The Thrill is Gone

Summary: Julien succumbs to his old ways, taking Remy with him.

Author’s Note: Like I said, this is getting harder and harder to write. The minor characters in this are clamoring in my head to be heard. Thank you so much for anyone who’s reviewed this so far, I’m happy to see people enjoying it, since it is a slight departure from some of my stories and the way they are usually structured.

Logan came home to the scent of the dishes he’d left in the sink from breakfast and grimaced. He kicked off his work boots and flicked on the set, punching ESPN on the remote. It felt good to be back, even if it was just for lunch. Summers begged off to go to one of Lee’s OB visits, so that gave Logan the excuse to unwind for a little longer than usual.

Moments later, he hummed to himself and moved the used, sticky bowls and frying pan around beneath the hot, soapy water, contemplating what to eat. The pickings were slim; he needed to get groceries soon.

Remy hadn’t called him in three days. Logan didn’t want to panic, but he was slightly disappointed. Well…who was he kidding? Very disappointed.

His kitchen phone’s sharp trill interrupted Logan from his musings. He fumbled for the kitchen towel hanging from the refrigerator door handle and scrubbed his hands mostly dry.

“H’lo?”

“Logan?” The voice was female and vaguely familiar.

“Yup?”

“It’s Colleen,” she told him. “Remember? Lee and Scott’s wedding?”

“Wow! Hey, darlin’. What’s goin’ on?”

“Not much. I just had the urge to talk with you for a minute. I’m taking my lunch break now. My whole day’s been a mess.”

“That busy, huh?”

“Ugh.” He could picture her grimacing and Logan smiled. “I have a client wanting me to trace his wife’s comings and goings.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“It’s been educational,” she chuckled. “It makes you wonder why some people get married.”

“I don’t even wanna know.”

“You’re right. You don’t.”

“But things are goin’ well, darlin’?”

“Pretty much. But hey, I was wondering if you wanted to go grab a bite to eat? Can you get away?”

Logan looked down at himself in disgust. He smelled and his clothing and skin were covered here and there with plaster and paint. “Maybe not right away. I’m a little ripe, darlin’. Gimme fifteen ta wash up.”

“Wanna meet at Moe’s?”

“Yeah.” Logan liked their food well enough, and it was a nice enough day to sit in their front window and enjoy the patchy sunshine.

The hot water felt good rushing over him in the shower. Logan sang along with the radio as he towel dried his hair and misted himself in deodorant body spray. It was nice that Colleen called; he needed a distraction.

By the time he got to the deli, she was already waiting for him at the counter, ordering her food. She turned and smiled, leaning forward and pecking his cheek.

“You said you’re just off work? You clean up nice,” she chuckled.

“Brat. Thanks. What’re ya gettin’?”

“Pastrami.”

“Reuben?”

“My favorite.”

“Make it two,” Logan told the cashier as he pulled out a twenty, stopping Colleen’s grab for her wallet.

They sat and enjoyed their root beers amidst the shop’s clamor, sharing a small bag of lime and pepper potato chips.

“Ya look good,” Logan remarked.

“I feel knackered. It’s been one job after another. It’s hard, Logan. With a job like mine, I stop thinking that people are basically good. Y’know?”

“That bad?”

“Without going into detail, my last finished job was tracking a guy with not just one, but three wives. Had kids with all of them. Said he was a traveling salesman.”

“Aren’t they all?”

“They all believed him. That’s just insane. But that’s just it…it’s hard enough having one marriage, and being accountable to one person and expecting them to be honest with you! But three? That’s an ego for you.”

“What kinds of cases do you take aside from that kind?”

“A little of everything. Why? Got someone you need me to nab?” She grinned at him. Logan sighed tellingly, and her smile faltered. “Uh-oh. Do you? Is something going on?”

“Possibly. I don’t know yet. It’s complicated.”

“Tell me a little of what’s happening. Let me get a feel for it.”

“’Kay. There’s this person…well, this guy…” Logan explained. Colleen nodded, rapt. “He’s a good friend. A really good friend.”

“You care about him?” She remembered the pertinent details from their date at the reception, and Logan was grateful that her dark eyes weren’t judging him.

“Yeah. I do.”

“This pretty recent?”

“It hasn’t been goin’ on too long, now. Maybe just a couple of months.”

“Do you think it’s getting serious? How does he feel about things?”

“I think we’re on the same page. Problem is…I didn’t wanna jinx it. Don’t wanna overtalk it.”

