STEVE HADN’T SEEN a scene go to shit this bad so fast in a long time.
The bouncer who’d led Caramela offstage pulled her off Jansen, waving the second shoe threateningly as blood from the first stiletto soaked Randy’s shirtfront. Sam cried out in alarm, shrugging Mitch off to run to Randy’s side. He went right into nurse mode, shouting for gauze and room to get to the couch. Mitch remained still, dumbfounded by Randy’s reveal.
The bouncer glanced at Steve, a blatant cry for help, and Steve relaxed, knowing now what he needed to do.
When Steve stepped forward, the man turned her over without so much as a blink and went to help Sam and Randy. For one dark moment, Caramela went hellcat, fighting Steve’s grip. Hauling her roughly to his body, Steve dug his fingers into her shoulder and bent to her ear.
“Hush.”
She gentled, but not all the way, not until Steve added the sharp pressure of fingernails, half-moons digging into her skin. The pain stilled her, made her relax—a little too much, though, and Steve could feel the shakes and sobs threatening to push out of the anger she’d leashed.
He lessened his grip enough to draw her back against him. “Stay with me.” He turned the hold into a steady massage. “Listen.”
Caramela choked on a sob, but she held it in and nodded. Yes, she’d listen.
“Jansen is an ass, and he fucked this up. Yet he’s not a bad man, and you’ve hurt him in front of friends, friends who are already on edge. If you strike him again, you will deal with me. Do you understand?”
Her whole body tensed, and she blew angry breath from her nostrils. Steve tightened his grip, pushing his fingernails in with more authority, and she calmed down, back to the edge between cracking and exploding.
Steve had to check the instinct to brush his lips over her hair and whisper good girl.
He cleared his throat.
“Bleeding out Jansen will not stop what you’re trying to hold back. Fear of these people is unnecessary. Mitch and Sam are good folks, Randy too. Whatever Cooper did to you, they are the other end of the map.”
She almost broke—two sobs, but she swallowed them with no tears, and when the smooth skin beneath Steve’s fingers began to pucker from pressure, she eased back into control.
Steve forced his attention to the room at large. Caramela seemed stable, going back to the bouncer to fold herself into his arms. Sam had Randy under control, and Sam himself was stable, at least for now. Mitch, however, needed a leg up.
The trucker stood a head taller than Steve did and was a little bit wider, but he had the same uneasy edge he’d always carried in the valley. Right now he pirouetted on a knife point. Steve grimaced, wishing Randy would have checked with him before he decided to play secret baby.
That Chenco was Cooper’s son blew Steve’s mind too, but there was no denying the confirmation on Caramela’s face when Randy confronted her. It was the truth. It was out in the open. Now they had to deal with it, Mitch included.
“Tedsoe, we need water and probably a whiskey for Randy. In a minute Sam will need you.”
Mitch nodded. He couldn’t look away from Caramela, though, trying to see Chenco, his brother. Trying to see Cooper.
“Mitchell Allen Tedsoe. Go to the bar, get the drinks, and get your shit together.”
This time Mitch gave Steve a curt, grateful nod and disappeared from the room.
A glance at the couch revealed the shoe was out. Sam held a heavy packet of gauze over the wound, watching the angry red pool beneath his hand as he shouted for more bandages. Randy was pale but conscious and reassuring Sam he was fine, telling him to calm down.
Steve caught the bouncer’s gaze, indicating Caramela and the door. She needs to get out of here.
The man nodded in relief, surrendering her with his indifference. When Steve blinked in surprise, the bouncer only murmured something about “Can’t handle the blood, man” and ducked out of the room.
Who tossed his friend off to a total stranger?
With no other real option, Steve took over herding Caramela. She didn’t fight him—she’d slid under his command pretty hard, but she was still in character, which impressed him. Remembering the fury with which she’d landed the heel in Jansen’s shoulder, he directed her patiently to find her bag and keys. She didn’t put up any resistance until he led her down the hall toward the back entrance.
“Stop. Where are we going?” She stiffened in his arms. “You mean you’re taking me out of here? I don’t even know you.”
