Chapter Fifteen

ARTHUR CURLS ONE leg beneath himself and clicks to another channel. He stretches it out and bends the other. There’s a twinge in his side, so he tilts himself, shifting the pressure on his back. He changes the channel and stretches the other leg out as well. He bends them both. “This is stupid,” he mutters. “There’s no reason to be here.”

A nurse comes in a half hour later. She checks the bandage, tsking. “You’re moving too much.”

“I’m just sitting here.”

“Fidgeting. You think I can’t hear the rustling from the hallway?”

“Hm.”

“Hm all you like but sit still. You need to let your body rest.”

Arthur nods, and she leaves him alone. Another hour passes. Kit still isn’t back. He unlocks his phone and opens the messages app. He stares at it. He opens the thread with Kit and scrolls to the top, then rereads all their conversation to this point. “Just…be normal,” he tells himself. He types, Where are you? He deletes it. He types, Why aren’t you back yet? He deletes that too. He types, Did Cooper get lost? He hits send.

He locks the phone.

He unlocks the phone.

He locks the phone.

He taps the phone screen and looks at the time. He stares at it until the minute changes. His side hurts. The nurses should be giving him another dose of pain medication any minute. Arthur dislikes pain medication. His grandmother had a morphine addiction in the late 1940s and ’50s. She struggled with opioids until her death—before it was a thing. Hipster addiction. He knows they also have him on something to prevent infection. He peels apart the hospital gown and inspects the bandage. It looks clean. He looks at his phone. Another minute passes. He isn’t even on an IV. He looks at the window. The thick teal curtains are pulled back to reveal a clear evening sky.

Arthur stands up. It aches, but it isn’t as bad as, say, a gunshot wound. Once, as a young man, he fractured his tibia. This is nothing like that at all. He picks up his phone and his wallet. He looks down. The hospital gown falls surprisingly low on his thighs. He makes sure the tie is secure, and he peeks out of the room.

The nurses’ station is at the end of the hallway. There are two nurses, and neither looks in his direction. He walks past them and calls the elevator. His phone is still dark. He hits the ground floor button and remembers he doesn’t have a car. “Fuck.” He opens the app store and contemplates downloading a rideshare app. He closes it and decides to hail a cab instead. I think there are still taxis.

He glares at anyone who looks too conversational, and he walks out of the hospital.

There are still taxis. It smells like pine tree air freshener and toilet bowl cleaner. If the driver thinks the hospital gown is unusual, he doesn’t say. Arthur assumes he’s too busy seeing what speed he can reach between stoplights.

Arthur is slowly climbing the stairs to his apartment when the phone finally rings. “Arthur! Where are you?”

“Where the hell are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m in your hospital room, and you are not here. What the fuck? They’re looking everywhere for you!”

“I came home to get clothes and my truck so I can go find you.”

“What?”

“You didn’t respond to my message, so I thought…” He sighs and leans against his door. It’s freshly painted a bright white, which makes the trim look even dingier. “You’re okay.”

“Yes, I’m okay. You didn’t even call! What the hell, Arthur? One text message? And I have food, but you’re not here, so I’m just going to eat it with Coop.”

“What? No.”

“You didn’t even check yourself out.”

“It’s not a hotel; it’s a hospital.”

“Yeah, and there are things you’re supposed to do before you leave, Arthur. I think. To be…discharged.”

“The doctor said she would restrain me if I tried to leave.”

“They can’t actually do that. I don’t think. Actually, can they do that? I mean, I know they do it on TV—”

“I don’t know. I left anyway.”

“I can see that.” Kit laughs.

“Mm.”

“Well, I guess we’ll come to your apartment. Your doctor is pissed.”

“Mm.”

“See you soon.”

The broken end table sends a surge of adrenaline through Arthur’s body. He goes into his room and pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. He wonders if Kit is still wearing his clothes or if he changed at his place. He remembers the sight of Ward’s gun pressed to his head.

He wonders if Kit packed more clothes to bring over. Maybe he’ll want me to go over there instead. He pushes down the thought. He probably wants to be alone. Still, this is nowhere near finished. He’s going to need to be protected… He washes his face and tries not to think. He tries not to think about Kit not needing him after this is all done.

