His Beloved Criminal Read online

  His Beloved Criminal

  By Kady Stewart

  His Beloved Criminal copyright © 2015 by Kady Stewart

  Summary: Tristan is devastated when his lover, Nicolas, leaves two days before Thanksgiving and doesn’t come back. He knows that Nicolas is into some shady things, but he doesn’t know whether or not Nicolas meant to leave him, and the worry drives him mad. But just as suddenly as he left, Nicolas is back, and Tristan has a decision to make… ~5000 words / 20 book pages.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental.

  Published by Proserpina Press

  http://www.proserpinapress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without the written permission of the Publisher.

  His Beloved Criminal

  Late February and the earliest of the spring blossoms were poking through the soil in the field back behind the little bookshop where Tristan worked. He was tempted to go out and pick some after his shift, delicate blossoms to pile into a clear glass and take to his grandmother at the nursing home just to see her face light up. He'd been spending a lot of time with her the past few months - ever since his lover had up and left without a trace.

  He threw back the last of his hot chocolate and turned away from the window in the back room with a sigh. It hurt to still think of Nicolas. Especially because he wasn't sure if he should be in mourning over his death or wrap his sadness around him in a different way at having been dismissed without a word.

  "Are you good to tend the front?"

  His boss' voice broke him from his thoughts, and he nodded. "Of course, Louise," he said. "No problem."

  She flashed him a quick grin and grabbed her purse and keys. "I might not make it back before closing," she said offhandedly. "Just shut 'er down as usual, and you can go. Waiting to bring the books in until tomorrow morning won't make much of a difference."

  Tristan nodded, and followed her back out to the front of the store, taking his position behind the counter and pulling out the book he was reading. Turn the Page was a small used bookshop, the last one standing in the area - all the brick and mortar shops were hit hard by the rise of ebooks - and never did much business on a Monday afternoon. He expected a fairly quiet rest of the day, with Louise off collecting a truckful of books from an estate sale, a few more valuable collector's pieces making it worth the drive nearly an hour away. After all, the store stayed afloat because she also dealt in rare books. The internet had been a boon to business that way, at least.

  The chair behind the counter was comfortable, if a bit worn - black pleather with a short back and footrests that hit at the right spot for him to stick his lanky knees under the top of the counter - and he was three chapters in, propped up on his elbow, before he heard the bell tinkle over the doorway.

  He looked up and gasped, stuttering, "Why are you here?"

  The man in the doorway was tall and intimidating, his face half hidden under a black hoodie. It felt strange for Tristan to see him out of a suit, to be honest - Nicolas' associate had always been impeccably dressed, much like Nicolas himself, with a black tie and shined shoes.

  "Nicolas sent me," Ian said, and Tristan blinked.

  "Nicolas?" he whispered, hardly daring to hope, but then he blinked up at him suspiciously.

  *

  "You know that I'm not a Dudley Do-Good," Nicolas said, and it wasn’t really a question.

  Tristan swallowed. He'd been avoiding that conversation for months now.

  "I work with dangerous people, Tristan," Nicolas continued, and Tristan bit at his lip, taking a step backward. He didn't want to have the conversation, because if he did, it would somehow make it real. He was dating a criminal. A charming, well dressed one to be sure, but not the sort of person you'd want to walk into a police station with. Nicolas reached out a hand to steady him, to hold him in place. "I know you don't want to talk about it," he said gently. "But I'd rather let you go than have you get hurt because -"

  "You're breaking up with me?" Tristan interrupted, his voice stricken. He tried to pull his hand away, but Nicolas wouldn't let him, his fingers tightening and his grip tight.

  "Of course not!" Nicolas said hotly. He stepped forward, crowding Tristan's space, his fingers at Tristan's cheek demanding he look him in the eye. "I'm giving you the choice to walk away or to have an honest conversation about how I'm going to make sure you stay safe."

