Infuriating (Elite Protection Services Book 4)

  Infuriating

  Elite Protection Services Book 4

  Copyright © 2020 Onley James

  www.onleyjames.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction and does not represent any individual living or dead. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  scorpius rising

  an imprint of

  seven sisters publishing

  P.O. Box 993

  Jupiter, Florida 33458

  www.7sisterspublishing.com/scorpiusrising

  Trigger warning: This book contains brief portrayals of childhood emotional abuse as well as discussions of past child sexual trauma and one scene of on-page physical violence to a main character at the hands of somebody other than the main character.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Dayton

  2. Jackson

  3. Dayton

  4. Jackson

  5. Dayton

  6. Jackson

  7. Dayton

  8. Jackson

  9. Dayton

  10. Jackson

  11. Dayton

  12. Jackson

  13. Dayton

  14. Jackson

  15. Dayton

  16. Jackson

  17. Dayton

  18. Jackson

  19. Dayton

  20. Jackson

  21. Dayton

  22. Jackson

  23. Dayton

  24. Jackson

  25. Dayton

  26. Jackson

  27. Dayton

  28. Jackson

  29. Dayton

  Epilogue

  Also by Onley James

  Afterword

  About the Author

  “What do you mean you don’t get it? Sound it out.”

  Dayton stared at the letters until they swam, his brow wrinkled and his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. She always acted like it was so simple. Maybe it was. Maybe he really was just stupid. “Cuh-T-uh.”

  “Cuh-T-uh?” she mocked. “That sound like any word you ever heard of, Dayton? Use your fucking brain. If you even have one. C-A-T. Cat. Cat. How fucking hard is that?”

  Day’s heart shriveled in his chest, and he bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood. If he cried it would only get worse. She got real mean when he cried. “Men don’t cry,” she’d said. Babies cried. Was he a baby? “Sowwy,” he managed, wincing.

  His head shot forward as his grandma’s hand connected with the back of his head. “Sah-REE. Not sowwy. Christ. What am I gonna do with you? You’re as stupid as your fucking mama was, but unlike her, you can’t make a living shaking your ass for money, so you better figure it out.”

  At least she got away. Day hoped she did anyway. Nobody deserved to be trapped in this stupid, gross house with its icky stained walls and dirty floors and poop everywhere from Grandma’s two yappy dogs that bit his ankles and snapped at his face. He hated it there. He didn’t know why he even had to be there. He had to have a dad somewhere, right? Sarah had a dad. Xander had a dad. Joel had two moms, but they were nice. Why hadn’t his mom at least left Day with him?

  Day stared down at his homework, relief flooding his system as he heard the screen door open and shut, his grandma muttering under her breath as she walked away. She was going next door to Jack’s place. She’d be there for a long time. Sometimes, she stayed all night. Day hated being by himself but he loved when she stayed away. He couldn’t use the stove yet, but he had taught himself to use the microwave. But he didn’t have to do that today.

  Today was fried chicken day.

  Day grabbed his book and flew out the door, running the four houses down to Sarah’s house. He skipped knocking on the door. Sarah wouldn’t be there. She was in the fort. Sarah’s dad was the coolest. He built her a fort at the top of the big tree in her backyard. Sarah’s mama also owned a restaurant in town, and they always had the best food at home.

  Day let himself into the backyard, tucking his workbook into his jeans before climbing up the steps nailed to the big tree in the backyard, tapping out their secret knock before flinging open the door. Sarah lay in the corner, putting together a puzzle, her feet swaying as she worked, her black hair plaited along her shoulders in two braids. The tubes that helped her breathe stuck into her nostrils, a small green tank beside her. Sarah was the smartest person Day knew. She was a year older than him but she was two years ahead in school. She looked up as Day came in and slammed the door a little too hard.

  One look at Day’s face and she forgot her puzzle. She sat crisscross applesauce in her overalls and a pink t-shirt that matched her favorite pink sequined Skechers. She handed him a plastic container, and Day’s stomach growled. He attacked the fried chicken and mac and cheese with his fingers, ignoring the fork that sat just to his left. Fried chicken day at the restaurant was Day’s favorite, so Sarah’s mama always made extra just for him.

  While Day shoveled food into his mouth, Sarah took his notebook and carefully finished his homework, doing her best to make their handwriting match. Sarah thought of everything. Day knew it was cheating and that it was wrong, but the last time the teacher had called Day’s grandma, she’d beat him with a switch from the tree out back. The teacher said he had a learning problem. That things were mixed up in his brain and that there were programs to help. His grandma had beat him for embarrassing her. He always embarrassed her. It was bad enough he talked funny, now he couldn’t read. She’d called him the R word. The one the teacher said they weren’t allowed to say.

  When his homework was done and his belly was full, they lay on the floor of Sarah’s fort, staring up past the branches of the tree to the sky above, watching the clouds roll by as the sun set. Sarah’s feet pointed one way and Day’s the other, their heads slotted together so they could both see.

