ROMAN - Demon Rising

Chapter One

"Be mindful of the coming of the dawn, for demons dance in the shadows." 

       Alewar, Darkness Defender                                                   

                                                                                          

It wasn’t the biggest or best park in the city, but it was close, and it had the path that led down to the river. That was what drew Micah here. That path. It was a beautiful and rugged trail which was rare in the city. It dropped away from the rest of the park into a deep ravine and snaked through the woods. The hills that rose sharply on both sides were covered with pine and birch and all kinds of low brush. Once down at the bottom, if he was lucky enough to be all alone, Micah felt like he was miles from any city street. Oh, he could still hear the traffic if he allowed himself to; still look up and see jets that had just taken off from the airport only a few miles from where he stood, but it truly did not take a lot of imagination to believe he was far away from any of that.

There was even a fierce little brook that raced along the left side of the path, noisily falling over rocks and twigs, acting as much as it could like the big river it would soon join. Micah wasn’t sure where the water came from, honestly didn’t want to know, but he loved to hear it singing as it kept him company on his treks. The windy path to the big waterway wasn’t all that long, maybe a half mile, but it forked both right and left toward the end and meandered into the forest to follow along the river itself.

Once, Micah took the one to the left, upriver. And after a grueling, unexpected, two hours he ended up in the parking lot of an Exxon fuel station. It had been okay at the time, though. Micah hadn’t brought anything with him, and he had been surprised at how long the path was. He was grateful to be able to get something to drink. But he never took that path again. Once down in the river valley he much preferred to pretend Exxon fuel stations did not even exist.

As much as he loved the path, the quietness of it, how it seeped into his brain and calmed him from the inside out, he also shivered at the sight of Black Sands when he reached the river. An old abandoned energy plant, it sat there across the water, dark and tall and mysterious. Its towers, the only structures visible above the tree line, reached into the sky like sinister giant shadows. Micah didn’t know much about it other than the rumors of it being haunted. Of course, there were rumors like that. Who could look at the craggy stone turrets and not think it was a hot bed of evil?

Except Micah didn’t listen to such things, telling himself he didn’t believe in ghosts. He liked to think it was because he was mature. Unfortunately, he couldn’t deny, at least to himself, what he felt every time he gazed out across the water at those towers. But he also felt a definite draw. Like something was staring at him, beckoning him. It felt primitive, ancient. As if whatever was over there had hold of his very soul. It honestly didn’t feel… bad. Just… odd. Maybe uncomfortable. Whatever it was had his heart thrumming through his body making him anxious. He could almost feel static power still pouring from it, pulsing across the river in waves as if it were trying to reach him…

Nonsense, of course.

However, those feelings never prevented Micah from descending to that path, trekking all the way to the river, braving his unease of Black Sands. Today was no different. The river, the dark turrets, called to him. He looked forward to these walks, rare now, always bringing his bottle of water, sometimes a snack. It depended on how long he expected to stay. The times when no one was around, were the times he loved best and stayed the longest. Oftentimes the people crowded the park and even some of the upper path, where the playgrounds and picnic tables were. But it seemed most did not want to venture all the way to the water. Maybe it was because it did get a little spongy and wet in places. perhaps it was because you did have to cross the little creek several times and sometimes it wasn’t as easy as stepping over. The brook ran deep and wide in places and was very unforgiving and surprisingly always cold.

Not cool, cold.

Micah’s friend, Bryon, who worked with him at Gunderson Products, said it was because of Black Sands and all the evil that flowed out from it, chuckling when he said it. Clearly, he was making fun of all the idiots who believed in that crap. Except Micah had the feeling Bryon was also making fun of him because Micah did not like to joke about the abandoned plant, feeling that doing so was disrespectful of what had happened there. And what if such impertinence truly invited evil? Bryon felt nothing of the solemn reverence Micah did when he saw the silent turrets.  

“The place is dangerous, Micah. I’ll give you that. Why the city hasn’t torn down the fucker, I have no idea. They need to before any more stupid-ass teenagers go get themselves killed wandering around down there trying to scare up demons.”

Micah had felt a hard shiver climb his back when Bryon said that. Yes, a teenager had gotten himself killed. Accident or murder by ghost, was still up for debate in Micah’s mind. And tempting fate by being flippant about someone dying… well, Micah was just thankful they were nowhere near the river having that discussion. Nowhere near the abandoned plant. Because “raising a demon” was what Tom had said he was going to do.

