WILD ARCANA
Lux Zakari
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2012 Lux Zakari
Cover art by Lux Zakari
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, and actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Teaser
Five friends. One tarot card reading. Zero expectations—until fate stepped in.
SHANE, the movie star. He arrives at a rehabilitation clinic for his sex addiction only to be enticed in ways he never thought possible...
TREY, the contractor. He looks after his friend’s deeply troubled stepsister under the guise of remodeling his New York City high-rise, but soon faces temptations that test the bonds of friendship and his self-control...
KRI, the Japanese heiress. Regrets haunt her when she learns she’s pregnant and must leave her lover at the insistence of her strict, traditional father...
BRAND, the high-profile drug dealer. He wrestles with demons of his own after his boyfriend—a cop—ends their relationship over his questionable career path...
DISA, the wayward tennis player. She has her sights set on talk show host Jules Rohan with no idea just how much truth lies in his bad-boy reputation...
Their journey through the twenty-two cards of the Major Arcana in this high-society erotic novel reveals that nothing in life is left to chance—and they’re more entangled in each other’s lives than they ever could have imagined.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Brian for the disturbingly knowledgeable input regarding arson and fisticuffs; Kristie for the beta read; Jazz for the sexy adventures; Kerri, Mina Carter, and Willsin Rowe for the cover art wisdom; Gabe for a rather brilliant theory involving squiggly lines; and Casey for the NYC scoop—and everything else.
Disclaimer
The author of this story has never blown anything up.
To date, she has also never been pregnant, famous, a gay man, or in jail.
This information, then, should help explain the great liberties taken within this novel, which, at the very least, was incredibly fun to write, and hopefully it will be found just as fun to read.
0.
The Fool
Brand often made friends via gross misunderstandings. For example, he’d struck up an acquaintanceship with Shane Gunder three years ago when the actor arrived at Brand’s place in New York, threatening to kill him. Shane had heard his stepsister and Brand were intimately involved, and when he’d found her crying over a broken heart, he had taken it upon himself to seek vengeance like a good brother would. Not that he and Marisol had ever been close, but damn it, didn’t that just make the whole thing worse? Brand had defused the situation by clarifying that A) he and Marisol were only friends masquerading as lovers to hide the fact that B) she had just been dumped by a very prominent, very married politician, and besides C) Brand was unequivocally gay. Then Brand packed a pipe and spent the night listening to Shane lament how his stepsis was lost in life. It’d been an exhausting evening.
Similarly, Brand had befriended Disa Sandoe when the tennis star slid next to him in a booth at a club several years prior. She’d put her hand on his upper thigh, hoping to pay for a dime bag with a good old-fashioned seduction. He’d played along for a bit, wondering if he would magically feel a twinge of arousal. He did this with girls every so often, just as he would eat eggs once a year to see if he’d yet acquired a taste for them. So far, the answer was no on both counts.
After five minutes of listening to Disa describe all the dirty things she planned to do to him, he’d grabbed her hand before it crept any higher and told her the truth.
“I knew something was up with you.” She’d looked at the front of his pants. “Or not.” They then had a good laugh over a friendly joint and discussed which celebrities they’d swallow for. Johnny Depp had been an obvious choice.
Conversely, Brand believed he lost friends due to gross misunderstandings as well, Anthony Noretti being one of them.
He watched from the edge of the bed as Anthony paced the room, cramming clothes into suitcases and bags and looking everywhere but at him. Brand licked his dry lips and tried to swallow the panic lodged in his throat. “I can’t believe you’re overreacting like this.”
Anthony shook his head, staid as usual, his brows furrowed as he wedged a rolled-up T-shirt in between two pairs of jeans. He said nothing.
“Are you listening to me? I said it before and I’ll say it again—I don’t have a problem.”
“Well, I do, and it’s you thinking you don’t have a problem.” Finally Anthony glanced at him, but just as quickly he turned away, as if any prolonged eye contact would weaken his argument and he’d have to stay.
Brand took it as a good sign and clung to the hope. “You act like I’m an addict when you know I’m not.”
“I know you’re not an addict. But you’re an idiot.” Anthony yanked open a dresser drawer and tossed a few plastic bags containing marijuana onto the bed. “If you need more proof of that, I could always go into the guest bedroom to see how your garden grows.”
