Chapter Twelve

Mitchell glanced down at the gun pointed at him. He’d never felt anything so terrifying as the cold metal pressed into his stomach. Now, his brain raced through all the possibilities that could happen to him and Sammi.

They all came down to one thing. Him dead. Sammi gone. Because no way was this goon letting Mitchell go alive, even if they had Sammi. Donovan had to be some sick fucker, a sociopath or psychopath if he was this obsessed about Sammi.

And if he was, would there be any way to reason with him? How could Donovan make Sammi stay with him without doing anything short of kidnapping and holding him as a prisoner?

What was he thinking? They were already in the middle of a fucking kidnapping. Sammi being a prisoner was only a step away. As for Mitchell? A shudder ran through him.

Mitchell had felt Sammi’s fear. It had filled him in those moments when this gorilla had found them, but now the tide of that fear had receded. Mitchell wasn’t sure if that was good or not.

He didn’t know much, but he understood in perfect clarity his life was in jeopardy. He’d stumbled into something that he knew nothing about, but it involved Sammi and the man Donovan.

Drugs? He’d never seen any sign of drugs on Sammi and he didn’t have money—that was for certain.

Information? Certainly not computer info. Sammi seemed clueless about that sort of thing. But there were different types of info. Maybe Sammi knew something about Donovan that could ruin the man. Something he’d seen in the penthouse?

A murder? A surge of fear ran through Mitchell. Had Sammi been involved in a murder? Witnessed one? If it had been a murder, why keep Sammi alive? Why not just kill him and dump his body somewhere to be found later?

Questions tumbled in Mitchell’s head. The fading of Sammi’s connection bothered him.

He glanced out of the window as the car turned east on Westheimer and headed toward River Oaks, some of the most expensive real estate in Houston. Big money, big estates, big names. They turned at a high-rise glass building and followed the curving drive. With a sudden dip, the car plunged into a dark underground parking lot.

Bert parked the Mercedes in a numbered slot.

“We’re going upstairs. No sudden movements. Bert, take Sammi.” Moretti waved his gun.

“Sure, Moretti.”

“Collins. Get out. Slow and easy.”

Now, at least, Mitchell knew the gorilla’s name. Moretti. Sounded like a mafia hit man. Dressed like one, too. Mitchell slid across the seat and exited the car. Bert hopped out and trotted around, then removed Sammi, pulling him by the arm.

“Let’s go. To the elevators. If anyone makes a sound, they’re dead.” Mitchell didn’t doubt it at all.

Their small group headed toward the elevators. Mitchell led with Moretti behind him, the gun pressed into his back. Sammi and Bert walked side-by-side, Bert’s hand on Sammi’s shoulder. At the elevator, Bert pushed the button. Mitchell wondered if Bert’s only job was to drive the car and push the elevator buttons. A giggled threatened to pop out of his mouth.

God, he was going off the deep end. He clamped his lips together, his teeth too.

The doors opened. Sammi hung back as Moretti and Mitchell got in.

“It’s going to be okay, Sammi.” Mitchell wanted to say something to comfort Sammi, not sure if even he believed it.

Sammi didn’t answer.

“Get in.” Bert pushed him forward. Sammi hesitated, then stepped over the threshold and closed his eyes.

Bert got in, turned and, of course, pushed the top button. It had a lighted capital P in the middle of the circle. They were going to the penthouse, just like Sammi had talked about.

The ride stopped and started as people got on and off. The men had moved to the rear of the elevator to give the other riders room. Moretti’s gun, a steady pressure in Mitchell’s back, was hidden from view.

Any hope of help from the passengers died as each got off and no one said a word.

After the twenty-first floor, no one else got on and they had the elevator to themselves.

“Donovan has missed you, Sammi.” Moretti snorted. “Did you miss him?”

Sammi’s eyes had been closed ever since they’d gotten into the car, as if he were too frightened to open them. He stood silent and rigid against the opposite corner from Mitchell.

