Tricked Out

Chapter 1 Monday, quarter after midnight, downtown Richmond. Neon lights glistened like wet paint off the cars parked along the cobbled streets of Shockhoe Slip. As off-duty police detective Willis Moore eased his 350Z Coupe down the narrow street, those same lights slid over his polished red hood and tinted windows like ephemeral flames, dancing over the car and disappearing behind him into the night. He had his windows down, his bass pumping, and dark sunglasses hid his eyes. Here he was anonymous, just another soul among those huddled in doorways or perched in the glow of streetlamps. The heavy hip-hop beat blaring from his speakers turned a few heads, but most weren’t interested in his passing. They had their own lives to worry about and could spare no time for his. Will could appreciate that mentality. Lately, he hadn’t had much interest in his own life, either. It’d been a hellacious day for him. The first time back to work at the precinct after a forced, month-long leave, and when five o’clock finally rolled around, Will had been ready to call it quits. He hadn’t known what to expect, but he wasn’t ready for the fake smiles, the inane small talk, the whispered conversations that stopped when he came into a room. Men he’d worked with for years now went out of their way to avoid him. When he tried to dive into a new case, he was told to take it easy, give himself some time to get back into the swing of things. Hell, he’d been given enough time already. He wanted, needed, to move on. Ahead, a stop light flickered from amber to red. Will toyed with the idea of not stopping—who’d notice? Who’d care? But the upstanding citizen in him hit the brakes at the last second, throwing him forward a little in his seat. Instinct caused his hand to stray to the volume knob on the radio; at the last minute he caught himself before he could turn it down. Despite the nagging headache that tugged behind his eyes, he cranked the knob the other way. The car shuddered beneath the increased beat. Will glanced out the driver’s side window. Two women stood on the curb, mini-skirts hiked up to reveal tanned thighs, halter tops straining over ample breasts. One Asian, one Hispanic, neither Will’s flavor of choice. They giggled and waved, but he turned back to the street and gunned his engine, waiting for the light to change. Sorry, girls. From the corner of his eye, he caught movement out the passenger side window. He glanced that way, saw a cluster of young men leaning against the side of an old movie theater, and took his foot off the gas as he did a double take. Now that was more like what he had in mind. There were five of them in all, the youngest probably not yet eighteen. They wore tight shorts and torn T-shirts that exposed smooth, flat abdomens. Dyed hair spiked above dark eyeliner rimming haunted eyes. Crotches bulged obscenely. Black leather tied in makeshift bracelets along pale arms. One kid wore a battered army jacket; another dribbled a scuffed basketball. Two of them had already paired off, rubbing against each other and snickering between stolen kisses as they moved away from the others into the shadows. But the one Will had noticed, the one he lowered his shades to get a better look at, stood by himself at the front of the group. He had translucent skin that seemed to glow in the lamplight, as if he hadn’t seen the sun in years. His black hair shone almost blue in the night, the short bangs framing his face and ears in a pixie cut. He wore a silver mesh tank top cropped above his navel and a pair of black biker shorts pulled down low over bony hips. Will found his gaze drawn to the flat planes of that bare stomach, the thin muscles taut and lean, the skin luminous against the shadows. A car horn blared behind him; the light had changed. Will hit the gas and shot through the intersection, his mind lingering on the scantily-clad hustler and his friends. At the next block, without making a conscious decision about it, Will turned and circled back for a second look. Damn. You shouldn’t, he told himself, but his body didn’t listen. His blood had risen at the sight of exposed white flesh, and when he closed his eyes, he could well imagine his own dark fingers splayed over that pale midriff like the shadows themselves. You didn’t even see his face, a voice inside him muttered. Will didn’t care. He’d been driving for hours, ever since he’d left the precinct, and for what? For this. Some part of him needed this, he knew. Why else would he be in the Slip, cruising the street? Music blaring, sunglasses on, an erection throbbing at his crotch? He needed release. That damn voice in his mind wouldn’t let up. This is Tea all over again. Will turned the radio up in an attempt to drown it out, but it didn’t work. You find another street rat like that, pick him up, take him home, clean him up, and what happens next? Where’s Tea now? Dead. Will gripped the steering wheel tight and leaned forward as he took the next turn. He wasn’t thinking about Teabag anymore—that part of his life was over, done with, case closed. It’d been a month already. Tonight was an escape, a way to move out of the past, a way to move on. And Will suspected a good, solid f**k was all he needed to do just that. Back on Cary Street again, Will