Chapter Sixteen

Orin struggled to keep the guilty pride from his face as Ari sat in the copilot’s chair with exaggerated care, a rosy blush staining his cheeks when he glanced in Orin’s direction.

Tearing himself away to focus on the view screen, Orin flicked switches that didn’t really alter anything about their landing, just to appear busy. He accidentally hit one that could have altered their trajectory but swiftly flicked it back with a muttered curse and a fervent apology to Delilah for his stupidity and distraction.

Could hardly blame a man for being stupid when he had someone like Ari peeking up at him from under his lashes like that. Orin felt like he’d left his brain in a puddle on his bedroom floor next to a discarded set of garters.

Ari waited patiently until Orin had completed docking procedures before commanding his attention with a small cough.

“Are we going to speak with another singer?”

Orin pushed up from his seat, barely resisting the urge to cup Ari’s face in his palm and, instead, skimmed his hand over the top of his slicked-back hair in an awkward sort of pat.

Ari gave him a quizzical expression at that, smoothing his own hair in place as he stood to follow.

Orin started up the ramp before turning to answer. “Sure we are, sugar. Right after we hit the firing range. Gotta teach you to fend for yourself out there after you fetch your brother and I’m not around no more.”

He threw Ari what he’d need in an underhanded toss, and Ari fumbled to catch the little garter pistol, giving Orin time to rearrange his face and wipe away the melancholy that welled up at the thought of leaving Ari. He shook himself sternly as he stomped down the ramp. No point dwelling on the inevitable. He’d have plenty of time to cry into his beer after he served his purpose and little Red kicked his ass to the curb. He could cry into his beer on his own damn ship, in fact.

*

Big Blaster’s firing range was as shabby as they come, all the paint chipping off the walls and targets riddled with laser burns, but Orin knew it to be safe despite all appearances. Well-maintained enough to keep the blasts contained and away from the customers.

Ari eyed the ramshackle booth dubiously when they stepped inside.

“May not look like much, but the place is solid,” Orin reassured him, banging on the wall with his fist and wincing as one of the acoustic panels broke off and fell to the floor at their feet.

Ari rolled skeptical eyes up at him, pretty lips pressed into a thin line against what Orin was sure would be a blistering opinion of the premises.

Orin kicked the panel away discreetly as he stepped up beside Ari to align his shoulders and feet in demonstrating proper shooting procedure.

Orin held up his laser pistol and hit the center of the target with lazy precision, being sure to keep himself in tight position as he narrated everything he was doing for Ari. He then stepped back and gestured to him forward to give it a go.

Ari lifted his adorable pistol dutifully, pale hand steady as he supported his wrist with the opposite forearm just as instructed. Orin suppressed a grin at the tip of his little pink tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth as he squinted in concentration.

Ari took a deep breath before pulling the trigger, and green lights flashed through their booth as the stun ray hit the target dead center.

Orin’s grin could no longer be suppressed. “You’re a natural, sweetheart. Nothing to it, right?”

Ari shifted his feet, a hint of green flashing up and then back down to the weapon in his hands. “I suppose it is a useful skill to cultivate if I am to get through the deep dark.”

Orin snorted, adjusting Ari’s stance before gesturing for him to try again.

“Round here, it’s a useful skill for skipping to the corner store. Can’t be too careful on the Verge, Red, remember that.”

*

The smell of the saloon hit like a drunkard’s fist as soon as a man wandered out of the door. Orin stifled a laugh at Ari’s offended expression, cute little nose wrinkled up against the stench. He leaned in close, ruffling his silky red hair with his nose, hand skimming over the sway of Ari’s lower back.

“Stick around long enough, and you’ll get used to it, sugar.”

Ari cast him a doubtful glance, hand hovering over his ascot as though he were debating bringing it up to cover his nose. Orin kind of hoped he would, if only for the picture he would make.

He hardened his face into a practiced smirk as they approached the dented metal bar. Dripping rust stains marred the entire stretch, disappearing into the filthy concrete floor under the mismatched stools. Orin chose the cleanest one in the bunch to perch Ari onto before leaning over the bar to signal for a drink.

The barkeep turned in his direction, gray hair floating off in all directions around his head like it couldn’t be bothered to abide by the laws of gravity.

Orin tapped the bar twice with his knuckles, and, quick as a lick, the barkeep brought over two glasses of beer. Foam sloshed onto the bar top as he set them down, the liquid following the dripping rust lines of untold numbers of previous libations. Ari sniffed at his beer before pushing it away discreetly.

Orin called the retreating barkeep back with a low whistle. The well-worn skin of the keep’s forehead collapsed into accordion folds as he lifted bushy eyebrows in Orin’s direction. Orin leaned over the bar, voice lowered.

“Might be, I’m listening for a singer. Who’s on the wind tonight?”

The barkeep gave the room a sweep, shiny eyes rolling like marbles under the folds of his brow. When he drew closer in to answer, his breath nearly knocked Orin back a pace, seeming to solve the mystery of the stench all on its own.

“Might be I know a song or two, stranger. Name’s Amos, if you’re listening. Hear anything you like, and I can put it on your tab.”

Orin nodded, twisting his glass on the bar top with one hand as he got Ari’s attention by dropping the other to his thigh with a squeeze.