Oh yes, Micah’s big brother, Tom, had not only been a stupid-ass teenager, but a fucking bully, besides.

Micah had overheard Tom and his friends that long-ago night being crazy about something. He had tiptoed to his brother’s room, drawn by all the “Can you believe it?” and “We fucking did it, man!” and “That was fucking awesome!”

“Shut up, you idiots! You want to wake my old man? He’d tan my hide with a fucking two-by-four if he found out we were anywhere near Black Sands.”

“But it was so cool!” He recognized Rick’s voice as Micah slid along the wall to squat on the floor near the partially open door.

“Cool? Who are you kidding? You were scared, you moron.” That was Flip. Micah never did know what his real name was. “You screamed like a fucking little girl!”

“I did not!”

“I said shut the fuck up, both of you! Now take a look.”

They had all been to Black Sands? Tom and his two best friends had been to Black Sands? Oh! That had been something Micah had wanted to do. But Micah followed rules. Especially all the NO TRESSPASSING signs that surrounded the facility. Not that he had been even brave enough to get that close. But there was a high fence that prevented entry anyway.

Unless you were able to cut a hole. Which evidently Micah’s brother and friends did.

Micah had been so shocked he couldn’t move from his cramped position at Tom’s bedroom door. Out of sight of the group, not that they would notice him, anyway, Micah could only just see into the room through the gap in the door jam. They were all gawking at something in Tom’s hand. Something he had brought back from Black Sands.

“Is that real blood?

“Course it is, man.”

“It ain’t the right color.”

“Blood turns brown when it’s old.”

“Where’d you get it?’

“From the door, you moron. The one they all died behind.”

“Fuck, that’s cool.”

“You think the blood’s from that guy who tried to escape through the window in the door?”

“Sure as shit, man!”

“Oh, fuck, man. Did you see how small that window was? A kid wouldn’t even fit!”

“Yeah, well, when you’re trying to not get burned to death, you probably do about anything.”

“Yeah, well what I heard was the fucker was basically cut in half by all the people in that room trying to get out of that door. My old man said they pushed him through like he was an apple being cored.”

“Like a fucking horror movie!”

Micah’s legs had begun to cramp while his brother and his friends talked. But eventually they ended up playing video games so, Micah slinked back to his own room. But the next day Micah paid a visit to Tom’s room when his brother went to his part-time job at the hardware store. He wanted to find out what it was that Tom had brought back. Was it a human bone? Maybe it was a gross body part. Whatever it was, evidently had blood on it and Micah wanted to see.

But the only thing he found was a dull piece of glass. There were streaks of brown on it but it sure as hell didn’t look like blood. He was just putting it back when Tom walked in.

“Hey, asshole. What the fuck are you doing digging through my shit?”

“No…” Oh God. “Nothing, Tom. Just…” It was too late, of course. Tom saw that he was holding the piece of glass.

“Just being a fucking thief!”

“No, Tom! I was putting it back…”

Micah turned to lay the glass down, but Tom grabbed his hand before he could. “You stealing my talisman?”

“No, Tom, no! I…” He was crying at that point. Tom had tightened his grip and the glass was cutting into Micah’s palm.

“You’re a fucking thief! You know what they do with fucking thieves, Micro? Do ya?”

Tom always called Micah “Micro” because Micah was smaller than him. “I’m not stealing, Tom, I swear! I just wanted to see it. I was putting it back!” But it had been a waste of breath. Micah knew even back then; Tom was a psycho.

“They cut off your hands, you little fucker!” Tom squeezed down hard on Micah’s hand. He remembered feeling warm sticky liquid filling his palm and falling out onto the carpet. He also remembered screaming from the pain. Finally, Tom had let him go and Micah, hand dripping blood, dropped the glass and ran to the bathroom down the hall.

But before he had shut the door – well – slammed it, was more what he did, even got in trouble for it later, was what Tom called out after him.

“Gonna take this back to Black Sands, Micro. Now that your fresh blood is mixed with the blood of the dead on this here piece of glass, gonna raise me up a demon!”

 Micah never told anyone. He washed out the deep cut, wrapped it with some gauze he found in the cabinet, and never said a word.