slowed as he approached the hustlers’ block. This time he pulled over a bit, out of the flow of traffic, so he wouldn’t be rushed. The guys came into view and Will slowed the car. A few of them elbowed each other, nodded his way. Then the guy in the silver mesh turned and watched him come to a complete stop. Will sat back in the driver’s seat to wait. It didn’t take long. Within a few minutes, the guy broke away from his friends and drifted to the passenger side of Will’s car. As he approached, Will turned the radio down to a mere whisper. Leaning into the open window, the guy flashed Will an easy grin. “Hey, dude,” he drawled. His voice had a raw quality to it, as if he’d spent the previous evening screaming himself hoarse at a heavy metal concert. “See something you like?” This close, Will noticed the guy was younger than he’d originally thought. Closer to Tea’s age, maybe, barely a man… An image of Teabag flashed in his mind, superimposing itself over the hustler’s features. Freckles dotted clear skin, the black hair faded into a deep shade of russet, those green eyes turned a warm brown. The wide grin was replaced with a crooked one, thrown off by an eyetooth once broken in a club fight. Will heard Teabag’s smoked-out voice when the hustler spoke. “I know you want me, Detective. And s**t, I want you. So what’s it to anyone else if we get our groove on, you know?” With a shake of his head, Will chased that memory away. Teabag disappeared, leaving only the guy before him. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a swift idea after all. Putting the car into gear, Will started, “Sorry, kid. You’re not even legal—” “I’m twenty-three,” the hustler answered. “Don’t go. I like black guys and you’re kind of cute. It’s been a slow night.” Will glanced at the other hustlers, but they were calling out across the street to the girls on the opposite corner and weren’t about to encroach on their friend’s trick. The guy leaned on Will’s car. “I saw you looking.” When Will didn’t answer, the hustler straightened up and stepped back, giving him a good eyeful. Large hands smoothed the mesh top down over his belly, then dipped into the waistband of his biker shorts to cup the c**k hidden in his pants. As Will watched, a flick of those wrists had the shorts down and his d**k out, both hands kneading his balls as the blind eye of his cockhead rose in Will’s direction. A shuffled step brought him to the side of the car, and that long, thin d**k dangled through the open window invitingly. Will’s hands clenched the steering wheel to keep from reaching out. He watched strong hands stroke the length, teasing it erect. The guy moaned as he fondled himself, hips humping against the side of the car as if he were f*****g the vehicle itself. The way those fingers danced along the hardening shaft made Will’s balls draw up with desire, and his own c**k ached to be touched like that. It’d been way too long. With a glance around to assure himself no one was watching, Will hit the release for the automatic lock. “Get in the car.” Instantly, the shorts came up again and the c**k disappeared. The door opened and the hustler fell into the passenger seat, a knowing grin in place. He looked much too young for Will’s taste, and twenty-three was a good ten years his junior, but in the dark, age didn’t matter. If the guy had a tight hole and knew how to f**k, that was all Will wanted. Releasing the clutch, Will pulled away from the curb and hit the button to raise the windows. Tinted glass rose around them, blocking out the street life. “You got a name?” Will asked as he pushed the car through the gears, heading for a high speed. “And buckle up.” “Yes, officer.” Will glanced at the guy sharply, but it’d been nothing but an innocent comment, a joke. The guy gave no indication that he knew just how close the comment had hit home. As the hustler cinched the seat belt into place, he asked, “You have a name you want me to use? Or just my own?” Teabag, that voice in Will’s head whispered, but he shook it away. No. Tea was gone. Now that the car had hit a decent speed, Will cranked the radio back up again, and shouted to be heard over the music. “Your own.” “Corey. I don’t like to bring this up, but do you want to hear my price list? Or do you have something specific in mind?” Will hated this part. For a moment, he considered pulling over, dumping the guy out on his ass on the street, let him hike it back to his friends and b***h about the trick who dicked him over. But until Corey had spoken to him, Will hadn’t realized how alone he felt. How much he wanted this guy’s touch, how much he needed it. Even if it cost him. Without taking his eyes off the road, he hoped he sounded nonchalant when he asked, “You do bottom, right?” A warm hand covered his on the gear shaft. Strong fingers folded into his palm, then guided his hand into Corey’s lap. Will brushed over soft skin like velvet beneath his touch—the shorts were down again, tucked beneath Corey’s balls. On their own, Will’s fingers encircled that long shaft, a rod of iron in his palm, silk-sheathed, smooth and hard. His thumb traced the ridge of the flared tip, and beside him, Corey gasped. “Oh, yeah.” With one hand on the wheel, the other in Corey’s lap, Will began to look for a place to park.