Vodka & Handcuffs

  Vodka & Handcuffs

  By Brandon Witt

  A Mary’s Boys Novella

  Vahin Arora, Hamburger Mary’s sexy bartender, plays the flirtatious role so well even his closest friends—his chosen family at Mary’s—don’t realize Vahin hasn’t had a hookup in months. Then Tall, Dark, and Handsome steps through the door, and Vahin’s libido races back to life.

  Being a black cop on the Denver police force is no easy job—Marlon Barton can’t imagine adding being gay to the equation. And while Marlon loves his work as an officer, his life has taken a turn for the hellish because of his new partner, the nephew of a senator.

  Fleeing his partner’s company one night, Marlon stumbles into Mary’s for the first time… and wakes up with a hangover in the bartender’s bed. The one-night stand heats up into a budding romance, but not without stress as Marlon’s partner’s actions threaten Vahin’s livelihood and Marlon’s future on the force. Can Vahin and Marlon face the challenges and hold on to the love, friendship, and family they’ve found?

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter ONE

  Chapter TWO

  Chapter THREE

  Chapter FOUR

  Chapter FIVE

  Chapter SIX

  Chapter SEVEN

  Chapter EIGHT

  Chapter NINE

  Chapter TEN

  Acknowledgments and Thanks

  Author’s Note

  Exclusive Excerpt

  More from Brandon Witt

  About the Author

  By Brandon Witt

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  THE CHILD on the sidewalk made Marlon begin to pull the car over, but he straightened the wheel at the sight of the woman in the headscarf who knelt beside the boy. He didn’t think he could handle the fallout. Then he noticed the woman dabbing at blood on the boy’s head. Changing his mind again, Marlon jerked the cop car right to the curb and stopped several yards ahead of them.

  “Fuck, man. First day driving?” Andrew glared at him from the passenger seat.

  “Sorry. I was debating if we needed to stop or not, but the kid is bleeding.”

  “The kid….” Andrew twisted around in his seat and let out a groan. “Are you serious? He had a bike wreck. He’s sitting up, and his mom is there. Let’s go do something important.”

  Marlon started to respond, but Andrew continued.

  “Actually maybe this could work out. Might get us a terrorist.” He turned, a wide grin darkening his expression. “I like how you think.”

  God, Marlon hated this. Being a cop had always lived up to his childhood dreams, mostly. Until the last few months with his new partner. “You know that’s not what I’m thinking. Stay here and call it in. I won’t take more than a minute if everything is okay.”

  Andrew’s smile grew. “I’ll handle it. You’re too soft. Who knows what she’s wearing under that heebie-jeebie.”

  “God, you’re an ass, Andrew. It’s a hijab. And that woman isn’t even wearing one. She’s got a headwrap.”

  Andrew shrugged. “You’d know.”

  Marlon flinched before he could stop himself. He had almost gotten used to Andrew’s negative comments about other races, but there hadn’t been many directed at him. For the billionth time, he wondered what he’d done in a past life to deserve Andrew Morris as his partner. “And, again, Andrew, you’re an ass. Stay here.”

  He didn’t often pull rank and tell Andrew what to do, knowing he had to use those moments sparingly if they were to have an effect. He could see this situation going badly, very badly, if Andrew got out of the car. The possibilities were enough that he wished he’d not stopped at all. Too late now.

  Marlon unbuckled his seat belt, opened the car door, and stepped out. He glanced at the woman and child. She’d noticed the cop car, of course. He offered what he hoped was a friendly wave, before pausing to open the trunk. He sighed. Why had he asked Andrew to organize the equipment? It looked like the moron had tried to juggle and then left everything where it had fallen. Pushing the collapsible traffic cones and a breathalyzer to the side, Marlon retrieved the first aid kit and pulled a couple of latex gloves from their box before shutting the trunk. He was surprised Andrew wasn’t standing there waiting for him. Apparently miracles did happen.

  Turning from the car, Marlon plastered a smile on his face. The last thing he needed was for his irritation with Andrew to show.