It was good to hear she at least had some sense. Steve relaxed his grip so she could move away and face him. “You needed out of the room. I was going to settle for a little fresh air for now. But now that we’re talking—yes, we need to work out what happens next.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “Nothing happens. You can all leave me alone.” When Steve only stared back at her, not in the mood to dignify this with an argument, she glared back for a few seconds then crumpled. “Why are you here? Why did you follow me? Is this part of his sick game?”
Steve frowned. “Whose sick game?”
Caramela’s lip curled. “Cooper’s. Mitch’s. Whoever else is in on the fun of ruining my life.”
“Mitch isn’t playing any game. He had no idea you existed until two minutes ago. He’ll come around in a minute. He’s not a bad guy.”
She was not convinced. “I have his old journals where he wrote incoherent essays full of rage and homophobia. Cooper loved to tell me how someday my big brother would come back and kick the shit out of me. This was before he found out about the drag.”
“For the record, Mitch is gay.”
She stilled, studying Steve hard. “Bullshit.”
“No shit. Mitch is queer. Loves cock as much as you and me.” Steve jerked his head back toward the dressing room. “Sam—the young one—is his husband. Randy’s gay too. Hell. Every last one of us is. So you can stop worrying on that score. As for the drag thing—” Steve shrugged. “I doubt it’s a big deal. He’s not exactly a judgmental kind of guy. Maybe he was when he lived with Cooper and when he denied the truth about himself, but not now.”
Caramela said nothing, only continued to hunch over, holding her arms over her chest.
Steve’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he found a text from Randy. Steve smiled. When Caramela frowned, he waved his phone at her briefly before lowering it to text back. “Jansen says he’s sorry.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “What?”
“Jansen can be a real ass. He knows it too.” He finished his message, waited for Jansen’s reply, then looked up once he got it. “He’s inviting you to the house.” Which was Steve’s house, but he’d let the technicality slide for now. Especially since this was exactly what he wanted, to get to know Chenco, to help him. Caramela too.
Caramela didn’t recoil, which was a good start. “Why?”
“Because he wants to meet you.”
“Jansen, or my brother?”
“Everybody wants to meet you, Caramela.”
The comment caught her up a little. “You can call me Chenco.”
Steve raised an eyebrow. “Figured you were still in character.”
“Yes, but…” She eased a fraction. “Thanks. Not many people get it.”
Steve gave a curt nod. “As you pointed out, you don’t know me, but if I may offer my advice—I think you should come meet Mitch. Meet all of them. You struck me the other day as someone looking for family. I’m telling you, you hit the fucking mother lode.”
“I put a stiletto through the shoulder of the mother lode?”
“Well, once you get to know them, you’ll realize this was probably the best way in. If you knew how Jansen introduced himself to Sam, you’d give him a matching wound in the other side.”
Caramela bit her lip and smoothed her hands over her dress. “I need to change.”
“Do you do this here, or at home?”
“Home.”
“How about I take you, wait, and drive you to my house to meet everyone?”
She gave him an arch look.
He gave it right back. “I think you’re holding yourself together with your sequins. You shouldn’t really be driving.”
He expected a barrage of you don’t own me and who do you think you are, but she surprised him. “You’re leather, aren’t you? You’re one of those BDSM tops or whatever.”
He crossed his arms lightly over his chest. “I take it that’s a problem for you?”
“Let’s just say Booker has a boyfriend into the same, and I’m definitely not interested.”
Steve wanted to hear all about this, but not now. “Helping you has nothing to do with bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, masochism and sadism.” He paused. “All right, it has a bit to do with discipline and dominance, but it’s more about my personality than anything else. I want to give you a ride because you’re probably in shock and shouldn’t be driving. I’m inviting you over to my house to meet your brother who doesn’t want to bash you. I am not suggesting anything to do with sex.”
He watched her face as she digested his speech. “The stuff you rattled off—bondage, discipline, dominance…” She frowned. “You said two D words and two S words. It doesn’t make sense.”
Steve was about to ride her for focusing on the alphabet when the real point was he meant to reassure her, but she wavered, and he realized she’d latched on to the acronym because everything else was too scary to contemplate.
Yeah. No fucking way she was driving a car.
“Your options are,” he began, his voice quiet but firm, “I drive you, your friend drives you, or I call you a cab.”
“I can’t afford a cab.”
“I said I’d call you a cab. I’d foot the bill.”
