Shades of Darkness (Trials of Fear Book 2) Read online

  Shades of Darkness

  (Trials of Fear #2)

  By Nicky James

  Shades of Darkness

  Copyright © 2018 by Nicky James

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

  Cover Artist:

  Nicky James

  Editing:

  Undivided Editing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Other Titles by Nicky James

  Note to Reader

  This book is 100% standalone. The Trials of Fear Series all take place in the same fictitious city of Dewhurst Point. You might see or hear of characters you know from other books, but they bear no relevance to the storyline.

  Phobia

  An extreme or irrational fear of or aversion to something.

  Heliophobia

  A fear of the sun, sunlight, or any other bright lights.

  Chapter One

  Rory

  Emerging from the darkened alleyway, I slipped my shades over my eyes to help dampen the intensity of the glare coming off the streetlights and oncoming headlights speeding down Cobbler Dr. At just shy of midnight, the weekend scene was coming alive in Dewhurst Point’s downtown area. With the college campus only a few blocks away, it was a popular area on a Friday night. Multiple bars decorated both sides of the street along with late night food vendors who catered to alcohol-induced munchies until long after the bars closed.

  My destination was on the corner, set back off the street to accommodate the patio area which would be set up for use once the warmer weather arrived. Perhaps in a few weeks, they would pull the tables and chairs from storage and open it up. In Southern Ontario, the end of April was still too cool for most people to spend the evening drinking on the patio. Us Canadians had thick skin—to a point.

  Dance music pulsed through the open doors of Bottoms Up as a small group of college kids headed inside. I caught the door before it closed and slipped in behind them, nodding a greeting to Jimmy, the door bouncer, before scanning the crowd.

  Bottoms Up was the smaller of the two gay bars in the point, and the one I preferred for various reasons. It was familiar. The lighting was extremely minimal and never changed regardless of what special show might be going on. And Krew was there.

  The set up was simple. The room was large and square with walls decorated in neon signs and an eclectic assortment of art. The bar sat center in the room, surrounded by stools on all sides. Fairy lights were draped around a wooden lattice that acted as an indoor cabana over its top. Tables were set up around the outside of the room’s perimeter, and there was a small stage on the farthest wall from the door which accommodated the few shows they might bring in. There was no dance floor, per se, so that in itself kept the vast majority of party-goers away. The club down the road was the better choice for such extravagances.

  I chose a vacant stool on a mostly empty side of the bar and scanned the patrons. About two dozen people mingled about at that hour, mostly college students but also a few older couples and singles.

  Rigger, one of Bottoms Up’s regular bartenders, caught my eye first, and his face split into a grin before he called out with a melodious flare to another guy behind him.

  “Krew, baby, yo man is here.”

  Giving him the finger only encouraged him to laugh and blow me a kiss before he returned to mixing drinks.

  Fucker!

  Rigger was the definition of extravagant. With his black hair, radiant blue eyes, and petite frame he caught a lot of attention. The turn-off for me was when he pushed his gay card beyond the limits. Too much hip swinging, lip smacking, and wrist waving for me. What was worse, lately, he’d been encouraging Krew to act the same. Krew was bad enough without the extra help.

  I scanned for my best friend. Krew was chatting with a small group of guys when Rigger called out. He glanced over his shoulder and browsed the crowd until he laid eyes on me. Scowling in his direction did nothing more than earn me an eye-roll which further grated my nerves—much to Krew’s amusement I was sure. There were only a small number of people in my life who could get away with teasing me without recourse. Krew was one of them. Rigger… was lucky there was a bar between us.

  He finished serving the group and ended their conversation before tipping a glass to the tap and filling my standard pint of ale. His ordinarily sandy brown hair was bleached out, long on top and cut short on the sides. It was styled sleek with gel in a perfect sweep off his forehead. His nose was pierced, and his dark brows were sculpted to perfection. He may have been small with fair skin and delicate features, but his personality was larger than life. Anyone who met him for the first time was reeled in immediately by his charm and winning smile.

  Once my mug was full, he strutted in my direction with a quirk in his lip that said a whole lot without saying anything at all. His hips swayed—thanks again, Rigger—and the tight black jeans and form-fitting T-shirt he wore showed off his slim, lightly muscled frame. Many eyes were on his assets, and he knew it. Krew loved the attention and soaked it up to the fullest extent. He was a flirt and one of Bottoms Up’s best bartenders. The man could live on his tips alone. He knew how to work the position in his favor any day of the week, no matter who he served. Only Krew could equally schmooze good tips from a fifty-year-old straight guy having a midlife crisis who’d decided he was bi-curious and a pair of lesbian lovers who had zero interest in dick. He was just that good.

  “Look what the cat dragged in.” He slid my beer toward me and leaned on the bar, balancing his chin on his folded hands and giving me his award-winning fuck me eyes. I’d fallen for them plenty of times to know.

