Heavens Aground (Treble and the Lost Boys Book 2)

  Heavens Aground

  Treble and the Lost Boys Trilogy, Book 2

  G.R. Lyons

  Cover design by

  Designs by Dana

  Copyright © 2018 G.R. Lyons

  All rights reserved.

  Copied from paperback edition:

  ISBN-10: 1724984578

  ISBN-13: 978-1724984579

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  This story takes place in a fictional world. It pulls events and characters from the Shifting Isles series, yet can be read as a standalone. In the story, you'll find references to multiple gods and different names for days of the week, amongst other things. A glossary has been provided at the end for those curious readers who enjoy a little background worldbuilding.

  Chapter 1

  BLOOD.

  Blood everywhere. It soaked into his clothes. His skin. Puddled around his legs. Hells, it seemed to be in the very air he breathed, seeping into his lungs until he choked on it.

  Ryley gasped and bolted out of bed, not sure he was fully awake until he was halfway across the room. He walked right out of the bedroom, then turned and came back in, pacing by the end of the bed in the dark while he tried to catch his breath, vaguely aware that the overhead light seemed to be flickering even though it was off.

  Inhale, one. Exhale, two. Inhale, three. Exh–

  “Ry?”

  The sleepy voice came from the bed. Ryley stopped pacing and pressed his hands over his eyes, his whole body shaking from the interruption when he'd been so close to recovery. He'd have to start over now.

  Inhale, one. Exhale, two. Inhale, three…

  He let out his breath on a sigh. That was a bad one. He had a firm counting limit of ten, but it usually only took a count of one to get him calm anymore. It hadn't even gotten to three in a while.

  Ryley opened his eyes and looked at Vic, the big man all sleep-tousled and sexy in the dim moonlight.

  “Sorry, babe,” Ryley whispered. “I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

  Vic eyed him for a moment while Ryley continued to stand there. He straightened the sheets and folded them back on Ryley's side, holding out his arm. “Come back to bed.”

  Ryley looked at the bed, at the empty space beside Vic where he ought to be lying, but if he went back to bed now, he wouldn't want to sleep. He'd want something he knew Vic couldn't give him.

  “Vic?” he asked in a whisper. Maybe the man would see how much he needed it and make an exception.

  Vic frowned, studying Ryley's face, then sighed and shook his head. “No.”

  “Baby, please.”

  “I can't, Ry. You know that.”

  Ryley looked down at the floor, nodded to himself, then slowly turned for the door.

  “Ry?”

  “I'm gonna work on some case files,” Ryley muttered over his shoulder as he walked out of the room.

  He pulled the door shut behind him, just catching Vic's sigh before the latch clicked. Ryley crept down the hallway in the dark and felt around for the light switch in the dining room, wincing as he flicked it on. Despite Vic constantly threatening to tidy up Ryley's house when Ryley wasn't looking, the dining room was just as it always was: a mess of stuff. A jacket Ryley had worn last week still lay draped across one of the chairs. Case notes were spread across the table, interspersed with dirty dishes, newspapers, and books on various work-related matters: contracts, insurance, forensics. The mess might drive Vic crazy, but Ryley knew exactly where everything was.

  Granted, if he didn't do something about the dishes soon, they'd wind up sitting there the whole time he was out of town later that month. Ryley grimaced at the thought of trying to scrape off food that had been stuck on for weeks. He unearthed the various plates, cups, and bowls from the mess on the table, piled them up in his arms, and hauled them into the kitchen, setting the lot in the sink. He could wash them tomorrow. At least they were one step closer.

  He went back to the table and pulled out a chair, his eyes going right to the file that lay open before him. Ryley had been working on an inheritance case before going to bed. The whole thing seemed pretty straightforward on the surface, but something about it nagged him. If the client really had died of natural causes, then the client's four sons, all grown, stood to inherit equal shares of millions, but if there was any evidence of foul play, that was a different story.

  All the sons seemed believably distraught over their father's death, but Ryley wasn't fully convinced.

  He reached out and snatched up a piece of paper without looking, knowing right where it was, and compared the notes taken by the agent who initially interviewed the sons with the notes of the agent who was first to arrive on the scene. Ryley had been home sick when his agency got the call that a client was dead. Normally, he'd be the first man through the door to examine the scene and the body. It was his primary job, after all. This time, though, he had to rely on the notes of others.

  Ryley went over all the details, scrambling for something that made sense, then shoved everything aside with a sigh. He'd just have to see the room for himself. There was no other way he'd feel confident about making a decision.

  He checked the clock. Almost midnight. He shrugged and got up, tiptoeing back to the bedroom. It wasn't like he was going to get any sleep if he tried to go back to bed, so he might as well get some work done.

  Ryley crept into the room and peeked at the bed. Vic was fast asleep. Moving silently, Ryley went to the closet, dug out a pair of pants and some shoes, then snuck back out of the room. He got dressed in the hallway, then grabbed the jacket off the dining chair, found his wallet and keys, and headed out the door with the case file under his arm.

