Unhinged by Onley James

Noah had just racked his hundredth bin of dishes into the sanitizer when Pedro nudged him. “Boss wants to see you.”

A shock ran through Noah’s blood, his pulse accelerating. Was Adam wrong? Did Gary know? Was there some super hidden camera they hadn’t noticed, or had the mysterious stranger seen them? He took a deep breath and let it out. He couldn’t go in there freaking out. He wiped his hands on his apron and left the back of the house.

There was a guest performing, so the house was rowdy. The music was a mix of classic rock and modern hip-hop, all with a throbbing bass beat that made Noah’s head pound. Or maybe that was just his fear. When he made it to Gary’s door, Bailey frowned from where she sat perched on the knee of a high roller. He shrugged. He didn’t bother knocking. Gary wouldn’t hear him anyway.

“You wanted to see me about something?” Noah asked, infusing as much boredom into his voice as possible.

Gary flicked his gaze up and down Noah’s jeans, t-shirt, and stained apron. “You find my backpack yet?”

“What?” Noah asked.

Gary sneered, his body spilling over his desk chair. “My backpack, you little shit. I know it was you.”

If Gary knew it was him, he wouldn’t be calling Noah into his office; he’d have beat his ass in the parking lot like he’d tried to do the other night.

He relaxed somewhat, knowing this wasn’t about his recent home invasion. “Dude, I didn’t take any backpack. Why do you have such a hard-on for the idea of me being the one who did it?”

Gary’s expression grew smug, as if he had somehow put Noah in checkmate. “Because Bianca saw you in my office.”

Fucking Bianca. She was one of Gary’s latest hookups, a barely legal dancer with a pill problem and delusions of grandeur. She was certain she was going to fuck her way into becoming the queen of Gary’s crumbling stripper empire. Hell, maybe she was right. But she was annoying as shit, a relentless gossip, and a huge fucking snitch, always starting trouble for the others. Everybody hated her. Except Gary.

“I wasn’t even working that night,” Noah reminded him.

“You were working the night before, though. You could easily have taken it then.”

He had taken it then. Gary was right.

“You were the only one anybody saw near my office.”

Noah didn’t miss a beat. “You told me to drop my updated time card on your desk, remember? After I forgot to punch out the other night?” It was a blatant fucking lie, but Gary had a massive drinking problem and a memory like Swiss cheese. “Did you not see my time card right on your desk?” He hadn’t because none of this had ever happened, but he could see Gary furiously trying to search the depths of his memory for any hint that it was true. Time to drive home his point. He infused as much hurt into his voice as he could manage considering how much he hated the man. “Have I ever stolen shit from you?”

Gary’s gaze jerked to Noah, examining him shrewdly for a long while before looking momentarily mollified. “No, I suppose not.”

While Noah’s outward expression never changed, inside the knot tied around his stomach loosened. “Can I go now? It’s almost time for my half hour.”

Instead of dismissing him like he usually would, Gary leaned back in his office chair, the components groaning in protest. “Who’s your friend with the fancy car?”

Fuck. Once more, Noah gave a confused look. “Huh?” he asked, trying to buy himself more time.

Gary narrowed his eyes. “There was a Land Rover parked outside your tin can the other night. When you were fucked up. You banging a drug dealer or a gang banger, kid?”

Noah couldn’t help but laugh. “You know any drug dealers who drive a mom car or who would openly admit to being gay? Much less park their eighty thousand dollar vehicle outside my trailer?”

Gary didn’t answer, scowling. “So, who was he?”

Noah shrugged, honestly baffled by this sudden line of interrogation. He’d never enquired about a single hookup from Noah’s past. “Just a friend.”

Gary scoffed. “A friend?”

“Yeah, a friend. Like you and my dad were friends,” Noah said flatly.

Gary’s spine stiffened, his fat fingers flexing on the arm of the chair. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Noah did his best to school his features into a mask of innocence. “Just that you and my father were friends.” Gary studied Noah, like he couldn’t quite figure out if he was full of shit. Might as well test the perimeter a little bit. He sighed, doing his best to at least appear sorrowful. “Can I ask you a question? About my dad?”

Gary hesitated until it was almost awkward before finally saying, “Yeah. Sure, kid.”

“I’ve been thinking about my dad a lot, and I don’t have anything of his. Do you know what happened to his stuff after he died? After I went into the system? Like, did they just throw it all away?”