 

SINGH AND COOPER stay late into the night, drinking Arthur’s beer and listening to Kit’s stories. Most of Kit’s pictures are attempts at artistic shots of buffet tables, champagne bubbles, and sunsets, but some have people. The selfies prove the most useful: a few show a blurry Kit in the foreground with party guests in the background. “He’s a federal judge now,” Singh says of one.

“Oh look,” Cooper says, zooming in on another.

“God, my hair looked fantastic,” Kit says. “And he’s an enormous prick.”

Even better is the metadata. The pictures have dates and times. “You all have more flight records?” Singh asks. “Or any evidence he was moving people around these times as well?”

Arthur nods. “Between what you got from Dom and Micah’s digging, we have quite a bit.”

“All right. I’m going to start writing. Send me everything you can. I’m interviewing Miss Duncan and your friend Jamie tomorrow.”

“Miss Duncan?” Arthur asks. “Oh, Hattie. Right. Sorry.”

Singh rolls her eyes.

 

KIT PUSHES ARTHUR onto the bed, and he sits on the edge. He reaches up and loops his fingers through Kit’s belt loops, stifling a yawn.

“You’re exhausted,” Kit says. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Good,” Arthur growls.

Kit shivers. He peels his shirt over his head. “You need to rest.” He closes his eyes as Arthur slides his hand up his chest. He leans down, offering himself to Arthur’s hands. “And I smell bad.”

Arthur pulls him close and presses his face to Kit’s stomach. “Wrong.”

“On which point?”

“Both. But you should take a shower.”

“Are you allowed to take a shower?”

“I have waterproof bandages.”

“You do?” He rolls his eyes. “What am I thinking? Of course you do. You carry a gun.”

“Needed them more when I worked construction.”

“You were that clumsy?”

Arthur glares at him, and he just grins. He kisses him. “I’m going to take a shower,” he whispers. “You need to rest.”

Arthur sighs. Kit unzips his jeans and lets them drop to the floor. He keeps his boxer briefs on and walks to the bathroom.

 

THE WATERPROOF BANDAGES are in a kitchen drawer, and Arthur digs them out as the water runs in the background. Fortunately, the wound isn’t very wide; the bandages will work fine. He showers after Kit, and it does make him feel more human.

When he finishes, he finds Kit already asleep. He gingerly slides in beside him and lets the tension drain away.

 

KIT MAKES WAFFLES. “I have a waffle iron?” Arthur asks.

“I brought it.”

“You probably have a lot of things I don’t have…”

Kit sets down his coffee mug. “Um. Uh, since Michael is…you know…I should go home, shouldn’t I?” He chews on his lip.

“If Jameson suspects anything…he might send someone to keep you quiet.”

“Doesn’t he know where you live, too, though?” Kit’s eyes flash. “Oh. I have the best idea.”

Arthur narrows his eyes. “Hmm.”

“We should hide.”

“We were here last night, and nothing happened.”

“Well, the apartment either is a risk or it isn’t,” Kit argues.

“True…”

“Terri has this house across the bay, and sometimes we film there. And, even better, we still have a few scenes to record. So, we could stay there and I could work. Everyone could work.”

“That is…” Arthur shakes his head. Absurd. Ridiculous. Completely unnecessary. Excessive. “What do you—”

“Well, Maurice said he didn’t want filming to continue… I think he meant at the warehouse, right? I mean, it’s easy to put together a skeleton crew at Terri and Nic’s villa.”

“Villa?”

“It’s…nice.”

“You know they’re just as likely to track us there as they are to find us here or at your apartment.”

“Well, at least she has a security system installed. I mean, it isn’t like they’ve had much difficulty breaking in here or at my place.”

 

“THAT IS THE dumbest idea I’ve ever heard. Do you need backup?” Cooper asks.

“I think I’d rather you make sure Singh is safe.”

“Dom sent a few of his people over. We’re just here keeping track of Jameson.”

“We?”

“Uh, yeah. Me and Aiden. Listening in.”

“Hmm. Is he trying to get a job or something?”

“No… I mean, I don’t think so. He’s just…really helpful.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Shut up. Anyway, we can come if you need, you know, extra eyes.”

Arthur sighs. “Honestly, it isn’t a terrible idea.”

“No, no, the whole thing is a terrible idea. I don’t know why you’re doing it. Can’t the filming just wait until he’s arrested?”