“Are you all right, Sammi?” Mitchell wanted to hold Sammi, give him some comfort, but there was no way Moretti was going to allow that to happen.

Sammi didn’t answer. Not in words or in thoughts. Not good. As if in slow motion, Sammi brought his thumb to his mouth and chewed on it. At least he could move.

After a soft ding, the doors opened. Across from the elevators was a large antique table with a fresh flower arrangement on it. Mitchell and Sammi were pushed toward the far side of the foyer to a door with a brass A on it. At the other end of the foyer was another door that wore a brass B.

Moretti ran a card key through the lock. The light turned green and the lock clicked. He pushed down on the handle and opened the door.

Mitchell figured whatever happened now, at least he’d find out who Donovan was and why he wanted Sammi so badly.

 

Sammi swallowed his fear.

The burger he’d eaten for dinner rose in his throat again as his stomach rolled. He’d hoped to never come back here again, never see Donovan again. Hoped to escape being sold to another owner, forced to give his body to someone who used him like a possession, not a human being.

He’d been so stupid to think he could ever escape.

He couldn’t fight the purging of his stomach. He rushed to the garbage can in the corner, fell to his knees and puked up everything. Mitchell tried to go to him, but Moretti held him back at gun point as he laughed.

“I’ll bet you’re scared as shit.”

“Sammi, are you okay?” Mitchell’s voice wavered.

Sammi spat wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie and stood. He walked to the center of the large room and stopped. Donovan was nowhere in sight.

“Wait here. Donovan will see you soon.”

He glanced toward the closed door to Donovan’s office, then to the partially open door of what used to be his bedroom. He forced himself to look at the closet door. It floated on a long stretch of blank wall painted the color of a pumpkin. It appeared so innocent, so harmless.

Just a door.

Sammi wondered if the door to hell was red.

His hell door was white and came with a deadbolt on the outside.

He turned his gaze to the wall of glass. When he’d first come to the penthouse, Sammi had been entranced by the view over the lights of Houston. Until it had become the only view of Houston he’d been allowed to see. His brief escape had only made his desire for freedom stronger, and the time he’d spent with Mitchell had given him only a taste of a life he’d never believed he could live. Of the man he’d never dreamed he could be.

Moretti pushed Mitchell forward to stand next to Sammi. He fought to remain calm and keep his emotions reined in. The link between him and Mitchell had grown so strong that if he’d shut it off all of a sudden, Mitchell would have known it right away. Sammi had slowly been closing it and cutting himself off from the man he loved in a desperate attempt to shield him from Donovan’s wrath. But something felt odd, a weakness grew within Sammi, sapping his strength as the link between him and Mitchell narrowed.

Life-force.

This wasn’t good. Not now. Their life-forces were entwined along with their bonded souls. He should have known, but like most of the things he knew about his power, he’d discovered them as he went. He didn’t have anyone to ask about his power.

Otis had called that kind of learning hands-on training.

This was completely new and Sammi had no idea what was going to happen when Donovan put him on the plane to his new owner.

Would the separation kill him or Mitchell, or both of them?

“Sammi, are you all right?” Mitchell reached for Sammi’s hand.

Sammi moved it away and chewed his thumb to keep from answering. Everything would depend on what happened when Donovan appeared.

“Sammi?” Mitchell sounded as if he’d given up on reaching Sammi.

Good. Maybe Mitchell realized the danger he was in and would keep quiet and not cause any trouble. All Sammi wanted right now was for Mitchell to be safe and unhurt.

Moretti picked up the house phone and pressed the button to Donovan’s office. He smirked and Sammi hated him. Hated both him and Donovan.

“Donovan. I found him.” Moretti listened, then hung up.

There was a long moment where time and Sammi’s heart stopped.

Then the door opened.

 

Mitchell turned as a large man dressed in a charcoal grey suit, like an ordinary businessman, stepped out of the study. In an older man sort of way, he could even be called attractive. Frameless glasses highlighted icy-blue eyes that held no hint of warmth. Mitchell guessed his deep tan was sprayed on or from a tanning bed. However, Donovan’s most striking feature was his thick, silver hair worn brushed straight back and long to just below his ears.

