06
The next day I got a call from Oz, sounding very pleased with himself. “Mr. Vaughan wants to meet you! I told him all about you and he says he might be able to use you! Isn’t that great? We might be working together! He’s very happy with me, says I’ve shown real initiative.”
Normally I’d be happy to have an eager little puppy like Oz chasing after my cock, and obviously I was happy to stick it to him in any way that was necessary to the operation. I’m a professional in these matters. But things were complicated now. Despite my best efforts, I was growing fond of Kieran McAvoy, the defeated Irishman, the victim of some deal between his manager and Vaughan. He hadn’t given anything away, and I was careful not to ask too many questions, but I was sure Kieran was being exploited and abused both in and out of the ring. It crossed my mind that he was a double agent, that Vaughan knew exactly what I was up to and had baited the trap with Kieran. In this game of bluff and counter-bluff, anything was possible.
The meeting was arranged for the gym in Moss Side, an ugly suburb of Manchester that was dotted with boxing clubs and gyms, the traditional escape route for local kids who are never going to make it through school. I know what these places are like: I’ve trained in them, worked in them, screwed in them. They’re not much different on either side of the ocean. City Fitness had the same tired, badly designed street frontage, a cheap-looking Perspex sign screwed over a blacked-out window, a glass door, a dirty buzzer panel, everything covered in grime and graffiti.
The interior told a different story. Beyond the filthy lobby there was a newly decorated reception area with subdued lights, charcoal carpets and white walls, and an attractive young woman with neat blonde hair and flawless makeup presiding over a gleaming desk. “Mr. Cooper?” she said, in an Eastern European accent. “Mr. Vaughan is expecting you. Please follow the corridor all the way to the end of the gym, and you’ll be met at the second set of doors.”
The corridor ran along a glass wall, etched with images of weights, feet, and arms, anything that said “fitness.” Beyond it were ranks of gleaming machines, treadmills, rowing machines, recumbent bikes, resistance equipment, and ten or fifteen fit young people of both sexes working out to the music that came from the DJ in the corner. City Fitness was not a book you could judge by the cover. The interior must have stretched across two or three units knocked together, and the conversion looked like the work of a serious architect. Vaughan liked to keep his investments discreetly hidden.
At the end of the corridor, doors led into a fully-equipped boxing gym; it was empty and dark at the moment, but I could make out the ropes and punching bags in the gloom. Further along, another set of doors was marked PRIVATE. I was looking for a button to press when they were opened from within.
“Greg!” It was Oz, of course, with a huge beaming smile, clapping me on the back, pulling me into the inner sanctum. “Great to see you mate! Mr. Vaughan’s really looking forward to meeting you. Thanks for coming. Means a lot. How have you been?” Poor kid was almost mounting my leg.
“Okay, Oz. Thanks for the warm welcome. Now, where do I go?”
“I’ll show you.” He knocked on a door, grinning like a fool. A voice from within said “Come.”
‘It’s Greg Cooper, Mr. Vaughan. Here he is, just like I said . . .”
“Show him in.” Oz practically bowed as I passed him. “And now leave us alone.” He looked crestfallen, as if he was about to wet himself.
“It’s okay, Oz,” I whispered. “I’ll see you later. Thanks for everything.” That sent him away happy.
Vaughan’s desk was in front of a large window looking out onto trees and a courtyard, further evidence of his architect’s ingenuity. The office was brightly lit, beautifully designed, and to an impressionable young athlete, I imagine, overwhelming.
“Mr. Vaughan.”
I couldn’t see him properly, just a large silhouette standing up behind his desk.
“Mr. Cooper. Or should I say Captain Cooper.”
I stepped towards the desk and took the outstretched hand. I could see him now: taller than me, broad shouldered, heavily built in a well-tailored blue suit, thinning dark hair artfully cut and combed, a heavy-featured, jowly face, charismatic rather than handsome. Late forties, fifties.
“You’ve been doing your research. But I’m a civilian now.”
“I take an interest in the people I work with. I like to know what makes them tick.”
The benign employer, or blackmailer.
“And what about you, Mr. Vaughan? What makes you tick?”
“Money. Success. Putting something back into the world.”
“That’s very admirable.” Bullshit, of course. “Looks like you’re doing pretty well.”
“Oh, this is nothing much. It’s a convenient operational base. Please, take a seat.”