  “When I finally get my new lungs, I’m going to fly away to California and be a movie star,” Sarah said with a sigh. She always said that. She was going to be a big star and be on the tv.

  Day couldn’t imagine wanting that kind of attention. People staring at him, listening to him talk, making fun of him. “Not me. The idea of a bunch of people sta-staring at me sounds kinda awful.”

  He tried to avoid words with Rs and THs. They always made the w sound. His teacher said those were his ‘problem letters.’ He didn’t know what that meant other than that was when the other kids started laughing. His teacher tried to make them stop but she wasn’t with him at recess. Sarah said she thought maybe his eyes and his tongue didn’t talk to each other. His grandma said all letters were his problem, that he was just born dumb…like his mama. That was why he still couldn’t read.

  “Nah, acting is neat. You get to be anybody you want, and you get to wear costumes and makeup and jewelry,” Sarah gushed, ignoring his slowed speech.

  Wearing makeup and jewelry sounded fun, but Day would never do that again. He might be dumb, but he wasn’t that dumb. His grandma had flipped out when she’d seen Day and Sarah playing dress up, said dressing up was for girls and sissy boys. She always liked to use that word. Sissy. She called him that every time he cried, anytime he showed any sign of pain.

  But Sarah always looked pretty in her fancy clothes and her mama’s big earrings and her scarlet lipstick, even if she sometimes put it on outside the lines. Day’s grandma said makeup was for sluts. He didn’t know what a slu
t was, but it had to be bad because his grandma spit it at him like she did the R word. Day liked the way girl clothes felt. They were soft and silky, and Sarah’s sneakers had sequins. Day didn’t understand how a fabric could be made just for a girl or just for a boy but he didn’t argue with his grandma.

  “I don’t want to be he-ar wif-without you,” Day said, blushing as the words didn’t come out right once again.

  As far as Day could see, anywhere was better than Challis, Idaho.

  “You’ll come with me. I’ll need people.”

  “Why?” Day asked.

  Sarah shrugged. “I don’t know. Movie stars and famous people have people that just do things for them. You could be the person who just does things for me and then we can be friends forever.”

  Sarah started to cough, not a regular cough but one of those coughs that triggered spasms in her lungs. There was nothing to do but wait it out. When it finally died down, she looked pale, with purple crescent moons under her eyes. Sarah had something she called CF. It scarred up her lungs. It was why she needed new ones. But there was a list for new lungs so she had to wait her turn. It seemed weird that there was a list of people who needed new parts. But Sarah didn’t really seem bothered by it. She just sort of acted like it was normal.

  Day wished somebody would give him a new brain or maybe a new tongue, then maybe his grandma would stop hating him. Sometimes, he didn’t think he wanted her to stop hating him. If she loved him then maybe that meant he was like her. He didn’t want to be like her. He hated her back. Sarah said it wasn’t nice to hate people, and he guessed that was true, but he was scared of his grandma. He hated going home. Shouldn’t it be okay to hate somebody who made you scared? Who hit you and was mean to you all the time?

  “Promise me you’ll come with me to California when I get my new lungs,” Sarah said, holding up her pinky.

  Anywhere was better than Idaho. He hooked his pinky with hers. “Okay. As soon as you get new lungs.”

  “Have you missed Daddy?”

  Dayton tilted his head to the side, giving the man on the other side of the screen a secret smile, the one they all thought was just for them. “Of course, I have. I was starting to think you’d ghosted me.”

  Jay laughed. That wasn’t his real name. That was the thing about this business. Nobody used their real names. Day was almost positive Jay was some kind of attorney given that he was always in a fancy office when they talked and there were rows of hardback law books behind him. Like most of Day’s clients, Jay was married, most likely to a woman who didn’t understand him. That was always their excuse. It sucked for their wives, but Day had to make a living, so he tried to put all of that aside. That was what they paid him for. His time and his attention.

  Day was a liar, too. On the internet, he was Danny from Florida who was just camming to make it through college. Total bullshit. Day hadn’t even made it past the seventh grade, and his shitty LA apartment probably cost three times as much as a shitty Florida apartment. But it was still better than where he started, so if he had to smile and bat his lashes and convince some balding fifty-something-year-old guy with a paunch hanging over his belt that he was the only guy Day truly cared about, then that’s what he’d do. He’d made Sarah a promise. Even if this had never been what she’d had in mind.

  “I would never disappear on you, beautiful. I’ve just been working on a really big case.”

  Jay lived in Los Angeles, just like Day, but he certainly would never tell him that.

  “That’s what you all say, and then poof, you disappear. But that’s alright, another’s always waiting in the wings to take your place.” Day crossed his legs, leaning back for Jay to get a good look at his white silk corset set, complete with lace panties and thigh highs. He crossed his legs, running his nails over the top of the hose, teasing a finger under the elastic.

  “Damn, you look so sexy. Model it for me.”

