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Setting the card on the bar between them, he lifted his hand for the bartender and ordered a bottled water. The redhead made no move to take the card.
“I volunteer at an outreach center on Peachtree. It’s not like the community shelters. We have individual rooms with doors and locks. You won’t have to share. You don’t have to pay, not in any way.”
He passed a five-dollar bill to the bartender as he accepted his drink. “We don’t have anything fancy, but we can give you four walls and a roof over your head. We’ll help you find a job, help you get on your feet.”
“And what’s in it for you?” the guy rasped. “Are you wanting me to believe you’re just saving souls out of the goodness of your heart?”
“I’m trying to make peace with what happened to me.” He turned to face the young man for the first time. “I didn’t think I’d ever get out, but I did. Nobody rescued me. Thing is, though, a stranger gave me a chance, gave me a job, when I needed one. If he hadn’t put a hand out to me, I don’t know how long I would’ve lasted before I ended up right back where I started. I’d be dead right now. One way or another. Someone would’ve killed me, or I would’ve killed myself.”
He gave the bar his back. “I hope you take the card. I hope you visit the center, but you’ve got to make the choice to save yourself first. You are worth saving; you just have to believe it.”
Of course, he wanted to say more, to plead with the guy to believe him and take what he offered, but he knew if he pushed, he’d only sabotage any progress he’d made. Instead, he walked away.
Trying to look casual, he sipped his drink as he passed one booth after the next. Even before sundown, men filled the seats.
At the first table, a forty-something Hispanic man jerked off, watching the trans woman standing naked—save for red heels—rubbing her breasts and getting a blow-job from a guy kneeling on the floor. Robby couldn’t tell if all the players really wanted to be there, but he couldn’t justify interrupting to find out. His stomach roiled as he moved on.
A group of five men crammed in the second booth, apparently halfway through a game of strip poker.
In the third, a couple kissed ardently as though they were the only two people on earth, a half-eaten plate of skewered shrimp on the table in front of them.
Then, the world stopped when he turned to the next tableau and locked eyes with the last person he’d ever wanted to see at a place like this ever again. A pinched-face older man gripped a shirtless Brady by the back of the neck and shook him.
“Do I have to remind you of the rules?” he hissed.
“No, sir,” the boy choked out.
“If feel your teeth one more time, I’ll knock them right out of your mouth.”
Robby didn’t think; he just reached to the table behind him, grabbed a skewer, and lunged, digging the tip into the older man’s throat. “Let go of the kid right now, or so help me, I will fucking end you.”
The man released his grip, and Brady stared at him with wide eyes.
“Grab your clothes, Brady, and stand up.”
The boy scuttled from his seat, and Robby pulled the metal stick away from the man beside him. A dot of blood welled in its wake. “Get out of here, asshole. If I ever see you again, it will be the worst day of your life, you understand?”
He stepped back to give the man room to escape, which he did quickly, his hand cupping his neck as if he might bleed to death rather than just drip on his collar. Dropping the skewer on the table, Robby turned to Brady.
The boy’s body shook, his thin arms wrapped around his bare midsection. At least a pair of white shorts covered some of his bottom half. “He’s going to tell my boyfriend about this, and I’m going to lose everything. I know you were trying to help, but—” He took a stuttered breath. “I don’t have anywhere to go now.”
Robby took off his lightweight jacket and hung it around Brady’s shoulders. “You’re wrong. Come on.” He steered him toward the door. “We’re going back to the Q-Center.”
***
Matt
Matt stood outside of Nitro at exactly five o’clock, trying to ignore the smug look on Parker’s face as he pranced up the walkway in a pair of skin-tight jeans and a form-fitting T-shirt.
“I wasn’t sure you’d really come, dove.” The blond looked around in an exaggerated motion Patty would’ve called extra. “I don’t see your lovely lady friend. She seemed very interested in what I had to say about Robby.”
“Patty’s working,” he gritted. She’d been pissed about it, had wanted to see what Parker had told her about firsthand, but apparently, Steve had booked a ton of appointments and said he couldn’t spare her help. “Just show me what you came to show me, and let’s skip the small talk.”
Parker dropped his fake smile. “Okay. Follow me.” The man led him into the club, past the dance floor and straight to a door in back, guarded by a balding guy wearing all black.
The bouncer—or whatever he was—didn’t even blink as Parker opened the door and breezed inside. The flashing lights and pounding beat melted into a dim yellow cast and a slower, more sensual soundtrack. The lingering scent of piped-in smoke mixed with some kind of incense and sex.
The shadows hanging over the room kept him from taking in everything at once, but as Parker led him to the far right near the bar, more details took shape. Like the sweaty, pudgy man kneeling on his seat with his dick in hand, coming on the tits of a woman who was…getting a blowjob?
