Beijing, China—1981

In the days to follow, Desmond really didn't know what to believe. This guy, whom he only met a month prior during a fight, spared his life and whisked him off to China. He even did an elaborate cover-up to make it appear that Desmond was dead.

Either Desmond was the luckiest son of a bitch in town, or Budd and his brother Bill were cooking up some bad shit. Whatever the case, Desmond tried to stay as alert as possible. But given that he felt like he was hit by a bus, it was difficult to be on the defensive.

Desmond awoke with a start when Budd, Bill and a stoic Chinese man stormed into his room the next morning.

"Good, you're awake," said Bill. "This is Dr. Chen. He's going to make sure you're in working condition."

"I don't know what your little brother told you, but I'm in great shape," said Desmond.

"Despite your exceptional skills, you didn't take good care of yourself, Desmond," said Bill. "Take your shirt off, cowboy, and let the good doctor work his mojo."


Either the acupuncturist's mojo was off, or Desmond really pissed him off.

He laid face down shirtless. Is it supposed to hurt like a motherfucker? Why stifle his curiosity?

"Is it supposed to hurt like a motherfucker?" yelled Desmond over his shoulder to Budd.

The Chinese acupuncturist applying the needles gave Budd a bewildered look.

"Are you getting soft on me, Des? They're just needles," said Budd dismissively.

"Asshole," muttered Desmond to himself.

"I heard that motherfucker," said Budd.

"Tell me, what elaborate bullshit was spun to your brother?" asked Desmond.

"I didn't spin anything. I told him the truth," said Budd. "I said you'd be a good recruit, seeing as you held your own against me."

"You sure know how to make a guy feel appreciated," said Desmond.

"Maybe next time I'll send you a dozen roses," replied Budd.

"No need. This guy has all the thorns," said Desmond. He winced from the next needle.

"I think he's had enough," said Desmond to the acupuncturist.

The acupuncturist didn't say a word. He packed up and silently left the room.

"Flip over," commanded Budd.

"Why? You want to stick some needles in my eyes," said Desmond, as he rolled over.

Desmond wasn't expecting Budd to start rubbing eucalyptus oil on his chest.

"It's supposed to help you relax," said Budd.

"Okay," said Desmond, as he caught his breath.

Budd rubbed in circles, and traced his hand over Desmond's collarbone.

"All right," said Budd, "You should be all set."

Desmond rolled to his side.

"Don't tell me that hurt too," said Budd.

"No…I just need a moment," said Desmond, as he used his leg to conceal his erection.

"Well, don't take too long. We'll eat some grub, and then we got some sparing practice."


The mission still went wrong, even after the months of preparation. The intel underestimated the gang. Crazy 88 is a myth. Budd and Desmond barely made it out alive, stepping over the bodies of their fellow comrades.

Budd had to drag Desmond away from the fight. In anger, Desmond punched Budd in the face.

"I don't back down!" yelled Desmond.

"You will tonight. That's an order!" barked Budd back.

They went to the safe house to regroup. Bill wouldn't be pleased with how it all turned out. Yet, even Bill couldn't cut the tension that simmered between Desmond and Budd.

"Speak your mind," said Budd. "You've been giving me the stink eye since we bolted."

"I could've decimated them. But you interrupted me!" yelled Desmond.

"Stop the tough guy act. They would've diced you into little pieces. I saved your ass," responded Budd.

"I've been fighting long before you hijacked me. I don't need this shit from you, and I don't need to be working for your snake-oil brother either."

Budd balled his fists. "You have a big fucking mouth. One of these days, somebody's going to shut it real good for you."

Desmond stared down Budd. "Stop pretending that you haven't studied it closely."

Budd got in Desmond's face: "I should send you back."

"Fine," replied Desmond, "I'll hitchhike all the way to the U.S. if I need to."

He pushed Budd, but Budd grabbed Desmond's arms by the elbows. Desmond could've escaped Budd's grasp easily, but he didn't want to break free.

Budd stared deeply in Desmond's eyes. He moved close to Desmond's right ear: "Please…don't talk about leaving."

Desmond looked at Budd. He could see the longing in Budd's features. He wanted to comfort Budd, and he knew just how to do it. Desmond leaned forward and kissed Budd.

For a moment, he expected Budd to strike him. Instead, Budd sighed with bliss. He wrapped his arms hungrily around Desmond and it felt so right.

Every time Budd had gone with a woman, he rushed the experience to get rid of the pit in his stomach. But this time, he wanted to prolong each touch. He feared that it might be the only time they'd have this chance.

With each button unfastened, Budd traced Desmond's skin with soft kisses. For a man with such calloused knuckles, his gentleness was uncharacteristic. Budd knew that he wouldn't break Desmond, but he wanted to…what was the word…cherish him? Was Budd even capable of that?

Desmond savored the attention that Budd was giving him. They eventually collapsed to the floor in a strong embrace. Yet, their lovemaking didn't last too long.

After their taut bodies quivered with pleasure, they held each other desperately—as each man's breathing crescendo ceased.

Budd's head swam in euphoria. Before tonight, Budd thought the most honorable way of death was in battle. But if he could die right now, in the comfort of Desmond's arms, Budd would do so.

"I'm never good with words. I don't want to ruin this, but…"

"I love you too stupid ass," finished Desmond. Budd grinned with his eyes closed, as Desmond nestled Budd's head against his chest.

Don't fuck this up Budd thought. He was obviously lying to himself. He was going to fuck it all up.