Grr . . . it took me forever to get this sent to my beta . . . sorry for the
wait, people, but it wasn't as long as the last one, now was it? Of course, this
chapter was mostly completed, I just had to put in the beginning and the
slightly steamier ending and ship it off. My grounded status interfered with
that though . . . eh, well, I'm still grounded, but I'm also still kicking!
This chapter gets off to a boring start . . . but there is Nino. Nino will make
it better.
---------------------------------------------
Matthew rattled out an address, and the cabby shook his head. "It'll cost extra
to get me to go to that side of town, sir--"
"I know," Matthew waved off the cabbie's worry as though it were completely
irrelevant. I blinked over at him incredulously, not wanting to ask the obvious.
. . . Ah, hell. I asked the obvious anyway. "Matthew . . . where are we going?"
I put out almost tentatively, narrowing my eyes cautiously.
He didn't meet my eyes, and since Matthew seemed to like to meet my eyes any
chance he got, this spelled out trouble. D-Damn him, he was going to g-get me
s-suspended by the end of this, I k-knew it! "To a friend's," he said, the
evasive tone scarcely noticeable, even if you were looking for it.
And trust me, I was looking for it.
"Am I, y'know," my sarcastic edge must have been clear, "obligated to like this
'friend?'" Ok, I swear I didn't mean my 'sarcastic edge' to turn into 'querulous
squeak' like it did just then. God, I h-hate what Matthew's presence does to me.
"No." Oh, goody. "But I'd personally prefer it if you did."
That . . . really wasn't incentive. " . . . Right."
The rest of the trip passed way too slowly, what with Matthew leaning constantly
too close to me and me muttering thinly veiled insults in his ear. I was more
wound up than my granddaddy's old clock by the time the cab stopped. I heard
Matthew paying off the driver and asking him to wait for us, as I stepped out
and drank in my surroundings cautiously.
Cautiously soon turned into uneasily. The skies, which had actually been pretty
dark to begin with from all the rain, were even darker this side of town.
Considering it was in the middle of the afternoon, I attributed this to the
smoke pouring out of the large, dingy brick buildings to my right. That 'dingy'
status didn't belong to the factories alone; all the buildings were dirty, the
windows were boarded, and the reflections from in that alley weren't from glass.
I gulped and unconsciously -- I swear to god, it was unconsciously! -- stepped
closer to Matthew. Gesturing to the cabby, I muttered, "Will he be okay there?"
The place around us looked like the prime hunting grounds for the common mugger.
Matthew looked down at me, and I ignored his searching look. "Yes," he said
finally, his confident tone doing wonders in putting my mind at ease.
Even though it shouldn't have . . . damn him . . .
He grabbed my arm, and I felt my flush return to the familiar realm of my face
as he held me unnecessarily close while leading me through the run-down maze of
alleys . . . but, I gotta admit, the extra close proximity to Matthew made me
feel a hell of a lot safer.
Even though it really shouldn't have . . . damn him, again . . .
"Matthew! Hello!"
The cheery voice jerked my mind out of its discontented mutterings, and I looked
around for the source before finally looking down, straight into the eyes of . .
.
A child. A bright-eyed, green haired child was happily hugging Matthew around
the waist -- I frowned, my chest clenching up at this for some reason -- in the
middle of an obviously dangerous place, alone. Something was wrong with this
picture.
I glanced around hurriedly, immediately on the defensive -- and this worsened to
offensive when I caught the eyes of a prowler on the opposite roof. This,
however, forced me to relax when it occurred to me that the red-haired, cloaked
figure was watching over the kid, not looking to mug her, as his crouching
stance spoke of a wary guarding-ness.
"Hello, Nino," Matthew roughly mussed up the child's, Nino's, hair, making it
stick up in a style strangely similar to his own. "Is he in?" Wait, was who in?
"Yup!" Nino's eyes flicked to me curiously, and it took her a few seconds to
drink in Matthew's hand, which was still fastened tightly to my wrist. "Er . . .
should I warn him we've got company?"
Matthew didn't hesitate. "It's up to you."
The girl twirled with a giggle. "You've never brought anyone before," she mused.
"Is there a reason he needs to meet the," her hand slipped in front of her mouth
to poorly veil a giggle, "Hurricane?"
Oh, OK, so we're meeting the Hurricane, that's . . . that's . . . wait, WHAT?!
HURRICANE?! Was M-Matthew C-CRAZY?!