Tom went missing a week later. There were search parties and candlelight vigils and neighbors who brought over hot dishes, all shaking their heads in pity. A few days after Tom disappeared, a haunted Flip and Rick finally confessed that they knew where Tom was. They led the police and paramedics to an elevator shaft at Black Sands. Tom was dead at the bottom with a broken neck.

“We were just messing around,” Flip had cried, his arms tight around himself.

“We thought we heard something in there,” Rick pleaded. “They were screams. I swear! Tom… he was going to… well, he went in there and was saying all that stuff… chanting, is what he called it… they… they got Tom.”

“Who got Tom?” The police officer demanded.

“The demons,” both Flip and Rick whispered. Flip promptly threw up.

Micah believed them.

Not so much the adults.

It was finally decided between all who “investigated” the death, Tom simply didn’t see the opening and walked right over the edge.  

“Kids will be kids,” the sheriff had said shaking his head. “Seems they were performing some kind of ritual and halfway through,” the sheriff shrugged. “the boy tripped and fell. No foul play. We’re all just lucky we’re not burying three boys today.” Then he made some loud promises about making the plant more inaccessible which basically consisted of barbed wire on top of the fences. Supposedly they fixed the part of the fence that had been cut, as well, and that was it.

Whether or not Tom had that piece of glass with him when he fell, they never said.

His parents split up after that, with Micah’s mom leaving town. She asked if Micah wanted to come with but seemed relieved when he declined. It wasn’t that staying with his father was the lesser of two evils. It was just that he had been almost through the torture that had been high school. Starting over in some obscure tiny town had terrified him.

She wrote a few times. The last letter he remembered getting had her marrying some lumberjack up north. He never heard from her again.

Sigh.

All ancient history.   

But today was Thursday. He was finally off work and wasn’t going to think about any of that. Today he was going to spend time letting the stress of the week wash away even though he caught himself rubbing his scar. It had just been a tough few days at the job with his foreman, Greg, riding his ass every chance he had, reminding him way too much of his brother. Micah had no idea what it was he had to have done to piss the jerk off, but he suffered nearly every day for it. This week’s case had a glitch in the computers which filled the docks with wrong product and somehow that turned into Micah’s fault. Yeah, Micah and his crew loaded the trucks with the incorrect boxes. He probably should have recognized there was a problem since there ended up being too many pallets and not enough trucks. Except it was too late by that point. Why would they question what came to them from the pickers? But that was not the way Greg saw it. It was never the way Greg saw it.

“You need me to read the fucking orders to you, Micah? Words get too big and scary for you? Need me to hold your hand back in the warehouse, teach you how to do your job – again?”

Micah learned early on you didn’t fight back or defend yourself, especially with logic, because that only made it worse. It took two days to fix the glitch and countless unpaid hours of backbreaking work to fix the orders.

“Unpaid? You can’t do that!”

“Because of this mess, we were fined and lost a crap load of money on all these shipments. You want to keep your fucking job, Micah? It’s hanging by a thread. I honestly never wanted you in this department, anyway, so I sure as hell won’t have any problem making sure the entire blame is on your tiny shoulders. How the hell did someone as small as you get a job in this department in the first place? Should start calling you ‘Micro’.”

Oh God, Micro?

Where did that come from? But images of his brother laughing and pointing at him, then one horrible memory of him in his coffin, had washed over him making him catch his breath.

And nauseous.

No.

Just… no.

He was not going to think about Tom. Nor would he think about the fact he needed that fucking job. And small? He wasn’t small! Since when was five seven small? Just because nearly all the rest of the department were fucking giants, didn’t mean Micah was small. But he wasn’t going to let the memory of turning red with anger, balling his fists and wishing to hell he could tell the asshole, Greg, what he really thought of him mess up his night.

Tonight, he was going to follow the singing brook down to the clearing at the edge of the water. He would breathe in the cool night air, smelling that aroma that he only associated with the Kressan River and gaze up at the towers and just feel. If he was lucky, he would catch sight of the doe and fawn that had recently taken up residence there, maybe sit at the edge and watch the minnows and be silent. Micah had such trouble just being silent.

But the second he pulled into the parking lot he was disappointed. It was full to capacity. No surprise, though, for a beautiful Thursday evening. It didn’t really matter. He simply parked on the street. However, all the people milling around probably meant he would not be alone on the path tonight. Maybe not even down by the water. He would still try it, but irritation rose in him as he made his way across the park. It wasn’t just busy, it was packed. Looked like it was some sort of art show.

