Primal (Wrong Side of the Tracks 2)

So what? Of course it mattered! Dane was a man with a life, and obligations, and he couldn’t disappear off the face of the earth in order to live out a perverse sexual fantasy! He wouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place if he hadn’t let Robert get under his skin and just kept his trysts to nice boys with nice lives and clean police records.

Dane’s head was starting to overheat again, and he chewed on his lip, discreetly glancing at Shane’s midsection, worried the guy might have a gun on him. As friendly as he seemed, Shane was involved in business with criminals, and since Jag was out of commission, he might be the one to dispose of Dane. Soon.

A shudder passed through Dane, and he rose, choking on the fumes of his own complacency. What the fuck was he doing with his life? This was his one chance to run, and he was wasting it on chit-chat with one of his abductors! This needed to end. Now.

“I’m just gonna…” He pointed to the restroom farther down the corridor.

He could check it for windows, maybe leave a message in some way, or at least find out how long his leash was.

Shane nodded, but got up when Dane did and followed him. Not a very long leash then.

Sweat gathered above Dane’s lips during the short walk, and he stepped into the men’s room, half-convinced Shane would follow him inside and watch Dane relieve himself of the few droplets he had in his bladder, but the door shut behind him, leaving him alone in the elongated space that smelled of piss and bleach.

Dane’s throat tightened then his gaze passed over the tiled wall, the urinals, the row of stalls to his left. Everything was white. Sterile, and when he spotted the single window at the very end of the interior, his chest collapsed in an exhale. The fucking thing was barred.

Barred.

Had Shane known this and hadn’t followed Dane in because of it? Dane was getting a headache from considering the potential mind games involved, and he paced in search of anything he could use as a writing tool. Every time his mind drifted off for even a second though, he imagined Jag bleeding out on an operating table. The look of betrayal in his eyes would forever haunt Dane—

The door opened, and Dane expected to see Shane coming in to rush him, but in walked a man in scrubs. A man Dane knew.

“Peter?” he breathed, catching the gaze of two brilliantly blue eyes that used to watch him with so much affection when they made love in a soft bed, with just the little bedside lamp turned on. And with condoms, of course. Peter had been a great boyfriend. Too bad Dane was a maniac who longed for rotten things.

“Dane! Funny place to meet. How have you been?” Peter smiled, assessing Dane’s outfit, which consisted of the sweatpants Jag had decorated and a T-shirt with the logo of some hot dog company. Apparently, Frank had won it in a raffle.

Dane’s voice got stuck in his throat as he took in the blue scrubs and the sun-kissed, smiling face. He hated having to use someone’s kindness against them. He hated betraying Jag. But this was his only chance at freedom, and he’d reach for it.

“I need help,” Dane whispered, pulling Peter away from the door, because Shane couldn’t find out they knew one another.

Peter’s expression got serious. “What do you mean?” he lowered his voice as well, looking around the empty restroom.

Dane’s mind screamed out in triumph, but he kept his voice low when he spoke. “The guy standing in front of the restroom, the handsome brunet with tattoos, he’s stalking me. Please, could you take me home, Pete?”

Peter blinked a few times too many. “Oh, my God. That’s awful. Always thirsting for the bad boy, eh?” he asked with a long sigh, but was already getting his phone. “I’m texting security. We’ll leave when we hear them outside.”

Was this it? Could his escape be that easy? Had he been brainwashed by paranoia when escape was within reach all along?

After weeks in isolation from anyone but the wild man of the junkyard, a normal person felt like someone from another planet.

“I-I didn’t know he’d be bad.”

And like the good guy he was, Peter didn’t berate or mock him, but just nodded and gave Dane a compassionate pat on the shoulder. “I’m so sorry. They’ll be here in a bit. I’m on my lunch break, so I can take you.”

Dane swallowed, and when Peter offered him a reassuring smile, all he wanted was to bolt out of the damn restroom and ask about Jag’s health.

He was a fucking idiot, and one day his dick would lead him to his death.

But not today.