There were two black leather sofas; I chose one. Vaughan paced.
“I hear you were at the fight.”
“That’s where I met Oz.”
“Oz. Yes, Oz.”
“Nice kid.”
He stopped, turned, looked at me. “What did you think?”
“Of the fight?”
“Yes, of course.”
I was being interviewed, clearly. This was not the time for pussyfooting. “It was crap.”
He scowled. Was I about to be thrown out, or beaten up by Vaughan’s goons? I assumed he had some. “You noticed.”
“Yeah, I noticed. But don’t worry. Most people are taken in.”
“Just as well.” He sat down on the other sofa, facing me, leaning back, legs wide apart, the standard alpha male pose. I wondered how many of the boys had knelt before him. “Lukas is a good fighter.”
“Is he?”
“He can be. He used to be.”
“But now?”
“He’s greedy. He’s lazy.”
“No discipline.”
“Something like that. He wants the rewards without the hard work. And he has trouble with the concept of loyalty. That’s something that you, as a military man, would understand.”
“I guess so. But as I’m sure you know, I was thrown out of the military.”
“And why was that, Greg?” We’d dispensed with “Mr. Cooper,” but I wasn’t going to start calling him “Al” just yet.
“I’m sure you know.”
“I’d like to hear it from you.”
“I said some things that you’re not allowed to say any more, apparently. Stuff that everyone says—it’s just that I got caught saying it. And I was stupid. I didn’t apologize.”
“Why should you?”
“Because that’s the game you play in the US Marine Corps these days. It used to be a decent job for a man. Now it’s . . .” I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not the world I grew up in. Been in the corps since I was eighteen. The world’s changed, and I guess I didn’t get the memo.”
“The world is what you make it, Greg.”
“Yeah. If you have money.”
“I have money.”
“I can see that.”
“Do you need a job? Oz said you might.”
“Sure. This isn’t a social call.”
“I like you, Greg. You don’t beat about the bush.”
“Perhaps I should learn to. I might still have a career.”
“You can have a career here, if you want one.”
“Doing what? Sweeping floors and picking up wet towels? No thanks, I’ve done that.”
“As a trainer. As part of my team.”
“What makes you think I’m any good?”
“Your record speaks for itself. You’ve worked all over the world. You’ve trained a lot of guys in unarmed combat. You’re a master of several martial arts.”
“Okay. But you promote boxing. That’s showbiz.”
“Boxing is just part of what I do.”
This was what I’d been waiting to hear. “Oh?”
“We manage fighters in all sorts of disciplines. We need someone to coordinate that. And to be honest, we need someone who can bring a bit of military efficiency into the operation.”
“You mean someone who isn’t afraid to kick asses.”
“That sort of thing.”
If Vaughan had really done his homework, he’d know that kicking wasn’t the only thing I did to asses. “So, do I get a tryout?”
“We can discuss the details later.”
“You’re very trusting.”
“You come highly recommended.”
“By Oz?”
“He’s been raving about you.”
We locked eyes and had one of those unspoken conversations that went something like:
What did he tell you?
He said you have a big dick.
Is that part of the job? It could be.
Do I get to fuck the boys?
Yes, if you’re discreet.
Like you?
Like me.
“That’s nice to hear,” I said out loud. “I always try to make a good impression.”
“Okay.” Vaughan stood up, businesslike again. “I have to do a magazine interview. There’s a photo shoot. I hate photo shoots. But hey ho.” He shook my hand again. “That’s show business.”
“I don’t know how you stand it.”
“Because, Greg, the rewards are very, very great. I’m going to hand you over to Tom Jackson. He’s my right-hand man. He’s fully briefed. It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”
And he left, the door closing silently behind him.
Any idea I may have had of snooping was quickly dismissed; I was alone for less than twenty seconds.
Jackson was definitely not a boxer. You don’t get to keep a face that pretty if you’re fighting regularly, not even if you’re winning. The young man in the expensive suit who came into Vaughan’s office, carrying a black leather portfolio, looked like a model. Light brown hair swept up into a modest quiff, great skin, perfect bone structure. A little too perfect for my taste. He reminded me of Jody when I first met him—a conservative, suit-wearing version of Jody, but the same kind of attention to detail, the same consciousness of his looks. It said a lot about Vaughan’s tastes.
