Top for My Four Mates: He’s Ours!

Jace's Pov

The evening was gloomy. As it usually was whenever I came to my Therapist, Diddy Powell. A thirty-eight-year-old man with a remarkable track record in his line of work as a certified cognitive behavioral therapist.

The office smelled the same way I remembered it—Lemons and coffee—a strange combo.

“Good to see you again today, Jace. Was worried you might not show up one day,” he said as he came to take his seat.

I shrugged. This was demanded for my independence. There was no way I could miss my therapy session.

“I said I'd be dedicated to my therapy. And I'm doing that. No matter what.”

He grinned —No matter what.

“I'm impressed.”

“We could get on now, if you don't mind,” I said, not willing to give him room for anything that I wasn't ready to be confronted with. His eyes were shifty as they always were.

‘ Don't try to touch me today, Diddy.’ I pleaded in my head

“Come on, Jace. This is my workplace….I'm the professional here, and you'd know when I say it is time,” he said.

With that, he crossed over to the sofa to where I was sitting. He stood above me, and I took a deep breath.

“Okay…I…” I trailed off, and he laughed.

He reached down and tapped my knee.

As an orphan who had grown up in different foster homes due to my behavioral issues, as they always said, I was now mandated to attend therapy at twenty-one so that I could finally live free.

But this man, who had been picked to be my therapist, was a child groomer and an abuser.

Mr. Diddy Powell did little of the job and more of violating those who were sent his way.

The only person who knew of this was my best friend from the orphanage, Molly.

But Molly was under the care of her foster parents and couldn't do anything to help.

The orphanage had dismissed my complaints about Diddy and had refused to let me have another therapist.

“I still can't make sense of why you'd always want to keep your distance from me, Jace,” he said, leaning down. His mouth hovered around my face.

“Mr. Diddy….step away from me, please.”

“Like hell, I will.”

In a flash, his hand slammed down hard on my thigh. I wriggled out of his tight hold.

“Damn it, Jace!” He swore.

I turned sharply, and his fist connected with my stomach. I plummeted to the ground.

The fire extinguisher was right beside me. I grabbed it, and he ducked for me at the same time, but I was faster.

I lifted my hand and it connected with his head.

I watched as he slumped. The gash on his head was enormous. And the blood…..

“Hey, boy!”

I felt a hand tap me a little roughly, and it jarred me into consciousness. My eyes fluttered open, and I blinked when I saw the man in a tuxedo. He was probably in his fifties.

I sat up, adjusting my apron in my sleep-dazed state. My eyes ran across the empty hall of the bar, and I sighed.

Here in Iowa, I had to be highly observant and alert. I was merely here to hide, after all.

“Your mouth. You've been drooling,” the man said, his middle finger pointing at me.

I dabbed at the sides of my mouth and ran a hand through my hair.

“I'm sorry I fell asleep on duty. What would you like, sir?” I asked

The man frowned lightly, his eyes skimming across the bar and back to me.

He looked way richer than anyone I'd seen since I arrived in Iowa.

What was a man of his caliber doing in a place like this?

“What's the most expensive wine on the menu?” He asked.

I picked up the menu on the counter and skimmed through it.

“Ricard Pastis, sir.”

“Let me have a bottle of it.”

Usually, the other customers ordered glasses of the most expensive wines, never the whole bottle.

The man walked off from the counter, took a seat somewhere in the hall and waited. I got the drink and a glass and went to the man.

He took one look at his watch just before I approached his table.

“Here, sir,” I said, placing the drink on the table.

“You want another job? A better-paying one, perhaps.”

I looked at the man. He was really talking to me. I acknowledged once again that he was wealthy, but I had to be careful. Besides, the only person I ever spoke to was with my boss, and that was usually for less than five minutes. Here, this man was about to have an honest dialogue with me.

I was in Iowa to hide, to keep myself away from the eyes of the authorities after what I had done.

“Uhm...no, thank you,” I said.

The man frowned before reaching into his breast pocket to produce a business card. He placed it on the table, but I didn't pick it up.

“I'm Harold. I'm offering you a better job. I assure you, what I'm offering is better than anything you'd likely get in Iowa. You should reconsider,” he insisted.

Good as it sounded, I was already shaking my head before he was done. Or maybe it was just my fears peaking out. But I didn't want him to see how I felt about his interest in me.

I looked around the hall. No one was coming in any time soon, it looked like.

“I... I'm not sure I want the job, sir,” I said.

He shrugged.

“Maybe you should give it some time? Think about taking a new job, and I'll be here to usher you into your new job.”

I exhaled loudly, unsure about what to reply.

“What's your name?”

“I'm Jay,” I said.

This was the name I went by each time customers asked for my name. I could not afford to use my real name, as it might have led to my being sold out to the authorities.

The man took the glass and poured the drink. I stepped back.

“I really think you should accept this job offer, Jace. You'll be happy you did. This is the best offer you'd likely get in Iowa,” He said.

For a while, I was too stunned to say anything. He had called me by my name when I hadn't told him. This man had to know me.

“I said my name was Jay....Sir.”

“Call me Harold. Just Harold.”

“Okay, Harold, why exactly are you here, and what do you want from me?”

I demanded in a more serious tone now. My heart thumped wildly. What if this was a man from the police force and he was here to fetch me in any possible way?

“I'm not here to cause you any trouble. If you'd taken the card you'd have seen who I am.”

“Well, maybe you should...”

“I'm Harold. I said that before. But I'm also the secretary of a CEO who is seeking to recruit someone like you for the role of a house manager for his sons,” he said.

I scoffed. Of all the places he could get someone, he came to a bar in the worst part of Iowa to fetch me?

“Why am I being considered when you could put up an advert for the role and have qualified people come in for the role?”

He didn't reply immediately. He took a sip of his drink, looked around the poorly lit bar and reclined in his seat.

“I know you, Jace. I know you don't have anywhere to stay. I know of the financial pressure you're going through and your criminal issue.”

I tensed at his words. My hand clutched at the service tray I was holding, and I looked around once again.

“The good thing is, I know you didn't commit the crime,” Harold said suddenly.

“How do you know?”

“It doesn't matter. I know who the victim was. I know who was violated repeatedly. That was you, Jace.”

Relief flooded me. At least, not only did he know about the crime I had committed, but he also knew that I had not merely committed a homicide. It had been for my defense.

But how did he know all these?

“How do you know all these?” I asked, my senses alert.

He shrugged again.

“I just know.”

The bar stayed silent for a heartbeat, and then he continued, “You know, you technically didn't commit any crime by defending yourself against a criminal.”

Except for Molly, this was the only other person who knew that my therapist had been a criminal. An abuser. And he was not on my therapist’s side.

I swallowed, relief flooding my expression.

“You know, if you take this job, in the future, chances are, we will find evidence to free you of this murder charge,” He

said.

It was the first time since I'd come to Iowa that I felt relieved.

I didn't want just to believe him, but at the same time, the happiness I felt was too obvious. I stared at him wide-eyed, and he nodded reassuringly.

“You mean that's a possibility? I'll be free again?”

“Only if you take the job, Jace,” he said.