Pulp Friction has another new release...oh my and oh boy is this amazing Atlanta world with its bad ass heroes cozying up to you something fierce or what? *winks*
Knightmare (City Knight #2)
What happens when two broken men collide?
And one of them disappears?
Marcus Prater has already lost one man to senseless violence. He won't lose another. Calling in all his resources, former blue knights on the Atlanta Police Department, and his own experience as a Vice cop, Marcus desperately searches for the new man in his life, college student and rent boy Ben Danvers.
Can love survive in the wake of Marcus's worst nightmare?
Warning: This is the second in a three book series. It is filled with angst, gruff men, and just maybe some hot man-on-man action. Be aware, there IS a third story coming, so don't piss and moan if there is a cliff hanger in your future. You HAVE been warned...
Marcus stood in the alleyway, letting the shock he’d initially felt bleed out of his system. The blast of adrenaline that made everything speed up and slow down simultaneously had burned through his body and now he was able to focus. He took a deep breath and let his experience take over.
As he calmed and his vision cleared, he shoved away all the fear that crawled through his body like an army of fire ants and looked around the alleyway. Saw. And began to process, his mind functioning again . His cop instincts made notes and started a mental file on the crime scene. He moved slowly into the dark, pulling a flashlight from his jacket pocket and painstakingly covering every inch of the alley.
No blood that he could see. No obvious signs of struggle. No overturned garbage cans, not a goddamned thing. No sign of his Benjamin. How in the hell was that possible? Ten minutes…he had only been ten minutes away.
Closing his eyes, Marcus let his conscious mind slow and shut down. He’d thought his old friend, Wick Templeton, was full of it when he rolled out the Zen bullshit and tried to teach Marcus to still his thoughts. Until he’d tried it at a particularly gruesome crime scene. The smell of blood, the victim’s body stabbed and, as closely as he could tell, dismembered and strewn across the bedroom, all the overwhelming bits that forced him into sensory overload led him to close his eyes and let it all float away. His brain was able to shake the horror and assemble the facts rather than bog down in the emotion.
His thoughts calmed, the emotions he felt throwing themselves against his fragile mental walls faded away, and his heartbeat slowed. The facts. He let those float to the surface of the now-calm lake of his mind. All else didn’t matter, wouldn’t help get his Benjamin back to him.
Benjamin’s cell phone.
Marcus’s eyes flew open and he reached into his pocket. With shaking hands, he flicked it on and entered the password he’d seen Ben use. Quickly scrolling down to the phone log, his heart leapt to see an out-going call made two minutes after they’d hung up with each other. Who the fuck was Jeremiah?
He tabled that for a moment and took his attention back to the alley. Nothing else, not a goddamned thing that he could see or feel or even taste or smell. Marcus shook his head; this was either the cleanest snatch-and-grab he’d ever seen, or Benjamin fled the scene. Think. Occam’s Razor—when you eliminate the impossible, you are left with the probable. His gut told him there was no way Martin could have taken Benjamin without a fight in ten minutes. And the phone call to Jeremiah…
Striding quickly out into the street, he climbed back into his Jeep and moved it out of the way of traffic. Marcus took the cell back out and hit redial. The line connected and rang twice before a male voice answered. “Jeremiah speaking.”
Thank God. Marcus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Jeremiah, my name is Marcus Prater. I’m a friend of Benjamin…Ben Danvers. I need to talk with him, and you are the last person he spoke with. Can you tell me what he called you for about fifteen minutes ago? Do you know where he is? It’s important, Jeremiah.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mr. Prater. I’m at work and just stepped outside to take a break. I haven’t spoken to Ben in a couple of weeks. He’s in one of my classes and we’re in a study group together. My phone was off; I just turned it on to check messages and send a text. I’m afraid I don’t know anything else.” The young man’s tone was reasonable and slightly apologetic, and Marcus felt his hopes for an easy answer dashed.
He gripped the phone tightly, trying to master his emotions. “If you do hear from him, please tell him to call me. It’s important I speak with him as soon as possible. Can you do that for me, Jeremiah?”
“Certainly. I’m afraid I have to get back to work now. You have a good night, Mr. Prater.” The line went dead, and Marcus thumbed the phone, then laid his head against the headrest. Okay, what next? Think, Prater.
Witnesses. The other hustlers. And didn’t Benjamin mention some mentor guy that told him what area was safe to hang out in? A fucking hooker mentor. What was this, Pretty Woman? What was the guy’s name? G—something. Gene. George. No, Gabe…Gabriel. He’d need to find out more about that guy. And he knew just the men to call to help. Grabbing his notepad from his jacket pocket, he started making a list.
Interview rent boys.
And on the off chance that Martin was back to his old tricks, call Archer and Zack.
He paused and sent up a prayer. Please, please, don’t let anything bad happen to him. I will do anything. Anything.