Donnchadh - Lynn Hagen Page 0,11
Donnchadh said as he closed the bedroom door. “That’s natural.”
“Natural?” Getty snapped out of his stupor. “What was natural about what just happened?”
Fuck. He was shouting. Getty didn’t want to wake his father or Bimbo. He really did need to remember her name. But that wasn’t important right now.
His sanity was.
He was losing it at a fast rate, so fast that when he tried to sit on his bed, he missed and would’ve hit the floor if Donnchadh hadn’t caught him.
“Steady.” Donnchadh helped Getty sit on the bed. “I need you to breathe, Getty.”
“What the hell is going on?” his father shouted from somewhere in the house. Getty froze, his gaze shooting to the door.
“You have to go,” Getty whispered. “He can’t find you here.”
It was a sad thing when Getty had to hide someone in his own damn house. But he was already mind fucked. Getty didn’t want to get into it with his dad.
“Why?” Donnchadh asked. “I thought he lived with you, not the other way around. What’s he gonna do if he sees me here?”
Getty didn’t want to find out. “Out the window, now!”
Donnchadh made a growling noise in the back of his throat. “This time. I’ll do what you ask this time, Getty.”
But Donnchadh didn’t use the window.
He simply vanished, as if he’d moved so fast that he was unseen by the naked eye.
Getty’s eyes rolled back as he fainted.
* * * *
It was close to noon when Getty stuck his head out the front door, making sure no perverts were lingering on his front porch.
Perverts who exploded into dust.
Perverts with sharp teeth that wanted to bite him.
Getty tried to tell himself it had all been a bad dream, but he knew it hadn’t been. He could still feel his attacker breathing down his neck, still smell his rancid breath, and still felt rough fingers digging into his skin.
Plus Getty had bruises from where the guy had held him in place. But as frightening as the experience was, he was determined to get answers. And the only person who could give them to him was Donnchadh.
Unfortunately Getty wasn’t going to call Donnchadh and ask him to come over. Not when his dad was still home. They had to meet in a neutral location. The park by Bistro seemed like the best place.
When he was in the driveway, Getty pulled out his phone and dialed Donnchadh’s phone number. He’d been reluctant to take it at first, when he’d been eating breakfast with the guy, but now Getty was glad he’d programmed it into phone.
“Hello?”
God, even that single word was spoken in a deep, laidback way. Getty shivered as he held back his sigh of appreciation. It was like desire and warmth had wrapped together to create Donnchadh’s voice.
“Hi…uh…”
“Getty.” Donnchadh said his name like he was making love to it. “Is something wrong, hon?”
Hon? “Can we meet?” And why in the hell was he suddenly excited to see him? That handsome face, those pretty dreads, that muscular body. Sigh times infinity.
Fuck. Getty was turning into an idiot just thinking of Donnchadh. Even so, let the butterflies in the stomach begin.
“Sure. When and where, shorty?”
Getty was even beginning to like that nickname. “Are you available now?”
“I can be anywhere you want me to be in a flash.”
Which only reminded Getty of how Donnchadh had simply disappeared from his bedroom. He was going to get answers for that, too.
“I’m heading to the park next to Bistro.”
“Meet you there.” Donnchadh hung up, no good-bye or see you in a minute.
Getty shoved his phone into his pocket and got into his car. Screw walking. One encounter with… He shook his head, refusing to think about it until he met with Donnchadh.
Getty pulled from the driveway and saw Bimbo in the upstairs window looking down on him. He stopped and tried to remember if he’d locked his bedroom.
Unsure, Getty turned his car off and rushed inside. Sure enough, his dumb ass had forgotten to lock it. He’d installed the deadbolt the day after his father and Bimbo had moved in. Even though it was his father, Getty had trust issues.
Growing up, money had gone missing out of his room from time to time. He never thought Pete had taken it. His brother was as honest as they came. Hell, when Pete had gotten his first job, he used to give Getty pocket money. He didn’t want to believe his own father was stealing from him, but there had been no other explanation.
This time