I choked, slightly, but didn't say anything. H-Hurricane? T-THE Hurricane? As
in, the m-mob leader Hurricane? Apparently, my being silent was the right thing
to do, since Matthew nudged me slightly in approval.
Think think think . . . what did I know about the Hurricane . . . he was
underground ruler of the city. Rumors -- which were most likely true -- spoke of
the mayor having made deals with him. More important to me were the facts that
stated that the numerous detectives who'd gone searching for the Hurricane never
came back.
Unless you define 'came back' as 'floating facedown in the river.'
Eep?
But I'd heard that he was a reasonably fair man . . . so, there was a chance
I-I'd get out of this alive as long as I kept q-quiet, r-right? N-No losing my
temper, and no doing anything t-too stupid . . . and . . . and . . .
. . . And w-why wasn't I surprised that Matthew knew the Hurricane? Matthew was
just the kind of s-sneaky bastard w-who would! I had the urge to cross my arms
and turn away in a huff. Hmph.
The hallway behind the door Nino had opened was surprisingly short. With a small
skip across us, and then a juvenile wink, Nino yanked open a new door. Before I
could consider balking, Matthew snatched my wrist and dragged me in. Lucky for
him -- or so I liked to think -- my attention was brought elsewhere before I
could really complain to him about it.
The Hurricane.
The first thing I noticed about the Hurricane was the way he seemed to fill the
room on his own. The second thing I noticed, as he turned his head to peer at us
with keen eyes, was the scar. It ran from above his eye down to near the base of
his jaw line, and while normally a thing like that'd make him ugly as sin, it
added to his -- I admitted grudgingly -- striking figure.
The man wore his waist length, lavender hair (I bristled, who did he think he
was? When it wasn't braided, mine fell at least that long. Grr . . .) up in a
black bandanna, which matched his classy dark suit. It showed off his height and
his willowy, almost regal, sort of stature, which even Commissioner Rath
couldn't meet.
"Legault," Matthew offered the longhaired man a friendly smile. I scowled; what
was it with him and smiling at everyone but me? And at the obviously dangerous
Hurricane 'Legault' too; he hadn't gotten that scar -- or reputation -- from
sitting at home twiddling his thumbs.
"Matthew," greeted Legault in a smooth, comfortable tone. I could see how a man
like him could gain followers, he moved in a way that said 'If it's not already
mine I'll take it anyway.' "It's been awhile," he playfully accused.
My partner shook his head. "Only a week." Matthew's smile turned wider as they
shook hands in the easy way that spoke of close friendship.
I hadn't had too much of an opinion of Legault to begin with, what with being
the mob and all, but he was really beginning to bug me. I wasn't too sure why
though, Matthew's shady friendships weren't my business to be caring about.
"True. Yet, I've a feeling this isn't a strictly . . . social call," the taller
man drawled, crossing his arms and arching an eyebrow, turning his head almost
regally to bring me into his line of sight. " . . . Just a feeling, mind you,"
He finished dryly, flicking his eyes back to Matthew. I coughed, and Matthew
shook his head.
"I'm on a case," he said bluntly. "This is my partner for the job, Guy Kutolah."
He turned to me. Ah, his grin was back, and so it appeared was my damned blush.
" . . . Guy, this is Legault, an old . . . associate, of mine."
The pause in his search for a word was evident. It was obvious they were more
then just mere associates, but again it wasn't my business . . . kinda wished it
was, though . . .
No, no no! No, I DIDN'T care anything about anything to do with Matthew Ostia!
He was an evil, evil person who delighted in torturing me continuously with his
evil grin and evil . . . evilness!
I stepped forward as I was introduced and stuck out my hand boldly, trying not
to bring attention to my considerably smaller stature as he made eye contact. "I
don't think we've met before," I enunciated slowly, taking extreme care with my
words. Stuttering now, it wouldn't be good.
Legault raised both eyebrows this time, but kept his eyes on mine as he took my
hand. He had a firm shake, and I returned it as evenly as I could, having to
look up to meet his ice blue gaze.
I decided then that Legault's charming creepiness was really almost . . .
intriguing. I could see how he'd managed to befriend even Matthew, his charisma
might have begun to affect me.
Key word there being 'might' because then his mouth curled into an odd smile,
and he gave my hand a light squeeze. His eyes trailed down from mine to give the
rest of me what was beginning to be a familiar look over. "Pleasure, to be
sure," he purred.
One of the guards -- a well-built, green and white haired man of about Matthew's
height -- shifted nervously.
