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Territorial Bonds

Chapter eight

The soft noise of someone clearing their throat drew Cleo’s attention away from the streetlights outside the limo window. She turned her head, her eyes falling upon Sam who sat drumming his fingers against his knee impatiently.

“Are you done?” he asked, and Cleo nodded quickly.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, “I was just thinking.”

“Did you talk to him for me?”

Cleo nodded again, her gaze drifting to the floor briefly. She had done her duty, but calling it that didn’t make her feel any better about it. She felt like she was betraying him.

“I did as you asked.”

Sam nodded, frowning at her expression. She looked sad, as if what he was asking of her troubled her.

“If I had known you had such company outside our circle,” he began as the limo pulled to a stop outside Cleo’s home, “I would have paid more attention to you.”

Cleo nodded again quickly, before climbing out of the car.

“Bye…sir,” she said, meeting his gaze before she turned, disappearing into her home.

Jazz stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection as he fussed with his hair, trying to get it to go where he wanted it to. After the shower, he had messed with it for almost an hour, ruffling it up at the back, smoothing it across one eye, wondering why he was so bothered about looking his best. He didn’t even want to go on the date, he wanted to stay home and laze in front of the television.

He wore black pants, boring, simple, as they were the only things that looked fairly smart. However, he had chosen to jazz things up a little with a bright pink belt that hung loosely from his slender hips. He wore a white shirt, fitted against his slim frame, and over it, a pinstripe jacket that zipped up the front, with heart shaped patches on the pockets. He didn’t look that smart, but he liked the outfit, and dressing his best would only prove that he wanted to go on the date.

As an afterthought, he slipped on a black skinny tie, cursing himself for giving in. Why had he let Cleo convince him to actually go on the date? He wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed, hide under the duvet, but a quick glance at the clock told him that Sam was due in just twenty minutes.

Jazz sat down, then got up, then sat down again, stressing about the date. He wandered to the window, stared out at the dark night, then returned to the couch, tapping his fingers against his thigh nervously.

It had been a long time since his last date. In the time since the incident, he hadn’t wanted to be with anyone, hadn’t wanted to even think about it, and now he was being forced to go on out with someone he despised. It was strange though…thinking back over the things that had happened, his hatred for Sam seemed to be less than it had been, as if it had been magicked away.

A knock on the door made Jazz sit upright quickly, his eyes darting towards the clock. Sam was exactly on time- it seemed he had spent twenty minutes worrying.

Jazz contemplated not answering the door, but he reluctantly rose, crossing the room to pull open the door, finding Sam standing there in an impeccably smart, black suit.

The lawyer didn’t speak, just looked over Jazz’s outfit slowly, a smile forming on his lips.

“It’s not what I had in mind,” he said, finally looking up into Jazz’s eyes, “But it does look great on you. Come on, my limo is waiting.”

The waiter paused, still torn between not wanting to go and feeling he had to, but at a rather stern look from Sam, he gave in, stepping outside to lock his front door. Sam laid a hand at the small of his back once he had done so, guiding him towards where the car was parked at the curb, as if he was incapable of directing himself.

Jazz climbed into the limo with some trepidation, sliding to the other side of the car as Sam sat down beside him. He tried to make himself seem as small as possible, as if that would cause the lawyer not to notice him. The limo smelled a little like the scent Cleo often wore…it was odd.

“I don’t bite,” Sam told him, lighting up a cigarette as the vehicle pulled away from the curb. He held out the packet to Jazz, who took one cautiously. As he placed it in his mouth, patting his pockets for a lighter, Sam leaned towards him, holding one in his hand. His fingers trailed ever so softly across Jazz’s cheek, their eyes meeting briefly, before he lit the cigarette and sat back, taking a drag of his own.

“You look scared.”

Jazz’s expression hardened.

“Why would I be scared of you?” he asked and the lawyer just smiled back at him, showing perfect, white teeth.

“Where are we going?” Jazz questioned, after they rode in silence for a few moments.

