This Is a Dark Ride Read online

  THIS IS A DARK RIDE

  Melissa Harlow

  www.loose-id.com

  This Is a Dark Ride

  Copyright © June 2012 by Melissa Harlow

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  eISBN 978-1-61118-862-2

  Editor: Venessa Giunta

  Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde

  Printed in the United States of America

  Published by

  Loose Id LLC

  PO Box 809

  San Francisco CA 94104-0809

  www.loose-id.com

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

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  Chapter One

  A cat yowled incessantly. Not an anonymous cat, not anymore. No, unfortunately the cat now had a name.

  Krieger.

  That matted, one-eyed, orange bastard had stubbornly taken up residence out on the fire escape. He had marked Sam’s wrist with a ragged scar and marked the apartment with an unpleasant odor that still lingered. Despite having scrubbed the carpet and the wall several times, every time the heat kicked on, Sam could still smell cat piss.

  He hated to hear that cat crying out in the cold, hated it more now because it wasn’t “some stray cat” anymore. Never again would he have the luxury of thinking, I wish that fucking cat would shut up, because now the cat was Krieger. Fucking Krieger, what kind of name was that for a cat? Why did Brody have to go and name it? It was much easier to ignore before it had a name. Maybe if it was pretty, it would be easier to pay attention to it.

  Sam knew each time he had that thought that it was wrong to feel that way, but that was the truth. The cat was ugly, no denying it. Just looking it in the face made Sam cringe inside each time he saw that empty eye socket.

  It began to cry louder, and he resisted the urge to open the window to let it inside. It was frigid out there, and he knew that cat had to be cold.

  Cold. Like the girl from the corner, up by the liquor store…

  No! I’m not going to do this. I’m not letting the damned cat in, and I’m not going to think about that girl. There were plenty of stray cats out there in this weather, probably more than one stray girl too, and there wasn’t a fucking thing he could do to help any of them.

  Sam yawned and rolled over, blinking the sleep from his eyes. The sky outside the dirty little bedroom window was dim with night and snow. Regardless of his sore back and the weird dreams he’d been having lately, he’d managed to sleep relatively well. Sometimes it was amazing how restful sheer exhaustion could be. He didn’t need to look at the clock to know the alarm was going to be blaring soon.

  Brody hadn’t moved from the position he’d been in hours ago. Sam laid his hand on Brody’s shoulder. A fine sheen of perspiration glistened on Brody, but the skin beneath Sam’s fingers was cool to the touch. Smooth, slick, and hard, like a wet slab of marble. His muddy brown eyes were open, but the only light in them was the glint of the bedside lamp’s reflection as he stared vacantly at the ceiling.

  Sam often wondered how Brody still managed to have such an ethereal face while at the same time he looked so damn haggard. He stared longingly at the sensual bow of Brody’s lush lips, forgetting for a moment how frustrated he had been with Brody lately.

  Outside, Krieger continued crying mournfully. Brody looked over at the dark window, his brows creasing into a troubled frown.

  Sam felt a little stab of anger that, of all things, Brody was concerned about some old stray cat.

  “You been feeding that cat again, haven’t you?” Sam asked. He already knew the answer; all the smoked turkey lunch meat was gone from the fridge, and Brody sure as hell hadn’t been the one who’d eaten it.

  “Nope.”

  Liar.

  Brody rolled over and laid his head on Sam’s chest, nestling beneath Sam’s chin. Brody was shaking, again, always.

  Junkie.

  “He needs to come inside. It’s so cold out there,” Brody said in almost a whisper. His warm breath tickled against Sam’s skin.

  “We’ve tried that, remember? He pissed all over the apartment.”

  “He just needs a litter pan.”

  “A litter pan won’t stop him from spraying.”

  “It might.” Brody sounded timid, meek—not the way he should sound. Not at all the way the man Sam had fallen in love with once sounded. Sam hugged Brody tightly to his chest, wishing he had more patience.

  “Stop feeding him. He won’t go away unless you stop feeding him.”

  “I just want”—Brody’s voice did a strange quiver—”I don’t want him to leave, Sam. Let’s get him a litter pan, let him live in the apartment. I want to take care of him.”

  “Take care of yourself! Do you know how goddamn tired I am of worrying about you?” He wasn’t, absolutely was not going to buy that fucking cat a litter pan! Brody couldn’t even wash his own clothes or dishes. He sure as hell wouldn’t clean up after that cat!

  “I’m sorry, Sam.”

  Brody’s “I’m sorry” voice. Sam found it impossible not to let that get to him. It was so out of character for Brody. Like a little boy with a skinned knee, who needed some kisses and hugs. If only that were all it would take to make everything better.

  Sam cradled Brody in his arms. Unwashed hair, unwashed skin, and Sam greedily breathed in the scent of it. Maybe he was the junkie. Addicted to this man. He ran his hand tenderly through Brody’s long, greasy hair, rewarded as Brody clung more tightly to him. He loved when Brody was clingy. Needy. Except that maybe Sam should finally admit to himself that he wasn’t what Brody needed at all.