All in all, Mitchell could see what had drawn Sammi to Donovan. His wealth must have seemed like heaven to Sammi, who’d had so little. Donovan was clearly worldly and seductive, and that must have appealed to Sammi. And the man oozed power. Sammi had been a moth to a bright light in the darkness.

How hadn’t Sammi seen the monster hidden beneath? Sammi was so young and in his own way, innocent. No, more naïve.

But Donovan couldn’t hide the hardness of his expression and coldness of his eyes from Mitchell. Mitchell could see the calculations Donovan made as the tightness around his mouth grew tighter and his cheeks tinted with the barest touch of pink.

Donovan was a very dangerous man. And he was very pissed.

“Sammi. Sweetheart. I’m so glad you’ve returned, although I’m not happy that I had to waste so much time and effort to find you.” He approached Sammi, almost in a glide, and faced him.

Sammi didn’t move a muscle, just stood still as Donovan stepped up, casting a shadow over Sammi’s smaller body. Until Donovan had stood next to Sammi, Mitchell hadn’t realized how big the man was. He wasn’t bulky, but tall, and filled in, not lanky, somewhere between Mitchell and, say, Brian.

Mitchell might have beaten Donovan in a fist fight, maybe, but Sammi, unless he knew karate or something like that, would have been outsized and outweighed against Donovan. And neither he nor Sammi could stand up against Moretti and his gun, so fighting their way out of this wasn’t an option. Mitchell doubted the odds had been any better for Sammi before he ran away.

Reaching out a finger, Donovan stroked Sammi’s cheek. Mitchell’s abs clenched as he watched Donovan touch Sammi. He fought the urge to strike out and knock his hand from Sammi.

Donovan swung around and faced Mitchell, his frown no longer restrained.

“As for you, Mr. Collins, I’m very unhappy with you. I asked for Sammi’s return and you denied me. I don’t like being denied what’s mine.”

Somehow Mitchell’s tongue unglued.

“You talk like you have some sort of right to Sammi. He’s not your property to buy and sell. He doesn’t want to stay with you any longer, don’t you get it?”

Moretti moved to Mitchell’s side, but the gun was holstered. He didn’t stand a chance against all three men, because Bert still lounged near the elevators.

Donovan laughed. “I see Sammi has been up to his old tricks, haven’t you, sweetheart?” He walked behind Sammi. Reaching over Sammi’s shoulder, Donovan cupped Sammi’s chin. “That was very naughty of you.” He ran his tongue over Sammi’s cheek, his cold stare leveled at Mitchell. “I suppose you met in a bar. That’s usually where Sammi picks up his marks.”

Mitchell flicked his gaze to Sammi.

Donovan smiled. “Yes, well. Then, he told you what you wanted to do to him and I’m sure you wanted to do many things to my little Sammi.” Another caress of his hand on Sammi’s cheek. Mitchell couldn’t stand it, but Sammi didn’t flinch, didn’t react to it at all.

“So we met in a bar, so what?” Mitchell shrugged.

“He used you, Collins, just like he used the other men he stayed with the other nights since he’d run away from me.”

“What are you talking about?” Mitchell got a sick feeling in the pit of his gut.

“That’s what he does, Collins. He used those other men, just like he used you. To hide from me, because he knew I’d find him and make him come home.”

Mitchell faced Sammi.

Sammi swallowed. “Yes, I used you to hide from Donovan.”

“Damn it, Sammi.” Mitchell ran his hand over his face. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were in trouble? I still would have protected you, no matter what.”

Donovan laughed. “That’s so noble of you, Collins. Really. But wasted on our little boy-toy.”

Mitchell frowned and glared at Donovan. “Don’t call him that. He’s not a toy.”

“Oh, but he is. He’s a very good toy. Has the most extraordinary abilities when it comes to sex. I’m sure you’ve felt them? Did he know what you wanted or was thinking? Did he do all the right things to please you? Sammi knows how to use his powers. Did you know Sammi’s been a whore since he was sixteen? He worked the streets until I found him and brought him here when he was twenty.”