Her head jerked up again, her gaze heavily suspicious. “It’s over twenty dollars at the rates they charge to take me all the way to the flats. Why would you do that?”
“What I’ve gotten to know of you so far I like, for one reason. You’re Mitch’s little brother, for another. I also enjoyed our conversation the other day, and I’d want to help you on your own merits as well.”
She rubbed at her arms, clearly not calmed by the idea of kindness from strangers. Eventually she said, “You can drive me.”
He’d been ready for her to tell him to go to hell. Pleasantly surprised, Steve pushed off the wall and came to her side. Right off they had trouble—when he herded her to the back exit, she balked.
“There’s no clear access to the front this way. Also there’s a lot of glass, and I’m barefoot.”
“You can’t go through the front. They’ll mob you, and you’re already about two shoves away from coming apart.” He glanced around, then at her bag. “Any chance you have ballet flats in there?”
“No. My other shoes are in the car.”
Steve turned Caramela gently so she faced him. “I would like permission to carry you.”
“You keep messing everything up and fixing it at the same time. You scare me. You make me feel like I’ve gone crazy. I don’t do this. I don’t let total strangers drive me home then over to their house. I certainly don’t let them carry me in character across a parking lot full of fans.”
Steve said nothing. She let out a breath then started to crumble. Steve didn’t reach for her this time. She had to make this leap herself, or it wasn’t going to work.
“Okay,” she said at last. “I’ll do it, but explain to me exactly what’s going to happen, please. I know you said you were going to drive, but can you…spell out what happens now?”
Steve spoke slowly, his voice soothing but firm. “I’m going to carry you to your car. I’ll drive you to your house. I will wait while you change into Chenco, and then we’re going to talk, you and me, before we meet your brother. We can do it in a neutral space, or in the car, or at a coffee shop before we head to my house.” He hesitated. “Or I can drop you off and we can do the meet-up tomorrow.”
“No. I’ll keep avoiding.” Caramela rubbed her arms and looked over at him reluctantly. “Probably shouldn’t have told you that.”
Yes, but she had, and her urge to confess to him made something deep and pleasing hum in Steve.
She rounded her shoulders, hunching her body into a protective stance. “I really thought you were all in on Cooper’s scam. I know you’re not now, or at least I’m pretty damn sure, but Mitch…well, I’ve lived in mortal fear of him for years. That emotion is hard to shake off on somebody else’s word.”
“If Mitch or anyone else were to attempt to harm you in my house or simply on my watch, there would be some serious hell to pay. Words are all I can give you right now, but I mean them.”
“All right. Your house is fine.” Her hand trembled, however, when she brushed a lock of hair out of her face. “I feel a little weird. Like I might throw up or float away. Or melt into a puddle, or blow up.”
“You’ve had a big scare tonight. You’ve had a hell of a time lately too, from what you told me the last time we met.” He took a step closer, not touching her but making a gentle, subtle wall around her. “I’d prefer to stay with you while you change. I’ll wait in the kitchen if you want, but I need to be able to hear if you go into shock, as I’m not entirely convinced it’s off the table. When you’re Chenco again, we’ll talk and reassess whether it would be better to meet Mitch and the others tonight or wait.” He pursed his lips. “If we wait, though, I don’t think you should be alone.”
Her nostrils flared. “I’m not that unstable.”
Steve didn’t dignify the lie with a reply.
She lifted her head and looked him in the eye—defeated, but she held his gaze. “You’re right. I’m not very okay just now. I shouldn’t do this. I don’t know you, but I’m tired and scared so I’m doing it anyway. You may carry me to my car. I warn you now, though, if this ends up being the opening act to some sick game, I’m gonna fight you like hell.”
The declaration made him want to smile, but Steve didn’t allow himself the indulgence. Instead he inclined his head in a small bow and held out his hands.
She stared at his hand, drew a shaking breath and stepped into his open arms.
FOR THE FIRST time since he’d started drag, Chenco went out of character while still in women’s clothes.
Flashes between personas like the one when Mitch had come backstage were common, and those instances always stemmed from Chenco growing too nervous or upset. As Steve hefted Caramela into his arms and carried her out the door of Club 33, however, it was she who did the abandoning. She held on for about five seconds in Steve’s grip before sliding away, and Chenco had no choice but to move forward.