  Sometimes when Brody clung to him, Sam had the unshakable feeling that the only reason Brody was holding him was because Sam was still here, and in those moments it was all he could do to figure out why. Why didn’t he leave? More than once on his way to work Sam had thought about how much easier his life might be without Brody. Once he’d been proud to be with Brody, to be seen with him. Now sometimes he was embarrassed, not so much for himself, but for the man he’d once idolized.

  Brody’s hair slid like oiled silk through Sam’s rough fingers, appearing darker than its soft shade of caramel brown. Sam wished he had time to help wash it. Maybe tomorrow morning when Sam got home, they could take a long shower together.

  “Wish you didn’t have to go to work,” Brody murmured against Sam’s chest.

  “Somebody has to.” The remark was mean, but he couldn’t stop himself. He brushed his hand down Brody’s side, running his fingers ove
r the fragile ladder of ribs there, reminding himself that he shouldn’t be cruel. Brody was sick.

  It was hard to remember the Brody who had once been, yet at the same time impossible to forget him. There was a picture of that Brody burned into his memory. An image that was sometimes as sharp as the day Sam’s mind had seized it; an ideal image that seemed so clear that it made the rest of the world feel fuzzy and out of focus. The Brody that Sam had met when he was working as a bouncer at that slick little club over on the east side. Brody’s old band, Dimensions, played the Palace regularly back then. A Doors tribute band, which might have been cliché were it not for the fact that the man at the microphone looked more like a young Jim Morrison than Jim Morrison ever had.

  Everyone had loved Brody Redlinger. He’d had his share of groupies, that was for damn sure. Not just men but women, lots of women, so many women in fact, that it was a long time before Sam even knew that Brody liked men. More specifically, and much more importantly—that Brody Redlinger liked him.

  It seemed unlikely that their few torrid romps in the men’s room would have ever led to what they had. Had. Was that really what it was now? As hard as Sam was trying to hold on, it felt like all he had left was a fingertip grip, so maybe had was the right word.

  Their first real date, at least a date that included something besides sex in the men’s room, had been to a run-down amusement park. Right by the entrance they’d had a lame fun house, adorned with gaudy, peeling paint. A crooked wooden sign in front proclaimed THIS IS A DARK RIDE. Brody had laughed at that beat-up sign. His face lit up, and in that moment he was the most amazing person Sam had ever seen. If Sam had to identify the precise instant in time that he fell in love with Brody, he was certain it was right there in front of that old fun house.

  On the way out of the park that night Sam stole the sign. It was the first and the only thing he’d ever stolen in his life, and that sign now hung in their living room over Brody’s cherished piano. This is a dark ride. Perhaps it was a precursor of all the things that lay ahead, because at times, this had been a very dark ride.

  “Did you eat today?” Sam kissed the top of Brody’s head.

  “I think. Yeah…yeah, I did. I had turkey. I ate a sandwich.”

  “Did you go and buy a loaf of bread?”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  Sam sighed. “Why do you have to lie to me, Brody? You didn’t have a sandwich. We’re out of bread. We’ve been out of bread for days.”

  Silence. It was fucking deafening. There was a distance between them that had never been there before, a distance fueled by separate lives and silence. He wished Brody would get angry. Get mad and curse, yell—anything but the silence.

  He hated knowing Brody was lying. It made him wonder what other things Brody lied to him about. As far as he knew, Brody hadn’t ever lied to him before, but now he was constantly saying he’d eaten when he hadn’t.

  Sam remembered the coat he had in the backseat of his car. Okay, Sam hadn’t exactly lied to Brody, but he sure as hell hadn’t told him what had been on his mind for the last couple of days. So Brody wanted to lie about feeding that damn cat or whether he’d eaten or not; there were worse things he could be hiding, and at least he wasn’t back to getting high. Yet.

  Maybe it was Sam’s own fault that Brody had gotten to this point. It made Sam feel guilty that he’d said nothing when Brody’s drug use had gotten heavy. In fact, a part of him had been thankful…fucking thankful. When Brody was all strung out, Sam didn’t worry about Brody leaving him anymore. It had been the first time in their relationship that Sam had actually believed Brody needed him.

  Brody was really trying to quit now, and as much as Sam wanted him to, a part of him was scared what would happen if Brody managed to succeed.

  It sucked to be insecure. Sam knew he was, but he didn’t know what he could do to change the way he felt.

  “Want some soup?” Sam softened his voice. He’d managed to get Brody to eat last night, just ramen noodles, but still, that was better than nothing.

  “No, Sam, I don’t want any fucking soup.” Sam didn’t really want to start a fight, but at least when Brody was annoyed he was more like his old self.

  “I’ll heat you some. There’s a few cans up in the cupboard,” Sam said. “That will be easy on your stomach. You can eat some?”

  Brody tilted his head up and looked at Sam with solemn eyes. “What I want is some of you.”

