Capture & Surrender (Market Garden, #5)(59)

But do I deserve you? That’s the question.

“I’m good at what I do.” Brandon kept looking at him intently.

“You are, yes.” Frank picked his fork up, put it down again. “But I think you’re too good for it. You . . .” Are so much more than a rentboy? Mean too much to me? “I hope every one of the guys working there eventually finds something better than that. Every last one of them. But you, I want to help you find something better. And once you have the equipment, you’ve got something.”

Brandon sat back, swallowing hard. “Is that really the reason? Or do you not want me sleeping with other men?” The question didn’t have the hard edge of an accusation, but it hit Frank in the chest just the same.

“I don’t own you. I don’t want to fence you in or—”

“Is this about what happened today?” Brandon tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “With Chris?”

Frank hesitated. “Maybe a little. Look, I want you to be able to do whatever you want. If you want to sleep with other men, I won’t stop you and I won’t hold it against you.” He leaned forwards. “Is it what you want to do?”

“I don’t—” Brandon cut himself off, and shifted his gaze away from Frank’s. “It’s not the most ideal job in the world, but it doesn’t bother me. And as for other guys, and the paintball games, it’s . . . it’s something I can live without.” He met Frank’s eyes again. “I’m perfectly happy being monogamous in a relationship. I actually prefer it that way, to be honest.”

“Oh.” Amazing how a single word could require so damned much breath. “Is that what you want out of this?” He gestured at himself and Brandon. “Just us?”

Brandon nodded. “Yes.”

“So do I,” Frank said. “But that’s not why I want to help you find the means to leave Market Garden. I want you to be happy, Brandon.”

“You’ve had it rough, Frank,” he heard from what seemed like the distant past. “Can you accept somebody smoothing things down for you a little at times, or have you battled so much that you simply can’t stop?”

Damn, Andrew, now I know exactly how you felt with me.

“There’s two of us here. We both need to be happy. And I don’t want you to feel obligated to spend money on me. Market Garden or not, I can take care of myself. I’m not looking for a sugar daddy.”

“I know you’re not. You’ve never asked for a thing. I’m offering.”

Brandon took another drink of his tea, and he rolled it around in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it. “Can I think on it for a while? About the camera?”

“Of course.”

Brandon smiled. “Thanks. And I do appreciate the offer.”

Frank returned the smile. “You’re welcome.”

“It’s still fairly early. What do you want to do with the rest of the day?”

“As little as possible?”

Brandon laughed, which relaxed Frank even more. “I like that idea. We could catch a movie or something, maybe?”

“I’ll get my keys.”





Frank drove Brandon to work the next night. Seemed a little strange, driving his boyfriend in to play the rentboy for the evening, but such was life with a relationship like this.

They went in through the front door. Brandon disappeared into the back half of the building, where he and the other guys worked. Frank lingered out front for a few minutes, checking in with Raoul’s counterpart on this side of the wall.

While the bartender pulled out the inventory sheets so Frank could put in a liquor order, Frank watched the two female strippers dancing for a thin crowd of early-evening patrons. The place would probably be packed later. Bankers and lawyers and businessmen, oh my. For right now, it was the middle-aged men in middle management who’d probably put in the “honey, I’m working late tonight” call on their way here. Haggard, stressed-out men, drooling like dogs over the girls.

Frank was as protective of the women as he was the rentboys, but since the girls didn’t leave the premises with customers—and were generally escorted to their cars or bus stops by security guards—he didn’t have as much reason to worry for their safety. He could only imagine how many ulcers he’d have if he were sending Britney or Chloe off to parts unknown with these cretins.

The bartender handed over the inventory sheet, and Frank headed into the back. The bouncers opened the door for him, each offering a nod and a quiet “boss” before he slipped past them.

The crowd in here was still light too. Half the clientele for the night was likely en route, or getting ready to wrap up at the office, but some had gotten an early start.

And Brandon—Stefan, at the moment, wearing a name that had a whole different meaning now—was already in a shadowy booth with a guy in a white shirt and dark tie. The guy’s hand was in Brandon’s lap beneath the table, which made Frank’s gut tighten. Jealousy? Protectiveness? He didn’t even know anymore.

You so much as look at him cross-eyed, I will break you in half.

He quickly took the inventory papers and headed into his office, hurrying past the booths before Brandon saw him and ignoring a greeting from Raoul. He’d apologise for that later. Right now, he just needed to get the f*ck out of here.