Micah quickly made his way to the opening in the gate. Then, on his descent, he nearly took out an old man who seemed to step right in his way. Cursing under his breath he grabbed the old man’s arm and somehow prevented him from falling.

“Hey. Sorry. Didn’t see you.”

Micah let go and stepped to the side, trying to allow the old man room to pass. Then he turned, intending to continue down the path. But after making some quick unintelligible mutterings, the old man latched onto Micah with a surprisingly firm grip and whirled Micah back around. Shocked, Micah stared into the stern wrinkly face.

“Whoa there, old man. What is it?” Micah was willing to see if there was a problem, but he was not going let the old man feign injury, especially after Micah realized he wasn’t all that small. His clothes were as wrinkled as his face, though, making Micah think there was a possibility the guy was homeless. There was an odd smell, too, of which Micah just caught a whiff. Micah had only been near a decaying dead body once, and this was what he thought it smelled like.

The old guy just stared at him, like he was searching for something on Micah’s face. His eyes were a deep brown but not the kind that were warm. They were dull, seemingly lifeless and it made a chill run up Micah’s neck as he repeated his question. “What’s the matter? What do you want?” Fuck. He hoped it wasn’t money. That was something Micah had too little of himself.

The old man’s answer was to touch Micah’s cheek with a gnarled finger. Micah flinched at the touch of his pointy, yellow fingernail, but for some reason he couldn’t recoil away. He was caught by the old man’s dead-looking eyes and held fast. He couldn’t even blink.

“What the fuck?” Micah whispered. He meant to shout it out loud, meant for it to shock not only the old man but himself as well, something to break whatever spell this old fart had over him. Who in their right mind would stand and allow a complete stranger to stroke his face? But Micah still couldn’t move as that finger traced the hollow of his cheek. That was when he noticed all the sounds of the park had faded away. All the people, all the movement, everything was gone and there was just him and the creepy old man. Then those creased, wrinkled lips began to mutter, spital forming at the edges of his mouth. The sound of his mumbling voice, almost a chant, reverberated through Micah’s nerves, scaring him right to the bone. He wanted to pull away, he wanted to run away, but all he could do was stand there, his gaze locked with the old man’s, not being able to stop that cold crooked finger from caressing his face.

Then something seemed to crawl right into his brain. He felt it. Like a liquid spreading through his veins that was cold and hot and… sparkly at the same time. It was also when the wrinkles on the man’s face seemed to disappear and the eyes brighten as well. The aura surrounding them became static, as if searching for a connection. Micah felt just the slightest pull toward the old man… well, maybe not so old…  If Micah didn’t know better, and he didn’t, the guy appeared to be shocked as well. Literally. An arc of electric power surged between them. The confusion on his face was more than evident. “How did you… what just…”

Then suddenly a kid knocked into the both of them and ran by yelling, another kid in hot pursuit, and the enchantment was shattered. Micah was mercifully returned to the crowded park.

Micah leaped back from the strange man and drew in a breath as if he hadn’t been able to the whole time he had been in the old man’s grip. Old man? Yeah. The wrinkles and the dull, dead eyes were back. But that was when he realized he was breathing heavily as if he had just run very far, very fast, his heart beating crazily. His scar was throbbing as well. Badly. He stared at the old man who at first was shaking his head but then glanced up and laughed, throwing his head back as if he had just heard the joke of the year. He walked away then, waddled actually, still laughing, and disappeared into the crowd at the top of the path. Micah stared after him, watched for his figure to weave in and out of the people on his way to wherever he was going, but once he disappeared Micah never saw him again.

He wasn’t surprised.

He didn’t go to the river that night. He went home. Fast. He got behind his door and locked it and took the time to close all his drapes. He sat on the couch then, trying to calm his heart before it came out of his chest.

What happened?

What the fuck just happened?

He spent a fitful night dreaming disturbing things he thankfully couldn’t remember. But they filled his brain, making him nervous. In the morning, even the shower did not wake him up. By time he left for work he had had at least a half a pot of coffee and he felt no better. He could still feel the old man’s touch on his cheek, like a permanent mark. He could still hear the sound of his voice as if something ancient called out to him. It wouldn’t have been so bad, no worse than a night with a bit too much to drink. Except for the fact he hadn’t drank a drop and he knew that everything had changed.