  As he walked the half a block on Montclair Street, cars zoomed past, their tires splashing through puddles left from the afternoon Denver spring rain. Marlon hesitated for half a second as the woman’s eyes met his. She was gorgeous—her dark skin healthy and glowing, the bright orange and yellow of her kaftan contrasting with the pink blooms on the crab apple tree. Without the stress lining her eyes, she would’ve made a stunning portrait. He laughed at himself. It seemed he’d inherited some of his mother’s photographer sensibilities.

  Marlon paused a couple of feet from the mother and child—at least he assumed that was their relationship. “Hi, ma’am. Just noticed your boy had an accident, and I wanted to see if I could help.”

  She glanced down and shook her head.

  He hadn’t expected that. “You, ah, don’t want me to help?”

  Still not looking at him, she spoke. He didn’t understand the words, but he could hear the worry in her tone. Worry he didn’t think had anything to do with her son’s accident.

  He lifted the first aid kit, flicked open the lock, and held it out for her inspection. “I’d like to help.”

  After a second, the woman looked at the kit, then lifted her gaze to Marlon’s once more.

  Marlon gestured with his chin toward the boy. “May I help?”

  Another pause, and then she nodded. He’d noticed that his own dark skin helped other minorities feel safer, but that didn’t seem to be the case with this woman. Probably here illegally. He cut off that line of thought and chided himself; maybe Andrew’s attitude was contagious.

  After a minute, the boy, whose anxiety seemed to be caused more by the bike accident than Marlon’s presence, relaxed, only flinching as Marlon cleaned the cut.

  As he knelt beside the boy, Marlon rambled on about the kid’s bike, how it seemed intact, about his own nephew’s and nieces’ bikes, and how he wished he had some cartoon Band-Aids to use instead of the boring peach-colored ones.

  It all took a matter of minutes. The cut wasn’t so bad now that it was clean. Which was a good thing. If it had been worse, he had no idea how he would have convinced the mother to see a doctor.

  Marlon had relatched the first aid kit and stood as a male voice called out. He glanced toward the sound. A black man, wearing tan slacks that were too big for him and a white button-down shirt, hurried down the cross street toward them. For a second, Marlon tried to make sense of what the man was saying, but then the woman called out to the man, making Marlon realize the guy hadn’t been speaking English or even talking to him.

  By the time the woman finished her brief explanation, Marlon had stood.

  The man’s dark eyes met Marlon’s, and there was wariness and a bit of a challenge in them.

  Marlon started to offer a handshake, then thought better of it. “Looks like your boy is okay. I was just trying to help.”

  The woman said something else.

  For a second, the man didn’t respond, still studying Marlon, and then he gave a slight nod. “Thank… you.” His accent was thick, and the words sounded like they’d taken great effort.

  Marlon smiled and was about to respond, when he heard the car door open and the voice that had begun to fill his nightmares.

  “Hey! Back up!”

  All three of them—man, w
oman, and child—flinched and turned toward Andrew.

  Marlon instinctively took a step around them, putting himself between the family and Andrew, who was rushing toward them, excitement on his face.

  “I told you to wait in the car.”

  Andrew’s smile was back, and though he addressed Marlon, he didn’t take his gaze off the man. “And not protect my partner? What kind of cop do you think I am?”

  “I’m not in any need of protection.”

  Andrew gestured toward the man. “I look in the mirror and see this guy getting aggressive—”

  “He wasn’t getting aggressive, as you know.” Marlon took another step, cementing his place in front of Andrew. Andrew stepped around him.

  The man said something, whether to them or his wife, Marlon wasn’t sure. Whatever the words, the tone was rushed and worried. Marlon’s heart sank, knowing exactly how Andrew would respond to the man not speaking English.

  “Was that a threat?” Andrew stiffened and moved his hand to his gun holster at his waist.

  The man said something else, his volume increasing. The woman spoke, clear pleading in her tone.

  Marlon didn’t look at them; he moved in front of Andrew and placed a hand on his partner’s chest. He kept his voice low in warning. “Knock it off.”