  *

  "What's the message?" he murmured cautiously, his body tense as he waited. It wasn't that he didn't trust Ian - Nicolas had always said that if there was one person in his world that he would trust blindly, it was him - but Tristan wasn't a fool, either. Nicolas' world was dangerous, and while Tristan's heart was irrevocably entwined with his man, the less he knew about his operations the better.

  "Lamppost," Ian said, and Tristan visibly relaxed when he heard the code word, his shoulders bowing in relief. "There's not a lot of time," he continued, succinct. "You need to come with me."

  Tristan started. "I can't close the store until -"

  "This might be your only chance," Ian broke in, and frowned at him. "He's taking a risk for you." One of his eyebrows raised as he made his point.

  "I-" Tristan blinked. It was abrupt, sure, but there really was no contest. "Let me get my coat."

  *

  “Let me help you with your coat,” Tristan said, and held out the jacket for Nicolas to slip into.

  “Always taking care of me,” Nicolas smiled at him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

  “No more than you,” Tristan grinned back. “When will you be back? Should I go home?”

  Nicolas sighed. “Wish you’d just move in with me already,” he grumbled, but he was already pulling out his keys – there wasn’t time for that argument again, even though Tristan slept at Nicolas’ apartment five nights out of seven. “Shouldn’t be too long,” he said, and shot Tristan a smoldering look. “I want you naked in my bed and waiting for me, yeah?”

  Tristan licked his lips. “Yeah,” he said.

  He waited in their bed for hours, but Nicolas never came back home.

  *

  "Leave your phone in your car," Ian ordered when they made their way outside. "We'll be taking mine."

  Tristan hesitated. His mind kept conjuring up pictures of him dead in a river somewhere, but his heart told him that he'd best suck it up and do whatever Ian said, because Nicolas was worth the risk of not being able to call for help.

  Ian noticed his hesitation, his gaze softening. He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I promise you can trust me," he said. "But I don't know if your phone's been bugged or not, so it's better to take precautions."

  Tristan blew out a breath of air, tickling himself with the hair that hung low on his forehead. "Alright," he said. "Yeah."

  The drive was silent. Tristan didn't know what to say, and Ian didn't offer anything up. Tristan got the feeling that if he asked about what Nicolas had been doing, he'd only have been told to wait and let the man explain for himself, and while that was fair, it wouldn't be an answer. So he sat stiffly in his seat, tapping his fingers nervously along the seam of his jeans, alternately biting and licking at his lips.

  Twenty minutes into the drive and he couldn't take the quiet anymore. "Where are we going?" he asked, and Ian spared him a glance.

  "Almost there," the other man offered. "Two minutes, tops."

  And while that didn't answer the question, it was acceptable. It answered what he really wanted to know, anyway.


  They pulled up at the back of a nearly empty strip mall, only two of the seven businesses operational, and Ian parked the car. "Tell him that I'll wait out here," he said as he rapped six times on the back door of an empty storefront, pulling out a second key ring and fitting a brass key to the door.

  "Okay," Tristan said dubiously, but when Ian opened the door, he cautiously stepped inside.

  The room was dark, but he could spot a lone figure sitting on a faded couch in the corner, and he'd recognize the lines of that body anywhere. "Nicolas," he breathed.

  He didn't move, still just a step or two inside the doorway.

  "Miss me?" Nicolas' voice was warm, welcoming, without the faintest hint of mockery.

  "You bastard," Tristan whispered.

  Nicolas winced. "I deserve that," he said, and flicked on a light to illuminate the space properly.

  "You left me," Tristan said. "Two days before Thanksgiving, and not a word all this time!"

  Nicolas stood up slowly, his face serious. "I'm sorry, Tristan," he said. "I never meant to hurt you. I didn't want to leave, and I sure as hell didn't plan to be gone this long." He paused. "The feds were watching you. It probably kept you safe from - other people."

  Tristan gaped at him. "How do you know that?"