“A little restaurant I know.” Sam took one last drag from his cigarette and then stubbed it out, turning his head to regard Jazz once more. He looked so attractive…so…desirable, that Sam considered abandoning his plans and just taking him home. But, he reminded himself, Jazz wasn’t ready for all that he had in mind.

He was saved from further questioning by the limo pulling to a stop outside a restaurant. Outside the door of the car was a plush, red carpet, lined on either side by ropes, stopping people from getting through.

Peering out of the window, Jazz caught sight of the name of the restaurant and frowned. Sam had taken him to one of the most prestigious places in town, often visited by all the rich and famous. He climbed out of the car as if he was a celebrity himself, moving around the vehicle to open Jazz’s door as he would do for a woman. He even offered his hand, and the young man ignored it, climbing out of the car with a frown.

There were even photographers there, calling at Sam to ask him to pose for them. It seemed he was more famous than Jazz had realized, one of the ‘IT’ people that seemed to always be in the papers.

Sam posed for them, even dragging a reluctant Jazz in for the pictures, holding him in place with a hand clamped firmly at his waist. Jazz couldn’t bring himself to smile, as he just wanted to get into the restaurant, away from prying eyes.

It seemed like forever before Sam was done posing, and Jazz practically ran through into the building, happy only when the doors closed behind them.

The restaurant itself was packed. The space was filled with tables and chairs or booths packed with people and Jazz’s chest tightened at the sight of them all. He wasn’t good with crowds, not after the incident and he cursed himself for agreeing to the date in the first place, desperately wanting to turn and leave. Sam, however, took him by the arm, leading him over to the maître d', who greeted them with a smile.

“Good evening, Mr Taylor,” he said with a small bow, “Allow me to show you to your table.”

To Jazz’s surprise, they were lead through the restaurant into another room on the other side, where the atmosphere was a lot quieter. The lighting was dim and there was soft music playing in the background, setting an ambiance. It was empty, and Jazz turned to Sam with a questioning look.

“I rented this room for tonight,” the lawyer told him with a smile, pressing him towards a table in the centre of the room. “I thought perhaps it might be nice to have this space to ourselves.”

He held out the chair for Jazz to sit, then took his own place at the other side of the table, taking the menu that the maître d' offered. Sam didn’t give Jazz a chance to even choose a meal, just talked at him for a few moments, recommending this or that before eventually just making his decision for him.

“I’m glad you gave in to me, little Monroe,” he said, picking up his glass to have a sip of expensive champagne, “I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Imagining you in my bed.”

Jazz’s face flushed red, both through anger and embarrassment and he looked down at his hands that were curled in his lap. It seemed that Sam simply believed that he had given in entirely, and was now his for the taking, his to do whatever he wanted to.

“I’m not going to be in your bed,” he answered finally, “I agreed to one date. That’s it. I don’t want to be with you.”

Sam laughed a confident laugh that made Jazz frown.

“You weren’t complaining last night when I had you pinned to the wall. I could have taken you then and there and you would have enjoyed it so much you’d be begging me for more.”

Jazz opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the waiter bringing them their food. They ate in relative silence, Jazz glaring at Sam across the table and Sam watching Jazz with amusement in his eyes. The young man still confused and intrigued him, being so cold when anyone else in his position would be eager to spread their legs. It wasn’t just about the trial, and Deacon, it was something else.

“The trial will be over soon,” he ventured, watching as mismatched eyes drifted downwards almost sadly, “Then we can put it all behind us.”

He had expected Jazz to snap at him, to come back with a hot, angry comment, but instead, he remained silent, his hand frozen in midair with the fork halfway to his mouth. The young man set the fork back down and pushed his plate away, his hair hanging long over his face as he kept his eyes down.

“I’ve had enough.”

Sam carried on eating his own food, watching Jazz toy with the edge of the tablecloth absentmindedly. The hunched sadness in his shoulders almost made him want to say sorry for bringing the subject up. Almost.

