The Driver by Amy Lane

Author:Amy Lane [Lane, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-64405-986-9
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2022-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Calamity Charles

THE PROPERTY Lucius had demarcated for the larger mansion—for the shelter—started about two hundred yards down the drive from Lucius’s own manor. Once Chuck came to the fence—chain link for security after the show of wrought iron at the beginning of the property—and moved to the long gravel drive, the fence stretched to his left, running alongside a drainage ditch that kept it slightly lowered from the paved roadway. He strode quickly, trying to mark any places other than the one Grace had discovered, but the foliage behind the fence—and the holly and ivy that wrapped around it—hid a lot of sins in their shadows, and Chuck realized how lucky they’d been that Grace had run this perimeter for them. He wasn’t even sure he could spot the place Grace had found, and he knew where it was!

About three-quarters of a mile from Lucius’s house, Chuck spied the break in the fence—but only because there were shadows moving close to it.

Cursing the fact that he was wearing bright white tennis shoes and khaki shorts, he practically dove into the drainage ditch, grateful for soft grass and the absence of snakes.

Mindful of the vegetation—and cursing the well-irrigated ground and the moisture seeping in through his clothes—he combat-crawled closer, finding better cover in the leaves of an overgrown jasmine bush that cloaked both sides of the fence. The figures in front of him were about fifteen yards away, bent together and speaking in hushed voices. If he’d kept walking down the road, he could have walked right by them and feigned not seeing, but this was way, way better.

“I’m tired of this stalling bullshit. I need some fucking info!” snarled the larger figure. Chuck could see a tall, well-built man from this distance, someone who spent some time in the gym. If he was talking to the police, he would use the word “menacing,” and even if he wasn’t, he knew a shakedown when he saw one.

“No,” snapped the shorter, slighter figure. Chuck recognized him but didn’t know his name. He’d been in the yoga class that morning, and Chuck had seen him hovering on the fringes of the self-defense class that afternoon. A young, skinny white male, with a pretty face, hazel eyes, and brown hair. He had a way of smiling—a jerky, sudden smile that was more of a flinch—that reminded Chuck of a frightened animal.

Chuck recognized fear in someone who’d been beaten, and the harder, deeper fear that standing up for yourself would just result in something worse. But worse for whom was really the question.

This kid—he couldn’t have been older than twenty, as young as those poor coeds who huddled together for protection—was walking a tightrope between fear and fury.

“Whaddya mean, no? Larry, you sniveling piece of shit, you don’t get to say no. Didn’t he explain to you that you don’t get to say no?”

“I came here to get away from him!” Larry spat. “Not to turn over mothers with broken bones or kids so scared they freak out when they hear someone stub their toe.

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