Everything.

Maybe he should call in sick.

He made his way out to his car, pushing aside the hoard of what he now called his “decorative grass” on his way to his car. He glanced at it. The odd pods that had appeared a few days ago had bloomed into a white velvet-like flower at the top. Covering a good part of his front yard and reaching around the side, his neighbors commented they were “pretty” and “odd”. To the point one of them suggested calling a botanist or something to identify it. Honestly, he didn’t care that much. Mainly because two years ago, when he had first moved in, he had done everything he could to actually get rid of it.

Clearly he had failed.

That was of course when he glanced at the traffic, already backed up on his street. Damn it. He had forgotten about the construction that had started this morning on the freeway. There was a major entrance to the interstate at the end of his boulevard, and this is what always resulted whenever there was an accident or lane closures for whatever reason. Today, they were starting a short-term project that would actually close both the entrance and exit for the remainder of the weekend. He had meant to get up early so he could get out before it started. But he forgot. Now he was going to be late for work. He took out his cell to call to inform Greg, knowing full well his day was now shot to hell. Greg was never going to allow this as an excuse, and he was going to be paying for it the rest of the day.

He glanced over at the school bus stop, loaded with children, just across the street from his house while he waited for someone to answer the phone. Appeared they would be late too. His gaze wondered to a little girl who was standing apart from the rest.

Huh. Strange.

The group of kids was something to focus on since he was faced in that direction, not that he was staring at them or anything. He was used to seeing them since this was the same time he left every day. But he had never noticed the little girl before. Micah huffed. Stupid. She simply drew that half attention since she was standing apart, that’s all. However, her blond curls, pink dress and what appeared to be a heavy neon green backpack did make her stand out. Maybe she was new to the area.

But then, as if she knew he was watching her, she turned her face toward him. Micah thought she was maybe eleven and she was quite pretty, if a little kid could be pretty, but in a cold sort of way. Shivers ran up his spine as Micah met her glare. She was all the way across the street, but he could still see her stare. She cocked her head as if surprised or confused. But then she smiled and it wasn’t innocent. It was more like those twins at the end of the hallway in The Shining. Flat-out… creepy. It was the only way he could describe it. Not at all what he felt in the old man’s presence. Her eyes pierced him. And then, while he stood there, the phone still ringing in his ear, waiting for someone to pick up, her face changed. It contorted into something other than human; something dark, scaly, bubbling.

What the fuck?

He fully expected the children around her to start screaming and running but they didn’t. They never even noticed. They continued their conversations, their pushing and shoving. Were they not seeing what he was seeing? Was what he was seeing even possible? She continued to stand to the side, away from the other kids, all by herself, her face a mess of boiling flesh with wet and shining eyes still boring a hole right through him.

The school bus arrived and obscured her from view and when it pulled gradually away, she was, of course, gone.

When the scheduler answered, Micah told him he was sick. Very sick. Because he really wanted to faint. He wanted to throw up.

He wanted to fucking kill the old man who had evidently cursed him.

Roman - Demon Rising

Can the broken heart of a demon be healed

 by the jaded heart of a human?

COMING SOON!

The Demon of Black Raven

Here is a working blurb for a WIP I'm working on. First, a gorgeous image of Roman.

And now the blurb:

I belong to a Demon Lord. His name is Roman. He’s tall, strong, has long dark hair, a deep sexy voice and, let me tell you, absolutely f-ing gorgeous. Yep. I even wear his ring. Third finger, left hand.

Except – its’s not a wedding band. Far from it, actually. It simply means I’m his submissive.

Well – it doesn’t really mean that either, although I wish it did.

No. The ring’s function is only to give me “sight”. Being human, once I had it on, I could suddenly see Roman’s stupid lost legions; very nasty scary things that would as soon kill me as look at me. And because I wear the ring, guess what? It’s now my job to recapture all those creatures for him. Yay me, right?

At least I get to be close to Roman… sometimes.

But, to tell you the truth, I was tricked into putting this damn ring on by Cathy, some random woman I met at a park, who unfortunately likes Roman, too. A whole lot. She brazenly flirts with the demon every chance she gets and right in front of me, too. Crap, it pisses me off. In fact, she brags she was the one who found me, got the ring on me and then offered me up to Roman like I was a T-bone steak or something.

