making up the words he hoped Oliver would say if he were still alive. He’d begged forgiveness at Oliver’s graveside many nights in the years following the young whore’s death. Yet he never felt like Oliver heard him.
“Death? Where are you?”
“Out here.”
After turning, he leaned against the rail to watch Pierre walk out on the balcony. The clothes he’d bought for the younger man looked good on him. A green silk T-shirt complimented his eyes, and the tight jeans framed his slender hips and pert ass. He wore black dress shoes.
“Are you ready to go?”
Pierre’s eyes glowed with excitement, and Death’s breath hitched in his chest. On more than one occasion he’d seen just such a look in Oliver’s eyes when Death walked into the room.
Was this his chance at redemption? Pierre wasn’t a whore selling himself on the street, though he had sold himself to men for drugs and other things. It wasn’t like Pierre had to do it to survive, but still he had at times in his life. Could Death saving him from killing himself with drugs erase the mark made against Death’s soul when Oliver died? Did it matter all these centuries later?
“Death? Are you ready to go?”
Death smiled at Pierre’s eagerness. “Yes. Let’s go.”
He snatched up his wallet, keys and double-checked to make sure he had his phone before they left. Death also grabbed two jackets, handing one to Pierre as he stepped into the hallway. It was still a little cool in April in Paris. As they waited for the elevator, Pierre could barely hold still. Death shot him an amused glance.
“Why didn’t you say something about going out before this?”
Pierre shrugged. “I figured you wouldn’t let me because I could get away and track down a dealer.”
“You could still ditch me and score yourself some,” Death pointed out.
He chuckled at the disbelieving glance Pierre shot him.
“Somehow, I think you’d be able to find me without any trouble, and my ass would be grass if you found out I bought drugs.”
Death inclined his head as the elevator arrived. He motioned for Pierre to enter the car first.
“You’re right about me finding you, but I’m not your parents, Pierre. I would hope you would be able to resist the temptation. Yet you haven’t shown much ability to control yourself. Who knows? Maybe by the time I’m done with you, you’ll have grown up a little bit.”
Pierre looked like he wanted to argue, but they arrived at the lobby before he could think up something to dispute what Death had said. Death escorted him out of the building and onto the crowded street. Pierre shrunk back into Death at the sound and sights greeting them, but Death simply took Pierre’s hand in his and started strolling along with the flow.
He nodded to people he recognised but didn’t stop to talk. This wasn’t about chatting or visiting with neighbours. It was about getting Pierre out and working on his cabin fever. Pierre clung to his hand at first, not lifting his head very often.
“Are you afraid someone will recognise you?” he asked after Pierre turned his head away from a random tourist taking a picture.
“Yes. If they get a picture of me with you, wandering around here, it’ll get posted online, and Jameson will see it. He’ll have this place blanketed with men looking for me.” Pierre shrugged. “I don’t want to go home yet. I want to kick this habit, but rehab centres don’t seem to work for me.”
“They didn’t work for you because you weren’t ready for them. Did your parents force you to go the first two times?” Death eased them around a street performer, dropping money in the man’s bucket as they went by.
“Thank you, sir,” the man called out and Death waved a hand at him.
Pierre studied the people swirling around them. “Yes. They admitted me both times, telling me they were concerned about my health, and they worried I was killing myself slowly. Really I was just embarrassing them, and they wanted to hide me away for a
“Death? Where are you?”
“Out here.”
After turning, he leaned against the rail to watch Pierre walk out on the balcony. The clothes he’d bought for the younger man looked good on him. A green silk T-shirt complimented his eyes, and the tight jeans framed his slender hips and pert ass. He wore black dress shoes.
“Are you ready to go?”
Pierre’s eyes glowed with excitement, and Death’s breath hitched in his chest. On more than one occasion he’d seen just such a look in Oliver’s eyes when Death walked into the room.
Was this his chance at redemption? Pierre wasn’t a whore selling himself on the street, though he had sold himself to men for drugs and other things. It wasn’t like Pierre had to do it to survive, but still he had at times in his life. Could Death saving him from killing himself with drugs erase the mark made against Death’s soul when Oliver died? Did it matter all these centuries later?
“Death? Are you ready to go?”
Death smiled at Pierre’s eagerness. “Yes. Let’s go.”
He snatched up his wallet, keys and double-checked to make sure he had his phone before they left. Death also grabbed two jackets, handing one to Pierre as he stepped into the hallway. It was still a little cool in April in Paris. As they waited for the elevator, Pierre could barely hold still. Death shot him an amused glance.
“Why didn’t you say something about going out before this?”
Pierre shrugged. “I figured you wouldn’t let me because I could get away and track down a dealer.”
“You could still ditch me and score yourself some,” Death pointed out.
He chuckled at the disbelieving glance Pierre shot him.
“Somehow, I think you’d be able to find me without any trouble, and my ass would be grass if you found out I bought drugs.”
Death inclined his head as the elevator arrived. He motioned for Pierre to enter the car first.
“You’re right about me finding you, but I’m not your parents, Pierre. I would hope you would be able to resist the temptation. Yet you haven’t shown much ability to control yourself. Who knows? Maybe by the time I’m done with you, you’ll have grown up a little bit.”
Pierre looked like he wanted to argue, but they arrived at the lobby before he could think up something to dispute what Death had said. Death escorted him out of the building and onto the crowded street. Pierre shrunk back into Death at the sound and sights greeting them, but Death simply took Pierre’s hand in his and started strolling along with the flow.
He nodded to people he recognised but didn’t stop to talk. This wasn’t about chatting or visiting with neighbours. It was about getting Pierre out and working on his cabin fever. Pierre clung to his hand at first, not lifting his head very often.
“Are you afraid someone will recognise you?” he asked after Pierre turned his head away from a random tourist taking a picture.
“Yes. If they get a picture of me with you, wandering around here, it’ll get posted online, and Jameson will see it. He’ll have this place blanketed with men looking for me.” Pierre shrugged. “I don’t want to go home yet. I want to kick this habit, but rehab centres don’t seem to work for me.”
“They didn’t work for you because you weren’t ready for them. Did your parents force you to go the first two times?” Death eased them around a street performer, dropping money in the man’s bucket as they went by.
“Thank you, sir,” the man called out and Death waved a hand at him.
Pierre studied the people swirling around them. “Yes. They admitted me both times, telling me they were concerned about my health, and they worried I was killing myself slowly. Really I was just embarrassing them, and they wanted to hide me away for a
Similar Books