  Sitting in the driver's seat of his car, Ryley checked the file and input the deceased client's address into the car's navigation system, then switched on the autopilot. He sat back and reviewed the case notes again while the car pulled out of the driveway on its own and headed down the street, making its way across Morbran City in the dark.

  There was almost no other traffic to speak of until the car neared the downtown corridor. Ryley glanced up from his files and looked around. Too bad it was a work night. He could really use a drink right about then.

  Ryley started to turn back to his file, then caught his reflection in the rearview mirror. Yeah, he could definitely use a drink. He looked like shit, all those nights of waking up from nightmares starting to take their toll. Not that that was anything new. Grimacing at his reflection, he shoved his hair back behind his ears.

  He'd definitely been spending way too much time indoors. Either that or, more often than he realized, he'd been getting up and going for a run after the nightmares woke him rather than saving the exercise for daylight hours. He leaned closer to the mirror. Sure enough, his hair was getting darker, more sandy beige than the sun-bleached blond shade he preferred.

  Thank gods, they'd be on the tropical Isle in a few weeks. Lots of sand and sun. Just what he needed.

  But in the meantime…

  Shaking his head, he turned back to the file, and only tore his eyes away again when the car came to a stop and powered itself down to idle mode.

  Ryley switched off the car, tucked the file under his arm, and got out. He popped the trunk and pulled out his mobile kit: all the investigative tools he could possibly need at a potential crime scene, short of bringing in a full-blown lab. He set the kit on the ground, quietly shut the trunk, pulled an elastic band off his wrist to tie back his hair, and retrieved the kit before heading up to the house's front door.

  A pair of guards, employed by Ryley's agency, stood by the door, blocking entrance to the house. Ryley knew a
second pair were around back, guarding the rear entrance. Until the case was closed, the house was off-limits to anyone but Ryley or other members of the staff at Sturmwyn Insurance. Not even the client's family were allowed inside. It all seemed a bit extreme, but that was how the client had requested his policy be written: In the event of his death, should there be even the tiniest hint of foul play, the client wanted all precautions taken to make sure any evidence was preserved.

  It was that overly-cautious clause in the client's file that made Ryley question the nature of the client's death in the first place. Why would a man demand such a thing unless he suspected he was at risk for murder?

  Ryley gave the guards a nod. “Hey, Roe, Garet.”

  “Working late, Mr. Skye?” Garet asked, stepping aside so Ryley could access the door.

  Ryley shrugged. “Gotta get these cases wrapped.” He unlocked the door with his agency passkey.

  “I'll notify the others,” Roe said, grabbing his radio and calling the guards at the back of the house, notifying them that there would be activity inside.

  Ryley gave them another nod and went in, shutting the door behind him. He flicked on a light and looked around. Everything seemed to be just the way it had been left, the placement of furniture and small items matching what Ryley had seen in the initial case photos. Ryley set his kit and files on the floor in the middle of the entryway and slowly crept through the house, scrutinizing every detail.

  Everything seemed perfectly normal. No signs of a break-in. No indication of a struggle. On the surface, it looked like the client's death really was what it had appeared to be: just a simple heart attack. Just nature running its course. Nothing more sinister than that. Still, Ryley doubted, so he kept searching.

  Then he saw it.

  Ryley crouched down, then darted back to his kit and yanked it open, pulling out a pair of gloves, an evidence bag, a camera, and a pair of tweezers. He ran back across the room and got down on his knees, snapping on the gloves and aiming the camera at the spot, taking several pictures and then checking them on the screen to make sure they were clear before he picked up the offending object and dropped it into an evidence bag with a grin on his face.

  “Gotcha, you son of a bitch.”

  Ryley sealed the bag, labeled it, and packed everything away. He locked up the house, bid the guards goodnight, and put his things back in his car. He slid into the driver's seat and touched a button on the nav screen.

  “Destination?” the car's computer asked.

  “Hospital.”

  A ding sounded, and Ryley saw the hospital's address pop up on the screen. He sat back and hummed to himself as the car drove, the new piece he and Zac had been working on for dueling violins just perfectly suited to his mood.

  At the hospital, Ryley took his kit and case file and went straight down to the morgue.

  “The hells are you doing here so late?” the chief medical examiner asked as Ryley breezed through the doors.

  Ryley chuckled. “I could ask you the same.”

  The doctor shrugged. “Death never sleeps.”

  “Exactly.” Ryley set his kit on an empty stretch of counter and pulled out the evidence bag.

  “What have you got?” the doctor asked.

  Ryley checked his file and rattled off the deceased client's name. The doctor strode right over to the bank of cabinets where bodies were being held and opened one of the doors.

  The smell never bothered him as much as he thought it might. There was something about death that seemed almost calming, in a way, something that spoke to his soul. He'd never had a problem with dead bodies. Not for as far back as he could remember. It was what gave him such an advantage at his job. No need to get himself psyched-up for a case. He could stumble into the goriest crime scene, then go straight home and sleep like a baby.