Brand’s optimism reverted to fear. “What’re you trying to say?”
“That it’s time you grow up and get a real life.”
“Listen to Mr. High and Mighty. You suddenly take issue just because I sell a little tree every now and then—”
“It’s not suddenly, Brand!” Anthony exploded. “If you actually gave a fuck about me, you would’ve seen this day coming a long time ago.”
“All right, calm down.” Brand held up his hands in surrender. “So I made some mistakes. Can we please just talk about all this?”
Anthony drew in a few deep breaths, closing his eyes. When he opened them, he fixed his grave, steely gaze on Brand. “You really want us to stay together?”
“Yeah.” Brand stretched his fingers toward Anthony’s hand, half giddy with desperation. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“We’ll see.” Anthony nodded to the plastic bags. “Get rid of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said.” Anthony crossed his arms, drumming his fingers on his biceps. “Get rid of it, everything. Flush it. Destroy it. Shove it down the garbage disposal if you want. Just don’t smoke or sell it.”
Brand nipped at his lower lip as he picked up a bag and inspected its contents. It was quality stuff, homegrown and nurtured by his own two hands for the past ninety-seven days. It’d go for a decent amount.
He sucked in a gulp of air and pushed it out again before risking a glance at Anthony. “Look, this is gonna sound really bad, but can’t you give me just a little time?” He rubbed his thumb over the plastic, hating his every word but he couldn’t stop himself. “This is worth more than you know, but I promise, I’ll be done with the whole thing once I sell the last of this. Just let me make my money back. Please?”
For a moment, Anthony’s perpetually solemn features smoothed into a blank expression. “You’re right.”
“I am?”
“Yeah. That does sound really bad.” Anthony zipped his suitcase shut.
“I can’t believe this.” Dread spiraled through Brand’s body. “I tell you I’m willing to completely reinvent myself, and you can’t grant me this one little thing?”
“It’s not one little thing, and I don’t want you to completely reinvent yourself. If you really think that’s what I’m asking, you’re in deeper than I thought.” Anthony sighed. “I’m a cop, Brand, and I can’t live like this anymore. Being with you goes against everything I stand for.”
All Brand’s remaining arguments and protests died on his tongue. He felt his chest crack in half, and sounds faded into nothingness. His legs trembled but somehow he forced himself to stand. “Then that’s it,” he said, but he couldn’t hear himself speak.
Brand turned away as Anthony tilted his head, an imploring look on his face. He left the room, feeling like he was drowning in the middle of a nightmare. His steps were heavy, as though he moved against the tide. His lungs wouldn’t swell with the air he needed and his vision blurred, watery and obstructive.
* * * *
Once upon a drunken night two years ago, Brand peed on some boxed marigolds resting on the sidewalk a block away from The Midnight Cantina, a bar in the Village where he’d spent the majority of the evening. He unzipped his pants and groaned as he relieved the pressure on his bladder. Then he felt a tap on the shoulder.
Startled, he quickly zipped up and turned to face a tower of a man with startling dark blue eyes and close-cropped black hair that was too short to curl like it obviously wanted to. Brand didn’t even notice the man’s uniform or badge at first; he was too preoccupied with thoughts of seeing him naked.
The officer beckoned to him with his fingers. “Can I see some ID?”
Usually Brand loved messing with the cops, even more so when he had nothing on him; it gave him a rush. This time, though, shyness burned his cheeks as he rifled through his pockets and produced his driver’s license from his battered leather wallet with shaking hands.
As the officer switched on his flashlight and squinted at Brand’s identification, Brand took note of his nametag: Noretti. Brand had always had a thing for Italians. This one, however, put his past crushes to shame. He imagined Officer Noretti posing nude on a marble platform in the Met, and art aficionados passing by with murmurs of “Oh yes!” New York’s Finest, no lie.
“Brandon Skelton.” Officer Noretti still inspected the license. “You realize you were taking a leak in the middle of the street?”
“Well, technically it wasn’t in the street.” Brand gave a nervous cough and motioned between himself and the pavement. “It was more to the side of it.”
Officer Noretti finally looked from the license to Brand, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. And right there on a New York night, shuffling from foot to foot on a sidewalk littered with patches of hardened gum and losing lottery tickets, Brand never wanted anyone more.