Mitchell’s glare deepened. It didn’t matter what Donovan said, even if it was the truth.

“You don’t believe me?” Donovan chuckled. “You’re a whore, aren’t you, Sammi?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Say it, Sammi.”

“I’m a whore.” No emotion came out in Sammi’s tone of voice. He spoke like a robot and it sickened Mitchell.

“And the only thing he’s good for is fucking.” Donovan twisted his lips.

“That’s not true, you son of a bitch! Sammi. It’s not true. You’re more than what he tells you.”

“Sammi belongs to me, Collins. He’s mine.”

“How can you say that? You don’t own him.” Mitchell clenched his fists and Moretti took a step closer, his hand on his gun.

“I do own him. From the top of his head to the tip of his perfect cock, I own him.” Donovan stepped behind Sammi again. Once he wrapped his arms around Sammi, he tugged Sammi’s T-shirt up to expose his belly and chest, and with the other hand, he teased Sammi’s nipple with a flick of his finger. It pebbled in response.

Sammi didn’t flinch.

“See? Sammi is trained to respond to sexual stimulation, no matter who it is. Oh, Sammi hates me, I promise you. But watch.” His hand dipped down Sammi’s belly and flicked open the button of his jeans. “He reacts. Like a trained dog.”

Donovan ran his hand over Sammi’s crotch. As Sammi’s cock hardened, Mitchell jerked his head away and swallowed. He didn’t want to see this…manipulation of Sammi and his emotions. It was so wrong, to treat a person this way.

What had Donovan done to Sammi?

Sammi closed his eyes and he moaned. Damn, it was just like the sweet sounds he’d made when they’d made love. Mitchell couldn’t stand it. The anger coiled in him and the burst out.

“Stop it! Don’t touch him!”

“He’s mine, Collins. Take my advice. Forget about him. Sammi’s nothing but trouble for you.” Donovan gave Moretti a tilt of his head and Moretti stepped up to Mitchell.

He didn’t see the gorilla swing. Moretti buried his fist deep in Mitchell’s stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. Mitchell groaned and doubled over as he clutched his belly.

Sammi echoed Mitchell’s groan, his gaze flicking to Mitchell, bent over.

“I won’t leave without Sammi.” Mitchell grunted as he struggled to drag air back in his lungs.

Moretti grabbed the back of Mitchell’s shirt and brought his knee up hard into Mitchell’s gut. Mitchell’s feet left the floor for a second, then he crumpled to the ground on one knee, bent over and gasping as pain radiated through his belly and chest. He’d been hit before in college, playing football, but this was different. The big, bald bastard had a fist of steel.

Sammi groaned again and swayed as if he were going to faint, but Donovan caught him, his big fist encircling his upper arms to steady him.

Moretti laughed. “I’ve been waiting for this, you fucking faggot.”

“I’m not a faggot,” Mitchell bit out as he tried to stand. He hated that word and he used that anger to get to his feet.

Moretti hit him again, this time a punch to the chin, as soon as he got upright, and knocked him flat onto his back. Mitchell sprawled on the floor, stars shooting behind his eyelids.

“Give it up, Collins. Sammi is mine. Would you believe him if he told you?”

Mitchell rolled on his side and blinked up at Sammi in Donovan’s arms.

“He’d never say that.” He closed his eyes and opened himself to Sammi. There was nothing. It was gone. An emptiness unlike anything he’d ever known filled his mind. His connection, his bond with Sammi had been broken.

“Sammi. I can’t feel you.”

Sammi’s eyes closed.

“Tell me you don’t love me, Sammi. Tell me and I’ll go.” Mitchell rose to his hands and knees.

Sammi’s eyes flickered, then opened. “I’m sorry, but I don’t love you. I used you to hide from Donovan, and that was wrong. I see that now.” He turned his head and lowered his voice as he spoke to Donovan. “If you let him go, don’t hurt him, I won’t give you any trouble anymore.”