  Other than the usual nightmare, of course. Then again, that had been with him for as long as he could remember, as well. Pretty much the only dream he ever had, and he never went more than two or three nights without it. Sometimes, he slept through it, while other times—like that night, and more frequently of late—it sent him scrambling out of bed. Yet, it was always the same: blood everywhere, but no other specific details that he could make out. Just himself and blood. The room could have been any room, or even somewhere outdoors. The shapes around him could have been furniture just as easily as shrubs or bodies. He never could tell. Just vague shapes, teasing him on the edge of recognition. What he could see, though, always remained the same. Even now, it never changed, no matter what kind of case he was working on.

  Standing there with a dead body on display, he felt nothing. No disgust. No fear. No anxiety over his own mortality. Just nothing.

  Ryley showed the doctor his evidence, and the doctor immediately went to work, confirming what Ryley suspected, running the test twice just to make sure.

  “Yep, he was murdered, alright.”

  Ryley grinned.

  Chapter 2

  WITH THE medical examiner's report and copies of the lab work added to his case file, Ryley got back into his car. He switched it on and reached for the nav screen, then hesitated. He was too wound up to go home, something in his core almost vibrating in response to his excitement over solving a case.

  The nav screen flickered. Not again. Ryley closed his eyes. Inhale, one.

  He let out his breath on a sigh, then opened his eyes. He couldn't imagine getting back to sleep now, not with as pumped as he was, but he couldn't turn the case in until his office opened later that morning, either. In the meantime, he needed to burn off some energy.

  Ryley grabbed the steering wheel and drove across town. The gay club would be open for another hour, weeknight or not, so he headed straight there. If there was one place he could get a drink and find some relief, that was it.

  He parked on the street and went inside, heading straight up to the bar. Ryley bought a beer and turned around, surveying the crowd as he idly drank. The dance floor was fairly thin at that hour, but there was still plenty of eye candy to keep him entertained. He spotted some friends and gave them a nod in greeting.

  Ryley finished his beer and was just about to go join the dancers when one of the club regulars squeezed his way through the grinding crowd and ran over.

  “Dude,” the guy panted, “you've gotta come see this guy in the backroom.”

  Ryley's eyebrows went up. “Oooh. Do tell.”

  He hopped off the stool and followed his friend through the crowd. They ducked into the backroom, the door shutting behind them, dimming both the lights and the music. Moans and grunts rose up out of the darkness as they snaked their way down the various hallways and past dark corners where couples and groups were going at it, hot and heavy.

  Ryley whimpered. Dick everywhere.

  He reached down to adjust his hardening cock in his jeans, his hole clenching at the thought of getting fucked. Gods knew he needed it bad.

  “There,” his friend said, pointing across the dark room.

  Ryley squinted, then his eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. A guy was sprawled lazily in a chair, his knees spread wide while a couple of twinks knelt between his legs, both of them bobbing their heads. Ryley blinked and looked again. Sure enough, the guy actually had two cocks, a twink's mouth on each one.

  “Holy shit.”

  “You think they're both real?” his friend asked. “Like a genetic anomaly? Or do you think one's a prosthetic?”

  Ryley shook his head. He had no idea, but he couldn't stop watching with fascination. Getting sucked off by two guys at once? The man must be in heaven. Hells, the twinks must be in heaven, for that matter. Ryley knew he was itching to take their place.

  Just then, the guy happened to look up and spotted them watching. The man crooked a finger, then told the twinks to get lost. Ryley and his friend shared a look, then darted across the room, both sinking to their knees at the guy's feet.

  Ryley took one of the cocks in his mouth while his friend took the
other. What he had on his tongue definitely felt real. Ryley moaned and went to work, his friend doing the same at his side.

  Behind him, something bumped his foot right before he felt a pair of hands grab his ass and squeeze. Ryley popped his mouth off the cock he was sucking and started jacking it with his fist instead while he glanced over his shoulder. A man he'd never seen before was kneeling behind him, naked, his hard cock nudging Ryley's ass right between where the man's hands gripped him. Ryley clenched at the sight of that cock. Gods be damned, that was going to feel so good inside him. He gave the guy a nod.

  Before he could turn back to what he was doing, the guy behind him slipped his hands up under Ryley's shirt. Ryley straightened up just long enough to let the guy pull the shirt over his head and toss it aside, then Ryley went back to sucking one of the dual cocks while the guy behind him worked on getting his jeans unfastened and tugged down to his knees. Ryley moaned around the cock in his mouth when the first lubed finger penetrated him, going right to his sorely-neglected prostate.

  Fuck. Just a finger, and he felt on the verge of exploding.

  The guy took his time working Ryley open, which was far more courteous than most of the guys in that club tended to be. Ryley grimaced. Good gods, he hoped the guy couldn't tell it had been a while.

  The guy getting his cocks sucked suddenly moaned loudly and grabbed Ryley's hair. “Close,” he warned.

  Ryley and his friend both replaced their mouths with their hands and watched as the guy threw his head back, panting. A second finger entered Ryley, and he rocked back on it, moving in time with his hand.

  The guy he was jacking lifted his head and looked from Ryley to his friend and back. “Make out,” he ordered.

  Ryley looked at his friend, shrugged, and dove in for a kiss, the pair of them making it as filthy as they could while also jerking the guy's cocks and being fingered from behind.