“We’re heading into the parking lot now,” Steve said as he rounded the building. “If you can’t bring her back, do your best to fake it. You’ll regret it later if you don’t.”
How had he known the difference in the personas? The exposure made Chenco feel dizzy as he let out a breath. “I can’t.” He tried again, but she was water in his hands. “She’s gone.”
Steve’s grip tightened on him. “Breathe,” he commanded.
Chenco did. “I think—I think it’s because she hurt Randy. She’s threatened it before, but she’s never actually done it until now.” The white-hot moment returned, and he found the shadow he’d been trying not to look at. “She almost put it in his neck.”
“Almost isn’t doing. May be best, though, we let her rest. What would she do right now if she were okay?”
Chenco tried to think. He was in the arms of a hot leather daddy Caramela had sung her heart out to. Thinking took some work. “She’d wave and ham it up, blowing kisses and drawing hearts in the air. Except she wouldn’t. No way in hell would she go off with a stranger.”
“Would they think she would?”
Chenco considered. “They liked me singing to you. I think we’re writing a new chapter for Caramela right now, so anything goes from a fan perspective.”
“You’re switching pronouns. Is she back, or are you getting lost?”
Chenco honestly didn’t know. “Both, maybe.”
He shifted his grip and leaned down to Chenco’s ear. “Caramela,” he said, his Spanish accent achingly perfect. “I want you to come back from here to the car. Chenco will hold you, but he needs you right now. We need you until we clear the lot, and then you can rest. Do you understand?”
Chenco shut his eyes, dizzy as the full weight of his battered queen filled his headspace. She wanted to cry, but she held on, for Chenco, for Steve. “Yes. I understand.”
Steve’s lips brushed Chenco’s ear, bleeding the tension out.
It was Caramela who waved, but as he never had before, Chenco felt himself prop her up, aware of her limits, of his own, conscious of how bizarre the whole situation was and how much trust he’d blindly given Steve, trust based on a few glances, a conversation, and a projection of strength. Who was this guy who carried him? Why did he keep showing up? Why should Chenco trust him?
With no answers, Chenco couldn’t calm himself. So as Steve climbed into the Nova and Caramela slipped away, Chenco went about getting some.
“How do you know Mitch? How do you know my dad?”
Steve pulled into traffic as he answered. “I knew Mitch when he was first out, which meant knowing Cooper a little. I know your brother a lot better than I do your father.” He glanced at Chenco. “Mitch isn’t his dad. Just looks a fuck lot like him. He’s not a gay-basher. He’s a gay, married man.”
Chenco nodded, still processing that. Mitch was gay too, and married. The idea made Chenco’s brain sort of shut down.
Steve continued to speak as he drove. “It was just Mitch and Cooper since Mitch was eight. Mom ran off, which has always been hard on Mitch. He went through a dark phase where he tried to bully his way out of his orientation. Hated everything and anyone gay in high school from what I was told. I would suppose that’s when he wrote those journals.”
Chenco rubbed his arms and stared at the dashboard. “They’re fucking terrifying.”
“Whatever you read in them, remember all that vitriol was how he thought of himself. You don’t grow up with Cooper Tedsoe and come out with your head on right.” Steve eased his hands into a casual position on the steering wheel. “By the time I met Mitch, he was out, at least to himself, though he was involved with some not-so-good BDSM. Some of us from the local scene found him, shaped him up as best we could, taught him how to play safely. He got into trucking and started coming and going from the valley, and eventually he returned with Randy. Shit, but they were a pair. Two north ends and nothing but trouble. I did my best to help, but I had my hands full with something else at the time.”
So his brother was into BDSM too, and this Randy. And Steve, and Booker. Chenco frowned. Was there something in the water in the valley, or what?
Steve went back to his story. “Mitch left the valley, but he kept coming home, and he could not stop trying to get his dad’s attention whenever he was in town. Take him out of the RGV, and he’s strong enough to make most men bend just for looking at him, but bring him here and he’s eight years old again, wondering why his mama didn’t love him enough to take him too. Cooper made Mitch the reason for everything wrong in his life, and he put it all on him, right up until the day Mitch beat him down. Stopped short of killing him, and then Mitch left and never returned. Seven years he’s been gone, but back ten minutes, he was the same as the day he’d left. The old fuck is dead, but he’ll haunt his boy forever. Cooper was a brute, an ass, the kind of shit-heel who gives sadists a bad name.”