I tried to keep my face blank but I could feel my eye twitching slightly. Yeah,
while he was charismatic and weirdly charming, he was also perverted. I released
his hand, my eyebrows furrowing in consternation.
"Maybe not," I hazarded, not stepping back. I was not going to be intimidated.
Not by this guy, and DEFINITELY not in f-front of M-Matthew.
Matthew cleared his throat. "Legault, Guy is MY partner and a close . . .
friend, of mine." I looked over at him; what did that emphasis on the word
'friend' mean? Not to mention, on the word 'my,' because I was NOT Matthew's in
ANY way.
"How close is close?" mused Legault, tilting his head in another, unspoken
query.
"Close." Matthew was curt.
I looked back and forth between them spastically. How the hell was I supposed to
interpret this conversation? It was like they all spoke fiendish-bastard-ese, or
some similar language. I balanced on the balls of my feet, not completely
comfortable.
Legault looked down for a moment, as though considering something, and then his
head jerked up sharply, eyeing me in an entirely new light. He didn't look too
happy, either, like I had just insulted him by just standing there.
Well, that wasn't good.
He frowned at Matthew. " . . . I seem to recall you mentioning a Guy Kutolah,
two years ago."
Matthew visibly stiffened, and he was extremely careful not to look anywhere
near me. "I've never mentioned him to you."
Legault didn't look happy about that, either. I didn't want to think about the
sorts of things that could happen when this Hurricane was unhappy. I uneasily
began to edge behind Matthew, placing him between Legault and me. Better him
then me.
"Well, you'd hardly remember it." Legault said in a voice even more velvety then
usual. This didn't bode well. "You weren't exactly . . . sober."
Matthew might or might not have noticed my slowly edging behind him, but either
way, he sidestepped so he was completely in front of me. I leaned to the right
to blink around him. Was Matthew being . . . protective?
"Ah." Matthew said tightly. "Then."
Now normally, I'd get pretty mad if Matthew -- if anyone, really -- tried to do
something like protecting me. I don't usually need much protecting; I can handle
myself. But I guess under the circumstances, and the fact that I'd been easing
behind him to begin with, it wasn't so bad. Since, y'know, Legault probably had
a gun. I did too, but it wasn't loaded. Pocketknives vs. guns, anyone?
"I'm surprised you didn't act immediately, if you caught a name," Matthew said
lightly.
"You had mixed feelings on," Legault's eyes flickered to me, and then back to
Matthew, "the subject, and you seemed disinclined to bring it up later. I
thought it wiser to not act . . ." Another obvious eye flicker, " . . . on it."
Subject? Me? I was the . . . subject?
"Wise," agreed Matthew sullenly, his defensive stance loosening.
"Y-You drink?" I muttered near his ear in query as I moved up next to him.
Matthew shook his head slowly. "Not really."
Legault had better hearing then I gave him credit for. "In all the time I've
known him," he said thoughtfully, "Matthew has only gotten drunk twice. Once,
two years ago, and once --"
Matthew was seized then by a violent coughing fit. I pounded him on the back a
few times, and Matthew straightened with a muttered "Thanks" and turned back to
Legault. The taller man finished lamely, " . . . once, before that."
I wondered for a moment if that was really what the Hurricane was going to
originally say. Just for a moment, though.
Matthew had never even put a bit of something stronger to lace his coffee. Here
I was being told he'd drunk himself incoherent . . . because of me . . . two
years ago . . . I'd left, two years ago . . .
Wait a sec . . . was I supposed to believe that Matthew had gone and fallen into
a drunken stupor two years ago because I'd quit? Legault was obviously trying to
tell me something, and the way that he was glancing at me was asking 'Did you
get all that?'
No, no jumping to conclusions . . . It had to be some other reason. One that
occurred after I left, of course, because while I was working for him, he'd
never once acted depressed. Hell, he'd never even been slightly unhappy when in
my presence.
But even as I nodded curtly at Legault, I felt my blush rising again. I glanced
over at Matthew, to find HIM looking at ME. I think I let out an 'eep' as I
turned quickly back to face Legault.
That didn't help much, as Legault was looking supremely amused.
"Yes, well," I wasn't about to look at Matthew, but hearing his voice was
unavoidable. "Legault, are you going to play along or not?"
Play along? Must be more of the fiendish-bastard-ese I couldn't quite get.
Legault rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, fine."