“Consider this a warning.” The officer passed Brand back his identification, their fingers brushing, and Brand felt a heady rush upon contact. He thought Officer Noretti might’ve felt the same, because he gave Brand a wink before returning to his squad car.
Brand did not consider it a warning. He all but ran to his brownstone, bursting with glee. He called Disa the moment he got home and woke her with the whole story.
“You and a cop? Is your brain made of mesh?” She groaned, still sounding half asleep. “You should be more careful, badge bunny.”
He hadn’t been, and now, he wished he would’ve listened.
* * * *
When Anthony left after lugging out the last of his belongings and slapping his key on the kitchen counter with finality, Brand did what came most naturally. He chose to celebrate.
An acquaintance, Ryder Medina, had organized a party on his own behalf now that he was embarking on his last year of grad school. As soon as his undergraduate career had concluded, Ryder had leaped into obtaining his master’s in psychology without ever shaking the frat boy mindset. He rarely lacked reasons to throw a party and was even prone to inventing them, like his hair coloring fiesta the previous year. What a fun disaster that had been. It had taken Brand a week to wash that blue tint out of his blond hair.
Separating him from his more traditional TKE brothers was the fact Ryder had an inclination for the more testosterone-driven gender—including Brand, who had never felt quite compelled to act on Ryder’s casually flirtatious advances. There was just some nebulous trait about Ryder that put him off. Still, it was always good to have at least one man with a gun on deck, and Brand couldn’t think of a better night to pull the trigger.
As was the standard, the gathering was what Ryder considered a small affair, with only fifty or so of his closest friends filtering in and out his Upper East Side apartment all night. Brand nursed his third gin and tonic and knew that even if fifty thousand guests arrived, he’d still have the vague feeling of terror roiling in his gut.
But what was done was done. There was nothing he could do about it—Anthony had made that clear—so the only option left was to move on and have some fun. He would survive this; Gloria Gaynor had told him so. There was no need to dwell. If Anthony didn’t want to be a part of his life, Brand didn’t want him in his head.
Still, dark thoughts continued to crowd his mind as people packed themselves into the apartment and spilled onto the balcony. After taking care of a few guests cum customers, Brand leaned against the railing, alternating between his drink and the roach in his left hand and wondering when the anxiety would ebb.
Why did he feel so awful? He’d had lovers come and go before. Had he just forgotten how heartbreak felt? Anthony had taken him off the market for two years, which had been previously unheard of. He should be happy Anthony had left; the guy had kept him away from the action and made an art of always nay-saying, always thinking practically, always acting like the world was about to end. What a bore.
“This was a great idea.” Disa arrived at his side and patted his shoulder, a gesture less of comfort and more a suggestion to surrender the roach. “The whole gang’s together, which, like, never happens these days.”
Brand nodded absently and passed the drug to Disa, barely listening to the willowy blonde in the short blue dress. He surveyed the party from the opposite side of the sliding glass door, looking for something he didn’t understand, something to fill the hole in his chest like creamy cement. He’d know it when he found it.
“Of course, Kri and Fab are acting very couples-only in a corner,” Disa grumbled. “And Shane’s grinding against every girl here, and who even knows where Trey’s run off to and what his deal is.” She toked on the roach. “That’s why I’m so glad you’re you, Brand.” She slapped his chest. “Now that you’re single again, we can man-hunt together.”
He rolled his eyes. “Can’t wait, Puffin.” Disa had never been known for her tact. He’d also never heard of her being in a serious relationship before, which was why he hadn’t divulged more than the fact he and Anthony had broken up. As much as he loved her, Disa wouldn’t have understood or been able to empathize. To share in his sorrow with the wrong person would only serve to destroy him further.
No. What he felt was not sorrow. It was relief. It was just taking some time to kick in.
“See anyone you like yet?” Disa craned her neck, her gaze flickering over the crowd. “I noticed that Ryder’s been undressing you with his eyes ever since I announced you were on the market again. I always thought he was sexy. He’s got that Latin lover look about him. Kind of short, but that’s nothing you can’t work with. I like his vest tonight, too. Go talk to him. He’s over there by the bar.”