“Mr. Cooper. I’m Tom Jackson, Mr. Vaughan’s PA.”
Piece of Ass?
“Nice to meet you, Jackson. Vaughan said you’d take me through the details.”
He took off his jacket—he was wearing one of those tailored shirts that seem to cling, wrinkle-free, to every contour of the body—and we sat. “Initially, we’d like you to work with some of the new, up-and-coming fighters, see what kind of results you can get with them.”
“And if I pass that test?”
He looked me in the eye and smiled. “Then we’ll move you on to other areas of the business.”
“What areas might those be?”
“Mr. Vaughan has a lot of different projects.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“But he’s very particular about the people he works with.”
“You mean, he has to trust you not to talk.”
One perfectly-shaped eyebrow went up an inch. “You could say that.”
“And I come from a military background. What does that tell you?”
“That you understand the importance of . . . discretion.”
“Secrecy, we’d have called it.”
“Secrecy, then.”
“And you know all his secrets, do you, Mr. Jackson?” Jackson smiled. He had perfect white teeth, and rather prominent, sharp canines. “Mr. Vaughan trusts me.”
“He says you’re his right hand. Must keep you busy.”
“It does.”
“What about his wife? Does she know his secrets?”
This shook Jackson’s composure a little. “Mrs. Vaughan concentrates on family life, and runs a lot of the charity work.”
“That sounds like something from a press release.”
He allowed himself a short, silent laugh. “Perhaps you will meet Mrs. Vaughan one day.”
“Will I like her?”
“Mrs. Vaughan is a wonderful lady.”
My turn to laugh. “I just bet she is.” Turning a blind eye to Vaughan’s boys, his criminal empire, happy to enjoy the profits without asking too many questions. I’d seen photos of her—an elegant, beautiful woman in her forties, spends a lot of time in salons and spas, outsources the childcare to professionals, goes to the right restaurants and openings with Vaughan, a perfect disguise. . .
“Now, I’ve got some documents for you to sign.” He laid out papers on the coffee table. “Usual stuff. Terms and conditions.”
“What’s this?”
“Nondisclosure agreement.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
“That you won’t talk to the press, or anyone outside the company, about Mr. Vaughan’s business affairs.”
“Is it legally enforceable? I mean, what happens if I talk? I lose my job—so what?”
Jackson frowned. “It is not a good idea to break these rules, Mr. Cooper.”
“That’s a threat.”
“That’s not what I . . .”
“You mean that Vaughan punishes who steps out of line.”
“You’re putting words into my mouth.”
“Uh-huh.” I let the silence hang for a while. Jackson was getting fidgety, which I enjoyed. “Will you sign?”
“Let me read them first.” Of course I was going to sign; that was the whole point of the job, and I didn’t have to worry about the legal implications. But I wanted to make him sweat a little. I’m sure most of the people on the payroll were way too eager to sign their lives away, only to discover, like Oz, that Mr. Vaughan didn’t always follow up on his promises. I made myself comfortable and read the papers, occasionally letting Jackson see that I didn’t like what I was reading.
After a while I said, “Okay.”
“Ready to sign?”
“I’m ready. We both know that this isn’t legally enforceable. But I want to work for Vaughan, and if it makes him feel happy to have my name on a document, it suits me.”
“Thank you.”
“Just a minute, buddy. I have questions.”
“Right.” His voice sounded tentative, unhappy, as if no one had ever asked questions before. Vaughan obviously expected blind obedience.
“First of all, tell me about Craig Lukas.”
“What about him?”
“Vaughan doesn’t seem happy with him. Am I supposed to do something about that?”
“We’d like you to train him.”
“Boxing?”
“Mental discipline.”
“You mean, I convince him that if he doesn’t do as he’s told, I’ll break his bones.”
Jackson’s eyes were wide. He didn’t deny it.
“And another question. Who am I allowed to fuck around here?”
“Well, really . . .”
“Come on, let’s not pretend I don’t know what’s going on. I’m gay. I guess you’re gay. And Vaughan is . . .”
Jackson’s pale blue eyes were goggling in panic, the pupils tiny.
“Vaughan is married,” I said, and laughed. “Understood. But there’s a lot of hot boys around here, and I want to know if I’m going to get the sack for fucking their asses.”
“Provided you are discreet, we consider that to be a private matter between adults . . .”
