Bound and Determined (45 page)

then kicked at Sterling's ankle. “Spread your legs wider.”
That
was what proved

to be too much; the pressure and unnatural position, arms stretched tight,

made his shoulder joint scream.

Sterling took half a step back, colliding with Kirk's groin—he hadn't

realized the other man was so close, but that had definitely been Kirk's dick

against his ass cheek—in his attempt to lessen the strain.

“Eager for it, aren't you?” Kirk sounded smug.

“This isn't going to work for me,” Sterling said firmly. “It's not that I don't

want to—I have an old—” Before he could finish what he'd been about to say, to

explain that they'd need to find another position, the promised gag was being

forced between his teeth. That was when he remembered they'd never even

talked
about a safe word, not that he'd have been able to speak it with a gag in

his mouth.

Kirk grabbed onto Sterling's ass with both hands and squeezed it,

spreading his cheeks and letting his thumbs brush over Sterling's wet, slick

hole. “You just keep your mouth shut and listen. I'm going to give you the best

fucking of your life—you're going to
love
it. Didn't I tell you to spread your legs

wider?” He kicked Sterling's ankle again, and Sterling's foot slid eight inches to

the right. Panicked as the shriek of agony in his shoulder flared white-hot,

Sterling tugged hard with his left arm, trying to find his balance.

It didn't work, and he felt a sickening pop as his right shoulder, never

really recovered from the long-ago injury, was wrenched from its socket.

Sterling screamed, choking on the gag. He couldn't move because he was

192

Jane Davitt & Alexa Snow

hanging from his wrist, and his fucking
arm
was fucking
dislocated
, and most

of his conscious thought fled in the face of the pain.

He was dimly aware of Kirk's annoyed voice and Alex's alarmed one, and

then someone was lifting him, holding onto him with both arms around his

chest, taking his weight. That just made the pain shriek in new but equally

agonizing ways, and he screamed again, his throat and lungs torn by it.

“Get the gag out,” Alex said, and Sterling
would
have, but his hands were

tied. How was he supposed to—

The gag was removed. Sterling knew he had to relay what was going on.

Talking around the pain seemed impossible, but he managed a tight,

“Dislocated,” from between clenched teeth, and Alex swore and told Kirk to

undo the restraints.

“I didn't do anything!” Kirk said, fumbling at the straps, his movements

seeming unbearably clumsy and slow. Sterling fought to breathe through the

agony, but screaming helped more than oxygen, and he just couldn't stop

doing it, sucking in enough air to fuel the next one. “Look, make him stop

that,” Kirk snapped. “Someone might hear him.” He glanced at Sterling. “God,

be quiet
.”

“Kirk!” Alex sounded upset, worried, but he wasn't panicking, and there

was an edge to his voice. “Shut the fuck up, okay? Just get him untied.” Alex,

one arm around Sterling, reached up to undo the restraint on his side, freeing

Sterling's injured arm at last. His wrist slipped, and Alex caught it, lowering it

slowly. It didn't help much with the pain. Sterling's arm jutted out awkwardly,

stiffly, his forearm twisted, freakish.

“Got it,” Kirk said with an air of triumph as he finally managed to undo

the other strap. “There.”

Sterling, supported by Alex, stumbled back a step or two. The room was

spinning around him, but he clung to consciousness. No way was he going to

pass out in this room, though throwing up all over Kirk had its appeal. He

cradled his arm as best he could, panting heavily. Had it hurt this much

before?

Kirk folded his arms and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Okay, this is what

we need to do. First, we get our stories straight—”

“First, we get Sterling to the emergency room,” Alex said as he led Sterling

to a chair by the wall. It had straps hanging off it, but Sterling didn't care. He

sat down, his skin clammy, waves of heat and cold chasing over him. “Jesus,

Kirk, how much of an asshole are you? He's hurting here and all you can think

about is yourself.” As he spoke, Alex gathered up Sterling's clothes and his own

and took them over to Sterling.

“Just…the pants,” Sterling grated out. He was trying to support his bad

arm as best he could, but he couldn't find a position for it that hurt less than

the others. Okay, they'd go to the hospital. The doctors would give him

something for the pain, so it wouldn't hurt so much. While he repeated this to

Bound and Determined

193

himself, Alex got dressed and then helped him into his jeans—no underwear,

that was fine, right then Sterling didn't care—and then his sneakers, no socks.

Alex looked conflicted, like he wanted to help Sterling stand up but didn't

know where to touch him to do it. Sterling appreciated not being touched; he

got to his feet on his own, shaky and gritting his teeth, and Alex tugged his

jeans up over his hips and fastened them.

“You can't mention my name,” Kirk was saying, like anyone was listening.

He was fully dressed again now, but his boots were off, and the sight of his feet

in bright red socks sticking out from under leather pants looked absurd. “I'll

lose my job, I'll—”

“I won't,” Sterling said. God, it was December, and he was going to go

outside without a shirt, and that was actually preferable to the alternative

because it meant he wouldn't have to put one on. “As far as I'm concerned, you

don't even exist.” It felt good to say it—was the only thing that felt good just

then.

Going up the stairs felt like a week's journey, and then getting into the

car, lowering himself onto the seat and swinging his legs in, hurt so much that

he almost passed out. The only reason he didn't let himself was because he

knew he'd come to again in this same pain, and he was pretty sure that would

suck even more.

“It's gonna be okay,” Alex said. “Jesus. Do you want me to roll down the

window?”

