Page 4 of Carnage
We both laugh at that, then Whisper says, “I won’t get in your way if you find someone interesting.”
“Back at ya.”
He shrugs, brushing off the comment. None of us have ever seen Whisper with someone or even heard him talk about a hookup. He could be celibate or asexual for all we know. The only hint we’ve had is that he dated a man a long time ago who he loved, but he isn’t around anymore and we don’t know why. Whisper talks when he wants to and we don’t pry.
Two men close to us start shoving each other, bumping into me and Whisper, but we get between them before the bouncers even have time to react. I grab one guy by the collar, lifting him off his feet and moving him several feet back from the other guy. He swings blindly, still aiming at his nemesis, who Whisper is dealing with.
“Beat it. Don’t ruin your night.”
“Fuck you, man,” he slurs, unable to make eye contact with me.
I wrap my hand around the man’s face roughly, holding his gaze. “I said knock it off.”
His eyes focus and fear fills them as he nods quickly.
“Bump into me again and I’ll rip your fucking head off.”
He holds his hands up. “Okay.”
I set him down and he scurries off. When I turn around, Whisper is letting the other man go, and he makes a run for it as well. I crack my neck then resume my position against the column.
“Dumbasses,” Whisper mumbles.
“There’s always some.”
“A hundred percent.”
Sipping my beer, I glance around the bar again, my gaze landing on a man sitting at a table, his eyes trained on me. He’s got wavy blond hair, cut short with longer bangs that sweep across his forehead, and even in the dim light I can see the glorious cupid’s bow of his lips. I can’t make out the color of his eyes from here, but I feel the desperation pouring out of them. He needs something. Is he in trouble?
My gaze shifts from him to the people at his table—a rowdy group of men doing shots. One of them is gripping the arm of the man looking at me. I watch them, curious as to the dynamics. After another minute or so, the other men seem distracted by their partying and the cutie slips away unnoticed, his eyes shifting towards the bathroom.
I hand my beer to Whisper. “Be right back.”
As I make my way through the crowd, I keep one eye trained on the table of men, but they haven’t noticed his absence yet. I find the cutie waiting for me in the hall before he steps into the bathroom.
I follow, ducking into the stall with him. His face relaxes as he gazes up at me, his teeth grazing his bottom lip. He’s taller than I thought he’d be, coming up to just above my shoulders, but his body is lithe and soft. Delicious.
“Hi,” he says. His voice is deeper than I expected but still carries a hint of softness to it. “What’s your name?”
“Carnage. What’s yours?”
“Carnage?” He giggles. “That’s different.”
“Mm-hmm. Your name?”
“Rue.”
“Hmm.” I brush my fingers under his chin and his eyelids flutter. “Well, Rue. You got me here. Now what?”
His eyes shift around even though we’re locked in a stall. He glances at the toilet and visibly blanches, putting a little space between him and the stall wall. He’s clearly stressed about something.
“Are you okay?”
Rue inhales and exhales slowly, pressing his hands to my chest. “If you get me out of here, I’ll do anything you want. I just need to go.”
His words startle me, and I push back slightly, studying his now-serious expression. “What? You’re in trouble?”
“Those guys out there… I can’t get away. You looked like someone who could help.”