“Thanks for the permission, Jackson. You just let me know if I’m poaching in the wrong wood. I guess some people are definitely off limits.”
He thought a while before he replied. “As I say, provided everything is discreet. . .”
That answered my question. Jackson officially “belonged” to Vaughan, but he’d be up for a fuck provided the boss didn’t find out. Good news; I couldn’t think of any other way of getting a tracking device into his tight little body.
“I’ll bear that in mind. Thanks.” I squeezed my dick through my pants. “See, I need a lot of sex.”
Jackson cleared his throat. I don’t think he’d met anyone as crudely direct as Greg Cooper. He was used to being wooed and pursued in a more civilized way. “Now, if you don’t mind, perhaps we could have a signature?”
I’d tortured him for long enough. I stood right in front of him so my crotch was at face level, and held my hand out for the papers. He was sweating slightly as he handed them over, a dark patch under his armpit. “Okay, Jackson. Give me a pen. I’m sure everything is in order. Because after all, why would you try to screw with someone who can kill you with his bare hands?”
“Quite.” He clicked a ballpoint pen and handed it to me.
“There you go.” I signed “G Cooper”—I’d been practicing. “Now, I need to get laid.” This wasn’t strictly true, after my night with Kieran, but I was horny enough to make it convincing. I stroked the bulge in my pants. Jackson stared, licked his lips, cleared his throat. “Any suggestions?”
He lowered his voice. “This is not a good idea. Not here.”
“Then where?”
He was about to come up with a suggestion, but his phone rang. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the room was bugged. “Hello, Tom Jackson. Oh, hi. Yes. Yes, absolutely.” He turned away from me, avoiding the distraction between my legs. That suited me; I went up behind him, put my hands on his hips, and pressed my groin against his ass. He didn’t miss a beat, just carried on talking on the phone.
“Yes, everything’s ready for tonight. Everyone’s been briefed, and I’ve checked with the venue. Of course I’ll be there.”
I pushed against him; he braced himself and pressed back. Reaching a hand around, I found out that he was as hard as I was. I stroked him gently through his pants.
“They’re all ready. Yes, it’s all arrived, no problem. I think so, yes. Oh, yes, it’s a very good one, I think. Yes. Yes.”
I couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but I was sufficiently master of myself to realize that something important was going down tonight. My main objective was to get Jackson “on side,” however terrified he was of Vaughan. From the way he was pushing his ass into me, and the way the veins were standing out in his neck and forehead, I seemed to be winning. I grabbed his balls and squeezed; he went up on tiptoes, gasped a bit but disguised it as a cough, and managed to wind up his phone call without losing his cool.
“You fucking bastard,” he said, with a smile on his face.
I span him around so our cocks were pressed together, my hands on his ass. “You going to suck me off?”
“Not now.”
“Okay.” I let him go. “But you’re going to, some time, and it had better be soon. I bet you’re good at it.”
He said nothing, but looked cocky.
“And I bet you’re a great fuck as well.”
“Mr. Cooper, I’m going to have to leave you now. Take time to read through the papers. You’ll see a few things on your schedule.”
“And what about this?” I grabbed my dick, which was genuinely rock hard and in need of attention.
“You’ll think of something,” said Jackson. “Of that I have no doubt.”
Oz was waiting for me. “So? Are you working here now?” He was bouncing up and down on his feet, like an excited five-year-old.
“Yeah. I’ve signed up. I’m on the payroll.”
“That’s fantastic, Greg. Thanks mate. Really, I won’t lie, I’m pleased about that.”
“Okay, buddy. Calm down. It’s just a job.”
“Yeah, but it means that Mr. Vaughan has some respect for me. He listens to stuff that I say.”
“Good for you, Oz.”
“So, when can we start training?”
He looked so eager to please, and I was still hard, so I said “Well, I’ve been looking at my timetable, and it says I’m free to use the facilities till five o’clock. That gives us a couple of hours.”
“For real? You’re going to train me now?”
“Sure, why not? Let’s see what you’re made of.” We were walking back along the glass-walled corridor by the side of the gym.