Matthew nodded, and motioned for me to stay put. I wasn't about to protest,
since if Matthew weren't here right now, I'd probably be floating face-down in
the river by now. He and Legault stepped to the side.
I tried and failed to understand what they were discussing in hushed tones, but
I could tell the mood. Legault was pressuring Matthew for information, and
Matthew looked determined not to give in.
Nino burst in the door just then -- There is a God! -- effectively interrupting
the awkward moment. She was obviously trying to be quiet, but it wasn't her
strong suit as she skirted around the edge of the room and passed a slip of
paper to the guard I'd noticed earlier.
The green-and-white haired man took the slip, and frowned, casting a hesitant
glance at Legault. Legault glanced over there, and then back at us, and then
back at the guard. And then he gave an exasperated sigh. "Heath, come here."
The man -- Heath -- looked annoyed at being ordered, but walked towards us,
offering up the slip.
Legault considered the proffered slip, and reached out . . . to grab the wrist
of the hand holding it. Heath yelped as Legault yank him forward into his arms,
and with a smirk, gracefully dipped down to catch his lips in his own.
Heath was pretty much putty in Legault's, er, obviously skilled hands. Legault
deepened the touch to the point where they probably tell each other if they
still had their tonsils.
I -- to be really really blunt about, because I don't think I was thinking at
the time -- gaped. Quite obviously, actually, and I almost missed the fact that
Matthew was glancing at me to see my reaction. Almost.
I had a very mixed reaction. While my preferences were along the same lines . .
. I had never seen such a, w-well, blatant s-show of it.
Legault pulled back to end the kiss and for a brief moment, touched his forehead
to Heath's. I blinked at Legault's possessive motion, and the observant Legault
narrowed his eyes at me.
"Do you have an issue with," he, at this, pulled Heath to him by the waist,
leading the guard to look even more embarrassed then before, "this?"
'This' was apparently a reference to the fact that they were both, well, male. I
shook my head slowly, my face warmer then it had been all night. That . . . was
pretty warm; I was probably almost completely red.
"Uh . . . " I wasn't sure how to answer that question. "Why would I care who he
sleeps with . . ." I muttered under my breath. It hadn't been meant to be heard,
really, but Matthew coughed, and Legault raised an eyebrow.
I hurriedly tried to amend my mistake. "I-I think . . ." I gestured at Heath,
"he's got more of an issue then I do."
Legault raised his other eyebrow, and looked down at Heath long enough to
register the beginnings of anger in his face. He looked almost reproachful as he
set Heath delicately back on his feet.
Heath hissed something in Legault's ear, and Legault muttered something back. A
few moments later after a whispered conversation, Legault turned to us.
"I've given you the information you need, gentlemen. I apologize that I wasn't
more . . . hospitable; but I'll have to ask that you leave."
I was still blushing furiously as I nodded. Matthew sighed. "Legault, I both
thank you and hate you."
"Anytime, Matthew. I do enjoy these theatrics," Legault nodded, and Matthew
nodded back before leading the way back to the alleyway door.
I frowned as we left. Theatrics? Something told me that this was important, my
intuition leaning on this hint. Even though, it didn't seem all that relevant to
the case . . .
Nino escorted us back to the alley, surprisingly quieter then before. She left
us there, with a grin directed at the two of us, before slipping back in and
shutting the door discreetly.
I blinked. "Er . . . what'd he tell you?"
"None of his people committed the crime," Matthew said vacantly, concentrating
on something. Stepping in front of me, he gripped my shoulders, looking down at
me and frowning strangely. I blinked at him. "What?"
"You . . ." he shook his head, and with a small chuckle, admitted, "You handled
yourself well in there."
"Really? I thought I'd been a bit too strong. What with the rejection and all .
. . " I tilted my head to the side. "I guess I was supposed to do that, since
that Heath was there."
"It takes guts to be headstrong around Legault," Matthew plunged his hands into
his pockets, and leaned back ruefully. "And Legault knows it. He appreciates
guts in people."
He turned his head towards me again, and inspected me gravely. I returned the
favor; he had the air of someone in deep contemplation as he looked briefly at
the sky.
Then, he grinned dangerously (because all his grins were dangerous) as his eyes
flashed back to mine. "Personally, I thought you'd be clumsy and knock something
over, or try and act tiny like you usually do, and stutter the whole time."
"W-WHAT?!" My eyes flew open and I stepped back slightly, hands curling into
fists. H-How dare he s-say that!! D-Damn him! "I-I only d-do that with y-you!" I
blurted stupidly.