Brand had to admit Disa had a flair for spotting not only gay men, but quality gay men. It was a mysteriously acquired skill that had served them both well. Not only did Disa know who not to waste her time on, but she knew whom Brand should spend his nights with. She’d been right about Anthony, hadn’t she? He’d ignored her warning then, and look what happened. She had a knack. He should trust her. He should get started on his new life.
And that was just what he would do, and Disa gave his ass a squeeze for good luck as he headed in Ryder’s direction.
* * * *
The morning after they’d met, Brand schemed how to see Officer Noretti again. Waiting for the opportunity to casually bump into him seemed like a fruitless avenue. Considering Officer Noretti was a cop and Brand conducted a rather unsavory business, they didn’t exactly run in the same circles. Brand decided he needed a strategy to put all other plans to shame, and one night it dawned on him.
Disa had laughed when he told her his intended course of action. “Are you baked?”
He had been but felt that was beside the point. Brand set to work, laboring all day using Adobe Photoshop to construct what he thought to be the most compelling lost-dog poster the world had ever seen. He added a picture of a canine he found on the internet and made sure to include all his personal information. Then he marched to the precinct with his creation and approached the officer behind the desk. “Is Officer Noretti around?” he asked, placing the flier on the desktop.
The officer shook her head. “Sorry, day off. What do you need?”
Brand’s shoulders slumped. “My dog’s missing, and I was hoping he could help me.”
“He doesn’t really handle pet cases.” The officer arched a brow, an action that indicated how high of a priority lost animals were to the NYPD. Nevertheless, she studied the flier, and her expression became increasingly doubtful. “Interesting.”
“What is?” Brand had a sinking feeling in his chest that what he was about to hear was far from interesting.
“Winston the dog looks like a Golden Retriever…” She held up the flier and turned it so Brand could see. “Yet he’s listed as a Lab. You’d think a pet owner would know the difference.”
Shit. Having never been one for dogs, he had always confused the two breeds. Brand felt the color drain from his face as the magnitude of what he’d done dawned. He was not only a total moron, but he was also lying to the police. Could they throw him in jail for this? That would be just his luck.
The officer lowered the flier, her face depicting both annoyance and amusement. “I’ll make sure Officer Noretti—Anthony—gets the flier.”
Part of Brand hoped the officer would go back on her word; he didn’t need his object of lust finding out just how stupid he was.
“I think I’m going to die of embarrassment,” he bemoaned later to Disa.
“For your sake, I hope you do,” Disa replied. “Then you won’t have to live knowing what a dumbass you are.”
Several agonizing days passed with Brand feeling more foolish by the hour. He bounced between relief to not have to see Officer Noretti—or rather, Anthony—again and devastating disappointment. It was an unusual experience; Brand had been a pro at rebounding from crush to crush, but this was different. At least, he thought it could be.
One Friday afternoon, a knock at the door startled Brand from a nap in front of the TV. His brain in a fog and his oh-to-hell-with-it hair more disheveled than usual, Brand stumbled to the door, opening it to find Anthony standing on the stoop. The officer was sans uniform, his hands buried in the back pockets of his jeans. Brand’s mouth immediately went dry.
Anthony’s lips twitched like he wanted to smile. “Winston come home yet?”
Brand took a deep breath and swung the door open wide. “Come in and find out.”
After the briefest of pauses, Anthony stepped into the apartment and shut the door behind him, and he never left—until now.
* * * *
Ryder, indeed wearing a rather nice vest paired with jeans and a button-down, grinned as Brand finagled a spot next to him against the countertop. “Well, well, Brand Skelton. About time.”
“For what?” Brand signaled to Ryder’s friend behind the counter—the unofficial bartender—to refill his glass.
“That you came to one of my humble gatherings again.” Ryder gave Brand a pirate smile. “It’s good to see you again. We all thought you were dead.”
Brand took a deep breath. He knew how to do this. He could flirt with the best of them. Hell, he was the best of them. At least, he had been before Anthony had hidden him away from the world and domesticated him, or so everyone thought. Deep down, Brand knew he was the same person he’d always been and grinned to prove it. “Well, here I am.” He let his poignant gaze roam Ryder with abandon. “And I’m definitely not dead.” Yes, he still had it.
Ryder’s black-brown eyes gleamed, intrigued. “Good to know.”