Well – honestly – that part’s okay.  

However, there’s something else going on. Something big. Because there’s another gorgeous Demon Lord in our little earth realm and he will stop at nothing to capture Roman’s loose legions for himself. Not only that, seems he’s out to catch me, as well.

Huh. My name is Micah and things just got very interesting.

The Ex's Boyfriend - A quote

Blurb coming soon

The Ex's Boyfriend - another excerpt

Mark arrived home a little after eight but stopped at the door to his apartment. It was not only unlocked but partially open. With his heart in his throat, not knowing what to expect, he pushed the door slightly to see more of the inside before going in. He knew he should just go back down to the lobby and call the police. Very obviously someone had broken in… except… the door was not broken… Mark peered inside.

Mark’s apartment was basically all one big room. Well – not big, just long. His white pristine kitchen lined up on his right with the fridge, sink then stove. He had a small oval white plastic table surrounded by three mismatched chairs against the wall on his left.  The living room was farther in with a dark brown faux leather couch on the left wall and a lawn chair sitting toward the middle of the room semi-facing the couch. In front of the couch Mark had a coffee table he had rescued from the dumpster sitting on a rug he got at Target on clearance. On the wall directly in front of the couch and to the side of the chair, he had his only big purchase. A forty-inch flat screen TV. The end wall beyond his living room Mark often wished was glass doors onto a balcony, but it was a big window so nice natural light entered the room. His apartment was efficient, clean and uncluttered.

At least it had been when he left. Now it was a mess.

His dining table was tipped over along with all the chairs. The bills and the rest of his accumulated important papers that had been laying on top of it were now all over the place. The pillows for the couch were scattered around the room as if the thing had exploded and his coffee table was broken in half as if someone had jumped up and down in the center of it. The few plants he had to add color to the space were now lying crushed, dirt strewn everywhere on his laminated wood floor. Even his TV was hanging crooked.  

“What the fuck did you do?” Mark gasped. Because Leon was sitting on the lawn chair, the only piece of furniture still standing upright.

The expression on Leon’s face was dark, a look Mark knew well. The smaller man was pissed. He had been on his cell prior to gracing Mark with his full attention, clearly texting someone. So like Leon to ignore Mark the first few minutes he was with him. There was always someone else that was more important; another conversation that took precedence over anything he had going with Mark. And Mark always marveled how Leon could use both thumbs as fast as he did when he texted while Mark struggled with one finger.

But now Leon was fully focused on Mark and he held up a tiny piece of yellow paper between two fingers as he pocketed his phone. “What the fuck is this?” he snarled.

“What?” Mark had no clue what the piece of paper was. “I don’t know. What is it?” Was this some stupid game?

“Funny. You’re a funny man, Mark. Where did you get this? Huh? Did you make this up?”

Make up what? Mark marched forward toward Leon. The paper the man held was familiar, but he still didn’t know what it was. Although when he reached for it after he was close enough, he saw that it had been crumpled up and then smoothed out. Leon snatched it away before Mark was able to grab it. Exasperated, Mark fumed, “How the hell do I tell you what it is when you won’t show it to me?” But Mark did finally recognize it. It was the post-it note with Rogan’s name and number on it.

“Oh, don’t be stupid. You know exactly what it is. Now tell me what it was doing on your fridge!”

He shouldn’t do it. He should just stay quiet. He had learned it was the only way he could possibly avoid a total meltdown from Leon. But Leon had gone insane with all the shit he pulled on Friday and now this? Messing up his apartment? Who the fuck did he think he was? For someone who proclaimed he wanted nothing to do with Mark anymore, someone who was supposed to actually be afraid of him, he was spending a lot of time chasing Mark down. It was going to feel good revealing how it was Mark came into possession of that tiny piece of paper. Mark lifted his chin. “Rogan gave it to me.”

“Bullshit! You’re a fucking liar!”

“Oh no I’m not, Leon. That title actually belongs solely to you. Rogan came here on Friday to return my wallet and we talked. Seemed he isn’t your boyfriend after all, is he? That’s what he told me. You and he are not dating. Never did. You’re the liar, Leon. You lied about everything. About me attacking you and about having a new boyfriend.” Crap, but that felt good. “Oh, and another thing. Jenny told the truth about me harassing you at work, in that it didn’t happen!”