“Apparently, they have to fly people in, do blood tests, coordinate a bunch of stuff, rent props. And it’s gig work, so if it gets canceled, people don’t get paid. Did you know they have this huge database that gives people the green light to work or not?”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense. But wouldn’t they get an insurance payout to still pay everyone?”

“I don’t know. Probably. You’re looking for logic, and I think it’s misguided.” Arthur grits his teeth as Kit pulls off the bandage adhesive.

“Sorry,” Kit whispers. He examines the wound as if he has any idea what to look for. “It looks…a little better.”

“It’s too early to be better.”

“Send me the address,” Cooper says. “How many days should we pack for? Is there a pool?”

“Bye, Cooper.” Arthur ends the call.

“There is a pool.” Kit smooths his finger across the red marks from the adhesive. He watches Arthur’s nipples harden. “Sensitive?” he murmurs.

“Mm.”

“‘It’s too early to be better,’” he quotes. “So, you have to behave.” He chuckles. “My turn to say that now.”

Arthur pouts, but he lets Kit carry their duffel bags to the truck, and he makes him drive.

 

THERESE’S VILLA IS surrounded by a high fence. Kit punches a code into the gate, and it opens. The drive is narrow and needlessly curved to showcase the landscaping. The house is a mix of Mediterranean stucco and modern glass. Nicole meets them at the door. “Kitty, I’m so relieved you’re okay,” she says with a kiss to each cheek. She lowers her voice. “Terri has been so worried about you both, though she’ll try to hide it.” She leads them to a suite. “Make yourselves at home. Arthur, that means the kitchen, the theatre, everything.”

“Theatre?”

She grins. “Enjoy. We’ll be…around. Kit, do you think you’ll be ready later today or do you need another day or two?”

“If you’ve got something, I’ll be ready to go later. I know we’re already behind schedule.”

“I think I have something perfect.” She lifts an eyebrow. “Look in the top drawer. I’ll make it happen.” She closes the door behind her.

Kit opens the drawer and lets out a throaty hum of a laugh. “Fun,” he says. He pulls out something sheer and black.

“What is that?”

“Oh, I’d hate to spoil the surprise.”

Arthur sits on the edge of the bed. “Mm.”

Kit brushes his hair back and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll make sure you have a good seat.”

 

ARTHUR DOESN’T FOLLOW any sort of narrative. They’re in the living room—one of the living rooms—and he watches from the corner. The setup is intimate: Therese and Nicole behind a camera with lights rigged on the side. A pair of screens show feeds from a large stationary camera and a smaller portable camera, and Arthur has a view of them as well as the scene. A well-dressed man with a shaved head and a beard sits on a low sofa, waiting.

Kit enters from around the corner and Arthur sucks in a breath. “Cut. No, Kit, do it again. Arthur, if you can’t stay quiet, you can’t be here,” Therese scolds him. Kit walks away, and it’s almost worse from the back. Arthur covers his mouth and keeps himself quiet.

Kit wears a sort of black bodysuit. It’s sheer and tight, and Arthur can tell he’s already semihard, but he can’t quite make out the details. He can see the shadow of his body hair beneath the black netting or nylon or mesh—Arthur doesn’t know what it is, exactly, but it looks like it would come apart in his hands if he ripped it. I want to see it ripped open. He tries to keep his body still. The image stirs his body, and he thinks the pain isn’t bad, and it’s entirely worth it.

Kit poses for the man. “Turn around,” the man says, and Kit obeys. “Spread your legs.” He stares for a moment. “Bend over.” Kit goes slow, teasing him.

Nicole takes the small camera and carries it around for a close-up. Arthur watches on the screen as Kit reaches back and squeezes his ass. He pulls himself apart and slides a finger down the middle, then rubs each globe. He spanks himself, and his flesh jiggles with the force. Arthur bites down on a knuckle and doesn’t touch himself.

“Do it again,” the man says, and Kit spanks himself again with a shaky breath. He stands up, steps behind Kit, and slides a hand along his back. He grips his neck and pulls back his head, then spanks him hard, twice. Kit moans, and the camera zooms in to see his skin redden beneath the fabric. The man slides his hand up from Kit’s throat and lifts a finger. Kit sucks it into his mouth. “Yeah, show me how you want to suck on it.” He spanks him on the other cheek. “Just like that.”