Chenco couldn’t see Steve’s triskele from the passenger seat, but he knew it was there. He touched the place on his shoulder still burning from those fingernail indentations. “You’re a sadist. A BDSM sadist. You’re into pain.”
Steve nodded, eyes never leaving the road. “I am. You’re changing the subject, but if you need to go here, I don’t mind questions.”
“Well, there’s a lot of subject matter flying around.”
This brought out another one of those half smiles. “Do you have questions about BDSM? If your friends have given you a negative impression, I wouldn’t mind a chance to clear things up.”
No, Chenco didn’t want to discuss BDSM, not yet. Did bringing it up mean Steve was into him, though? Sinking into the seat, he put his hand on his face and shocked himself when he felt the heavy makeup and fake lashes. “This is really weird, being me in her clothes.”
“Just about to the flats.” He switched lanes, heading for the exit into Donna.
“How much are they going to hate me for stabbing Randy?”
“Randy’s already forgiven you, and he’ll also respect the hell out of you from now on. He doesn’t normally misjudge people’s limits, and he’ll want to make amends for reading you wrong. Mitch is in a little shock at finding out he has a brother, so I think Randy’s shoulder is the least of his concerns now.” Steve nodded at Chenco’s lap. “Do you have your phone handy? You should probably let someone at the club know you’re okay. That bouncer or someone else.”
“Booker? Oh shit, I should.” Chenco pulled his phone out of Caramela’s clutch and fumbled with the keys, removing the gloves so he could manipulate the phone easier. He sent the text and put it away. “So Mitch and Randy are cool. What about the other one?” Mitch’s husband. God, that would never stop being weird.
“Sam? He won’t care for your hurting Randy. From the stories I’ve heard, however, he understands the impulse. I suspect an apology and a little explanation of why you were so scared to meet someone connected to your father would probably set everything right.” Steve turned the Nova into the flats and grimaced. “This place has gone to shit since I last came through, and it stank then. Given the gangs it likes to produce, I suppose I should have suspected.”
“It’s mostly meth labs, I think. And yes, the crime is horrible.”
He waited for Steve to ask why he lived there, but Steve didn’t. He simply drove to the trailer, parked the Nova in the drive, and killed the engine.
Immediately, Chenco realized what he’d forgotten and began to panic.
“My hoodie,” he managed to get out when Steve’s hand closed over his arm, bringing him back to earth. “I have to cover her up. If they see me—”
“I need to know where the hoodie is, Chenco.”
“Backseat, but I always put it on before I get here, and I can’t get the sweatpants on in the car, not here—”
“Breathe.”
Chenco took one breath, then another. Something hot and tight let go inside him, and a delicious pressure pierced his left arm. He looked down and saw Steve’s hand on his arm, the skin white beneath his grip. It hurt, he realized.
It hurt, but it felt a little good too.
A different fear lit up in Chenco as he met Steve’s gaze. “Why do you keep doing that? Digging your nails into me?”
The guilt on Steve’s face surprised Chenco. “Instinct. And effectiveness. It keeps being the only thing to calm you down.”
What, you can’t try shushing me and telling me everything’s fine like a normal person? Chenco replayed Steve’s flash of…conscience? Embarrassment? Contrition? Was this a warning sign Chenco should heed? As discomfort leached back into Steve’s expression, Chenco did worry, thinking see, he is another psycho and I just called his bluff, and then something else whispered at him, surprise stilling Chenco to his core. Surprise and a sense of…power.
It wasn’t guilt he’d seen. It was vulnerability.
Flattening his lips inside his goatee, Steve reached into the backseat, grabbed the hoodie, and tossed it into Chenco’s lap. Vulnerability was gone now, as was the sense the reins had landed in Chenco’s lap for more than a flickering second.
Chenco slid into the garment in a daze, drawing the hood up tight.
Steve nodded at the house. “No one is here right now, and I’ll keep an eye out. I think your legs aren’t a big deal, but without shoes I’ll have to carry you unless you want to write off these stockings.”
