A Single Black Rose by Iyana Jenna

Author:Iyana Jenna [Jenna, Iyana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JMS Books LLC
Published: 2013-10-24T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Simon, you failed me. Again.

Simon looks around the empty house, his brother’s scrawled note balled-up in his hand. Gene is gone, Sean with him. He throws the note away in anger and grabs the remote control lying on the coffee table, turning on the TV. He flips the channels until he finds a local station airing the news.

“Double Swords producer, Arvin Burke, and actor Nate Matthews managed to escape a car accident involving a braking system failure, here in West Vancouver. The driver and both passengers are uninjured while the car has some minor damage to it. In the meantime—

Simon switches off the television and sags into the couch. Gene must have found about that earlier on and in his fury at the thought that Nate was still alive, he must have taken Sean somewhere else and God knows where they are right now. Simon has mixed feelings about this. He can’t help feeling relieved that his attempt at killing Nate has failed, again, but on the other hand Sean’s fate is now entirely in his brother’s hands. Unless he can find his brother, fast.

* * * *

Sean opens his eyes, groaning as he does so. He is on a bed, lying on his side and he feels dizzy and slow and lethargic. How has he gotten here? Where is he? He remembers the ride inside the trunk, his body being jostled every which way. He remembers the car finally stopping after what seemed like hours on the road, and Gene opening the trunk and dragging him roughly out. And he remembers seeing the syringe in Gene’s hand going toward his neck, plunging deep, then—nothing.

Sean tries to rub the grittiness out of his eyes and that’s when he realizes that his hands are pulled up and tied to one of the bedposts. He tugs at them hard but it is useless. The knots are too tight, just like before. He looks down his body, suddenly aware that he is not wearing anything but his boxers, the bedcovers pooling around his ankles. What the hell?

“Sean?” The voice is soft, tentative. Gene.

Sean stills. The bed dips behind him and he feels warm puffs of breath on the back of his neck, a hand on the small of his back.

He grits his teeth. “Get your fucking hand off me, you sick pervert.”

“Tsk, tsk, that’s no way to talk to the person who holds your life in his hands, huh?” Sean stiffens when Gene wraps his arm around his middle, his leg effectively trapping Sean’s. The man is built and Sean can do nothing. He has never felt more helpless than he does now.

His heart starts to pound when he feels Gene’s hand wandering down to the waistband of his boxers, feels Gene’s hard length pressing against his ass. Jesus, this can’t be happening to him. Gene’s hand dips inside his boxers, touching him there, fondling and stroking and despite himself Sean begins to harden.

“Stop it. No.” Sean struggles but Gene is like a steel trap around him, hard and solid, unyielding.

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