I took him through a basic half-hour fitness test: ten minutes on the treadmill, fast enough to get him breathless and sweaty, then a mini-circuit of chin-ups, push-ups, planks, and burpees. He was in great shape; more interestingly, he obeyed every command without question, always trying to do a little more than was asked of him. I kept it businesslike; we weren’t alone in the gym, and there were plenty of people watching the new trainer. Oz loved the attention; obviously this marked his new status within VaughanCorp. When I was finished, I held Oz’s wrist and checked his pulse against the clock on the wall. “Now I’m going to take you somewhere quiet,” I whispered, “and you’re going to suck my dick for me.”
He looked at me with those big brown eyes, sweat running down his face, and I swear his pulse quickened. “Okay, Greg. Sure. Yeah.” He picked up his towel and was halfway out of the gym before I’d taken a step. Eager—or just obedient? There was something about the ease with which Vaughan’s boys—Oz, Kieran, Jackson—could be seduced that was making me suspicious. I may have a high opinion of my own sexual attractiveness—there aren’t many men out there who can resist Dan Stagg’s dick once it’s pointing in their direction—but these were hot young athletes who could be fucking people of their own age, not someone twenty years their senior.
In a while, if things went according to plan, I would know more. I had a tracking device inside Kieran, and soon I’d get one into Oz. It could only be a matter of time before I had sufficient access to Tom Jackson’s holes to get him bugged as well.
Then, it was up to the Global Positioning System, and some backroom boys down in London, to supply me with the data about where these boys were going. I’d work out the rest.
Oz was waiting for me at the door to the changing rooms. Was he seriously intending to have sex in here? It wasn’t particularly busy, but there were people coming and going, presumably not all of them interested in seeing me shove my dick into Oz’s handsome face.
“Do you want me to have a shower first?”
“I don’t care. You’re going to need one afterwards anyway.”
“Oh, right. Well, shall we just, you know, go ahead and . . .”
“Lead the way.”
He was more than eager; he was organized. Consulting my tastes. Putting the customer first.
“There’s a sauna that’s pretty quiet.”
“Where else?”
“Disabled toilet.”
“I don’t want to fuck you in a toilet.”
“Or we could go through to one of the private rooms.”
That’s what I was waiting for. “Sounds nice. I’ve never been to a gym with private rooms.”
“They’re for Mr. Vaughan’s special guests. He gave me a key.” He showed me a swipe card he’d been keeping in his pocket. “Look.”
“Show me the way.”
Oz led me through a door that looked like a cupboard, along a short passage to another door that he opened with the keycard. Inside it was a room about twelve feet by ten, big enough for a large leather divan, a couple of chairs, and a hand basin mounted in a black wood cupboard unit. In other words, a fuckroom from a very upmarket sex club. The floor was carpeted, the lighting subdued, the walls painted dark red.
“Very nice,” I said. “You entertain a lot of clients in here?”
“I’ve never actually been inside one of these rooms before. It’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Perfect. Now take your fucking clothes off. Don’t be shy. I’ve seen it before, remember?”
He was naked within ten seconds, hard dick standing up against his furry belly. I put my hands on his ass, pulled him towards me, and kissed him hard on the mouth. His knees buckled, and he kissed me back with equal force. These boys aren’t getting enough love, I thought. They’re getting fucked plenty, but that’s it. No affection. Strange that a heartless bastard like me should be talking about love, but as an operational strategy it had its uses. A hard cock gets you a certain amount of loyalty, but if you show love to the love-starved, you have a slave for life. That’s how cult leaders get started.
“Now you’re going to show me if you can suck cock as well as the stuff you do in the gym. Think of it as part of your training. You’re in charge. This”—I squeezed my hard dick through my pants—“is all yours.”
Oz wasted no time. He dropped to his knees, got one hand inside my waistband, and hauled my cock out. His lips encircled the head and started moving down. By the time he’d reached the thickest point of my shaft, about half way, I’d decided he was good. By the time his lips were disappearing into my bush, I’d decided he was excellent. Plenty of practice. Almost professional.
“Good boy,” I murmured, rubbing a hand over his brush-cut black hair. “Suck your daddy’s dick. Come on. Make me feel good.” He looked up at me with those big brown eyes, his brow furrowed, and came right up to the head again, teasing the ridge of my glans with his lips, tickling me underneath the pisshole with his tongue.
“Now look,” I said, “we have a bed, and we have privacy. Do you have to be anywhere?”
He let go of my cock. “Not for a while,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Okay. Let’s enjoy ourselves.” I pulled off my shirts and pants. “Lie down.”