  "Do you really think I would leave you and not make sure you were looked after?" Nicolas said softly.

  "I don't know what to think."

  Nicolas' face fell imperceptibly, but Tristan caught the slight tightening in his jaw, the droop in his eyes. "I came back for you, Tristan." He held his gaze. "Only for you. I want you to come with me."

  "You want... I..." Tristan swallowed nervously, but took a step forward. Nicolas matched him.

  "Do you still love me, Tristan?" Nicolas asked him steadily. "I'm not a cruel man. I'll let you go if you don't."

  Tristan didn't know what to say. "I was so scared," he said. "I was terrified. I didn't know who to call - or - or if there was anyone I could call. I didn't know if you were dead in a ditch somewhere or if you'd just," he licked his lips nervously, "if you'd just left me."

  "Oh, baby, never," Nicolas said.

  "And I wanted to hate you," he continued, hoarse. His eyes were filling with tears. "I wanted to hate you for putting me through all of that, but I couldn't, Nicolas, I couldn't hate you because I still love you, damnit, and I don't - I don't think I could ever stop. And that scares me, too."

  He made an abortive step forward, but he wasn't sure, on tenterhooks after being away from him for so long, after just telling the man he loved that he tried to hate him, but Nicolas didn't do anything. He didn't say anything nasty, or hurtful, or accusatory, he only opened his arms. And Tristan closed the distance between them, stepping into the protective circle of Nicolas' arm and clinging tightly.

  They stood like that for a long moment, Tristan's silent tears soaking into Nicolas' shirt, Nicolas' reserved features openly announcing his own heartbreak, but they couldn't stand there all afternoon. Nicolas pulled back somewhat regretfully, tangling his fingers into Tristan's mane of hair to hold him steady while they spoke. "Hey," Nicolas said, and used his other hand to wipe at the dampness under Tristan's eyes. "It's okay, love. It's going to be alright." He took a deep breath. "But we can't stay here, Tristan."

  Tristan sniffled a bit, trying to get himself back under control. How embarrassing, he thought. I can't even hold it together for five minutes! "What do you mean?" he croaked at last.

  Nicolas pressed a fierce, commanding kiss to his lips in lieu of an answer, and Tristan submitted to him gracefully, his mouth opened to the harsh press of Nicolas' lips. When they finally broke apart again, both of them panting and wide eyed, Nicolas said, "I can't stay here, Tristan. In this town, in this state - in this country. Not right now. And what I need to know is," he took a breath, his blue eyes piercing as they looked into Tristan's, "will you come with me?"

  *

  "Nana, how did you keep going? When Pap died?" Tristan didn't turn to look at her. He was too busy staring out the window with gaunt, haggard eyes, just like he'd done from the moment he'd gotten there and kissed her hello perfunctorily on her cheek.

  "Is this about your young man?" she asked him, startled.

  "...maybe."

  She leaned over and swatted him gently with her Bible. "It either is or it isn't, Tristan," she said sternly, but then softened. "Did something happen to him?"

  He blew out a sigh. "I don't know, Nana. He's not - he's missing. And I don't know who to call or where to look and I - " His voice broke off. "He could have just left. I don't know. I don't know if he's left me or if he's just - gone - and I - Nana, I don't know what to do!"

  "Have you tried the police?" she asked gently.

  He struggled for a moment, his mouth opening and closing several times before he turned to look her straight in the face. "He's done things, Nana," he said finally, softly. "I don't think the police would help."

  The old woman's eyes widened and her mouth went slack, but then she recovered herself, shaking her head lightly and reaching out for him. His first instinct was to flinch away, even from the only family he could count on, the only person he really and truly had left after his parents kicked him out and his siblings all but shunned him, but he forced himself steady, his head bowed as he waited her judgment.

  "You love him, Tristan," she said, and he nodded his head, drawing in a shaky breath. "Does he treat you right?"