When Kit stands up, his cock strains against the bodysuit. The man turns him around and presses him down to his knees. He undoes his pants, and Kit licks his lips, then goes to work. The small camera gets a close-up of Kit’s lips and spit-slick fist as it strokes. The man pulls off his shirt. His chest is smooth, with defined muscle. He watches Kit and holds his head, directing their movements. He pulls out and thrusts deep and slow a few times. Kit rocks up and down, and the bodysuit clings to his ass and thighs. Arthur’s fingertips twitch. The man is enjoying it, but Arthur wants to see Kit’s face overcome with pleasure instead.

Finally, the man pulls Kit to his feet. He slides his hands over his body, toying with the suit. “Sit,” says the man, and Kit does. “Spread your legs.” He runs his hands up and down Kit’s thighs, then toys with him through the fabric. “You’re so hard from sucking me. Look at the way you’re leaking all over yourself. Turn over.” Kit positions himself so he’s bent over on the sofa. “Good.” He spanks him again, and Kit moans, then pushes back into it. “Let’s see this.” He grips the fabric and tears it, exposing the skin beneath.

Arthur tilts his head up and breathes. He stays quiet. He’s vaguely worried his pants are going to rub his erection raw. He can’t feel pain in his side, because his arousal commands all his attention.

The man rubs the reddened skin, and Kit rocks back against his hand. The man reaches back up to Kit’s face. “Here,” he says, “put this in your mouth.” Kit turns to suck his thumb, and his eyes find Arthur’s. He smiles around it, and the man pulls it back and rubs the spit into Kit’s skin and pushes, just a little, against Kit’s rim.

Kit moans. “I want it,” he says, looking first into Arthur’s eyes and then at his erection.

The man spits onto Kit’s ass. He presses his thumb to it. Kit’s mouth falls open as it pushes in. “Is this what you want?”

Kit nods, rocking himself back. “Mmm, yes.” He pulses, and his face changes as he adjusts to the intrusion. He bites down on his lip and looks at Arthur. “More,” he urges, arching his back. Arthur watches without touching himself. He watches Kit’s face as his breath leaves him. He watches the man sweat as he fingers him.

“All right,” Therese says. “Let’s get the front.”

The man moves to a sitting position, and Kit lies beside him in an elegant sprawl. He pulls at the torn edge of the bodysuit and rips it further, opening access to his cock.

Kit smirks. He stands up and faces the man. “Now,” Kit says, and something in his voice shifts. “Get on your knees.”

The man gulps. He nods and sinks onto the floor. Kit stands over him, torn lingerie and sweat-damp hair. The man stares up at him with wide eyes, and Arthur feels like he’s going to lose it in his jeans. If there was any doubt who controls this scene, it disappears. Kit doesn’t even need to tell him to suck his cock. The man obeys without an order.

Kit fucks him on the floor on his hands and knees. The man shakes beneath him, reduced to breathy noises. He comes only when Kit gives him permission.

 

ARTHUR DRAWS A bath for Kit. Kit sprinkles salts into it and sinks in with a sigh. “You sure you can’t join me?” Kit asks.

“I wish.” Arthur sits on the edge instead, with his feet in the water. He scoops water up over Kit’s shoulders, watching his skin turn pink.

“You liked it?” Kit asks.

“Mm.” He wets Kit’s hair.

“Which part did you like best?”

“I like watching you come,” he says.

“That’s an easy answer. Other than watching me come.”

“Sometimes, it looks like you feel so good you forget where you are.”

“Does it?”

“Mm.”

“Or does it look like I’m imagining I’m with someone else?”

“Are you?”

“Not always. But even when I feel good, I always know where I am. I always know it’s a show.” Arthur shampoos his hair. “It’s a performance, but it’s an enjoyable performance.” He leans against Arthur’s knee.

“Always?”

“It feels a little different with you watching. It’s still a performance, but it’s a performance for you.”

“Hm. And what about when the cameras are gone?”

Kit’s hand finds the top of his foot. “That’s… I think that’s something else entirely.”

Arthur smiles. He cups water and rinses Kit’s hair. “Good,” he says. “Good.”

“You know, you’re the one who’s injured. I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

“You are.”