He threw himself on to the divan, bouncing a little, and I straddled his thighs, letting my balls drop down on to his stiff prick. In that position, I could run my hands over his firm, hairy torso and pinch the nipples that were sticking up through the fur. Oz squirmed, but I had him pinned. I shuffled further up his stomach and chest till my dick was resting on his dimpled chin. He opened his mouth, pulled his head forward with one hand, and let me fuck his mouth.
He didn’t even gag.
Okay, let’s see if his ass is as good as his mouth.
“There are condoms in the cupboard,” he said.
“It’s okay. I prefer to use my own.”
“You brought some?”
“Of course. I’ve been wanting to get inside you ever since I saw you.”
“Oh, Greg. Fuck me, man. Please. I mean, fuck me because you really like me.”
“Of course I fucking like you. Do you like me?”
“I . . . I really . . .” He was preventing himself from saying “I love you,” but the point was made.
“I thought maybe you were doing this because Vaughan told you to.”
He said nothing, and didn’t look me in the eye.
“It’s okay. I’m happy either way.”
“I owe him so much. And he’s been very good to me.”
“Yeah, right.” I could just imagine Vaughan’s technique: find young men with no career prospects, low self-esteem, and a small amount of talent, establish yourself as a kind of despotic father figure, and they’ll do anything you tell them to do. What was Oz’s story? Why was he so desperate to follow orders? I’d find out, after I fucked him.
I rubbered up, took a fingerful of lube and pushed it deep into Oz’s beautiful asshole, taking care to lodge the tracking device as far up as I could. A good fucking would just push it deeper; that was the theory, anyway. I’d soon find out if it worked.
He took it beautifully, from the rear, on his side, on his back and, finally, on top of me, working himself to an orgasm that sprayed all over my chest and even hit me on the face. I scooped it up and put my fingers in Oz’s mouth, forcing him to taste his own jizz as I shot my load deep inside his guts.
He kept me inside him for as long as he could, then reluctantly climbed off. We were both sticky and sweaty, and the leather covers of the divan were going to need a good hosing down; presumably Vaughan had staff for these jobs. Perhaps Oz would be back in there with a mop and bucket later on. For now, we lay together, feeling the jizz drying in our body hair, sticking us together like Velcro. He curled up against me, seeking warmth, his head on my shoulder. I caressed his face, kissed him on the forehead. Bet he didn’t get that from Vaughan and his associates.
We shifted around a bit, and I felt something digging into my thigh; Oz was hard again. I reached around, took hold of him, and stroked him gently while our tongues joined inside our mouths. He came quickly, groaning as if in pain.
Oh, to be young again. I was only just beginning to get hard before it was all over.
“You okay?”
He snuggled in closer, reluctant for this to be over. “Yeah.”
“Come on.” I sat up. “We’d better get out of here. They’ll be wondering what we’re up to.”
“I suppose so.” We pulled apart, the sticky hairs on our bodies pulling painfully. “I wish we could stay like this, Greg.”
“Me too.” I took hold of my cock, hard again now. “I want to fuck you again.”
“You can! I mean, I don’t know if I can come again, but I’ll take it . . .”
“That’s okay, Oz. Let’s keep it for another day. When you get some time off, maybe you could come over to my place for the weekend.”
“You mean it?”
“Of course I fucking mean it. What does it look like?”
He was on his knees sucking me again before I had time to object. I let him feed for a while, then stood up.
“That’s enough for now. Come on. Let’s hit the showers.”
“Please, let me . . . ”
“Cool it.” I spoke firmly. Oz looked as if he might cry. I took him by the shoulders. “It’s all right, buddy. I’m not going to disappear. I’m here for you.” You and Kieran, I should have said, but I could only concentrate on one at a time. Although two at a time . . . the thought was not unwelcome. Oz and Kieran fighting over my dick. Could be arranged. “I think you need someone to look after you, Oz.”
He shrugged, and wiped his hands on a towel. “I’m okay.”
“No you’re not.”
He put the towel over his face. He was crying, but I wasn’t going to draw attention to it.
“Never let them see you’re upset. Greg Cooper’s First Law. Okay? I’m here now. I’m going to look after you.”
“For real?”
“For real.” And at the time, I meant it. But looking after Oz was going to be more difficult than I expected. And a lot more dangerous.