  With his free arm, Andrew knocked Marlon’s hand out of the way. He moved around Marlon once more, addressing the couple. “I need to see both of your IDs. Now.”

  At the sound of the man’s response, Marlon turned so his back was no longer toward the couple. There was aggression there now, to be sure. Fear too, but Marlon wouldn’t be surprised if the man launched himself at Andrew or him.

  Andrew began to pull his gun, and the woman let out a sharp cry.

  Marlon quit trying to whisper. “Andrew, you’re wearing the new body camera, remember?”

  Andrew hesitated, then solidified his stance. “You know, I think mine’s broken.”

  “Mine isn’t.” Marlon held out a hand toward the couple in a beseeching manner, praying the man would hold on a moment longer before trying to protect his family. “And think about that image on the news tonight. White cop pulls gun on an unarmed black family. Not sure even your uncle could twist that around to your favor.”

  The gun was barely out of Andrew’s holster, and he paused for half a second that seemed like a year to Marlon. Then he slid it back in.

  Marlon expected him to say something more to the family, another demand for ID or something even more ridiculous. Instead he spared a brief, disgusted glare at Marlon, turned, and stomped off toward their patrol car.

  Though hesitant to take his gaze off Andrew, Marlon refocused on the family. The woman had tears rolling down her cheeks, the boy looked terrified, and the father seemed like he might still attack at any moment. Marlon held up both hands, met the father’s gaze, and nodded, then addressed the woman. “I’m so sorry. So very sorry.” Keeping one hand out in front of him, he reached down for the first aid kit, then backed away several feet before walking to the cop car.

  He didn’t bother returning the kit to the trunk or even buckling his seat belt. He tossed the kit in the backseat, got in, and just put the car in drive. With barely more than a glance to make sure there wasn’t a car coming, he hit the gas. He wouldn’t put it past Andrew to dart out of the car and start the damned thing all over again.

  They were several miles away before Andrew spoke. “You know they were illegals.”

  Marlon gripped the steering wheel tighter, his anger causing his arms to shake and the car to swerve slightly. He let out a long breath. “We don’t know any such thing. And even if we suspected that, you’ve no legal cause to ask for ID.”

  “You’re such a pussy cop.” Andrew pulled the lever on the side of the seat and leaned back, making a show of lounging. “I need to request a better partner.”

  “You do that.” Marlon kept his eyes on the road, afraid if he looked at the man, he’d say or do something he’d regret. If only Andrew could get another partner. Chief Schmidt had made it very clear to Marlon that changing partners wasn’t an option. He didn’t trust any other cop to keep their cool with Andrew and be able to hold him in check.

  Such a great reward for being one of the best officers on the force.

  WHEN MARLON left the police station, he drove aimlessly for over half an hour. The day had been nothing but one dig from Andrew after another and left him too angry to be around anyone.

  He needed to cool down before meeting the guys at Brother’s Bar. It would be nothing but talking shop, and at the moment, he wouldn’t be able to keep his tongue in check when it came to Andrew. Not that the others wouldn’t understand. They all pretty much hated Andrew, which was one of the main reasons Marlon had the privilege of being his partner. Marlon was about as difficult to rile up as a bushel of frozen cucumbers, at least that was how Chief Schmidt worded it. Still, if Marlon said too much, it was sure to get back to Andrew somehow, and he would make Marlon’s life even more miserable.

  Part of him almost wished he’d let Andrew do something. Something that would be big enough to negate Andrew’s ties to his senator uncle and former police chief grandfather. Although, that big enough something would’ve come at the cost to an innocent family who’d had the misfortune of a bike accident.

  The possibilities that flooded his mind the past few months rushed through him like a hurricane. Thirty-eight wasn’t too old to start a new career. He’d been on the force for fifteen years. That was a good amount of time, for anyone. A life change could be what he needed.

