Tricked Out by J.M. Snyder
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Will Moore is a detective with the Richmond City police department. A case he was involved with went down badly and he was given a month's sabbatical to pull himself together after the death of his informant, a young man named Teabag with whom Will had let himself become involved.
Back on the force now, Will finds himself drawn to another street punk, a hustler named Corey, who seeks police assistance to protect his "boys" from a violent attacker. Though they work well together, Will can't seem to shake the feeling that he will eventually fail to protect Corey ...
the same way he failed to save Tea.
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.
You shouldn't, he told himself, but his body didn't listen. His blood had begun to rise at the sight of that 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?
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 beginning to throb at his crotch? He needed release.
That damn voice in his mind wouldn't let up. This is Teabag all over again, it whispered. 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?
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 down the radio to a mere whisper.
Leaning down onto 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 concert. "See something you like?"
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