Gary’s cheek twitched like the question had come with an electrical jolt. He cleared his throat, then sniffed, running a hand over his graying stubble. “Some of it ended up in the trash, some things were thrown away. He kept most of his stuff in storage, but I didn’t have the key or any claim to it, so I’m sure it was auctioned off.”

Could Adam’s key be the key to his father’s storage unit? He filed that information away for later. “That sucks. It’s not fair, you know? My dad was a good man, dedicated his life to being an educator. I have nothing to remember him by. And the more I think about the person who killed him, the angrier I get, you know?” He threw a hand up in a frustrated gesture. “One minute, he was there, the next, gone. But it’s weird. So many of my memories of him are just…gone, too? Like he took them with him. I really don’t remember much of being a kid. That’s weird, right? I know my dad and I were close. Shouldn’t I remember more?”

Gary shifted in his seat. “Eh, everybody deals with shit different, you know? You and your dad were tight. He was a good guy. He really loved you.”

Yeah, too much,Noah thought, doing his best to control the shudder wanting to roll over him.

Gary was sweating now, tiny beads of perspiration forming over his lip and hairline. Flop sweat. He was lying through his yellowing teeth. “I sometimes remember little flashes, but I don’t even know if they’re real or, like…dreams. Did you and my dad ever take me fishing?”

Noah was really walking a fine line. If Gary put together Noah’s current line of questioning along with the broken picture of the cabin, there was a very good chance he would no longer think the broken frame was an accident.

But Gary just frowned like he couldn’t remember exactly. “Yeah, that sounds familiar. Your dad and I used to head out to my family’s old cabin in the woods. I think we brought you along once or twice.”

Once or twice. Noah’s stomach rolled at the confirmation. Deep down, he’d known he’d been in that cabin, had been molested in that cabin by his father and Gary. Maybe the details were fuzzy, but the nauseating way his stomach sloshed whenever thoughts of that cabin crossed his mind told Noah all he needed to know.

“We should go sometime,” Noah offered. “Like pour one out for my dad.”

Gary sat forward, steepling his hands on his desk. “I don’t have that cabin anymore. Sold it a long time ago to buy this place.”

He’s lying. Noah had no proof, just gut instinct, but something told him Gary was full of shit, that he definitely still owned that cabin in the woods. “That’s too bad.”

“Yeah.”

“Can I take my thirty now?” Noah asked, suddenly eager to get out of there and away from Gary’s bullshit.

“Yeah, kid. Go ahead.”

Noah made a beeline for the picnic table out back. Roxy—who was actually a forty-five year old single mom named Jeanette—sat smoking a cigarette beside Bailey, who laid out on the wooden bench. “You two shouldn’t be out here alone. Especially on a night with a featured dancer. It always brings out the real nut jobs.”

“What did Gary want?” Bailey asked.

“He’s still on his bullshit about his missing backpack. Apparently, Bianca is running her mouth again.” Noah sprawled across the top of the table, slipping his phone free and doing a double take. “What the fuck?” he muttered.

Bailey sat up at his confusion, snagging his phone, eyes immediately finding the source of Noah’s confusion before blowing wide. “Does your Instagram say you have ten thousand notifications? How often do you check this thing?”

Not that often. He’d only opened the account four months ago after Bailey whined about it for an hour. She’d wanted to tag him in a photo she’d taken. He had all of four pictures. Bailey didn’t ask permission before she opened the app. “Who’s Adam Mulvaney?”

“The model?” Jeanette asked.

Noah frowned. “You know him?”

Jeanette blew out a smoke ring, then waved it away. “I know of him. One of my gentleman friends is on some kind of foundation board with his father. People love to talk about the Mulvaney boys. All talented. All beautiful. All A names. Are you and him a thing?”

“According to Instagram, they are. You have, like, almost nine thousand new followers in a day.”

“It's no big deal,” Noah mumbled, trying to reach for his phone.

Bailey ducked him easily, holding it out of the way. “Oh, my God. This says you’re Adam Mulvaney’s boyfriend. That you were spotted having lunch together at Moe’s. Is that true?”

Noah’s eyes went wide. “Where does it say that?”

“Uh, TMZ, Business Insider, lots of places.”

Business Insider? Why? “How do people even know me? Adam literally only told them my first name.”

Bailey scoffed. “That’s all it takes. Between internet sleuths and Facebook’s auto-tagging, it's not that hard to find somebody on social media,” Bailey said before handing his phone back to him. “I can’t believe you’re dating Adam Mulvaney. Do you know how many of us work in this shithole hoping we’d all get that million dollar meal ticket?”