A silence fell between them, heady with sexual tension, and Brand took a gulp of his drink to hide how uncomfortable he felt. Never before had he been awkward around Ryder, who was always so easygoing and playful it was impossible to be ill at ease in his presence.
Then again, Brand had never been on the verge of sleeping with him before.
Brand cleared his throat. “So. Your last year of grad school, huh?” He cringed at his question. The topic was so dull it was a mere step above discussing the weather.
“Here’s hoping.” Ryder raised his drink and took a sip. “I’m working on my thesis now.”
“What’s it about?” Brand asked, expecting to not understand a word of it.
“Jungian psychology when applied to tarot cards. Zoë lent me her Aquarian deck so that’s how I got into it. It’s interesting stuff, actually.” He paused. “You want a reading?” His lips curved in a rakish grin. “It’s for research purposes.”
Brand forced a smile of his own. “Who am I to stand in the way of higher learning?”
He followed Ryder down the hallway toward the master bedroom, ignoring Disa’s thumbs-up from across the room. On the way, they passed their friend Kri, ducking into a guest bedroom with her boyfriend, Fab, both giggling between kisses. Brand suppressed a smirk. Being that Kri lived in her home country of Japan and Fab lived in New York, he had it on good authority the two of them made up for lost time as often as they could. His smile faded, though, when he realized the distance that usually separated Kri and Fab was nowhere near as vast as the gap now between him and Anthony.
Ryder shut the door behind them. “First, we’ll start with a palm reading.”
“You read palms, too? A man of many talents.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Ryder took Brand’s hand in his and gently turned it lines up.
Brand waited for the jolt of electricity he used to experience when faced with the prospect of someone new, but nothing happened. Memories of the first time he met Disa and her ineffectual seduction sprung unwarranted to mind. What was the problem here? Was it Ryder? Had too much time passed with them being just friends to ever feel any passion toward him?
Ryder inspected the markings etched in Brand’s palm. “A strong life line—that’s always good. A long heart line, too. Bit of a romantic, are we?”
“Depends which way the moment takes me.”
“Lots of branches coming off your fate line. Looks like some career changes are coming your way.”
“Good to know.” Brand’s mind wandered back to Anthony’s disapproval of his dubious means of acquiring money. No, must not go there.
“And this little line,” Ryder said, his fingertip traveling the length of a curving line, “lets me know you’re an incredible fuck.”
Brand gave a grin intended to convey more confidence than he felt. “I never bought into fortunetelling, but you’ve just turned me into a believer.”
“That makes one of us. Now it’s your turn to enlighten me.” Ryder pressed his mouth against his, and Brand resolved to exorcise Anthony once and for all.
An aggressive kisser, Ryder nipped at Brand’s lips while walking him backward to the bed. Brand sank down on the mattress, determined to remain in the moment. As Ryder’s hands made fast work of the buttons on his white shirt, Brand watched him from beneath partially closed eyelids, dreading the thoughts that would spring to mind should they close.
Brand parted his lips, allowing Ryder’s questing tongue entrance. Ryder’s breath was hot against Brand’s cheek as his hands traveled over the bare skin of his chest. Brand shrugged off his shirt as Ryder dropped to his knees before him and set to undoing the buttons on Brand’s pants.
His breath quickening, Brand leaned back on his hands as Ryder reached inside his open fly and pulled out his cock. A soft groan of satisfaction left Brand as the other man pumped him from base to head. “Yeah, that feels good.” Finally the feelings of excitement came, and Brand filled with relief as his cock responded predictably. He lifted his hips, eager to feel Ryder’s mouth on him, needing to get lost in heady pleasure.
“Impatient much?” Ryder smirked, his thumb rolling over the head of Brand’s cock. “I saw that in your palm, too.”
Brand’s hips twitched again. “Did you see me fucking your mouth, too?”
Ryder breathed out a laugh. “Definitely impatient.” Then he bowed his head and lapped at Brand’s tip.
Brand released a stream of air from between his pursed lips. His stomach spasmed as Ryder continued to pump his shaft in his fist, his head bobbing in a similar movement. “Fuck, that’s awesome.”
Ryder groaned around his cock, the vibration sending another jolt through Brand. Then he drew away to murmur, “You like that?” before taking Brand’s cock in his mouth again.