My Lord's Judgment Read Free Page B

head. Then, during the next
stoplight, Samael looked dead into his eyes, as if pleading for
understanding. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”
    There only seemed to be one thing to say to
that, one answer that came to Brandon and just seemed right, beyond
all rationalization. Even though it was stupid, and crazy, and he
knew he should get his head checked. “You can come home with me.”
Maybe he had a concussion.
    The man seemed to relax and his breath came
out heavily.
****

    As they parked the car and got out—Samael
with the jacket wrapped around him like a sarong—Brandon had never
been more relieved to be getting home at an ungodly hour. At least
none of his neighbors would notice him letting a large, mostly
naked man into his apartment. Not that they didn’t think him
strange anyway, but it would just cause problems that he couldn’t
deal with right now. Not with so much on his plate.
    “Welcome to me casa.” Bran shut the door
behind them and threw his keys on a nearby table. It was a small
apartment, one bedroom with an efficiency-like kitchen. Only the
necessities, but it was home and he could afford it on what he made
doing Creative Design from his couch. Hopefully someday, he would
make it big doing album covers for the rich and famous, and be able
to move into something nicer, but for now it worked.
    “I think I have some shorts that’ll fit you.
They’re the stretchy basketball kind, and they might be tight, but
maybe they’ll be okay for now.” They weren’t actually his. He’d
swiped them from his foster brother. They were huge on him, but
comfortable as hell, and he was only able to keep them on by tying
the string as tight as he could.
    Samael smiled his thanks, and Bran froze. Damn, but the man was gorgeous.
    “Umm… thank you?” That didn’t sound like he
was thanking him for clothes. Oh, hell! He said that out loud? He
felt the heat take over his face and knew he was probably the shade
of a ripe tomato.
    “Sorry. I…um…”
    “No, don’t worry about it.” The man smiled
again, and Bran could swear his knees went weak.
    “So, umm… let me get you those shorts.” He
had to get out of there, before he embarrassed himself further. He
went to his bedroom and called out from the door, “Would you like a
shower?”
    “Oh, yes, please. That would be
fantastic!”
    Oh Francis Ford Crapola, he was getting hard
thinking about the hottie in his shower, all steamy and wet and….
He groaned. He needed to put the brakes on that train of thought,
immediately. He breathed in a few times and tried to think un-sexy
thoughts. Finally, he grabbed the shorts, stopped by the closet to
get a clean towel, and headed back to the main room. Samael was
standing where he left him, looking around.
    Brandon practically shoved the stuff at him.
“Here you go, bathroom’s there.” He pointed to the door next to his
bedroom. The guilty look on the big man’s face, made him feel bad.
Bran didn’t want him to think he wasn’t welcome, even if that was
somewhat true.
    He tried to smile and knew it fell flat.
“Sorry, rough night. Make yourself at home.”
    “Thanks.” Samael nodded, walked to the
bathroom and shut the door behind him.
    Brandon closed his eyes for a minute. Okay.
What to do first? Ah, yes. Call DJ Fidiot. He pulled his phone out
of his back pocket, and dialed while walking. It was ringing by the
time he flung himself on the couch. One. Two. The asshole better
pick up, dammit . Three.
    “Bran, baby… whatuaaaaahh!”
    Bran rolled his eyes. Of course, Chris was
drunk. What else was new?
    “Guess who I saw tonight?”
    “Who, baby? Tell meee?” God, the douche was
so trashed he was practically singing all of his words; and Bran
could hear lots of party noises in the background, so obviously the
night wasn’t nearly over.
    “Stop calling me baby,” he snapped, losing
his temper. “Carlos, Chris. I saw Carlos, and two more of Master
C’s goons. No, let me rephrase that, I saw their