“Typical male,” she accused. She took another chip and nibbled it, then used it to point at him. “Be blunt. Be direct about what you want and expect. I tell that to all my clients, no matter what their situations. Assumptions are what lead to misunderstandings and one partner walking all over the other one. Don’t go into this with your eyes closed, no matter how charming he is.”

“It ain’t just that. I think he’s in trouble.” She looked concerned. “I get the feelin’ he’s dodged a couple of bullets up until now.”

“Illegal stuff?”

“His brother in law.”

“Hm.”

“He used ta live with the guy while he and his ex were still together.”

“And?”

“I met him this weekend. Shady as fuck. Eyes were all bloodshot, looked and smelled like he was high.”

“Shit. Where did you meet him?”

“A Chuck E Cheese down the road from where I live.” Her brows drew together. “Yeah. Ya don’t wanna know.”

“Okaaayyyy…”

“Remy’s son was havin’ his birthday.”

“Your friend is Remy?”

“Yup.”

“I like that name.”

“He’s a great kid. Younger’n me. His son’s cute, nice kid, too.”

“So he’s a dad. That’s a big risk, dating someone with children.”

“I know that.”

“It can be worth it, if you try to make it work.”

“That’s where I’m torn, darlin’. I need ta know more about him. About Remy, but just as importantly, about this brother in law of his.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“A bit. But I think there’s more to it than what he’s tellin’ me.”

“So, what? You don’t want to pry? You might have more luck getting the whole story out of him going the direct route, straight from the horse’s mouth, Logan.”

“Is there anything I can do just ta look up his background? If ya wanna take it as a job, I’ll make it worth yer while.”

“You might not have to hire me,” she said easily. She reached into her purse and snagged her Blackberry. She began typing rapidly, pulling up her contacts. She showed him the tiny screen. “Here. This Web site is one I use to look up county listings and arrests, or warrants someone might have on their record. If this guy has a rap sheet, this is the place to find it.”

Logan grunted, reading the URL. “Got a pen?” She lent him one and he scribbled the address on a napkin.

“That might be the best place to start.”

“Appreciate it, darlin’.”

“Just keep this in mind. You might not like what you find. Sometimes knowledge like that is helpful, but it can be a burden. This could shatter your image of who your friend is, and you might not trust him again. Just think about that before you dig too deep.”

*


Later that night, Walter keyed his way into his penthouse, already envisioning himself in pajama bottoms and bare feet.

The sound of Vic’s music greeted him, louder than he might have liked. It didn’t help that they didn’t have the same taste in it, either. Walter preferred classical music, show tunes or soft rock. Victor’s was typically driving, bass-heavy acid rock or heavy metal, or honky-tonk drinking music that made Walter wince.

But no one ever said love was perfect.

Walter headed for the bedroom and automatically turned the volume knob on his expensive stereo down several notches. Victor looked up from his computer screen and smirked.

“Take a load off, bub.”

“What’s for dinner?”

“You tell me.”

“I thought you would have had something going by now. It’s almost six.”

Victor shrugged. “So we’ll get take-out.”

Walter’s lips thinned. “You’ve already been home for a couple of hours.”

“And? I look like fuckin’ Betty Crocker?” Vic rose and met him at the doorway. He pried his briefcase from his large hand and tugged him over the threshold. Walter was a large man, easily the same size as Vic, but his boyfriend yanked him over to the bed and shoved him back.

“Oof! Easy. I’ve had a long day.”

“Doin’ what? Buildin’ a better bomb? Or were ya playin’ with Legos?” Victor’s hands were insistent, tugging at him, shucking his jacket and tossing it onto his computer chair.

“Don’t leave it there,” Walt complained.

“Yeah, yeah, yer Highness. I’ll clean up in a minute.” Walter’s hands batted his away, but Victor was stubborn, and the slight struggle was a turn-on. “Damn, Walter, what’s been on yer mind? Why are yer nipples all hard, huh?” He groped him over the fine silk of his dress shirt. Walter gave a long-suffering sigh, but his body arched into Victor’s touch.

“You’re twisted, you know that?”

“No’m not,” Victor murmured into the side of his throat. Walter shivered as his tongue swiveled over his warm flesh while he continued to tease his nipple into a hard little bud.

“Are, too.”