He didn’t bother with dessert, knowing that Jazz would refuse it anyway and as soon as he had paid the bill, they were back in the limo, heading away from the restaurant.

“Please take me home,” Jazz said, sitting with his knees together in a rather defensive stance, as if expecting Sam to attack him at any moment. But the lawyer shook his head with a small smile.

“The date isn’t over yet, little Monroe.”

The second part of the date turned out to be at Sam’s home. He slipped an arm around Jazz’s shoulders once they were out of the limo, leading him towards the building slowly. The sky above them was filled with bright, tiny stars that Jazz stared up at as they moved, as if he believed his parents were up there somewhere, watching him. It was a sad, pathetic sentiment, but it made Sam feel a little strange inside.

Once inside, the lawyer took Jazz through to the back of the house, where there was a dark room laid out like a movie theatre, with large, plush, red seats and a screen filling an entire wall.

They sat in the front seats- Sam with a comfortable ease and Jazz with a tight defensiveness that had him curling arms around his knees.

The movie turned out to be an old black and white number, a classic staring Audrey Hepburn. It made Jazz wonder why Sam had chosen it, and just how he happened to have chosen one of his favourite movies. It was as if he had been keeping tabs on him, spying on his private life.

“What’s the matter?” Sam asked, turning to look at Jazz. “Don’t you like this movie?”

He knew full well that the young man did. He had many ways of getting information, but it had been easy to simply pump Cleo for information about Jazz- likes, dislikes. He had been intrigued to find out that he was into old, classic movies, something that Sam considered to be strange for someone his age. Sam was also a big fan of them himself, so at least they had something in common.

“What’s wrong, little Monroe?” he asked, reaching to take hold of Jazz’s chin, drawing his face towards him slightly. He wanted to kiss the slightly pouted lips, take away some of the unhappiness that he wasn’t entirely sure he was the cause of. “Why don’t you smile?”

Jazz’s eyes met his own.

“What do I have to smile about?”

Sam sighed.

“There are plenty of things in the world to smile about, Jazz, even for one with such tragedy as you.”

He leaned forward slightly, the movie forgotten as soon as the memory of how Jazz’s lips tasted resurfaced in his mind. He wondered how the young man would react if he leaned forward, captured his mouth, kissed him with all that he had in him.

“How could you defend him?” Jazz asked, “He took everything from me.”

He expected Sam to come up with an excuse, plead Grady’s innocence, but instead, the lawyer sighed.

“You have your own loyalties, Jazz, I have mine.”

He didn’t condone what Deacon had done, in fact, he was so intensely angry at him for doing it, but Deacon was practically family, and Sam lived by an oath of protecting family. It would have been easy for him to cast Deacon aside, but it would have gone against everything in him.

Jazz looked as if he had something else to say, but instead, he shut his mouth, averting his eyes from Sam’s gaze. The lawyer didn’t release his chin, just leaned closer so that their mouths were bare centimetres away from each other. His own natural charm, enchantment would begin to kick in at any time, and he wondered if Jazz would be strong enough to deny it.

“What do you want, Jazz?”

The mismatched eyes raised to meet his again and there was silence between them for the longest time while the young man seemed to be making up his mind.

“I want,” he began eventually, hesitating as if unsure, “I want you to make him pay for what he did.”

Staring into Jazz’s eyes as he was, Sam only nodded.

He took the risk then, leaning forward and closing the last of the space between them and capturing Jazz’s lips in a soft, unhurried kiss. He almost expected the young man to pull away, to stand up, disgusted at him, leave his home angry, but was surprised to find lips parting beneath his own, accepting the kiss. Either the enchantment was working, or Jazz actually had given in to him.

He could have taken it further, pressed Jazz into perhaps more than he was comfortable with, but Sam left it at the soft, gentle kiss, enjoying the taste of the waiter’s lips, before he pulled away, settling back into his seat.

“We should watch the movie,” he told Jazz with a slight nod, drinking in the sight of him sat with wet, parted lips and such an endearingly confused look on his face.

He had to turn to the movie, take temptation out of his reach.

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