And then I blinked. Nice, Guy. Real nice. Just out and say that to him so he can
point and laugh and say mean nasty things to you. G-Go on, laugh, d-damn you!
Matthew's grin widened from dangerous to absolutely treacherous. (I knew it!
That evil grin!) He advanced a step, and I retreated instinctively. His eyes
seemed to flash as his voice lowered. "Is that so . . ." he purred, the growl of
his voice squeezing my throat shut.
He stepped forward again, and I backpedaled hastily -- straight into the brick
wall of the building. I wasn't really paying much attention to that, though,
until it got to the point where Matthew was less then a foot away and I couldn't
escape . . ..
. . . Even if I wanted to.
This . . . wasn't a very familiar position for me. Usually when we were this
close, it was because I was yelling in HIS face -- or at his neck, due to height
difference -- over something. However, in those situations, Matthew just stood
there and cocked his eyebrow in that annoying fashion of his and coolly replied
to my shouting.
The situation was reversed here -- Matthew was about to be in MY face. What to
do? I hadn't stood my ground, so that was out. I could yell at him, but
considering the minor fact that my throat didn't work . . . that was a problem
all it's own. Running? Not even an option. It seemed I'd suffered temporary
paralysis . . . of everything.
No, wait, not everything. My blush was still working great. Hell, it was making
up for everything else.
I looked up at him, his amber eyes glittering oddly in the cloudy dusk light.
His forehead bumped against my hat brim softly.
"I-I . . . y-you," I stuttered eloquently. My mouth decided to start working
again, although not very well. I swallowed, but my voice still came out husky.
"W-What are you . . . " I swallowed again, " . . . doing?"
His smirk was classic, and made his eyes crinkle up slightly, giving them an
exotic tilted look. Why were my knees so wobbly all the sudden? Was there a
reason -- besides the blatant obvious which I was trying to ignore, of course --
that my heart was pounding incessantly in my chest?
"I'm testing a little theory of mine," he whispered, leaning in even more. I
could feel his breathing on my nose. The warmth pooling in my stomach
intensified by several degrees, and I resisted the urge to lick my lips as he
got closer.
"Tell me," Matthew's grin turned into a ghost of itself, as if he was struggling
keep it on, "Do you," he purred, "really stutter naturally, or are you trying to
sound that damn cute?"
Well, whatever was there, for that few seconds? It was totally gone. "C-CUTE?!"
I shrieked, entirely by reflex. Even Matthew, who was used to my loud screams at
close range, flinched.
I stamped my booted foot on the ground, temptingly close to Matthew's instep. "I
am N-NOT C-CUTE!" I glared. My hat slipped forward and almost covered my eyes,
and I readjusted it with a swift jerk.
And then I realized -- belatedly -- that I had effectively stopped Matthew's
descent towards me. Was this a gift from God, or a curse?
Matthew slumped forward with a small sigh, and stepped back, rubbing a finger in
his ear resignedly. "That was my eardrum you just killed."
I felt a bit bolder with the added space and the new store of righteous
indignation. K-Killed his eardrum, h-huh?! I c-could kill H-HIM! D-DAMN him!
He'd gone and made me realize something! Something I was really better off not
realizing.
The words rolled through my mind, which processed it numbly.
'I want him.'
I blinked up at him in horror. I wanted Matthew's body. I rampantly lusted after
him.
Oh God.
Contrary to my hormones belief, that wasn't a good thing, either, since he was
both A) evil, B) my partner, and C) MATTHEW. Maybe then, I should re-assess this
little predicament in the best possible light. Maybe it'll sound better. Maybe.
Let's try, 'I want him, BADLY.'
. . . That wasn't much better.
And exactly . . . w-what was Matthew saying? " . . . we'll have to stop by my apartment --"
I didn't catch much else, really . . . except . . . M-Matthew's apartment?
. . .
. . . Oh, GOD.
--------------------------------------------------
I had things switched around when I came up with the plot -- with Legault and
Heath the clients, and Raven and Lucius the mobsters -- but Legault as a mob
boss was too hard to resist. The Uncle, as opposed to the Godfather . . . heh,
Uncle Legault . . .
But for that last part of the chapter . . . I can explain!!! See, my mom 'lent'
me one of her romance novels. Oo That . . . was an eye-opener, and led to me
writing an even more aggressive Matthew, and mildly less innocent Guy. (Am I the
only one who finds the idea of Matthew running around trying to get into Guy's
pants extremely funny?)