“Okay. You win. I am. Mmmmmmm…” Victor closed in on him, leaning down to better devour Walter’s neck. His large hand was working itself in through the flap of his shirt, jerking open the tiny buttons. He smelled the change in Walter’s scent; he knew he was becoming aroused despite his earlier irritation with him. It was time to help the good doctor unwind, then, wasn’t it?

Walter’s breath was sharp and coming in short little pants as Victor ran his palm over his taut abdomen. He had his early morning workouts to thank for his physique, despite the fact that he worked long hours at a desk job. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him, despite the fact that he was a very large man. Victor’s hands made short work of his clothing, jerking him out of his pants and reaching into his snug, black cotton briefs to grope his hardness. Walter’s cock swelled and thrust into his grip and Victor’s kiss was greedy, dominating him completely. Walter moaned at the taste of him, letting his tongue plunder his mouth. His lips were hard and hot, and Walter couldn’t get enough of Victor. It would prove to be his undoing.

Victor pushed him farther back, urging him to move up toward the head of the bed. The textures of Victor’s clothing rasped over his bare skin, since he still hadn’t taken off his rough Levi’s and ribbed black wifebeater. Vic ground against him and Walter’s arms twined around him, hands fisting in his long, gloriously thick blond hair. He tugged it from the elastic that clubbed it back, letting it loose to tent their faces as they kissed. Every inch of Victor was a sensual feast; his cords of muscle felt rock hard beneath Walter’s hands and he loved the coarse scratch of his stubbled jaw brushing his neck, enflaming his nerve endings.

Walter grumbled in complaint as Victor reared back a moment and unzipped, freeing his erection. It was rosy and gorgeously thick, the long vein along its underside standing out in sharp relief. He knelt and grasped Walter’s legs, flipping him onto his stomach with surprising ease.

“Damn it! C’mon, Vic! Not like this.”

“Not like what? Huh? C’mon, darlin’, ya know ya like it.”

“Want to see you,” he grated out, even as Victor was bending over him, lapping a slick trail down his spine, all the way down into the cleft of his ass. Despite his objections, Walter jutted his hips up, offering himself for easier inspection.

He groaned loudly at the press of Victor’s tongue as it slithered toward his sensitive pucker. He knew without looking that Victor was priming himself, pumping his cock as he licked him. The thrust of his tongue claimed the last of Walter’s sense of reason, and within minutes he forgot his own name.

He chanted his lover’s instead once Victor was inside him, filling and stretching him with his thickness. Victor didn’t even bother to take off his clothes. It wasn’t the first time. Victor despised vulnerability in himself, and Walter’s was a means to an end
Victor was a machine, pistoning and pounding into him ruthlessly, growing lost in the hold he had over him. I’m doing this to you. I’m in control… Sweat broke out over his skin and his hand gripped the scruff of Walter’s neck possessively. Walter’s cock leaked precum, and he yearned for Victor to grope him to relieve him of his painful erection, but begging him didn’t help. All it did was amuse Victor, and then he drew it out, taking what pleasure he could in his desperation. Victor sensed his reticence and wasn’t satisfied yet. He wanted to break him. His fingernails dug into Walter’s vulnerable hip as he rode him, swiveling his hips to hit his prostate at a different angle. Walt’s voice was guttural and choked.

“Oh, God!” Walter tried to bury his head in the pillow, but Victor wouldn’t let him. He wanted to hear him get loud. Walter’s snug heat squeezed him like a glove. He took whatever Victor had to give, a complete one-eighty from the dynamic between him and Logan. Victor raked his fingernails down Walter’s back, making him jerk and buck back against him greedily. Their balls slapped together again and again, drawing up tightly and growing ruched and leathery with the impact. Victor made a sound of approval and squeezed the globe of Walter’s ass, then slapped it hard enough to make his palm sting. Walter cried out, his voice rising in pitch, and Victor spanked him again, harder, then again, and again. Walter would be walking funny for the next couple of days, but it was worth it. Every time, it was worth it. Some tiny voice in the back of his mind nagged him that he deserved this punishment…that Victor was right to withhold his pleasure, to hurt him. As much as he craved his tenderness, Walter reveled in his brand of pain.

Walter’s cries rose above the music and Victor was in his element. “You like that,” he grunted through clenched teeth. “Ya can’t get enough of my cock in yer ass.”

“Please…”

“Please? What’s this ‘please’ shit? Say my name, Walt.” He leaned in and reached down to savagely pinch Walter’s vulnerable little nipple. “Say it, darlin’…”

“Vic,” he gasped. “Wanna…come, Vic. Please.”