  “Why do you never set that fucker straight?”

  Krew puckered his lips and batted his long lashes. “Aww, baby, you don’t like him thinking we’re an item, do you?”

  “We’re not an item.”

  Krew clutched his heart dramatically. “Ouch… my ass disagrees, girlfriend.”

  I glared without response which earned me yet another eye-roll before he turned his head to peer over his shoulder. “Rig, honey, Rory doesn’t like it when you call me his man.”

  Rigger waved him off with a laugh and immersed himself in conversation elsewhere as he continued to serve drinks. This was the kind of shit I put up with all for a night out.

  “You suck,” I said as I tipped my mug to my mouth.

  “Fucking right I do, bitch, and you’ve never complained.” Krew studied me a minute with a knowing gaze. “Everything all right?”

  Things were never all right when I showed up at Bottoms Up, a
nd Krew knew it. I didn’t have to answer his question or even look him in the eye for him to see the inner turmoil trying to drown me. We may not have been friends for long, but he knew me better than most. I’d spent over four years isolated and alone before Krew fell into my life two years back.

  “It is what it is. I’ll deal.”

  It wasn’t the answer he wanted, but it was the only one he’d get. I wasn’t accustomed to talking about my feelings and he knew it, regardless of the effort he put in trying to make me share.

  With his lips pursed, he reached across the bar and lowered my shades a fraction. I reactively squinted and batted his hand away, catching them before they clattered to the ground.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What do you need, sugar? Company? I know a bad night when I see one.”

  It was a humiliating thing for me to admit, and he knew it. I swigged my beer and cut my eyes to scan the room before subtly nodding. Rigger glanced over, observing our interactions before wiggling his brows like the irritating fuck he was. I pinned him with a look of disdain, but I couldn’t intimidate him any longer. He and Krew were good friends. He knew our arrangement and liked to fuck with me whenever he thought he could get away with it.

  Krew’s fingers snagged the back of my head, and he massaged them along my scalp, drawing my attention back. His smile was golden and shone out his green eyes. He was gorgeous, and I wondered frequently why he bothered putting up with me rather than finding himself a real guy. When I’d brought it up in the past, he’d laughed it off and told me he was too young for that shit. Locking onto one man was not his style.

  “Are you hanging out?” he asked, fingers moving methodically down from my head to my neck. I closed my eyes, enjoying the relaxing sense of his touch. Krew loved my hair and frequently ran his fingers through it. I was his firecracker with flaming red hair, longer on the top and shaved all around. It was one of about a million pet names he used on me. I was convinced he had some kind of problem with first names.

  “Just for a couple.”

  “I can be there at around three, if you’d like.”

  I nodded again and pulled his hand off me, instinct insisting I maintain our boundaries. “Enough. No wonder Rig fucks with me. I don’t need him thinking more shit and running his mouth.”

  Krew pushed off the bar and laughed as he shook his head. “Relax, Rig is just jealous. You know he just wants his piece, too.”

  “Tell him to dream on. Now get lost. Don’t you have customers to serve or something?”

  I pushed my glasses in place and stared at the amber liquid in my mug, refusing to hold Krew’s gaze. I couldn’t rattle him, and his smirk burned into the top of my head as he bounced away. Once he was busy with the other customers, I spared him some lingering attention. My dark shades disguised my eyes enough I could enjoy staring at his perky ass without being obvious.

  On occasion, I earned myself odd looks from other patrons. Who wore sunglasses at night in an already dark environment? What kind of a freak was I? If I caught those mocking stares, I was quick to challenge them without words. A steady, unwavering glare would mostly have them backing down and changing their tune.

  I wasn’t a big guy by any means. My natural slender frame was resistant to packing on weight or bulking up with massive amounts of muscle, but over the years, I’d managed to tone myself to a degree that I could hold my own if necessary. If I wasn’t sporting my black leather jacket, my arms were covered in tattoos which aided in the whole “don’t fuck with me” persona.

  For the most part, I was left alone. Regulars at Bottoms Up knew to keep their distance. I went frequently enough the bartenders all knew me by name, and they also knew enough not to ask questions. Krew was among the small handful of people with any knowledge of my past, and I was sure I had him to thank for the lack of inquiry among staff.

  The beer went down easily as I scanned the bar and listened to the music pounding through the speaker system. People watching entertained me. I’d spent my entire life never quite fitting in but didn’t really know why. Popularity was a foreign concept and one I’d never quite sorted out. Some days, it seemed predetermined, like you were either born a people person or you weren’t. I wasn’t. I’d been fooled once, but never again.

  Over the past six years, I’d become a lot more observant of people and the way they interacted with one another. It astounded me how their cruel nature was primarily hidden behind a façade of friendship. Groups of college kids could seem to be solid but send the right person off to buy the next round or wait until they ventured to the washroom and people’s true nature shone through. It made me fucking sick. People were two-faced liars ninety percent of the time. For that reason, I had few people in my life I trusted.