  A small smile lit on the corner of his mouth. "So good, Nana," he said. "I don't think it's even possible for him to treat me better."

  "Well, then," she said briskly.

  *

  Tristan didn't know what to say. "Leave?" he whispered. "Everything?"

  Nicolas nodded. "I've got new documentation for you, and the money to support us." He smiled self-deprecatingly, and ran his fingertips down Tristan's face, from his temple to the tip of his chin. "I want you to come with me, Tristan," he said. "But there's not much time, and if you don't leave with me now, I'm not certain when the next chance will come."

  "N-now?"

  Tristan was overwhelmed, all of his thoughts crowding together in his head, jumbling over one another like a writhing mass of - something - until he just couldn't make sense of it all. "How much time do I have?" he asked carefully.

  Nicolas shrugged. "An hour, maybe two," he said, and looked away.

  Tristan stepped back, pinching at the bridge of his nose and running his fingers through his hair. "I can't believe - I just - Now?" he said plaintively. He started to pace, then turned back suddenly. "If I do this," he said carefully, "If I go with you... I can't say goodbye, can I? I just say yes and that's - that's all there is. My job, my family, my friends, my apartment..."

  Nicolas held his eyes and nodded his head. "Yeah," he said. "All of it."

  Tristan slumped into the couch, his head going back on the rest, his eyes gazing unseeingly up at the dirty grey ceiling. "Can we ever come back?" he asked in a small voice.

  It took Nicolas a minute to answer him. "Probably."

  Tristan dragged in a ragged breath. Probably, but not definitely. No telling when.

  He'd never thought about leaving before. Hadn't even gone to college out of state; sure, he wanted to travel, who didn't? but he'd never been farther away than the beach five hours to the south. His whole world was wrapped up in the tiny bookshop and the off white walls of his apartment, in the once a month Tuesdays he went out with his old friends for some Italian and some catch up, and the flowers he dutifully brought his Nana.

  His Nana. His breath caught in his throat as he thought about maybe never seeing her again. She was old, already living in care. Could he be the sort of grandson who didn't come to say goodbye if she was dying? Who maybe didn't even know about her passing until she was long buried? He wasn't sure he'd even consider if it he was all she had, but one thing he knew for certain was that she wouldn't be alone... even though he was estranged from most of his family, they weren't estranged from he
r.

  *

  "When he comes back to you," Nana said, "you give him hell. And then you make sure he never leaves again."

  Her eyes grew distant and sad. "Your Pap is with me every moment of the day, Tristan. I don't draw a single breath in my lungs without thinking of him."

  *

  He reached out for Nicolas, his fingertips brushing at the fabric of his trousers until he stepped closer and Tristan was able to pull him down beside him.

  "If I go with you," he said seriously, "I need one concession."

  "I'd give you the moon if I could manage it," Nicolas said quietly, and Tristan thought it embarrassed him to be so affectionate.

  "I need to call my Nana," Tristan said. "I can't just leave without any word to her. She's - she's the closest family I have."

  Nicolas grinned at him, his resignation melting away to reveal excitement in his eyes, his cheeks. Even his movements seemed peppier, barely constrained. "Done!" he said immediately. “Just wait until we’re closer to the airport,” he said.

  "So," Tristan said. "Are we leaving right now, or..."

  Nicolas looked down at the watch on his wrist. "It's too early to head to the airport," he said. "The plane is private, however..."

  "I understand," Tristan said, somewhat shyly. He wanted to reach out to Nicolas, to touch and feel and taste him, but the earlier urgency and confusion was gone, and awkwardness was left in their place. They'd had nearly three months apart; it didn't feel easy and loose the way it did before he left. And even though he had made his decision, committed to it with a mess of butterflies fluttering around his belly and his head dizzy with too many thoughts, he knew that they would need time to work their way back from the broken trust and his fear that he'd wake up in the morning and Nicolas would have abandoned him again.