Page 26 of A Shared Mind

I walked down the steps to the sidewalk, quickly making my way to my SUV. I got inside and sighed. “Now where?”

We’re going back to—

“No, we’re going back to Kansas City. This is enough.” Just as I was about to start the car, I was shoved aside into total darkness, yet again.

Mother fucker.

Chapter Twelve

Ramon

Justin—I tried to call you over the weekend. I’m still coming to KC on Tuesday, and I hope I get to see you. I thought we could meet at Smokehouse Q KC at seven thirty that evening. I made a reservation but let know if something comes up and you can’t make it. Clay

I tossed the kid’s cellphone in the console of his dinky SUV and backed out of the parking space. Back in the day, I drove a black Toyota Four Runner. It was bigger than the kid’s vehicle, but the small SUV probably got a hell of a lot better gas mileage than mine.

“Kid, your boy toy texted that he’s coming to town today. You want I should tell him I’m meeting him for dinner?” Oh, my young friend was pissed and throwing a fucking tantrum inside his body, which made me laugh. The kid was a piss riot.

You mother fucker. Let me have control right now! Don’t you dare text him back. Give me control back right now, dammit!

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. You wouldn’t take us back to the social club so I could speak to Tino because you had to get back to Kansas City, so I’m takin’ over. You even dissed my son when he nicely invited you for a drink. What’s that gonna do to his fuckin’ ego?

“I’ll meet your future fuck buddy for dinner, but I’m not relinquishing control. We’ll be goin’ back to St. Louis tomorrow whether you like it or not.” It was a little sadistic to mention it because the kid needed to get laid. He was driving me fuckin’ nuts.

You can laugh all you want, you evil bastard, but If we fuck, he’ll be fucking you, you prick. You’re in control, and if you seduce him and get him to fuck my body, I’ll do everything I can to find that EZ dude and surrender myself to him so you get taken to Hell.

I laughed. “I didn’t get to find out who killed me when we were there, so you still need to help me, whether you get fucked or not. You don’t help me, and I might never leave.”

That was no lie. If I knew who killed me, then I’d know who to look for in Hell. I still had a hard time imagining who would have done the deed, but I wanted to know before I went to the depths of Hell. I was sure I could find my killer down there—now or in the future.

After our little tiff, Justin clammed up, not even grunting at my attempted jokes. I laughed all the way to his apartment. Our shared body smelled a little rank because he hadn’t showered in a few days, and the clothes on him—they were fucking rancid. I thought gay guys were well-groomed but man, was I wrong.

We had until seven thirty to meet the handsome farmer—according to my host. I could feel the affection he had for the guy, though they hadn’t had too much time together. It wasn’t my desire to keep the two of them apart, but I had my own agenda.

Bottom line... I needed to be in control of him, or Justin would kick me to the curb at the first opportunity he found. He didn’t know how to evict me, and I hoped he never figured out who could kick me out of him.

I was getting stronger at holding control for extended periods of Justin’s time, and if I had my choice, I’d stay in control and take another shot at living my life differently. The idea was tempting.

Me? Heaven knew I was selfish enough to do it, but only if it was anybody else. It seemed I had tender feelings for the kid because Justin was actually a good guy.

The idea of holding him hostage in his own body was sort of sour in my mind. Really, his anger at me was justified, and I couldn’t blame him. I was a prick, to be sure.

Everyone I knew would confirm my douche status back in the day, but I’d grown to like Justin. For the kid’s sake, the farmer would be good for him because the two of them seemed to have incredible chemistry.

However, I had other things that were important to me. As I thought about it, it was hard for me to accept that I was selfish enough to seek my revenge on my killer while in someone else’s body, but I was. The chance that the kid could be killed because of my actions was less important to me than having the last word in my own death.

You’re a mother fucker, Ramon. Clay and me? If it’s meant to work out, we’ll get together when the time is right. I don’t need your blessing.

I chuckled. “Are you sure, pizon? Maybe I can show you the beauty of making love to gorgeous women. Maybe I can change your idea of attraction?”

Without my consent, his body shuddered strongly as it reminded me how unhappy Justin was with my choices. If I was in his shoes, I’d have done the same thing.

You admitted that you had five baby mamas, but did you care for any of them? Were they just somewhere to stick your dick?

I want the person to mean something to me if I decide to give myself to them, and I want to mean something to them. I don’t want to just fuck for the sake of fucking. That’s what straight guys do, isn’t it?

He wasn’t wrong. In my day, a man fucked around as often as he could find willing partners—female for me—and it was applauded by the other men I knew. Every baby was celebrated as a sign of a man’s virility, which was part of his street cred nearly as important as the bones he made on those same streets.

Maybe it was me being a dick—no, I’m sure it was—but at the time, it was the way we exerted dominance over those around us and controlled our territory.