  After a half-dozen beers, I shoved back from my seat and waved Krew over, so I could square away my tab. It was nearing one-thirty in the morning, and the crowd was thicker than I preferred. It was time to depart.

  I tossed enough money down to cover my tab and shoved an extra twenty down the edge of Krew’s pants as I leaned in and whispered, “Can you grab me some smokes on your way over?”

  “No problem, sugar. I’ll see you shortly.” His fingers found my hair again, and he planted a kiss on my temple before I could shoo him off. It earned him a scowl which earned me—you guessed it—another eye-roll.

  “Later, Rory,” Rigger called from across the bar.

  I waved as I weaved my way through the congestion to the front entrance. Jimmy slapped me on the back on my way out, and I mumbled a parting word to him as well. Out in the street, the traffic had calmed. When the bars closed in thirty minutes, it would be bursting with foot-traffic and taxis. People could debate nighttime was tranquil and quiet, but that all depended on the hour and where you chose to wander. Over the past six years, I’d become familiar with dark-o’clock and knew the ins and outs better than anyone else.

  I lived within walking distance from Bottoms Up and Dewhurst’s downtown area, on the tenth floor of an apartment building which was saddled up beside the water’s edge on Harbor Avenue. The view from my balcony was breathtaking. On clear nights, the stars over the river were countless, and the moon glistened off the water’s surface.

  When I entered my apartment, I left the door unlocked for Krew and wandered through the darkness to the kitchen without bothering to turn on a light. The fridge was illuminated by the dimmest bulb available for its size, and I’d striped it out with a blue Sharpie years ago, bringing the brightness down a few pegs, so it was at a more tolerable level. I snagged a beer and relocated to the balcony while I waited for Krew to finish work.

  The wind coming off the water was nippy, but I ignored it, determined to enjoy the fresh air regardless. I’d spent too many months stuck indoors due to weather, I was done with that shit. My life was lonely enough without the added obstacle of winter hibernation. I had few joys in my life anymore, so I took what I could get when I could get it.

  At a quarter after three, I heard someone enter the apartment and waited while Krew came and found me. It was another few minutes before he pulled open the sliding balcony door and poked his head out. With a beer in one hand and the other shoved deep in his jacket pocket, he glanced out across the river while hovering in the open doorway, body rigid against the wind.

  “It’s cold as shit out here. What the fuck are you doing freezing your nads off?”

  “It’s not that bad. Do you have my smokes?”

  He withdrew his hand from his pocket and tossed me two packs and a new lighter. I tore the cellophane from one, pulled out a cigarette, and held it between my lips while I threw the packs on the small table beside me. When I remained sitting and lit up, Krew relented and came outside. He flopped onto the adjacent chair and kicked his sock-covered feet onto my lap as he leaned back and closed his eyes.

  We sat in companionable silence as I smoked through most of my cigarette. Eventually, Krew cracked an eye and tapped me with a foot to draw my attenti
on.

  “Do you have a list for me? I’m doing some running around on Sunday, and I can grab whatever you need.”

  I ashed into the tray beside me and blew a wisp of smoke out the side of my mouth away from him. “I had groceries delivered Wednesday. I’m doing all right. Maybe a case of beer.”

  “For sure. Text me if you think of anything else.”

  “Yeah.”

  Silence resumed, and Krew sipped his beer before closing his eyes again. Despite his complaints about the temperature, we stayed outside long after I was done smoking, neither of us speaking while we finished our drinks.

  When Krew tipped the last mouthful down his throat, he dropped his legs back to the ground and stretched his long body, hands in the air as he arched his back and yawned. The front of his shirt pulled up revealing his milky white skin by his navel. It drew my eye and stirred desire alive in my pants. Krew caught my diverted attention and winked as he stood.

  “Come on, sugar, my ass needs some attention, and by the look of it, you could use a distraction.”

  That was what I liked about Krew. There were no preliminaries, no awkward exchanges or expectations, and no emotions complicating anything. We had a solid friendship which included a good fucking from time to time, and we were both cool with it.

  I followed him into the house and dropped my smokes and empty beer bottle on the coffee table. He was halfway to the bedroom and leaving a trail of clothes behind him when he called out, “Fucking Rig went home with that Vincent guy tonight, can you believe it?”

  “Vincent who? Do I know him?” I asked as I trailed behind.

  In my bedroom, Krew clicked on the bedside lamp for his own benefit since he hated the complete darkness. It contained a dim yellow bulb under a dark shade that radiated an extremely low level of light; one I could tolerate. He was naked by that point and flopped down on the bed, rolling to his back and folding his hands behind his head. His long slim body and protruding erection made my mouth water and made me harder still.