He threw the car into drive, leaving the parking lot and pulling out onto the road with no real destination in mind. He should go out somewhere, make himself known, give himself an alibi. Adam crawled to a stop at the red light. He itched to make a left and head to The Landing Strip, the strip club by the airport. That was where Noah called home—a rusted out Airstream trailer parked in the lot. Noah worked there as a dishwasher.
An angel and devil were squabbling on Adam’s shoulder. Left brought him to Noah who he knew for a fact was home. Right took him to his studio apartment in the heart of the city. He needed to go home. He needed to leave Noah alone. He was vulnerable; small and sweet and so fucking malleable. Adam wanted to be the one who made him cry, who made him whimper and moan and sigh. Maybe even the one who made him scream.
When he’d asked Adam if he was going to hurt him, Adam hadn’t lied. If given the chance, he would hurt Noah. That was what he did. It was who he was. But Noah had smashed their mouths together only after Adam had said yes. Did he want Adam to hurt him? Or had he somehow convinced Noah he wasn’t the bad guy? Fuck, he hoped Noah didn’t somehow think he was a good person.
Adam was the worst, a bad guy who did bad things to bad people for good reasons. The scales of good and evil would never tip back in the right direction for him. He didn’t just kill people, he enjoyed it, and that wasn’t ever going to change. The world needed people like him and his brothers. His father called them a necessary evil.
Necessary or not, Noah deserved something good in his life, and that would never be Adam. The least he could do was stay away from him. But when the light turned green, Adam made a left.
Fuck.
Noah had almost made it to his trailer when a beer bottle crashed against its side inches from his head, beer and glass hitting his skin. Noah might have startled if not for Bailey’s little pink pills. It wasn’t the first time a bottle had been chucked at his head, wasn’t even the first time that month. People in cheap strip clubs often made poor decisions.
“Hey, you little shit. Don’t you run from me.”
Gary whirled him around and slammed him up against the trailer, his head thudding hard enough to make him see little cartoon stars. “Hey, Gary. What’s up?” Noah asked, a giggle falling from his lips.
They must have looked comical to outside observers. Gary was a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier, and his meaty hand around Noah’s throat might have been able to encircle his whole neck if he wasn’t pressed against the metal siding of his Airstream.
Noah’s stomach soured at the stench of sweat and beer and bad breath coming from Gary, who was an inch from his face. “Did you take it?”
Noah frowned, then blinked, forcing himself to concentrate. What was in those pills? “Take what?”
His head jerked to the side as Gary slapped him in the face hard enough to send the world spinning. “My backpack. Did you take it from my office?”
Noah could feel himself grinning, then laughing, but he couldn’t stop. “I didn’t even work tonight. I’ve been out with friends. Why would I steal a backpack?” He schooled his face into a serious expression. “What was in it? Was it your sense of humor?”
Once more, Gary slapped him.
“If you keep doing that, I’m going to make you buy me dinner,” Noah taunted, licking his top teeth mockingly, stumbling as Gary released him abruptly.
“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.