“I did not lie.” Leon articulated as he rose unhurriedly to his feet in front of Mark, his tone of voice tranquil and low. Not a good sign. “Rogan is my boyfriend. Not you. You and I are history.”

“Yes. I agree to that. It’s been history for a while, now. And you know what, Leon? I’m not upset about it anymore. I feel sorry for you that you have to make up a boyfriend to try and make me jealous. I just don’t care anymore.”

Leon screamed while scrunching his fists at his side. Mark flinched and stepped back, fearing he may have pushed the situation too far. Leon’s eyes flashed his obvious rage as he glared at Mark. “Made up a boyfriend?” he screeched through clenched teeth. “I did not make up a boyfriend.”

“You know what? I honestly don’t care. What I want to know is why did you do this to my apartment? Are you just fucking crazy?” He really needed to shut up. Why couldn’t he stop?

Leon glanced at the mess then seemingly at the door to the hallway which was still hanging open behind Mark. Had the elevator just dinged? “No,” Leon said instantly calm. “I didn’t do this.” He gazed at Mark. “Not alone, anyway. Well – that will be the story I tell…” He lowered himself to sit on the chair again, leaving a confused Mark to gaze down on him.

“What? Story you’ll tell. What the hell does that mean…” But suddenly Leon was tipping over backwards in the chair. Mark instinctively reached out to grab him so he wouldn’t hurt himself but ended up falling with Leon and tumbling out onto the floor, the chair busting beneath their combined weight with a loud thwack.

Somehow Mark ended up on top of Leon.

He tried to roll off, but Leon grabbed Mark and pulled him close, screaming that Mark needed to let him go. Fuck! He was trying to, but Leon was not letting him. What the hell was wrong with this guy? Why was it that Leon seemed to be hanging onto him?

But a second later, Mark found out.

A strong arm came around his waist and he was being hauled up off the floor and off Leon. That same arm flung him to the side and Mark tumbled and landed hard on his ass in front of his couch. Mark glanced up into Rogan’s very pissed-of face.

“What the hell are you doing, Mark? Damn it! Leon get up. Get behind me.” While Leon scrambled to his feet, a smirk on his face, Rogan turned on Mark. “I asked you a question, boy. What do you think you were doing?”

“See Rogan?” Leon cried out, his voice quavering as if he were near tears. “I told you he beat me! You saw it firsthand.”

Mark just sat there stunned. Beat Leon? What? And Rogan was here? He gaped up at him. “What are you doing…?” But he finally understood. All of it. Mark was once again on his ass, staring at a sneering Leon standing behind Rogan who clearly believed he was protecting him. Again.

Leon had orchestrated the whole thing.

Again!

“What do you mean what am I doing’?” Rogan roared as he indicated the messy room. “Are you trying to kill him?”

Mark laughed. Hard. He leaned back on his pillow-less couch and just let go. “Oh my God, Leon,” he managed as tears ran down his face. From the laughing, he told himself. The tears are from laughing. “That’s who you were texting, wasn’t it? Sitting on the only chair you didn’t turn over you texted Rogan.” Mark got himself under control as he wiped his face. Sitting up, Mark gazed up at Rogan. “And where were you, huh? You certainly got here pretty quick, so you had to be close. Leon had to know that too for this to have worked this well.”

NEW - The Ex's Boyfriend - Excerpt

Something twisted in Rogan’s chest as he watched Mark disappear into the night. He wanted to go after him, make sure he got home alright. But he still had a mess to deal with here. He reached down and picked up the overturned table, apologizing to the people who had been sitting at it, wanting to chuckle that several were covered in various liquids. The floor didn’t appear to be even wet. Mark had to have been covered in it too. He offered to buy the table new drinks since he would have to go get a broom and dustpan from the bar to sweep up the broken glass.

“Why would you buy them new drinks,” Leon demanded from behind Rogan. “That idiot, Mark, is the one who made this mess. Not you!”

Oh yeah. that too. Leon was still here.

“Mark is not an idiot and he didn’t make the mess, Leon. And didn’t I tell you to go sit down?” Rogan walked to the bar to ask for the broom and dustpan, Leon on his heals.

“Where are you going? What are you doing?”

“Leon, are you going to do what I tell you?”

“What did you tell me?”

