Author's Note: Per a request from a friend (whispurr267), I will make chapter references, so readers can refresh their memories of the events Duo describes...this one takes place in chapter five.
Diary of a Protected Witness Part 2
Busted
It just keeps getting worse. Every plan I make blows up in my face. Case in point:
Trowa hid me in his apartment until payday. So far, so good.
The plan was that I'd pick up my check from The Sanc Palace and then get my ass out of town until things quieted down. Loosely translated, that meant that once the police called it quits on Zechs' murder, I might be able to slink back in and hope for a dark night and a secluded alley, where I could give Khushrenada a taste of his own medicine.
Yeah, I was a street rat. Revenge was a way of life. When someone fucked you over, or did it to someone important to you--you had to bide your time and wait for the chance to return the favor.
And I wanted to return it really badly.
Y'see--Zechs Merquise had been my future. My fuckin' knight in shining armor. He was gonna take me away from the gutter I'd grown up in and never strayed far from, and together we were gonna make a new life.
Treize Khushrenada stole all that from me. He stole my lover, my benefactor, and my ticket out of Hell.
I'm not sayin' that's all Zechs was to me--I fuckin' loved the guy. I really did. He was classy and elegant, but had a sense of humor that wouldn't quit. He was raw power--sex on legs--a stone-cold killer when it came to business negotiations--and yet a passionate and romantic lover.
He took my breath away, and made me feel like a novice at things I'd been doing in bed since I was sixteen. I felt--almost unworthy around him--as if he was so much more than I deserved.
He was everything I wasn't--refined, elegant, rich and respected. And yet, he laid his heart at my feet and romanced the living shit out of me. Yeah, me. The street rat. The former punk and druggie and gang-banger. The stripper.
And he made me feel like a jewel on his hand--like he wanted to show me off and pamper me.
Sometimes it almost pissed me off--the way he tried to spoil me. I didn't want to be just a kept man. I wanted equality and respect. I wanted to be worthy of him, and to feel like I had as much to give, as to receive.
And I was getting there. I was fuckin' close to feeling like I belonged with a man like Zechs. I could make him beg in bed (or out of it, for that matter). I could whip up a meal that made his eyes light up and then close in pleasure as he sampled my cooking. I really felt like our dream of running off together could happen--and that we'd have our "happily ever after" ending.
And then Treize fuckin' Khushrenada came along and blew it all away.
To say I was pissed was an understatement.
I planned my escape--and my revenge--with a mixture of fear and anticipation.
And I'd have succeeded, too--if it weren't for the cops that showed up at Sanc just as I was slipping out the back.
Yeah, Dermail wasn't happy when I quit. But having heard about Zechs, I think he had an inkling that I wouldn't stay on. He must've figured I'd go back to The Jungle and take up stripping again--and it wasn't a bad idea. Tro' an' me were good together--and we put on a helluva show.
But there was that whole "witnessing Zechs' murder and needing to run for my life" thing preventing it. No--I needed to find a deep dark hole in which to hide.
Shouldn't have stopped to say "so long" to Hilde and the other gals.
"Duo Maxwell?"
The gleam of that badge from down the hallway was enough to send me running for cover. But the blue-eyed cop was as relentless as a bulldog--chasing me for God only knew how many blocks.
I was running on empty when his partner pulled the car up in front of me and I ended up flat across the hood, with the wind knocked completely out of me.
But when I caught a glimpse of those killer blue eyes as the "bulldog" cuffed me and dragged me upright so he could frisk me, I went back three years in time, remembering the same breathtaking eyes on a cop who called me a hooker.
I could feel his hands running down my arms and legs, deftly slipping my concealed weapons from their sheaths--but I was seeing him from a long time past, the spark in his eyes turning to fire as I spit in his face. And when his hand stroked down the front of my chest, I couldn't help but get turned on by the strength in that touch.
"Who knew you were into handcuffs and leather?"
Shit--if he only knew.
It wasn't just the cuffs, or even the distance we'd run that had me panting--it was him. Of all the cops I'd ever had the misfortune to encounter, he was the only one who'd ever evoked anything but hatred and scorn from me. Those piercing blue eyes had stuck in my mind since that day in the squad room, when he'd called me a hooker and I'd goaded him into giving me a black eye.
Pretty sick, huh? To still have a bit of a "thing" for a guy who'd thought I was lower than pond scum--a guy who knocked me on my ass the first time we met. But there it was--and here we were--and part of me wanted to be closer to him, while the rest of me wished I'd been able to keep running.
OWARI
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