  Jay had a fetish for lingerie, one Dayton was happy to indulge since he knew for a fact he looked damn good in satin and lace. Besides, Jay had sent Day a lot of money to buy this outfit. Not that Day had spent it all on this bit of frippery. It paid to live in the fashion district.

  Day stood, stepping away from the camera so Jay could see the effort he’d put in for their call. He had on sparkly silver ankle boots and enough makeup on to make a drag queen jealous. He put his hands on his hips and sashayed across his room like he was walking the Paris runways, making sure Jay got a good look at the thong underwear that highlighted the perfect curves of his ass.

  When he made it back to the computer screen, Jay had slouched down in his chair, his computer no longer on the desk but balanced on his knees so Day could see that Jay was most definitely enjoying all of his efforts. “Oh. Looks like somebody’s liking what he sees.”

  Jay had his dick in hand, but he wasn’t furiously working it like some of Day’s cam clients did. Jay paid for the boyfriend experience—or rather, the Daddy experience. He wanted Day all to himself three times a week, and he was willing to shell out Day’s monthly allowance to get it. For what Jay paid, Day would call him St. Francis of Assissi if that’s what got him off. What the fuck did Day care? He was just a performer.

  Some part of Day did wish he could have a real Daddy, not a guy who handed out money just to hear Day call him by the honorific, but a real Daddy. One who cared about Day. One who didn’t care about his flaws and was kind and encouraging when he needed it but was stern and punishing when warranted.

  Los Angeles had a huge kink culture, but with Day’s disability, he wasn’t really sub material. He’d tried a few times to search for a Daddy, but all he’d found were posers who just wanted an excuse to take out their aggression on another person, and Day didn’t have a humiliation kink. He spent enough of his life feeling humiliated, he didn’t need to hear it from a person who was supposed to love and care for him as much as they were supposed to train and discipline him.

  “Get on the bed, baby.”

  Day did as he was told, trying his best to keep his head in the game and not let his mind wander. “How do you want me, Sir?”

  “You know what I want.”

  Day sighed inwardly. For somebody who claimed his wife wasn’t kinky enough, Jay’s requests were always the same. Day turned away from the camera, popping up on his knees, canting his hips back, head and shoulders to the mattress.

  “Open your legs. Wider. Fuck yeah, that’s it.” Day’s eyes caught on a chip in his silver polish. Fuck, he really needed a manicure. “You like that, baby?”

  Day rolled his eyes, grateful the camera couldn’t see his face. “Mmm, yes, Daddy.”

  Day waited for Jay to tell him to lower his panties and start jerking off, but instead, he made a startled noise, a sort of half cry-half shout that had Day spinning around. Even from the strange angle of Jay’s laptop, Day could see crimson blooming from the older man’s collar, overwhelming the snowy starched white fabric faster than Day could even comprehend what was happening.

  Jay made a horrific gurgling sound, and then his laptop tumbled backwards. Day sat frozen on the edge of the bed, hand to his mouth for a solid minute. Hands trembling, he crept closer to his monitor.

  “Jay?” he whispered. There was no response. Day felt like his whole body was electrified, a metallic taste coating his tongue. “Jay?” he tried again, his voice one step above his last attempt.

  A shadow swept across the camera’s lens, and then a figure stood above, peering down at the laptop. It felt like he was looking directly into Day’s soul. Day wanted to disconnect before the man saw him, but it was already too late. Day sat in a well-lit room. He was probably visible from Mars, unlike the man shrouded in darkness, with only Jay’s amber desk lamp for light. Before Day could think to do anything, a booted heel came towards his face, causing Day to yelp and jump away even though he wasn’t the victim of the man’s assault. Jay’s laptop was.

  Day sat there at his desk for far longer than he should, but his limbs fe
lt like they were encased in cement. Jay was dead. Somebody had killed him. Right? Nobody could survive that kind of blood loss. Had the killer seen Day? Did it matter? Day hadn’t really seen him. But did the killer know that? Could he find Day if he wanted to? Day bounced on his heels. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Report a murder of somebody named Jay in Los Angeles? What if that wasn’t even his real name?

  “Fuck! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

  Day picked up his cell phone and dialed 911, his teeth gnawing through the polish on his already chipped thumbnail. “911. What’s your emergency?”

  “I think I just saw a man get murdered.”

  There was a pause. “You think…you saw a man get murdered?” the woman asked, her tone edging on boredom.

  “Yeah. I was on a video call with a…friend, and I think somebody slit his throat.”

  “What’s this friend's name?”

  “Uh, Jay.”

  “Jay what, sir?”

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know your friend’s last name?”

  Day sighed. “Look, I’m a cam model. I talk to men for a living. I only know he was an attorney named Jay, and he lives somewhere here in Los Angeles.”

  “Sir, please hold the line.”

  Day did as she asked, grimacing at the feel of nail polish flakes on his tongue even though he had no intention of stopping.

  “Sir? Please give me your name and address. I’m sending officers to your home to get more information.”