Rogan sighed and shook his head as he stopped the bartender, broom and dustpan in hand, on his way back to the mess. “Let me handle that.” he told him.

“Oh no, Sir. I’ll do it.”

“You have customers. Plus, I’m buying that table new drinks. I would appreciate it if you would get their order.” Rogan took the broom from the bartender who clearly wanted to object.

“But… if Anna…”

“Anna doesn’t have to find out.” Rogan motioned for the bartender to go ahead of him.

Leon gasped behind him. “You’re going to… clean?”

Rogan didn’t even glance at him as he followed behind the bartender.

“I’m not kidding, Rogan,” Leon continued. “Why are you cleaning up that idiot’s mess? And he did cause it, flirting with a drunk. I never knew what a slut he is. But I suppose that’s the only way he could get a man. I’m incredibly embarrassed I used to date him. Pity dating. That’s what it was. I felt sorry for him.”

Rogan began to sweep the floor, half ignoring Leon’s rant. Pity dating? Hardly. Mark was beautiful and could have had any man in the room. All he would have to do was gaze at any one of them with those stark green eyes of his. And with that cute freckled nose and high cheek bones? Not to mention his messy dark blonde hair? He’d have them groveling at his feet.

But yes, the man attacking Mark was drunk. Would most likely have passed out long before he could have done any physical damage. But the mental damage was what worried Rogan. Mark was unable to escape the man and he had already been embarrassed enough by Leon’s rejection.

By Leon’s lies.

Rogan never truly believed Leon when he told him Mark beat him. There were never any bruises or marks at all that proved it. Not that Leon had to prove it. Any form of abuse was never acceptable. So when the irritating little twink came to him and asked him to protect him, claiming that his ex-boyfriend had battered him and was now stalking him, Rogan said he would.

Then he met Mark.

Barely bigger that Leon, he seemed adorable and harmless, standing there outside the place where they both worked pleading for Leon to give him another chance. Leon had texted Rogan to hurry to come and pick him up because he was frightened of this Mark. But seeing the man Leon described as a monster just about in tears, wringing his hands, shifting from foot to foot, Rogan felt foolish demanding Mark leave Leon alone.

Rogan would never forget the expression of defeat and embarrassment on Mark’s face as he turned and hurried away.

Similar to what Rogan experienced with Mark again a few minutes ago.

Rogan sighed and excused himself to the people at the table as he swept under it to get the pieces of glass he knew were there. Only when he dragged them out, the glass came with a companion.  

Is that a wallet?

“Hey,” he stooped to pick up the what he thought was a leather tri-fold. It ended up being faux leather. And very tattered. “This belong to any of you?” Rogan showed it to the table of customers. They all shook their heads even as they reached into their bags or back pockets to make sure.

Hmm. Strange. He pocketed it until he was able to examine it. He had a feeling he knew who it belonged to. Rogan finished cleaning up the mess just as Anna walked up. Her straight dark hair was swinging, her big brown eyes were flashing. Being much shorter than Rogan she was still someone to pay attention to as she planted her fists on her hips and glared up at him.

“Rogan Stone, what are you doing?”

“Anna. Nice to see you,” he smiled as he made a couple more swipes with the broom.

“Give me that broom right now. Where’s Tom?” She glanced toward the bar, trying in vain to see over Rogan’s height.

“You mean your new bartender? Getting these good patrons here a round of drinks.” He nodded toward the people at the table when they cheered at his announcement. “As for the broom? I’m finished with it.” He stooped to scoop up the mess into the dustpan.

“What happened?” she growled, following Rogan as he made his way back to the bar. Once they arrived, Anna yanked the broom and dustpan away from him and walked behind the bar to dump the broken glass in the waste basket. “Am I going to be sued?”

Rogan chuckled. Anna was the owner of the bar and also the hidden, very busy dungeon underneath it. To look at her, she seemed demure. Hardly anyone to glance twice at. But, in reality, she was a master Dom and had been instrumental in Rogan discovering his true nature. Some years back Rogan had the privilege of being personally tutored under her expert hand. Something he would be eternally grateful for. She opened The Ship Yard intending for it to be separate from her dungeon. She taught him to never mix play with liquor. But space was expensive and it was easier to monitor that kind of thing when she stood at the secret door.

“No. Probably not.” He chuckled again.

“Probably not? What the fuck happened?”