Noah rolled his eyes. “Shut up. You love Leah. You wouldn’t leave her for a sugar daddy.”

Bailey sniffed. “Maybe not, but I might for an engagement ring and a billion dollars.

“Well, we’ve known each other less than seventy-two hours”—If Noah didn’t count their mutual stalking—“so I wouldn’t worry about buying us a wedding present just yet. Given my history, I think we all know I’ll fuck this up before the week is out.”

“I don’t know. That pic of you two in the diner looked pretty intense. He looks at you like he wants to eat you.”

Adam definitely appeared to like the taste of Noah—told him so each time he swallowed him down—but he didn’t need to feed Bailey’s imagination anymore.

The notifications from his social media accounts were so overwhelming it took him a long time to realize he had a text from Adam.

It simply read:I miss your face.

Noah smiled like an idiot before typing out a message. I get off in three hours.

Adam was typing a response almost immediately. With any luck, we’ll both get off tonight. Send me a picture.

Noah glanced down at his dirty clothes. His hair was greasy from sweat. His face was probably shiny. I’m not camera ready.

Adam: You’re always hot.

Noah rolled his eyes but once more smiled, then snapped a pic of himself lying on the table under the yellow street light illuminating him from overhead, sending it before he could change his mind.

Adam’s reply was almost instant. A pic of him slouched down in the driver’s seat of a vehicle. I can’t stop thinking about all the things I want to do to you.

Noah’s face grew warm. Don’t you dare start dirty talking to me when I’m on a break that ends in like ten minutes.

Adam: Buzzkill.

Noah tried and failed to hide his grin. He had never understood those people who met a guy and became instantly consumed by them. Men, to Noah, were a means to an end. Get off and get out. The years of abuse he’d suffered, no matter how much he suppressed it, still affected the way he responded to men and not in a good way. He was one big trauma response wrapped in a blanket of kinks and insecurities. He almost always chose men who were likely to treat him like garbage because it was easier to walk away as soon as he got what he needed from them.

But now, there was Adam, a literal killer masquerading as a spoiled rich kid. Neither of those things should be attractive. But Adam’s dominating personality was just what Noah needed when things got to be too much. When he was talking dirty and pushing Noah to his limits, his brain just went soft in the best ways.

Yeah, Noah was gone on Adam and it had only been two fucking days. Was that a problem? He was surprised to realize…it wasn’t. Not yet.

* * *

Noah watched as Adam pulled into the parking lot at ten after ten, driving the white Rover from the other night. He seemed to have an endless supply of vehicles at his disposal. But given Adam’s net worth, he probably rarely had to worry about things like car payments or insurance.

Noah popped open the door and hopped up into the passenger seat, desperately hoping their destination was Adam’s place so he could use his fancy shower with the awesome water pressure and massaging jets. He almost felt bad putting his sweaty self on Adam’s leather seats.

When Adam leaned towards him, Noah said, “I’m warning you, I smell like French fries and—”

Adam snagged him by the shirt, dragging him in for a kiss that made Noah’s whole body tingle, murmuring, “I love French fries,” against his lips.

Noah let himself get swept up in the kiss but was unable to shake the feeling he was being watched.

“Wow, dinner and a show,” a low voice drawled, filled with humor.

Noah jumped at the unfamiliar voice in the backseat, jerking around to see two strangers, mirror images of each other. “There’s two of you,” he mumbled.

They were eerily identical, even the expressions on their faces. They both wore jeans, boots, and t-shirts that showed off their colorful sleeve tattoos. The casual outfits still somehow seemed trendy and reeked of money, especially their trendy thousand-dollar haircuts.

“Well, he can count,” one said.

“That’s a step up from your last hook up,” laughed the other.

Adam huffed out a breath through his nose like he’d been dealing with them for too long. “Fuck off. This is why I didn’t want to bring you two with me.”

The one on the left snickered, making his eyes comically innocent. “Come on, we just want to meet your new special friend. It’s all over the ‘gram.”

Adam cut his eyes to Noah, who had gathered by now that these were two of his brothers. He racked his brain, thinking back to his research. The twins. Adi and Avi or something like that. One was a clothing designer and the other an architect. Wildly successful, just like all of the other Mulvaneys.

“These are my brothers, Asa and Avi. They’re assholes, but you’ll get used to it. Eventually.”