“Who’s daddy’s little bitch?”

“Me,” he whimpered.

“Can’t hear ya. Who’s my bitch.”

“I am!”

“Didn’t hear that, baby. Tell me again…”

“I’m your bitch, I’m your little bitch.”

It felt so good to break him.

“I’m your bitch…oh, God, Victor, give it to me…give it to your little bitch,” he chanted. It was music to Victor’s ears. He sped up, losing himself in Walter’s loving, helpless grip and his humiliation, which was like a drug.

“Yesssssss!” Victor’s orgasm rattled its way down his spinal cord, making his hips spasm and buck faster, harder, until he pushed Walter over the edge with him, helped along by Walter’s own hand pumping himself. Thick, creamy semen spattered the rich, Egyptian cotton sheets beneath them, and Walter received the infusion of Victor’s seed drenching his insides, making him groan and shudder. Victor pulled out of him prematurely, and he pumped himself, emptying the rest of his release all over Walter’s quivering bare back.

Any other man would have collapsed into a heap beside his lover, brain cells turned to paste. Victor simply lunged up from the bed, using the corner of the bed sheet to wipe the head of his cock. Walter moaned into the pillow, sated. But that turned to confusion as he stared up at his boyfriend, watching him zip his jeans and retrieve a brush.

“What’re you doing?”

“Gonna get that takeout,” Victor shrugged. “And gonna run a few errands.”

Walter craved a shower with him. The mingled scents of their musk and sex lingered in the rumpled sheets and drenched Walter, and he wanted to hold Victor and bask in his solid heat. When that wasn’t forthcoming, he was laid back, disappointed.

“Why don’t you ever wear that new shirt I bought you?”

“Eh.” Victor shrugged. Walter was slightly hurt.

“It brings out your eyes. It’s nice to look respectable once in a while.”

“Respectable,” Victor jeered, watching him and shaking his head. “Fuck that shit. Ya want me ta look more like you goin’ out the door.”

“You were there when I picked it out.” Victor had no problem with Walter spending money on him. It was amusing most of the time. He actually liked most of it, such as the electronics or jewelry, but Walter kept insisting on the clothes, too, even though most of it hung untouched in the back of their closet. He didn’t want to be dressed up like his little pet. Walter thought he was grooming Victor, but Vic was grooming him.

“Take a shower.” Victor’s tone was dismissive. He leaned down and gave Walt a hard kiss, roughly patting his cheek.

“So we aren’t fixing anything to eat here, then?”

“Nah.” Walt listened to the brief jingle of keys being stuffed into Vic’s hip pocket. “Take it easy. Shower and DVR that game so we can watch it again tonight.” Walt slowly got his bearings and pulled himself to a sitting position as Vic strode out the door. It closed with a low slam. Walter winced as he lumbered to the bathroom. He was sore and well-used. Every drop of tension he’d felt when he first walked in through the door had drained away; he had Vic to thank for that, at any rate, but his lover’s ability to turn off his affection with the flick of a switch frustrated him.

Walter lingered behind in the shower and indulged in his scented gels and scrubbers. His skin tingled and glowed as he stepped out of the tub, and he hummed to himself as he went through his usual motions to settle in. Off went Victor’s noisy music, on went his soundtrack to Rent, and he slipped into a pair of dark blue silk pajama pants that felt fantastic against his skin.

Takeout didn’t appeal to him. Walt rummaged through the refrigerator and found a serving of leftover salmon and began eating it cold. He sat down at the kitchen table and reviewed his mail, glad that Vic had been thoughtful enough to bring it in.

He opened all the bills and laid all of them out in a neat pile, taking out his checkbook. He ripped open the bank statement last.

His heavy blond brows drew together as he reviewed each line against his register. It didn’t add up.


*

Julien had a hell of a day.

He sat outside Jean-Luc and Sons Racing and Auto in the passenger seat of Vic’s runner. The wiry blond chugged a bottle of cherry Dr. Pepper in noisy gulps, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Kyle Gibney made Julien uncomfortable, even when he was high. The rest of Vic’s crew nicknamed him “Wild Child.” The moniker fit him too well. He was Victor’s yes man. He was the one who drove the getaway car or was his backup gun, a quick, sharp shot whenever Vic needed him to clean up a mess. Rumor had it Kyle had a thing for pain. None of the working girls who reported to Vic trusted him, and they were smart.

