Page 24 of The Associate
The kitchen dissolved around him; the hum of the refrigerator, the sterile white walls, the glare of the fluorescent lights, all of it peeled away in a single, disorienting sweep. The busy office outside the door vanished with it. His body felt weightless, untethered from reality, as if gravity had briefly forgotten its claim on him.
His muscles unlocked one by one in a wave of release; his shoulders dropping away from his ears, his jaw unclenching, his spine softening from its rigid line. An enormous, invisible weight slipped from his shoulders and chest, so abruptly he almost gasped aloud. He hadn’t even consciously known he was carrying such a crushing burden until it fell away.
He floated.
Empty.
Light.
Quiet for the first time in hours, days…years.
He heard the voice again, closer this time, the warm breath a tangible prickling against the sensitive skin of his neck. “Good boy.”
The words slid through him like a drug, unraveling something deep and tightly wound, something old and frayed, something he had spent years, a lifetime, trying to chain down andsuppress. A soft, broken sound escaped him in response; quiet, completely involuntary, something between a sigh and a moan.
The sound of his own vulnerability shocked him back into his body with the force of a slap.
His eyes snapped open, vision blurry.
He jerked away from the contact as if burned, stumbling back two clumsy steps, his own hand flying to his neck where the touch still lingered like a brand. His heart slammed against his ribs, a wild, frantic rhythm, and his breath returned in fast, uneven, gulping bursts.
Gael stood exactly where Samuel had been half a second before.
Back straight.
Face impassive.
But his eyes…
His eyes were not cold at all. They held a dark, focused intensity, a deep, unsettling gleam of possession and understanding.
Samuel didn’t wait to decipher it.
Didn’t dare take another breath.
Didn’t trust himself to speak.
He turned on his heel and fled the kitchen, the echo of,Good boy, still vibrating like a live wire just beneath his skin.
Chapter 6
Samuel
The bar Jacob had picked was tucked between an old tailor shop and a shuttered florist on a quiet, poorly lit stretch of Midtown. There was no flashing sign. No bass-heavy music. Just a modest wooden door and a small, tarnished brass plaque engraved with a single word:Haven.
Inside, the lighting was dim and warm, cast by amber bulbs suspended low over each table. The air held the faint scent of citrus polish and aged whiskey, and the low murmur of conversation blended with the quiet clink of ice.
Jacob was already at a small table near the back, his elbow hooked over the back of his chair, his posture a chaotic sprawl. He was slightly taller than Samuel, leaner, as if constructed from restless, sharp angles. His skin was a shade paler, and the bridge of his nose was dusted with the same freckles Samuel had inherited from their mother, just more pronounced.
His hair was a mess of dark, unruly waves, curling defiantly at the ends. His hazel eyes flicked up the moment Samuel approached; their expression soft, warm, and too perceptive.
Jacob grinned. “Look who finally decided to show his face.”
Samuel slid into the worn leather seat across from him with a dismissive snort, shrugging out of his jacket. “Traffic was a nightmare.”
“You literally live eight blocks away, Sam.”
“It was a very localized, eight-block nightmare.”