They pulled from the lot, and Noah was relieved to see them head towards the highway and Adam’s loft.

“We’ll drop you at your place,” Adam said, not sounding like it was a suggestion.

“No. We want to hear about your little side project.”

Noah watched as Adam glanced in the rear-view mirror, scowling at his brother. “What side project?”

“Whatever side project you have Calliope working on.”

Noah shot a startled glance at Adam, who placed his hand on the console, palm up. Noah took it, threading their fingers together. Had he ever held hands with a boy? No, definitely not.

“Calliope runs her mouth too much,” Adam muttered.

Asa’s laugh was deep and rich, almost melodic somehow. “I mean, technically, she only mentioned it to Dad, who mentioned it to Atticus, who told August, who then told me, and I told Avi, obviously. The only one not in the know is Aiden, but you know him. He’s always a lone wolf.”

Adam shook his head, seemingly irritated. This clearly wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with this level of…whatever this was. Noah didn’t understand the whole brotherly love thing and wondered how his life would have worked out if he had a big family, somebody who could have protected him. But that would have just created a larger victim pool for his father.

“It's none of your business.”

“Well, you letting your boyfriend walk free after he tried to kill you, even though he knows our secret, is our business. But we haven’t held that against you. Even if it could get us all thrown in prison.”

Noah’s mouth ran dry. “I’d never tell anybody anything. I didn’t know what my father was. I didn’t remember...” He trailed off.

“Remember what?” Avi asked.

Adam looked like he was about to rupture a blood vessel. He was clearly furious about his brothers’ prodding, but they were right. Noah did know their secrets. It was only fair he shared his. He sighed. “I was one of my father’s victims. I blocked it out, I guess. After Adam showed me the video, it all started rushing back in weird flashes. There were others. More than a few of them. They watched. Participated. Filmed.”

“They filmed?” Adam asked, sounding surprised by that information.

Truthfully, Noah was surprised, too. He hadn’t meant to say it, but as soon as Adam pointed it out, he realized it was true. They’d definitely filmed it. “Yeah, I think they did.”

“You want some help?” Avi asked, his jovial personality replaced in an instant by that same lifeless stare Adam got when he didn’t have to pretend to be somebody he wasn’t.

“Not yet,” Adam said. “Once we see how big the ring is, how it works, whether we can identify the targets…I’ll take it to Dad.”

Asa nodded. “We’ve never had a family project before,” Asa said, affect flat.

“How do you guys do that?” he asked.

Adam frowned. “Do what?”

“Just turn it off like that?” Noah asked. “One minute, you guys seem completely normal, and the next, it's like somebody flipped a switch.”

Asa and Avi exchanged glances before Asa shrugged. “Practice. From the time Dad took us in, we learned to act normal. We can’t process emotions like fear, anxiety, sadness. They don’t exist for us. We had to learn to fake it. Not just fake it but…believe it.”

“But you can experience other feelings? Like happiness?” Noah asked, twisting in his seat to look back at the brothers. Maybe if Adam could experience other things, one of those things was love?

They looked at each other for a long time, and Noah had the creepy feeling they were communicating somehow. Finally, Avi said, “Yeah. We can be happy, sad, jealous, angry, surprised. Psychopathy doesn’t mean we feel nothing. It just means we don’t form attachments in the same way others do.”

“Right.” Noah’s voice sounded more disappointed than intended. “How did your father teach you to fake emotions?” he finally asked, refusing to dwell on Adam’s inability to form attachments.

Asa seemed almost eager to talk about the process, while Avi and Adam remained silent, though not uncomfortably so. “There’s a professor—Dr. Molly Shepherd. Our dad met her after he donated money to his alma mater. She was guest lecturing. She had spent thirty years researching psychopaths like us and used her own son as a case study. That’s where our dad got the idea and the techniques he employed to teach us to be more…human.”

“This is all so interesting,” Noah managed, squeezing Adam’s hand. “Why are you willing to tell me all of this?”

Once more, Asa and Avi exchanged meaningful glances. “Can’t hurt now. You already know too much. Besides, our father will do whatever it takes to protect us, to protect what he created. So, if you betray us, he’ll probably kill you.”

Asa said it so casually it took a full moment for the threat to penetrate Noah’s brain. “Oh,” was all he could think to say.

Never ask a question if you can’t handle the answer. That was what his father used to say. It seemed like solid advice in that specific moment.