Free The Definitive Albert J. Sterne by Julie Bozza Page A

at once the boy would know just how much terror there was in the world.
    The girl, he’d deal with. She wouldn’t get in the way of this. If anything, she’d help make it happen.
    He stood, and the kids both turned to look up at him, startled by the movement. Time for something stronger than beer. Garrett headed for the bar in the far corner, caught up the vodka and three shot glasses, brought them back over and poured generous nips. He toasted the kids silently, grinned, and swallowed down the liquid fire in one mouthful. Waited expectantly until they did the same. Poured them another round, then left the room.
    Perfectly choreographed, though he’d never had to factor a girlfriend in before. As he returned a few minutes later, silent, the couple were kissing. Garrett stalked across the thick carpet, was sitting beside them on the sofa before they noticed him. “Don’t stop,” he murmured.
    But they did, abashed and confused. The football was about to resume, and Philip was turning towards it.
    “No,” Garrett said. He moved in close behind the boy, his body echoing Philip’s, though remaining a few careful inches away. And Garrett took the boy’s hand in his own, placed it flat on the girl’s hip, rubbed his palm and fingers across the back of the hand in encouragement.
    After a brief hesitation, the boy copied his moves, caressing the girl’s waist and then her shoulder and arm. She was startled but seemed focused more on her need for the boy than her uncertainty of the man.
    “Kiss her,” Garrett whispered.
    Again a pause, the boy trying to work out what was going on and whether to protest. But he’d been a little high on the sexual undertones of Garrett’s invitation ever since he’d walked through the front door, and was too far in now. He leaned to meet the girl’s mouth, hand still following Garrett’s lead back down to her hip.
    Garrett moved up against the boy, buried his face in the blond hair, inhaled the scent of him. Philip flinched away from the contact but Garrett soothed him with a murmured repeating of, “It’s all right, it’s all right.” He gathered the girl in tight, she put her arms around them both, and the boy began kissing her in earnest.
    “The game  …” Philip said once, as the crowd cheered a Falcons touchdown. The camera zoomed in on the players dancing around the end zone, embracing.
    “I’ve an even better game,” Garrett murmured, “upstairs.”
    “No.”
    Laughing, Garrett stood, hauled the pair of them up from the sofa. “Come on.”
    “Stace?” the boy asked.
    “If you want to,” she whispered.
    Philip looked uncertainly from one to the other, and all the time Garrett held them trapped in his arms, waltzing them towards the stairwell. Then they were on the first steps, and it was too late. Garrett let them go and closed the door at the foot of the stairs. It locked.
    But, while their fear eased up a notch, their excitement was still running fire. So deliciously easy. “Go on,” Garrett said gruffly, not wanting to touch them again just yet. It had been a long two years, so the need in him was an imperative. And he’d had an idea, a  glorious idea, about the girl  …
    “Mr Garrett?” she whispered, at the top of the stairs.
    There wasn’t much up there. He supposed they’d been expecting to find his bedroom. Instead there was the attic space, an old single bed and some odds and ends. No windows. The boy had turned, was staring at him, beginning to draw a few conclusions. But Garrett walked up the stairs, calm and controlled, and the kid lost the one slim advantage of higher ground.
    “Go on,” Garrett said.
    They backed away, the girl hanging on to the boy’s arm, peering over his shoulder.
    Garrett strode up to them, grabbed the boy around the waist, lifted him up tight, and kissed him - a savage driven kiss that left blood on the boy’s mouth.
    He was struggling, the girl was hitting out ineffectually, but Garrett just laughed.
    “Run