  Oh, if only that were the truth, although Sam tried to pretend that he believed it was. He kissed Brody roughly, his stubble rasping against Brody’s soft skin, wanting to bruise those ripe, full lips the way they’d once done to him. It seemed like a lifetime since Brody had made him feel desired. Brody grunted into his mouth and pushed back a bit.

  “Whoa, easy there, Samson. My stomach is real shaky. Puking on you is pretty much going to kill the mood, isn’t it?”

  It had been a long time since Brody had called him Samson. That was the name Sam had used when he was dabbling around in amateur boxing. The name hadn’t meant a whole lot to him. In fact he’d thought it was corny, but when Brody said it, it wasn’t corny at all.

  Sam touched him, expecting what he found but still disappointed. Brody was soft. Still, Sam caressed Brody’s cock, not really expecting a response nor getting one. Maybe just the fact that Sam could touch Brody at all should be enough. Sam leaned up, bracing himself on his arm, easing his head down, closer to Brody’s cock. It had been so long since Brody had allowed him to take it in his mouth. Sam loved the way it felt between his lips, the little moans Brody made, and the way Brody tasted.

  Brody cupped Sam’s jaw roughly and jerked him back. “It’s not happening.”

  “But I just wanted to—”

  “I know what you want, Sam. But we both know it’s not happening, so why waste each other’s time?”

  “Brody.” It was the only time he had gotten the courage up to make the first move, to try and get Brody excited. He hadn’t expected Brody to just shut him down.

  “Why waste each other’s time?” Was that what they were doing? Was that what all of this was?

  Brody had experimented, he’d lived a wild life, and Sam…well, Sam hadn’t lived much at all. There had been that one clumsy kiss with a girl after a school dance. Sam had awkwardly felt her up and tried to pretend that he was into girls, but she really hadn’t made him feel anything. Then came that disastrous thing with the electrician who had rewired his mother’s basement. RJ had somehow just known girls were not Sam’s thing, and he’d shown Sam exactly what his thing really was.

  He tried not to recall the bad things that had happened with him and RJ. He’d tried so hard, for so long that his mind refused to remember things the way they had actually occurred.

  RJ had loved him, and Sam had loved RJ. It hadn’t worked out—for whatever reason, it just hadn’t worked. Maybe Sam had been too young. It wasn’t meant to be, and that was it—the end of the story. The rest of it was buried, and it would remain that way.

  Things with Brody were supposed to be different. Sam was older, wiser now. He knew who he was, and he knew what he was. He’d been certain the minute that he fell in love with Brody that it was meant to be. Except every day that went by, he felt like his “meant to be” was slipping into oblivion.

  He lay back and rested a hand over his eyes. “Why’d you stop, Brody? Why’d you stop needing, caring…stop wanting me?”

  “I didn’t. I won’t. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay,” Brody whispered. “Everything will be okay, I promise.”

  Sam closed his eyes as Brody stroked his hair. This tenderness was completely out of character for Brody, and Sam couldn’t allow himself to enjoy it because his mind couldn’t get past Brody’s rejection. His brain played a mantra of Brody doesn’t want you over and over in his head.

  “My Samson. Maybe you’re getting too strong for me. Maybe we need to cut your hair like in the story about Samson. I liked when you were weak, when you were on your knees fo
r me.”

  A lump welled in Sam’s throat. Brody wouldn’t let him be on his knees. Brody didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. Sam wasn’t any stronger than he’d ever been. Brody was just weak. Brody doesn’t want you.

  “I’ll take care of you,” Brody said in a voice so sincere that Sam had to believe him. “I’ll get you off, Samson. You know I can, you know how much I love to make you feel good.”

  Brody’s hand moved to Sam’s groin, gliding over his belly and beneath the waistband of his underwear. When those cold fingers brushed his cock, an uncontrollable tremor rippled through Sam. He wished he could say no, wished he could turn Brody down like Brody had just done him, to show him what it felt like. Show him how much it hurt. But he could not. The slightest touch of Brody’s hand made any resolve Sam thought he could gather crumble into a million pieces.

  “This is why you’re so cranky all the time, isn’t it, Sam? You miss me, don’t you?”

  “I miss us,” Sam managed to choke out, his voice strangled by both sadness and arousal. He closed his eyes tighter, savoring Brody’s touch, and for a moment everything was the way he’d once imagined it would be. Brody Redlinger loved him. “Please, can I suck you? Please, Brody?” Just begging Brody out loud like that made Sam more excited, although he was aware that he probably sounded pathetic. He didn’t care. He’d begged for Brody before. When it came to Brody, he was shameless.

  No, he wasn’t shameless, not really. He liked that shame, liked showing Brody that he would humiliate himself if that was what Brody wanted.

  “No!” Brody’s grip tightened, his strokes lengthened, and his voice softened. “I’ll make it good for you, but my stomach just doesn’t feel right.” He nuzzled Sam’s neck, kissed his way roughly to Sam’s ear, and bit his lobe. Sam wanted to scream. Don’t stop. Don’t you ever fucking stop.

  “You’re going to come for me, Samson. You’re going to show me what a good boy you are, and you’re going to fuck my hand.”