Donovan’s eyes gleamed. “That’s much better.” He snapped his fingers. “Get him up, Moretti.”

Moretti grabbed Mitchell by the front of his clothes and pulled him to his feet. Mitchell had to grab hold of Moretti’s wrist to steady himself.

“Just one more, boss.” Moretti’s arm cranked back and he slugged Mitchell in the face.

Mitchell’s nose broke. Blood gushed and poured down his chin and neck and dripped onto his shirt. He bled like a stuck pig. The pain stunned him, but not enough to keep him from shouting at his attacker. “Fuck you!” He cradled his broken nose in his hands.

Sammi screamed and clutched his nose. Moretti turned to him. “What the fuck?”

Donovan straightened. “What’s going on? Did you hit him?”

Blood streamed from Sammi’s nose. He moaned, swayed on his feet, then collapsed.

A wave of pain hit Mitchell and he staggered as their bond returned and slammed into him like a Mack Truck with Moretti behind the wheel.

Moretti swung his head from Mitchell to Sammi and back. “Shit, no! You were right there. I never fucking touched him. He just started bleeding,”

Donovan’s gaze traveled between Mitchell and Sammi also and his eyes widened. The horror and fear in them were clear as day. Donovan understood what had happened between the two lovers.

“Son of a bitch!” He shook his head. “Moretti, whatever you do, don’t touch Collins—just get him out of here. Take him back to his house.” He turned to Mitchell. “Sammi told you he used you. Now forget about him.”

Moretti grabbed Mitchell as he started toward Sammi still lying on the floor. “Oh, no you don’t.” He swung him around, twisted his arm and marched him to the door. Sammi groaned at the same time as Mitchell.

“Get the elevator.” Bert rushed to open the door, checked the foyer, then called the elevator, his eyes wide.

At the door to the penthouse, Mitchell twisted around to get a last glimpse of Sammi. Donovan knelt next to him, holding a blood-soaked handkerchief to Sammi’s nose. Then, the door shut and they were in the foyer. Bert pressed the bell for the elevator over and over, as if that would make it come any faster. Moretti’s grip on Mitchell’s arm squeezed him like a vise.

What the hell had just happened? Mitchell could swear he had lost his bond with Sammi. There had been nothing, then it had come back in a rush. Bam! He closed his eyes and the world around him faded.

As the elevator dropped to the garage level he leaned back against the cool wall to steady himself. Everything hurt. Especially his heart. Sammi had admitted he didn’t love Mitchell and had just used him. It went against everything Mitchell had ever felt with Sammi, and he didn’t know if he believed it or not, but damn it, Mitchell’s heart felt as if it had been ripped from his chest. He wouldn’t believe it. How could he have been fooled so easily? How could they have been so close and he not know it was all a lie?

Maybe Donovan was right and Sammi was an expert at using men like Mitchell, lonely and hungry for love, but he didn’t want to believe it. It made a lie of everything that had passed between him and Sammi, and that thought almost broke him.

The doors opened and Moretti pushed Mitchell out. Mitchell stumbled, then caught himself. Moretti put a hand under his arm and moved him forward to the car.

Something wasn’t right. That last glimpse of Sammi lying on the floor pushed through Mitchell’s pain, as if he needed to remember something he was forgetting. It was just out of his reach, floating on the edge of his mind, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.

Sammi had collapsed at almost the same time as Mitchell, and Sammi’s nose was broken and bleeding, just like his. And Donovan had ordered Moretti to stop beating Mitchell.

How could that happen? Mitchell’s stomach did a flip as the truth came into focus.

Sammi and he were not just soul mates. They were more. Somehow, in some way that he couldn’t explain, their bodies and their lives were connected. Sammi had felt every blow Moretti had given Mitchell.

And if Mitchell knew that now, Sammi had known it before and had done what he did, and said what he’d said, in an effort to save Mitchell from Donovan.

Sammi had sacrificed himself to save Mitchell.