His body was lean and hard, ripping with muscle. His skin was fair and blotchy, here and there striated with scars, and his nose was crooked from being broken twice. He had long blond hair like Victor’s and hard, narrow blue eyes that always looked smug. His face shone with silver piercings that glinted in the dim streetlights as they watched the store from across the street.

“Ya sure this is when the old man locks up?”

“Yeah,” Julien muttered, taking a drag of his Camel.

“Gimme one of those,” Kyle demanded, punching him in the arm. Julien handed him the box and he deftly tapped one out. He retrieved an almost empty pack of matches and tore off a strip, striking its dingy red strip. He lit up and inhaled the pungent smoke hungrily, blowing it out with an annoyed growl. “C’mon, old man! Fucker!” He turned his radio on low volume, but it was pounding music that made Julien’s teeth ache.

Julien stole glances at him, studying his tattoos to amuse himself. Kyle caught his glance and scowled.

“What, fucker?”

“Not’in’.”

“Put yer eyes back in yer head,” he reminded him.

“Dat’s him,” Julien said suddenly, nodding to the older, dark-haired man coming out of the store. He watched as he locked the door, giving the door a couple of experimental jerks to make sure it was secure. Philippe lit a cigarette for himself and set his soda bottle on the roof of his car as he fumbled for its key.

“There ain’t anyone else who works in the shop?”

“Nate’s his mechanic. He’s already gone by now.”

“So there ain’t anyone else?”

“Non.”

“Better not be shittin’ me,” he warned him. Julien felt frissons of anticipation rush over him as Philippe turned on his engine. Almost there. They were moments away from getting it over with.

Philippe pulled out of the lot. Gravel crunched beneath the wheels of Kyle’s Mustang as they pulled onto the street.

The lot was nearly empty; the remaining cars were parked outside the neighboring stores, and Julien wasn’t overly worried about them. The lot was appallingly dark, making it an unappealing place to pass by for pedestrians at that hour. Julien was grateful for it now. When they parked, he gathered up his long dark hair into a ponytail and crammed it all under a baseball cap. They got out of the car and headed around to the back of the building. Julien added dark glasses once they reached the door. Kyle looked around warily, then bundled his long, distinctive hair under a black winter cap.

Julien already knew the window he’d entered through was reinforced since his last grab; Philippe put out the extra cash to have it bars installed over it. Kyle was the man to help Julien get back in this time, since he was also a crackerjack lockpick. His heart hammered as he heard the clicks of Kyle’s tools manipulating the lock. “C’mon, c’monnnn,” he groaned under his breath.

“Easy, asshole. This ain’t Go Fish.” Kyle’s voice promised a beating if Julien nagged him any further, so he shut up and paced away a few steps, arms crossed over his chest. He scanned the perimeter, and so far, no one appeared to spot them.

The jerk of the door behind him jarred Julien from his reverie. “We’re in.”

“Nice,” he grunted. The shop smelled the same, rich with the odors of motor oil and polyurethane. Julien noticed a hint of cigarette smoke mingling with those scents, too, and something sweet, no doubt the remnant of a soda someone chucked in the trash.

They fumbled in the dark; Julien was afraid to turn on his flashlight, but Kyle didn’t demand it anyway. He moved confidently toward the office in back without stumbling once.

“How can ya see in here, mec?”

“Good night vision. Eat yer carrots, asshole,” he shrugged. He tried the door, but it was locked, too. He made shorter work of it since the mechanism wasn’t as complex.

The office looked the same way Julien remembered it.

“What the fuck? This you?” Kyle inquired. He tapped a framed photo on the wall next to the cabinet. Sure enough, the picture showed Belladonna and Remy holding Rene when he was about two at a family picnic. Julien hovered in the background, smiling and pretending to offer the baby a beer. “Could ya have picked a worse mark, man?”

“Don’ gimme dat shit. Jus’ help me look around, mec.” He tried all of the previous places and found Philippe’s petty cash box again, but this time there was hardly anything in it, just enough to make change. “Shit!”

“Tell me that ain’t all. Ya didn’t bring me here just fer this,” Kyle tsked.

“Register’s out front,” Julien reminded him, but he was unsure. Kyle sneered, baring his jagged looking canines.

“Can’t believe Vic made me tag along fer this petty shit.”

They headed out to the shop, and Julien went directly to the register. He opened a small drawer and found the sticky note with the entry code scribbled on it in Remy’s scrawl. He’d stumbled over that by sheer luck before; Julien was surprised that he’d left it there after the theft.