  Except it hadn’t even been a thought until Andrew started occupying the passenger seat. Andrew had been a pain in the ass since day one, but he was steadily getting worse. It was only a matter of time. And Marlon didn’t want to be anywhere near when that time came. But he didn’t want to stop being a cop either. He loved being a cop.

  At least he used to.

  He could move. California had always been alluring. But he was too much of a family guy to want to leave Denver.

  Marlon pulled his car into the Brother’s Bar parking lot, slammed it into park, and smacked his open palm onto the steering wheel, imagining it was Andrew’s face. He’d have to talk to the chief, again. One of these times, he’d listen. And screw cooling down. He needed a drink, and if he happened to spout off too much about Andrew, then so be it. He turned off the engine, got out of the car, and halted.

  “Oh. No fucking way.”

  He narrowed his eyes and glared at the red sports car glowing directly under the street lamp illuminating the parking lot. He didn’t need to inspect. Didn’t even need to see the vanity license plate to know it was Andrew’s. Just his damned luck. Andrew hated the guys as much as they hated him. It only made sense Andrew would choose this night—the night when Marlon was more fed up than he’d ever been—to try to be one of the boys.

  Marlon slipped right back into his car and peeled out of the lot, cursing under his breath. He drove for a bit longer, then realized he was cruising up 17th Street—the old gay section of 17th Street. He’d spent many an hour at JR’s when he was younger and at the Wrangler after that. Both were now gone, making way for upper-class, straight, yuppieville.

  The new Hamburger Mary’s caught his eye; at least a bit of the old gayborhood was left, refurbished or not. He drove past it without a second thought. Drag queens weren’t his thing. Although… he’d heard the new location had more of a sports bar feel to it. It didn’t sound as relaxing as unwinding with the guys, but if he couldn’t be with other cops, at least he’d be around gays. And most importantly, Andrew wasn’t there.

  He made it about another half mile before he turned around.

  MOST OF the time, the mixture of blaring pop music, sports commentary, and people chattering was a smooth comfort for Vahin. Almost like an enveloping blanket of sound. At the moment, though, it was all a little too much. Too frantic and inescapable. It made him wish he hadn’t given up smoking a year ago; it would be
nice to have an excuse to hang out in the parking lot for a few minutes.

  “I know I keep saying it, but you are so fucking hot. You really won’t take off your shirt for me?”

  Actually it wasn’t the music, sports television, or crowd that was getting under his skin. It was the blond twentysomething who was too pretty for his own good and about as interesting as a golf marathon.

  Vahin cut off his pour of vodka, spared a glance at the guy, and winked. Smiles and flirting equaled a welcoming environment for all the customers, not to mention good tips. “This skintight tank top isn’t revealing enough?”

  The blond licked his lips. Did that honestly ever work for the guy? “It makes me want you more.”

  “Well, then, sounds like you’re enjoying me clothed.” Vahin licked his own lips, just to see the reaction—a shuddering melting expression—and moved down the curved bar to deliver the drinks to Cody, who was waiting to take them to table six.

  He took a second to glance past the bar area of Mary’s and take in the bright, happy room—part exposed brick wall, part vintage pink wallpaper. He loved this place. Truly. It was more of a home than anywhere else. He simply needed a moment to remember it. The flirting used to be a lot more fun. Still was, most of the time, but his tolerance for those inept with the skill was lessening. He plastered on a smile before returning to the blond. “Another Manhattan?”

  The man shook his head. “Not yet. Thanks, though.” He leaned across the bar, attempting to peer over the other side, as if hoping Vahin might not be wearing pants below his tank top. “You know, I’ve always wanted to be with an Indian. Ever since watching Slumdog Millionaire. Are you from India? Did you, like, ride elephants and shit?”

  Oh God. That again. Probably saw that damn film when he was fourteen and masturbated in his bedroom to the Pussycat Dolls singing “Jai Ho.”

  “You know, I rode an elephant at a zoo once, close to where I grew up. In Connecticut.”

  “Oh.” His expression fell, and he gave a partial shrug. “There’s only another couple of hours until the bar closes, right? You wanna come over to my place?”