“Alright, Amos. You got a song for Red over here? Seen him around or heard tell of someone like him out here?”

Amos squinted at Ari, considering. Orin felt the need to check for smoke coming out of his ears, the poor man’s brain was working so hard. Amos scanned Ari up and down as Ari sat up straight on his stool, hands carefully resting away from the wet spot on the bar.

“Yeah, sure, I seen him. Last time he was here, he was playing grab ass with some other fella, sorry to tell it, stranger. Odd kinda man, real shifty. Like, couldn’t look at you ’less it was sideways. The other guy, not your little strawberry tart. All inked up the way Outliers are sometimes. Big ’un too. Not near as big as you though. But I ain’t never come across none as big as you.”

Orin debated pulling up a stool of his own to watch as Ari folded his hands at his waist, acting for all the world as if he was preparing to enter a spirited scholarly discussion. He winced as Ari’s posture grew so erect he could’ve been a marble column formed entirely of disapproval and affront.

“That ‘tart’ you are referring to is my brother, Theo. And he was not playing grab anything. He was being held against his will. By that man.”

Amos’ eyes widened incredulously, rolling over Ari from head to toe with a blatant disregard for his deepening scowl. “Well, I’ll be damned. Spitting image, ain’t you? Think he was in over his head with that odd fella? That’s a shame. Though, truth to tell, it looked the other way round, to me.”

Ari opened his mouth to unleash what was sure to be a vicious retort, but Orin put pause to that by laying his hand gently on Ari’s arm, giving Amos his attention.

“Reckon so? How do you figure?”

Amos scratched the overgrown patch of gray whiskers on his chin thoughtfully.

“Looked to me like strawberry tart was doing all the talking, leading tall dark and creepy around by the nose. Man was more like a shadow, just looming over his shoulder all night.”

To Orin’s fascination, Ari’s face contorted into a pained expression, delicate fingers lifting to pinch the bridge of his nose as he shook his head with a quiet groan. Orin leaned in, keeping his voice low. “You alright, sweetheart?”

The groan gained volume at the same rate at which it gained consonants and vowels, morphing into a long drawn out “Thhhhheeeeeeoooooooo!”

Ari dropped his hand, clenching it into a fist as he muttered darkly. “Of all the—of course he would— I cannot believe this!”

Orin leaned back, still keeping his voice low. “You, uh, you alright, honey?”

Amos took the opportunity to wander away, drying a glass with a stained rag as he turned his attention to another patron.

Orin steered Ari to a table in the corner, keeping the wall at their backs with a good view of the door. When Ari dropped his head to the table without voicing a single concern for the cleanliness, Orin’s concern immediately doubled. He rubbed Ari’s back soothingly.

“Okay, baby. So we know he was here; that’s good. That’s something to go on. Seems he was doing just fine, too, to hear Amos tell it.”

Ari lifted his head and cuddled back into Orin’s arm, nodding thoughtfully.

“You’re right. Of course, you’re right. This is a good thing. For just a moment, I was afraid— You have been telling me all of this time that he had simply run away, and I never believed it. But no; I know my brother. He left that note. It is clearly an abduction.”

Orin nodded sympathetically, cupping his hand around Ari’s shoulder. A man at the next table turned to them with a snide leer, and Orin offered his best menacing stare, casually exposing his firearm with a shift of his coat. The man hastily found something fascinating at the bottom of his glass.

Ari scrubbed his hands over his face fitfully. “The thing is. My brother. He isn’t— He’s not like me.”

Orin made a vague gesture with the index finger of both hands that he immediately regretted. “You mean, like with men?”

Ari turned to goggle at him, as if Orin had suddenly developed a crisp Britannia accent. Fair enough, after that unfortunate gesture.

He shook his head slowly. “No. Not with. No. If anything, Theo has always been more accepting of that aspect of his nature.”

Orin nodded, rolling his fingers into fists to keep them in check.

Ari continued, “I simply mean that Theo has what our mother always liked to call ‘the gift of gab.’ It would be fair to say Theo couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life. But, perhaps— Perhaps his inability to keep quiet has helped him through this ordeal, if what the barkeep was saying is true.”

Orin considered this as he draped his arm over Ari’s slumped shoulders. “Sounds about right. Must have a mighty big brain in his head if he’s anything like you. Using all he’s got as best he’s able.”

Aristotle pulled at the cuff of Orin’s coat, face downcast. “Do you— Do you think that he— After everything he said, about—about grabbing, do you think Theo has been forced to—to trade his virtue for his safety?” He lifted wounded eyes up to Orin.

Orin could say from experience that he would rather have faced the business end of a shotgun. Those baby greens ought to be illegal, glistening up at a man and seeming twice their size all of a sudden. Should think twice before swinging eyes like that around.

Might break something. Like Orin’s stupid heart.

He sighed, tucking Ari’s head into his shoulder and kissing his forehead, inhaling the herbal scent of his pomade. “I hope not, sugar. I surely hope not.”

Orin really didn’t want to tell him what he thought. Knowing what he did about the world of men, it was damn hard to be optimistic about a situation like that. But if Aristotle Campbell was getting beaten down by reality, it wasn’t going to be Orin that dealt the final blow.