In case you have to puke
was the rest of that sentence, left unspoken, and

Sterling said, “Yes,” because it was his car, since it had been blocking Alex's in,

and he didn't want to puke in his own car.

The wind was icy as they drove to the hospital, freezing the sickly sweat

that Sterling seemed to be covered with. He closed his eyes and tried his best to

let the pain take him deeper, the way it had when things were good, but it

didn't seem to work and he wasn't sure why.

“I am so fucking sorry,” Alex said after a while.

Talking was an effort he didn't want to make, but Sterling gave a grunt

that he hoped translated to “not your fault” even though a small part of him

did
want to blame Alex for hooking up with a jerk. Which wasn't fair at all.

“He's not usually like that,” Alex went on, hunched over the wheel as if

that would make the car go faster. “Well, I mean, yeah, he is, but it's okay, you

know? I get off on it and so does he, and it all just sort of works for us, but

you… I think you made him nervous.”

That was so ridiculous that it distracted Sterling from the pain for a brief

moment. “What?”

Alex gave him an apologetic look and then swore as a light turned red,

forcing him to brake. “God, we're never going to get there… Kirk's been around

awhile, but not
that
long, and he's sort of on the fringes, you know? Not that

well-known. He hates that. And you're Owen's and he
is
well-known, and he

194

Jane Davitt & Alexa Snow

knows everyone and everyone looks up to him. Getting to play with you was

like a fucking dream come true, like borrowing someone's fucking Ferrari, but

he was panicking in case he didn't measure up.”

“He didn't,” Sterling said.

“I know.” Alex was quiet for the rest of the drive until a muttered, “Thank

God,” as they drove into the parking lot outside the ER. “Hang out; I'll get

someone with a wheelchair.”

The thought of that was too unsettling. Sterling said, “No. I can walk.”

“Yeah, but should you?” Alex asked but came around and opened the

passenger door, then stood there as Sterling, with much whimpering, eased

himself out. “You must be freezing.”

He wasn't, actually, but he could feel himself breaking out in a fresh

round of cold sweat. He clutched his forearm more tightly; it was impossible to

walk without jarring his shoulder, and his head was spinning. “Gonna pass

out,” he managed; the edges of his vision were going black with sparkles.

It was kind of pretty, he thought as hands bent him at the waist and he

sat down onto something that felt, to his ass, like a swing. He was moving. Was

he at the park? Was it a nice enough day to be at the park? And why the fuck

did his arm hurt so much?

Bright lights drove away the darkness, and Sterling dropped his head to

his chest, shutting his eyes tightly. “Okay, get him on the gurney,” someone

said, and he screamed as his shoulder became the only part of his body he

could feel. “Okay, okay. Try to relax.”

That was the stupidest thing Sterling had ever heard in his life. Relax?

Hell, he was still screaming, and someone was touching him. He swatted at

them—that
hurt
, he didn't want anyone touching him, he just wanted Owen.

Someone tried to hold him down by his good shoulder to keep him from

moving, and he shouted again and jerked away, flaring the pain into red fire.

“Don't touch me,” he gasped. “Don't.” Letting someone other than Owen touch

him was what had gotten him into this mess. Another hand at his wrist and he

shouted it a second time. “Don't touch me! Only Owen. Where's Owen?”

Sterling let his head drop back, feeling hot tears streaking down his

temples into his hair. Where was Owen?

Bound and Determined

195

Chapter Sixteen

Owen sighed and almost viciously scratched out three entire paragraphs

from the article he'd been working on. Even if he hadn't been in a filthy mood,

he'd have been just as hard on himself as an author—it often took him dozens

of drafts to complete anything to his satisfaction.

He tossed the pages aside and leaned back in his chair, his back aching

from sitting for too long. Time to stop before he gave in to the overwhelming

impulse to crumple the entire article up and throw it into the trash.

He stood, and for want of anything better to do, picked up a cup half full

of cold coffee and carried it to the kitchen. Taking his time, he washed it, dried

it and put it away, concentrating hard on the task. It still only used up a

minute or two of an evening that was dragging by.

Sterling hadn't called. Owen had no intention of letting the silence

between them continue for much longer, but he'd expected Sterling, impatient,

annoying, exasperating boy that he was, to have made the first move the way

he always did. He'd been braced for another midnight call, a stormy-eyed

Sterling pushing his way in, demanding, persuasive, infinitely appealing. He'd

dozed on the couch until finally, around two, he'd gone to bed, leaving the

porch light on, a tacit welcome.

Nine thirty. Oh, the hell with it. He was going to call Sterling. Another

night apart wouldn't do either of them any good.

The phone rang as he was walking toward it, a synchronicity that made

him smile, certain that it was Sterling. The idea of them both reaching breaking

point at the same time was curiously comforting.

He picked up the phone, still smiling. “Hello?”

“Owen? It's Alex. Sterling's friend Alex? Look, I know there's probably a

better way to do this, but I don't know what it is, so I'll just—Sterling's at the

emergency room with a dislocated shoulder, and he's freaked out and

screaming and he won't let the doctors touch him, and he's asking for you. I

know you guys had a fight or whatever—”

“Alex, take a breath,” Owen said, going immediately to get his boots and

coat, the phone tucked under his ear. “What happened?”

“He was losing it, and he asked if he could have a night with Kirk. But

Kirk didn't hurt him, I swear. All he did was strap him up and then Sterling's

arm just—I don't know why it happened.”

196

Jane Davitt & Alexa Snow

“I do,” Owen said grimly. “And when I get my hands on Kirk—” No, he'd