Chenco thought of the hundreds of dollars, maybe even a thousand, loose and lost somewhere at Club 33. Booker would pick up some of it, but…well, Chenco wouldn’t get half of what was actually there. So much money gone, money he needed right now more than ever.
Not now. Don’t think about it right now because you have enough on your plate as it is.
He swallowed hard. “If you could carry me please, I’d be very grateful.”
A heavy hand came down on his shoulder, no pain this time, just gentle touch. “You’re doing well, Chenco. You’re being very, very strong. This is a lot to take in, and you’re trusting a stranger, and you’re being smart and strong and good.”
You’re a good, strong man. Chenco felt himself teeter, and he let out a shuddering sigh. “Don’t, please—it breaks me when you’re nice.”
“I noticed. But usually I like to get to know someone before I start sharing pain without politeness first.”
The comment made Chenco dizzy. “I think I need to get inside.”
“I’ll come around to get you.”
Chenco gathered his bag and his shoes from the backseat—his shoes! He’d forgotten they were there, and it was like finding an extra Christmas present under the tree. He slipped them on, and by the time Steve was at his door, he felt a lot better. Steve nodded approval at the footwear, but he still helped Chenco up the stairs and into the trailer, carrying his bag for him. Once inside, Steve addressed Chenco again.
“Am I waiting here, or do you want me to come back to your room while you change?”
Shaking his head, Chenco gave a half-smile. “Wow. You are serious about getting permission for everything.”
“For the record, my asking for permission comes from the BDSM background you’re so nervous about.” He cleared his throat. “I need the answer. Am I’m coming back with you or waiting here?”
Chenco considered. “I think I want you to come.” When this statement was met with silence, Chenco sighed, irritated. “Fine. I want you to come along. Part of me thinks I’m being stupid, but I still want you to come sit with me while I change.”
This confession seemed to relax Steve. “First of all, it’s natural and smart to be wary, and since I haven’t had adequate time or opportunity to demonstrate my trustworthiness, I’ll take it as a compliment someone as smart and careful as you has decided to accept me as safe on so little.” His expression became gentle, very patient, and it was such a change Chenco almost felt lightheaded. “So it’s clear—nothing about this is a setup to get you in bed or anything smelling like sex.”
The damnedest part was every now and again Chenco was thinking about sex with Steve, in this distant, maybe-I’ll-get-off-to-it kind of way. It was more humble pie than he cared for to hear the attraction wasn’t reciprocated, but it was also a relief.
Chenco shook his head. “This is the most surreal conversation I’ve ever had.”
Steve’s whole goatee lifted in a grin. “It’s probably the most real conversation you’ve had, especially about sex.”
God, that statement was borderline arrogant. Bossy McBosserpants. Big old Dom, don’t-you-fuck-with-me, I-run-the-room Steve Vance.
Except for the half a second in the car.
Even from a few feet away, Chenco could smell Steve, a subtle but intoxicating bouquet of leather and sweat. No more vulnerability now, not so much as a morsel. Chenco couldn’t decide which he liked better. Bossy or not, this was hot, this don’t worry, I got the whole world persona. He thought about the comment Steve had made about real conversations and tried to unpack it.
“Is that why you’re a sadist? Because it gives you control of things?”
“I’m a sadist because it’s who I am. It’s as impossible to separate from my identity as being gay. Practicing BDSM gives me focus and structure, like being Caramela does for you, I’d imagine. In a world eager to reject people like me, BDSM gives my sadism a frame which not only works but makes me stronger. I may take the lifestyle more seriously than some, may extend it deeper into aspects of my life, but it helps me find myself, my center, my space, and it makes me a better person.”
“You make it sound like a religion.”
“For some of us, I think it is.”
Chenco digested this. Unfortunately as he did so, his bladder reminded him it had been putting up with his bullshit since eight thirty. “This is the worst segue ever, but I have to pee.”
Steve grinned, and Chenco decided he very much liked Steve’s smiles. “Do you want some help, or are you explaining why you’re about to run off?”
“No help, but could you stand outside the door and talk to me? I… Well, your voice is very soothing right now.”
Steve nodded to the hall. “You lead. I’ll follow.”