“Gonna look around. Gotta be somethin’ else more worth our while than this,” Kyle muttered.

“Don’ take anyt’in’ too obvious, mec!”

“If we don’t get caught, then who gives a fuck?” he tossed over his shoulder. Julien broke out into a sweat, then nervously punched in the entry code.

The register beeped and flashed “Error” on its display. “Re-Enter Code.”

“SHIT!”

“Whatsamatter?”

“Changed it,” he snapped. “Dey changed de code.”

“Try another one, genius.”

Julien stubbornly tried the original one three more times before he went with the same numbers in a different order. Nothing. He tried birthdays and random dates. No joy. “C’mon, c’mon!” he growled, slapping the side of the register. He slammed the “No Sale” button several times, but it just dinged at him.

“Don’t waste yer time with that shit,” Kyle barked. “C’mere an’ help me get some of these. We can move this shit for a decent price. Don’t make it a wasted trip.”

“Gotta open dis,” Julien argued.

Suddenly someone’s high beams illuminated the parking lot outside, throwing unwelcome, stark yellow light through the windows. Julien winced and ducked.

“FUCK!”

“Geddown!” Kyle hissed. He set down the box of tools he’d lifted from the shelf and crouched in the dark. Julien held his breath and ducked behind the counter, waiting. His heart pounded in his chest so loudly he was afraid Kyle would hear it.

Julien’s hopes that it was someone returning to one of the other stores in the lot were dashed when he heard the front lock being keyed. His bowels clenched as his fight/flight response kicked in, and he broke out in a cold, sickening sweat.

He didn’t know where Kyle was; he was out of sight of the large security mirror in the corner of the ceiling.

The door’s chime bonged as Philippe returned, whistling as he entered the shop. He bypassed the sales counter and headed straight back toward his office. Julien froze.

They’d left it unlocked. The door was ajar.

“Merde,” he heard the older man hiss. He turned on the light, and more cursing followed as Julien listened to him sliding open the drawers and cabinets.

He grew more petrified when he heard him dialing his phone and speaking to someone in his rapid, broken English. “Wanna report a break-in. Oui. Uh-huh. Jean-Luc an’ Sons…”

Before his mind could register that Philippe was talking to the police, Julien felt a hand clap itself over his mouth. Kyle met his wide, terrified eyes with a cold glare.

C’mon, he mouthed silently. Now. They had one chance. Both men slunk carefully and quickly out from behind the counter. Philippe was still talking on the phone.

Julien’s foot banked itself on the edge of a tower of motor oil cans. He lost his balance and knocked over several. His heart stopped. Kyle spun on him, furious. His hand reached for the waist of his pants for something that was obscured by his loose tank top.

“What de hell…?” Philippe dropped the phone and hurried out into the hallway, flicking on the light as he went. Suddenly the whole shop was lit up bright as day. Julien was almost blinded by the harsh shift back from his night vision. He stumbled again and darted for the door. Even if they got out, he would see them as they got into the car, and he regretted that one of them hadn’t stayed in it with the engine running.

“YOU! Where ya t’ink yer goin’?” Philippe accused. “What bizness y’have breakin’ in my shop?” Huh?” He sized them up, noticing their dark hats and glasses. His dark eyes narrowed as he took in Julien. “What de hell…?”

“Shoulda left the lights off, old man,” Kyle announced coldly. He whipped out the Glock he had tucked in his waistband and leveled it at Remy’s uncle. “Nighty-night.”

BAM!


*

RIIIINNNNGGG…

Logan groaned and smacked his lips, wincing at the sound. He spied his clock, and the red digital display glowed in the darkness, telling him it was 12:05.

“Someone better be tellin’ me I won the Lotto,” he muttered futilely. His body protested the interruption in his sleep, since he’d spent the entire day before drywalling and his back was sore. He padded barefoot to the dresser and picked up the handset on the third ring.

“H’lo?”

“Chere. S’me.”

“Rem…what’s wrong, darlin’? Ya sound like shit.” Logan knew he probably didn’t sound any better, his own voice was raspy and thick with sleep.

“ ‘m at de hospital,” he choked. Logan’s eyes snapped open.

“Why?” He rubbed his face and stood more erect. “Ya okay?”

“Oui. But Oncle…” His voice choked up again, and Logan grew very worried.

“What happened?”

“My uncle was shot tonight,” he blurted.