouldn’t you want to see me?”
“Um, it's, like, four in the morning? I was sleeping? I don’t actually know you?” Noah countered.
“You knew me earlier. That was you underneath me, right?”
Noah gripped his pillow tighter. “And you took that to mean you have an engraved invitation to my house?”
Adam actually seemed to be pondering the question, like he wasn’t certain of his own motives. Finally, he said, “You said you were home. I knocked. You didn’t answer. I thought maybe you’d overdosed. I needed to see for myself you were alive.”
Noah screwed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I’m alive.”
Adam didn’t leave, just moved closer. “Why would you do a drug when you didn’t even know what it was?”
Noah shrugged. “What are you, the morality police? You kill people, like, as a hobby.”
